The Three Halves of Martyn Manning-Chapter Seventeen: Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow - Part One - Part Two

They
settled into a routine of sorts, but that was OK, at least with
Martyn. Martyn was comfortable with routine, you might even say he
embraced it. He liked his day to reflect his personality, reliable
and dependable. On a perfect morning when he woke up in bed he would
consider the day to come and he’d know pretty well how he’d be
spending every minute of it. If you asked him where he’d be at
08.17 he’d say “Driving to work, I’ll just be going through
Didwell, or if there’s been a traffic flash I might have diverted
down the B roads through Fritton.” If you said 11.43 he’d say
“That’s the time I’ve set aside for the Oldtown refurbishment
project”. The same would go for 14.27, 16.58 and 19.19 or indeed
for any time in between. Routine was his soothing friend, grounding
him, giving him foundation, dabbing softly at the forehead of his
anxiety. It wasn’t that he was boring. On the contrary, he welcomed
excitement, craved adventure. It was just that, if possible, he
preferred it to be presented within the framework of a routine. There
was a time and place for adventure and excitement and he liked to be
prepared. He just didn’t care for surprises, surprises unsettled
him. And neither was he averse to change or to doing something new,
it’s just that when change did inevitably happen he worked to
incorporate it into a new routine as soon as he could. Elena was not
so comfortable with routine. Elena was young, vital, energetic, and
restless, and sometimes she felt a little constrained by routine. But
Elena had an objective, a goal, and her parents had lived in a
communist state.

So
yes, they settled into a routine of sorts. Two
routines really. Martyn’s alarm
went off at
the same time every day, at 07.15.
He
had a small TV in his bedroom but he preferred to listen to the Today
programme on Radio 4. He would shower and dress, then go to his
office to collect his briefcase. He’d locate Katy and Felix in
either
their
rooms or in
the
kitchen eating
breakfast or
sometimes
in
the
living room watching TV, and say goodbye to
them with a kiss. Then
he’d
be
on his way. He liked to be out of the house between 07.55 and 08.00.
He seldom bothered with a
proper breakfast
himself
but
usually picked up a banana and an orange on
his way out. He’d
weave his way through the villages then join the bypass around 08.25.
If
he wasn’t at his desk by 08.55 he’d be irritated for at least the
next twenty
minutes. Once
at his desk he’d switch on his laptop and Suze would bring him
a
mug of supermarket
instant with skimmed milk and a sweetener. He’d scan his mail and
his diary, he still used a page-a-day paper
diary,
then reach for his pad and jot down an outline To-Do list for the
day. He
was fully aware that the list was provisional, a desire list, subject to change, and he was comfortable with that. He knew of
course that he would have to deal with any number of unexpected
issues as they arose during the day and he accepted these as a valid
and unavoidable component of his routine. In his early career he used
to write “Unforeseen Intrusions” on his To-Do
list. Then he realised
that was just bloody stupid. He’d
start on his To-Do list with some low hanging fruit, a couple of
quick wins to get him started, then he’d settle down with something
weightier, something that might take a couple of hours of
quiet focus
and undisturbed concentration. Suze
would bring him another coffee around mid-morning. She’d put
it down on the side of his desk but he often
didn’t
even notice. When
Suze came to collect it again it was still full, untouched, unmoved,
cold. At
13.00 his screen would flash and he’d walk to The Curlew for his
sandwich. Sometimes
Suze would walk with him but recently she’d been trying to lose
weight so she stayed in the office with the salad she’d brought
from home and avoided temptation. His
usual sandwich was cold ham with onions, tomatoes and English mustard
on a wholemeal roll, but when he was feeling decadent
or just needed comfort or reassurance he liked the lobster on
ciabatta with “spicy lime mayonnaise, spring onion, celery and
fresh herbs”. The
problem here was that he had to predict his
mood at least two hours in advance. There
wasn’t a lot of demand for lobster sandwiches in The
Curlew Cafe
so they only
defrosted the lobster on request and
it
sort of detracted from the spontaneity of the moment. He’d
eat his sandwich at his desk then often he’d
have
a little snooze until
14.00.
The
afternoons
were much the same as the
mornings,
a little less focused perhaps. Sometimes during his day he’d have
meetings with clients or suppliers. He
tended to get a little stressed before client meetings, after all, his family’s comfortable
lifestyle depended on them, but he tried to ameliorate the stress by
framing the relationship as one
of partnership
rather than one
of master/servant.
Unfortunately his clients didn’t always play along. Conversely,
he
looked forward to the supplier meetings where he could sit back and
relax as the supplicant prostrated before him. It wasn’t the
supplication that gave him pleasure, it was the simple fact that it was someone else doing the work. He actually
liked
most
of his
suppliers, even his potential suppliers, he
respected their faux ingratiation, and
he didn’t like to turn them down, so he’d usually tell them he’d
think about it and
then
send the rejection
by e-mail a
day or two later.
At
17.30 the alarm on his phone would ping and he’d begin to file any
paperwork and clear his desk. He was meticulous about this, he
considered a
tidy desk to
indicate a tidy mind, then he’d hopefully be in his car and on his way home
by 17.45. He
always hoped he wouldn’t hit traffic but he invariably did. He knew
it was illogical to travel in the rush hour and had often thought he
should stagger his office hours and
travel at different times.
Maybe
one day. His
favourite part of the day was when he first
arrived home. The kids would have been fed and their homework would
be done
so usually he’d play with them for
an hour or
so. Then
it was dinner. As
Elena laid it out for him they’d have a brief chat about the kids’
day and then she’d drag
the kids off to get ready for bed and leave
him alone at the kitchen table to
eat whatever
she’d
prepared. He
wasn’t fussy and she was a good cook. He
liked to try new things and he encouraged her to prepare Romanian
specialities. He
always had a glass of wine, usually
red, and
after dinner he’d take another one up to his study. He didn’t
normally work in the evenings, instead
he
liked to watch TV, mixing serious documentaries with trash, and he
always
enjoyed
losing himself in the ebb and flow of a football match, it didn’t
really
matter
who was playing. Then
Tuesday
night was quiz night and Martyn was the volunteer designated
driver
for the village team, so
on
a Tuesday he’d gobble down his dinner and rush down
to
The Feathers to
meet up with the rest of the quizzers.
If it was an away match they’d
all jump in his car and he’d
drive
them all over the county to pubs in other villages to face the
opposition. He didn’t mind driving. He enjoyed the drive there and
he quite enjoyed sipping cola and getting lost in the quiz even
as
his team-mates guzzled pint
after pint of real ale. The part he didn’t like was the drive home. By then his
white, late middle-aged passengers were five or six pints in and the
entire journey
was
a non-stop spew of racist, homophobic
and misogynist bile and rhetoric which made Martyn despair. He’d
warned them. He’d even threatened to withdraw his driving, and
they’d promised to behave, but once they’d got the beer inside
them they just couldn’t help themselves. He
was seriously thinking about leaving the team altogether. Then Friday
of course was Feathers night, when he met Charlie and Simon and they
would
put
the world to rights. What
on
earth would
the world do without them?

--------------------------------

Her
teachers told her she was bright, good with numbers, and that she
could have studied business and finance, but she didn’t care. She’d
chosen to study childcare because she liked childcare. As the eldest
of six she’d spent most of her life looking after her siblings and
it came naturally to her and she enjoyed it. Her diploma simply meant
she could do the same job but at a much higher salary and in a
glamorous foreign country. They never said anything but she was sure
that her old friends back in Timisoara were green with envy. So she
didn’t resent her domestic routine, not at all. No, it wasn’t the
routine itself that she resented, it was that persistent nagging
knowledge at the back of her head that with each day time was passing
her by, and tomorrow it would pass her by again. That’s why she
always needed a goal, an objective. She’d wake up and take her
shower, then she’d wake the kids up with a song. Katy always took
longer to get ready as she still needed some help choosing clothes
and dressing, so she woke her first, creeping softly into her room,
usually with “Hey! Did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in
the world?”. Once she’d coaxed Katy out of bed she’d move on to
Felix with John Lennon’s “Beautiful Boy”. Breakfast was seldom
a problem. The kids weren’t picky and would generally eat whatever
was put in front of them, though she tried to keep it healthy,
yoghurt with berries and honey or maybe porridge with grated nuts. On
most mornings she’d exchange a brief pleasantry with Martyn as he
said hello to the kids on his way to work but that was generally as
far as her interaction with him went. Then it was time to get the
kids to school. She’d made friends with a couple of other nannies,
an Irish girl and a Swiss girl, and she’d usually spend a few
minutes chatting with them in the school car park before heading
home. The Swiss girl even spoke a little Romanian. Back at The Old
Vicarage she’d clear away the breakfast things and put on the
dishwasher. Then it was time for the endless round of domestic
chores, the cleaning, the washing, the ironing. Martyn didn’t give
her any direction on this but she must be doing something right as he
never complained. She liked the view of the garden from the kitchen
and she liked the old house, and while she worked she’d day-dream
about how she’d decorate it if it was hers. Maybe she’d make a
few suggestions to Martyn when the chance arose. He’d mentioned
once that he had a gardener, a woman who came once a week in the
spring and summer to cut the grass and keep things tidy. She wondered
if she might be able to get her to cultivate a herb bed when the
weather got better. Yes, she thought Martyn might go for that. From
midday she had all of three and a half glorious hours to herself. For
lunch, if she was feeling virtuous she might have a salad with
poached salmon or a roast chicken breast (she’d take the skin off
first). If she was feeling sinful she’d raid the freezer for pizza
and ice cream. She was trying to eat less meat but didn’t think
she’d ever have the discipline to be a vegetarian or heaven forbid,
a vegan. After lunch she’d just chill. She might watch a little TV,
read a book or an online newspaper, sometimes she’d masturbate. Two
or three times a week she’d call Romania, and there were always
mails to deal with, texts to reply to. She enjoyed this me-time but
she also enjoyed her job so when the clock crept round to 15.30 she
cheerfully jumped in the car to collect the kids. When she got back
she gave the kids a snack then let them have some free time while she
prepared their dinner, then it was homework. She was strict about
homework, always checking carefully to see that they’d done what
was required, never taking their word for it. She’d never do their
homework for them but she was happy to point them in the right
direction if they asked (and if she could!). Martyn would get home
between six-fifteen and six-thirty, depending on the traffic, and
he’d play with the kids while she prepared his dinner and laid his
place at the kitchen table. When the food was ready and Martyn was
sat down she’d give him a quick report on the day’s events. He
was always interested but he never gave her a hard time. Then it was
time to get the kids bathed and to bed. In the early days Martyn had
made clear that she was welcome to eat with him but she thought that
might be a bit weird and preferred to eat her meal later in the
privacy of her room, re-heated in the microwave and sat at her desk.
Once the kids were settled she’d just collect her food and go to
her room. She also had wine, chocolate, crisps, Smart TV, her tablet,
books. What’s not to like?

-------------------------------------------------

So
yes, they settled into their routines. The
only times their routines really
collided were on Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings when
Elena would steal to Martyn’s room for joyless, perfunctory sex.
She
soon gave up faking it, and if he was honest he soon gave up wanting
her to. He
still got aroused, of course he did, and he still relished the
moment, of
course he did, but
it was hardly the “mystical union of a man and a woman” that he
supposed he’d hoped for. They
had to be quick on Saturday mornings because
of the kids, he understood that,
but on Wednesday nights, when it was over, he’d sometimes try and
engage her in light-hearted conversation, get her to stay a while,
maybe even do it again, but she was always tired, or had a headache,
or had stuff to do, and had to get back to her room. He
knew she was lying of course, but he couldn’t complain, she’d
kept her side of the contract. He
couldn’t make her enjoy it, he
wished he could. His blindfolds
and handcuffs lay undisturbed in the bottom of his bedside cabinet.
Elena
felt a bit bad. She tried to seem engaged,
wriggle about a bit, flail her limbs around, but what the hell,
it all seemed so futile. She
got to know his smell, she got to know his cum-face, and she got to
know the cobweb on the bedroom ceiling and the thick dust on the bedside lampshade. Afterwards
she’d steal out again, always alert for curious
ears and prying
eyes.
They’d
only had one close escape. One
Saturday morning as
Martyn was working at her they heard a smash
and a shriek
from downstairs and then a child’s footsteps running upstairs. He
was off her and at the door in a
flash,
opening it a tiny crack.

“Daddy!
Katy
dropped her milk! She’s broken the glass!”

“Oh
God! Is
she hurt? Don’t worry Felix, I’ll be down in a second.
Just let me put my dressing gown on.”

He
hadn’t come back after ten minutes so she
got off work early that day.