Chapter 17
It turns out that Amanda wasn’t en route to somewhere more interesting when she bowled up at Celia’s flat. In fact, this is where she plans to stay tonight – ‘If you’re sure it’s no trouble?’
‘Of course not,’ Celia manages. ‘It’s fine!’ But first Amanda insists that they go out locally for a drink.
Being whisked off to the pub on a week night – on any night, in fact – is a new experience for Celia. ‘So you actually caught him,’ Amanda marvels, a shade too loudly at their corner table, ‘in the caravan?’
‘That’s right,’ Celia replies.
‘Actually doing it? In the act?’
She nods and gulps her G&T, wishing her friend would dial down the glee just a little. As it is, it seems that Amanda is finding the caravan incident even more fascinating than Terri working with murderers.
‘My God, what an arsehole. I’m sorry, Celia, but that’s the shittiest thing I’ve ever heard. He’s always creeped me out. Am I allowed to say that?’
Celia looks at her, startled, and takes another big sip of her G&T.
It’s an extremely strong one – she can feel it surging through her veins – and she tries to figure out how she feels, hearing her husband being spoken of like that.
Although Terri is extremely direct on most topics, she has always held back where Geoff is concerned.
Celia understands this. You should never badmouth a friend’s partner while they’re still together.
And now, it seems, Celia is not with Geoff any more.
At least, in the two days since she caught him, she still hasn’t had a call or even a message, and has yet to fully comprehend what’s happened.
Of course, the possibility remains that he might come crawling back to her, and that she might choose to forgive him.
But what would happen then? Would she ever be able to erase the image of his naked butt from her mind?
‘Of course you’re allowed to say that,’ she tells Amanda, a little tipsy already, the gin having rushed to her head. ‘You can say whatever you like.’
‘Good,’ Amanda says, pushing back her tumbling fair hair.
People have recognised her in here, Celia notices.
At least they have realised that she is somebody .
The barman was flirty when Amanda went up for their drinks, and there was a ripple of excitement among the boisterous women installed around the big table.
How must it feel to have that happen? Celia wonders.
Unless someone’s yucca is ailing, or an orchid has developed a peculiar fungus, then she is accustomed to going through life barely noticed.
As a child she sometimes wondered if her parents – who seemed to be either partying or fighting – actually remembered that she was there.
Whenever Amanda happened to mention her favourite babysitter, who’d patiently paint her nails for her, Celia would listen, fascinated.
Not because of the manicure aspect particularly, but because it seemed that Amanda was never left at home alone.
That suggested, Celia decided back then that Amanda needed to be looked after because she was precious . And following this logical thread, Celia could only ascertain that she herself was not precious at all.
However now, in the dimly lit pub, she is the focus of rapt interest and, as if a prize might be at stake, she is trying to respond quickly to her friend’s rapid-fire questions.
‘Did you have any idea that something was going on?’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘Weren’t there any signs?’
Celia bites her lip. ‘Well, he did buy me a falafel wrap…’
‘What?’
She quickly summarises the incident before she caught the London train. ‘And you thought that was weird?’ Amanda asks, frowning.
‘A bit, yes. When you know what he’s like?—’
‘Yes, I do know.’ Amanda shudders, and Celia leans forward, curious now.
‘What d’you mean?’
Amanda pauses to sip her drink. ‘I hate to say this, Celia, but Geoff’s a tit-starer.’
‘Is he?’ She is genuinely astounded as Amanda nods gravely and takes another swig.
If Geoff has even given her own breasts a cursory glance, then Celia has never noticed.
She came to the conclusion many years ago that he didn’t like them very much, but then she remembers overhearing his father’s inappropriate comment.
‘His dad once said I had a great rack,’ she murmurs, as if piecing clues together.
‘There you are, then! He’s passed it down.’
Is creepiness hereditary, Celia wonders , like eye colour, or the shape of a nose? Is there a boob-staring gene? ‘Yes, he must have.’ She nods.
‘Has he ever done this before?’
‘Stared at boobs?’
‘Slept with anyone else.’
‘Oh.’ Celia’s cheeks flame. ‘I’ve no idea. Maybe?’ How is she supposed to know?
‘What about Logan? What does he think about all this?’
Before they came out, Celia had tapped lightly on her son’s closed bedroom door and called his name, anxious to check up on him. But his gruff response suggested that he did not wish to be checked up on at all. ‘Well, he’s shocked of course,’ she replies.
‘Did he see it too?’
‘See what ?’
‘Them doing it.’
Celia shudders at the thought and drains her glass. ‘God, no.’
‘Well, that’s good.’ Amanda nods sagely as if she understands the first thing about the effects of parental adultery on a grown-up child. ‘You know, you’ve got to own this, Celia,’ she adds.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I mean you have to take charge of the thing rather than it taking charge of you.’
‘Take charge of what?’ Geoff’s wandering penis? It seems like even he can’t control that, and he’s attached to the thing.
‘The situation,’ Amanda says with some force. ‘You can’t fall apart when terrible things happen, Celia. You have to put on a brave face to show you’re coping, and before you know it, you really are. And you’ll be stronger for it, you know. You will survive.’
So she’s going all Gloria Gaynor on her now. ‘Of course I will,’ Celia says quietly, but in truth she doesn’t quite believe it.
Amanda squeezes her hand. ‘You’re so, so brave. I hope you realise that.’
Is she? It doesn’t feel that way. But the strong alcohol, and simply being away from the flat, in the cosiest of pubs – Celia rarely goes out at night – have taken the edge off a little, and when Amanda suggests another drink, she readily agrees.
Unused to fielding so many questions, she tries to switch the focus to Amanda’s life in London as they have a second, and then a third G&T. ‘So are you and Jasper really okay?’ she ventures.
‘Oh, yes, we’re fine. Like I said, I just need a little break.’ Amanda seems reluctant to delve into it any further, and the conversation switches back to Celia’s situation as finally they make their way home.
‘It might turn out for the best,’ Amanda announces loudly as Celia lets them in. ‘You’ll be better off without him, you know—’ She breaks off as Celia mimes a shushing motion, index finger pressed to her lips.
‘What is it?’
‘Logan,’ Celia mouths, eyes wide. Christ, they’re standing right outside his room. Has Amanda forgotten that he exists?
‘Oh, right.’ She grimaces. Then, lowering her volume only by a notch, ‘So, what shall we do tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow?’ Celia tugs off her shabby jacket and hangs it on a hook in the hall.
What’s the best way to ask, ‘How long are you staying?’ without seeming rude?
She knows better than to bark, ‘When are you going home?’ But still it’s tricky, and despite being grateful for the impromptu night out, Celia is still rattled by Amanda’s sudden arrival. ‘I’m not sure,’ she replies warily.
‘We should do something nice to cheer you up,’ Amanda decides. ‘Something lovely and treaty – that’s what you need. Just the two of us together.’
Celia looks at her, trying to form an appropriate expression, but her facial muscles won’t behave and the challenge overwhelms her.
Instead, she tries to gather her faculties together in preparation for wrestling with the clunky second-hand pull-out bed.
It’s currently swathed in an ancient blanket and heaped with pots and tools in her plant room.
It has occurred to her that Amanda could share her double bed, but that feels like a step too far and Celia needs her space. No, this is where Amanda will have to sleep tonight.
Celia had bought the bed for sleepovers many years ago, in the hope that Logan might wish to have friends staying over from time to time.
Like the other kids, she thought. Like the kids who have sleepovers.
He had a small group of friends from the school chess club, but Terri suggested that sleepovers were more of a girl thing really, and that she was worrying over nothing.
Anyway, no one ever stayed over and now, without any offer of help from the watching Amanda, she grapples with the bed’s hefty iron bar.
It’s only for one night , Celia reassures herself as the mechanism snaps at her fingers and she manages to haul the thing open.
A musty odour escapes and Amanda steps back, flinching, as if she fears being contaminated by it.
‘Sorry it’s a bit basic,’ Celia murmurs as she makes up the bed, trying to plump up the flaccid pillow and smooth out the saggy old duvet in its wrinkled cover.
‘This is fine,’ Amanda insists. ‘This is great. Honestly, it’s kind of exotic, with all the plants. I’ll pretend I’m in a Kew Gardens glasshouse!’
Later, in her own bed without the snoring bulk of her husband lying beside her, Celia rehearses possible ways to broach the subject of Amanda’s plans.
So, what are you up to the next few days?
No, she should be more direct. Be more Terri.
Are you thinking of staying up here for long? Woozily, she considers asking Amanda if she is planning to move on to her Aunt Christine’s, a little further out into the suburbs. But now she fears that Aunt Christine is dead.
Maybe the issue will simply resolve itself?
Surely Amanda won’t put up with sleeping on that lumpy pull-out bed in what Geoff referred to as ‘the jungle’ for long?
And if all else fails, Celia will explain that, sorry, she can’t stay any longer – that she isn’t up for doing anything ‘treaty’ right now.
Yes, that’s it, she decides as she slips towards a gin-induced sleep. Tomorrow she’ll be honest with Amanda – and then she’ll start to figure out how to rescue the mess of her life.