Chapter 38
38
Shaun’s flight was inevitably delayed, so Connor checked into Hotel Gotham by himself, all liveried bellhops in those flat usher hats, dramatic lighting and maximalist, glitzy Art Deco clutter. He was quite won over to the ‘Murder On The Orient Sexpress’ look they had going on. His room– Shaun had enjoyed the irony of it being a ‘Bank Manager’s Suite’– had a zig-zagging geometric black-and-white carpet and vintage travel chest as coffee table.
In London he’d have found it insufferable but up here it was playful larks. There you go, Manchester, Connor thought, I can learn to love you, all I need is a five-star accommodation in a ￡600 per night suite . Or spacious interiors on a par with Bel Macauley’s place, which was probably a ￡1.2m proposition. God, maybe he WAS a shallow Finance Bro.
Shaun
Good news, my phone’s finally got a signal. Bad: only just landed. Get dinner and I will see you for the strong liquor part of the evening, after a shower.
Connor was going to inform his brother that he and Jennifer were no more tonight, he’d not yet told their parents. This two-hour wait, with only a ginger kombucha and a bag of wasabi peas from Itsu he’d acquired en route, seemed the time.
There was something hilariously, poignantly incongruous about sitting on the emperor-sized bed with leather headboard, peacock feather print bolsters and furry throw to announce his newly single status. This sybarite’s coital lair was not designed for two-timed losers.
(That was a point: what the hell was Aaron needling him over Jen’s departure for? Connor had a fair idea: Aaron’s Bel infatuation had now gone supersonic, and he thought an unattached Connor was some sort of threat. Albeit being laughably wide of the mark, Bel ought to be wary there. In Connor’s experience, men who wanted women that much and didn’t get them could turn vengeful.)
His dad answered their landline at 7.00 p.m. on a Friday night, in their solidly reliable way. Connor made the announcement of his separation in low key ‘such is life, we’re both fine’ manner. As a bombshell, it had lost most of its power, given his dad had assumed they were over when he dropped him off, sans life partner, in Salford.
‘Oh no, what a shame. I’ll get your mum,’ his dad said, and Connor smiled into his iPhone.
He’d decided to keep the Jennifer nude snap farrago from them. It would only embarrass and scandalise them and turn Jen’s reputation to dust. He didn’t need that and she didn’t deserve it. Plus he had his brother for the gory post-mortem.
‘Your dad says you and Jennifer are splitting up?’ his mum said. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine. The writing had been on the wall for a while and we’re keeping it very civilised, Mum. She’s staying in the flat until I leave here.’
‘Why not come back home for a weekend and let us look after you?’
‘That’s a lovely offer and I have thought about it, but I’ve only got a month left here. I don’t think I’ll ever return to Manchester again without good reason so I might as well stick it out.’
A month. That was quick. It had dragged, now it raced. He didn’t feel as gleeful as he expected to.
‘You must be isolated, up there without knowing anyone, going through this?’ his mother said.
‘I was, but my show-off brother’s about to blow into town …’
Connor rang off, promising to send photos of the room, him and Shaun, and signing off on his mother sending Jen a consolatory WhatsApp message.
Connor had no interest in eating deconstructed fish and chips solo in the hotel restaurant so decided he’d have a soak in the gold roll-top bath, tipping White Company bubbles into the gush from the tap. He was glad there wasn’t a prospective lover observing him getting into it as, in fact, clambering naked into a high-sided tub was comically ungainly.
Once immersed, the sounds of the street far below, he felt a potent combination of hopeful, lonely and absurd. You were supposed to have someone in here with you, holding a glass of something expensive and cold.
His mind wandered to how Bel Macauley often wore her hair slung up, as if she was keeping it clear of bathwater. He pictured her opposite, gazing at him sceptically. He recalled her emulsion-white skin, her bare collarbones. His imagination added suds-coated, floating breasts. He banished the vision before he was bobbing about with a tragic erection inspired by a combative co-worker who would retch if she knew.
He’d started listening to her podcast which was undeniably good. Her gentle northern accent and sparky, personable nature made her a very likeable presenter.
He needed to neutralise this persistent wrong-think about sexing Bel up by acquiring a wholesome crush in London, but how did he find such a thing when he wasn’t even there?
Later, in the bar, through black lacquered doors, Connor nursed a Pisco Sour and thought: yeah, no, I’m not downloading the Hinge app. For what? To enrage Jen when patrolling and reassure himself he could still pull? That wasn’t what he wanted reassurance about.
Shaun grabbed him from behind and kissed him on the head, saying: ‘Here he is! Charging it to the room I bet.’
Connor stood up to give his brother a hug.
His years in the States and his American spouse had given Shaun’s accent a transatlantic lilt– one of the few things he was embarrassable about. Possibly because he was the king of being in control, and it wasn’t a conscious choice.
‘Here you are,’ Connor said, sitting down, inspecting his brother’s appearance: ‘You look annoyingly with it for a man who’s done long haul.’
‘That’s good then, because I feel like a Ziploc bag of hot dog shit.’
Connor felt aglow at the sight of his brother in this city where, as his mother had observed, he knew almost no one, while simultaneously being painfully aware of how much he missed out on, with Shaun living three and a half thousand miles away. Perhaps Jen had a point about his incurable melancholy.
Once Shaun had a beer, Connor broke the Jennifer news, including how the discovery was made.
‘Fuck!’ Shaun said. ‘You got this photo right as she’s arriving?’
‘Right as she was arriving. I actually felt sorry for her more than anything.’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ Shaun said, ‘that’s very you.’
‘The real shocker was she wanted us to go to counselling and carry on. It was very difficult to see our path back to happiness. I think she was determined to make me the quitter.’
‘Jennifer’s an acquisitive person. You’re a prize, and she can’t bear to willingly surrender a prize. It’s not that you have value to her, it’s that you have value to others.’
‘Shaun,’ Connor said, rubbing his eyes and laughing, ‘I know your whole thing is you don’t sugar coat anything ever, but could I ask for the merest icing dusting?’
‘Are you conflicted about it ending?’ Shaun said, dangling a padron pepper by its stalk into his mouth. He’d covered half the table in speculative side dish orders. ‘Also, you say you’re not harrowed but you’re thin. Eat something.’
‘Ripped, I’m ripped.’
‘If you say so.’
‘No, I’m not conflicted, but … humans aren’t machines. “The woman you spent five years with was a thunderous nause” is quite hard to hear.’ Connor tried a cauliflower fritter and spoke after chewing: ‘I still feel defensive of her and wished you’d liked her more. I knew you were never bowled over by Jen, but you got along?’
‘We did get along. I just thought she was wrong for you. We all did.’
‘Oh, great!’ Connor said. He was play-acting more bothered than he was. Now the files had been declassified, he was self-conscious, yes, but also curious. He’d never thought his family were mad keen on Jennifer, merely respectful of his choice, and that had been enough.
‘I appreciate it hurts,’ Shaun said. ‘Equally, do you want me to say you just lost the best thing to ever happen to you, drive to North East London right now with a boom box and stand under her window?’
‘No, obviously,’ Connor said. ‘I look back over our five years and try to see why she and I ever thought we were a good fit. By thirty-four I should’ve figured out my kind of person.’
‘You were aimless back then, and she had purpose. It was a situational attraction, it had a time and a place. A lot of people turn those errors into marriages and kids so you’re lucky really.’
Connor explained they’d have company for dinner the following evening. Checking they were speaking in total privacy, he briefly explained the undercover op, his intrusion into it, who he was meant to be.
‘That sounds a heck of a gig.’ Shaun lowered his voice. ‘No offence, but you’re an intern? I thought you’d be doing golden wedding anniversaries and cats up trees?’
‘I would be if you’d not sent me to check out a hotel in Didsbury.’
‘You’re here twelve weeks in this city and you’re trying to get its Mayor fired? You fucking journalists, I swear to God.’
Connor grinned and Shaun shook his head.
‘This “Bel Macauley” must be quite formidable,’ Shaun said.
‘Oh, you have NO idea,’ Connor said, with a grimace.
He suddenly felt exposed, even rattled, having sailed through discussing JenGate. He’d not prepared a party line on Bel. Ifherevealed any confusion or ambivalence, Shaun would leap straight into dissecting it. Connor wasn’t ready.
‘Why are we spending Saturday night with her then?’
‘Because I bloody have to, don’t I,’ Connor said, aiming for rueful jollity. Yet as he said it, he felt both ungentlemanly and something of a fraud.