And tick on the moment he reappears where I pretend not to see. His friend as tall as, not as thin, dark-skinned, older, earnestly discussing, the pair of them. His fingers negotiating something imaginary but stops with a loud Yeah, anyway. Then he looks up for me into the end of the sun. Pick me. There she is, over there so til next weekend. There’s a form of an arms round and his friend laugh calls to me Watch yourself with this one, sheep in wolf’s clothing my dear! Terrible English! he shouts, walking backwards from him After all these years, you should be ashamed! then turning around warns Ignore him! with the concrete halving under his feet.
Anything good? he asks. Lots, I say. So what do you want to do? What? You’re the one who wanted to leave, what do you want to do? He hmms at the river, casts about Okay ever walked across the Hungerford bridge to Embankment? Not yet. Then I’ll show you my favourite view of London, he says as we go into the weeding dark. Where’s your friend from? Algeria, and France. Do you know him from work? That, and he was with my oldest friend. Not any more? No he died. What happened? Cancer, he lights up Pancreas. Like my father. Really? When was that? He died when I was eight. Horrible thing to see, he says and I nod because it is.
Up to the walkway under hulkish sky. Breeze licked and nerves cracking fissures inside as he points out Big Ben. Parliament there — look through the grating. At halfway he says Here’s London spread out for you. In the murk cold Thames still curling away. Lights just beginning across the city. All the stone world of it. Its stone face. Showing its towers and flanks and shapes, purplish in this light, and grey. And I stand, strick, by its great space, watching the boats til St Paul’s there, he says the Oxo Tower. Barbican. Pointing out places I cannot see, then can, because he stands behind Look along my arm. No there. No. There. Do you see? When I still don’t, he bends to see it how I see and I see all of it then. This is the most beautiful view I’ve ever seen, I say. Really? Better than Naples with those boats stretched out across the bay? Ah fuck. He remembers my lies. Sorry, those were all lies, I say I’ve never been there, or anywhere else. His elbow on the rail Well you’re a surprise, what did you make all that up for? I don’t know to be interesting I suppose. How very calculating, he laughs And I thought you believed in love? I do but love isn’t what that was. True, he says But what if I’d been a lonely soul looking for it? Are you? No, I’m not, and you’re not much of a liar — I guessed. This I concede, I’ve never been. Oh well, that means you’re probably quite good at the acting. I quick look up to see if he’s joking. He’s only watching though and in a moment says So, you just used me for your sexual gratification then? Well, I say It didn’t turn out to be that gratifying so perhaps I got what I deserved. Didn’t you get what you wanted? Didn’t you? I say. Sort of it started out well enough but. You were hurting me, I whisper. You were a virgin, he whispers back I’m not responsible for the laws of nature. I know that but I thought at least I wouldn’t have to see you again. Ah, well you shouldn’t have shagged an actor then — but by now he is laughing and I almost am, over my chasing brain. So throw my breath to the Thames and the strange of the day as we strangers stand looking out on the city. Quiet then but for its sound — that noise it must make for its life to go round. Slow aftershave smell of some passing man. Loud of the train as it clanks behind. Me watching the river. Him watching me. What? I ask. You know well what, he says and stoops and kisses me. Fresh inclination and the blood goes up Bends me like a body puts inside into my mouth and we deep and open where is no mistake, where are only runs of thoughts of next of kissing him in that short past, naked and He stops I stumble forward in perfect dazed unfurl his breath on my hot cheek then kissing me further. And I might fall over but he has my arm and we kiss like he drags me live from under the Thames and where was allthiswant when I needed it? I don’t care I don’t and I could do Enough! he says This is getting ridiculous now, do you fancy getting something to eat? There now legs but disgraceful knees. All his impulses working inside out too, it seems, for even as I nod, see him almost go again for me. And I am all for that. But he turns instead, wiping his mouth on his hand, leaving me tapping the prickle of mine, to trail him over the bridge.
We walk up the Embankment by Charing Cross Oh God please take my hand. But deaf to petition he on the Strand asks Do you like Chinese? I do but. But what? I’ve no money. You’re a student, he laughs Don’t worry, dinner’s on me. By St Martin-in-the-Fields I’m lagging his gait Could you slow down? I can’t walk as quick. Sorry, he says Sometimes I forget, how’s this? Better, and is. Soon walking gives — bus-lunged — to staring at the road-load of bookshops and that. God there’s so many, I could live on this street! Up twitch of his mouth. Are you laughing at me? No! I wouldn’t dare! I’m just enjoying the wonder, he says. When I Oh Les Mis! though, he tilts his head Musicals? Really? It’s not that, I say It’s the being here. Thank fuck for that, he says Chinatown’s this way.
And the smell comes out to get me as I follow into Gerrard Street. Look at the ducks in the window! Look! Do you like duck then? I’ve never eaten it. Okay, well go on in there to Harbour City and let’s try to rectify that.
He picks a table by the window so I can see out. Beer or wine? What goes with Chinese food? I wasn’t allowed to drink at home. Jesus, are you really only eighteen? I am, I say How old are you? Mmmm, he swallows Older than that I’m actually thirty-eight. Twice as old as me. And then some, he says Fuck so a beer I think and quick. Feeling like a dirty old man now? A bit actually quite a lot yeah thanks.
Still. He eats prawn crackers and smokes in chains twisting quotes from my first term play. ‘Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscrib’d in one self place, for where we are is hell and where hell is there must we ever be.’ Cheery! I chew Have you done it? Not yet but I live in hope, I’ve a few more years before I’m too old. What did you do last? ’Tis Pity. Where was that on? Here, in the West End. Did it go well? Think so, he says But can I ask you about something else? If your father died when you were eight how well do you remember him? Pretty well, better than people expect, are your parents alive? My father is, much married and living in Bradford. Is that where you’re from then? No, Sheffield. And your mother? Dead, a long time dead. How long? Don’t know I was in my early twenties. I’m sorry. I’m not, do you want another drink? Alright, I say Thanks. And the food goes over and I watch him eat, liking long fingers manoeuvring chopsticks thinking God I fancy him something wicked. What? he asks. Nothing, I say.
Once he’s paid we go to the street, salt dark now but hot with seething. Tube? he asks Or a bit more walking? I could walk a bit. So he’s off and I’m after. Charing Cross Road. On it me saying My friend’s boyfriend knows you. Oh right, does he? What’s his name? No I mean, from the stage. Small pool, he shrugs. So are you famous? Well am I famous to you? No, I say. Then there you go, let’s make a stop in Foyles.
Upstairs in second-hand, he finds it — I knew I’d seen it here. I’m going to get this for you. What is it? I ask. Book about Marlowe, you’ll like it, it’ll help with your play. You shouldn’t, I fluster Anyway, isn’t there some weird paying thing? Yeah, Soviet three-queue system, I’ll be right back. So I follow him with the track of my eye, cheek to the shelf and tired by the weight of all I don’t know.