‘I’m trying to help.’
‘Who said I needed help?’
‘You don’t seem happy – and I don’t mean just about your team not winning.’
‘I’m fine, Cait. I don’t need you to tell me what to do.’
‘Fine. I’m off then.’
‘Where to?’
‘Work. It’s Monday. I work at the surgery. Remember?’
‘Course.’
‘Then I’m going to pop in to see Lorna.’
‘What for?’
‘I said I’d drop off a book.’
‘What is it?’
‘A House Full of Daughters.’
‘What’s it about?’
She looked at her watch. ‘Matt, when have you ever shown any interest in what I’m reading?’
‘So what was it about?’
‘I’m late. I’ll tell you when I get back.’
‘What time will that be?’
I could see her grit her teeth. ‘Not sure.’
‘What’s for lunch?’
I knew I was being annoying, I couldn’t stop myself. You always hurt the one you love, so the saying goes, and I did love Cait, but I’d let her down and that was hard to live with. Although we’d both worked in our lives, I’d always been the main breadwinner and had been happy to be so. I’d liked being able to provide, prided myself on being someone who could be depended upon. Plus, for decades, I’d been Matt Langham, programme-maker, a man with an interesting job, somebody. Now what was I? Who was I? Matt Langham. Who was he now? What had he got to contribute? I felt as if I’d gone back to the boy I was when fifteen years old, unsure of where he wanted to go or what he wanted to be. I was rudderless. Just Matt Langham, and it scared the crap out of me.
‘Fridge is full. Take your pick.’
‘Just wanted to know if you’d be joining me, that’s all, no need to get pissed off.’
‘I’m not pissed off. I … oh never mind.’
‘Never mind? You don’t seem happy, Cait, never mind me. What are you feeling?’ As if she’d like to throttle me, by the look on her face.
‘I’m feeling I’ve got to get going, Matt, thanks for your concern. Er … don’t you think you ought to get dressed?’
‘Why?’
‘In case someone comes to the door later.’
‘Who cares? I don’t. I’m retired, a free man,’ I said as I indicated the pile of cards I’d put back on the dresser, ‘free to choose what I want to do; least that’s what they all say. So I can wear what I want when I want, and if I choose to wear my dressing gown all day then I can.’
‘OK. Right. Fine. See you later.’
‘Probably. I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Maybe you could go and get some new paint brochures. If we’re going to sell up, we’ll need to bring the house into this century.’
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ I said. ‘If we do have to sell, people will only paint over in their own choices.’
Cait sighed. ‘That may well be, but I wouldn’t want estate agents saying “in need of modernization” on our house description. It doesn’t sound good. A lick of paint will make it look more attractive – lighter, brighter. We have been meaning to do it for years. Besides, it will give you—’
‘Give me what? Go on, say it – something to do, that’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? Well, I don’t need anything to do, thank you very much.’
Cait was about to speak, but stopped herself and left. I heard the front door slam a moment later. I’d been mean, goaded her. Why? I hadn’t planned to. If pushed, I could tell her I felt like a failure, but what good would that do? None, I know she thinks I’m a miserable old prick who ought to have a shave then get out and do something useful. Should I tell her how sorry I felt? No, in my business, you never admitted failure, you kept smiling through and talked it up, up up. Media work is all about good PR. Maybe Cait and I should have a huge row, let it all out, clear the air. No, best not, best we try and weather the storm, sigh a lot. This too will pass. So what to do? Look up nose- and ear-trimmers on Amazon?
I gathered the small pile of How to Survive Retirement books and went to sit back on the sofa in the sitting room to read or throw them out the window.
*
Cait
Chin hairs plucked: 2
Senior moments: 21) Raced upstairs to fetch something before going to work. Got to bedroom. No idea what I’d gone up there to get. Stood there like an idiot. Went back downstairs.2) Put Savlon on my toothbrush. The tubes look so similar. Bleurgh.
Supplements taken: fish oil for dry eyes, cataract prevention, joints and brain.
Got to my job at the surgery. I was glad to have escaped Matt and the Temple of Doom.
As soon as I walked in, Mary, the pretty blonde duty nurse, called me over. ‘Susan wants to see you,’ she said as she tied her dark hair back into a knot.
Susan was the practice manager. I went and knocked on her door. She was sitting behind her desk, a mousy-looking woman with thick glasses, which magnified her eyes and gave her a permanently startled look.
‘Come in. Ah. Caitlin,’ she said.
‘You wanted to see me?’
‘I did. I do. No other way to put this, but we won’t be needing you any more. Margaret’s maternity leave is over and she wants to come back as soon as possible.’
‘Oh.’
‘You’ve been a godsend,’ Susan continued, ‘and … you always knew it was temporary, right?’
‘I did.’ Margaret had been on maternity leave for a year and a half and I’d begun to think that she wouldn’t be back.
‘I’ll let you know if anything else comes up – that is, if you’re still available.’
‘Right. Thanks. When is she coming back exactly?’
‘Ah yes, about that. As soon as you’ve worked your notice. You were supposed to have been told last week but it appears that … well … bit of a mix-up. Embarrassing. One of those tasks that everyone thought someone else had done. Mary thought I’d told you, I thought she’d told you. Unforgivable. My apologies.’ She didn’t look very sorry. She looked as if she wanted me to go as soon as possible.
‘Right. Got it.’
‘Thanks for