Tony Parsons - Man And Wife

I knew, in my calmer moments, that it was not easy for Richard. I knew that the things he wanted for my son museums, Harry Potter, tofu, even the new life in another country – were not meant as punishments. I didn’t hate Richard because of those things. I hated him because he had taken my son away from me. Who did he think he was? He wasn’t Pat’s father.

The step-parent has a thankless job. The step-parent can’t win. You are either involved with this pint-sized stranger too much or not enough. But there’s one thing that the step-parent should always remember. It is even worse for the child.

Grown-ups can always get a new husband or wife. But the children of divorce can’t get a new father or mother, no more than they can get a new heart, new lungs, new eyes. For better, for worse, for richer for poorer, you are trapped with the parents you are born with.

Peggy was lumbered with me, this man in her mother’s bed who was neither fish nor fowl, friend nor father, just a male parent impersonator.

Uncle Dad.

A night that was just like the old days. That was the idea. There was a new print of Annie Hall showing at the Curzon Mayfair. Then we were going for Peking duck in Chinatown. And maybe we would end the evening with a shot of espresso in some small Soho dive before returning home for slow, lazy sex and a good night’s sleep.

Film, duck, coffee, fuck.

Then making spoons, and sharing the same pillow for a good eight hours.

The perfect date.

Our night on the town wasn’t exactly hanging out at the Met Bar with the Gallaghers, but I knew that it would make us happy. It had many times before. But maybe I tried a little too hard to make it like the old days.

The movie was good. And we walked through the narrow streets of Soho hand in hand, laughing about Alvy Singer and his Annie Hall, lost in the film and each other, just like it was in our once upon a time.

It only started to go wrong in Chinatown.

The Shenyang Tiger was crowded. There was an entire Chinese family at the next table – nan, granddad, a few young husbands and wives and their flock of beautiful kids, including a brand-new baby, a fat-faced Buddha with a startling shock of jet-black Elvis hair.

Cyd and I stared at the baby, then smiled at each other.

’Isn’t he gorgeous?’ she said. ’All that hair.’

’Would you like one? It’s not too late to change your order. I can have the duck and you can have the baby.’

I was only kidding – wasn’t I? – but her smile vanished instantly.

’Oh, come on. Not the baby thing again, Harry. You never shut up about it, do you?’

’What are you talking about? It wasn’t the baby thing again. I’m just pulling your leg, darling. You used to have a sense of humour.’

’And you used to let me have a life.’

’What does that mean?’

’I know you want me to give up the business. It’s true, isn’t it? You want me pregnant and in the kitchen. I know you do.’

I said nothing. How could I deny that I would prefer her to make dinner for her family rather than half of fashionable London? How could I deny that I wanted a baby, a family, and all the old-fashioned dreams?

I wanted us to be the way we were. But it wasn’t because I wanted to imprison her. It was because I loved her.

The waiter arrived with our Peking duck, and plates of cucumber, spring onion and plum sauce. I waited until he had shredded the duck and gone.

’I just want you to be happy, Cyd.’

’Then leave me alone, Harry. Let me run my business. Let me try to do something for myself for just once in my life. Stop trying to make me give it all up to be – I don’t even know what it is you want. Doris Day, is it? Mary Tyler Moore? Your mother? Some fifties housewife who doesn’t go out at night.’

My mother was actually out all the time. Doing the Four-Star Boogie and the Get In Line and the I Like It I Love It and the Walkin’ Wazi. But I let it pass.

’I don’t mind you going out at night. I’m happy your business is going so well. I just wish that there were more nights like this. When you were spending the night with me.’

But her blood was up now.

’You really want to be the sole breadwinner, don’t you? The big man. Are you going to spend the rest of your life trying to be your father?’

’Probably. I can think of worse things to be than my old man.’ I pushed my plate away. Suddenly I didn’t have much of an appetite. ’And are you going to spend the rest of your life sucking up to creeps?’

’Luke Moore is not a creep. He’s a brilliant businessman.’

’Who said anything about Luke bloody Moore? I’m talking about all those drunken City boys who think they can get into your thong because you give them a bit of chicken on a stick.’

A mobile phone began to ring from deep inside her handbag. She fished it out and immediately recognised the number calling. Because it was our number.

’Sally?’ She was babysitting for us. Cyd didn’t like anyone outside our little family looking after Peggy. ’Well, how long has she been vomiting?’

Oh great, I thought. Now the kid’s puking all over the babysitter.

’Everything fine?’ said the waiter.

’Wonderful, thanks.’ I smiled.

’And is it solid or liquid?’ Cyd said. ’Okay, okay. Well, can’t you get her to be sick down the toilet? Right, right. Look, we’ll be home in half an hour, Sally. What? Well, just change her pyjamas and stick the dirty ones in the washing machine. We’re going to jump in a cab. See you.’

’Something wrong?’

’Peggy. You know she doesn’t like it when we’re both out at the same time. She gets an upset tummy.’ She beckoned a passing waitress. ’Can we get the bill, please?’ Then she looked at my stony face. ’Are you sulking because Peggy is sick?’

’We should stay. You should eat your lovely duck. There’s nothing wrong with Peggy.’

’She’s just brought up her Mister Milano pizza. How can you say there’s nothing wrong with her?’

’This always happens.’ It was true. Every time we had one of our rare nights out, it was as if Peggy was sticking her fingers down her throat. ’Look, if she was really sick, I’d be as worried as you.’

’Really? As worried as me? I don’t think so, Harry.’

’Can’t you see? It’s a kind of blackmail. She only does it to get you to come home. Eat your dinner, Cyd.’

’I don’t want my dinner. And you should understand how she feels, Harry. If anyone should understand, it’s you. You know what it’s like to be a single parent.’

’Is that what you think? That you’re a single parent?’ I shook my head. ’You’re married, Cyd. You stopped being a single parent on our wedding day.’

’Then why do I still feel like a single parent? Why do I feel so alone?’

’It’s not because there’s something wrong with Peggy.’ A waiter placed a bill and a quartered orange in front of us. ’It’s because there’s something wrong with us.’

Outside the night had soured.

The good-natured, slow-moving crowds of early evening had been replaced by mobs of noisy drunks. The tourists were coming out of Mamma Mia! and Les Misérables, desperately hailing cabs that were already occupied. The streets were full of yobs in from the suburbs and beggars in from faraway towns. A scrappy, half-hearted fight was starting outside a packed pub. You could hear the sound of broken glass and sirens.

Then I saw her.

Kazumi.

She was in the queue outside that church on Shaftesbury Avenue that they had turned into a club almost twenty years ago. Limelight. Gina and I had gone there a couple of times. I didn’t even know that Limelight was still open.