Tony Parsons - Man And Wife

Some nights we put Peggy to bed and one of us would read to her until she was sleeping and then we would watch TV and make love on the sofa and our little family seemed to be thriving.

Some other nights Peggy stayed over at her dad’s place, and things were never as good. Jim Mason had a new girlfriend, and the woman was clearly making every effort to show how wonderful she was – making space in their relationship for Peggy, lavishing her with attention and presents, acting as if it would be like this forever. It was on these nights when Peggy was absent that Cyd always seemed to work late.

Everything took a little longer when Peggy wasn’t around. The launch parties in the West End, the conferences in the City

– maybe it was just a coincidence, but there were no early nights for Cyd when there was no Peggy to come home to. Yes, maybe it was just coincidence. That’s what I thought. Until I started to recognise his car.

I waited by the window until I saw the Porsche 911 come into view. It was always late by now, the early hours, and the familiar 911 came down our street with the menacing grace of a shark moving through shallow water.

The 911 parked. I could see their shadows. I could watch the silhouettes of my wife and Luke Moore as she sat in his Porsche, just talking. That’s all. Just talking.

But by the time I heard her key in the lock I was in bed, lying very still on my side, eyes closed, my breathing even.

My wife tiptoed into our bedroom and began taking off her clothes as quietly as she could.

Pretending to be coming home late from work, while her husband lay there in the darkness, pretending to be asleep.

There was some old man sitting in my father’s chair.

It made me feel like I had come to the wrong place. None of us ever sat in my dad’s chair – not my mum, not Pat, not me. The old armchair by the fireplace was not the best seat in the house – it faced the TV at an awkward angle, and its soft cushions were sunken with the ages – but it was always my dad’s chair, a suburban throne in his pebble-dash palace, and although he had been dead for two years now, it was still my dad’s chair. So who was this old man?

’Howdy, pardner,’ he said to me.

Howdy, pardner?

What was he going on about?

The old man was practically the exact physical opposite of my father. Where my dad was gleaming, chrome-smooth bald, this geezer had a luxuriant head of silvery hair, elaborately brushed back. Where my father was stocky, thickset and muscular, this character was as wasp-waisted as an elderly gigolo. And at home my old man always wore his Marks & Spencer mufti – carpet slippers, baggy gardening trousers, and cardigans in any colour, as long as it was forgettable. A real suburban dad, despite the horrific war wounds that I knew were hidden under his sensible sweaters.

This impostor was dressed like a cowboy.

A fringed shirt. Pointy-toed, stack-heeled boots. Tight, skinny Levi’s with a big buckled belt. You could almost see the bulge of his ageing meat and two veg. Glen Campbell’s granddad.

’Howdy, pardner,’ he repeated, slowly getting up out of my dad’s chair. Taking his time about it. ’Tex is the name. You must be Harry. Mighty pleased to meet you, stranger. Elizabeth has told me all about you.’

Nanci Griffith was singing ’Lone Star State of Mind’. My mum came into the living room carrying a tray of tea and biscuits, humming to herself.

’I see you’ve met Graham, dear,’ she said.

’Graham? I thought -’

’Tex is my line-dancing name,’ he said, without a trace of shame. ’Graham – I don’t know. It just doesn’t sound right when you’re doing the Walkin’ Wazi, does it?’

’Ooh, you should see Graham – I mean Tex – doing the Walkin’ Wazi,’ my mum chuckled, passing around the ginger nuts. ’He really kicks his old legs in the air.’

A line-dancing friend. So that was it. Perfectly innocent. Nothing suspicious. Two sprightly OAPs having a bit of a boogie in the autumn of their years. Completely natural. But I couldn’t help it. I was still stunned by the presence of Tex.

My mother – who had six brothers, who had no daughters or sisters, who had spent her entire life surrounded by men had always been strictly homosexual in her friendships. Every friend she ever had was a woman. Apart from my dad. He was her best friend of all.

’Met your mother when we were doing the Four-Star Boogie,’ he said, as if reading my mind. ’Gave her a few tips. Her and

– Elsie?’

’Ethel,’ my mum said. ’The Four-Star Boogie.’ She tutted at the memory. ’That’s such a tough one. All that turning.’

’Pivoting,’ Tex gently corrected her. ’The Four-Star Boogie is a four-wall line dance,’ he informed me, as if I gave a toss. ’As opposed to something like the Wild, Wild West, which of course, as you probably know, is only a two-wall line dance.’

’You from round these parts, Tex?’

’Southend. Straight down the A127, take a right at the old Fortune of War.’

’Graham was an insurance salesman,’ my mum said. ’Retired now, of course.’

Tex poured the tea. ’One lump or two?’ he asked me. ’I’m sweet enough already.’

My mum guffawed at this as though it was Noël Coward at his pithy best. When she went back into the kitchen for the milk chocolate digestives, I excused myself to Tex and followed her.

’I thought you went line dancing with Auntie Ethel?’

’Ethel’s dropped out. It’s her arthritis, Harry. All that stomping gives her gyp. Poor old thing.’

’What’s John Wayne doing in our front room? What’s he doing in Dad’s chair?’

’He’s all right, old Graham. Don’t worry about him. He’s harmless. He gives me a lift home in his car. He’s a bit full of himself, I grant you. All the old girls have got a soft spot for him.’

’What about you?’

’Me?’ My mum laughed with genuine amusement. ’Don’t worry, Harry, I’m past all that. When I ask a man in for tea and biscuits, that’s exactly what I mean. All he’s being offered is a custard cream.’

’Does Tex know that?’ I thought of the obscene rise in the old gent’s Levi’s. Although my mum was in her seventies, I could see how she might catch the eye of some randy old git. She was still a lovely-looking woman. ’He’s not going to start reaching for his six-gun, is he?’

I said it with a grin, to pretend that I already knew the answer.

But my mum wasn’t smiling now.

’I had a husband,’ she said. ’That’ll do me for one lifetime.’

’Your mother needs to express her sexuality,’ my wife said. ’She’s still a woman.’

’She’s a little old lady! She should be expressing – I don’t know – her knitting.’

We were getting undressed for bed. Something we had done perhaps one thousand times before. It still excited me to see my wife taking off her clothes. The long limbs, casually revealing themselves. I don’t think she felt quite the same way about watching me put on my stripy pyjamas.

’I think it’s great she’s got a male friend, Harry. You know how much she misses your father. You don’t want her to sleep with the light on for the rest of her life, do you?’

’She was with my old man forever. She’s bound to miss him. And it’s right she misses him.’

’Am I supposed to be faithful to you when you’re dead?’

I snorted. Til be happy if you’re faithful to me when I’m alive.’

She froze inside the T-shirt she was pulling over her head. Then her face appeared, her eyes narrowing. ’What does that mean?’

’Nothing.’

’Come on.’

’You just seem a bit too friendly with that guy.’

’Luke?’

’Is that his name?’