Day Seven (Sunday)
Edward got up slightly later than he had on other mornings since arriving. It was Sunday after all. He would have had a small lie-in at home, though not a long one. He didn’t believe in wasted time. As a child, he recalled his father staying in bed until midday or after on a Sunday, reading the Sunday newspapers, normally The Telegraph and The Times. His father was usually shattered after a hectic week in a busy office and needed to recuperate. Edward didn’t like to do that. He was usually up by nine at the latest. Often, he’d be off to play tennis or for a planned walk or there was tending to be done in the garden. Sometimes, he had office work to catch upon before Monday morning.
Today, Edward didn’t rush down to breakfast. He’d noted in the information folder, breakfast continued until ten on a Sunday morning. It finished at nine on other mornings, unless by special arrangement. Being a punctual person, Edward had always gone down between eight and half past. He felt it was the polite thing to do. No doubt, Alan and Gwen had other things to get on with and it was better for them to get breakfast done and dusted as soon as they could. He imagined stragglers and latecomers would be mildly annoying. Edward would never be like that. It wasn’t in his nature to put people out. He tried his best to fit in and not be an inconvenience. As an older man, he really preferred not to be noticed. Of course, he’d been louder and more confident in his youth. He’d had some of the look at me attitude then. He’d wanted to stand out once. He’d wanted to make his mark in the world of work, and he had. All that had slowly dissipated over the years. Now, he was content to come and go barely making any impression at all.
Edward looked out of his bedroom window across the bay. Being a Sunday morning there were a fair few runners and dog walkers, more than on other days. The sun had retreated, and it was cloudy above. Edward couldn’t really complain. Coming at this time of year, he’d been pretty lucky with the weather so far. It had been mostly fine. He’d only been caught in a few showers. You had to expect some in Swansea. It was South Wales. It had a tendency to be a bit wet, ever since he’d known it as a small child, coming to visit grandparents and members of his extended family in and around Cardiff.
No, Edward didn’t rush down for breakfast. For once, even he’d take advantage of the extended time he had to take it in. Instead, he made himself a coffee and switched on the television. Countryfile or some similar programme was on. He liked programmes about the countryside and the natural world, particularly on God’s supposed day of rest. Such inoffensive viewing would suit him perfectly. Edward turned on the shower and jumped in. It was still only lukewarm. He really should mention it to Alan. He was sure Alan would endeavour to fix it, but it seemed petty to do so. It was better to suffer in silence. It was the British thing to do. He was only paying forty pounds a night, he reminded himself. He was probably lucky to have his own shower and toilet at all. Besides, it wasn’t actually cold. It just wasn’t as hot as he’d have liked it, and how he had it at home.
Eventually, around 9.15am, Edward wandered down to the breakfast room. As on the previous morning, it was busier than it had been on weekdays and there were fewer tables to choose from. He still had no trouble finding one, tucked away in a corner. It just wasn’t his favourite one by the window. He’d only get that when it was quiet and if he came down early, he realised. He was unconcerned. He didn’t really care where he sat. It was only breakfast. One seat was pretty much as good as another. Edward wasn’t by nature a narrow-minded man, given to being over fussy about small details. It had never really been in his interest to be so. That hadn’t been the key to business success and making money. He’d always needed to keep abreast of the bigger picture. It had been the same in personal affairs. That was why he wasn’t quite as upset by Alice’s underhanded actions and infidelity as he might have been.
Edward was pleased that Alan and Gwen had remembered he was departing from his usual full, cooked breakfast and had opted for poached eggs on toast instead. It would make a less filling change, as he planned to have Sunday lunch out today, if he could find a nearby pub serving it. He’d noticed one or two on Byrnmor Road that probably did a traditional roast. Edward would look at least. If they weren’t serving Sunday lunch, he’d just settle for something else. He wasn’t too bothered.
As on other days, Edward forewent cereal. Even as a child, he’d never been fond of it. He found something distasteful about the sogginess of it, soaked in cold milk as it was. Instead, he just settled for an orange juice and some toast with marmalade, as he waited for his eggs to be brought out. Alan also presented him with a pot of steaming tea. If only the shower was as hot, Edward chuckled merrily to himself. Even perhaps the lukewarm water of the shower was a small blessing. It served to wake him up each day.
Edward wasn’t solely a tea or coffee man. He varied it. He liked both. Generally, he ordered tea with his breakfast. On a couple of mornings, he’d chosen coffee instead, when he felt in need of a pick-me-up. More often than not, he made coffee in his room, though sometimes tea. His mid-morning preference was usually for coffee and had been lately when he’d been taking it at Meredith’s coffee house. He usually opted for a pot of tea if he stopped anywhere in the afternoon. On returning to his room in the early evening, it was normally coffee, but then tea just before bed. All in all, he varied back and forth between the two quite a lot, depending on the time of day and his mood. As the day wore on, he generally switched to decaffeinated over caffeine, as it was better for his heart. It was a good reason to modify his intake of sugar and alcohol too, though he didn’t always do that quite as well as he should. He liked a glass of wine or a beer, as well as a cake.
Edward decided to have a quieter, lazier day, as it was Sunday, just as his father and his father before him would have done. After breakfast, he pottered in his room for a while. He then made him way past the Brangwyn Hall and down St Helen’s Road in search of a local shop. There were a few he recalled that he’d passed on his way in and out of the city centre. He didn’t have any difficulty locating one. He bought a newspaper, The Observer, some chocolate, and a carrier bag to put them in. He’d didn’t want them to get wet if it started raining. He didn’t return immediately to his room. Instead, he took the scenic route back, continuing to the end of St Helen’s Road and then right onto Dilwyn Street and West Way. This took him back down onto the Oystermouth Road, allowing him to walk back with bay, sand and sea views to enjoy. He was passed by a number of runners as he strolled. Even a few of the dog walkers were quicker than he was and overtook him.
Back in his room, Edward whiled away several hours reading his newspaper and then his book. He realised he’d barely heard the news that week and had rather lost touch with the world and what was happening in it. Back at home, he often had Radio Four on in the background or the BBC News Channel playing. Even if he wasn’t sat down closely following it, he inevitably took some in. He’d left all that behind him since coming away and had almost actively avoided the news, although he’d caught a few snippets in passing when it had been on. He had seen the news once or twice, but in nothing like the detail and depth he’d usually have done. Perhaps he feared Alice’s face coming on, with an item on Wife seeking lost husband. Now that would be embarrassing.
Around twelve-thirty, Edward slipped out. Again, he passed the Brangwyn Hall, as he did so often on his strolls. He was still yet to go in. One day, he would if he remembered to. Edward stopped at a hotel bar on the corner of Brynmor Road he thought might be serving Sunday lunch. He’d had his evening meal there one evening earlier in the week and it had been quite nice. The bar was an occasional haunt from his student days, not a regular one but one they used to go in from time to time. Edward was lucky. They were serving Sunday lunch. He ordered roast beef with all the trimmings and a glass of red wine, Shiraz, to go with it.
Edward got himself a seat, whilst he waited for his meal to arrive. He wondered if Alice was doing the same. Perhaps they were sat in a pub somewhere back in Oxford, enjoying Sunday lunch together. Perhaps he was cooking it for her. Perhaps she was cooking it for him, in Edward’s home. Perhaps they weren’t together at all. Perhaps they’d decided not to continue their affair, after being discovered, after being found out for the cheats they were.
All the same, Edward couldn’t help wondering what Alice was doing. He got out his phone and stared at it. He could see from the call record Alice had rung him three or four times and had left several messages. She’d also texted a number of times. Perhaps he should ring her back. A week had now passed since her revelation. Perhaps it was time. Edward didn’t really want to. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say to her. He still didn’t know if he wanted to stay with her or if indeed it was time to part ways. He hadn’t made his mind up. The correct course of action remained unclear to him. That was why he was here. That was why he’d escaped to Swansea and still hadn’t returned home.
Eventually, with a degree of reluctance, Edward glanced at one of the texts. Where are you, Edward? it read. What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Have you gone mad? What will the neighbours say? Who cared what they had to say? Bugger them and their opinions! No doubt they’d have a few choice words to say about Alice and Paul if they knew the whole truth. There was little concern in Alice’s tone for Edward’s welfare. Her only thought was how it might reflect on her. That was enough for Edward. He didn’t really need to read any more. He deleted the rest without reading them. He would get in touch with her at some point. It would just be when he was ready and on his terms not hers. He wouldn’t be hurried. It was she after all who’d committed the adultery.
Edward imagined Alice wanted the best of both worlds. She wanted to have her cake and eat it. She wanted to remain in the big house with Edward, enjoying the lifestyle she was accustomed to, whilst keeping her lover on the side. Edward wouldn’t give her that. She’d have to choose Paul or him. She couldn’t have both. It simply wasn’t on, not in Edward’s world. Things weren’t as simple as that. They were more complicated. Some older men might have accepted their younger, glamorous wife taking a lover. Edward wasn’t one of them. He had too much pride for that. She should count herself lucky that he’d gone away and allowed her to stay there instead. He could have just kicked her out on the spot and had the locks changed. It was his house after all, the same one he and Angela had bought together. It was in his name. He’d never had Alice added. Why would he have done? He’d paid off the mortgage outright and covered all the bills on it after all. It was his place and always would be, even if he had to pay Alice off in some messy divorce settlement. Although after what had happened, maybe he wouldn’t want to go back there. Maybe he’d need to get a new place and start afresh. Perhaps Alice and Paul had been carrying on under his roof. There was a lot to sort out.
Edward’s Sunday lunch arrived. He forced himself to put all that to the back of his find as he tucked into his roast beef with relish. He was lucky in some respects. He’d only been in Wales a week and already he’d made new friends. There was Alan and Gwen at the guesthouse, Meredith at the coffee shop and Jill at the bookshop. That was the good thing about being a man of relative routine. He saw the same faces on an almost daily basis. Very quickly, he remembered them, and they remembered him. He fully expected to see Meredith and Jill a number of times in the coming week. He hadn’t forgotten he’d promised to take Jill’s dog, Beti, out for a walk. He wasn’t all that good with dogs but was sure he could manage it. It couldn’t be that hard. Millions of people had dogs in this country alone. They were everywhere. If others could walk them, surely, he could too. Beti seemed a peaceful and compliant beast. Perhaps Edward might even bond with her given long enough.
Edward couldn’t help wondering why Jill didn’t arrange a dog sitter or a dog walker to take Beti out. It didn’t seem quite fair keeping Beti cooped up in the shop all day, although she seemed content. She wasn’t a young dog. She was getting on a bit in dog years. She spent most of the day asleep. Perhaps she was happy like that. Jill seemed a very likeable lady, but maybe not the most organised. She had so many books she was yet to go through and price. She didn’t know all her stock and what she had, even though she had some good ones amongst the chaff. She didn’t keep regular hours. She seemed to open as and when she wanted. If she had to go out or wanted a day off, she’d just shut.
It would be very different if it was Edward’s shop, he decided. He’d open and close on the dot, according to whatever hours were advertised on the shop’s front. He wouldn’t come and go as he pleased. If he needed help, he’d just hire someone else to be there when he couldn’t be. Perhaps he’d do that anyway. He’d have a manager to look after the day to day running of the shop. He, meanwhile, would be the owner and would go out to source the stock or sit at home or in the back office, quietly doing the books and other things. He had it all worked out in his head. It would run like clockwork. Every book would be catalogued. He’d even go online, so he could sell books there. It would all run smoothly and efficiently, not in the haphazard way Jill was running it. Oh well, it was her shop. She could run it as she liked. Edward would just run it very differently if it was his place. It would never be that. He was retired. He was too old to start again, although a small part of him found the notion appealing. It did make Edward realise he missed Jill. He’d be very happy to see her again the following day.
After lunch, Edward wandered the short distance down to Victoria Park, where he sat for a while to let his food go down. He took out his latest book from his raincoat pocket. He’d already made pretty good progress with The Rum Diary. It didn’t take many pages to realise it was a thinly disguised account of Hunter S Thompson’s early journalistic life. The main character, one Paul Kemp, lived an easy, carefree existence. He had no ties and no commitments. He could rock up virtually anywhere and ply his trade on some failing, English-speaking newspaper, where he could come and go more or less as he pleased, spending more time in the local bars than the office, whilst pursuing any attractive, young woman who happened to cross his path. It sounded very appealing.
Edward supposed it reminded him a little of his life as a student before he’d met Angela. He’d been young and carefree once. Part of him had harboured pretensions of maintaining a lifestyle like that, even after graduating. Of course, he’d been far too responsible for such nonsense. He’d had Angela to consider for a start. They wanted to build a future together, get married and have children. That wouldn’t happen with Edward failing to put down roots. What kind of life would they have had if he’d been an international globe-trotter, flitting from job to job and country to country? It didn’t bear thinking of. There were parental pressures on top. They couldn’t just be ignored.
No, Edward had done the right thing. He’d gone straight from university into a good job, then another one. He’d taken every promotion that had come along. Now, he wondered if he’d done the right thing. Perhaps he and Angela could have allowed themselves a year off to travel the world and see some of its delights. Angela had only lived to forty-five. She’d crammed a lot into those years, but much of it had been work or work-related. Perhaps in retrospect they should have allowed themselves more relaxation, more downtime and enjoyment. Perhaps they could have taken a small leaf out of Paul Kemp’s book, or Hunter S Thompson’s, and let their hair down a little for a short while. Of course, Hunter S Thompson had led an entire life of drunken debauchery. Edward wasn’t advocating that, but a little fun and aimless wandering, as his own son Henry was enjoying, had its place in life.
Edward had begun his university study just as most robust young men of eighteen did. He liked sport. He liked music. He liked drinking. He liked women. He didn’t mind a modicum of studying. He was keen to do enough to get by. He wasn’t anxious to do much more than that. Then he met Angela and he became more dedicated and serious in all aspects of his life. He still drunk with her and their mutual friends. They still went to nightclubs. They still nursed hangovers, but the relationship gave his life more direction, and more purpose to his being there. He knew what he had to do. He could have his share of fun, but ultimately, he needed to leave with a good degree and get a good job afterwards. He did just that. So did Angela.
The person who graduated at twenty-one was a more sensible, rounded, mature individual than the one who’d arrived as a brash, over-confident eighteen-year-old, still wet behind the ears and inexperienced in the real ways of the world. The lessons of university had stood Edward in good stead for the rest of his working life. It had moulded him into a man he was. It had helped make him very well-off. So why did he harbour some regrets? He shook his head. He couldn’t quite fathom it himself. Why did he view habitual losers such as the inadequate fictional journalist Paul Kemp with a degree of envy? He guessed it was largely because he and Angela’s life together had been cut short. Perhaps they hadn’t got the balance quite right. They’d dedicated too much of their time to work. They could have taken more holidays and given more of their attention to other things, including their children, even if there was never any doubt of their love for them.
It was too late now. Edward was just an old stiff, who enjoyed a glass of red wine with his lunch, a game of tennis on a Saturday or Sunday morning, the occasional round of golf with old work colleagues, a walk to the pub for a pint of real ale, watching a game of football, rugby, or cricket, when he could catch one, reading a book or newspaper, a scotch and soda before bed. He was set in his ways and liked routine, perhaps a little too much. He had done this, however. That had taken a degree of courage on his part. He’d come away. He’d taken himself out of his comfort zone, without a clue how long he planned to stay, without speaking to Alice, and more importantly without running back to her straight away, with his tail between his legs.
Victoria Park was only a little one, but charming of its kind, with its views of the sandy bay. After breaking off from his book, Edward made sure to traverse it several times, so he’d seen every nook and cranny. Sunday had always been a slow day at university. He’d never greatly liked the weekends when he’d been in halls of residence and lived on campus. They’d never felt quite right and had a slight pervading sense of mild gloom, unlike the weekdays which had always been buzzing with much going on. A lot of students had returned to their hometowns at weekends, particularly the Welsh ones, who lived quite nearby. Edward returned home himself a few times each term. Some went more than others. Some went home most weekends, perhaps to see boyfriends and girlfriends. Others hardly returned home at all, not even in the holidays. Perhaps they had something to stay away from. It varied an awful lot. Individual patterns and habits were very different.
It had been better when Edward had moved out into a shared house. He had Angela then. Sometimes, everyone in the house gathered to do a communal roast, washed down with a few beers. Those occasions had been fun. They’d enjoyed a shared spirit of camaraderie, mutual liking, and respect. Edward missed those days. He’d never have them back. They’d all enjoyed such mighty plans and ambitions, only some of which had come to fruition. Edward hoped to be a best-selling author. He was yet to write anything of any note. He feared now it was too late. He’d made more money than perhaps in his wildest dreams, but somehow it didn’t quite satisfy him. It left him with a slight feeling of emptiness and longing. He didn’t know why. He was just being silly, he told himself. Really, he’d been a great success. It wasn’t like he could look at any of his fellows from those days and say anyone had done markedly better. They hadn’t. He was probably the richest by far. If they googled his name, they’d find he had a Wikipedia mention and had been bestowed with all kinds of financial honours. The problem was it didn’t really mean anything to him. He’d rather have been Paul Kemp, getting drunk in some Puerto Rican bar, eyeing up the women. No, he didn’t really want that. He’d always been faithful to the women in his life. He did want something. He just wasn’t sure what it was.
Edward left the park and for no special reason decided to meander aimlessly back towards the city centre. He stopped at another pub; one he didn’t know from memory. It wasn’t one he recalled going in as a student. It was one of those more modern sports bars, with multiple television screens and pool tables etcetera. Edward wasn’t sure it had even been there in his day. If it had, it had changed out of all recognition. Edward settled down to watch some rugby union that was screening. It was mid-May, and the football season was just about done and the cricket one had just begun. There were only football league play-offs and European finals still to be concluded. Some had already taken place. Because he’d been away, Edward had largely lost touch with the results and what was going on in the sport. It didn’t worry him too much. He was just as content watching rugby union, where the season continued until the end of the month and indeed into June, whilst he supped his pint. Edward liked both sports. He’d also come to appreciate cricket as an older man and enjoy its gentler pace, although it wasn’t his favourite game.
Of football and rugby union, Edward didn’t really have a strong preference. He was unusual in that. In football, he followed Arsenal. In rugby union, he supported Harlequins. He’d been an occasional visitor to both the old Highbury ground and latterly the Emirates Stadium, when working in London, to see Arsenal, as well as to the Twickenham Stoop to watch Harlequins. Edward was of course a keen follower of Oxford United and went to see some of their home games. He’d even taken both Angela and Alice once or twice in the past, although neither had been especially smitten with the matches they’d seen. They’d both made a token effort to get into it for Edward’s sake, but it hadn’t really been their thing. After letting them try it out, Edward had usually gone alone, although he’d taken the kids from time to time when they were younger. Henry didn’t mind it. Victoria wasn’t a huge fan. Naturally, Edward always kept abreast of the results of Swansea’s football and rugby teams too. It had been a habit since his student days. It was too late to change now.
The game wasn’t quite over when Edward continued on his way. It was after four o’clock. On a total whim, Edward wandered into a cinema he happened to pass. It was partly because it had begun to rain. Edward had no idea at all what was playing. He just bought a ticket and went in. It turned out it was one of those modern, fast-paced remakes of a film from his youth. That itself was based on a book that Edward had read as a young man, so he knew the plot well. He could easily pick it up, even though the film had just started, and he’d missed the first few minutes. It didn’t really matter. It wasn’t so different from the original in storyline at least and he could immediately find where he was in proceedings. He soon began to lose himself completely in the story. It was pure escapism on Edward’s part, and it was something Edward had done as a student many times. He’d often taken himself off to the local cinemas, frequently alone, to catch the new releases, as many as he could. He’d been a bit of a film buff. Angela had come with him sometimes, though she hadn’t been as keen as he was. His interest in films had even extended to film scores and soundtracks. John Barry and Ennio Morricone had always been his two favourites and had remained so of the genre throughout his life. The university had hosted a very active film society, of which Edward was an avid member, which had allowed him to watch all the classics of yesteryear, as well as latest ones to hit the screens. He’d never lost his interest in cinema. He retained it to this day.
When Edward emerged from the cinema, he looked at his watch. It was gone six-thirty. There was no point going back to the guesthouse, before heading out again for his evening meal. He might as well have something now he was out. He noticed there was another Wetherspoon’s just round the corner from the cinema. It wasn’t fine dining, but it was cheap, cheerful, quick, and easy. Such places served their purpose and would suit Edward’s needs well. There, he ordered a curry and a pint. It would be his last alcoholic drink of the day. He wouldn’t join Alan and Gwen for a nightcap, not tonight, he decided. He’d had two or three drinks, perhaps more, already. It was enough. There were things to be done the next day. He had to keep a clear head.
He also had to think of his heart. Too many drinks made it beat fast, and could make it jumpy, just as too much sugar and tea and coffee could. He kept mainly to decaffeinated after the first few of the day. Indeed, he’d bought his own jar of coffee and teabags with him, which he kept in his room for that very purpose. He could drink as much of those as he liked and generally switched to them later in the day, except when he was out and about. Shame it wasn’t the same with alcohol and he could drink as much of that as he liked too. Of course, he could have chosen non-alcoholic beer, but he saw no point in that. Still, he enjoyed the alcoholic drinks he had. The curry was very nice too. When he finished, he wandered back in the gradually receding twilight, feeling full and content. He was ready for bed.
