44 Scotland St

VOLUME 14 CHAPTER 21 MEN DON’T SEND BIRTHDAY CARDS

Having negotiated the final loops of the crumbling drive, Matthew drew up at his front door. Getting out of the car, he became aware of three pairs of eyes watching him from a window on the first floor of the house. He waved, and his wave was quickly returned with excited gestures from the three boys, Rognvald, Fergus and Tobermory. They were joined by Elspeth, who hovered into sight behind them, and blew a kiss down to Matthew.

By the time Matthew had opened the front door, with its peeling green paint, the triplets had tumbled downstairs and were clamouring to welcome him. They hugged his legs, one of them – Tobermory, he suspected, giving him a small bite on his calf: an affectionate bite, but not something one would encourage in a two-year-old.

“Tobes,” Matthew scolded. “You mustn’t bite Daddy. Has Daddy ever bitten you?”

Tobermory, blushing, deflected the criticism with earnest denial. “It was Rognvald,” he said. “Rognvald bit you, Daddy.”

Rognvald responded by hitting Tobermory, who then pushed him backwards, causing his brother to knock over Fergus, who generally liked to keep out of trouble. This led to all three boys bursting into tears.

Elspeth appeared. “Domestic bliss,” she said, trying to separate the boys from one another. She scolded the boys fondly, but with all the tired firmness of a mother of three. “There will be no ice cream tomorrow if you carry on like this,” she said.

The effect was instantaneous, and calm was restored. Down below, amongst children, ice-cream and chocolate are the bargaining chips supreme; as powerful as money and military force are amongst adults.

James appeared from the door that led from the hall to the kitchen. “Shall I take them up?” he asked. He looked at his watch. “It’s that time of day, I think.”

Elspeth answered with relief. “Thank you, James. They all need a bath.” “Tobermory smells,” said Rognvald. This was met with outraged denial. “Everybody smells,” said James. “There’s nothing wrong in having a smell.”

Matthew grinned. “That’s what comes of having a relativist au pair,” he said to Elspeth.

The triplets were corralled by James and led upstairs while Matthew and Elspeth made their way into the kitchen. As they entered, Matthew sniffed at the air appreciatively. “Talking of smells,” he said, “what’s that in the oven?”

“Rack of lamb,” said Elspeth. “Your favourite.”

Matthew rubbed his hands together. “Brilliant.” He noticed a pie dish. “And that?”

“Apple pie,” said Elspeth. “What else?” “And mashed carrots done in cream with lots of black pepper on top?” asked Matthew.

Elspeth smiled. “Yes. Everything you like, you see.”

Matthew shook his head. “You’re wonderful, you know – you really are. Here I am, this completely average guy, and I get you, of all people. I get the absolute twenty-two carat, Good Housekeeping

Institute-badge of Excellence, University of Edinburgh First-class Honours best. The best.”

Elspeth was looking at him quizzically. “Of course, I chose the meal specially for you.”

Matthew nodded. “So it would seem. You chose everything I love.”

Elspeth hesitated. “Because it is a spe - cial day, after all.”

Matthew had picked up an unopened envelope from the kitchen table and had been about to open it. Now he stopped. “Today?”

“Yes. It’s a rather special day in …” He waited.

“In the calendar of our lives,” she continued. “A special day for us.” A further pause ensued before she continued, “That is, for you and me, in view of the fact that today is …”

Matthew closed his eyes. “Oh, my God, oh …” He opened them. “Our anniversary. I … I should have …” His voice was strangled, and he left the sentence unfinished.

“I thought you’d forgotten,” said Elspeth. “When you didn’t say anything this morning, I assumed you’d forgotten.”

“Oh, my darling,” said Matthew. “I feel so bad. I really … I really hadn’t thought of what day it was. I didn’t look at my diary, you see, and then this morning I had a lot on my mind.” There had been Pat’s resignation. That was an excuse – of a sort – although it had come later on in the day and he should have remembered their anniversary in the morning.

Elspeth made a gesture that said, don’t worry about it. Then she smiled at him. “I might at least get a kiss.”

Matthew rushed forward. “A kiss for every year,” he said. “So …” He stopped. How many years was it? He had forgotten.

Elspeth was looking at him tenderly. “Men,” she said. “You’re hopeless at these things – all of you.”

“We try,” said Matthew.

“I know you do. But it’s always women who send the birthday cards. To everyone – not just family. Have you ever had a birthday card from one of your male friends? From Angus Lordie? From that chap with the hair gel?”

“Bruce?”

“Yes. I doubt if he sends birthday cards.” “To himself, perhaps,” said Matthew. “Bruce is a narcissist, as everyone knows.” He paused. Birthday cards were a ruthlessly commercial business and you would imagine that amongst all the specialist cards – to uncle, to nephew, to a best friend and so on, the sentimentpurveyors of the birthday card industry would have tumbled to the need to offer cards for narcissists. You know something? The message might read. You’re truly terrific.

But then he thought: I should not be uncharitable about Bruce, who was really no more than a casual acquaintance. He had Elspeth and the boys; Bruce had nobody. Mind you, did a narcissist want anybody other than himself ? Perhaps not.

Now he answered Elspeth’s question. “You’re right. I never get birthday cards from male friends. It’s not what men do.”

“So sad,” said Elspeth. “Women are always giving their friends presents and sending cards. Women understand these things.”

“Am I forgiven?” asked Matthew.

“Of course you are. Of course.” He thanked her. “You’re so sweet,” he said. “Some women are so judgemental of their men.”

“Let’s not talk about other people,” said Elspeth. “The important thing is that I have you and you have me.”

“And we have our little boys.” Elspeth nodded. “And we have the boys. And this house. And …”

“The rhododendrons.”

Elspeth laughed. ‘Yes, those too. We have everything. I think it’s important to remind oneself of one’s good fortune.”

From upstairs, through the ceiling, they heard bumps and crashes. “The boys,” said Elspeth. “James is a wonder, you know. He handles them like … like a lion tamer handles a lion.”

“With a chair?” asked Matthew. “Did lion tamers really use chairs – or was that just something you saw in cartoons?”

Matthew did not answer her question. He nodded in the direction of upstairs. “Is James having dinner with us?”

Elspeth replied that he was. “I couldn’t very well exclude him. He does live with us, after all. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” said Matthew. “But perhaps you and I can go outside now – just for a few minutes. It’s so lovely and warm. We could have a glass of champagne together. Just us. To celebrate so many years …”

How many was it? He would remember later on, he thought.

They went outside. The sun was sinking over the hills to the west, out towards distant Lanark and the early reaches of the Clyde. Matthew shivered; it was not as warm as he had imagined, in spite of the sunlight.

The hills were blue; soft and blue. He said, “Thank you for everything, Elspeth.”

She raised her glass to his. “Remember Jamaica? That hotel?”

He smiled. That was where they had spent their honeymoon.

“How could I forget that hotel?” he said. Elspeth laughed, and as she laughed, she asked herself: how many people laugh when they remember their honeymoon? Not many, she thought.

‘Remember Jamaica? That hotel?’ asked Elspeth. And as she laughed, she asked herself: how many people laugh when

they remember their honeymoon? Not many, she thought