Reading Online Novel

The Tooth Tattoo(13)



‘What do you expect? I’m a bloke.’

‘There you go again, putting up the shutters.’

At a loss, he stared across the room. He could think of nothing to say. He’d never been comfortable talking about what he thought of as personal. Even with his beloved wife, Steph, he’d rarely opened up and after her sudden and violent death he’d confided in nobody, preferring to endure the unimaginable grief in isolation. The wound would never heal and he was certain that no one, however well-meaning, could assist. He’d put the shutters up – as Paloma had expressed it – for a reason. He couldn’t predict how he would react if she were to probe his hidden emotions. Paloma was a valued friend and an occasional lover. Up to now she’d been willing to conduct their relationship on those terms. Unless he was mistaken she seemed this evening to be demanding a change in him that he didn’t think he could make.

When it became obvious Diamond wasn’t going to speak, Paloma said, ‘I know what you’re thinking. Let me remind you that we’ve both got painful areas in our lives – totally different, but hard to bear. My ex-husband, my son. I’ll never come to terms with what happened, just as I wouldn’t expect you to get over your personal tragedy. We’re scarred for life, both of us. But we still have a life. Surely it helps to share joys and sadnesses?’

‘I prefer to keep my sadnesses to myself,’ he said.

She looked surprised. ‘But a trouble shared is a trouble halved – or so they say.’

‘Claptrap.’

She didn’t speak for a moment, but her face drained of colour. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘What you just said – it’s only a saying and it’s rubbish. I’m not discussing my private life with anyone.’

She caught her breath. ‘I thought I was a part of your private life.’

‘It doesn’t mean you’re on the inside with a licence to go where you want.’

‘You don’t know how hurtful you’re being.’

‘I’ll shut up, then.’

He finished the pie and chips in silence. Although rows with work colleagues were his stock-in-trade, this was his first serious difference with Paloma and he knew he was handling it badly. He offered to get another drink.

She was tight-lipped.

‘Shall we go, then?’ he suggested.

Still silent, she got up from the table and walked to the door. The barman shouted, ‘Cheers, folks. Have a great evening.’ Neither Diamond nor Paloma answered.

Out on the towpath, something definitely needed to be said. In ordinary circumstances they would head towards his house and she would spend the night with him. But it wasn’t as if they were married. These intimacies were occasional and by arrangement – a subtle, consensual understanding.

He said, ‘Perhaps it’s a sign that we’ve moved on, having a few strong words with each other.’ He meant to say they’d grown closer and could speak their differences without the relationship breaking down.

That wasn’t how Paloma took it. ‘Moved on? Are you saying you want to end it?’ She stopped walking and swung round to face him. ‘Are you?’

‘Paloma, it’s not me making an issue out of nothing.’

‘So I’m to blame, am I?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Not in as many words, but that’s obviously what you meant. It may sound like nothing to you but I’m not used to being told my opinions are claptrap, especially when I was reaching out to you, doing my best to understand you.’

‘I don’t want to be understood – not like that, anyway.’

Her face reddened and her eyes filled with tears. ‘In that case you don’t need me around. Find some other woman to shag, someone who doesn’t give a damn about you. You and I are through.’

She turned and stepped briskly away without looking back.





5





Two weeks passed and Mel heard nothing more from the “Famous Foursome,” Cat’s term for the mysterious string quartet. Thinking they may have decided he wasn’t the right choice for violist, he made up his mind not to lose any sleep over it. Sure, the money was tempting, but he didn’t care for their methods, acting like Cold War spies, obtaining his address, whisking him off for a secret meeting in a London club, refusing to say who they were and gatecrashing a private wedding party for a second look at him. Out of curiosity he’d Googled string quartets. Would a reputable, high-earning ensemble group be able to exist in the twenty-first century without its own website with pictures of the performers? Even if Ivan was a shadowy figure, the rumbustious Cat was not. He’d found more ensembles online than he had ever dreamed existed, plenty with female cellists and their pictures, too, but none looked like her. If he’d been able to supply a name for the quartet he might have had more success. After numerous tries he decided his time would be better spent practising.