Chapter 23

23

Something feels different at Carmel’s this time. It’s the way she greets him, Joel thinks. Is he too early at 5.30p.m.? The kids were obviously unconcerned whether he was at home or not – or living or dead, probably. So he’d come out with some guff about heading over early to the gallery opening ‘to help set things up’.

‘All right,’ Martha said nonchalantly. Things felt a little funny there too. A bit too quiet, too calm – almost eerie. But hovering about was making things worse, so Joel had left them a couple of twenty-quid notes – guilt money – and taken the Tube to Finsbury Park.

Carmel hadn’t fancied the pub this evening. ‘Just come to mine,’ she’d said. Disappointing, Joel thought, as he’d enjoyed the prospect of spinning things out, luxuriating in the many hours they would have together tonight, all the way through to Sunday morning. He’d panicked slightly about morning breath. But in his nifty burnt-orange man-bag, Joel has packed breath spray along with his toothbrush, inter-dental sticks and a clean pair of boxers and socks. There’s also a small Christmas present in there for Carmel. Small but very expensive. He’d also wanted to pack another outfit to wow her with tomorrow, but thought it might arouse suspicion if he turned up at home tomorrow in different clothes. Silly really. Joel suspects he could wander in sporting a gorilla costume and his kids would barely glance up from their phones.

Now that he’s arrived at her place, he’s happy that he and Carmel are skipping the pub bit. He stopped off to buy a bottle of champagne anyway, as tonight is definitely worthy of celebration. Already he’s feeling unbelievably horny and he can’t wait to knock back a few glasses and jump into Carmel’s bed.

He jabs her buzzer. ‘Hi, come in,’ she drawls through the intercom, as if he’s an Evri delivery guy. What is this? he thinks irritably. National Nonchalance Day? He steps into the building and there she is, in faded jeans and a loose black sweater, waiting at the open door of her flat.

‘Hey, beautiful!’ He kisses her and hands her the bottle of champagne.

‘Oh, thanks,’ she says, as if it’s Lucozade. She struts into the flat, plonks it in the fridge and pours him a glass of red wine from the open bottle sitting on the worktop.

‘So, how’s things?’ Perching on a stool at her kitchen island, Joel wonders if something is bothering her today. Normally they’d launch into kissing right away. She’d have him rammed up against her fridge, the brushed steel appliance grumbling and gurgling in his ears as she snogged him in her thrillingly aggressive manner. Then they’d pause for a drink and a bit of chat before heading briskly to bed.

‘Since yesterday, you mean?’ Carmel asks.

‘Uh, yeah.’ His mouth sets in a line. Why is she being like this? Not frosty exactly; just sort of unbothered. As if they have been married for twenty-five years and it’s unthinkable that they might have had sex over her dining table just last week. In fact, Carmel is making her way to the table right now. But what she does there causes Joel’s heart to drop.

It’s okay, he tells himself. She’s only opened her laptop to check her emails quickly, or because she wants to show him something. A shoot, maybe. She’s going to show him some pictures she’s proud of, and by association he’ll be immensely proud of having this ‘thing’ with such a knock-out gorgeous and talented photographer.

That’s how he privately terms it. Not an affair, which would seem tawdry, and even Joel has to admit it hardly constitutes a relationship. His preferred term sounds breezy and modern. We’re having a thing. No one would haul his arse into a law court over that.

But Carmel doesn’t seem to want to show Joel anything on her laptop. Instead, she plonks herself onto a chair at the table. And while he perches there, sipping red wine at her island, she starts reading the Guardian .

Joel has lied to his kids and come up with this stupid gallery opening alibi to watch her reading the fucking news!

Well, let her, he decides, irritation mounting rapidly. Finally, when she’s finished that fascinating article, she might interact with him? In the meantime he will sit and drink and not say a word. Clearly, she’s finding Donald Trump or Vladimir Putin or whoever she’s reading about a lot more interesting than the man who’s come round expressively to ravish her!

‘Carmel?’ He can’t help it. He can’t just sit here being ignored, as if he’s… not an Evri delivery guy – he’d have been and gone. More like a plumber who’s come round to fit a new mixer tap.

‘Hmm?’ she murmurs without looking up.

‘Anything interesting in the news?’

‘Oh, sorry.’ She emits a small laugh and closes the laptop and looks up at him. ‘Sorry. Been so busy lately and I just wanted to catch up.’

Couldn’t she have caught up before he arrived? She hadn’t seemed busy last night when she was flicking him with the leathery fringe of her whip.

‘Yeah, I’m the same,’ he offers. ‘When work’s full on it feels like I’m living in a bubble.’ In fact, Joel never keeps up with the news. He can recognise Trump of course. An embryo would recognise Trump. But he’s not sure that he’d know Putin if he was using the next self-service checkout at Sainsbury’s – not that Joel ever goes to Sainsbury’s (Shelley takes care of all that). His media consumption is pretty much limited to celebrity interviews, tech, fashion and grooming products. He preens and grooms with the enthusiasm of an orangutang, and the launch of a new aftershave balm feels more relevant to Joel than a parliamentary cabinet reshuffle.

‘Have you eaten?’ Carmel asks, getting up now.

‘Er, yeah,’ he replies, having quickly stuffed in some stale ciabatta spread thickly with Laughing Cow cheese spread, plus three chocolate tree decorations for dessert. Keen to make his escape, he wasn’t about to start cooking for himself.

‘I’ll just rustle something up then,’ she says, proceeding to chop vegetables and throw them into a wok. Soon a second pan – this one containing cubed tofu – is sizzling away, and now she’s snipping fresh herbs with scissors. Sorry, but he hadn’t planned on coming over to watch MasterChef !

Carmel serves herself in a big white bowl and Joel’s stomach growls while she tucks in. It’s a weird kind of discomfort, he decides, sitting watching someone scoffing their supper when you’re not eating. Obviously he doesn’t want to stare as she forks in beansprouts and tofu, but what should he do? Finally, she finishes.

‘Was that good?’ he asks.

‘Delicious.’ She smirks at him. ‘So, you’re staying over tonight?’

‘Only if it’s okay,’ he says petulantly.

‘No, it’s fine.’

Fine? The first time ever that they’ll wake up together, and it’s fine ?

‘I can go home if you want to.’ It slips out before he can stop it. ‘I mean, if you’re busy?—’

‘Don’t be like that.’ She frowns in a manner that suggests he’s acting like a silly boy.

‘I’m not! I’m not being like anything?—’

‘Well, you seem it.’ She slips off the stool and washes her bowl and cutlery and then, agonisingly, both the wok and the pan. Perhaps some floor mopping will follow, he muses. A little light hoover and dusting and?—

His thoughts break off as he tries to process what she’s just said. ‘Did you hear that, Joel?’

His heart seems to stop. ‘You… you said you’re seeing someone?’

‘I said I’ve met someone.’

‘“Met someone”? What does that mean?’

‘It means it’s nothing serious. We’re just taking it chill…’

‘So who is it?’ He jumps off the stool and looms in front of her, face aghast.

She shrugs, like it’s nothing. ‘Just some guy!’

He gasps, struggling to articulate what he wants to say. ‘And you’ve kept it until tonight to tell me? The first time we’re going to spend the whole night together? Well, that’s nice?—’

‘Joel!’ She places a hand on his forearm. ‘I didn’t think you’d react like this. It’s just a thing …’

‘What’s a thing? You and him? Or me and you? I thought?—’

Carmel is laughing now and shaking her head, as if astounded that he might be a little bit upset. ‘You’re married, Joel. Or have you forgotten that?’

‘Of course I haven’t!’

‘So did you think I’d just be sitting around, filing my nails, waiting for the rare occasions when you can come over for sex?’

He blinks slowly, feeling as if he has been slapped. Should he storm out? Go home to his kids scoffing their McDonald’s or stop off somewhere and get royally drunk in a pub? ‘It’s not that rare. I was here last night, or was that completely unmemorable for you?’

‘For God’s sake. That’s not the point…’

He looks down at the slate-grey floor. ‘I didn’t think…’ For a moment he thinks he might cry, and Carmel seems to pick up on this as she plants a brief kiss on his cheek.

‘Oh, c’mon, honey. Don’t be like this. Like I said, it’s just a thing.’ Another kiss, on his lips this time, which he allows grudgingly.

‘What’s his name?’ Is he a bigshot photographer? Or one of your clients? Have you used your fringed whip on him too? Joel wants to know everything – and yet he doesn’t. If he did, he thinks he might puke.

‘Never mind,’ Carmel murmurs. ‘It’s not important.’ Then she smiles, forcing him to meet her gaze, and she tugs gently at his hand. ‘Let’s just go to bed.’