The Complete Man and Boy Trilogy: Man and Boy, Man and Wife, Men From the Boys. Tony Parsons
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through it. It’s helped me to make it work. I couldn’t have done it without you and I’m grateful. That’s why I’m not angry that you’re asking me this question, a question that – perhaps you’ll agree? – would be a bit rude coming from my mother or my priest.’
‘Did you make love to the make-up girl, Eamon?’
‘No, Harry. I did not make love to the make-up girl.’
‘Is that the truth?’
‘That’s the truth. I did not make love to the makeup girl.’
‘Okay. That’s all I wanted to know.’
‘I fucked the make-up girl.’
‘There’s a difference, is there?’
‘A big difference. It wasn’t the start of a meaningful relationship, Harry. It was the culmination of something quite meaningless – that’s what I liked about it. And Carmen – that’s the make-up girl’s name, Harry, she’s called Carmen – might be a bit upset right now that there’s not going to be a repeat performance, but I strongly suspect that’s what she liked about it too. The very fact that it was a bit raw, a bit rough and for one night only. Sometimes a woman wants you to make love to her. Sometimes she just wants to get fucked. They are just the same as us, Harry. That’s the big secret. They’re just the same.’
‘Why didn’t anyone tell me before now? My life would have been so much simpler.’
‘I’m getting a lot of offers at the moment, Harry. And not all of them are beer commercials. Carmen’s a lovely girl. I’ll treat her with respect. I’ll be friendly to her. But she wanted exactly what I wanted and she got it. She can’t expect anything more from me. And when she gets a grip of herself, she’ll understand that.’
‘You’re not the first young guy who got laid because his ugly mug is on television once a week, Eamon. Just don’t bring your personal dramas into this studio, okay?’
‘Okay, Harry,’ he said mildly. ‘I’m sorry that this has been a disruptive influence, I really am. And I understand that you’re my executive producer and telling me this stuff is why you’re here. But I’m a man, okay?’
‘Yeah? Really? You sound more like some old blues song. I’m a man. Spelt m-a-n. Christ, you’re so fucking butch. You’ll be advertising aftershave next.’
‘I’m a man, Harry. And the reason I’m here is to plant my seed in as many places as I possibly can. That’s why we’re here. That’s what men do.’
‘Bollocks,’ I said. ‘That’s what boys do.’
But later, as I watched him leave the studio with the show’s cutest researcher, I thought – why not?
Why shouldn’t he plant his seed in as many places as possible? What would he be saving it for? And what was so great about the solitary little flowerpot that I was cultivating?
Suddenly there were all these rules.
I could stay at Cyd’s small, top-floor flat, but I had to be gone by the time Peggy got up. Cyd was happy to have me there when Peggy went to bed, and happy about me sleeping with her on the old brass bed under a framed poster of Gone with the Wind. But I had to be out of there before morning came.
Actually, there were not lots of rules. There was just that one rule. But it felt like a lot of rules.
‘Maybe later it will be different,’ Cyd said. ‘If we decide – you know – we want to take it further. If we want to make a proper commitment.’
As soon as I stopped looking into her wide-set brown eyes and she had turned out the light, I didn’t feel like making a proper commitment. To tell you the truth, what I really felt like was something a bit less complicated.
I wanted to be able to sleep in my girl’s arms without being woken up and told it was time to go home. I wanted the kind of relationship where you didn’t have to remember the rules. Most of all, I wanted things to be the way they were before everything got all smashed.
I was still dreaming when I felt Cyd’s mouth on mine.
‘Baby,’ she whispered. ‘Sorry. But it’s time.’
It was still dark outside, but I could hear pigeons hopping around on the roof directly above our heads, a sure sign that it was time to put on my pants and piss off before the sun came up.
‘Got it all worked out, haven’t you?’ I sighed, rolling away from her and getting out of bed.
‘I wish you could stay, Harry. I really do.’
‘So how long is it since you split up with Peggy’s dad? Three years? More? And how many men have you introduced her to?’
‘You’re the first,’ she said quietly, and I wondered if that was true.
‘I just don’t understand what harm it does if she sees me eating a bowl of Cornflakes. Jesus – the kid sees me all week long.’
‘We’ve been through all this,’ Cyd said in the darkness. ‘It’s confusing for her if you’re here in the morning. Please try to understand. She’s five – you’re not.’
‘She likes me. And I like her. We’ve always got on fine.’
‘That’s all the more reason for going now. I don’t want you to be an uncle to Peggy, okay? I want you to be more than that or less than that. But you’re not going to be an uncle. She deserves better. So do you.’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Absolutely fine.’
‘You should love me for being like this,’ she said, more angry than hurt. ‘You should understand that I’m just trying to protect her and do what’s best for her. You’ve got a kid yourself. You know what it’s like. If anyone should understand, then you should understand.’
She was right.
I should have loved her.
For the first time in my life I could sort of understand why men of my age go out with younger women.
I never really got it before. Women in their thirties, their bodies are still springy and you can talk to them. They are still young, but they have seen something of life – probably quite a few of the same views that you have seen.
Why would any man trade that kind of equal partnership for someone with a pierced navel whose idea of a hot date is some awful nightclub and half a tab of something pretending to be Ecstasy?
If you can go out with someone who has read the same books as you, who has watched the same television programmes as you, who has loved the same music as you, then why would you want someone whose idea of a soul singer is the guy in Jamiroquai?
But now I got it. Now I could understand the attraction.
Men of my age like younger women because the younger woman has fewer reasons to be bitter.
The younger woman is less likely to have had her heart bashed around by broken homes, divorce lawyers and the sight of children who are missing a parent. The younger woman doesn’t have all those disappointments that women – and men, too, don’t forget the men – in their thirties drag around with them like so much excess luggage.
It was cruel but true. The younger woman is far less likely to have had her life fucked up by some man.
Men in their thirties and forties don’t go out with a younger woman for her bouncy body and her pierced tongue. That’s just propaganda.
They go out with her so that they can be the one who fucks up her life.
Heidi was a nanny from Munich.
Well, not exactly Munich – more Augsburg. And not exactly a nanny.
A nanny is a professional child minder who has made a career out of caring for small boys and girls. Heidi was a nineteen-year-old