Demo (10 page)

What, now? Danny says.

Yeah, Laetitia says, why not? She stands up and her face is sad in the light just for a second till she turns and walks away. Danny shoots to his feet. He looks dead chuffed when he goes after her.

Julian doesny even glance up when they go; he keeps his eyes on me. Then he picks up a napkin and wipes the wine and ash off my face.

There, he says, that's better. He picks up the carafe and pours some more wine in my glass. And in his. Then he lifts it up to me. A toast, he says. To the sweetest songbird with red hair in all of Florence. He clinks my glass. And the smiliest.

I didny realize I was smilin so much; it must be the wine.
I'm still lookin into his blue eyes and I don't notice Hector till he's right beside us.

Thought I'd take you up on that offer to join you, old man, he says. He puts two wee glasses on the table with this like clearish liquid in them. And he pulls up the chair opposite Julian. Grappa? I brought only two, I'm afraid, he says, lookin at me.

Would you like one, Clare? Julian says.

I'm no bothered, I says. I've got wine. I stare out into the restaurant, so's I don't have to look at Hector's fizzog.

Julian picks up the grappa glass and holds it up to me. All the better to toast you with. Did you hear Clare sing? he says to Hector.

Oh, was that you? he says. Very nice. I've always liked that Dylan song.

Julian and me look at each other and smile. Clare and I prefer the other Bob, he says.

Eh?

So… did you reach your target?

Oh, exceeded it, old man. Way over. I'll be taking the loot to the Giuliani fundraisers later. Very gratifying.

Good for you.

No thanks to you, of course.

Never let it be said… Julian says. He stands up and reaches into his pocket, takes out a ten-euro note and hands it to Hector.

Fabulous, Hector says. Even better. I knew you couldn't resist a just cause in the end. Or is it the influence of this delightful young lady? He looks at me and corkscrews his mouth into some kinda smile, but his eyes are borin right intay me. He gives me the creeps a wee bit. I can't see him and Julian really bein friends.

Is she not a bit young even for you, Julian? Looks like jailbait if I'm not mistaken.

I'm sixteen, I says, and I must a sounded angry, because he holds up his hands, palms out.

Terribly sorry. Didn't mean to offend.

You never did know when to shut the fuck up, Hector, did you? Anyway, what's with the new gear? Where's that suit you said would last a lifetime? Then Julian turns to me. Hector turned up at Cambridge wearing this bright green tweed suit, 1994. You would think three decades had simply never happened.

I like it when Julian talks to me like this.

That's how he acquired the nickname. A girl in our year – what was her name again…?

Don't remember.

Miranda… that's right. Miranda used to say a little rhyme. He clasps his hands together in front of him, wags his head fae side to side and recites.

Hector Protector was dressed all in green;

Hector Protector was sent to the queen.

The queen did not like him,

No more did the king,

So Hector Protector was sent back again.

And our Hector was born. Julian waves his hand as if he's introducin him to me.

Yes, well, you're not that hot on knowing when to shut up yourself, old man. Been trying to shake that off for years. But it seems, and he looks right at me with his wee eyes. Once the butt of a joke, always the butt. And I feel kinda sorry for him then. It canny have been much fun at university wi a face like that.

My real friends call me Dougie.

Pleased to meet you, Dougie, I says, and I hold out my
hand to him. I didny like my nickname when I was wee either. I came home fae school in Primary Two all excited one day, cause we had a French lesson and sang a song: ‘
Au Clair de la lune
', I thought it was about me. For years after, Danny – that's my brother – called me Della Loony.

Hector… Dougie laughs then and for the first time his face looks sorta natural. Maybe we should start a survivors' club, he says. Nicknamed Anonymous. Initials, NA… Not Applicable. Acronym, Na —

You've lost me now, I says.

That's his problem, Julian says. Loses people all the time.

Uncalled for, old man, Dougie says, and he starts to get up.

Sorry, Hec — Dougie. Sit down, man. I didn't mean anything. Sit down. Tell me what you've been doing lately. It must be – what? – nearly two years since I last saw you. Julian's got his hand on Dougie's arm and he sits down again.

Yes… at least two years. What have I been doing? Oh, this and that, Dougie says. Mainly trying to extricate myself from the clutches of the family. What about you? Glasgow Uni actually let you do this PhD? Found somebody louche enough to supervise you? He twists his mouth.

Yeah, no problem, Julian says. My thesis is that recent writing by men is uxorious – you know… domestic, emasculated. I'll be looking at the religiosity in Lawrentian sexuality and examining American picaresque – Miller, Kerouac – those guys.

Trocchi? Dougie says.

Yeah, he might merit a footnote. Julian grins. Welsh, certainly. He picks up his glass and lifts it to Dougie. Still waving the saltire, then?

I don't know what they're talkin about. My mind starts to wander. Funny how things work out. Two days ago, I would never a guessed what I'd be doin. I look across the restaurant.
Everybody's getting a bit pissed; they're talkin louder and laughin. I can't see Danny and Laetitia. A guy with a green T-shirt stands and holds up his cigarette to one of the stubby yellow candles on the wall. It doesny light. He reaches up again, pulls it back, looks at the blackened end a his fag. Then he lifts the candle right out the metal bracket, holds it up to his cigarette and takes a long draw. He doesny put the candle back, but; he sets it on the nearest table and carries on talkin to his pals. I can see it happenin just before it does. First a napkin flares. The yellow flames light up the surprise on folks' faces. Then the tablecloth catches at one end and fire whooshes to the other end in a second. I snatch up the wine carafe and run over. Somebody shouts. People are jumpin up. I pour wine on the flames, but there's no much left in the bottle.

The waiter comes runnin over wi a fire extinguisher –
Scusi! Scusi!
– and skooshes the foam all over. The fire goes out right away. What a mess but. The waiter doesny say nothin. Just looks at everybody, shakes his head and walks away, carryin the extinguisher in one hand. The guys on the other side a the table have got white speckles of foam on their claes, some on their faces. They look shocked. Somebody says something and a few people laugh. Then they're all laughin and I laugh too. I realize I'm pure shakin.

Clare?

I turn round and Julian's there. He holds out his hand to me and I go up and fling my arms round him and burst into tears. He hugs me tight and strokes my hair.

Well, what will you be up to next? You little fire-raiser.

It wasny me!

He laughs. I know, I know. Shh… He takes me by the arm and leads me over to our table. Dougie's no there. I'm glad. I'm goin to sit down but Julian keeps me standin. He picks up his wine glass and I think he's gonny give me a drink.
Instead he takes a slug hissel, pulls my head to him and kisses me. He opens my mouth wae his tongue and the wine pours in and down my throat. It feels warm and rough. When he takes his mouth away, there's wine on his lips and on mine. I kiss him again.

Come on, he says, let's get out of here. I look round the restaurant. Everybody's startin to get up and go. Two waiters are clearin away the mess on the table and one a them's comin wae a bucket and mop. Party's over. We get our coats and head for the counter.

It turns out Danny's paid for the meal. So Julian just gies the waiter a tip and says,
La pappardelle alla lepre – molto deliziosa. Grazie.
And the waiter smiles and kinda nods.
Grazie, signore. Signorina. Buona notte.

It's only when we get back into the B&B I realize my hair smells of the fire. I lift a hank of it to my nose and sniff; it's got that horrible burnt paper smell mixed in with the usual cigarette smoke. And underneath, faint and far away, still a wee bit of the rose soap.

What you doing? Julian comes up behind me and takes my rucksack and my coat off at the same time with the sleeves still through the straps.

I'm gonny wash my hair.

What, now?

Aye, how no?

Because I have other plans for you.

The warm, sharp feeling pure shoots through the whole a my insides. I turn and put my arms round Julian. And then I remember.

Oh, I can't! I've got my period.

Julian laughs. Do you really sink, my dear, zhat I vill be put off by a little menstrual blood?

I look at the bed. It's got clean covers on. Pale yellow wae an embroidered bit at the top. Nice.

But it's… it's dirty, I says.

Filthy through and through. He kisses the top of my head. Mmm, smoky, he says. I tell you what, if you're so desperate to be squeaky clean, why not use the bidet. I'll watch.

To wash my hair?

He laughs again. This hair. And he touches me down there on the front of my jeans.

I don't know how it works.

Come here, I'll show you. He takes my hand and pulls me towards the bathroom.

No, wait. I'll have to… sort mysel first. I pick up my bag and go quickly intay the bathroom and lock the door.

It's definitely no as good as a pad. The tampon's leaked and there's mair blood on the crotch a my jeans. I reach my hand between my legs intay the pan, feel about for the string and pull it out. It looks like a dead mouse. Or like a bit of my insides. Give you the boak. I drop it in and wipe mysel as best I can wae toilet paper, flush it all away. I fish another of Bernie's tampons out the box in my bag, peel off the Cellophane and stick it in. A shower would be so good. Julian's shower's bigger than the one in our room. White tiles and a wee bottle a shampoo on the shelf. It wouldny take long.

I strip off my claes as fast as I can, slide back the door a the shower, turn the knob. The cold water that comes shootin out makes me gasp and I jump out the way. I listen a minute. No sound fae the room. I hold my hand under the rushin water till it starts to feel warm. I'm just in when I hear Julian at the door.

Clare? Not this again. Let me in. C'mon.

Wait a minute. I leave the shower on, slide back the perspex partition, grab a towel fae the rail and open the bathroom door.

He looks surprised. And annoyed. I thought I told you —

It was too temptin. I want to wash my hair.

You bad girl. Good girl, rather. Goody badshoes. He comes right up to me and takes the towel off me. He smells of the fire too. Some of his dreads swing forward like burnt rope. I step back and into the shower. I let it run over me right away. Over my hair and my face and down my back. Some of the water's sprayin out the door of the cubicle ontay the floor of the bathroom. It doesny reach where Julian's standin and he keeps back. Like he wants to stay dry. That suits me. I take the plastic bottle fae the shelf and screw off the cap. It smells lemony. Fresh. I squeeze a good dollop of the yellow shampoo ontay my hand and rub it on my hair. It must be good stuff, cause it lathers up right away. I close my eyes and soap my hair all over. It gies me the creeps a bit, Julian just standin there watchin me. I dig my fingers in hard to get right down to the roots so's I can get rid of the burnt smell of the restaurant.

When I open my eyes again, efter I've rinsed my hair, Julian's no there. The bathroom's full a steam and the towel is lyin on the floor soakin up the water fae the shower. So's my claes. I turn off the water and step out. When my eyes get used to the steam I can see Julian through the open door, lyin on the bed wae one hand behind his head, smokin. I reach for the other bath towel off the rail. It's damp too with the steam. But it's dry enough. I wrap it round my head and rub my hair. The steam's startin to drift away now and I notice Julian isny lyin gazin intay space like I thought. He's watchin me. His jeans are bulgin again at the crotch. I hold the towel in front of me and go to close the door.

Oh no you don't, he says, and sits up on the bed. You must finish washing. Like a good girl. You must wash down here. He rubs his hand round his crotch as he walks towards me. In
the bathroom he leans past me, bends down to the bidet and turns on the tap. He lets it run for a bit, keepin his hand under the water. Then he stands up and looks me in the eye.

Now I want you to sit astride this bidet and soap that sweet rosebush of yours.

What d'you mean? I says. But I know fine what he means.

Just what I said. He looks at me for a long time. I feel my face turnin red, but I'm no gonny look away afore he does.

OK? he says. I nod and he walks away back into the room and lies on the bed again. I put my leg over the bidet, over the rushing water, and sit down like he telt me. It's cold on my bum and drops a water's runnin down my back fae my hair.

Oh, for fucksake, he says. And he jumps up and comes into the bathroom again. Here, wait. He reaches into the bidet and eases the tampon out fae atween my legs. We don't want this getting in the way. He stands up and swings it into the lavvy by the blue string. Drops of water spark up and catch the light. I feel blood tricklin into the white porcelain bowl underneath, runnin away down the plughole with the water. Julian turns back into the bedroom and flings hissel onto the bed.

Right, he says. You can start now.

I'm like, Lights, camera, action. But I say it under my breath so he canny hear. I look about for some soap. There's a dish set in the tiles beside the bidet and a wee bar of soap in wax paper same as in my room. I pick it up and unwrap it, drop the paper on the floor and look at the bar. It's yellow like the shampoo. Like the walls of the room. I sniff it. It's lemon too. Julian's watchin me. I keep my eyes on him and reach the soap down into the water to wet it. It slips out my hand and I have to feel about to catch it. I make a lather with my two hands, reach round and start to wash mysel down there.