–Zoe is seriously unwell. If this is the case, he can’t help feeling that it’s actually his fault. He’swishedit on her for his own deadline-dodging convenience.
–Or she’s left the company and no one has bothered to tell him.
–Or Zoe has died.
None of these options are making it any easier to finish writing his book. Vince wishes now that he wrote children’s books. Like those board books Edie loved as a baby, each page as thick as a biscuit with about three words on. Or cloth books – the kind that are washable – with no writing in them at all!That’sthe kind of author he should be, he thinks manically. The sort that doesn’t have to do any writing at all!
His phone pings with a text.
Could you send me that tagine recipe sometime? Thanks, D xxx
Back in normal times Vince would have been delighted to receive a message from Deborah. The inclusion of the familiar ‘D’, plus three kisses, would have ignited a little flame of delight in him, and caused him to drift around like a big happy hot air balloon for the rest of the day.
Shame he’s too agitated to enjoy it. Of course he’s relieved that Deborah appears to be very much alive and unharmed (unlike poor Zoe, who he now imagines to have an exploded gall bladder or something, and hooked up on life support) after ingesting dog food two days ago. Yet he definitely hasn’t felt like himself since Kate took herself off. She didn’t even seem to care that Jarvis had savaged his dressing gown. Does this mean she doesn’t love him anymore? Meanwhile, he’s been trying his hardest to go about his business all week, making pleasantries with neighbours, and texting his daughter as he normally does. Just chatty stuff. Edie’s news, mainly. He can’t bear to tell her that Kate walked out, because she’ll be all worried about him and start going on about getting some ‘talking therapy’ that all her friends seem to have these days. Feelings, feelings, feelings – according to his daughter they should be unleashed in front of strangers for a colossal fee. There’s no need to worry Edie anyway. Because Kate will be home at the weekend, he tells himself.
It’s probably her menopause. Vince reckons she just needs to ‘get through’ it – as if it’s as simple as shaking off a heavy cold – and then everything will be normal again. But when he googles it on this wet, grim Friday afternoon, he learns that the whole hormonal rumpus can go on foryears.A decade even! With Deborah’s Planning Committee Dinner looming like a terrible court appearance next weekend!
He needs to calm down, Vince decides. He can’t just sit around waiting for his wife to come home. A knock at the door sends his blood pressure skyrocketing – but it’s only the guy to read the meter. He laughs when Vince babbles that he doesn’t know where it is, and strolls calmly to the little cupboard by the front door and flips it open.
‘Wife away?’ the man asks with an infuriating grin.
After seeing him out, Vince realises he’s starving and there’s sod all fresh food in the fridge. He willnotplummet into a tinned-soup lifestyle like some hapless kid, newly arrived at student halls. He decides to do an online shop, but he doesn’t know the password Kate uses to log in. Then he decides to order more dog food as they’re almost out of that too, but he can’t find it online and he doesn’t know where Kate gets it from. Defeated, he hoofs it off to town (he’s had a couple of beers already), deciding to take Jarvis with him so he has a proper walk for once.
On the way a brilliant idea comes to him. He stops and does a quick bit of googling, his heart lifting as skims the various options. He pictures Kate’s face when he tells her: full of joy and gratitude at how inventive he’s been. Already, he’s giving himself a virtual pat on the back.
Of course she’ll bloody love this!
For extra reassurance, he calls his old mate Harry Bonomo, who sounds amazed to hear from him. ‘Vince! Mate! It’s been such a long time... Howareyou?’
‘Yeah, y’know. Busy, busy. How’s Michele and, uh—’ From his scrambled brain he can’t access the baby’s name. The pause dangles ominously.
‘Yeah, great. We’re all good. Just bashing on, y’know...’ Back in the day, Vince and Harry had been virtually inseparable, boosting each other through those soul-sapping early years of trying to get gigs. They’d even shared a flat for a time, living on beer, Cheerios and cigarettes. Vince has a sudden sharp craving for those days, when he didn’t have to worry about deadlines or the fact that he might have unwittingly killed off his editor. ‘How’s Kate?’ Harry asks.
Vince inhales, about to say, ‘Great!’ But he knows there’s no point in lying if he’s about to ask his friend’s advice. Kind, sorted Harry, who fell in love with Michele, fifteen years his junior and – judging by his social media – seems to be living a charmed life. So he tells him about Kate leaving, and how he proposes to put things right.
‘Aw, Christ. Sorry to hear that,’ Harry says.
‘It’s just a blip,’ Vince says quickly.
‘Yeah. She probably needs a little break. Let her have a bit of headspace and everything’ll be fine.’
‘That’s what I was thinking,’ Vince murmurs as Jarvis cocks his leg against a bench.
‘And who wouldn’t need a break from you, mate?’ He’s trying to lighten things, as he always does.
Vince forces a laugh. ‘Yeah. Ha-ha. Who could blame her, eh?’ He senses Harry’s attention wandering, and now he’s aware of a female voice in the background, and a baby crying. Clearly, Harry wants to finish the call. Michele probably needs him to do something. Unwilling to let him go, Vince barrages him with questions about work and tours, surprised to hear how well he’s doing, and accidentally lets slip that he’s having trouble finishing his book.
‘Small piece of the elephant,’ Harry says.
‘Huh?’
‘You know. Just take it piece by piece, chipping away at it. You’ll soon have it done.’
‘Yeah.’ Vince feels a little better now. He misses all of his old mates, the gang all crammed around scruffy pub tables and laughing and shouting over each other, whole Sunday afternoons and evenings spinning by like that. Who does he have around here, bloke-wise? An insufferable sports coach and Lenny, the well-meaning but patio-obsessed GP, always offering to lend him his jet-washer machine to blast off stubborn lichen.
Still, Harry’s still there for him, even with the baby shrieking now like a terrible car alarm in the background. Did Edie used to scream like that? Vince can’t remember. He’s probably blotted it out.
Over the din, he explains his brilliant idea for coaxing Kate back home. Although he can hardly hear Harry at all now, Vince is pretty sure his old best mate said, ‘Yeah, she’ll love that, mate.’
