Kwik Save boxes. I help pack. Bit sad to leave, Flatmate offering his spliff. No thanks, how’s your eye? Nearly healed, shame too, it would’ve looked great for the Agents’ Showing. I was all prepared. ‘I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I could been somebody. Instead of a bum, which is what I am.’ Not a bad Brando as Brandos go but there’s a horn blowing down on Patshull Road. That’s me, he says, slinging his hook. The next few minutes in and out. Lugging his telly and what he’ll nick. His mate helps with the sofa — That’s for the fucking bailiffs, you’ll be alright without it, won’t you? And when he’s done gives me a hug. It was a good laugh living here, here’s my mate’s number if there’s trouble. His mate shouting Come on man. I’m double parked! Better go. See you Friday. Okay then. I go back to the kitchen and watch them pull around. Salute to his and watch until he is gone. His future Tufnell Park. Turn the tap. Water runs. Good. So turn it off again.
Pleasant after sunshine, Camden getting towards night. Carrier bag sweat on me and his front door still broke. Quieter than usual. No telly blares. I go on in but, top of the stairs, sounds trickle out from his room. Voices. A man’s. A girl’s? Listen but too low to company or something else? You have come this far. But if it is? Just knock anyway. Quiet. What? he shouts and when I don’t respond What do you want? I knock again. Who the fuck is it? I it’s Hi it’s me. And the silence it goes into. Has he heard? It’s me, I say again. Then hear him cross but he only opens a crack. Look, not tonight. Just for a minute, I say I haven’t come for a fight. A struggling moment of Please? Fine, he says Come in, but you can’t stay long.
Already going when he opens my heart stops with shock. Thinner I’d thought of but not starving almost. Worse than I knew you could get in a week. His grey eyes gone black back. Skin dry and white. The shirt hanging off him. Jesus you look awful. Why did I say that? Thanks, he smiles at the floor. I close the door behind and the next awful is the state of in here. All the boxes open or turned out on the bed. Desk. Armchair. Ripped and emptied. Everywhere. Everything. Curl-cornered scripts. Tapes and clothes I’ve never seen. Even the video that’s always packed. Records. Postcards. New old photographs. Frittered with fag ash and blanched in splashed tea. Dirty cups all about. Only his suit, freshly cleaned, looms in its plastic on the back of the door. Oh my God what happened in here? He looks around dully and lights a cigarette. Ah, just wanted to go through some stuff. His eyes, behind his glasses surveying the wrack, sodden with tiredness So what can I do for you? Did you leave something here? Might be difficult to locate right now but if you tell me No I didn’t come for that Jesus you look terrible, how long since you ate? Eily, he says What do you want? Sorry, sorry, the reason I’m here was just to bring you these, and offer the carrier bag. What’s in there? Minstrels and some bread and some eggs. He smiles a little then sits on the bed, starts unpacking it Thank you — just looking at them — That’s very thoughtful of you. Well, I know Marianne’s tomorrow and I know what you’re like and I thought you might want some company tonight, actually, when I was outside, I thought I heard someone in here. What, some girl? No I don’t know. Well there’s no one but me. Then we look at each other through the misery of the place. Hard to believe a month ago this was where we were happiest. Thanks for the offer Eily but really, I’m fine. The state of him though Please, I don’t like the thought of you being alone, or what about Rafi? He’s away look, I’m fine. Thank you for bringing these and taking the time but if you could just go — and standing again — Maybe we can have a drink later in the summer once everything’s calmed down. But his slowness is so unnerving I don’t want to leave. Let me make you some toast? Put the kettle on at least. Ah no Eily, come on I’m busy and I’d rather be by myself. So for it. Go for it. Nothing left but to say Are you having a relapse? Having a what? I look at the video player A relapse with you know. He looks from me to it, understands, then starts to laugh. What’s funny? He keeps going. Getting it all out. The anger in it. So much, until he’s laughed himself still. Why were you laughing? Because I’ve only now realised there’s not one thing I’ve managed to accomplish in my life with dignity. What do you mean? He laughs some more. It’s just embarrassing, disgusting really, to think you know that about me feel you have to ask but fuck it is funny. Don’t say that, I didn’t mean it that way. No, I know, he says Apparently I’m just clinically incapable of not humiliating myself. He stops then and gives a strange sort of smile Don’t worry though I’m not having a relapse but thank you for asking anyway. What are you doing then? And the smile wipes off. He leans over a cassette player then presses. Hiss pours, with nothing until a man says Gracie, give us a song? I say That’s you? He nods. Sing for Daddy. That’s it. Into the mic. Into there. Good girl, and a little voice Baa baa black sheeps. Sometimes he joins in. Very good Gracie. Can you sing another song? No! Not one more? No! she shouts. Jack and Jill? Do you know that one, Grace? No! laughing at her own boldness with him. Some laa-ing close to the mic, then further off. No Gracie, give me that. Give that to Daddy love. That’s Daddy’s work. Squealing now like she’s running. And the look on his face. There’s an Ooop! He turns to me She slipped on a cassette. Then crying and Did you hurt your hand? Wiggle it love. Like this. That’s it. I think it’s alright chick. And the tape clicks off.
I’m sorry, I say. Don’t worry, he shrugs It wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion, this place is a mess, then drops himself back on the bed. Did you just come across them? I was looking them out, hence the crap everywhere. I sit down beside Why? In case to remind myself if there’s any funny business tomorrow if she wants the letters to stop I need to remember what I’ve already lost and not give in. Covering his face then, he suddenly goes down. What’s wrong? He sinks further so I stroke his arm. I’m just a bit down tonight, he says Tomorrow I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine again but tonight is pretty hard. And I can’t bear this. I hate it. The desolation in him, spread out across this filthy room. My part in it. His own. Let me stay with you, I say. He shakes his head I couldn’t do that. Just as your friend, just for tonight and we won’t talk about what happened. I won’t try to change your mind. I’ll leave first thing and if you let me stay with you Stephen I promise I will let you go. But if you stay Eil, how will I ever get rid of this? he says. Rid of what? I ask. All this fucking love, and at this his voice goes out from under and tears start falling down. Quick he heels them off but there’s only more so he hides behind his hands to damp their noise. Then tries to sit himself up and be right. But he cannot yet. And I’ve never seen him cry. He looks so young in it. I can almost see the child he was with the busted lip and not knowing there would be worse. Or that half-destroyed boy, two years younger than me. Or the young man with his daughter on his knee not realising how short that time would be. All here in this man who tried to offer me the very best he had. I climb onto the bed and wrap my arms around him. Oh Stephen, oh my love, and he lets me take him. Awkwardly we hold onto each other then, tight. His skin and bones showing the other side of love we’ve arrived at. Not hate. I see it now, and so clearly tonight, that the opposite of love is despair.