He’s looking at me steadily. Sometimes I think he might kill me one day, just for something to do. He’s stood up now, his belly jostling about under his T-shirt. He smiles and I look at bad gums and the botched dentistry of his teeth.
– Question One, he says. (He’s pretending to be a teacher, which I guess appeals to him.) – When are you going to open your letter?
– I’m not.
– Question Two. Why?
I’m scared to, is the truth. I look away, chew some more paper. But he won’t let go.
– Question Three. Who d’you reckon it’s from, then?
– Dunno.
I don’t want to know, either. The letter, the news about Atlantica, the words Final Adjustment… Head in the sand. But John’s persistent. It’s boredom does it.
– Question Three. Might it be from the wife?
It takes me several chews to remember that I was once married. That’s how distant my life on Atlantica seems now.
– If you’re talking about Gwynneth, I go, after I’ve spat, she’s not my wife, she’s my ex. And apart from some stuff she wrote on a form once, I don’t think I ever saw her handwriting.
It was true. Who uses handwriting, nowadays?
– Question Four. Your daughter, then?
– Tiffany? He must be joking – If it weren’t for her – I begin.
Then stop. Why do I let him do this? I reach for a sheet of paper and crunch it into a ball.
– I’ve heard that she’s the one…
But by then I’ve stuffed the paper into my mouth, and I’m back to chewing.
The best, and most honest thing I could have done, once the Hogg family had custom-built itself around me, was to stick to their company exclusively. Not get involved in any other relationships – especially ones that meant practical commitment. But I couldn’t, could I? I was human. I had physical needs. I don’t just mean sex, I mean the day-to-day stuff you do as a couple, like sharing a tub of popcorn at a drive-in, choosing which texture wallpaper for the utility room, microwaving something Thai.
Gwynneth seemed like another godsend, at first. In an odd sort of way she reminded me of my sister Lola. She loved to laugh, live for the moment, act on impulse. She’d drag me off to places I’d never dreamed of going on my own – clubs, rollerblade races, and live TV shows that required audience participation, where dysfunctional families slagged each other off. She was always getting tickets for this or that.
I met her in a queue.
It was at the Taxation Centre, as it was called back then, before you did everything online or by phone; I was there sorting out some family business. Gwynneth was ahead of me, but she was dithering about, grappling with the usual problems posed by Section 9(g) of the YB408 self-assessment reclaim clause. Anyway, the long and the short of it was, I helped her with it, and she asked if she could buy me a coconut milkshake to say thanks.
– Or there’s a new diet drink with cinnamon? she goes. If you’re not too busy?
That’s when our eyes sort of met and locked. Hers were very round and wide, like Pacific Ocean shells with mother-of-pearl in. She had a nice body too. By nice, I mean it was a sensible size and shape that looked welcoming. Not madly sexy and outrageous like Lola’s – just well, OK. I liked that.
One thing led to another, and in a little bistro, on our third Mexican beer, I realised how badly I wanted her to like me. Soon I found myself pouring out all sorts of stuff to her about my folks, and the computer consultation service we ran as a family concern. I was enthusing about them, like you do when you’re proud of something and it’s all yours. She was very impressed with the business side of it (I didn’t use the word ‘fraud’), and our complicated deals. It was obvious from the way I spoke that I had money. That’s never a turn-off for women, is it? But I think I genuinely appealed to her too. You got the feeling she’d maybe had a hard time with men, and that I might be an experiment in something different.
– So what do you call yourself, exactly? she goes. I mean, when you’re talking about your job? I mean, mine’s simple, I just say beauty therapist.
I hesitated. Technically speaking, I was a criminal.
– I’m a flexecutive, I went.
That seemed to hit the spot. And it wasn’t a complete lie; it’s a broad church.
One thing led to another; tickets to a show, a Korean restaurant, more talking, some rather fumbling sex. It was odd, doing it in the flesh for the first time, rather than in my head. I had trouble keeping my eyes open, even though I was keen to see what was going on. I was so used to imagining things. But Gwynneth’s hotness and wetness and – well, fleshiness – they really drove me wild. There were all sorts of things I hadn’t expected – the grappling with clothes, the grunty panting that goes on, the tropical nature of the atmosphere you somehow build up between you, the urgency of it all, and the whoosh of release. What a fandango!
– I love this! I blurted to Gwynneth, as I exploded into her – joy of joys! – on the turquoise leather settee of the three-piece suite she called her Best Bargain.
– I love you!
I couldn’t help it. It was my first time doing it for real. And I did love her. I loved everything that she brought me. I loved being normal. I even loved going shopping with her! She was a true Atlantican that way; it’s in the blood. She was a choosy and discerning consumer. She knew what to buy to suit her mood, knew when to purchase, and when to window-shop. She liked theming, she liked self-assembly – or rather, she liked to buy things I could put together with an Allen key while she made us something from a sachet. It was a kind of a foreplay thing.
The trouble was, as things progressed, she wanted to meet my parents.
– And Lola and Cameron too, she goes, all pink with enthusiasm. And your Uncle Sid! They sound just brilliant! God, Harvey, you’re so lucky! My parents are awful. My brother’s an arrogant jerk, and I haven’t spoken to my sister since she deliberately smeared taramasalata on my basque.
Well. All relationships have their sticky moments. Gwynneth was shocked and disappointed when I finally broke the news to her about my family only existing on paper.
– And in my heart, of course, too, I added, trying to smile winningly. In my heart, they’ve always been very much around. I can hardly remember a time when I didn’t know them.
She didn’t like this one bit, though. In fact, she said, she was shocked to the core.
– Frankly, Harvey, she says, I’m just a bit worried that you might have a mental illness. I’ve never come across anyone inventing a whole family before.
– How many orphans d’you know? I snapped. Look. My real father was just some bloke with sperm, as far as I can gather. No record of him. And my real mother drank bleach when I was three. Can you blame me for craving a spot of normality?
She looked at her nails for a moment. They were impressive, because they were made of acrylic that was stuck on, and then decorated with twirly sea-horses and glitter. When she looked up, she blinked tears.
– I’m sorry, Harvey. It’s just I mean, have you ever thought about seeing someone – professional?
This hurt, but strangely enough, in the end I managed to sway her. It took time, but I knew she wanted to give me a second chance. What I did was I persuaded her to come and see things for herself. Back in my apartment, I showed her my CD ROM, and all the downloaded paperwork that had accumulated over the years, and talked her through it.
– So they’re a business really, I concluded. A family business.
The paperwork was my salvation, because slowly, the Hogg family’s transactions, which represented real money, persuaded her to imagine a set of scales, with my financial wizardry weighed against my possible madness. The dosh won out, and I thanked my lucky stars it did. When I asked her to marry me, she said could she think about it for a while. Then one week, two days and five hours later she said yes.