The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper (10 page)

“I don't know.” She sighed.

“There's nothing much I can do, Luce. Mum's gone and that's dreadfully sad. As for Dad, it sounds as if you're worrying over nothing. He must be okay for him to leave you a message. If he's been away with this Bernadette lady, then that sounds pretty normal, too. When he starts to need real help, then we can talk. You can call me anytime.”

“Maybe he's starting to need real help now...”

“He sounds fine.”

“But you're not
here
.”

“Don't say it like that. I left because it's a great life for me out here, not to escape anything in the UK. Okay?”

Feeling unable to carry on the conversation without getting more worked up, Lucy hung up.

Immediately her phone buzzed as Dan tried to call her back. She ignored it, pressing the red button to reject his call. He tried again and she rejected that, too.

Needing time to think, she held her head in her hands. She didn't hear the school bell ring and stayed in that position until she felt a small hand on her shoulder.

“Are we okay to come into class now, miss?”

Mobile Technology

WHEN ARTHUR, BERNADETTE
and Nathan arrived back at Bernadette's house she insisted that Arthur come inside for a coffee. He just wanted to get home, to phone the doctor and get an appointment for a tetanus jab. He wanted to be in the peaceful inner sanctum of his own house, to get away from the madness and unfamiliarity of the past few days. He longed to see beige walls and the potpourri leaf in the hallway and to water Frederica. He wanted to call Lucy to tell her properly about his adventure; he was no good at leaving telephone messages.

As Bernadette sang a song he didn't recognize at the top of her voice in her kitchen, Arthur sat on the sofa. Reaching up and pressing his forearm, it felt very tender, almost like a burn. But he smiled as he recalled Elijah the baby tiger curled up in his basket next to the range cooker. He thought about how bizarre he must look, with his holey suitcase sitting beside him, and his blue trousers.

He had never been inside Bernadette's home before. Everywhere she could add color, she had done. The walls were daffodil yellow, the skirting board and doors were painted a leaf green. The curtains were sumptuous velvet with large red and purple flowers. There were ornaments on every surface—small ceramic girls holding dogs, colorful glass vases with silk flowers, holiday souvenirs. It felt homely, lived-in, compared to the clinical cleanliness of his own home. Miriam had been a tidier-upper, too. Each time a newspaper might be put down or something was where it shouldn't be, it would be whisked away and put in its “proper” place. “Sit down and relax,” Arthur used to say when he got in from work and Miriam was ironing, tidying, cleaning.

“It won't do it itself,” she used to say. “A tidy home is a tidy mind.”

So Arthur would sit as his wife maelstromed around him. When she died he had picked up her mantle to carry on how she would have liked it.

Nathan entered the room. “Hey, MC Hammer,” he said, nodding at Arthur's trousers. “Can't touch this.” He threw himself into a chair and hung his arms over the back. His legs bent like sticks of licorice. Sniffing every ten seconds or so, he occasionally wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Arthur racked his brains for what to say. He had no idea who this MC Hammer person was, if it was a person. He recalled Bernadette's request for him to have a man-to-man chat with her son. Finally he settled on, “How did your university search go?”

Nathan shrugged. “S'awright.”

“Did you see anywhere you liked?”

Again the young man's shoulders did the talking.

Arthur looked at the line of photographs in frames on the mantelpiece. One proclaimed World's Best Mum. A much younger Nathan, Bernadette and Carl held up a large fish and smiled for the camera. A lone photo of Carl caught his eye. He was sunbathing and nursing a glass of red wine. “What job did your dad do?”

Nathan shifted in his chair. “He was an engineer. He mended lifts, I think. Y'know, the electrics and stuff.”

“Is that what you want to study at university?”

“Not really.”

“What do you want to study?”

“I'm looking at English courses. Mum thinks it will be a good option.”

“What do you think of that?”

“I dunno, really.”

Struggling to spark any conversation that seemed to interest the boy, Arthur began to ramble. He found himself telling Nathan that when he was young it was natural to follow in your father's footsteps. His own father was a locksmith so that was the career path mapped out for him.

“We didn't call them careers then, though. They were just jobs or trades. I had to do an apprenticeship. It meant working for two years shadowing a locksmith, just standing watching him a lot of the time, not being paid much. He was a good fellow was Stanley Shearing. He always took the time to explain things to me, show me how things worked. I'm not sure that young people have that these days, someone to take an interest in what they do. You seem to get set free in the world, to university and to make your own way in life. I suppose times change. We got married a lot younger in the old days, too. By then I was established in my job so I could bring home quite decent money. We wouldn't have survived on my apprentice money or a student grant.”

All the time he spoke, Nathan stared at his phone. He wriggled both thumbs on the screen.

Bernadette brought three cups of coffee in. “Are you boys having a nice chat? I'll make myself scarce, then.”

Arthur stared after her helplessly as she left the room. What could he possibly have in common with this young man? He obviously didn't want to speak about work or university. In the end he said, “Who on earth is MC Hammer?”

Nathan looked up. “He's an American rap artist from the eighties. He wore baggy trousers with a low crotch like the ones that you're wearing. He's a preacher or holy man now.” He moved his fingers around his phone again, then held up the screen.

Arthur looked at a photo of a black man wearing glasses and voluminous silver trousers. “Ahh,” he said. “So, do you like music?”

Nathan nodded. “Mainly rock. But I like really old stuff, too, like the Beatles.”

“I think I actually have an old Beatles album somewhere. You can have it if you like. It's a vinyl record, though. You'd need a record player to listen to it.”

“Mum has one in the attic. What is it called?”

“Rubber Soul, I think.”

Nathan nodded. “I have it as a download but it would be good to listen to vinyl. I didn't think you'd like the Beatles.”

“Miriam liked them more than I did. She was a John Lennon fan. I always appreciated Paul McCartney more.”

“That kind of figures. George Harrison was the coolest, though.”

Arthur edged a couple of inches along the sofa. “Can you look anything up on your phone? Is it like a library?”

“Kind of.”

“Can you look something up for me?”

“Sure.”

“I'm looking for a French novelist. His name is François De Chauffant. I want to know where he lives.”

Nathan tapped his phone screen. “Simples,” he said.

Arthur took the phone from him. There was a small, square photo of a white stucco-fronted maisonette. It looked very grand. Underneath there was an address in London. “Is this address current?”

Nathan tapped around a bit more. “It's the only one for him, unless he's gone back to France. Well, actually, he's from Belgium originally. His family moved to Nice when he was a small child.”

“Does it say all that on your phone?”

“I knew some of it. We studied De Chauffant in class. He's one of the most influential novelists of the sixties. His novel
Stories We Tell
is a classic. Have you heard of it?”

“I have actually.” Arthur thought of Kate's tale of how he had stolen it from Graystock and wondered what man would do such a thing.

Nathan took his phone back. “Do you have your own mobile with you? I can Bluetooth you the link.”

“I'll just write it down,” Arthur said. He found a pen and scrap of paper in his suitcase. “Can you read it out for me? My eyesight isn't very good.”

Nathan rolled his eyes but he read the address out in a flat voice. “Did you really get attacked by a tiger?” he said as Arthur slipped the address into his back pocket.

Arthur nodded, then unfastened the wrist button on his shirt and rolled up his sleeve. The padding that Kate had taped in place was just about hanging on. Blood had seeped through and dried leaving rust-colored stripes. He saw Nathan's eyes widen but then the young man seemed to remember that it wasn't cool to show any interest. He shrugged and slumped back.

Bernadette appeared again, this time holding a plate of jam puffs. “I've made these while you were chatting,” she said. “You just roll out the puff pastry, cut it into squares and add a blob of jam in the center of each. Then pop it in the oven and
voilà
! It's a very simple recipe. Now, eat them while they are still warm.”

Arthur and Nathan both reached out to take a jam puff at the same time. They sat and blew on them, then ate.

“Nathan and I are thinking of visiting Manchester next week.” Bernadette settled on the sofa beside Arthur. “You are welcome to join us again, if you fancy another outing. I hear it's a vibrant city. The English course at the university is supposed to be superb.”

Arthur picked up his cup of coffee, which had now gone cold. “Actually, I was thinking of maybe trying London out next,” he said. “There's a novelist's house that I'd like to visit. I think that my wife might have been connected to him in some way.”

He wasn't sure if under his thick black bangs Nathan raised an eyebrow, but Arthur thought that he might have done.

London

LONDON WAS A SURPRISE
, a delight even. Arthur expected to find a gray and impersonal city with buildings weighing down on him and blank Munch-like faces of disillusioned office workers. But it was vibrant, how he imagined a foreign land.

The weather was close and hot down here. Everything moved, a kaleidoscope of sounds and colors and shapes. Cabs honked their horns, bicycles whizzed by, pigeons strutted, people shouted. He heard more languages than he knew existed. He felt like he was at the center of a carousel, motionless, unnoticed, as the world whizzed around him.

Surprisingly he wasn't overwhelmed, even when strangers bumped into him without apologizing. He wasn't part of this strange world. He was a visitor, transient, and knew he could return to the safety of his home. This made him feel braver, intrepid.

He'd got off the train at King's Cross and decided to walk as much as he could. The map he bought from the station made everything look close to hand.

He'd decided that his usual trousers were a bit too hot for a train journey and trip around the capital, so he'd washed, ironed and worn the blue trousers given to him by Kate Graystock. Bernadette had given him a voucher for a walking shop in Scarborough and he had ventured beyond the village and paid a visit. There he purchased a navy nylon rucksack with lots of pockets, a flask and a compass, also a pair of walking sandals. They were sturdy but would keep his feet cool.

He strode ahead with his ankle strapped tightly with bandages. His blue trousers weren't anything out of the ordinary here as he walked alongside a girl with pink hair and a man who had holes in his ears that could fit a Coca-Cola can through. He saw a poodle with a purple pom-pom tail and a man who rode down the pavement on a unicycle while talking on his mobile phone.

The sight of the man reminded him that he hadn't yet spoken to Lucy since he'd left a garbled message from the back of Bernadette's car. There had been just twenty-four hours between his return from Graystock Manor and setting off on the trip to London. He had called her twice but got her answer message. He wondered if she was avoiding him or was too busy to speak.

He carried on striding out, taking in the sights and sounds, but he found that the more he walked, the more feelings of embarrassment and regret began to set in.

When Miriam once suggested a week in London for their thirtieth wedding anniversary, catching a show and maybe a lunch in Covent Garden, he had laughed.
Laughed.
Why did she want to go to London? he said. It was dirty and smelly and too busy and too big. It was just a bigger version of Newcastle or Manchester. There were pickpockets and beggars on every corner. Eating out would cost a fortune.

“It was just a thought,” Miriam said lightly. She hadn't seemed too bothered that he had dismissed her suggestion out of hand.

He regretted it now. They should have visited new places together, had new experiences when the kids got older. They should have grasped the opportunity to do what they wanted to do and expand their horizons, especially now he knew that Miriam had lived a fuller, more exciting life before they met. He had stifled her. He had been so set in his ways.

The month after their conversation, Arthur booked them a minibreak in a spa hotel in Scarborough—much more civilized than London. He paid extra for an en suite room and there had been chocolate digestives on the bedside table. On the evening of their anniversary he had taken Miriam to see an Alan Ayckbourn play, which she very much enjoyed. They bought chips afterward and walked on the beach with their scarves wrapped around their heads to fend off the wind.

It had been idyllic. Well, to him, anyway. He wondered now if it had been a comedown for his wife. Had she been thinking about De Chauffant when she had suggested the trip to London? Had she hoped for a glimpse of her ex-lover?

Jealousy wasn't an emotion that he was used to. He hated how it seemed to dig him in his side, made his stomach churn and sniggered at him. He had been wrong to laugh at Miriam. She was right. He was wrong.

He spent the day being a tourist, doing what he and Miriam should have done. He stood and gaped at the famous landmarks of London—the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben—and he loved the experience. He got on and off the red open-top tourist buses and walked where he could. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He felt as if the city embraced him. He had expected it to be through fear of the unknown, but it was through exhilaration.

He bought a red bus fridge magnet and a pencil with a gold plastic Tower of London on top. He stopped for lunch at the Pearly Queen café, which had stainless steel tables that sat wonkily on the pavement. A man joined him without asking. He wore a gray pin-striped suit with a pink handkerchief poking out of the pocket. His face was red, as if he had been running or something had angered him. Sitting with his legs splayed open, his knees almost touched Arthur's. Arthur squeezed his out of the way and tried to look straight ahead. But when the man ordered a bacon and cheddar panini he made eye contact and nodded. “All right?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“You married?”

“Yes.” He automatically reached out and twisted his wedding ring around his finger.

“How long for?”

“Over forty years.”

“Jesus. You get less for murder.” The man grinned.

Arthur did not smile. He hadn't wanted this man to join him. All he wanted was a quiet cup of tea and a bacon sandwich before he carried on his sightseeing, building himself up for going to find François De Chauffant's house. He looked over the man's shoulder to catch the eye of the waitress who had taken his order. He ordered his cup of tea ten minutes ago and it still hadn't arrived.

“Sorry, mate,” the man said, his expression changed. “Just my little joke. You don't hear of many long marriages these days. It must be nice, huh, having someone waiting at home for you?”

“It was nice, yes.”

“You said
was
?”

Arthur swallowed. “My wife died a year ago.” He finally caught the waitress's attention with a wave. She immediately mouthed,
Sorry
, and brought over his tea.

“Apologies, my darlink. I'm rushed off my feet,” she said. Her pink dress hung off her shoulder revealing a purple bra strap. “I will bring you an extralarge sandwich.”

“The small one that I ordered is adequate.”

“But it will be the same price.” She had a Polish accent and long fingers like sticks of chalk.

“It is very kind of you.”

She nodded and gave a curtsy.

“I don't have a very big appetite,” Arthur said to the man. “But I think she would have been offended if I had insisted on the small sandwich.”

The man's eyes followed the waitress as she went behind the counter and started to make a hot chocolate. “She's a babe,” he said. “Dark eyes, dark hair. I like that.”

Arthur poured milk into his tea and sipped it. He felt uncomfortable at the man's confidence, how his legs invaded his space, how he was eyeing up the waitress.

“Do you mind me asking you something, yeah?” the man said, leaning forward. He didn't wait for Arthur to agree. “I'm thinking of getting married, too. You look like you'd be good at offering advice, yeah? You know, you've been around a while. You've done things, seen things... A man of the world.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Arthur said cautiously.

“Okay.” The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a small notebook. “I've been writing stuff down and trying to clear my head, so that I can decide. I read my notes before I go to sleep.”

“It's a big decision to get married.”

“Tell me about it. How did you know that your wife was the one?”

“I met her and I knew she was the woman I wanted to marry.”

“Yeah? Go on...”

“When I was with her I didn't want to be with anyone else. I never considered if she was
the one
because there was no one else. I liked the simplicity of life with her. We met when I was twenty-six and she was a year younger. We held hands, we walked, we kissed. All the time I thought of just her. I never looked at anyone else. We got engaged and then got married less than two years after we met. It was like I was following an invisible path that had already been laid out for me. There were other paths leading off it in different directions but I never wondered where they went. I just kept on heading forward.”

“Hmm. That sounds simple. I wish I had that.”

Arthur sipped his tea.

“Were you faithful?”

It was a fair question from someone who was thinking of committing himself to another for life. “Yes, I was.”

“Did you ever wonder what it would be like with someone else? You know. Did you look at other women and wonder...? I hope you don't think I'm being too obtrusive.”

Arthur thought that. Yes, the man was being very nosy; however, he didn't detect any salaciousness, only curiosity in relation to his own situation. “I did wonder, because that's human nature. But I had no desire to pursue anything. I might see another woman and think she was pretty or had a nice smile. But I knew what I could lose, so I just put thoughts out of my mind.”

“You're very sensible. I wish it was as easy as that. I wish I could compartmentalize my thoughts. I have two women, you see.”

“Oh.”

“I kind of love them both. I'm thirty-five. I want to get married soon and have kids.”

“By the time I was thirty-three we had the two kids.”

“I want to buy a house and do the family thing.” The man bent his head forward and drew a circle with his finger. “I'm getting a bald spot. See it? It's time that I got a shed and went for walks in the country with my wife and kids. But I'm torn. May I tell you about both the girls? You'll be able to advise me. I can tell by your face.”

The waitress brought over their food. Arthur's bacon sandwich was the same size as the plate it sat on. “Good, yes?” she said.

“Very good.” Arthur gave a thumbs-up.

The man bit into his panini. A string of cheese dribbled and stuck to his chin. “One of them is my girlfriend. We've been together for three years. She's really lovely. I saw her sitting in the window of a teashop. And I walked past and went in to buy a cake just because I fancied her. I headed straight for her and asked her out, told her I'd take her to a flash restaurant. She said no at first. I liked that. She was a challenge. I worked at it, though. I gave her my card when I left. I bought a bunch of flowers and waited outside for her. There was something about her that drew me to her, like you said about your wife. I wore her down. I made her friend laugh. Finally she said yes and we went to see some Hugh Grant film at the flicks. It was a lovely night. We held hands like teenagers. And she didn't want a fancy restaurant afterward, just a burger. Donna's a lovely girl, works really hard as a hairdresser.” He took out his wallet and showed Arthur a photograph. A girl with a heart-shaped face and a red scarf tied in her hair smiled back.

“She's a pretty girl.”

“The other one I see, though... Manda.” He blew on his fingers as if they were on fire and he was putting it out. “She's hot stuff. She lets me do things to her, you know?”

Arthur didn't know, but he nodded.

“I met her in a massage parlor. She was the receptionist. I mean, if I was happy, if I was satisfied with Donna, I wouldn't have been in that type of place, would I? Donna was away at some hairdressing convention and Manda took me back to hers. I'd only known her an hour and...
wham
.” He clapped his hands together and grinned. “Fireworks. That girl knew things I didn't know existed. The pair of us could hardly walk afterward.”

“But what about Donna?”

“I don't ask her to do any of those things, because if I did and she let me, I would lose respect for her. She's not that kind of girl and Manda is. It's a complicated situation.”

“Did you not feel guilty about cheating on your girlfriend?”

The man frowned. “Kind of. Afterward. I wish she hadn't gone to that damn convention and then I wouldn't have had to go looking for trouble.”

Arthur had lost his appetite. He cut his sandwich into quarters and then added brown sauce, but he didn't eat.

“So, who should I choose? Once I get married, that's it. I want to be faithful. I want to at least try. If I have kids, then I'll be a family man, yeah? It should be Donna. She's the marrying kind, but I know what else is out there. It'll be very vanilla with her. I might miss the chocolate chips. But Manda's changing. She's started talking about doing other stuff outside the bedroom, y'know, like proper dating. We went to the theater and she was all dressed up and we had a great night. I got even more confused.”

“But if you had the chocolate chips all the time, that would be sickly.” Arthur hated that he was comparing women to flavors of ice cream but it was a language that the pin-striped-suited man understood.