Then
Wait, he says Wait, I’m expecting a call. Don’t make me wait, it’s Saturday morning! That’s it now, he hops up Don’t move a muscle, I mean it, I’ll be right back. But roll on my front to watch him go. Hear him in the hall pick up the phone half laughing Be quick Nick I Oh, and the door goes bang. Muscles itching, I sit and wait. Five minutes later there’s a door scrabble. Kick. When I open he’s saying Ah ha, and I see, but indicating Cigarette, to me. I get, give and go back in.
Who was that? for he’s white as I’ve ever seen a man. That was mmmm. Bring again of the phone. Fuck! He turns back round Hello? Yeah Nick, it’s me. Five minutes of odds flow through my brain but those silent eyes are history meaning. Who was it? I ask, as he comes back in. Ahhh Nick you know he’s producing the film we’ve got a meeting in ah Dublin. And the first call? That was, he says That was Gracie’s mother. That was Marianne.
Oh God what did she want? Is Grace okay? His body sits down, lank over itself and hair hanging down. I kneel beside to touch it but I am nowhere in this room. She’s not sick she definitely said that there’s nothing wrong with her but that’s the first time she’s called me since they left that’s twelve years and she wants to meet whatever it is has to be done in person apparently so ‘in principle’ would I agree? Did you? Yes, of course I did but she’ll call with a date once she’s booked her flight. You never know, it might be something good? No no, whenever I’ve called that house every conversation has finished with I wish you were dead, so whatever it is it won’t be good. Are you alright? You look terrible. Yeah I’m it’s just a shock His face a picture of I don’t know what, shifting into Ah fuck her, of course she’d do it like that. Like what? Not just fucking saying what it’s about so now I’m left just Left what? Just fucking wondering about what she’s going to make me live without next. What can I do? I say. Nothing nothing, love. Cup of tea? Breakfast? Actually What? Anything. I could really I could really use that fuck now.
So take him down into me on the bed. Give and offer what shelter I have. At first we are only people in love, reducing all life to the measure between us. But others pass into. Lives break through, making him go elsewhere and I become. For allaying. My body is. Made the most of. Worked into and twisted. And he says no funny or filthy things, just imitates himself like I’m a lesson well learned — Remember, she likes this, and this — so I might best facilitate his shutting off the view. Not on purpose, I know. This is the day. But it lasts until it hurts and I miss him and say Please come now, you’re making me sore. And. He is irritated. Then he is Sorry sorry Eily love. Then does. Then lies down on top of me.
Strange day. And weather. And we are estranged. Standing on the Heath. Him looking away. Off to the left. I know his face but not what he’s looking at or the expedient body, calming itself, that somehow appears to be mine.
Hey.
His eyes close.
Hey.
Open again.
Sorry what were you saying?
Nothing, just, it’s raining.
So it is we should get in.
A pub. Pint me. Him soft drink. Why? Spot of Know Thyself probably won’t go amiss. But at least he takes my hand.
While the shower clatters, I read. He smokes and looks at the paper and looks out the window and time and then I see something I’ve not seen before. Him. With a wandering eye. Tiny. Really. Very small but we are electrical so I get every volt. First, minute reactions to women walking by. The eyes lifting, barely. Soon though more. Soon every time. Then catching theirs and I go so quick inside
I wish you’d stop doing that. What?
You know. No, I don’t.
I’m eighteen, not blind. I don’t know what you’re on about.
Yes you do. Eily, honestly, I’m not looking at anyone else.
So I ask about borrowing a book, to distract. Your copy of Doctor Faustus but there’s a fine arse passing and Thomas Mann can’t hold a candle to that. When I stop mid though he looks up swift Doctor Faustus Eil? Forget it, and I head to the toilet instead. Day, why are you being? Can you not just let us slide?
Of course, back there, the arse’s owner’s in my seat, pawing my pint glass, moulting in it.
Hello? Oh hi, just talking to your mate. He’s not my mate, actually. We recognised each other Eil but can’t quite place from where. Oh really? It’s true, sorry, is this your chair? Don’t worry, he says as I say Yes. Just grab that one over there Eily, this is going to annoy us. Oh yeah, I bet it is.
So I grab the chair and sit by him and tune for this next hour into The Tron? Don’t think so. Bristol Old Vic? Well that depends on. Apparently many things. Cue hilarious anecdotes of drink-sodden stints where paths surely must have crossed until they’re so bedecked in actor banter I can’t gauge what’s afoot. But tire of him falling for every flash of her tits and not holding my eye when I catch him at it. Then how she makes me a paragon to cut me out Oh I’m sure you wouldn’t be caught dead in a dive like that! You’re clearly made of finer stuff than us. Play-slapping his arm, which I know he hates but does nothing to shift from. I look at her nails. Her talented claws. Would he like them in his back? Does he think I don’t notice his ambiguity about what we are? Not holding my hand now. Not calling me love. Am I the unwanted hanger-on? Maybe. I know if I can smell the want off her he can smell it too. I still hurt from this morning, how he was. Has he already forgotten? But I’d let him do anything now, if only he’d send her away. So I look at him with all my love. Will him to see it and he does not. Just plays with her like he’s someone else, who hardly knows my name. Not until, camel though she is, she finally gets up to the Ladies, I say Please stop, I don’t like this game. What game? Please, you know what I mean. So you keep saying but, honestly, I’m getting a bit bored of your jealousy now. Won’t look at me though, still won’t look. Do you love me? Ah don’t start that, it’s been a long day. Do you? Come on, what am I supposed to say? That you love me and, hopefully, remember it yourself. Stop being so fucking childish, I haven’t the energy for this. Fine, then I’ll leave you and your fucking friend to be grown-ups! I get up and. Eily don’t, he says. Don’t what? Don’t go please stay. Why? To compete? No, please Eily don’t leave me alone not with her. But choking now in the weirdness and temper I go anyway. Eily, I’ll see you later, alright? Eily? Eily? Back at the flat? I keep going though and don’t turn around for fear of what I’d shout.
And I don’t go back to the flat. I go to Kentish Town instead. Flatmate lying on the sofa like he’s never left. Football on the telly. Wasn’t expecting you tonight, paradise on the fritz? Yeah, something like that. Well, go grab yourself a beer, I’m expecting a couple of mates.
By midnight, langered. Wound up and hot. Chucking chips at the ceiling because Fuck the bank! And I’m laughing all over but when the phone rings insist I am not here. Hello? Oh mate, you’re in the shit. No she doesn’t want to talk. No, if I were you mate, I’d leave your grovelling until the a.m.
Knock knock.
She says go away, it’s late. Tell her I want to see her and I won’t leave without.
Go on, go out to him, Flatmate says But keep it down, the neighbours are dying to call the cops.
Like glint webs his grey eyes lift up to the light. Every part of him. Every part of him I What did you do? Eily I. Did you come here from her? Can I come in? No and did you? I walked her home. And? Something interesting in his face. Did you fuck her? No, can I come in, please? I go back to my room with no stuff in. Black Kentish Town where curtains should be and