A Dark Assortment Page 4

  In Paris and Marseilles, the situation was seized on by right-wing groups. Under the pretence of defending Bertrand’s right to free speech, they spouted their twisted xenophobic nonsense about the failure of multiculturalism and the dangers of immigration. The violent clashes between the groups went on into the night. Meanwhile, in several countries in the Middle East, people gathered outside French embassies, setting fire to French flags and waving rifles in the air.

  In the UK, the BBC broadcast an interview with an elderly gentleman who’d stood all day in a silent vigil outside the French embassy in London. Speaking in halting English, but with quiet dignity, the old man looked into the camera and explained that when a foreign affairs spokesman could talk like this about people from another culture, then it was clear that Western governments had nothing but contempt for the people of the East. He held up a creased photograph of his wife. She’d been murdered, he said, caught in the crossfire from French soldiers who’d been sent to keep the peace in Beirut in 1983. As soon as it was posted online, the interview went viral.

  The American president cancelled a summit at which he’d been due to meet the French president to discuss international aid. Other world leaders were quick to condemn Bertrand’s remarks in the strongest possible terms. Bertrand’s face leered from every TV screen, was plastered across every newspaper. And amid this turmoil and unrest, there were rumours that traders in New York, London and Tokyo were growing nervous and planned to dump their stocks in French businesses as soon as trading opened on Monday morning—at which time the euro would certainly slump against the dollar. Financial pundits were already talking about the wave of panic selling that would surely sweep across Europe, threatening the financial stability of a continent.

  And Gary laughed so hard he almost fell off his chair. “Priceless,” he chuckled. He wiped a tear of joy from the corner of his eye and began to type. His fingers flew over the keyboard.

  Five and a half hours later, he clicked on the publish button, then slumped back in his chair and rubbed at his tired eyes. He was done. And it was the best piece he’d ever written. Scathing and yet insightful. He’d hung Bertrand out to dry, of course, but this wasn’t just a standard hatchet piece. Gary had carefully trodden a satirical path between the cries of outrage. It was easy to lampoon Bertrand and paint him as the lecherous Frenchman, but it was more skillful, and so much more fun, to ridicule those who protested against him.

  He clicked through to the stats for his site. The numbers of visitors and page views were already much higher than usual. He waited a second then pressed F5 to refresh his screen. The visitor stats soared upwards, and Gary’s eyes went wide. He swallowed hard, and for just a moment, a strange thrill fluttered in his chest. He took a breath and blew his cheeks out. “What a day,” he said. “What a great day.”

  ***

  The kids were quiet on the way home so Helena turned on the car radio to fill the silence. But she found herself listening carefully. They were broadcasting an extended news bulletin and she was drawn in by the eloquence and passion of some of the interviewees. One woman—Helena thought she was a writer—spoke brilliantly. “For too long,” she said, “men have tried to hide their true feelings toward women beneath a veneer of pseudo-feminism.” Helena snorted. Gary always claimed to believe in what he called equalism, though she saw precious little of this in action. Especially, she thought, when there was cleaning or cooking to be done. And you could forget about laundry. Not only did he not know how to work the washing machine, but Helena was pretty sure he didn’t even know where it was. He seemed content not to question where his clean clothes came from. Helena chewed the inside of her cheek. She wouldn’t mind, really she wouldn’t, but she was the one who went out to work every day. She was a fully qualified physiotherapist, but she had to work part-time as a care worker in a home for the elderly, just so that she could juggle her hours around the school run. And as for the school holidays... She pulled a face. At first she’d thought Gary would be happy to take care of the kids in the holidays. It wasn’t as if he was going anywhere. But no. He had his precious work, his research, his routine. Helena checked the dashboard clock. By now Gary would be expecting his dinner. Considering how reluctant he was to spend time with his family, he was very insistent that they ate together every day. And if she didn’t cook at least two courses, all from scratch, he’d turn his nose up and make derisive remarks. Helena’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

  “You know what kids,” she said, “let’s go out for dinner.”

  There was a moment’s silence from the back seats, and then Johnny asked, “Will we go and collect Dad first?”

  Helena’s heart ached to hear the hopeful tone in his voice. Poor kid, she thought. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Daddy will be busy.”

  Sarah muttered something under her breath but Helena chose to ignore it.

  “Well, we can eat first,” Helena said, “and then we can bring something back for Dad.”

  “I suppose we could,” Johnny said.

  “Yes, let’s do that,” Helena said. “Who fancies pizza?”

  ***

  Gary opened the door of his study and hesitated on the threshold. The house was quiet, empty. He stepped out into the hall and glanced at the window. It was getting dark outside. Helena and the kids should’ve been back by now. He sniffed the air. No smell of cooking. He tutted. He was starving. And he needed to eat on time or he’d be too full to do his yoga in the evening. He checked his watch. He couldn’t wait.

  Gary made his way through to the kitchen, turning the lights on as he went. He couldn’t bear to have the house gloomy, especially when he was alone.

  He took his phone from his pocket and checked in case Helena had sent a message. Nothing. I hope they’re all right, he thought. Should he phone her? No. Not just yet. He hated it when he made himself look needy. And there was always the chance, quite a good chance, that Helena had told him they’d be late. He pursed his lips and tried to remember. Nothing came to mind but that didn’t mean a thing. Only yesterday he’d forgotten about his doctor’s appointment, and Helena had reminded him at least three times. Now, standing in hallway, recalling the politely chiding tone of Helena’s voice, Gary remembered that he needed to make another appointment. He took out his phone and opened his To Do app. That was odd. The task was listed. He shook his head. He had absolutely no recollection of putting it there.

  He sighed and put the phone away. Sometimes he wondered if he was using his phone to run his life, or if it was the other way round; the gadget seemed smarter than he would ever be. Perhaps his phone offered the dream of an easier life so it could feed on the scraps of his existence. Like those ants that protect the aphids and then suck on their sap. It was a bleak thought. The sort of thought his therapist had warned him about.

  He shook his head to dispel his negativity. A nice strong cup of coffee would lift his spirits, but his doctor had warned him off caffeine and Helena had been laying down the law ever since. “I’ll have a mug of herbal tea,” he mumbled, and crossed to the sink to fill the kettle. The noise of running water echoed across the empty kitchen. Gary grabbed a mug and waited for the water to boil, tapping his fingernails against the kitchen counter and staring at his reflection in the window. It was dark outside now. And it would be getting cold. What if there was ice on the road? He pictured the car sliding across the slick black tarmac, the children screaming as the vehicle left the road and hurtled down a steep slope. He saw the car tipping over, tumbling, and heard the dull thud of crumpling metal as it rolled over and over. And then silence. Stillness. Like the house. Empty. Lifeless.

  “Don’t,” he told himself. “Don’t even think about it. Think of something nice. Something positive.” But it was hard to conjure up a memory of warmth and comfort. The kitchen was all white tiles and harsh LED lighting. It was cold. Sterile.

  Gary shivered. He hugged himself and rubbed his fingers up and down his arms. He had pins and needles. He real
ly needed to get more exercise. Hunching over the keyboard all day every day was not good for him. I should’ve gone with Helena and the kids, he thought. It would’ve done him a world of good. Perhaps next time.

  Soon, he thought. Soon I’ll be making enough money and then we can spend all day together. It would be great. Helena could give up her job, if she wanted to. And they’d spend time together as a family. They’d go on fantastic holidays and try out all kinds of adventurous activities. And all his hard work, all his striving would finally pay off. It would all be worth it.

  He was almost there. He’d made a name for himself in the last couple of years, and now, with this piece on the situation in France, he was playing with the big boys. Success was so close. He could taste it.

  The kettle switched itself off with a click as the water boiled. “Now,” Gary muttered, “where do we keep the herbal tea?” He opened the cabinet above the kettle. No. That was all Helena’s baking paraphernalia. He tried another cabinet and another, marvelling at the array of exotic ingredients, the stacks of gleaming crockery and equipment. What was it all for?

  I should learn to cook, he thought. Soon he’d have the time to take a class and learn do it properly. He’d tried his hand when they were first married, but Helena was such a superb cook that he’d felt embarrassed by his efforts. Of course Helena had been too kind to say anything, but nevertheless, Gary had felt humiliated. He just couldn’t stand being seen to be bad at something. He was even getting frustrated looking for these damn teabags.

  “The hell with it,” he muttered. He knew where the coffee was. The individual pods of ground coffee were stacked in a stainless steel rack on the counter. He took a pod and inserted it into the espresso maker. He filled the machine’s reservoir with the hot water from the kettle, placed his mug under the spout and turned the machine on.

  In moments, the kitchen was filled with the warm scent of freshly brewed coffee. Gary breathed it in. I’ve missed this, he thought. How can it be bad for you when it smells so good? He watched, spellbound, until the last of the dark liquid foamed and spattered into his mug, then he picked it up and held it under his nose. “Just what I needed,” he said.

  He blew across the top of his drink and took a sip. The caffeine flooded into his bloodstream and Gary let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. He’d almost forgotten how good that first sip could be. He took another mouthful and smiled. He felt so much better. Energised. So what should he do now? Call Helena? Try and make some dinner? He chewed his bottom lip. Maybe he’d be better off getting more work done. He thought about his visitor stats. They could be going through the roof for all he knew. And here he was, standing in the kitchen. “I should go and check,” he murmured. After all, today could be one of the great turning points in his life and he was missing it. Idiot, he thought. And again, that odd sensation twitched and fluttered in his chest. There was nothing like a shot of espresso to kick-start the old ticker. He smiled and drained his mug. He might as well enjoy it. Tomorrow, he’d be back on the wagon. Gary laughed to himself. It would be better if Helena never knew that he’d transgressed. She worries too much, Gary thought, and felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps his seat-of-your-pants career had given her good reason to be anxious. I’ll make it up to her, he thought. Tomorrow. He ejected the empty coffee pod and binned it before rinsing his mug under the kitchen tap and placing it in the dishwasher. Then, satisfied that he’d left no evidence, Gary headed for his study. One quick check of his stats and then he’d go and do his meditation.

  ***

  It was late when Helena pulled up outside the house. Later than she’d meant it to be. She’d drawn out their meal at Pizza Express, made it last as long as she could. But eventually, even Johnny couldn’t eat any more ice cream and Sarah had started to get fractious. Now, she was home and she couldn’t put this moment off any longer. She turned in her seat. “Listen,” she said, “I want you to stay in the car for a minute, OK?”

  “Why?” Johnny asked.

  Helena turned the engine off and opened the car door. “It’s a surprise,” she said.

  “Don’t forget Daddy’s pizza,” Johnny said.

  “OK.” Helena turned back and picked up the cardboard box from the passenger seat. “I won’t be long,” she said as she slid from her seat. “Stay in the car.” And before the kids could complain, she closed the car door and headed for the house.

  Inside, she was surprised to find the kitchen light on. Gary must’ve emerged from his study at least once while she’d been out. She sniffed the air. Coffee. Yes, the top of the machine was still warm. Had they had a visitor? She dropped the pizza box onto the counter and then checked the dishwasher. A lone mug sat awkwardly in the place she reserved for small dishes. “Honestly,” she muttered as she moved the mug to its proper place. “I must’ve told him a thousand times.” But Gary didn’t listen to her. He never had and he never would.

  Helena sighed and fetched the large diary that she kept by the phone. Gary teased her about her old school methods of organisation, but he wasn’t the one who had to keep track of school plays and parents’ evenings, birthday parties and sports fixtures. Not to mention her own working hours and annual leave. She had to organise everyone in the house, and she needed something she could rely on. Gary had all the gadgets under the sun, but he’d still managed to miss his doctor’s appointment.

  Helena shook her head. She couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t be the keystone that kept the bridge from crumbling. Not on her own. She needed a break. Helena opened the diary. The pen was in its place, between the pages for the current week. She sniffed and wrote the note as quickly as she could.

  She didn’t sign it.

  She left the diary open on the counter, next to the pizza box, then stood and took a long look around her kitchen. It was beautiful. Sleek, modern and sophisticated. Everything she’d wanted. Almost. But it wasn’t the heart of the home that she’d dreamed about. Mealtimes were filled with bickering and apprehension rather than warmth and laughter. And it saddened her every day.

  It didn’t matter whose fault it was. It didn’t matter about the pressures of modern life or the myriad of other rationalisations that people came up with as they poured their second glass of Californian pinot noir. It just wasn’t good enough. And the only way to solve the problem was to get away. She needed to press the reset button on her life.

  She didn’t know what that would mean for her marriage. Perhaps a short break would breathe some life back into it. Perhaps it would be over. There was only one way to find out.

  She held her head up high as she walked from the kitchen. Taking the kids for an impromptu trip to visit her sister might be a cliché but she couldn’t help that. She had nowhere else to go.

  She stepped out into the cold night, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could. She gave the door handle an extra twist—sometimes the catch didn’t engage properly. Gary had insisted that he’d fix it, but that was just another promise left unfulfilled.

  Helena turned away from the house and headed back to her car. The kids had let themselves out and were standing in the driveway, shivering.

  “I asked you to stay in the car,” Helena said.

  “Why?” Johnny asked. “I want to go in.”

  “Mum,” Sarah said, “what’s going on?”

  “We’re just going on a little trip that’s all,” Helena said. “A little holiday. Just the three of us.”

  Sarah studied her mother’s face for a moment and then stood up straight and folded her arms across her chest. “You’re leaving Dad aren’t you? You’re running away.”

  Helena shook her head. “No,” she said. “I just thought we could go and visit your Auntie Sophie. Just for a night or two.”

  “Now?” Johnny said. “But we haven’t packed anything. And what about Dad?”

  “That’s the whole point,” Sarah snapped. “She’s leaving him. They’re splitting up. And she wants us to go with her.”

  “Shut up, Sarah,�
� Johnny said. He looked up at Helena. “It’s not true is it, Mummy?”

  Helena opened her mouth to speak but her throat was tight. She took a shaky breath but still the words wouldn’t come. She stared at her children. Out here, in the cold and the dark, they looked so small, so vulnerable; their faces filled with fear and confusion. What the hell was she doing? How could she do this to them? She put her hand over her mouth.

  “You see,” Sarah said. “She can’t deny it.”

  “No,” Johnny said, raising his voice. “I want to see Daddy.” He stood shivering in the cold, his arms dangling at his sides, his fingers curled tight into fists. “I want to go and see Daddy now!”

  ***

  If Gary’s study was the epitome of modern techno-clutter, his relaxation space in the attic was the complete opposite. A simple space, painted in a delicate duck-egg green, free from all distractions. The only electrical device in the room was a small lamp. He’d toyed with the idea of installing a small hi-fi to provide background music, but his inner geek had immediately demanded streamed music, synchronised playlists, network connectivity. When it came to technology, it was all or nothing. Gary chose nothing.

  He sat, cross-legged on his yoga mat, and closed his eyes, taking in long slow breaths through his nose then expanding his diaphragm. He held his breath for a moment, listening to his heartbeat. Was it a little fast? Never mind. That was what he was here for. He exhaled, being careful to empty his lungs before he drew in his diaphragm again. Perfect.