How To Choose a Sweetheart (13 page)

“Why he tries so hard not to like me,” Max corrects.

Another red and the black go down. It’s the first time he’s ever cleared the table in one.  His heart skips and gambols like a lamb who’s never heard of carnivores. Chris claps. Sadly, no one else joins in.

“Best of ten? “Chris asks.

“We’d better get back to work. Finish the coffee and we’ll head off.”

“I’ll need to stop on the way to get Angela a little something.”

“Chocolates or flowers?”

“I was thinking both.”

He must be serious. “Both sounds good.”

They collect the balls together ready to take back to the counter.

After the coffee’s done and the flapjack’s eaten, they go over and drop the box and the cues off. The girl with the nails is flicking through a magazine that doesn’t appear to have any words. “See you babe,” Chris says.

She raises her middle finger in his direction and, without looking up, says goodbye.

M
ax enters the old man’s room.

Mr Evans is asleep in his chair, snoring gently, his head bent awkwardly to one side. Max stands for a moment with his hands on his hips and surveys the scene. He walks over to the piano and looks at the letters and photos that are spread over the top of it. One of the pictures has fallen onto the floor, so he bends down and picks it up to put it with the others.

The record player is on with a record that has finished playing still turning and making a click like a slow, regular heartbeat. Max goes over and removes the arm and the clicking stops.

By Evans’s feet is an empty bottle that’s lying on its side. Next to it are a small puddle and glass.

Max picks up the glass, takes a sniff and flinches. Lighter fluid 1949 by the smell of it. He raises it to the old man and drinks it down in one. It tastes better than it smells - ’49 must have been a good year.

The place is a shambles. The whole house needs fumigating and starting again.

Poor old guy.

Max takes off his coat and lays it over Evans. Next he takes a cushion from the floor and shoves it in to place so that Evans’s head looks more comfortable.

He picks up the overflowing ashtray and the bottle and walks into the kitchen.

It’s as bad in there as ever. There are piles of paper plates and empty tin cans among an assortment of dirty pans and cutlery. Withnail and I had it easy.

There’s an empty bag on the floor in the corner. Max empties the ashtray into it and chucks in the bottle.

He goes over to the sink and inserts the plug into its hole. He turns the taps on and lets them run while he goes back into the main room, licks his fingers and extinguishes the candles.

There’s a small hiss and the room is left in darkness.

C
ath’s flat is as immaculate as ever. On the piano, a fresh bunch of wild flowers housed in an art-deco vase.

As the baby-sitting circle has temporarily stalled, Jazz and Alan have stepped in to watch Alice.

“I really appreciate this,” Cath says.

“We don’t mind at all, do we Alan?” Max knows that they’re too early on in their relationship for him to be disagreeing.

“Er, no,” he says, the correct answer not flowing from his mouth in quite the way it should. “Course we don’t.”

Max has to hand it to Alan. He may be sleeping with his ex, but he’s actually pretty normal otherwise.

“You’ve known Max for a long time, haven’t you?” Cath says to Jazz. He’s not sure, but Max thinks this counts as fishing.

“He’s probably my oldest friend.” Childhood sweethearts and all that.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Cath says. Presumably this is the cue for Jazz to reciprocate. To jump into details of the past and delve into the murky waters of their lives together. For the first time, Max is grateful that Alan’s there – no way she’s going to be spilling any beans. “Was she asleep when you checked?”

“Out like a light.”

“We should get going then.”

Max looks at the baby-sitters who sit up, seemingly impatient to get their hands on the goodies that have been set out in the kitchen and to have such a swanky pad at their disposal. “Are you going to be all right?”

“We’ll be cool.”  Jazz says. Cool?  Since when did the temperature make the evening?

“If Alice wakes, she’ll probably just need a drink or the toilet. She’s a pretty good sleeper.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Jazz says.

“Jazz is great with kids anyway. I’ve seen her with her little sisters.”

“They’re not so little these days,” Alan says. Somehow, he always manages to score points, like a boxer who swings as he bounces off the ropes and makes a lucky hit.

There’s a flurry of goodnights. Handshakes and kisses are swapped like rare stamps and handled just as carefully.

Max and Cath wander out and the door shuts behind them.

For a few seconds, Alan and Jazz sit perfectly still just in case there’s a quick return. Footsteps on the stairs reassure them that all’s well.

“Satisfied your curiosity?” Alan asks.

“She seems very nice.”

“She’s gorgeous.”

A pink blush spreads over Jazz’s cheeks. “Don’t you think she’s a bit...I don’t know...experienced for him?”

“We all have to grow up sometimes.”

“But...I don’t know.”

“Jealous?”

She waves the idea away, swatting it over towards the balcony. “I worry about him, that’s all.”

“I’d say he couldn’t be in better hands.”

“Do you think it might be you who’s jealous?”

“I only have eyes for you, Jazz. You know that. “

“Then kiss me and we can get the party started.”

T
he bar’s chatty. Chris’s tie is loose and untidy, the top of his shirt unbuttoned to stop him from overheating. His sleeves are rolled up and one of his arms has found its way around the back of Angela’s chair. The other rests on its elbow on their table. He’s got everyone’s attention. Has had it for a bit too long.

“Wait a minute. I’ve got one. How many booksellers does it take to change a light bulb?”

“No idea,” Angela says.

“Me neither,” Cath adds.

“Go on then,” Angela urges.

“I don’t know either,” Chris tells them. “I mean there isn’t an answer yet. Someone has to think of one.”

“So we’ve got to the stage where we need to make up our own jokes now.” Max has lost patience with the foursome thing. Lost patience a couple of drinks ago. The chemistry appears to be toxic.

“Come on Max,” Angela soothes. “It’s not all bad.”

“Seven,” Cath says.

“Why?” Chris enquires.

“That’s the answer, now it’s your turn.”

“One to change the light bulb,” Angela begins.

“And six to fit the old dragon’s fingers in the socket.”

“Bingo.” Chris slaps Max on the back a little harder than the joke deserves.

“You’re awful,” Angela says.

“Is the boss really that bad?” Cath wants to know.

Chris looks around the room before speaking. “She doesn’t need a match to light a cigarette, if that’s what you mean.”

“Is that why you’re trying to make a go of piano teaching?” Cath asks. There’s some logic to that, Max supposes. Still, the question catches him off guard and he just shrugs his shoulders before looking over to Chris for assistance.

“There aren’t many around here who can play Chopsticks like our Max,” Chris says.

“You must play it for me sometime.”

“I didn’t think you were a Chopsticks kind of lady.”

“You’re right. I’d expect a little more than that if you were trying to woo me.”

Chris jumps in. “You mean you haven’t played for her yet?  Boy you’re in for a treat, Cath.”

“Maybe you could play when we get back,” Cath suggests.

It’s all happening too fast. The moment of control has gone. Even Max’s fingertips feel sick at the turn of conversation. The beer’s slowed down his thinking and he only has one excuse up his sleeve. “God no. We’d wake Alice for nothing.”

“You wouldn’t want to do that, would you Max.” Chris seems to be enjoying the turning of the screw, like a good friend should, but then jumps a little in the air as if he’s been pinched under the table. A stern look and a hard stare from Angela might explain his sudden movement.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t play to Cath until you’ve finished writing that piece you’re working on for her.”

Max’s throat feels like it’s been guillotined, only without the swift ending to the pain. She means well, he knows, and it was Chris who threw them in at the deep end, but composition?  Is she crazy?

Cath, on the other hand, looks like she’s just been granted three wishes by her fairy godmother. “You’re writing something for me?  How amazingly sweet. Nobody’s ever done anything like that for me.”

Maybe Angela needs to be forgiven. Her idea was clearly great, it’s just the execution of it that’s going to get him killed. “It’s still in its early stages,” he says. “So my first performance won’t be for a little while yet.” Who knows?  If he can stall for a month or so, he might actually be able to learn something in time. “And I wanted it to be a surprise.”

He must have sounded romantic or something. Cath reaches over, squeezes Max’s arm and kisses him warmly. He feels the softness waving away all his troubles for a moment. He keeps his wits about him, though, and gives his friends the ‘cut’ direction for the evening in as far as he is able with his eyes.

“These lovebirds look like they’re ready for some time alone,” Chris says. There’s a worried look to him that Max hasn’t seen too often. And he’s right to be worried. “Let’s leave them to it.”

“You really don’t have to,” Cath says, but it doesn’t sound sincere in the slightest.

“It’s late.” Angela picks up the message loud and clear. “Besides, we might have a few things of our own to get around to.”

Chris’s worried look vanishes. It’s replaced by one of utter surprise and then one of complete joy. “I’ll get the tab,” he says. “And thanks for letting us tag along.”

“You’re on,” Cath says.

“Couldn’t you even put up a token struggle?”

Max stares at him and Chris pulls out his wallet. “I’ll be ordering a cab,” he says. “Would you care to partake?”

Cath shakes her beautiful head. “It’s a lovely offer, but I’ve been looking forward to the walk.” Max hopes that she’s talking in some kind of code. He kisses her and pulls her gently towards the door, his head already trying to string notes into a tune that might sound good to a human being.

N
either Chris nor Angela wants to talk about it. They leave the bar and stand on the street when they get there, not quite able to get themselves into gear. The minicab firm told them it would be five minutes and it’s going to feel like a very long time.

“Do you think we dropped him in it?” Angela’s worried. The idea of hurting any animal from plankton to whale fills her with dread.

“Hey, we did our best.” In spite of his attempt at humour, he looks glum.

“Composing a piece. What was I thinking?”

“That part wasn’t so clever.”

“It just popped out.”

“You were only trying to help. And you might have bought some time for him – he may even thank you in the long run.”

His silver lining seems to get a negative response from the gods when it starts to rain. They retreat to the wall and shelter as best as they can under the guttering.

“She really likes him, doesn’t she?” 

“He’s a lucky boy.” Chris can see what all Max’s fuss has been about. He’s pleased that she feels the same way. If it wasn’t for the simple matter of deceit, he might feel happy for them.

The cab pulls over in front of them. Chris opens the door and leans on it, barring Angela’s entrance. “Want to be dropped off first or second?”

“How about we both go to my place?”

The evening has just taken a massive upturn.

“Sure,” he says. “Why not?” and lets her slide onto the back seat.

M
ax and Cath are blissfully unaware of the romance that’s igniting where they left their friends.  They’re walking home at the slow pace of the contented.

Max is hoping that managing to keep the subjects moving along will keep him out of harm’s reach. “Perhaps the three of us could go out for the day.” Max is thinking about Monday, this week’s day off and Alice’s half-term holidays.

“Sounds great. Anywhere in particular?”

They’re holding hands and turning into Cath’s street. It feels nice. Comfortable. Destined. A little too good to be true. “Can’t say I’m used to planning family days out, I’m afraid.”

“I haven’t been out much with Alice since my father passed away.”

They can talk pretty openly about her dad now, as if he’s just popped off for his holidays and will return soon. “Well, it’s about time we changed that. What kind of things did you do together?”

“Father was the brains behind the expeditions.” Her voice is its velvety self, giving Max’s senses the satisfaction he usually only gets from melted cheese. “Zoos, galleries, museums. The usual kinds of things.” If you’re super posh. “Our favourite would be a picnic in the park and a wander round looking for fairies.” Searching for fairies is something Max has no experience of, but he’s spent plenty of time hoping for miracles, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.

“Did they ever find them?”

“Alice always saw one. Still does.  They’ve always run away by the time I get there, though.”

“Shy creatures by reputation. I don’t know if I can match that, but I’ll come up with something.”

Cath stops. Pulls Max towards her by the collar. “You’re a really sweet guy.”

Ordinarily he’d agree, but he can’t get the idea of composing a piece and being found out from his mind. “Maybe you should wait and see.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she says and kisses him for a long time. When she pulls back, she looks longingly into Max’s eyes. “I don’t want to be a killjoy or anything, but I said we’d be back before twelve.”

Max sighs. “I know.”

“I wish you could stay, I really do.” Max does a quick translation and realises he’s going home again. This hard-to-get thing may have its up sides, but it has a hell of a lot of down slopes as well.