The Romantic Weekender
The champagne was a mistake. He’d thought it might be charming but now it seemed corny, even a little sleazy. Never mind, too late now. He emptied the contents of the bag on to the bed, some small scissors, a razor, shaving cream. To avoid bumping into Marnie, he’d had to sneak out to the chemist, a spy behind enemy lines, and that had felt sleazy too. Now he showered then snipped off as much of the beard as he could, rinsing the sink with the tips of his fingers, then shaved the rest carefully, twice up, twice down, trying not to imbue the act with too much symbolism. Bare-faced, that was the phrase, and there was something exposed and unmasked about it, a younger face from before everything had gone wrong. Somewhat nervously, he pulled the skin tight and examined the raised line of the scar, pale with no pores or follicles. While he could never think of it as raffish or cool, it had lost its repulsiveness. Perhaps it was fading. He buttoned up his freshly pressed shirt, the first time he’d ever used an iron in a hotel room, the first time he’d used an iron for some months, and there was something nostalgic, domestic about the warm cotton smell, though he hoped Nat wouldn’t notice that he’d gone to any trouble.
It would be harder to pass off the champagne as something casual. He had bought it on impulse, a special offer on the hotel website, the Romantic Weekender, and now here it stood in a bucket on its little stand, two flutes upended in the melted water, presumptuous and intrusive, as if a small, silent child were standing sentry by the bed. Could he hide it behind a curtain, or would that be more sinister? He made it stand in the corner.
He felt both exhausted and adrenalised. Was this what it was like to have an affair, an assignation – was that the word? Champagne warming, waiting for Reception to call up. It can’t be an affair if you’re meeting your wife, but even so, he wondered whom he was betraying.
A knock. Perhaps she’d slipped past Reception. He pulled his hands down over mouth and chin and opened the door.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, is your dad in?’
‘Marnie—’
‘I was looking for Mr Bradshaw but … What have you done?’
‘I thought I’d … freshen up.’
‘I hope you shaved it off in stages …’
She was off again, making jokes though he couldn’t quite take them in. ‘No, no, just in one go.’ There was a silence. ‘I thought you’d left.’
‘I’m sorry, I know,’ said Marnie, ‘I know, we’ve said goodbye and I am going …’ Her eyes darted around the room. ‘Are you busy?’
‘No, not at all, but your taxi—’
‘It’s coming, but I wanted to say, before I go … this is weird, isn’t it? Leaving like this? Because I thought we had something. I mean I really, really liked you and I haven’t had that for – I was going to say decades, and I thought, That’s not right, but it is more than one decade, and I don’t just mean friendship, not just nice chats but attraction. Fancying. I mean I really want to kiss you, all the time. It’s the weirdest thing …’
‘And I did too.’
‘Did?’
‘Do, do very much want that too, I do,’ he said, and yet he didn’t move.
‘So why don’t we walk to the sea! Sixty miles is nothing – it’s that much.’ She held up her hand and showed its span. ‘It’s a stroll, and I feel like something is happening and it seems crazy to go home. I’d miss you and I had an idea you might miss me. So why don’t we …?’
‘Keep going? Yes, okay.’
She laughed. ‘What – that’s it?’
‘No, I think let’s keep walking and talking and … see what happens.’
‘Okay. Okay.’ She looked confused. ‘So, what, I should cancel the taxi?’
‘Yes, yes, do it. Cancel. Good.’
‘Okay. Okay.’ She looked confused and he found himself glancing down the corridor, over her shoulder. She saw this. ‘I’m sorry, it’s none of my business but is there a call-girl coming?’
He smiled tightly. ‘No. No, I’m meeting Natasha.’
‘Oh. Okay. What, now?’
‘Any minute.’
‘Okay. Okay, I didn’t know that.’
‘No.’
‘It feels like something you’d mention.’
‘It’s not a good time to talk about this, Marnie.’
She jerked her head back. ‘Oh, is that your teacher’s voice?’
‘No, it’s just—’
‘Fuck off, sorry, I mean you’ve got every right, it’s just why didn’t you …?’
‘Because probably nothing’s going to come of it and you’re meant to be gone. So.’
‘I see. I see.’ She was chewing her lip, getting ready to go. ‘But you still think we should carry on walking to the sea?’
‘I think it’s a great idea!’
‘Okay. But can I ask, do you still love her?’
He had not always been honest with Marnie and it seemed important that he should be entirely honest now.
‘I do love her,’ he said, ‘at this time and place.’
And here she smiled, not pleasantly. ‘But, Michael,’ she said, ‘that’s where we are.’