Part 5 (1/2)

*And sometimes, so are you.'

As the weeks sped by, Patricia got to grips with looking after a child. I put in a couple of hours as well. I also started packing up our possessions for an extended trip to Wrathlin Island. I kept it as best I could to the absolute minimum a baby things, women's things, men's things.

The Cardinal had described the cottage to me as modern and fully furnished, which cut down considerably on what we'd have to haul across to the island. I phoned him and negotiated for one of the natives to provide a cot. He agreed. He was anxious that I get out there as soon as possible. He even sent me a cheque to cover our stay on the island. It was three thousand pounds for ten weeks, which was pretty good, seeing as how the last advance I'd received for a book had been thirty-six pounds and a pot of strawberry jam.

Women, they're different to men. Say to a woman and her child, we can only take the essentials, and they'll totally agree with you, then they come up with enough essentials to relieve Mafeking. A man, now, can travel light. A good razor. Toothbrush. Some clean T-s.h.i.+rts. Jeans. A portable typewriter. Paper. A Walkman. Tapes of The Clash. Van Morrison. Neil Young. Oh, and a satellite dish.

There were some big fights coming up and they were only being covered on satellite. The heavyweight division had opened up a bit in the last few months, and even Belfast's own Fat Boy McMaster was back in the rankings. These I didn't want to miss. It seemed unlikely that anyone on Wrathlin would know what a satellite dish was. I'd heard they'd recently celebrated Yuri Gagarin's first circuit of the globe.

I don't know a lot about satellite dishes. My first instinct was to cut it off the side of my house with an axe, then Sellotape it to the side of the new cottage and hope for the best. But I thought it better to find out. There was late-night shopping down town, so I kissed Patricia and the baby goodbye and drove down to ask some advice from my friendly local dealer. He was very helpful. I nodded a lot, but most of it was beyond me.

On the way home I found myself whistling. It's not something I do often, or well, but it seemed appropriate. Everything was going well. I stopped at the off-licence and bought some wine for Patricia and twelve Harps for myself.

I was just pulling up outside the house when I saw Tony get out of his BMW and walk up to our front door. In the porch light I saw him nervously flick at his hair, then brush some raindrops off his Barbour jacket. I cursed and drove on. I circled the block, then parked several s.p.a.ces down from our house. He was inside. I rolled down the window and spat.

I had a decision to make. The rain was beginning to come down in torrents. I was dry inside the car, but it might as well have been flooding in for the way my good humour had suddenly been washed away. I thumped the wheel. I thumped it again. Keith Moon was giving drumming lessons on my heart. My place was by my wife's side. But she would want to speak to him alone. My place was in there, defending my marriage. But Ginger was half his. I knew what I should do. I should give her the s.p.a.ce. She'd told me she loved me. That she wanted to go to Wrathlin with me. But being suspicious was my forte, being the diligent cuckold was not. I shook my head. I opened a can of beer from the carry-out bag. She'd phoned him as soon as I left the house and he'd raced round. Even now they'd be . . . I slapped the wheel again. This time I hit the horn. No one seemed to notice.

I finished the can in double quick time and threw it into the back. I got out of the car and walked to our gate. I stared up at the house. The curtains in the lounge were drawn. I couldn't see any silhouettes against them.

I stood at the gate. I stared at my own house some more. I couldn't move. I got soaked. I stood for ten minutes staring at the door and windows, daring someone to move before them, to frame themselves. But nothing.

Tony's car was brand new. It looked sleek and cunning in the rain. I took my keys and scored a line along the driver's side. Then it didn't look so sleek and only half as cunning. I went back to my car and lifted out my carry-out then walked with it up the street. A couple of hundred yards up, there was a children's playground. I took a seat on the roundabout, started drinking my beer, and thought dark thoughts.

Two hours later I slopped up the street again. I'd done a lot of thinking but come to no conclusions, apart from the one that said that I could have achieved just as much by remaining dry in the car. It was close to midnight. Tony's car was gone. I let myself in. I shook myself like a dog. Patricia was standing in the kitchen doorway cradling Ginger.

*Where on earth have you been?' she demanded. Her voice was a rich c.o.c.ktail of relief, anger, suspicion and concern.

*Does it matter?'

*Dan! Of course it matters. You're soaked!'

I nodded. *And drunk.'

*Dan . . .'

*I saw his car, I didn't want to int . . .'

*Dan, I was waiting for you to come back . . .'

*I thought I'd leave you two . . . you three alone.'

*Dan, I wanted you to be here . . .'

*I thought . . .'

*Dan, you think too much, love . . .'

She ran forward and pulled me to her. We kissed.

*You're squas.h.i.+ng the baby,' I said.

She laughed, pulled back and kissed him. *You silly man,' she said. Then she took me by her free hand and led me into the lounge. I squelched along. She sat me down. *Dan, you're one stupid, suspicious, crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' she said. *It's a good job I love you.'

*A good job,' I repeated.

*He phoned just after you left. He asked if it was okay to call round to see the baby. I said you'd be back in an hour and asked him to wait until then. But you didn't come.'

*I got delayed.'

*Tony said you called him.'

*He would. What'd he say?'

*He said you chastised him for not coming to see me.' She held my gaze for a moment. She had lovely eyes. Always had. *He said you were quite right to have a go at him.'

*How magmaninous of him.' I silently mouthed the word again. *Magnaninus,' I began again. *That was big of him.'

Her voice was softly scolding. *You didn't need to call him.'

*Yes, I did. You were pining for him.'

*Och, Dan, when are you going to understand me? I wasn't pining for him.'

*You were.'

*Dan, I . . .'

*Okay, you weren't. Whatever you say. I just geed him up. I thought he should come and see you.'

Patricia smiled. *That was magnanimous of you.'

*Touche. Or is that touchy? It's all a matter of syntax. Or is that signtax?'

She set the baby gently on the floor, then leant across and kissed me.

*Thank you,' I said. I nodded at the baby. He lay peacefully, staring up at his mother. *Isn't it time we put him to bed?'

Patricia nodded. She reached down and stroked his head. He gurgled. *We're going to have to think of a name for him.'

*We had thought of one.'

*I know, but it doesn't seem appropriate now, somehow.'

*I hate to say it, but . . .'

*I know, it's the red hair.'