Man and Wife. Tony Parsons

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      There was no question that only one of us would go to the school, get lectured to by the surprisingly prim punk headmistress, and have to fret about our son all alone.

      We were both his parents, no matter where he lived, and nothing could ever change that fact. That was our attitude.

      Gina was miles better at all of this stuff than me – not feeling the need to be defensive about Pat, always communicating with the staff, opening up about our personal problems, giving anyone who was vaguely curious a guided tour of our dirty laundry, which was surely getting a bit threadbare and old by now. And I took it to heart a lot more than she did. Or at least I let it depress me more. Because deep down, I also blamed the divorce for Pat’s problems at school.

      ‘Cheer up, Harry, he’ll grow out of it,’ Gina told me over coffee. This is what we did. After being dragged along to the school every few weeks or so we went to a small café on Upper Street. We used to come here in the old days, before we had Pat. Now these mid-morning cappuccinos were the extent of our social life together. ‘He’s a good kid. Everybody likes him, he’s smart. He just has difficulty settling. He finds it hard to settle to things. It’s not attention deficiency syndrome, or whatever they call it. It’s just a problem settling.’

      ‘Miss Wilkins thinks it’s our fault. She thinks we’ve messed him up. And maybe she’s right, Gina.’

      ‘It doesn’t matter what Miss bloody Wilkins thinks. Pat’s happiness – that’s all that matters.’

      ‘But he’s not happy, Gina.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘He hasn’t been happy since – you know. Since we split up.’

      ‘Change the record, Harry.’

      ‘I mean it. He’s lost that glow he had. Remember that beautiful glow? Listen, I’m not blaming you or Richard.’

      ‘Richard’s a very good stepfather.’ She always got touchy if I suggested that perhaps divorce had not been an unalloyed blessing in our child’s life. ‘Pat’s lucky to have a stepfather like Richard who cares about his education, who doesn’t want him to spend all his time with a light sabre and a football, who wants him to take an interest in museums.’

      ‘And Harry Potter.’

      ‘What’s wrong with Harry Potter? Harry Potter’s great. All children love Harry Potter.’

      ‘But he has to fit in, the poor little bastard. Pat, I mean. Not Harry Potter. He has to fit in everywhere he goes. Can’t you see that? When he’s with you and Richard. When he’s with me and Cyd. He always has to tread carefully. You can admit that, can’t you?’

      ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

      ‘The only time he’s relaxed is with my mum. Children shouldn’t have to fit in. Our little drama has given Pat a walk-on part in his own childhood. No child deserves that.’

      She didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t blame her. I would like to have thought that our son’s trouble at school was nothing to do with us, and everything to do with the fact that he was a lazy git. But I just couldn’t believe it. The reason he had ants in his pants at school was because he wanted to be liked, he needed to be loved. And I knew that had something to do with me and my ex-wife. Maybe it had everything to do with us. How could I not wonder what it would have been like if we had stayed together?

      ‘Do you ever think about the past?’

      ‘How do you mean?’

      ‘Do you ever miss us?’ I said, crossing the line between what was acceptable and what was not. ‘Just now and again? Just a tiny bit?’

      She smiled wearily at me over her abandoned cappuccino. There was no warmth left in either the coffee or her smile.

      ‘Miss us? You mean staying home alone while you were playing the big shot out in the glamorous world of television?’

      ‘No, that wasn’t really –’

      ‘You mean going to your launches, and your parties, and your functions and being treated like the invisible woman because I looked after our son, instead of presenting some crappy little TV show?’

      ‘Well, what I was actually –’

      ‘People thinking I was second-rate because I was bringing up a child – when what I was doing was the most important job in the world. Telling people I was a homemaker and some of them actually smiling, Harry, some of them actually thinking it was funny, that it was a joke.’

      Not all this again.

      ‘I’ll get the bill, shall I?’

      ‘When what was really funny was that I had the kind of degree that these career morons could only dream about. When what was funny was that I was bilingual while most of those cretins hadn’t quite mastered English. Miss any of that? No, not really, Harry, not now you come to mention it. And I don’t miss sleeping in our bed with our little boy sleeping in the next room while you were out banging one of the office juniors.’

      ‘You know what I mean. Just the lack of complication. That’s all. There’s no need to drag up all that old –’

      ‘No, I can’t say I miss it. And you shouldn’t either. You shouldn’t miss that old life, because it was built on a lie. I like it now, if you really want to know. That’s the difference between you and me. I like it now. I like my life with Richard. To me, these are the good old days. And you should be grateful, Harry.’

      ‘Why’s that?’

      ‘Because Pat has a stepfather who cares about him deeply. Some step-parents are abusive. Some are violent. Many of them are indifferent.’

      ‘I should be grateful that my son is not being abused? Give me a break, Gina.’

      ‘You should be grateful that Richard is a wonderful, caring man who wants what’s best for Pat.’

      ‘Richard tries to change him. He doesn’t need changing. He’s fine the way he is now.’

      ‘Pat’s not perfect, Harry.’

      ‘Me neither.’

      ‘Oh, Harry. We all know that.’

      We glared at each other for a few moments and then Gina called for the bill. I knew her well enough not to try to pay it.

      We always did this – supported each other, tried to be friends, and then for an encore drove each other nuts. We couldn’t seem to stop ourselves. In the end we maddened each other by picking at old wounds, we turned the closeness between us into an infuriating claustrophobia.

      I knew that I had angered her today. And that’s why the news she told me as we were walking back to our cars sounded like an act of supreme cruelty and spite.

      ‘None of this matters,’ she said. ‘The trouble at school. All that tired old crap we keep dragging around the block. None of it matters СКАЧАТЬ