By the time young Laurie found words, his father was pouring most of his energy into the local authority’s nascent Race Equality unit, which he one day hoped to lead. Laurie’s words soon took the form of a mild interrogation as he learned to ask, ‘Where have you been, Daddy?’ and ‘What did you do today, Daddy?’ and then eventually, ‘You’re not going out again are you, Daddy?’, and Annabelle would shush him while chopping carrots, or basting a chicken, or pushing her fingers into a batch of buns to see if they were ready. As he invested increasing amounts of time in his work, Annabelle’s supply of scripts and freelance work started to dry up, but it appeared to him that she had plenty to occupy herself with coping with Laurie and trying to be a pillar of support for her mother whose devotion to her grandson was genuine but, according to Annabelle, masked an increasingly obvious gaping void at the heart of her own life. He could see that Annabelle was struggling to cope with her own family situation and he was actively looking for an opportunity to help her to heal the rift. In the meantime, although he occasionally felt guilty for not being around the home more often, he had to admit that he was enjoying the new work opportunities to travel to conferences and make presentations, junkets which gave him a sense of having reclaimed some of his independence.
The wind continues to gust, and as he makes his way along Uxbridge Road he turns up the collar on his jacket and leans slightly into the gale. He can hear dustbins being turned over, and up ahead of him a row of decorative plastic pennants which have been strung up outside a petrol station look as though they, and the flimsy piece of rope to which they have been affixed, are about to fly clear of the forecourt. Then he feels suddenly overwhelmed by panic and checks that the wallet with the five £20 notes is still in his pocket. As he nears his street, he rues the fact that, having left the family home, he has found it difficult to enjoy his new freedom for he has never been able fully to reconcile himself to the fact that each time he arrives back at the rented flat it will be a cold beginning. He has to switch on the lights, he has to turn on the heat, draw the curtains, warm up the place, select the music, and create some atmosphere. He has almost forgotten what it feels like to slide into a body-warmed bed. Three years ago, it was entirely up to him to transform the empty flat into a place that he could relax in, but it soon became apparent that there were aspects of the shared responsibility of marriage that he was going to miss desperately. Before turning into his street, he decides to stop at the pub for a quick drink. His local is one of the few pubs left in west London that has refused to capitulate to the sawdust-on-the-floor and alcopop trend, so at the best of times there are only a handful of ageing drinkers in the place. However, the melancholy, almost nostalgic, ambience of the Queen Caroline seems, these days, to match his own mood.
He carries his pint of Australian lager across to the jukebox, rummages around in his trouser pockets for some money, slots in the £1 coins, and then taps out the song numbers. The jukebox is a relic from an earlier period, as are the singles that will eventually swing into place. Bob Marley, Barry White, the Isley Brothers, the Clash, the Specials, and Stevie Wonder. He smiles to himself realising how helplessly he has become a creature of habit, for these are probably the same six songs that he chose the last time he ventured into this pub. As ‘No Woman, No Cry’ begins slowly to crescendo and energise the musty atmosphere of the public bar, he picks up his pint and tucks himself behind a circular wooden table in the furthest corner of the empty room. The upholstered bench is dirty, and the shabby fabric needs to be either cleaned or replaced, but from this vantage point he is able to monitor the door and observe everything that might occur in the pub. In this sense, he is in control, which is precisely what Yvette accused him of needing to be.
She covered her glass with the top of her hand, and then she watched as he decided to pour himself another drink and quickly took a sip. She pulled at the collar of her turtleneck sweater, as though suddenly afflicted with a flush of heat, and she smiled and told him that the one thing she had learned from her break-up with Colin was that men who rigorously police the boundaries of their lives are always looking outwards. According to her, such men don’t seem to understand that whatever it is they have inside is most probably wilting, or even dying, because they are refusing to take the time to nourish their inner selves.
‘You think I sound like some new-age imbecile, don’t you? You don’t have to say anything, I can tell by the way you’re just staring at me.’
He put down the glass of wine and reached out to cup her hands with his, but she withdrew so abruptly that her whole body snapped away from him.
‘What’s the matter? I only want to hold your hands.’
‘Keith, don’t treat me like I’m stupid, okay. All this bullshit about how I’m too young, and I work for you, and we don’t have enough in common. You’ve got it all worked out in your head like it’s some bleeding presentation that you’re giving. Doesn’t it matter to you that I really care, and that I’d actually like this to work out? It’s not as if I’ve been with any other blokes since Colin left. And, in case you’ve forgotten, it was you who asked me out, remember?’
‘Listen, I’m not arguing with any of what you’re saying. And you’re right, since I split up with Annabelle I have been a bit more stand-offish and vigilant, if you like. I suppose it’s only natural that once you get your freedom back you want to protect it.’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘I suppose I’m saying that policing my borders is a good way of putting it, but I don’t want to be like that.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘The problem is I can’t just suddenly let my guard down and get involved in something serious.’
‘So you don’t think I’m serious?’
‘Of course you are. Listen, Yvette, I think you’re great.’
‘But you’re finishing with me.’
‘I told you, it’s not going anywhere, how can it?’
‘Well why didn’t you think of that before you fucked me?’
For a moment he thinks about refilling his glass, for she has finally hit a nerve.