Fuck I’m fit to keel over, he says up the steps. Rubs at his shoulder and hall dumps my stuff. But lopes to the sitting room like he belongs. Oh hello! from the Missus. Quick kissing sound. Find him hugged across her ironing You are so happy now. Ah well, he concedes dropping onto the couch. Lighting up while I go fill a vase. As soon though, I grab him Time to unpack! No rest for the wicked, he laughs following back to my room.
There, reach and kiss. Hang on, he says opening my window to chuck his cigarette. Right, let’s have that again. Then kiss like the night is come. Bang but. Bang! Startle back to the world. Other side of the glass the flatmate lurks, faking camera snaps. One for the Sun, you nymphos, welcome back! Piss off! But he finds himself hilarious a while before going on inside. We really need to get you some curtains. In the meantime though he pulls over my duvet to spread just below. Then we lie on its dust and occasionally sneeze in the stripping and sex that ensues. For there’s hours of catching up. Hours of making new. So quiet remembering but noisy too, for even old dears there out on the walkway must understand how long a month can be. And after, watch the light go down across my wall. Hear the Missus’s boyfriend come in. Stink of spliff and stewed spuds. When he goes for water hear the flatmate smirk Whatever can you two be up to in there??? Never you fucking mind, you nosey git. And sit we together. Pass a cigarette. You let your hair grow. He tugs at the back Didn’t get round to it. I like it like that. Then I’ll leave it, for now.
And the sleeping is great in my bed this night. Soft his eyelids. Holding hands, if we want. While I fall off. While I fall under. Into the
Glass she stirs in me.
Stirs into the water and what can she not see?
Fingertips too white to bleed.
Moving in last advance on breathing but moving all the same.
Where she hurts or galls. In the name of
What?
His whole length warm against me in the earliness that becomes Monday morning too soon.
Empty flat, only for us. Loll at the window studying buses, guessing what ages Blustons has seen. Hang those dresses for a hundred years. On the sofa, he flicks through the flatmate’s Stage that’s been circled, re-circled for telemarketing jobs but peace in the bright, bright sun. And this will be us for the next three months. Any minute I might go lay my head on his knee or ask if he fancies another tea. When I look round though he’s looking at me Going to tell me what happened to your leg? Turn back to a woman pushing a pram. Shopping maybe? Or towel rolled up for the baths? I’m not blind why’ve you been doing that? Watch her walk on past the Owl bookshop but he waits for my answer so I saw him again. Who? The man who. Where? In the street. He walked up to me, could walk up to me. Kissed my mother on the cheek and Long time no see, she said. Then he kissed me and took my hand and I let him because he looked so innocent like he’d forgotten and maybe he had I was five so long ago. He said My God, look at her, she’s all grown up. A fine-looking girl, she does you credit. Never be as good-looking as her mother though, my mother laughed. Well now, he said I don’t want to cause a fight. But all this time still holding my hand, talking about his girls — when we were small, we were friends. Pop in if you’re ever passing, he said We’d all love to see ye again. Give them our best, my mother said and he said he would. He petted my face. Why did I let him? Like I couldn’t not. As he walked away my mother said Why are you always so offish? Who do you think you are? Lady Muck?
Behind me, in London, I hear him stand but does not cross or touch and he’s right. You never told her? No, what would I have said? When you gave me to him to take to the lambing shed, I did the first thing in my life I wished I could forget? He didn’t forget about it though, want to, or try. For months and years after with no patience for panic. Come here I want to show you this. Put out your hand and see what God gives you. Lifted up from the bed beside his daughters at night, knelt on the blue black tiles, convinced, as his wife lay snoring through the wall, that he was only wearing human skin for show. That house in the wilds so far from the world and being at the mercy of someone with none. What am I now because of him? How do I know what it’ll make me become? You don’t, he says You never can but you’re at no one’s mercy any more. It’s there though, isn’t it? I can’t see it but can you? Should I make myself forgive him? I don’t think I can. Listen to me, he says You had to survive what he did all by yourself. You don’t have to forgive him as well. And that is enough. I don’t need more to make back to the silence that served me so well before. Re-refuse the past. I will not have it here. Mouth or bed or in the air. I’ll show you what I see, he says Let’s go out today.
Ice creams in Trafalgar Square? Not the significant part, he explains. So lick and laugh at tourist pestering pigeons. Then the National Gallery, up the steps. Going to show me a picture? Yes. What? Guess. Rembrandt? No. Hieronymus Bosch? No through here there. In the dark. Virgin with Infant. John the Baptist beside. It’s beautiful, I say. I knew you’d like it but it’s the Angel makes it, don’t you think? The light of her. I look at him. And know this is the edge. The instant. The very last point before the fall. That it will come soon now I’m sure but when it does what then?
*
Back to in and world of mine. Hello-ing. Scabbing a fag. Checking notices on the canteen wall. Shakespeare this term. Sunbathed bench coffee. Her showing up with a spanking new man. We nod but at almost ten it’s Acting class first thing.
Off into it so. Time rushing through days. Crucify lazy flesh. Defy lazy brain. And the much and much of delight, of make. Turning the body. Converting the self into flecks of form and re-form. Her. Into her. Into someone else. This one. Long for Juliet and get cast it. Jubilate back at his. Good for you, he says Gallop apace! Rehearse most nights and when it’s not my scene, craftily smoke in the study room, doing the back forth of speed running lines. Or sacking the costume rails for her perfect nightgown. Find the what that makes me she. Help the not far imaginative leap to touching lovers, windows, dawn. In all, I think, I might make her fine, but for the nicotine stains on my hand. Now oftener too with him these nights. So much he buys bowls and Weetabix. True, when he doesn’t call, me and the flatmate smoke spliffs. He’s a certain of happiness though, far side of a month where my past had inveigled its foot. And succumb to the normal of finding him there, lounging in my kitchen, cooker sparking cigarette or telling me to Shove up the bed or mocking what the flatmate’s dragged in. So it just sits, that maw I’ve seen. Close to my tongue but kept silently like those still waters of his past that, whenever I dare ask, he presents as glass. He sees more than me though, or better because, when it’s at me, he does it rough and fucks the anger free. Complains only once after You split my lip. Takes my kissing it as kindness he doesn’t expect. And the feeling for each other is a much-changed subject. An always Right I better head, if I keep staying over I’ll never finish this script. But I know and know he must. It shows all over me and he tastes of it. He won’t say it though, being hindrance mad. That, occasionally, drives me astray in the head but then. But then. Life makes itself with little heed for the appropriate, whatever he thinks that might be.
*
And we are the week. We are Thursday night. He’s not here, so in — sloven stoned — with the flatmate. Smoking only I. Him, on all else, leaping about shouting Feats of strength! Trying out pull-ups on a curtain rail that gives and Shit! Snaps. Gangle and drops the spliff in my hair so I am Fuck fuck you set me on fire! Hopping. Him tackling me onto the floor to wallop with cushions until I scream Get off. Ingratitude! I saved your life. Plus my many split ends. Oh! I see! That’s how it is! Pinning me under. Tickling my legs. Both so locked to within an inch of our lives that neither hear the door, or the suffering Missus get. Just shrieking, clawing with hair going feral then — against the doorframe — him. Evening all. Hey! I say endeavouring quick exit from under the flatmate. What’s going on? Keeping her warm for you mate. Ignore him, I He’s off his head. Yeah, he says through his cigarette, offering a hand I try to take but Flatmate impeding No way! No way! holding me down. Come on, get off her, he says, brooking no further games and, pulled up then, I wend into his arms. Nice to see you. Did you miss me? I ask. I did. How come you’re here? Just passing, saw the light. And when he sits down, I sit beside. Kiss some. Smoke his cigarette. Get a room, the flatmate yucks. Jealousy, jealousy. Nudging my toe into his roots but he grabs it and bites. Ow! Drags me back onto the floor bellowing Feats of the Warrior! Stop it! Ow! Help me! I yelp. Get off her, he says Come on you, let’s go to bed. I’m pretty fucking shattered. Old age, yawns the flatmate, settling his head on my knee. His eyes drifting down across the clump of Flatmate and me You must think I’m very evolved, get yourself off her. Flatmate laughs Fuck off, I was here first. He was, I join in laughing before seeing he does not. No you weren’t, he says kicking at him a bit. He’s an eejit, I say Leave him be. Leave him to what? Or do you want me to leave? Of course not. But the flatmate sprawls triumphantly I saved her life, she’s mine. So are you trying to get her into bed? What? You’re all over her, it’s a reasonable question. No, I say You know he’s not. I know he did, he says. Flatmate howling And she loved it! No I did not love it, shut up! But this opens something, a disarmed spot where his reticence might get caught and all the feeling for him in me can’t resist Besides, aren’t you always saying I should sleep with who I want? Not now, he says Let’s go to bed. Here though my spliff-loosed stitch knits sense. Admit you don’t want me to see anyone else. But he refuses the bait Why would I? You’re free to do whatever you want. Oh mate, Flatmate chokes That is evolved. And I get such a land from being hand-washed of that Then you won’t mind me doing this — near dislocating a shoulder to kiss the flatmate’s lips. What do you want, a round of applause? he asks. I’m clapping, claps the flatmate. Mind your own fucking business, he says. The weed though making me cat and mouse so kiss the flatmate again. Alright, he stands up I’ve had enough. Fuck him, don’t fuck him, do whatever you want. Maybe I will, I say What do you care? Relents he, a little Just come to bed before you do something we’ll both regret. Only if I can bring him, I insist. Ho ho, roars the flatmate. Are you being serious? Yes. Don’t seem to remember you liking threesomes that much, he says. But stubborn shrugs I liked it well enough. So you up for that? he asks the flatmate. Yeah, it’s all good — and, apparently bombed clear of hero-worship, adds — Thought you’d be more up for it mate! You must get asked to join in all the time. Fine! he says, catching my wrist If that’s what you both fancy, then what’s it to me? Easy mate, Flatmate wavers I don’t think No, you picked the wrong fucking man to play chicken with so it’s too late for ‘Easy mate’ now. And I’m dragged into the corridor. Shoved the length of it up. Him, all the while, calling Come on, you too ‘mate’. Then Come the fuck on I said.