I thought I was all right. I thought I was fine. I had my job, my friends around me. I had Matthew, happily doing whatever it was eight-year-olds do. I had my painting and my books. I thought I had everything I needed but, with that one question, the whole empty, fragile framework that I had constructed on which to hang my life disintegrated around me and crashed to the ground in a shower of bittersweet memories, empty days and awful, aching, unacknowledged, lonely nights. For the first time, I opened my eyes to the hard road leading to a bleak and empty future and before I knew what was happening, two great fat tears rolled down my cheeks.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t mean to make you cry.’
‘I’m not crying for me,’ I said, ‘I’m crying because…’ and was completely unable to put it into words.
We sat together on my sofa and I thought – this is Tim. Just tell him.
I sniffed a bit and then said, ‘It’s just … This sounds stupid, but when did our lives become so dark, Tim? Do you remember the fun we used to have? When did everything become such a struggle? I know nobody sets out to have their life go wrong and I’ve always known mine would never be sunshine and roses, but I never thought it would be this bad. I thought I would have a little baby and he would love me and I would love him. I thought I could have both work and Matthew. I thought Leon would always be with me. I thought – oh so many things. How stupid am I? When did everything go so wrong?’
He sighed. ‘When that bastard Ronan turned up. That’s when things started to go pear-shaped. But he’s gone now, Max. Yes, I know he took some good people with him, but if we allow that to darken our lives then he’s still winning even after he’s dead. And that’s just plain wrong. We’re still here. We still have a chance to bring some fun back into our lives. What do you say?’
I’ve been at St Mary’s long enough for the kookaburra of caution to hover over my head occasionally.
‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Nothing onerous. I thought – if you don’t object – we could just … go out … one evening.’
I smiled sadly. ‘I’m not sure, Tim. When I think back on what’s happened over this last year, I sometimes wonder if people like us aren’t supposed to have normal relationships.’
He grinned at me, suddenly looking like a very young Tim Peterson on our first assignment together. To Westminster Abbey, when a socking great block of stone missed us by inches and he peed on me.
‘Oh, come on, Max. Who wants a normal relationship?’
‘Well, no one at St Mary’s because they’re certainly never going to get one.’
‘Look, if it’s too soon for you then I’ll understand. I hope you’ll say yes, but if you don’t I don’t want this to make any difference – to us – which is my main fear. So if you want to pretend this never happened, then just tell me, and I promise I won’t mention it again.’
He peered at me hopefully.
I sought clarification. ‘Is this a date?’
‘No. Well yes, maybe. It’s a kind of semi-date – just two old friends going out for a meal and a drink. Together,’ he added, in case I was having problems with the concept.
I said more wistfully than I intended, ‘I haven’t been out for ages.’
‘Well, there you are then,’ he said, as if that clinched it. ‘And it’s not as if either of us has any unpleasant surprises for the other, Max. You’re getting a man with only one working arm and poor bladder control and I’m getting a red-haired madwoman who triggers an apocalypse every time she walks into a room. Personally, I think we’re perfect for each other.’
‘I’m not sure I have anything decent to wear.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Casual is good. How do you fancy tapas?’
‘Oh yes. I like exciting food.’
‘Yes, because our lives are so dull. Is tomorrow good for you?’
‘Yes,’ I said, suddenly aware of a yawning pit of inexperience. I would have to get to grips with babysitters. And make-up. And shoes that weren’t boots. ‘Although I’m not sure what I’ll wear. I’m not sure I’ve even got anything appropriate. I mean, it’s a long time since…’ I petered out, adrift in a strange new sea.
‘I’m sure you’ll find something. I always liked that cream thing with the lace sleeves.’
My room was very quiet. The whole place was so quiet I could hear pipes ticking and the odd groan, which I hoped was just the building settling and not of human origin.
His face showed nothing but his usual lazy good humour, but I noticed his left foot jiggling away by itself. No matter how light-hearted his approach, this meant a lot to him.
I suddenly realised it meant a lot to me, as well.
I said, ‘Are you sure?’ because this was a big – a giant – leap for both of us, and he said, ‘Oh yes, I think so, don’t you?’
I was surprised to find that yes, I did think so too.
I nodded.
‘Jolly good,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I shall suppress my inevitable misgivings about your appearance and present myself tomorrow at eight. See you then.’
As soon as he’d gone, I whipped open my wardrobe door and surveyed my options. That didn’t take long.
I pulled out the cream top and slipped it on. It looked awful. I can honestly say it looked better on the hanger than it did on me. Actually, it looked better on the floor than it did on me.
I found a black thing I’d forgotten I had, and that looked even worse. Everyone in the universe looks good in black except me. I sighed and tossed it onto the bed.
Next up was a nice, silky, pale green thing with slashed sleeves. On me it looked like a giant lump of snot.
Then there was the blue thing I’d never worn. I pulled it over my head and could see why.
Last up was a gold thing with a fringe. I don’t know what I was thinking when I bought that. I didn’t even bother trying it on. That went straight onto the floor.
I sighed and reached for the cream thing again. It looked no better the second time around. Sadly, neither did I. Even allowing for the distorting properties of my ancient mirror, was I really that shape? Did my hair really look that bad? Were my feet really that big?
Downstairs, Peterson would be happily watching TV or reading or something and not for one moment giving this sort of thing a second thought. All he had to do was find a clean shirt, put on his best jacket and comb his hair. Why was life so bloody unfair? You don’t catch men trying on every single item of clothing they possess because they can’t find anything that doesn’t make them look like something the cat coughed up.
And I hadn’t even started on my bottom half. Or shoes. Or lipstick. Why had I said I would do this? I had a demanding job and an even more demanding child. I couldn’t afford to spend large chunks of my life staring at myself in a mirror. I needed help.
I went to Kal for advice. Her face filled my laptop screen.
‘What’s up?’
‘I’m raging against humanity’s injustices.’
She blinked. ‘O … K. Any injustice in particular or is this an all-encompassing, one size fits everyone rage?’
‘Why is everything always so much easier for men?’
‘It’s their outside plumbing.’
‘What?’
‘My theory is they wouldn’t be half so light-hearted about everything if, every time they were caught short outdoors, they had peel off layers of clothing, squat and then wait for their shoes to dry out afterwards.’
I considered this. ‘You could be right.’
‘I’m always right. So what’s brought this on?’
I explained about Peterson and my sartorial difficulties.
‘Well, let’s have a look then.’
I held up the black top.
‘No.’
And the blue one.
‘Really? No.’
And the third – the gold one.
‘God, no. Good Grief, Max, you’ve really gone to pieces since I left, haven’t you?’
‘Well,’ I said feebly, ‘I’ve had a lot on and I haven’t really felt much like clothes shopping.’
I don’t know why I bothered. Kal does sympathy like Hitler did Stalingrad.
‘What else have you got?’
I held up the green affair with slashed sleeves.
‘Is that some sort of tea towel?’
I balled it up and threw it across the room. ‘No.’
‘Let’s have a look at that other one. The cream one there. On the bed. Yes, that’ll do nicely.’
‘What about my hair. Up? Down?’
‘In a loose ponytail tied with that black and cream scarf I gave you last Christmas. Let the ends hang over your shoulder. Those black trousers you have and black pumps. There. Done and dusted.’
It began to dawn on me her answers were suspiciously pat.
‘Did you know about this?’
‘Course I did. I’ve been waiting all evening to hear from you. What took you so long?’