CHAPTER 23
The train rattled and shook its way down the Arun Valley, Arundel castle looming to the right, and I started looking for the Hawker Hunter jet fighter still on its plinth at what had been Ford airfield. It was almost a milk train, stopping at nearly every station on the line, passing three castles, two cathedrals and any number of harbours.

The run round the riverbank into Southampton seemed to take forever, past the football ground and the Hell’s Angels clubhouse, until we finally entered the short tunnel before the station. Years later, I heard of someone who had arranged their own stage 5: climbing the fence from the car park, they had walked calmly to the track taken by an oncoming train, and just as calmly laid their head across the rail. Twenty yards from the ends of four crowded platforms. I understood their despair, but not their desire to make it so public.

Von pulled into the waiting area ten minutes after I left the station, and drove us over to the massive shopping complex of West Quay and the Japanese chain restaurant she liked, after a raised eyebrow at my clean-shaven face. She was clearly a little on edge, and as we worked our way down the menu she was straight to the point.

“Why won’t you come, Rob?”

“I can’t, Von, told you that. No jobs going, and not just in HMRC. Can’t sponge off your parents, like, can I?”

“So you keep saying, but that isn’t why you haven’t been ringing me, is it? Don’t try and blame your Mam, either; she has a phone there, just like you have at home, aye? What is going on?”

Not stupid, not unobservant.

“There are a lot of things going on at the moment, Von”

“Oh yes, and one of them is your beard going missing, aye?”

She stared at the latte she had ordered before the meal.

“Who is she, Rob?”

“Who?”

“Whatever woman you have been seeing that has taken all your time up, aye?”

Battle lines drawn. Suddenly, I had had enough. I couldn’t stay and torment Siobhan, and I could most definitely not keep up the lies. Honest…

“It’s me, Von”

What a cliché that was, the other woman being the man himself, but it was the best I could think of.

“What do you mean it’s you?”

“Me. The other woman”

“What the hell are you talking about, Carter? Make sense, aye?”

I still couldn’t just come out and say it, so once more I fell back onto the tactics I had used with Mam. Siobhan, though, as ever, was more interested in talking than listening.

“What it is, Von, is that I am gay–“

“And you have been with my BOYS?”

“No, pet, no, I fancy women, you know that, not men”

“But you just said…oh”

Not stupid, not at all.

“Robert Carter, you will leave now. You will stay away from me, you will stay away from my children. You will not bring your Godless perversion into my family. Now, Carter”

“Von, I never wanted to hurt you–“

The coffee cup smashed against the wall behind me, just missing my head.

“NOW! GO AWAY NOW AND NEVER, EVER COME BACK, YOU PERVERT!”

She was red-faced now, screaming, as diners looked round and a waiter hurried over just as the saucer followed the cup. I stood.

“I am so sorry, Von”

“NOW! GO! FUCK OFF NOW!”

She was looking round, probably for something else to throw, and I forced back my tears as I turned to leave. Perversely, some idiot part of my mind was standing apart from the rest, making the sarcastic remark that the situation could have been handled better. I walked slowly back to the station, as the restaurant staff fussed around Siobhan, and caught the first train back I could. I had been tempted to stay and try to salvage something from the shipwreck, but I knew there was nothing possible I could do except make her even more angry.

Pervert. Yes, indeed, they don’t come much more twisted than I felt. Man up. Be a man. Embrace your outer masculinity. So bloody impossible. I settled into my seat as the train rounded the Itchen, and pulled out my mobile.

“Yeah? You not staying there?”

“No, kid. I decided to take your advice, honesty, like, and it got sort of heated”

“What, you just out and told her? About me as well?”

“No, pet. By the time I had the first bit out, she was throwing things at me”

“Well, what the fuck did you expect? I mean, you’ve only lied to her all the time you’ve known her, yeah?”

“Yeah, I know, but what else could I do? At least I haven’t lied to you, have I?”

“True, Carter, true, but you are still screwing up my life, yeah? Look, what time does your train get in?”

“About half two, three”

“What say I do you dinner? Got a small lamb joint in the fridge, could bring it down, we could have a bottle of wine, sort of thing, yeah?”

“I don’t know, Larinda…”

“I do. And…”

Her voice tailed off for a bit, then returned to normal strength.

“Wear something nice for me, something elegant”

“You sure?”

There was a catch in her voice, and I wondered if it went with tears.

“Rob…it’s going to happen, yeah, one day, and I don’t want to be without you, whoever you are, you see? This is something I have to face, and fuck it, if I can’t see past some fucking clothes, what sort of lover am I? Yeah, cause that’s the word, so we need to get this out of the way A S A P, right?”

“Aye…love, but are you sure you want this now?”

“Abso fucking lutely. Look, I intend to fuck your brains out tonight, and that will not involve you in a frock, yeah? But I know I can deal with you, you know, sitting quiet, so we get that ball rolling. Dress for dinner, Rob, and I will do the rest”

What had it taken for her to come up with such an offer? Siobhan was almost pushed out of my thoughts, until my phone beeped as a text arrived. It was from her father.

“Come near them again and I bury you”

Deep joy. Yes, indeed, that could have gone better.

Back home, Larinda was already there, the oven heating and the promised small joint of lamb, with a thick layer of cross-cut fat that she was threading with rosemary. She left the kitchen, pushing me backwards through the house to the settee, hauling down my trousers and very, very efficiently…

“Right, you off, and change. I’ve put a liner on the bed so you don’t dribble the rest into your knickers. I have brought ‘Calendar Girls’ for later, but I didn’t want you getting frisky till I have you naked later, yeah? One step at a time, lover”

There was a sharpness there, brittle brightness, as if she was reassuring a child that all was well when it most obviously wasn’t. This was her third attempt at seeing me in some sort of reflection of how I felt myself truly to be, and it was clearly costing her some effort. She busied herself in the kitchen again, as I sorted my choices until I had the one I felt best suited her predicament.

Stockings, the same ones, and plain knickers with the prescribed liner, and then, over the top, a simple sleeveless knitted shift dress in light grey, and a pair of black suede kitten-heeled slingbacks. Ignoring the contents, an elegant outfit, suitable for dinner with another lady. I walked over to the kitchen, and she turned, eyes moist, at the tap of my heels.

“You do, don’t you? Relax, sort of thing, when you get dressed up, yeah?”

I just nodded.

“Yeah, Jill, I can see it in you, almost, when I stop trying to see Rob. You’re not the most girly girl, are you?”

She was crying now, openly and freely, but there was no catch to her voice, no hitch in her words. She spoke, clearly and calmly, and her tears fell.

“That’s what I am trying to see, Jill. I’ve got this bloke, this fat hairy thing, that I realise I fell in love with, yeah, and he’s not real, but the love is, and he loves me, I’m sure of that now, so I got to do my best, yeah? But it ain’t easy, cause he’s, she’s made how she is, and I am the same, I am what I was made, and, no, it don’t come easy, so, yeah, perhaps I need a hug, and I need it now, and we’ll see if we can get this life going better, yeah?”

We hugged, but she insisted on putting a tea-towel between us so that her tears wouldn’t stain my “pretty dress”.

Larinda pulled back, eyes red, and looked me in my own, which felt just like hers must have done. Then, with no ceremony, she kissed me, softly, long and sloppy. As she pulled away, she pushed something into my hand.

“Peel the spuds, Jill”