Читать книгу An Almost Perfect Moon - Jamie Holland - Страница 13

While Harry’s Gloucestershire weekend was descending into surreal farce, Ben and Lucie were beginning to appreciate what an overwhelming amount of attention a baby required. Added to this was the steady stream of visitors and telephone calls that seemed to litter the day, and the fact that although Ben was officially on leave, he was still expected to put the work in on the Prospero deal from home. Lucie’s mother, Vanessa, usually with Terrence in tow, came round at least once a day; her sister Susie and her boyfriend Bill came up from Bristol on the Saturday, and a steady stream of friends – Flin and Tiffany included – also dropped by to see Ben and Lucie’s miracle.

Finally Ben’s brother Stephen phoned to say he was bringing Tessa, the two kids and their dad Tony up from Brighton to see the new baby on Sunday afternoon.

‘Fantastic, that’s all we need,’ said Ben once he put the phone down.

‘And you can make more of an effort than you usually do,’ added Lucie sharply. ‘I’m not going to do all the hosting this time, OK?’

‘Perhaps I should tell them I’ve got too much work on.’

‘Ben, you can’t. Just be nice to them. It’ll all be over soon enough.’

Ben dreaded his family coming to town. His father always looked so bloody meek and miserable all the time, while his brothers made snide remarks about his comparative success. And it always left him feeling guilty. Guilty that he had his own comfortable middle-class life, and guilty that he couldn’t wait for them to leave. They were his family, his flesh and blood, and he’d virtually disowned them.

They arrived accompanied by the usual awkwardness. Ben never knew how to greet his father – whether to give him a hug or shake his hand, and so did neither. That then set a precedent, and so he didn’t greet Stephen or any of the others with anything more than a hand held up and a terse, ‘Hi, you made it then.’

Lucie was better. She always gave them all a brief kiss on the cheek, although it made Ben wince when his father, as ever, appeared slightly startled by this spontaneous act of tactility.

‘Come on in. Come on in,’ said Ben, ushering them into the sitting room. His nephews, Ashley and Luke, with their spiky shorn hair, looked sulky and disinterested. Clearly this was a mind-blowingly boring day for them: a car ride followed by adults cooing over a stupid baby.

‘He’s got the look of his father,’ said Tony, awkwardly perched on the edge of the sofa designed for deep-seated comfort.

‘No, he looks much more like Lucie,’ countered Stephen. His brother was growing fat, Ben noticed. He still had a thick dark thatch of hair, but his gut now sat tight against his rugby shirt. A big man, Ben thought. Thomas lay peacefully on a baby-rug on the floor, for once not crying.

Ben, hovering by the door, offered drinks. It was early afternoon and as he felt tea would be a bit premature, he went to the sideboard in the dining half of the room to fix beers and gins, leaving Lucie to handle the conversation.

‘Mum, can I put the telly on?’ asked Ashley. At eight years old, he already wore a Manchester United shirt.

‘No, of course you can’t. Why don’t you play with your Gameboy instead?’

‘It’s boring.’

‘Well, just sit still for a moment, all right? Sorry, Lucie, you were saying?’

‘Nothing really,’ said Lucie, ‘just that it seems very odd to think this time last week he was still inside and now …’ She left the sentence unfinished, as Ben started handing round the drinks. Tessa looked exhausted, Ben thought. He knew she must only be about thirty-five, but she seemed older. And she never bothered about her appearance – no make-up, no jewellery, just faded black leggings, a large checked shirt and a shapeless haircut. He couldn’t imagine Lucie ever going to pot like that, even after two kids.

‘Why’s Ben’s house bigger than ours when there’s more of us?’ asked Luke suddenly, who was six and draping himself across his mother’s legs.

‘Because he makes lots more money than Dad,’ Tessa told him, adding, ‘You’ve got a really lovely place here, haven’t you, Lucie?’

‘We’re really very lucky,’ said Lucie, ‘although we bought this with some of my dad’s inheritance, so you know it’s not really to do with Ben’s job.’

‘But I bet you take home a tidy sum all the same, don’t you, Ben?’ said Stephen, finally entering into the conversation.

Ben smiled, his irritation already rising. ‘But they take away my soul, the amount of hours I have to work.’

‘Yeah, and you’ll probably regret that when the baby’s a bit older and wanting to play football with you.’

‘Probably, yes.’ There was no point in rising to Stephen’s challenges. Instead Ben turned to his father, who sat silently gazing at his gin and tonic. ‘So how’re things with you, Dad?’

‘Fine, yes. You know.’

‘And Brighton?’

‘Much the same. They’re thinking of rebuilding the West Pier.’

‘Some hot-shot developer,’ added Stephen. ‘Waste of time if you ask me.’

Ben noticed Ashley whispering to his mother about the television.

‘You can watch it upstairs in our room if you like,’ he said to him.

Ashley smiled disingenuously, pretending to be embarrassed, said, ‘Thanks, Uncle Ben,’ then, with Luke in tow, thundered up the stairs. Thomas started crying.

‘Sorry, Ben, they’re complete terrors, I know,’ said Tessa as Lucie rushed to comfort her son.

Stephen, who refused to sit down, preferring to pace about instead, caused further anxiety by lighting a cigarette.

‘Stephen,’ said Ben quickly, catching Lucie’s look of horror, ‘let me show you what I’m hoping to do outside.’

‘You great oaf,’ said Tessa, ‘what about the baby?’

‘Really, it’s not a problem,’ added Ben hastily, ‘but let’s go into the garden, just while Thomas is around.’

Stephen shrugged, took a deep drag and followed Ben through the french windows.

‘You’re doing well, really well,’ Stephen told him outside, ‘but how you can put up with London, I don’t know.’

‘You get used to it – all the cars and everything. I quite like it actually. And the park’s just round the corner. I miss the sea, but otherwise … You know, we’ve got quite a few friends here.’

‘Playing much football these days?’ asked Stephen.

‘Try to – every Tuesday night with a few mates, you know, just for a laugh and a bit of kick-around.’

‘Just you wait – a couple of kids and it won’t be so easy,’ Stephen told him, stubbing out his cigarette on the terracotta stone patio. ‘I haven’t done much sport for a long while now. Not enough fucking time.’ It showed too, thought Ben.

Ben offered a second round of drinks. Tea this time, with cake and biscuits, which he made sure took plenty of time to organize. After watching hot mugs scald the waxed table and crumbs being ground into the rug, Ben whisked away the tray and plates, and clattered about the kitchen clearing up and wasting more time.

‘He’s a lovely-looking baby.’ Ben hadn’t noticed his father standing by the door, and he turned with a start.

‘Do you think so?’ Ben smiled.

‘Of course. How are you finding it? Parenthood, that is?’

‘Fine. Exciting. You know.’

‘Ben,’ his father began, ‘I wish, that is, it would be good, if …’ Tony looked down, momentarily shifting feet. ‘Well … you know you’re always welcome at home. Don’t feel you have to stay up here all the time. Or if you want any help with Thomas. A weekend off …’

‘Sure, thanks. I’d love to come down more, but you know, for the moment, we should probably stay in London most weekends. Especially when Thomas is so small. But soon. Lucie and I’ll come down soon.’

His father looked around the room and shrugged. ‘Of course. Well, just thought I’d mention it.’ He smiled sadly, then turned and went back to the others.

They left soon after. As they shuffled out, Ben, clutching Thomas, followed and waved them off, conscious his farewells were considerably more heartfelt than his welcome.

‘Your dad was as chatty as ever,’ said Lucie once Ben had returned and sprawled on the sofa. ‘I swear he says less every time I see him.’

‘He’s got nothing to say,’ said Ben, sighing audibly. ‘I feel sorry for him, I really do. He’s so used to having a terrible time, he’s completely forgotten how to enjoy himself. He asked us to come down more. Said he’d look after Thomas if we wanted a weekend off.’

‘Oh, Ben, it’s so sad. I wish you could get on better. Maybe we should get him up for a few days on his own – take him out, see a show, you know, force him to do something interesting.’

‘Maybe,’ said Ben. Seeing his family reinforced his belief that he’d been right to escape. This was why he’d worked his arse off: so that he wouldn’t end up like them. Was this snobbery? Maybe, but it was more than that. Seeing them always reminded him of those dark days. His father had been hard up and complacent, and his mother had left. He wouldn’t make the same mistake.

For the new parents, Monday came too soon, and Ben’s paternity leave was almost over. He desperately wished he could have an extension, and that Thomas had been born during a quieter period at work, but such was life. He’d been lucky to have the best part of four days off. Carl wanted to announce the deal in a week’s time, and there was still much to be done. The press release needed further ironing out and the week ahead was going to be full of endless meetings with the various parties concerned to confirm the equity financing and underwriting agreement. Steve had nobly carried the can, working through the weekend, but now it was up to him to take up the reins once more. It would be a manic seven days. There was no way round that, and he knew it. If you worked for a high-powered investment bank you had to show total commitment at all times, and this could mean working virtually around the clock when a deal was going live. It was the price to be paid for a good salary and few worries financially. Still, he didn’t have to like it, and hated the thought of leaving Lucie on her own. Even more, he resented having to spend all day away from Thomas. It was going to be a terrible wrench.