Men from the Boys

I nodded. ‘A bit late for you, isn’t it?’

‘My body’s still on Tokyo time,’ she said. ‘Or somewhere between there and here.’ She attempted a smile. ‘I’m not sleeping much.’

We stared at each other.

‘Hello, Harry.’

‘Gina.’

We didn’t kiss. We went for coffee. I knew a Never Too Latte just off Carnaby Street that stayed open until two. She took a seat in the window and I went to the counter and ordered a cappuccino with extra chocolate for her and a double macchiato for myself. Then I had to take it back because she had stopped drinking coffee during her years in Tokyo and only drank tea now.

‘How well you know me,’ she said after I had persuaded some Lithuanian girl to exchange a coffee for tea. Was she that sharp when we were together? I don’t think so. She was another one who had got angrier with the years.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Stupid of me not to read your mind.’

And we took it from there.

‘Japan’s over,’ she said. ‘The economy is worse than here.’

‘Nowhere is worse than here,’ I said. ‘Ah, Gina. You could have called.’

‘Yes, I could have called. I could have phoned home and had to be polite to your second wife.’

‘She’s not my second wife,’ I said. ‘She’s my wife.’

My first wife wasn’t listening.

‘Or I could have phoned your PA at work and asked her if you had a window for me next week. I could have done all of that but I didn’t, did I? And why should I?’ She leaned forward and smiled. ‘Because he’s my child just as much as he’s your child.’

I stared at her, wondering if there ever came a point where that was simply no longer true.

And I wondered if we had reached that point years ago.

‘What’s with the keep-fit routine?’ I said, changing the subject. She was in terrific shape.

‘It’s not a routine.’ She flexed her arms self-consciously. ‘I just want to look after myself as I get older.’

I smiled. ‘I can’t see you on the yoga mat.’

She didn’t smile back. ‘I had a scare a couple of years back. A health scare. That was something you missed.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Please don’t apologise.’

‘Jesus Christ – why can’t you just let me say I’m sorry?’

‘And why can’t you just drop dead?’

We stared at our drinks.

We had started out with good intentions. Difficult to believe now, I know, but when we divorced back then we were a couple of idealistic young kids. We really thought that we could have a happy break-up. Or at least a divorce that always did the right thing.

But Gina had blown in and out of our lives. And gradually other things got in the way of good intentions. In my experience it is so easy to push good intentions to the back of the queue – or to have them quietly escorted from the building.

Gina wanted to be a good mother. I know she did. I know she loved Pat. I never doubted that. But she was always one step from fulfilment, and life got in the way, and everything let her down. Her second husband. Working abroad. And me, of course. Me first and worst of all.

We sat in silence for a bit.

‘Is this the way we are going to do it?’ I said.

‘What way?’

‘You know what way, Gina.’

‘What way do you want to do it? Shall we be nice to each other? First time for everything, I guess.’

‘I don’t want us to be this way,’ I said. ‘How long are we going to spit poison at each other?’

‘I don’t know, Harry. Until we get tired of the taste.’

‘I was tired years ago.’

We sat in silence as if the people we had once been no longer existed. As if there was nothing between us. And it wasn’t true.

‘He’s my son too,’ she said.

‘Biologically,’ I said.

‘What else is there?’

‘Are you kidding me? Look, Gina – I think it’s great you’re back.’

‘Liar.’

‘But I don’t want him hurt.’

‘How could he be hurt?’

‘I don’t know. New man. New job. New country. You tell me.’

‘You don’t break up with your children.’

‘I love it when people say that to me. Because it’s just not true. Plenty of people break up with their children, Gina. Mostly, they’re men. But not all of them.’

‘Do you want me to draw you a diagram, Harry?’

‘Hold on – I’ll get you a pen.’