newspaper. She’d caught him sitting doing absolutely nothing.
‘You have to open it to get anything from it,’ she’d gently scolded, pointing to the copy of the Financial Times lying unopened on his lap. ‘What are you doing? Dreaming how to make our next million?’ And then she’d kiss him on the forehead and ask if he wanted a cup of tea. He’d always agreed to tea so that he hadn’t had to answer her more difficult question.
Ted pinched the top of his nose and rubbed his eyes. He’d looked pale when he’d looked in the mirror today. And he knew he looked tired. It was only a matter of time before Kate noticed this, too, and then she’d demand to know why.
He was terrified that she would ask for an explanation and terrified that she wouldn’t, in equal proportions. What would he tell her? That he was a coward? A failure? A liar?
There was a time, before the children had been born, when they didn’t even need to talk; they had known each other intimately. It used to be unimaginable that Kate wouldn’t know what was on her husband’s mind or that he would be reticent to tell her anything, everything. When they’d been younger, they used to lie awake all night, too desperate about each other to want to waste time sleeping. In those days they’d known every one of each other’s hopes and successes. Odd, then, that now so many years on, when they had realized their hopes of a three-storey house in Holland Park, when they had brought three children into the world – children in good health and in good schools – it was so much harder to even hint at fears and failures. Indeed, it was the fact that their hopes were realized and their successes were abundant that made talking impossible. Ted noticed dandruff on his shoulder. He must ask Kate to buy a bottle of that T-Gel shampoo that he’d seen advertised. There was something about dandruff that made one appear vulnerable. Ted wondered if he could start talking now. Here in the comfy leather seats, where there were no kids to interrupt, no phones, no door bells. No escape routes.
‘I hope your mother can find Elliot’s riding hat and crop. I didn’t leave a note to say which wardrobe it’s in,’ said Kate.
‘I’m sure they’ll manage,’ replied Ted. He then accepted the hot towel from the air stewardess, closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep.
15. Flying High
Lloyd searched for something to say to Jayne. In the departure lounge she had seemed to find him especially amusing, which he found disconcerting. He knew he wasn’t especially amusing; in fact, he rather suspected that he wasn’t very good at small talk. His mother and father were both accountants, and he’d always thought that was explanation enough. Besides, he was one of four boys, and so he had grown up in an environment where the standard of conversation rarely reached above grunts. He was particularly bad at talking to attractive girls. Thinking about it, he was an unlikely adulterer. Sophie had made all the moves in their courtship, and indeed Greta had thrown herself at him, too. She’d made her intentions so transparent and laid herself so completely on the line that he’d believed it would be rude to turn her down. He wasn’t complaining, and he wasn’t trying to duck the responsibility. The truth was he’d hardly believed his luck.
‘How did you manage to get a ticket at such late notice?’ Lloyd asked Jayne.
‘I bought one at the desk,’ smiled Jayne.
‘Isn’t that a really expensive way of doing it?’
Jayne shrugged, and grinned. Both were utterly charming gestures and had the effect of making Lloyd feel silly for having brought up the subject of cost. Lloyd flushed. He didn’t want to appear to be a cheapskate, yet it fascinated him how wealthy his friends were. Lloyd calculated that Jayne’s disposable income was undoubtedly double his own, and she didn’t have child maintenance to pay.
Lloyd was feeling more than slightly self-conscious
‘You have to open it to get anything from it,’ she’d gently scolded, pointing to the copy of the Financial Times lying unopened on his lap. ‘What are you doing? Dreaming how to make our next million?’ And then she’d kiss him on the forehead and ask if he wanted a cup of tea. He’d always agreed to tea so that he hadn’t had to answer her more difficult question.
Ted pinched the top of his nose and rubbed his eyes. He’d looked pale when he’d looked in the mirror today. And he knew he looked tired. It was only a matter of time before Kate noticed this, too, and then she’d demand to know why.
He was terrified that she would ask for an explanation and terrified that she wouldn’t, in equal proportions. What would he tell her? That he was a coward? A failure? A liar?
There was a time, before the children had been born, when they didn’t even need to talk; they had known each other intimately. It used to be unimaginable that Kate wouldn’t know what was on her husband’s mind or that he would be reticent to tell her anything, everything. When they’d been younger, they used to lie awake all night, too desperate about each other to want to waste time sleeping. In those days they’d known every one of each other’s hopes and successes. Odd, then, that now so many years on, when they had realized their hopes of a three-storey house in Holland Park, when they had brought three children into the world – children in good health and in good schools – it was so much harder to even hint at fears and failures. Indeed, it was the fact that their hopes were realized and their successes were abundant that made talking impossible. Ted noticed dandruff on his shoulder. He must ask Kate to buy a bottle of that T-Gel shampoo that he’d seen advertised. There was something about dandruff that made one appear vulnerable. Ted wondered if he could start talking now. Here in the comfy leather seats, where there were no kids to interrupt, no phones, no door bells. No escape routes.
‘I hope your mother can find Elliot’s riding hat and crop. I didn’t leave a note to say which wardrobe it’s in,’ said Kate.
‘I’m sure they’ll manage,’ replied Ted. He then accepted the hot towel from the air stewardess, closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep.
15. Flying High
Lloyd searched for something to say to Jayne. In the departure lounge she had seemed to find him especially amusing, which he found disconcerting. He knew he wasn’t especially amusing; in fact, he rather suspected that he wasn’t very good at small talk. His mother and father were both accountants, and he’d always thought that was explanation enough. Besides, he was one of four boys, and so he had grown up in an environment where the standard of conversation rarely reached above grunts. He was particularly bad at talking to attractive girls. Thinking about it, he was an unlikely adulterer. Sophie had made all the moves in their courtship, and indeed Greta had thrown herself at him, too. She’d made her intentions so transparent and laid herself so completely on the line that he’d believed it would be rude to turn her down. He wasn’t complaining, and he wasn’t trying to duck the responsibility. The truth was he’d hardly believed his luck.
‘How did you manage to get a ticket at such late notice?’ Lloyd asked Jayne.
‘I bought one at the desk,’ smiled Jayne.
‘Isn’t that a really expensive way of doing it?’
Jayne shrugged, and grinned. Both were utterly charming gestures and had the effect of making Lloyd feel silly for having brought up the subject of cost. Lloyd flushed. He didn’t want to appear to be a cheapskate, yet it fascinated him how wealthy his friends were. Lloyd calculated that Jayne’s disposable income was undoubtedly double his own, and she didn’t have child maintenance to pay.
Lloyd was feeling more than slightly self-conscious
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