Graham Swift - England and Other Stories

Alec had flicked his eyes upward and said, ‘Making herself beautiful.’ Then said, ‘How dastardly of me, there’s no making about it.’ And Bill had smiled and thought nonetheless how women made themselves beautiful for nights out with other women. For a boys’ night out, or in, men hardly bothered. Witness the pair of them, like two adverts for woollens.

They’d hardly settled when Sue had come down and appeared in the doorway. Many years ago Bill had thought that Sue was just the sort of dumb and ditzy blonde Alec would end up marrying, then find the novelty wearing off. It had been his own reason for not marrying her, or rather for not making any move at all, though he might have done. He’d given precedence to his friend and felt he’d been shrewd.

He’d been best man, naturally, at Alec and Sue’s wedding, but by then he’d met Sophie and she and he had been the first pair to get hitched. And to have kids, pretty quickly, one after the other. Alec and Sue had waited several years. Perhaps there was a difficulty, but they hadn’t seemed unhappy at the time. So much for shrewdness. Maybe they’d waited simply because of that: because they were happy and wanted to have time just with each other. Then they’d gone and had twins. A boy and girl.

They’d be upstairs right now, still only four years old. Or was it five? He ought to know, he was their godfather.

Bill had said to Sue as she appeared in the doorway, ‘Sue, you look fantastic.’ He should have allowed Alec to say something first, perhaps. Anyway it was true. She was wearing a dress that wasn’t quite a party dress, but it had a shimmer. Or it was more that she had a shimmer, a kind of ready, default-mode excitement.

It was only a girls’ night out, he’d thought, it wasn’t a ball.

She said, ‘You look pretty good yourself, Bill.’ He said, ‘Rubbish,’ and had got up to meet her embrace which was always full-on and generous, as if she had arms for everyone. She’d been holding a black coat and a cream scarf but had slung them momentarily over the banister at the foot of the stairs, on top of his own undistinguished Puffa thing.

She picked up the coat again and looked at her watch.

‘Alec, you did ring for the taxi, didn’t you?’

Alec was already fetching two whisky tumblers. He thumped his forehead with his free hand.

‘Oh shit! Shit! I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let me drive you.’

Sue had said, ‘No, you have to look after Bill.’ There wasn’t any hint of anger or dramatics, just the small practical quandary. So, while Alec had done more breast-beating, he’d said, ‘I’ll drive you, Sue.’ It seemed a neat and diplomatic solution. His car was still warm. Alec would have to get his out of the garage. And he didn’t want Sue to be late.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Hathaway’s. Park Street.’

‘I know it. Good choice. No problem.’

Sue had protested, then finally said, ‘You’re an angel, Bill.’ And Alec had said, ‘The man puts me to eternal shame.’

Alec had put the tumblers down and helped Sue on with her coat. There was no reproachfulness. She said, ‘Don’t forget about the shepherd’s pie. And the twins are sparko. I looked in.’

Alec had draped the scarf round his wife’s neck then kissed her tenderly by the ear. ‘Sorry, precious,’ he said. ‘You better give this man here a decent tip.’ That word once more. Then, to him, he’d said, ‘I’ll see you later, buster. I’ll try not to open the bottle.’

So now here he was — it was only a ten-minute drive — sitting beside Sue in the car opposite Hathaway’s, and Sue, though she was several minutes late, didn’t seem in a rush. All through the short journey he’d felt inevitably that they were like some couple going out on a date themselves — particularly at the start as they got into the car, he holding the door open for her, chauffeur-fashion, she swinging her legs in and gathering up her coat, and Alec watching contritely from the front porch, like some stoical father.

Sue had spent the few minutes saying how sweet it was of him and he’d spent it establishing that the ‘girls’ were Christine and Anita and that all three of them had been at the hair academy together and now they each had salons of their own.

He wondered what a hair academy was and had his bizarre mental pictures, but didn’t ask. He’d long since stopped thinking it obvious that a fluffy blonde whose principal feature was her hair would go into hairdressing. Nothing was obvious any more.

He knew Sue’s salon was called Locks and that it had been set up — funded — by Alec. For all Bill knew, Alec might have among his many business interests a small chain of hair salons which involved funding Christine and Anita as well.

Bill had often passed Locks but never entered. He’d sometimes wondered how it would be if he were to walk in and ask to have his hair cut — by Sue herself of course. It seemed the most innocent yet intimate of requests.

Salon. Hair academy. These were easily scoffed at, bogus expressions. But he no longer thought like that.

Sue said, as if she hadn’t thanked him enough, ‘Why don’t you come in for a moment? I could introduce you to the girls.’ It was a strange impetuous suggestion and was perhaps only meant jokingly.

‘It’s a bit late in the day for that sort of thing, isn’t it?’ He smiled. He hadn’t meant to sound rueful.

She said, ‘All okay, with you and Sophie?’

‘Yes. Fine.’

‘And the kids?’

He snorted. ‘I hardly think of them as kids any more. They’re eleven and twelve.’

There was a little weighty pause. She could just get out. It didn’t need a speech.

‘You know, Bill, all I’ve ever wanted, all that’s ever made me happy, is to do something for other people that makes them feel nicer. That’s all, nothing special, nothing more than that. They come into my salon, they walk out again a little later — feeling nicer.’

His hands still held the steering wheel. He hadn’t had a drink yet. He thought of Alec, waiting for him, staring at a (still virgin?) bottle of Macallan. He thought how many months since he last saw Sue? When would he see her again? And when would he again, if ever at all, sit beside her like this, just the two of them, in the convenient bubble of a car?

Across the road, Hathaway’s was lit up, but curtained. If Christine and Anita were inside waiting, they couldn’t be seen.

He said, ‘I love you, Sue. I love you. I could say something like “I’m very fond of you”, but I love you. I don’t mean I don’t love Sophie. I don’t mean I don’t love lots of people. But I love you. Don’t you think there should be as much love as possible?’

There. He held the steering wheel. He held it, looking straight ahead as if he were still driving.

He heard, eventually, the slow punctilious creep of a woman’s clothing as she moves deliberately to kiss a man. It was barely a touch against the side of his face, by his ear, as if she wished to say something that could only be whispered, but he felt just the brush of her lips and a small expulsion of warm breath.

‘Well,’ she said, drawing away, ‘I better not ask you in then. You better not meet the girls.’

She could never have been so suave years ago.

She opened her door and got out, but then lingered on the pavement, despite the cold, one hand on the open door, her coat unbuttoned, leaning in while he leant across, constrained by his seat belt.

What was there to say? It was as if it was late and he was dropping her off.

‘Enjoy your evening,’ he said like some polite stranger. Like a cab driver.

‘And you. Don’t get sloshed.’

‘Nor you. I’ll see you later.’

‘Yes. But—’