Sex and Other Changes (28 page)

There was nobody to tell her that talking to yourself was the first sign of madness.

The loneliness that she had felt that first Saturday afternoon did not return. Instead, the delights of the solitary life were visited upon her.

Once a week, though, she did not go home to the flat. After her visit to the Trumpet she would go back to the hotel, dine in the Kenilworth Brasserie or the Warwick Bar, visit the brand new Health Club – Keep Fit The Cornucopia Way – and then she would sleep in the hotel, in a different room each time, to get a taste of ‘The Cornucopia Experience' – usually an amalgam of insomnia and sciatica.

They were now third on the list for refurbishment – a process that had slowed down because of lack of funds because of low levels of occupancy because of delays in refurbishment – well, that was how Nicola saw it, but she wasn't on the Board, so what did she know?

As she walked up the path to the front door of number thirty-three, past the pathetically neat little lawns, clutching a bottle of Californian red and a bunch of the same spring flowers that were in such abundance in the tidy, well-groomed borders of the little front garden, she felt absurdly formal. Why had she not just walked in through the back door as usual?

She rang the bell. Nobody came.

*

Alan was also feeling self-conscious about the evening. He was in the grip of contradictory emotions. He hadn't yet begun his great new life. He was living the old one without the support of his partner, and that was very different. He was still missing Nicola very much. He was depressed by Bernie's descent into depression and decay. Although he couldn't pretend to be sorry that Em and Carl had broken up, he wished that it had not been Carl who had done it and that Em had not been so devastated. Gray was mooning around in a world of his own. He seemed even further away from their world. Alan longed for the family to behave with dignity and spirit that evening. He didn't want Nicola to think that he wasn't making as good a fist of being the man of the house as Nicola once had.

Yes, he was missing Nicola, but he also felt a real sense of grievance. Here was Nicola leading the bachelor life – what was he saying? – the spinster life. Why did that sound so much less attractive? Start again, Alan. Here was Nicola as free as air, a single woman, and here was he, laden with commitments, a single parent, and all because Nicola had got in first, and he couldn't even say, ‘Typical man'!

He was running late. He'd chosen moussaka, one of his staple comfort foods, not wanting to do anything pretentious, but he wanted it to be a good moussaka, and he hadn't reckoned on bloody Beresford keeping him late because he was in a foul mood because they were being penalised for late deliveries of four car units to Mercury North Eastern.

He wanted the dining room to reflect the full glory of family life, to be overwhelmingly cosy, a riot of coal-effect fire and candles and soft wall lights and garden flowers and cut glass and all the things that Nicola wouldn't have in her rented flat.

Was that someone banging at the front door? Surely she wouldn't go to the front door?

*

I mustn't seem too content, Nicola reminded herself as Alan pulled back the double bolts on the front door and unlocked both locks with different keys.

They looked at each other hesitantly, and then kissed on both cheeks.

‘What is this – Fort Knox?' asked Nicola.

‘The Collinsons were burgled last week.'

‘Why am I not utterly devastated?'

‘And nobody ever comes to the front door except Jehovah's Witnesses. You know that. We don't have visitors. Our last visitor was Prentice.'

‘Don't. No, I thought, “I'm a guest. I should go to the front door. I should do it properly.” I brought these.'

Nicola pushed the flowers at Alan awkwardly.

‘Thank you. They're very nice.'

‘You've got a garden full of them. I needn't have bothered.'

‘I was under the impression it was the thought that counted. Well, well, you look well.'

‘I am well.' Slightly too late, she added, ‘Oh, and so do you.'

Good old Nicola. Still the same old Nick. But Alan managed not to say this.

‘This is strange, isn't it?'

‘Yes. Yes, it is.'

‘So … how are you really, Nicola?'

Nicola reminded herself that she mustn't sound too content.

‘Oh, I'm all right. You know. Really.'

‘Good.'

Noises. Meaningless noises in a suburban hall.

‘I brought some wine. Californian.'

‘Oh no. Wrong, Nicola.'

‘Oh dear. Poor Em.'

The spicy parsnip soup went down a treat. Bernie slurped more than ever and had a spicy parsnip chin. He burped twice and
didn't apologise or put his hand in front of his mouth. In the lounge his zip had been undone. Now it was done up, but a bit of shirt had got trapped in it.

Gray and Em were very silent. Em was sullen, sulky. Her jaw seemed very big when she sulked. Gray had a far-away smile, an old-fashioned soppy grin, on his immature, now only slightly spotty face. With his glasses and his dark hair he had all the appearance of intellectual brilliance, except for one thing – intellectual brilliance.

Nicola had to keep the conversation going. She talked about the residents of the flats at number eight. She described Lance in an amusing way which she felt was disloyal, but surely he would have understood that the party had to go with a swing. She talked of Mrs Milner in flat two, a deeply boring woman only interested in one thing – Mrs Milner of flat two. She talked of the young couple in flat five who weren't interested in anybody over the age of thirty. She couldn't wait for them to begin to get old. She described the ex army officer turned struggling financial consultant in flat six, who introduced himself, as he picked up a local election leaflet in the communal hall, with the words, ‘Hello. I'm Captain Simon Bancroft. Straight in the bin, don't you think? The only good Liberal is a dead Liberal.'

She made them laugh, though perhaps not quite as much as she had hoped, and she made herself sound lonely without wallowing in it.

Alan couldn't believe how chatty Nicola had become now that she was a woman.

The moussaka went down well. They all liked Alan's moussaka. Cousin Freddy had once said, ‘I've eaten moussaka in every corner of Greece, but none of them's the equal of yours, Alison', which was his way of telling them how much more travelled than them he was.

Alan watched Bernie packing the stuff into his hygienically
challenged mouth – he didn't clean his teeth properly, his breath was bad these days – and he thought, ‘I'll end up hating him.'

‘Dad?' he said. ‘Is it all right?'

‘Very nice,' he said.

‘It would help if occasionally you offered a compliment. It's a bit humiliating to have to force them out of you.'

Bernie looked at Alan in astonishment.

‘So, Clinton got away with it, then,' said Nicola, breaking up a brief silence that she had found unbearable.

It sounded absurd, suddenly thrown into the melting pot like that apropos of absolutely nothing. It sounded even more absurd when nobody else commented on it. Well, Bernie belched, but you couldn't put that down as a political comment.

Alan saw Gray look at his watch, and it irritated him.

‘Keeping you, are we, Gray?' he asked.

‘What? No, but I do have to keep an eye on the time,' said Gray. ‘Mustn't miss Choo Choo.'

‘Choo Choo?' repeated Nicola.

‘I know. It's a bloody stupid nickname,' said Gray, ‘but it's what they call my girl friend from Chattanooga.'

‘Don't you think it's about time you started meeting people in real life?'

Nicola was always brilliant at laying herself open to criticism when she was Nick, thought Alan, and it seems she still is.

‘I've seen what a real life love affair has done to my parents,' said Gray bitterly. ‘My career at Pricewaterhouse'll be knackered before it starts.' Then he remembered that bitterness wasn't cool. ‘Actually it'll be quite a talking point at uni,' he said, ‘telling people that my mum and dad are now my dad and mum. At least it isn't boring. Excuse me. Internet time. Sorry, Dad. Won't be long.'

He slid out of the room as if he hoped he was invisible. Em sent him on his way with ‘Give our love to Choo Choo', which he greeted with the scorn it deserved.

There was another silence. Alan thought about his dad and began to wonder if he should have a confrontation with him; things couldn't go on the way they were. Then he had a very silly thought. It was seven minutes to nine. He would have it out with Bernie if he burped without apologising before the clock struck the hour. If he didn't, he wouldn't. Absurd.

‘Is the moussaka all right, Dad?' he prompted.

‘Very nice, thank you.'

Well fucking well say so. The use of the swearword, even in the silence of his head, surprised Alan. His journey to manhood must be speeding up.

In the event, Bernie didn't burp before the clock struck nine, but he did fart, and again he didn't apologise.

And just after the clock had struck he said, ‘Oh dearie me', and within two minutes of that he burped. All in all, Alan felt he had the moral right to read the riot act.

Nicola smiled bravely, and Alan knew that she just didn't want to be there, and he found this distressing. He'd always been the real strength in the house, he knew that, but now he felt impotent.

Gray returned with an even soppier smile on his face, said, ‘Sorry about that. Nice chat,' and resumed his silent consumption of moussaka.

Em stood up.

‘Sorry, Dad,' she said to Nicola. ‘I don't want to be rude, but I can't bear seeing my brother mooning over some stupid virtual love affair with some virtual girl the other side of the virtual world.'

‘Real love affairs haven't done
you
much good,' said Gray.

‘Gray!' hissed Alan.

‘You look great, Dad, like your hairstyle, but I have to go to my room,' said Em. ‘Sorry, Mum. Great moussaka.'

She left with a certain dignity. Nicola felt quite proud of her.

Nicola and Alan smiled at each other and neither of them had the faintest idea what the other's smile meant.

‘Oh dearie me,' said Bernie. Self-pity and sour burps emerged from his mouth in roughly equal quantities.

‘I see travel agents are very worried about the low level of summer bookings,' said Nicola over the chocolate mousse. Her attempt to get a topical debate going thudded dismally into the buffers of silence.

As Alan began to clear away, Bernie said, ‘Well, I think I'll be off to bed, then,' and Alan said, ‘Yes, Dad, you've had a hard day. All that burping takes it out of a man.' The sarcasm escaped Bernie. He didn't listen properly any more, so he said, ‘Good night, Nick,' and Nicola said, ‘It's Nicola, Bernie,' and he said, ‘Good night, Alison,' and Alan said, ‘It's Alan, Dad,' and Bernie said, ‘Is it any wonder I'm losing my … ?' and he stopped dead and stood with vacant, frightened eyes and said, ‘What are those round things called that you lose when you lose them?' and Alan said, ‘Marbles, Dad, and you aren't losing yours, you really aren't,' and kissed him, and he said, ‘Good night, Alison dear. Sorry I can't call you Alan, ‘ti'n't in me,' and Alan thought, ‘Maybe he still is capable of being saved. I'll have a real go at it.'

Nicola went to Em's room to say goodnight. Em came to the door and Nicola didn't like to go in: the room seemed very private and steamy with unrequited sex.

‘Sorry about tonight, Dad,' she said.

‘No, no, I understand,' said Nicola.

And then Em said something that went straight to her dad's heart.

‘What is it about me and men, Dad?'

No longer, ‘Men are such bastards.' No more bitterness. Just … incomprehension and sadness.

‘Your time will come one day, Em. Your time will come.'

‘Love you, Dad.'

‘Love you.'

A long, deep, motionless hug, two women, father and daughter, in a cool corridor outside a hot bedroom.

‘Sweet dreams, Em.'

‘Unlikely.'

Then Nicola went shyly to Gray's room. Fair's fair. She made sure to knock on the door this time.

‘Just a moment,' he called out.

What was he clearing up, hiding away, wiping away?

‘All right. You can come in now.'

Nicola entered. The bed was unmade. The room seemed to her to be full of computer equipment and recording equipment and music centres and laptops and DVDs and screens. There was a large poster of Dennis Bergkamp over the bed.

Gray was seated at his computer. He smiled at Nicola but his eyes remained serious and his expression was strained.

‘Are you sure you don't need new glasses?' she said.

‘I wondered when the first bit of criticism would seep in.'

‘It wasn't a criticism,' said Nicola through gritted teeth. ‘Why do you assume everything's a criticism? It was a constructive comment designed to help. Everyone needs new glasses from time to time, for God's sake.'

She wished Gray didn't irritate her. She wished that she could feel as proud of him as she did that night of Em. She thought, Why can't I get closer to Gray? I gave birth to him, after all, and then she realised how absurd that was: of course she didn't give birth to him, Alan did. ‘The product of my loins' was the rather coy expression that perhaps she was seeking, but it shocked her, and in a way pleased her, to realise that she had instinctively thought of herself as Gray's mother. It was a real sign of how much she was now thinking of herself as a woman. What she hadn't appreciated when she changed sex was that the
process of adjustment would continue for years, perhaps for ever.

She thought of that solitary act of love that had brought Gray into the world, of how very nearly he had never been born, as millions of children are never born every day due to contraception, sterility, impotence and exhaustion. How many happenings and coincidences are needed to bring any of us into the world? How fragile, how extraordinary, how unbelievably fortunate is the existence of any of us, but especially of Graham Benson Divot, the product of two gender confused parents whose last real act together had led to his existence. She suddenly felt extraordinarily moved. She longed to say some of this to her son, her miraculous son.