Chapter Fourteen
Blair was still disorientated by the time changes and despite the final head-dropping tiredness as he sat with Ruth he awoke early, while it was dark. Seven in Moscow, he calculated: his normal time. Would Ann be awake? He’d have to call her today. He had to call a lot of people today. Blair lay, feeling the familiarity of his former home wrapped about him, thinking about the previous day and trying to decide whether he had handled it correctly. Unsure, too, about some of the things he’d said to the boy. Maybe thousands of kids stayed straight and all right after their parents divorced but could he dismiss it entirely? No, he thought, honestly. Continuing the honesty Blair realised he’d tried to take the divorce out of any discussion as much for his own conscience as to get through to Pauclass="underline" maybe more so. The acceptance discomfited him, making him feel guilty. He had given the kid a bad shake. He’d given all of them a bad shake. Ruth worst of all because they were only kids but she’d been able to understand it all. He’d behaved like a shit and she’d behaved like a saint. Like she was still doing. He had to do more, determined Blair: not just now – he was doing all he could now – but later, when this had been settled. She deserved it; the kids deserved it. Conscience again? Sure it was. What else could it be? But proper conscience this time.
Blair reviewed the day ahead, watching the sky gradually lighten outside and listening intently for the sounds of movement elsewhere in the house. When they came, after a further two hours, Blair remained where he was, the earlier feeling of familiarity giving way to another sensation, the awareness that it was no longer his home and that he was a visitor to it and like a polite visitor it was necessary to wait until the people who really lived there got through their established morning routine and cleared bathrooms before he intruded. The boys were at the breakfast bar when he emerged, Ruth cooking the pancakes at the stove. She wore a housecoat but her hair was carefully brushed. The boys appeared tidier than they’d been the previous day; he saw Ruth had cleaned their shoes. The tightness remained between them all but Blair thought it was slightly less strained than yesterday. Awake for so long he had prepared for the encounter. Deciding it was important to create some sort of balance – even if the effort appeared obvious – and not refer constantly to the reason for his being there he asked if there were a team they supported and hesitantly, almost unconvincingly, they said the Orioles and Blair said if there were a game that weekend would they like to go out to Baltimore and take it in? The acceptance was hesitating, too. John made an effort, asking what Moscow was like and Blair snatched at the opening and said it was very different from America and he had a lot to tell them about it and why didn’t they talk about it over dinner? John nodded eagerly, the excitement at having his father again in the house obvious. Paul gave no reaction. Why the hell does he behave all the time like some goddamned dummy! thought Blair, irritably. They were waiting, lunch pails ready and packed, when the car sounded outside. Ruth kissed them both but Blair held back, like he had the previous night. Maybe it would be possible before he finally went back, he thought: but not now.
With the importance of that in mind he telephoned Langley while Ruth was clearing the boys’ breakfast things and setting places for them. He didn’t know whether the division chief would already be in but was glad when Ray Hubble came on to the line. It was insecure, so the conversation was necessarily general. Hubble had been the supervisor in Rome when Blair had been there and they’d worked together at headquarters before Blair’s London posting, so an acquaintanceship at least existed between them. Hubble said he was sorry to hear Blair had a problem and was there anything he could do and Blair said that was what he wanted to talk about. Hubble offered that day but Blair said tomorrow: he wasn’t going to rush the encounters with the counsellors. Blair had thought about them, in the early hours, wanting to get the maximum out of the meeting so he telephoned them both and suggeted a combined rather than separate encounter. Both agreed. Erickson’s office was decided upon.
Ruth had brewed fresh coffee by the time he returned to the kitchen, which was all he wanted. He told her about the altered arrangements with the counsellors and the reason and asked, in afterthought, if she wanted to come.
‘Would it help?’ said the woman at once. ‘I’ve seen them both, several times. But if it would help of course I’ll come.’
‘Maybe better by myself the first time,’ he agreed. He finished his coffee and said, ‘I’d like to make another call.’
‘All local calls are free in Washington,’ she reminded him, imagining he had forgotten.
‘This isn’t a local call,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ she said, realising. She seemed to spend longer than was necessary with her back to him, getting more coffee, and then she said, ‘Sure, go ahead.’
‘Collect calls are difficult in Moscow,’ he said. ‘If you’ll let me know the cost when the bill comes in I’ll send you a cheque.’ Polite visitor, he thought again.
‘No problem,’ said Ruth. She looked down at the housecoat, as if surprised to find herself wearing it. ‘I should get dressed,’ she said.
Blair used the kitchen extension. It was a bad connection and he had to shout over the echo on the line, wishing it hadn’t been necessary. Each agreed they were fine. Ann asked how things were and he said he didn’t know, not yet. He didn’t know, either, when he would be getting back. She told him she was taking Brinkman to the ballet and he agreed it was a good idea.
‘I miss you,’ she shouted.
‘Me too,’ Blair yelled back.
‘I love you.’
‘Me too,’ he yelled again. He supposed Ruth, who would be able to hear every word, would guess but he’d tried. Polite visitor.
Blair promised to call again and Ann said she hoped everything would turn out all right. She said again that she loved him but Blair didn’t respond this time. He finished the call before Ruth came back into the room.
‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘Everything all right?’
‘Seems to be. It was a bad line.’
‘So I gathered. Shall I fix lunch?’
‘Thought we might eat out.’
Ruth smiled, immediately pleased at the invitation. ‘Fine.’
‘Anywhere particular you like?’
‘You choose,’ she said hopefully.
‘Dominiques used to be good.’
She smiled again, glad he’d remembered. Dominiques had been important to them, the place where they’d celebrated special occasions like birthdays and wedding anniversaries and news of his promotions and postings. It would be nice to have another special occasion to celebrate there. ‘Dominiques would be lovely.’
Blair was early for his appointment with the counsellors, at Erickson’s office ahead of the other official. Both men were similar and Blair wondered if it were the job. They dressed uncaringly, pants unpressed and creases concertinaed in the bends of their arms, ties straying from their collars. Kemp was taller and wore spectacles, but both were overweight, stomachs bulging over their belts. Erickson offered coffee which Blair didn’t want but which he took anyway.
‘Thanks for seeing me like this,’ said Blair. ‘I thought it was best.’
‘Makes our schedules easier,’ said Kemp.
‘So you’re busy?’ said Blair, to the school counsellor.
Erickson smiled, an attempt at reassurance. ‘Believe me, Mr Blair, what you’re going through right now isn’t unusual, for American parents today.’
Blair recognised the effort but found the man faintly patronising. Would kids feel the same way? He said, ‘It’s unusual for me. I want to get it sorted out.’
‘That’s what we all want,’ said Erickson.
‘So how do we do it?’
‘I wish I knew,’ admitted the school official. ‘I’ve got seventy kids I’m trying to help and I’d guess that many again I don’t know about yet.’