The Lesser Bohemians (10 page)

Six thirty-five and him pulling me out to Royal College Street.

Jesus, fucking Hellcat, what's wrong with you? You heard him. I heard him but that's no excuse, he could've fucking killed you, he could've killed me – he was easily taller and four times the width! I barely touched him. That's not the fucking point. I bet you're glad you bombed Warrington, you heard what he said. I know and it was out of order and I told him that but you shouldn't have hit him. Yes I should anyway you got him to stay back. That was only luck and him being far too drunk to realise he could've snapped me like a twig. Well fuck him. Yeah fuck him but I have to tell you something    I'm not much good in a fight any more so let's not do that again.

After, I lie across him, all licked and kissed, lifting odd drags from his cigarette. Warm in the gaslight. Half under the clothes. My hair being wound his thumb while I smoke and So much for Blasted, he says. Sorry, maybe we shouldn't have stopped for a drink first. Yeah     I can now see that. But I'm frisk and careless, tracing his ribs So tell me which ones broke? Left      lower      those three. Which arm? Left too press there    feel that? Poor arm – I kiss the spot. Well, it was years ago, he says. Was it a high roof? Three-storey house. You could have been killed then. Ah     I fell in a bush. What were you doing up there? The Book of Revelation, I think, with asides from the man Himself. And what did he say? Not much      not enough    anyway I soon fell off and that was the end of that but listen      the other night      I know why you were upset and it was shitty but      I wouldn't want you to think I expect      I just think that, after everything, you know,
in your past    now is the moment to     let yourself have a good time. I am, I say Here. Yeah and me      but if you met someone else – maybe more your own age – you should feel      that you have no obligations here. Why do you say that? Because      because this is great but      there's twenty years between us so this is all there is. And I could let that ice slide down my neck or refute with Have you been watching Manhattan or what?
That I choose.
Oh you're a wit, he says I just thought I'd mention it. And I don't really believe him but      is it the thought that counts? So    I'm not your girlfriend then? I'm not up on that stuff. In what way? It's just a long time since      I've been with someone more than once or twice. How long? Oh long, he smoke exhales. Why's that? I like it that way and    it didn't end too well with my daughter's      with her mother and that. What happened? Oh, you know. No I don't. Well      just the usual      I suppose. What does that mean? Nothing      anyway that story's too long for tonight. But I see a world turning around him then, usually invisible to the eye except for every so often when something slips out, like now.
So ask.
Would you like to get married one day? What, he laughs When I grow up? Nip him. Ow! No, I can't imagine it. Do you have other children? Not that I know of so I really hope not! Would you like to have more? Oh, he says   I think all that's done for me. Don't you like being a father? That's not what I said. And his face suddenly     then just as quickly blanks so his eyes let nothing out. But something grows heavy, fastening him down while I stiffen to dull like told off. Sorry. It's fine      it's just a subject best left. He's away though and what have I by way of recompense? Sit up. Take his cigarette. Look at him down through the gap in my legs. Can I touch your penis? Which he does not expect Why? It looks so sleepy now. Well, before
it was busy enough. So can I? I never refuse that request, as a rule. So I take it and touch it. And watch him watch. Aren't you shy about me doing that? No. What's the scar? Where my foreskin was. I like them better like yours. Him laughing again then I'm glad to hear that! His knowitall smile and my mouth on his stomach. Sharp bone of his hip. Ruck quilt and go to lower. Hey, you don't have to do that, he says. I know, but I like shifting his lank body up into life as my own learns to forget. Airlessness helps. The slight sweat on his skin. It is a new way, made for him. I like even how he lets me and how much he likes me to. Come back here, he says I want to be inside you now. So I get up on him and do. Tangle then in the twisting play. Mix sorting what to where and when. Ignoring him saying Let me get something on, because    because I can. Him liking that too, I can see. Follow though his instructions of You go     I'll wait. The pleasure then, side of my face to his face. Surprised by how much and Fuck I feel that, he says then quickly Fuck! again and pulls me up. Pulls out. Springing straight to the wet, sticking him to my stomach. I don't care. Or when he's done. Or when he says That's why we shouldn't do that, you know. But he divil-smile smears it and I divil laugh. Glop it up on my finger I'll try if you try. He solemn assesses then abruptly licks Tastes like chicken, he says. I lick No      tastes like come. Well come here pretty girl and let me sweeten it up. Then he kisses me until I'm grand. Until I'm airy in fact. Can be. Full of sex and dare. Stretching and letting him do the mop up himself. When he clicks off the lamp though I ask Can I just ask? Absolutely not, he says. Have you ever had sex with a man? Excuse me? You heard. Sex Ed. for the under twenties, is it? he laughs. But have you? Why? Just wondering. Well then, yes, I have. Did you like it? I did. So you
go both ways? I wouldn't say that. Then what would you say? That I was young and fucked up and he helped me so      when he wanted to I didn't object    no     actually that's not quite right      I was very happy to oblige. And my fingers run round the seam of his lips. First to the past, then forward to Could we try it, like that? Not tonight Josephine! Another time then? No and, before you ask, the list of my achievements in life doesn't need to extend to sodomising teenage girls, alright? But? Shush now, go to sleep. And soon as his eyes close he's off into it, leaving me fluttering there.

I sleep so safe here, far from the world. Rousing only when I'm stirred by him, climbing across. Go back to sleep      I'm just making some notes, tucking the duvet round. Then through til morning. Light and smoke. Drowse-eyed watch him push his glasses up, stretch, light another cigarette, itching to run my hands down his back. And what can want mean? Something in here. So tumble out to kiss his messed hair with a Morning – then a mis-angled Love. Morning, he says still writing though, in his loping old-fashioned longhand. Do you want to come back to bed? He kisses my wrist Do you mind if I don't? I'm just      Fine – but a little put out – Tea? Yeah that'd be nice. Then Actually, would you go get some breakfast in? Like what? Eggs, bread, butter – not that spread shit – and whatever you want yourself, any cash in my wallet? I check Receipts. Take my switch card then and get out fifty quid. The number's three six seven eight.

Ambling Camden, before Sunday breaks loose, I divine this money thing means trust, so take it out, get what he wants, make sure of receipts.
Check his balance?
No. Don't. Be better than you'd like to be.

Here's your wallet, the receipt and your change. Chuck it anywhere. Oh    okay    scrambled eggs? Please, he says and
while I make it, boxes get dragged out. What're you looking for? Old records     might just remind me of stuff. Strew. Some I've heard of. Most, I've not. A player and speakers dug from a box filled with postcards of the sea. Before I ask, he asks Know this? No, I don't. Wild World it is then. Hey!

It plays as we eat. Repeat. Repeat. He cleans his plate and makes the tea but with all his other self listens until I can see old weather in his eyes. You like The Birthday Party? I did, he says. So why are the records put away? I don't remember maybe      I got too keen. What? But he's back to the desk. Repeat and repeat. On he writes so I read and, in a little, sleep.

Don't move. What? Don't open your eyes yet. Why? You look so peaceful    and you get so pink. Shut up! Lazy lapse to a kiss. But. I've got homework, I better head. Still, there's wrestling before I persuade off the bed and only then permitted by letting him walk me back.

Light, this winter wander. Kentish Town. High on the night and eyeing his hand but
Don't take it.
Kissing at the gate. Devil don't care for the London Irish social's today, meaning she and all the rest should be out til six. So    sneak in with me? And I don't have to ask twice.

Up! Slam my door. Kiss like slaps. Bang against the wall with me fiddling flies. Stripping to stumble. Down on the bed. Pulling me under. Him inside. Ow! Sorry. No don't stop. Between us though, and irk of the mattress, it's rowdy enou What's going on up there? Oh Jesus! Oh fuck! She mustn't have gone out. What're we going to do? Bollocks to her, keep going, he says but she's on the stairs, shouting Stop that! Panic What'll we do? It quicker? he suggests. No, stop it, shush. Stop that fornicating! she yells and he tips, laughing, into my neck. No, don't laugh, stop! I'm trying, he pleads. It jumps him though and
kicks me off too. Ripping us, the pair of us, to cracking ribs. I hear that laughing Lady, stop it! He rolls off me For God's sake woman, have mercy! Don't cheek me, she shrieks Get out of my house! I'm going, he says. Right now! Or you may take that hussy with. As it is, Madam, you have your two weeks! Shit, shit, what'll I do? Don't worry, he says We'll find somewhere for you in Loot, minus the landlady interruptus, how does that sound? Good, I say, hurrying to help his shirt on. Dressed though, he lingers Come back to mine? No      I better not. Will you be alright? I'll be fine. I'll head off then      sorry about all this. But before I reply he's away out into Yes off you slink! You're a disgrace and that girl is a tramp! Don't, he warns. Don't you ‘Don't' me, young man, you should be ashamed! Doubtless, he sighs going on down. And pressed to the window I watch him come out, hoping he'll look up, willing him to see that I am all for him. But he doesn't. He goes and does not look back.

What are you like? she chokes. I thump her back She called me Jezebel this morning. You are too, she laughs But is he worth it? All the faff? Ah he is, I'm mad about him. We stamp our feet on the froze stone steps. So did you catch his film at Christmas? Yeah, I started it but there was so much sex my mother had a fit so then I tried to tape it but recorded something else, was he good? He was amazing, you should ask him if he taped it himself. I couldn't, he never talks about work and he might think you know. True, it'll be out on video soon enough but      don't you think it's weird with the TV leads and West End stuff that he still lives in some crappy bedsit? No, he's not fussed, his mind's on higher things. Or lower! she cackles Speaking of which, Don Giovanni might have a room going in the marital flat. Oh really? That'd be handy, thanks, I'll ask.

That'd be yours, he yawns, nudging open the door It's only a bed, but bills included. When do you want move in? Week after next? Perfect but, one thing, will she be over a lot? No more than she has to. Then it's a deal. Which is just as well, because a few days later Listen I have to go to Scotland tonight. They've been dicking about with these film dates for a while. Now suddenly they're ready so I have to go but I was thinking, if you need somewhere to   Don't worry, I've sorted it out. Great, that's a relief, I'll see you in a couple of weeks.

On that said Saturday she helps me move into the flat. Tired white walls. No curtains or blinds. But perfect. Landlady free. The I hope you're proud of yourself, ringing in my ears as I lug my stuff from the Safeway's trolley I nicked and pushed down to Patshull Road. I think I'll blank him, she decides. Fair enough, I say, blu-tacking Betty Blue up. I pity you, he's such an asshole! Keep it down, I live here now. I bet he shags you before the term is out. I wouldn't. You will, I know what he's like. Give me some credit, shall we go for a pint? Sorry, I've got a date. And when she's gone I sit mapping this weekend alone. Coast clear? he shouts. Yes. Then come meet the wife and her boyfriend, we're getting a take-out. So.

New again opens to me. Girl I've been, woman I'll be. This weekend becoming the first of many video-watching nights on the sitting-room floor. Spliffs and parties. Self-pitying Sundays, hungover. And this tides me across his away, on into February when A certain northern gentleman rang, asking you to meet him in the Prince Albert tonight. Blind again with delight for it's been long long long. First though, this morning, Private Moment exercise.

Baited in Room Two and the dust light there. Prokofiev tape. Cigarette. I put my father's jacket on. This an only when I'm alone. Its yellowed tweed still smells of him though it's getting hard to tell. But here, beneath analytical eyes, I remember when he wore it last. Me reading on his knee. Nineteen eighty-five and not knowing it was the final night we'd ever spend that way. Next. A letter I've read once before – written from the hospital after he'd been told. Printed in block capitals because I was so small, and opening it slowly now.
Concentrate, the teacher says And – trying to remain by yourself – start to read aloud.
IIIIII put tongue to words but the sound is none.
The reason is, he interrupts We can see you're having an emotional reaction to it and, when that happens on stage, your speech needs to be clear for the audience's sake, do you understand?
Yes. Wish I'd never chosen this and just leapt around naked like everyone else but I don't do that when I'm alone. It was this or the clipped breath of burns and.
Be brave, the teacher says.
So I open. Open it. Make myself by myself and read MY DEAREST

Fine again, nine and in my coat, I make my way down Prince of Wales Road. Weaving the dark and rain of it. Frail for a friendly face, and warmth, and going back to his.