This Perfect World (28 page)

I am outside now. I am on the outside of my own life, and
observing from the sidelines as it so easily comes apart.

And then, late on Wednesday morning, just as I am bracing
myself to collect Arianne, Ian Partridge phones.

‘Laura,’ he barks, ‘Ian here,’ in that over-familiar way that
makes my skin crawl. ‘Got something I need to talk to you
about. About Mum. I was thinking I could meet you for a
drink or something. Hang on a minute . . .’ There’s a radio
playing in the background, for a moment it blares out even
louder, and then a door bangs and the music fades out. He’s
in a corridor; I can hear his footsteps echoing off the floor,
and the crackle of his phone as he carries it, stomping along.
In those few seconds I am ready with a definite No.

But then he’s back saying, ‘Got good news about Heddy.
Doctors reckon she’ll be coming out soon. And me and Linda,
we’ve been wanting to get Mum moved up here with us, and
Heddy and Nathan, but it’s not been possible, you know,
with Heddy in the hospital. Listen, I’m coming down at the
weekend. Thought maybe you and me could meet up then,
have a bit of a chat.’

And I am so desperate to find an end to all this that I
agree to meeting Ian Partridge in the Red Lion in Forbury
High Street, on Friday night.

I have to get a babysitter in, as James is out on Friday too,
but I think that is probably just as well. I don’t really want
him to know where I’m going, and it saves lying.

I wear my jeans, and a plain black top. I’d wear my
sunglasses too if I could, and a wig. I haven’t been to the
Red Lion in Forbury High Street since I was seventeen. I
imagine it, still full of the people from school, the girls all
mums now with tired faces, the boys all starting to bald.
God forbid that I should recognize anyone, or have anyone
recognize me, out on a Friday-night date with Ian Partridge.

We arranged to meet at eight, so I arrive at five past and
go in the back entrance from the car park, past the smokers,
huddled outside. It’s not just the Red Lion I haven’t been in
for years; I haven’t been in
any
pub. The odd bar maybe,
but not a
pub
. I walk across the dirty dark-red carpet to the
bar, and feel as if everyone is staring at me.

I’d have got my own drink, but there he is, Ian Partridge,
propping up the bar with his pint and waiting for me.

‘Laura,’ he says, loudly, so if there were anyone there from
school they’d hear, and maybe look, and maybe put two and
two together. ‘Good to see you again. What you drinking?’

And I have to stand there like his date while he kisses me
on the cheek again, and orders me a Diet Coke. And then
we both walk across that dreadful carpet to a little round
table next to the fruit machine. Ian sits on the built-in seat
that runs along the wall and I have to either sit next to him
or perch on the stool opposite. I take the stool, obviously,
but have you ever had to sit on one of those stools? It’s
impossible not to cross your legs and lean forward, showing
too much thigh and cleavage. Thank God I’m wearing jeans,
so there’s one less distraction at least.

Ian takes a big gulp from his beer and licks the foam off
his lip. And then he belches, keeping his mouth shut to hold
it in, so that his face kind of jerks back into his double chin
for a second and his cheeks puff out. When he speaks I get
the faint whiff of sulphur off his breath. ‘Yeah, Mum says the
doctors are pleased with Heddy. She’s making good progress.’

‘That’s excellent news,’ I say, though I can’t help feeling
uneasy. But Heddy’s kept my secrets all these years; surely
she’s not going to go letting them out now? Or maybe she
will – maybe that’s part of the therapy, the letting go. Shame
eats at my conscience, but it’s the shame of being found out.

‘Yeah,’ says Ian. ‘And Mum says it’s part down to you.
She’s very grateful to you, Laura.’

‘Really, I’ve done nothing,’ I say and the shame bites a
little deeper.

‘But the thing is, it’s too much for Mum, looking after
Nathan and Heddy. Me and Linda, we’ve been trying to get
her to move up near us for ages. Mate of mine’s got a house
just up the road. He bought it for his mum, but she don’t
need it now; she’s gone into a home, poor dear. He don’t
want much rent and it’s just sitting there, waiting for her.
Got a lovely little garden, it has, just right for Nathan. Course
they couldn’t move while Heddy’s stuck in the hospital.’

How selfish of Heddy – the thought rises out of old habit
and flashes through my mind. And it’s followed by another
thought, probably equally unreasonable: how come I didn’t
know about this house before?

‘I worry about Mum,’ Ian says. ‘It would be much easier
if we were nearby.’ He picks up his glass again and looks at
me a little shiftily over the top of it. ‘Thing is, Mum gets a
bit funny about moving. She’s lived in that house for years,
ever since she first married my dad. She’s got all her memories
and that.’

It takes me a moment to realize what he’s getting at. I’m
too busy thinking that there can’t be that many good memories.
I mean, watching your husband becoming ill and then
dying, and being left to bring your kids up on your own and
having one of them wind up the way Heddy has, and basically
just scrimping and scraping and struggling all your life.
Would that give you memories to cling on to? Probably it
would, if you were Mrs Partridge. Probably you’d treasure
whatever you had. Your life is your life, after all.

‘It would be nice for her to be so close to you and her
grandchildren,’ I say, and I just feel so incredibly sad suddenly.
Sad that anyone should have a life like Mrs Partridge’s.

Ian nods, deep in thought, his eyes fixed on the front of
my top now. ‘It’s a lot to organize though, for Mum. She
don’t know much about paperwork and that, and it’s a bit
difficult, what with me being so far away.’

Now I understand what he wants. ‘Well, I’ll help. Of
course I will.’

‘Thanks, Laura. Mum didn’t want to trouble you any
more, but I said you wouldn’t mind.’ He lifts his gaze, and
holds my eyes a little too long for comfort. I look away,
and I can feel the colour rising in my face. Let’s not forget
that this
is
Ian Partridge, the boy who used to lurk about
gawping at me whenever I had the misfortune to come calling
for his sister. And now here I am in a pub with him, and I’m
thinking it’s time that I should leave.

But then he says, ‘Funny how things turn out.’

‘What do you mean?’ I say, and I’m making a big thing
of gathering up my bag.

‘Well, you and Heddy. Never thought you much liked her
when we was kids. But now look at you, doing all this for
her.’

I glance up from my bag, expecting to see sarcasm on his
face, but he’s just staring at me with these big, earnest eyes.
And his cheeks are colouring up, too. ‘It’s true, Laura,’ he
says. ‘It’s great the way you’re coming through for her.’

I don’t know what to say. Embarrassment has me pinned
to my seat. Horrible seconds pass.

And then he coughs, putting his fist in front of his mouth
and noisily clearing his throat.

‘Let me buy you another drink,’ he says.

‘No, really, I must be going.’

‘Just one,’ he says.

‘No, really, I . . .’

‘Go on,’ he says. ‘What is it? Same again?’

And I have to sit there while he goes back to the bar, and
I’m just thinking over and over
What am I doing here?
And
God knows how this must look to anyone else. I hold my
bag on my lap now, ready to escape as soon as I can.

‘There you go,’ Ian says when he comes back, and I hate
the fact that his fingers have been on my glass, so close to
the rim. He sits himself back into his seat, looks greedily at
his pint and lifts it ceremoniously to his lips. And when he’s
had a good few glugs, he holds his glass out to me a little
way and says, ‘Cheers.’

I feel obliged to lift up my own glass, and say the same.

‘Not much of a thank you, but still . . .’ he says, and I
realize that’s what this is about. It’s my thank-you drink. The
least I could do is drink it graciously.

And then we get on to the practicalities, the things that I
am good at. I say I’ll look after Nathan tomorrow so that
Ian can talk things over properly with his mum and take her
to visit Heddy. Mrs Partridge has an appointment with the
doctor to discuss Heddy’s aftercare – I’ll take her, I offer, if
she wants me to. It turns out Mrs Partridge owns the house,
so there’ll be estate agents and solicitors to deal with. I’ll
help with all that, I say. Don’t worry, I’ll do whatever I can.
I am amazed at my own sincerity.

‘I want to get them up as soon as possible now,’ Ian says.
‘She don’t need to sell the house first, not if you can help
with that. New house is ready whenever she wants it, and
she can stay with me and Linda for a bit first. Till she’s
sorted. We haven’t got much room, but she’s very welcome.
It’ll be nice for the kids to have Nathan around.’ He lifts up
his glass again, and downs the last of his pint. And he leans
closer to me, across the table. ‘You’re a real rock, Laura,’ he
says. ‘I don’t know what me and Mum and Heddy would
do without you.’

For an awful, guilt-hewn moment I think things are going
to get embarrassing again, but then he’s back talking about
how he’ll give the house a lick of paint to brighten it up for
his mum, and about his kids and how they’re looking forward
to seeing their nanna every day . . . And I sit there and I listen
and I am overwhelmed by just how much Ian Partridge loves
his family. His wife and his kids and his mum and his sister
and his nephew . . .

I see how much they all love each other, the Partridges.

I see a lot of things now, that I couldn’t see before.

And so we go to collect Nathan the next day, Thomas, Arianne
and me. The children are just delighted to see that old car
again, and wait out the front admiring it; Nathan comes out
of the house to join them. And I stand in the doorway of
the Partridges’ house and force myself to embrace Mrs
Partridge’s small, tired bones in a quick, fast hug.

‘Mrs Partridge, it’s fantastic news about Heddy,’ I say, and
I can’t understand why she doesn’t seem even just a little bit
thrilled. She flutters in my arms like a bewildered bird and
I think maybe I’ve pre-empted things. Maybe Heddy isn’t
definitely coming out after all.

But then there’s Ian, striding up the hallway behind
her. ‘Thanks, Laura,’ he says. ‘Going to take Nathan with
us when we visit tomorrow, all being well. Looking forward
to that, aren’t you, Nathan?’ he calls out, his voice loud,
booming against the narrow walls. ‘Going to see Mum
tomorrow.’

Nathan, who is crouched down with my children beside
that car, looks back at the house, bashful, shy. But Mrs
Partridge says nothing other than, ‘Yes, dear, I think so, dear,’
and, of course, ‘Thank you, dear.’

I whisk Nathan away and bring him back to my house.
We have lunch and then go to the park. All is going well
enough until the Littlewood children turn up at the park too,
complete with their dad, with his put-upon face and his
arsed-up attitude, and his phone stuck permanently to his
ear.

I hear him coming before I see him. He drones into his
phone with his loud, bored voice so that everyone has to
hear him. Goosebumps prickle over my shoulders and I want
to hide, but where can I hide, here in our bright, sunny park?
So instead I act like I am as happy as can be on this most
carefree of days, laughing at everything the children say,
pushing swings, throwing balls, and absolutely 100 per cent
delighting in all that they do.

He has no choice but to acknowledge me. ‘Laura,’ he says
gruffly and stands, uncomfortably, an arm’s length away.

And I don’t even look at him. I can’t bring myself to.
‘Peter,’ I say, equally curtly, and he has to stand there suffering
while his children play with mine. Even I can’t stand it for
long, though. I round up Thomas, Arianne and Nathan and
head for the exit, smiling as I go. And I’m thinking
You’ll
think twice before you go calling me a fuck-head again.

James has been out playing golf, but he comes back earlier
than I expected. We’re just back from the park ourselves,
and the children are having drinks and biscuits at the kitchen
table when I hear his key in the door.

James has never met Nathan before and knows nothing
about him. This should be no big deal – kids come back here
to play all the time without James knowing anything about
it, and I’m sure he wouldn’t even know what half his children’s
friends look like. But this is different. Nathan is different.
He
looks
different, sitting there at the table with my two
with their blond hair and their bright eyes.

James strides into the kitchen just as Nathan is stuffing
another biscuit into his mouth.

‘Daddy!’ Arianne cries and then both she and Thomas
launch into their tales of our trip to the park and, more
unfortunately, our trip preceding this to the house where the
funny car is, with its rusted old wheels and the doors hanging
off, to pick up Nathan.

James listens, but he’s looking at Nathan, curiously. And
I can see that James is thinking that Nathan is different. I
can see him taking in the paleness and the puffiness of Nathan’s
face and the sore patches round his mouth as he munches
on his biscuit, and the dirt ground into the skin around his
nails, even though I had them all wash their hands when
they came in. And it annoys me that he should see all this,
and judge as he cannot help but judge.

James looks at me, and he raises one eyebrow, just slightly.

And later, when I have returned from taking Nathan home,
and the children have been fed and finally settled into bed,
James and I face each other over the chasm that is growing
between us.