‘I know, he’s a lovely man and I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything, but I’m a mother and I have to worry. So just promise me you’ll look after yourself.’
I made the promise and muttered angrily to myself as she left about just wanting a father figure because she’d picked such a rotten one in the first place.
When I told Matthew of the conversation the following day, he looked concerned.
‘Your mother’s a nice woman, but she’s steeped in the unreality. She’ll never be an Uncle and she’ll never understand. You may have to be more careful from now on.’
‘What do you mean?’
Instead of answering me, he sent me away with a collection of Oscar Wilde plays, one of which, The Importance of Being Earnest, was indicated with a bookmark.
On page 259 I found a word had been circled in pencil.
ALGERNON: … What you really are is a
JACK: What on earth do you mean?
ALGERNON: You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you like. I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the country whenever I choose. Bunbury is perfectly invaluable. If it wasn’t for Bunbury’s extraordinary bad health, for instance, I wouldn’t be able to dine with you at Willis’s tonight, for I have been really engaged to Aunt Augusta for more than a week.
‘You think I should create my own Mr Bunbury?’ I asked the next time I saw Matthew.
‘Sure,’ he smiled, leading me to his study. ‘Bunburying is an essential part of life.’
‘I’m not sure I want to lie, though.’ I perched instinctively on the navy chaise longue.
‘I know you don’t, because you’re honest and true.’ Matthew sighed and sat heavily beside me. ‘But sadly you’ll have to if you want to live freely. It’s the dreadful irony of life that all Uncles really want is to live pure, innocent lives, but society forces them to play its sordid little games.’
‘So, do you have a Bunbury?’ I turned to face him.
‘I have many Bunburys my dear,’ he answered with a wink. ‘I’ve even had to assume whole other identities.’
After making me promise not to tell anyone, he unlocked a drawer in his desk and showed me the credit cards he had in other names.
Albert Sumac.
Leonard Bloom.
Charles Cain.
‘I mainly just use the first one. It’s been necessary for me to hide certain parts of my life from other parts of my life,’ he paused as he relocked the drawer. ‘For, um, financial reasons as well as personal ones.’
‘You’ve stolen money?’ I hiccupped.
‘You’re very blunt.’ His lips curled into that lazy smile I liked.
‘I don’t think I’ll be shocked.’ I sat up straight, feeling suddenly adult. ‘I’m just curious.’
Matthew returned to the chaise and spoke quietly to the bookcase on his left. ‘I took what I needed from my last employer when I left, yes. My son helped me hide it in the Channel Islands, and later I invested it in property in Kew. It was a one-off thing; now I just do a little tinkering of the books with my racing clients and the housing association where one of my flats is. They pay me – well, Albert – to manage the building and I skim a little off the top. It’s no worse than the banks do every day.’
‘And the personal reasons?’ I whispered excitedly.
‘Ah.’ He turned his wrinkled eyes to me. ‘Well, I’m afraid you might be shocked by those.’
‘I’m not a child!’ I blurted.
‘You’re right, you’re not a child. Okay, well I suppose you’ll find out sometime.’ He glanced quickly towards the closed door before whispering that he and Annabelle had an ‘arrangement’. I listened to his words with wide-eyes, neither daring to ask for details about this ‘arrangement’ nor questioning for one moment whether this might be the sort of line all adulterous men use to justify their actions.
‘You mean you see other women?’ My voice hit an embarrassingly-high note.
‘Shhh!’ He sat back with a grin. ‘I think you’re trying to make me blush today. Yes, I have other women. It’s a necessity of being an Uncle … and a man.’
I mulled over this for a moment, and then asked, ‘How many?’
‘Excuse me?’ He raised one caterpillar eyebrow.
‘Sorry, you don’t have to tell me,’ I mumbled. ‘I’m just curious how many women you’ve “needed”?’
‘In my whole life?’ he chuckled. ‘Annabelle asked me that once and made me count. I think it was sixty-three.’
‘You’re lying!’ I choked. ‘That’s ridiculous. It’s probably impossible.’
‘I wish it was,’ he sighed. ‘Sadly, there have only been a few I really cared about. For some, I can’t even remember their names.’
Over the coming weeks, in between philosophical discussions about art and Uncles and gossipy chats about next-door’s decision to cut down the oak tree, Matthew told me about the women in his life.
‘I used to have to sneak girls past the witch I lodged with. We tried every trick in the book. As far as she knew, I had seven sisters who would each visit me on a different night of the week. Stupid old bag!’
I knew it was weird being told these stories, but I enjoyed them. I imagined them as scenes from black-and-white movies flickering through my mind and tried to work out what my silver-haired friend must have been like as a young man.
‘Sometimes, if I liked a girl, I’d treat her to a hotel room. But in those days they wouldn’t let just anyone into hotels, so you had to pretend to have just got married or, if the manager had a heart, you could make up some sob story about her dad being out to get you but you just being a nice lad after all.’
‘My friend Thomas had this plan to put a mattress in the back of his van, but I think it got him more slaps than shags.’
‘I once kissed three generations of the same family. I was in love with Mrs Shelby when I was six and she gave me a kiss after the school play, then later I dated her daughter Jenny, and when she got too old and grey, I took out her daughter Rose.’
‘Jocelyn was an actress. She never had a penny, but her breasts were magnificent.’
‘Linda was a secretary and used to steal office supplies for me, so I could work from my flat. I hated going into Fleet Street; drinking was the only thing that made it bearable.’
‘Amy was fun; she didn’t mind doing it outside or in the car.’
‘Julie almost killed me. She came to pick me up from work so we could go to the pictures, but what I didn’t know was that she’d found out I was going with her flatmate too. Everything seemed normal and she stayed quiet as I chatted about my day, until she turned onto the motorway and just kept accelerating until we were going 120mph and I was clutching the door handle for dear life.’
‘Kate was beautiful, but she peed herself when she had an orgasm. I could never get into that.’
‘Elizabeth and I used to eat at the best restaurants, and then run out without paying. It put us on such a high. But she always fancied