Skeletons (18 page)

‘Jesus Christ!’ she said, far too loudly, and slammed a pile of papers from one end of the reception desk to the
other. Luckily, the reception was deserted. She took a deep breath and tried
again.

The internal phone rang. The display lit up: ‘Room 328 Mr Sean Hoskins’. Jen grabbed it eagerly, happy for the distraction.

‘Morning. You’re up early.’

‘Oh good, you’re on. I’m coming down.’

‘What –’ Jen started to say, but he’d hung up.

A couple of minutes later, the lift pinged and Sean appeared, smiling broadly.

She mirrored his smile. Actually felt ten times better for seeing a friendly face. The thought flitted across her mind that she was glad she was on duty alone, that no one else was around.

‘Do you need any help with anything?’

‘No. To be completely honest, I’m bored out of my mind and I came down in the hope that you’d take pity on me and chat to me for five minutes.’

Jen had no idea if what Sean was saying was true, or if it was another one of his jokes, but she felt flattered, nonetheless. ‘With pleasure.’

Sean leaned his elbows on the desk. ‘OK, what shall we talk about?’

She laughed. ‘Hold on, this was your idea.’

‘I don’t care. Anything’s better than morning TV.’ He picked up a newspaper that was lying behind the desk. ‘I’ll open this at a random page, and we can discuss whatever’s on there.’

He opened it with a flourish, closed his eyes and pointed blindly at the page.

Jen looked. ‘Wow. Libya.’

Sean closed the paper again. ‘OK, well, maybe not that. Let’s start from the front.’

In the end, they chatted for about twenty minutes, about everything from the monarchy to Taylor Swift’s love life via the euro crisis. Jen forgot all about her fight with Jason. Or, at least, it was pushed from the front of her mind to the
back.

After a while, another guest arrived and started tapping his nails impatiently on the reception desk.

‘I won’t be a moment,’ she said to Sean, hoping he might hang around a little longer.

‘I should go,’ he said. ‘I hope your day gets better.’

‘See you later,’ Jen said, realizing that she actually already felt in a cheerier mood. ‘Have fun.’

She made a restaurant reservation for the impatient man and then, still feeling better disposed towards the world than she had earlier, sent Jason a cheerful text. Not an apology, just a friendly message:

You ok? I feel a bit knackered and rubbish! Xxx’

She hoped it would give off the signal that she wanted to be friends again. This was how they always operated after a fight. Eventually, one of them would give in and make a jokey or, at least, a light-hearted overture. The other one would
capitulate immediately, and the disagreement would be forgotten and probably never mentioned again. They never had a debrief. There would be no discussion of who had been in the right or in the wrong, or who owed who an apology. Not even an attempt to work out how they could avoid going over
the same ground in the future.

She wondered, though, if they had just been brushing
all their grievances under a carpet for all those years, rather than hoovering them away for good. Whether, one day, one of them would lift the
corner up and they would all come seeping out and suffocate them.

By home time, she had still not received a response from Jason, which could have meant one of two things – that he had been teaching solidly and hadn’t received her message, or that he wasn’t ready to make up and so had decided not to
respond. She knew which she thought was the case. If Jason had been feeling bad, wanting everything to be OK between them, he would have been checking his phone regularly all day.

She knew that, whatever happened, the holiday was still going to go ahead and she was going to be there. She tried to summon up any relaxation techniques she might have picked up in random yoga classes she had attended here and there. What was
all that stuff about being in the moment, not dwelling on the past or the future? She wished she had listened more carefully, instead of always using the time to run through what she needed to buy for that night’s dinner. She had never been very Zen.

Sean was coming back into the foyer, laden down with a box full of bits and pieces, and with an old advertising sign under one arm, as she was getting ready to leave. She saw him refuse an offer of help from Graham Roper the Doorman Groper with a
smile.

‘Had enough?’ he said as he passed.

‘Something like that. Or it could just be the end of my shift.’

‘They actually let you leave? I thought you all lived here in a big dormitory in the basement.’

‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Unless,’ Sean said, looking at her hopefully, ‘you fancy a quick drink or something? I mean, I know you’ve had a long day …’

Jen reached straight for her default answer in situations like this. It had happened many times before – businessmen, away from home without their wives, propositioning the nearest halfway attractive woman in the hope of a bit of illicit
excitement. She had never accepted one of their invitations yet. Actually, she had always assumed Sean didn’t have a wife. Hoped he didn’t, maybe, she realized now.

She felt herself colour a little. ‘We’re not allowed to drink in the bar. It looks bad.’

‘We could go to the pub on the corner, then. If you say no, I’m just going to have to sit there on my own like a sad old alky. You’d be doing a good deed.’

She thought about the frosty house that would almost certainly be waiting for her. The easy conversation she had had with Sean in the morning. Would it be such a crime to have a quick drink, a bit of light-hearted chat with a friend, and still be
home in time to make dinner?

‘Well, if you put it that way. Just one, though. I don’t want my husband to think I’ve abandoned him.’

She waited for Sean to leave his packages behind
reception, and they walked to the nearest cosy pub on Rathbone Street. Jen was sure Jason must have lunch or a quick drink here and there with female
colleagues. In fact, she knew he did, and it had never bothered her. She had never been one of those women who view every other female for miles as a threat. She didn’t think he would mind her chatting to Sean Hoskins over a vodka and slimline tonic. If she had been in a better mood
she would have sent him a jokey text – ‘Gone for a drink with a cute male guest. Be back in time for dinner, or maybe tomorrow morning!’ or something like that – but as he still hadn’t replied to her earlier missive she decided he didn’t deserve it. Let him wonder
where she was, for once.

Sean got them both drinks, and they settled at a table by the front window.

‘So,’ Jen said, once she had taken a sip. ‘Good day shopping?’

‘You make it sound like I’m a Kardashian.’

She laughed. ‘OK, then. Good day sourcing stock?’

‘Yes, thank you. I did have a good day acquiring vintage items to sell in my emporium. It was a house clearance today, actually, so I came away with a lot of bargains.’

‘How do you know what you’re looking for? Did you train in … something?’

Sean nodded. ‘I got a degree in biochemistry from Brunel, that helped.’

‘You know what I mean, have you done courses – “Old junk for beginners” – that kind of thing?’

‘That’s amazing! That’s the exact module I took. That
and “Make money out of shit your granny’s throwing away”. In actual fact, it was just always a passion of mine,
and I somehow turned it into a living. It’s the kind of thing you have to learn on the job.’

‘I’ll swap you. I have a load of old tat in my house I could sell.’

‘And I am perfectly capable of arranging for someone to have eggs and bacon brought to their room between eight and eight fifteen in the morning. Toast on the side. Orange juice. See, I’m a natural.’

‘I think you’ll find that’s the room-service department, but nice try.’

Sean made a mock surprised face. ‘What? They won’t even trust you with that?’

Jen shook her head. ‘Too specialized.’

Sean laughed.

He had an appealing laugh, Jen thought. It sort of came out of nowhere, like he couldn’t help himself. It made you feel it was genuine and not out of duty or politeness. It was a laugh that made the listener feel flattered.

He asked about Jason and she told him about his job and then worried that she bored him a bit about the girls and their achievements, although he seemed interested. She didn’t mention that they were in the wake of a major argument. That
would have been too disloyal. Sean, it turned out, had never married.

‘Are you a sociopath?’ Jen asked lightly. ‘Or maybe you fancy yourself as a playboy? Do you have a load of eighteen-year-old girlfriends dotted all over the country?’

‘God, no, I’m far too lazy. I mean, I’ve had girlfriends, of course. I’ve just generally had them one at a time and
age appropriate. I always assumed I’d get married one
day – it’s just never happened.’

‘You can tell me, did they all say no?’

Sean laughed his taken-by-surprise laugh again. ‘You’ve got me. I’m a tragic loser. Would you like another?’ He indicated her glass.

‘No, I’d better not.’ She looked at her watch. An hour and a quarter had gone by without her even noticing. ‘Shit, is that the time? I should run.’

‘Do you always do this when it’s your round?’

‘Always. I’m actually just going to go straight to another pub, where I’m going to con someone else into buying me a drink.’

‘I haven’t even asked you about the father-in-law yet. Any more drama?’

She frowned. ‘Way more. It’s complicated. I can’t … I shouldn’t talk about it, really. It doesn’t seem fair on Jason. He still doesn’t know.’

‘Of course, sorry. I was just being nosy, and it’s absolutely none of my business. I don’t think it’s good for you, though. Bottling it up and trying to deal with it on your own.’

Jen put an arm into her coat. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, smiling. ‘To be honest, it’s been lovely not having to think about it for a bit. Thank you.’

He walked out with her. She didn’t know why, but she headed straight down to Tottenham Court Road rather than walk back up Charlotte Street with him, and past the hotel.

‘Oh, I’m back in two weeks,’ he said as they parted company, having established that Jen wouldn’t be around
when he checked out the next day. ‘Big vintage fair in
Regent’s Park, and I have a hundred and fifty square foot to fill.’

‘Great,’ she said, glad she would be seeing him again so soon, and then she worried it had sounded too eager. ‘And thanks again for the drink.’

While she was walking to Goodge Street station, she thought about Sean. She’d always liked him, he was so easy to talk to and he always said something that made her smile. The distraction meant she had managed to get through most of the
day without dwelling too much on her fight with Jason, or the whole mess that was her life with her extended family. In fact, for the past hour or so, she had forgotten about her problems completely.

She arrived home in a much more forgiving mood than she had been in when she had left in the morning. Life was too short for arguing. Jen could be the big person and make the first conciliatory move.

Jason was preparing dinner in the kitchen when she got there. Look! Everything must be OK! I’m preparing a meal for you!

She greeted him with a smile, putting in all the effort she could to let him know she was apologizing, without actually saying it.

He offered a hesitant one back. ‘I only just got your text.’

Jen didn’t believe him, but she knew it was said as an explanation – an apology, even – for his lack of a reply. ‘That’s OK.’

‘Did you have to do more overtime?’ he said, without a hint of a subtext, as far as she could tell.

‘A couple of us went to the pub, actually. It was only a quick one.’

For some reason, she didn’t offer up the identity of the person she had been with. It didn’t seem important, and she wouldn’t want him to worry about why she had picked the day after they had had a fight to go for a drink with a
man he had never heard of, however innocent it might have been. She would tell him later. If he asked.

‘Good for you.’

They would tiptoe around each other a bit awkwardly for the rest of the evening but, by tomorrow morning, Jen knew from experience, everything would be back to normal. They wouldn’t resolve anything, they would just paper over it and hope
the paper didn’t stretch so much that it ripped.

‘Oh, I spoke to the woman who owns the cottage,’ Jason said, with a grimace.

They were sitting in the living room, struggling for something to say, waiting for the lamb and baked potatoes to be ready.

‘I asked her about getting a harder mattress for Mum and Dad, but she pretty much told me to get lost.’

‘Well, I don’t blame her, really,’ Jen said. ‘What’s she supposed to do? Buy a new one for every guest who comes to stay?’

‘She did say she might be able to find a board to put under it.’

This was, Jen knew, Jason’s way of saying that the
holiday was still on, there was nothing more to say, move on, next.

She decided to let it go. ‘Well, that might be OK,’ she said, and turned back to her book.

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