he sleeping with this waitress, is that it? Has my son turned into one of those men?’
‘I think, well…not with the waitress.’
‘Someone else, then?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just…a suspicion.’
I gaze at the floor. I don’t want to show her the letter. I know what she’s like; she’ll be drunk by the time I’m gone and the first thing she’ll do is call up Kay.
‘Do you want a drink?’
‘No. no. You’re OK.’
‘Mind if I have one?’
I shake my head.
She raises the glass to her lips but doesn’t drink from it, then slowly, purposefully, she sets it down. It seems like such an effort, such a trial, that I feel like I ought to reward her.
‘But you’re right,’ I say, ‘there is something else. Those antidepressants that Daniel had in the bathroom. Kay says he never took them, but he did.’
‘You know this?’
‘Yes…I opened them. It was an accident really…but all of the tablets were gone.’
She sits down and rubs her hand over her face.
‘When was it?’
‘When what?’
‘Think, Claire. When did he start taking them?’
She’s making me nervous; I can’t think straight.
‘I don’t remember…no, wait, it was February. It was back while I was breaking up with Michael.’
She looks crestfallen. At what exactly? Is she worried at the effect this medication has had on Daniel? Is she displaying some long overdue sympathy for my broken marriage?
‘Look,’ I say, ‘I don’t want you to worry…we’re just catching up. For old times. There’s nothing going on between the two of us.’
She snorts. Her fingers go to her glass, but she pulls them back.
‘What difference does it make?’ she snaps, crossly. ‘Michael, Gabriel, some other low-life that you’ve plucked off the street. How many has it been now? In the last year? In the last six months? None of them do you any good.’
I don’t even have time to take this in. She’s motoring, she’s already moved on.
‘I want you to go and see Tom tomorrow.’
‘Daniel’s partner? Why?’
‘See what he knows. Ask him about the restaurant. See if theywent there together. He’ll know if Daniel was…if he was seeing someone else.’
‘I don’t know, Mum…I’m not sure.’
She leans in to me and reaches for my arm.
‘Do this for me, please, Claire, it’s important. I think you’re the best one to do it.’
This trust, this kindness, this sudden softness in her voice, it leaves me a little disorientated. I wonder if I’m not imagining it, if she’s not fooling or tricking me in some way.
‘Of course, I’d ask Sylvie to go, but she’s busy. Sylvie would have been my first choice.’
Cinderella
Outside in the cold, in the remnants of last week’s snow, the city is singing off key. Drunks skid along the road on thin layers of ice and piles of cinnamon slush obstruct the pavements. People squeeze, bristle and churn through the streets, all in a hurry to get somewhere. The end of an old year, the beginning of the new, some still seem to think it worth celebrating.
‘Don’t you have to be somewhere by midnight?’
‘I did…yeah,’ says Michael, glancing at his watch. ‘But it’s probably too late to get there now.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil your evening.’
‘It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Thanks for coming with me. It helped.’
‘You think so?’
I shrug, I’m not sure it did.
‘She hates me, doesn’t she? I could tell?’
‘Mum? Yeah…a little bit.’
‘And you? Do you still hate me, Claire? Is that how it is?’
He’s so transparent, so easy to read; Michael can’t stand to feel rejected by anyone. He’s seeking absolution, some reassurance, like a kid waking up from a nasty dream. I can tell, right now, that he wants to sleep with me. The idea’s just popped into his head. He’s blown out his date, he’s ruined his night and he’s wondering how far he can push it. He’s testing himself, daring himself; wondering if I’ll be
‘I think, well…not with the waitress.’
‘Someone else, then?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just…a suspicion.’
I gaze at the floor. I don’t want to show her the letter. I know what she’s like; she’ll be drunk by the time I’m gone and the first thing she’ll do is call up Kay.
‘Do you want a drink?’
‘No. no. You’re OK.’
‘Mind if I have one?’
I shake my head.
She raises the glass to her lips but doesn’t drink from it, then slowly, purposefully, she sets it down. It seems like such an effort, such a trial, that I feel like I ought to reward her.
‘But you’re right,’ I say, ‘there is something else. Those antidepressants that Daniel had in the bathroom. Kay says he never took them, but he did.’
‘You know this?’
‘Yes…I opened them. It was an accident really…but all of the tablets were gone.’
She sits down and rubs her hand over her face.
‘When was it?’
‘When what?’
‘Think, Claire. When did he start taking them?’
She’s making me nervous; I can’t think straight.
‘I don’t remember…no, wait, it was February. It was back while I was breaking up with Michael.’
She looks crestfallen. At what exactly? Is she worried at the effect this medication has had on Daniel? Is she displaying some long overdue sympathy for my broken marriage?
‘Look,’ I say, ‘I don’t want you to worry…we’re just catching up. For old times. There’s nothing going on between the two of us.’
She snorts. Her fingers go to her glass, but she pulls them back.
‘What difference does it make?’ she snaps, crossly. ‘Michael, Gabriel, some other low-life that you’ve plucked off the street. How many has it been now? In the last year? In the last six months? None of them do you any good.’
I don’t even have time to take this in. She’s motoring, she’s already moved on.
‘I want you to go and see Tom tomorrow.’
‘Daniel’s partner? Why?’
‘See what he knows. Ask him about the restaurant. See if theywent there together. He’ll know if Daniel was…if he was seeing someone else.’
‘I don’t know, Mum…I’m not sure.’
She leans in to me and reaches for my arm.
‘Do this for me, please, Claire, it’s important. I think you’re the best one to do it.’
This trust, this kindness, this sudden softness in her voice, it leaves me a little disorientated. I wonder if I’m not imagining it, if she’s not fooling or tricking me in some way.
‘Of course, I’d ask Sylvie to go, but she’s busy. Sylvie would have been my first choice.’
Cinderella
Outside in the cold, in the remnants of last week’s snow, the city is singing off key. Drunks skid along the road on thin layers of ice and piles of cinnamon slush obstruct the pavements. People squeeze, bristle and churn through the streets, all in a hurry to get somewhere. The end of an old year, the beginning of the new, some still seem to think it worth celebrating.
‘Don’t you have to be somewhere by midnight?’
‘I did…yeah,’ says Michael, glancing at his watch. ‘But it’s probably too late to get there now.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil your evening.’
‘It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Thanks for coming with me. It helped.’
‘You think so?’
I shrug, I’m not sure it did.
‘She hates me, doesn’t she? I could tell?’
‘Mum? Yeah…a little bit.’
‘And you? Do you still hate me, Claire? Is that how it is?’
He’s so transparent, so easy to read; Michael can’t stand to feel rejected by anyone. He’s seeking absolution, some reassurance, like a kid waking up from a nasty dream. I can tell, right now, that he wants to sleep with me. The idea’s just popped into his head. He’s blown out his date, he’s ruined his night and he’s wondering how far he can push it. He’s testing himself, daring himself; wondering if I’ll be
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