Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

“Would you mind keeping your voice down?” I hissed. “She’s only downstairs. And yes, the thought had crossed my mind.”

He sagged back in his chair. “I don’t believe this. Do you really think I’m that desperate? You can’t be—”

“I’m afraid I am. Perhaps you serious won’t actually drag her into an alley, but I’m well aware that one thing can lead to another. Particularly at night, after a few drinks. And I’ve not gone to all this trouble and expense just to have you walk in one morning and tell me it “accidentally” happened the night before. I’ve already told you I want to know before the event, not afterwards.”

Zeppo laughed incredulously. “What would you like, an announcement in The Times ?”

“No, just to know when it’s going to happen.”

I waited. If Zeppo pressed further, I would have to tell him the rest. And I was not ready for that just yet. But I was saved by his own malicious brand of humour. He smiled, sadistically superior.

“It? What do you mean by “it”, Donald?”

“You know very well what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do. You’ve got to learn to be more specific. By “it” do you mean when I fuck Anna? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say anything. And I’m not going to play juvenile games. You know what I’m talking about.”

He was grinning. I could feel my face beginning to burn. “Why don’t you say “fuck” if that’s what you mean? Or “shag”. Or “screw”, if you’d rather. Of course, if you wanted to be old-fashioned you could always just say “making love”. Not that love has much to do with it very often. But even that’s better than “it”, don’t you think?” His grin was broadening. “Come on, Donald, be a devil. Say what you mean. They’re only words.”

“I’ve already said all I intend to.”

He chuckled. “You really are a prissy bastard, aren’t you? All right, Donald, if it’ll make you happy, I won’t take Anna out after six o’clock without a chaperone.”

He looked condescendingly pleased with himself. But for once I did not mind. His baiting had not upset me half as much as he believed. It had distracted him from what could have been a much more uncomfortable line of questioning, and for that I was grateful.

“If you’re so keen to start seeing her at night, I suggest the three of us could go out somewhere,” I said. Still mellow, Zeppo shrugged.

“Now why was I expecting that? Okay, Donald, if you want to be a gooseberry, that’s up to you. Just name the day.”

“Thursday’s convenient for me. I don’t think Anna’s doing anything then. Is that all right for you?”

“I’ll make a date in my diary. What sort of scintillating evening do you have in mind? How about a nice, racy strip joint? Or would you rather just go clubbing?”

I ignored him. “The Ballet Rambert’s in the West End this week. I think I should still be able to get tickets. You do like Prokofiev, don’t you?”

“Love him to bits. I can’t wait.” Zeppo raised his eyes skyward. “The ballet! Jesus wept!”

After that, I knew I could not put off telling him the rest for much longer. Yet I still avoided it. It was not just cowardice. Now the denouement was almost here, I was no longer in any hurry. The anticipation was almost pleasurable enough in itself. I wanted to savour it for as long as possible. And so I dallied, postponing the inevitable and miserly eking out the last days of Zeppo’s ignorance.

The three of us now began to go out more often. Usually it was only for a drink straight after work Anna seemed glad to put off going home but occasionally we would go to the theatre, or a restaurant, and spend the whole evening together. For me these were the best of times, golden-hued and perfect. I could even, letting myself believe his act, forget my dislike for Zeppo.

Only once was there a sour note. We were in a pub one evening, when someone came up to the table.

“Anna! What are you doing here?”

I looked up at the young man who had spoken. Anna beamed tat him. “Oh, hi, Dave. I might have known I’d find you in here. Liquid dinner again, is it?”

“You’ve no need to talk. I bet that’s not lemonade you’re drinking.”

Anna grinned. “That’s different. I’m here with my boss, so it’s allowed. This is Donald,” I smiled hello. “And Zeppo.” She made no attempt to qualify who Zeppo was.

“Are you still okay for tomorrow night?” the newcomer asked. Anna nodded.

“Eight o’clock. I’ll be there.”

He grinned. “Great. I’ll see you then.” He nodded towards a group at the other side of the pub. “I’d better get back. It’s my round.”

He smiled once more at Zeppo and I, and then left. I sat stiff-backed. I had no idea who he was, but his easy familiarity with Anna hinted at all sorts of intimacies. And she was seeing him the next night. I felt hugely, hotly jealous.

“Friend of yours?” asked Zeppo.

“Well, he’s the boyfriend of a friend of mine,” Anna said. “He’s really nice, but he drinks like a fish. Caroline that’s his girlfriend is cooking a meal tomorrow night, and it’s a dead cert he’ll be out of his head before it’s over. I don’t know how she puts up with it.”

Reassured, I made an effort to be magnanimous. “He seemed pleasant enough.”

“Oh, he is. He still will be when he’s falling over in about two hours time. That’s the only reason he gets away with it.”

Zeppo began to tell us about someone he knew who had a drink problem Zeppo always seemed to have a story for every occasion but I only pretended to listen.

My moment of insecurity had passed, but I remained shaken. The reminder that Anna still had a social life I knew nothing about was a painful one. I told myself that it was unrealistic to expect otherwise, that so long as it did not interfere with our relationship, it did not really matter. But the jealousy lingered. I did not want her seeing anyone except us. I wanted to possess her exclusively.

However, my resentment of her other friends, known and unknown, was short-lived. It could not survive without fuel, and Anna gave me none. I no longer felt that I was merely her employer. Over the next few weeks, the three of us went out together more than ever. I could almost pretend that this happy balance was permanent, and although at the back of my mind I knew it had to end sometime, that there would come a point when I would be an unwanted third party, I came to see this as something that was always reserved for some remote future. The present, where I played an equal part, seemed immutable.

The first inkling that I had become superfluous came one evening after we had been to the theatre. It had been no different to any of the other times we had gone out together since Anna’s return. I had detected no change in her attitude, to either Zeppo or myself. It was a warm night, and we had gone on to a pub with a small courtyard so we could sit outside. Zeppo was engaged in another of his anecdotes, but I was not really paying attention.

Then Anna laughed.

It was the first time I had heard her laugh, really laugh, since Marty’s disappearance, and I was not blind to the fact that it was Zeppo who had caused it. Neither was he. As he made a further quip, Anna, still laughing, reached out and touched his bare arm. It was completely spontaneous, innocent but at the same time intimate, and Zeppo’s eyes briefly flicked over to me. Then his attention was on Anna again. As he continued with his story, he put his hand on her forearm. There was nothing innocent or spontaneous about his action, but Anna did not seem to notice. Or mind.

Suddenly, I was aware that I was on the outside. For a few seconds I might as well not have been there, and I felt a sour feeling in my gut at my exclusion. The moment passed quickly — Anna was too considerate to neglect me for long — but the feeling remained. And now, aware of it for the first time, I noticed that the way she looked and responded to Zeppo was subtly different to the way she looked and responded to me. I could fool myself no longer. The time of procrastination was over.