Fifteen minutes later again he said For fuck’s sake, pick her up. I just looked at him and said I can’t I’m scared. So he sat me on the sofa and put her into my arms. We just looked at each other, me and her, and I can’t describe it, the feeling I just started to cry it was awful and wonderful having her there on my lap and the smell of her I just knew she was mine. That a little part of me had escaped into the good world at last and was part of her. Part of her life. You know, until that day, I still thought I’d find an excuse to use again. I missed it and never really believed I might manage without but suddenly I understood why it was right I’d gotten clean. And nothing as grandiose as all that fucking act of faith roof-diving. Just that I had to be her father — whatever that was — and take care of her. And I wanted that, for her but even more for me. To be a man who would. So sitting there, with her on my knee, I finally began to be a person again.
That’s the way I remember most of the visits now. In that big cold white room with this tiny girl. And I was terrified of her but it was as if she knew. She never did anything to scare me. She hardly made a sound. Sometimes I’d hear her screaming like the devil all the way up to the house and I’d start to panic but once I’d wiped her face off she’d just sit looking up at me, hiccuping a bit. Sometimes she’d pull my hair or have a go at my specs. Once she was walking well that was something else but after such a long time of feeling nothing, and trying to keep it that way, it was overwhelming but that feeling for her love for her accepted none of that. I think I cried solidly through the first six visits. And once those visits started, I couldn’t get enough. When I’d learned to play with her, I’d have to keep tickling her just to have more of her laugh. I’d never heard anyone so happy before. But if she cried, I’d hear her mother shouting What’s he doing to her? Go in and see! And he’d come in to ask if we were alright? Or put his arms around us and whisper It’s fine, she’s just a little wound up, then go reassure her but I’d sit there, getting scared again. I was afraid she’d think I was doing something — you know what I mean. But over the months she calmed down too, would hand her to me herself. Taught me how to change and feed her. Tell me things she liked. Then an hour became two. Became twice a month. Then every week. Finishing up at all of most weekends.
Did you ever think of getting back together with her?
God no, that ship had well and truly sailed. Even to have asked would have been an insult. I suppose, as things improved between us, I’d occasionally wonder what it would’ve been like, the two of us together bringing her up. Being a family. But I also knew what had happened came from so far off it could hardly have ended any other way. I tried to talk to her about it once, to apologise. She just said I’ll never forgive you, accept it and we can be polite. So I respected that and concentrated on trying to prove I was reliable now. She didn’t think so, how could she? Once you’ve kicked all the trust out of somebody you can’t ever get that back. She wouldn’t even take money at first, although he won her round eventually. I don’t know what I’d have done without him. I’d never have managed those early days by myself.
And why did he help you so much? Hmmm, he says I knew you’d ask that. Pity, initially, didn’t want me to waste my life. Over time it became more complicated. Of course it did.
So, maybe three months after he’d taken me in — before I met my daughter — we were eating dinner in the kitchen. Just talking about this and that when he suddenly said Listen, I’m out of practice so I’m just going to come straight out with it. I love you living here, it’s been great, and I think I’m in love with you. I just stared. Don’t look so scared, he said If it’s not for you, I never mentioned it and we’ll carry on as before. I didn’t know what to say or what I felt — about anything, never mind about that — but I was grateful for all he’d done. I wanted to give him something he’d want and I had nothing but myself. So I kissed him and it felt kind of right. He asked if I was sure. I said I was, so he took me to bed.
It was the first time I’d had sex since I’d been sick. Probably the first time I’d ever had it without being wasted and being touched like that by someone who mattered to me even if I wasn’t it wasn’t easy and I got a bit freaked out. But he was good to me in it helped me relax until I was able to let myself. And it was nice. And the comfort of having someone there in the dark really couldn’t be overestimated then.
We were together after that. He moved me into his room. It was a relationship, of sorts. He hadn’t been in one for years so maybe I helped shake off the dust. But we liked spending time together. Enjoyed lots of things the same. He was pretty ferocious and I learned a lot from him. For me it wasn’t love but it was warmth and affection. And all that sexual part of me was kind of dead anyway. I mean the sensation was there. The urge — at times overwhelmingly. But it didn’t really connect to anything, hardly even myself. I could have slept with anyone and it would have been the same. I mean I enjoyed being with him, never had trouble getting turned on — nowhere near the way I would with a woman — but there was more than enough companionship to make up for that. Or so I thought.
And then came The Seagull. Lot of pressure about that. Being the director’s younger boyfriend didn’t help but once everyone realised I wasn’t just, it was fine. Arkadina was already a big theatre star so most of us younger ones were nervous about working with her. End of the first read-through though, she handed me what was left of the fig rolls and said All you need is to gain a few pounds. After that she took me under her wing — I think he’d told her the story so she’d decided to look out for me. Taught me everything I know about behaving professionally and she was very unselfish work-wise too. Any little thing I couldn’t crack she’d skip lunch or stay late until I was happy. Never treated me like the beginner I was or as though I was wasting her time. And we got fond of each other. She had a teenage daughter at home so she was always fussing over me, even then. You know, weird ointments when I had a bad chest. Helping me sort out a suit for the first night. And had me up for tea in her dressing room after the show every night so I’d unwind from it soberly. But being part of that company, and getting to work, was a life-saver. At last I was doing something I was good at. And I couldn’t have had better casting than Konstantin. All that lostness and suffocation. I could practically nail every bit of him onto myself. Even down to the mother who was incapable of it — although he was parched where I was drowned. When we were rehearsing she’d often ask about mine — and quickly realised something there had gone very awry — but that relationship still informed the internal dynamic. And getting to be this boy every night, who becomes so destroyed by life, was very good for me, because I’d gone to that same brink but survived. Now here I was, working, hitting my stride, starting to make a life with my little girl in it too. Konstantin and I were blood-related but there was just enough distance between to let me properly give in to the part. Afterwards I’d be exhausted but feel so alive. It was a pretty extraordinary time.
It was a big success too. Transferred to the West End. Career-wise he’d needed that, so he was over the moon. Of course I needed it too. And once we were back in London he took me around town, introduced me to lots of useful people, made sure they knew I was now dependable. And we hobbled along in our sort-of relationship. Happy enough but
I was up in her dressing room after a show. We’d all been celebrating because she’d won some award. Everyone had had a few, except me — I didn’t those first couple of years. As usual though, I was last to leave. Leant down for the goodbye peck on her cheek but — for reasons best known to herself — she took hold of me and kissed me on the mouth and. Fuck. My whole body ticced. Suddenly I was kissing her like she was everything I’d missed. Like I’d been starving for her. The taste of Just the thought of her breasts. So this is how you made your daughter! she said You don’t really like boys, do you? I tried to protest but I couldn’t even stop touching her face. Let’s find out then, shall we? she said and we didn’t make it as far as the settee.