Brenton Brown (8 page)

‘I dunno,’ Brenton answered. ‘I’m very busy. Starting a job in Barnes soon.’

‘I haven’t set a date yet. It’ll be on a Sunday.’

‘I’ll see how it goes,’ said Brenton. ‘But I’m not promising anything.’ 

 ‘As I said it’ll be nice if you can make it.’

I hate Juliet’s dinner parties, Brenton thought. But she’s really being nice. And she didn’t make an issue of me arguing with her about Breanna at the wake. She never holds grudges. Not like me. And the chocolate cake was fucking delicious.

‘I’ll try my best,’ he said. ‘Bye, Juliet.’

‘Bye, Brenton. Wrap up warm when you’re working. Looks like you’re coming down with something.’

‘I’m fine. See ya.’

Juliet didn’t go back inside until Brenton pulled away in his car. She raised one arm to bid farewell and Brenton replied with a toot of his horn. What’s a matter with me? he rebuked himself. Why didn’t I just say no? I hate Juliet’s dinner parties. Why can I still not say no to her?

LOOKING AT HERSELF
in the bathroom mirror, Juliet noticed a grey hair on her fringe. She plucked it out, looked at it and threw it in the sink. She ran the cold tap and watched the rogue strand disappear. She then splashed water over her face and studied herself in the mirror once again. Those lines around my eyes are getting deeper, she concluded. So much for black don’t crack. Getting greyer. My looks are fading. Got to deal with it. Better wash and dye my hair again this weekend, she decided.

She checked the temperature gauge and clock that hung from the bathroom wall. One forty-five in the morning. Nineteen degrees centigrade. Breanna hadn’t arrived home yet. Hope she’s behaving herself, Juliet said to herself. Lord! Why can’t I sleep? I’m so tired. I thought making love to Clayton would’ve helped. Can I call it making love? We just have sex these days if I’m honest. Tessa would laugh at that. I’m sure she’s never fucked three times a night and screamed down her bedroom no matter what she used to say. I wonder how many other couples just drift along having obligation sex. There must be millions of couples out there who have been together for years and years but they don’t screw in the lounge, in the kitchen or on the stairs like they used to. Or they can’t be bothered with the oral thing or screwing more than once a night. And then people say it’s so nice that you’re still together with your husband or wife. Brenton would call it a load of fuckery. Do we do it just because our wife or husband is lying there? How are you supposed to
maintain
passion when you’ve been with someone for so long? Lord!
I know precisely where Clayton is going to put his hand, kiss me and what position we will make love. He touches me like I might break. Why can’t he be more … more mannish. And he does it all without saying a word to me. But he spends so much time just staring at me. He makes me feel like I’m some kind of expensive painting. At least he still wants me in his own way I suppose. Not like some of those women at the Town Hall. Christ! How can they be so open about their men staying up as late as possible drinking until they crash out? Don’t they realise that people know that’s all about avoiding sex with their partner? At least Clayton’s not like that. Why can’t I want him as much as he wants me? Christ! I don’t even kiss him on his cheek before he leaves for work like I used to do. I wonder if he’s noticed? The older I get the more I understand why people have affairs. To catch that old excitement again.
Brenton
. Mustn’t tell Tessa that. She’ll go on at me forever.

Juliet washed her hands and dried them on a towel. Jesus! she thought. Do I really want to be an MP? Can’t imagine what the
Daily Mail or Evening Standard
would do to me if they ever found out who Breanna’s father really is. Lord! They’d be so
deliriously
happy they got that scoop they’d probably invite me to their Christmas party and airbrush a pic of me for their front pages.

She made her way back to the bedroom. Clayton was
sleeping
. No snoring, Juliet noted. He always sleeps better after sex. She sat down at the foot of the bed. Brenton, she repeated in her mind. He looks like he’s coming down with something. I keep telling him to wrap up when he’s at work in the winter months. He was feeling it today. I should’ve told him about Breanna’s car. Lord! Those eyes. If someone ever does a scan of my brain they will see Brenton’s eyes. He still wants me. After all this time. I just know it. I feel it. Wonder why Lesley wasn’t with him today? Maybe she couldn’t get someone to mind her kids. I wonder
if Brenton wants to get deeply involved with someone who’s already got kids. And she seemed a bit needy when I met her. Maybe I should say something to him. Tell him to be careful. She looks good for her age though but Brenton could get someone younger if he wanted to. No, better not say anything. Wanted to hug him today. Who are you kidding, Jules? I want to hug him every time I see him. But can’t. Hope he’s alright. Even if by a miracle we did live together, after twenty years we might end up like me and Clayton. Having obligation, grey-hair sex where no one bumps no heads, the sheets stay on the mattress, no one falls out of bed and we never fuck in the lounge or in the kitchen. Christ, Jules. You’re a miserable negative cow sometimes. Stop doing this to yourself.

Standing up, she picked up her dressing gown that was on a chair near her side of the bed, put it on and made her way downstairs. Once in the kitchen she poured some water in the kettle, took out a bag of her favourite strawberry and mango herbal tea and sat down at the kitchen table. Brenton. Why can’t I get you out of my mind? Kylie Minogue’s
I Just Can’t Get You Outta My Head
popped into the part of her brain that memorised music.

A minute later, the kettle boiled and Juliet poured the water into a Paris souvenir mug. She let it brew for another two minutes. Brenton. What are we going to do? She heard a key rattling in the front door lock. Funny how that kind of noise sounds louder at night, she thought. She sensed Breanna walking through the hallway and wondered if she’d notice the light on in the kitchen. She did.

Crashing onto a chair opposite her, Juliet could smell the drink on her daughter’s breath. ‘You enjoyed yourself,’ stated Juliet. ‘How did you get home?’

‘Taxi,’ Breanna answered. ‘It’s taking Malakai home now.’

‘So where did you go?’ asked Juliet, sipping her herbal tea.

‘Some new bar in Clapham Common. Can’t remember its
name. Drinks were a bit pricey but the music was slammin’. We had a good time.’

‘Before you go to bed don’t forget to take your make-up off. It won’t do your skin any favours if you sleep with it on.’

‘So you keep saying, Mum. Stop fussing. It’s not like I’m shooting an ad for Clearasil in the morning. They’d never ask me anyway – not good looking enough. What you doing up anyway? Checking what time I get in?’

‘No, no. As if? No, just couldn’t sleep. And stop this rubbish about not being good looking enough.’

‘It’s true. Most of my friends are better looking than me … Why can’t you sleep?’

‘Oh, this and that. Still thinking if I want to put up with the hassle of being an MP.’

‘Mum, can you make me a coffee?’

‘Last time I looked you had a pair of hands and a pair of feet.’

‘Yeah, but I’m not sure if my brain’s still there.’

‘Hmm,’ Juliet replied. ‘Maybe it drowned in vodka?’

‘Funny.’

Grabbing another mug, Juliet added a generous spoon of coffee and three teaspoonfuls of brown sugar. Breanna, blinking away her tiredness, watched her every move. She didn’t speak again until the coffee was placed in front of her. ‘Mum,’ she said.

‘What is it?’

‘I wanna ask you something. Don’t flip.’

Picking up her mug of tea, Juliet took a sip. ‘What is it? Don’t be flipped by what? You better not be pregnant.’

‘I am
not
pregnant, Mum. What do you take me for?’

‘Then what is it?’

Breanna paused. She avoided her mother’s gaze.

‘Who’s my dad?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Who’s my dad? I’m twenty-one now. You don’t have to hide anything from me.’

‘I’m not hiding anything from you.’

‘Oh come on, Mum. You went to a party, you got high on something and then you had sex with some guy that you don’t remember?’

‘Yeah,
that
was it. These things happen. I wasn’t always an angel.’

Juliet half-smiled but Breanna wasn’t buying it.

‘Things don’t just happen to you,’ Breanna said. ‘Gran always said you were sensible. She said she never saw you drunk or even smoke a cigarette.’

Placing her mug on the table, Juliet took in a deep breath. Under the table she clasped her hands together to stop them shaking. She composed herself and returned Breanna’s accusing glare. ‘My mother didn’t know everything about me. I wasn’t exactly the Virgin Mary.’

‘Come on, Mum,’ Breanna pressed, forgetting about her coffee. ‘Your story is just … unlikely. Why can’t you trust me enough to tell me what really happened? Was it bad?’

‘Are you calling me a
liar
?’ Juliet raised her voice. ‘What’s done is done. It’s in the past! Why are you bringing this up?’

‘Because you’re not being honest!’ Breanna shouted. ‘And you want to be an MP? You can’t even be straight with me let alone any voter out there.’

I wish she would stop looking at me like that, Juliet thought. Why is she bringing this up? What brought this on?
Don’t
shout, Jules. Stay calm. Don’t be so defensive.

Juliet picked up her tea again and took another sip. Her eyes never left her daughter. ‘I wasn’t the perfect girl that my mother thought I was,’ she said calmly. ‘I was curious about drugs, drink and sex just like anyone else. I was sneaking out going to blues dances and pyjama parties when I was fifteen. At the same age
I had two guys on the go. Boys … always liked me and they invited me to parties and … places.’

‘That doesn’t mean that you have no idea who you’re having sex with.’

‘Breanna!’

‘It’s true. You went to a party, right? People usually go to a party with friends. So whoever this guy was, someone else must’ve known who he was.’

‘Maybe they did. But
I didn’t.’

‘So once you became pregnant didn’t you try and find out? It wouldn’t be rocket science trying to find out who followed you up into a bedroom and had sex with you. At least you must know what he looks like?’

‘I didn’t know what I was doing.’

Not liking the taste of her herbal tea anymore, Juliet stood up and poured it down the sink. She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath. She then stared out into the darkness of the back garden. ‘As I’ve told you before I can’t remember anything. I was fully charged, as we used to say in those days.’

Approaching her mother, Breanna’s mouth was only a few inches away from Juliet’s right ear. ‘So you’re telling me that you didn’t even realise that some guy was … inside you?’

‘I
don’t
remember, Breanna! What do you want from me?’

‘The truth might be helpful.’

‘I’ve told you the truth. Are you calling your own mother a liar?’

Backing away a step, Breanna primed her tongue. Juliet dared to turn around and she saw Breanna’s eyes gas-ringed with anger. She could see Brenton in her glare. Uncompromising, fierce eyes.

‘YES!’
Breanna raged. ‘You’ve been lying to me all my life.
Who is my father?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘I
don’t
believe you!’

‘I’m your mother!’

‘So you say. I’m starting to wonder if that’s true.’

‘Oh you’re being ridiculous.’

‘Am I?’

‘I think you had a bit too much to drink this evening. Why don’t you go to bed and we’ll forget about this?’

‘No!
I will not forget about it.
Who’s
my real dad?’

About to answer, Juliet noticed a shadow behind the
frosted-glass
kitchen door. She wondered how long Clayton had been standing there. She watched him enter the kitchen. Breanna folded her arms. She was breathing heavily. Juliet stood up and went to switch the kettle on once more.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Clayton. He was dressed in a black silk dressing gown with a yellow dragon imprinted on the back; Juliet always thought it looked ridiculous. ‘I could hear you two from upstairs. You might as well go out to the street and carry on because I’m not sure if they heard you in Uffington Road.’

Glancing at her daughter, Juliet said nothing.

Breanna dipped her head and failed to acknowledge Clayton despite him glaring at her. She suddenly stood up and announced, ‘I’m going to bed.’ She brushed passed an outraged Clayton and Juliet could hear her stomping up the stairs and then her bedroom door slamming.

‘What was all that about?’ Clayton asked.

‘She wanted to know about her father,’ Juliet answered.

‘I’m her father,’ insisted Clayton. ‘She has only known me as her father.’

‘She’s curious.’

‘Too curious,’ said Clayton. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it in one go. ‘Some birthday.’

‘What do you mean some birthday?’

‘I help buy her a brand new car for her birthday and at the end of it she wants to know about her
real
father. That’s the respect I get in this house.’

‘You feel hard done by?’ Juliet asked.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘I’m
the one she’s calling a liar,’ Juliet raised her voice. ‘I’m the one she hates right now.’

‘Maybe the emotion of the day caught up with her?’ suggested Clayton. He opened the fridge, took out a carton of apple juice and found his favourite whisky glass in a cupboard. He downed his drink in one go. ‘But no emotion is an excuse for shouting at her mother. Maybe we should take the car keys away from her until she apologises.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘She needs to learn respect.’

‘The car was a birthday gift,’ insisted Juliet. ‘She’s twenty-one now. We can’t punish her like she’s twelve.’

‘Maybe if we did punish her when she was twelve she wouldn’t be so spoilt now.’

‘And that’s my fault, is it?’

‘It’s not my fault that I was out there working all the hours I could to put a decent roof over our heads. I didn’t have the quality time with Breanna that you did.’

Meeting Clayton’s stern gaze, Juliet nodded in
acknowledgement
. She stood up and got herself another bag of herbal tea. She didn’t bother switching the kettle on again and instead poured its lukewarm contents into her mug. She felt Clayton’s eyes watching her every move and making love only an hour ago now seemed as if it was a year.

‘You coming to bed?’ asked Clayton. ‘We’ll all be in a better mood in the morning.’

‘Not yet,’ replied Juliet, poking her tea bag with a teaspoon. ‘I’ll be up in a minute.’

‘I’m going up,’ said Clayton. ‘You should speak to Breanna in the morning and make sure she apologises.’

‘She had a bit too much to drink.’

‘That’s no excuse.’

‘I just want to forget about it.’

Clayton shook his head before he left. Juliet took another sip of tea and opened a packet of chocolate biscuits. She enjoyed the sensation of chocolate melting over her tongue and wondered why she had made a New Year resolution to stop eating
chocolate.
She finished her snack and thought of Brenton. Always Brenton.