The Lesser Bohemians (27 page)

Twentieth she says. What? That’s the date. She called while you were out.
So why he is pale.
Are you alright? He nods. Did she do any more explaining? She did not. Well, two weeks and you’ll find out. Yeah, can’t fucking wait. Sorry, I. It’s not you, he says Anyway     anyway     Dublin on Thursday. You and Nick? Ah ha. Why Ireland? Tax breaks or something and as we only need a roof      I wish you didn’t have to go. Two nights, that’s it and if we get them on board it’ll solve a lot. So what’ll you do with your evenings, you and Nick? Well neither of us have been before so I imagine, the pub      why? No reason. Eily? No, nothing just. Nothing what?      Nothing funny      when you’re away      alright? Why’re you saying that? No reason      just her calling and      you know. Yeah     okay well I’ve got to be somewhere so     I’ll see you later on.

What unquiet imaginings do that? Make blame before thought? Then thoughts to back up? Until I said it I had not and now it swarms everywhere. But. In this regard, out on the tiles with the sea between, anything might       He might be anything and would I ever know? Back again at his I reread his note. Sorry, I’m going to be late. Now almost every night. Working at Nick’s. Or. Choke strings tight. No. Why wouldn’t he be? But      if Tired Eily, is that also of me? Why not? I inhabit such ordinary skin while he is       something more.

Smoke. Sit on his desk. Watch him turn the corner and look up for the light. Then, because it isn’t, check of his watch. Drop the fag. Front door. Stairs. Unlock. Hey, why’re you sat here in the dark? Where were you tonight? Revising the draft, the end’s still not right. Where though? Nick’s, where else would I be?
And I long for us lying on Hampstead Heath. Even as I turn aside from his kiss.
Eily what’s going on? Press my face to his shirt.
Cigarettes. Nothing. Eily? Undo his cuff. Then unbutton the rest and taste his skin. I see, he smiles, lifting my chin but I can’t kiss him now. What is it? he says. Just fuck me. Okay     if that’s what you want. And he takes off my clothes. Backs me onto the bed. Gets in me and fucks me and I climb myself despite his skin. All the past now collating instead of forgotten. I suddenly misplace the best of myself, allowing a far worse in. And there goes reason. There goes sense. Decency, and with it, tenderness. So for everything that’s happened and what its mystery means I say You fuck really well. He doesn’t respond so I repeat it. Okay   why are you saying that? Because it’s true. Thanks      I suppose      you do too. Probably because you have so much. What? Been with a lot of women and men.
And there’s the one goes under his skin.
Don’t say that to me Eil. It comes now though, writhing, banging off my tongue It’s only the truth, you have fucked a lot of women. Jesus! Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter to me      and all the prostitutes too, do you even know how many? That’s enough, what’s wrong with you? Nothing at all, I’m just saying      you can tell me anything      anything you’ve done     it won’t matter      it turns me on. Well it doesn’t turn me on, he says getting off the bed. Putting his clothes on. I bet it does     a bit. You’re just being disgusting. I am? Yeah and I don’t like it. Well poor you! Eily you know how I feel about my past. Do you want me to say I’m ashamed? I am. I’d do anything to take it back but you know I can’t. Then how could you? What? Go with that girl. For fuck’s sake, she was a slip on a bad day, let it go. Did you fuck her? Eily I told you everything, I tell you everything, why would I lie? Just tell me the truth, you came in her mouth. I didn’t. You’re lying. Well, believe what you want, I’m going out, and he slams through the door. But down from the window I shout To what? Go fuck
yourself Eily, he says nearly taking the gate from its hinge.

And I, inside, don’t know what to do, tangling mishandled arguments he can’t even hear now. Trying to     what? Just. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell. Fucking bastard. Fuck your stupid self and scream into his duvet until I am numb. I don’t understand. How could you say those things to him? And now? And what? Turning so fucking scared. What if? Everything you’ve just done makes him and then      and what      what if he says I hate you, get out. Then that’s you and what you deserve and. Go have a cigarette. Do and do. Until the room’s all it. And my body hurts everywhere like kicked. I watch from his window. Into his street. Please come home. But he doesn’t appear and that lasts so long eventually I must go down to sleep on my own.

Ride through dreams of falling and. Slamming and. Catch. Slipping and clawing. Shout. Stagger back into nothing through falling again Slit. Awake. Key in the door. 4.47 o’clock.

I lie like the dead. Watch him take off his coat. He does not look at the bed. Just strips off his clothes and gets a sleeping bag out of the wardrobe. Please don’t do that, I say. He unrolls it, lays it anyway then sits in the armchair to smoke – hard, for no tomorrows. Where were you? No answer. Please tell me? King’s Cross. Is that really true? No Eily, it’s really not. Sorry. Silence.
Stay put in the bed. For God’s sake leave him to himself.
But with his smell on the bedclothes driving me mad I get up and go kneel beside. Look up at him. He looks at me. Glitter of old marks near his knee that I lean down to kiss. Even the thought of them breaking me. The loneness of that life. What pain there must have been and now me saying stupid cruel things. I’m sorry, I say and am so ashamed. I hope he sees, but he makes no sign. Just watches as I start to cry. So I lay my head down on
his knee. Feel his blood going under my skin. And neither say a thing into the deep silence we make.

In a while though he touches my hair. I’m sorry, I say For all that stuff I said. I didn’t mean any of it. Please come to bed. He hesitates a little, but does. Then, God, the way we lie. Safe together just before the light and when I kiss him      he agrees to that. But we are so careful with each other now, like passing glass between our mouths, and gentlest way to be with hands. Bringing the other all the pleasure we can in this tiny breach of air. And he lets me say I love him. Says he loves me too. Fall asleep in that but when I wake he’s on the floor and I’m alone.

There’s a ceiling beyond my fingers. What have I what have I done? Why have I made him choose his own company over mine? Once I thought a man looking like him could never want someone like me. Now I’m hurting him all I can for being what he is. Dangle a finger. Stroke down his long back. He opens his eyes. Watch each other, then What’s going on Eil? he says I know something is but I’m not sure what and    I’m really shit at this so      It’s nothing, I say Just me being a bitch. He sits up, rubbing his face Look      I know what I did has fucked things between us and      there’s a lot going on but      if we talked about it maybe? Isn’t that what they say? Talking is good? But I’m far too ashamed to revisit last night. I’m really sorry for what I said, can we just leave it at that? All that stuff about my past though, what was that about? I don’t know, I say Nothing, please, can we forget it now? Come on Eily, there’s obviously something going on, can’t we just have it out and be done. I said I was sorry, isn’t that enough? Fine! he says getting up I’m having a shower then. And once he’s out of the room, I get up too, but leave.

All day I am like smacked in the mouth. Even Flatmate says What the fuck’s up? Nothing, and cannot face saying more. Cannot face anything. Him most of all. So that evening I go to Kentish Town. Spend it by the telly with the flatmate but wishing he’d ring. Persuade me back. He doesn’t. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday but Thursday lunchtime there’s a note on the board saying Some guy says to call, he’s going away and you have his number.

Hey, he says I’m off tonight so      you can stay at the flat if you like and      I’m not going to be back until Sunday morning now. How come? Couple of possible locations to check and the evening flights were all booked up. So    what time are you getting the Stansted Express? Probably seven. Will I come wave you off? That would be nice. Okay, I’ll see you then.

Plats shatter down as he waits for his to show. I call across the concourse. He swivels round. Looks to the clock, then to me. Cutting it fine. Got stuck on the Circle line, sorry, and I am – for this as well as all these days without him. Why did you leave like that Eily? Why haven’t you been home? Sorry. Don’t be sorry, just explain. I don’t know, no good reason. Then why are we wasting our time? I don’t know I. Oh fuck, he says That’s me, platform nine. Don’t go, I grab hold. I have to Eil, come on, let go. Do you still love me? Jesus fucking Christ, I do but Eily    do you still love me? I do      I love you more than anything. Good okay     then give me a kiss and   look     we’ll sort it all out when I’m back, alright? But I can’t let him go. Not yet. Kiss me again? So he does. A little. Not as much as I want, then slips me. Got to go love, I’ll call you later, alright? I’ll be waiting, I say Back at your flat. And break a bit as he walks away.

Silt air on the stair. Key in his door. Like aeons since I was here but it is days only. Nights, since I was last with him.
Weeks, since that night and we became      inside he’s tidied. Bed made but not clean. Fit myself in the sag worn by lovers and him, and me, and Grace. And the smell of him, as always, turning everything simple, back to the rushing want. Before him I thought that when love came it would come perfectly. Not in a dingy room on dirty sheets and not caring at all about those things. It is the spell of him. Unconscious gift that if I told would make him laugh. I wish you were here with me now. Not the back-up note on your desk saying Eily, if not before, I’ll see you Sunday night. This is the number of the hotel. Take care of yourself. And yet. Here it is. But you, alive in me. What’re you at, this moment? Asleep, flying over the sea? Fancying a cigarette? Some lucky girl? Me? Don’t. Inspect the fridge instead. One slice of ham and it could do with a scrub. Sink with my back to your boxes onto the rug. All your life in there. Turn on low. Transfigured Night. Remember then. And close my eyes. Stay awake. Below’s music thumping up. But falling in I hear your voice and bring and bring. Wake up! Get up. Run into the hall. Hello? Did I wake you? I was just dozing, how was your flight? Okay. The hotel? It’s fine. Well, good luck for tomorrow. Thanks, I’ll try to call but. Don’t worry, if you can’t, you’ll be busy I know and      I’ll see you Sunday night. Okay Eil   sleep tight. You too. Bye then. Bye. Dead line. Dead. Deadening.

Up early. Today’s the day. Wash dream from my eye. Sleep off my face. And my hair can dry in the sunshine that throws all around Prince of Wales Road. Second Years out on the steps in Jacobean rig. Jonson project or. Coming to the party tonight? Pub, upstairs? Might do, depends. Go on in, to the board. Double-check. It’s me for the Emotion Memory later. And all morning it sits there. Then two. Three. Four o’clock. Now.

Nervous?
A little, yes.
Well, that’s alright. Take a moment to settle yourself – could everyone else please settle themselves too. No going in and out during the exercise. Ready?
I think so.
Then, in your own time, tell us where you are.

I’m standing in the bath.
How old are you?
Five.
Describe it.
Big. Enamel. White. Cold even with water in. One tap’s dot’s red. The other’s gone.
What do you see beyond the bath?
Dun-coloured lino with an arc scoured in by the door. And a pink bathroom sink      with a mirror above    with those silver rings for glasses to put your toothbrush in.
And are there glasses?
No    or    there are but     not there.
Be precise.
There are two on the shelf      to the left    with toothpaste and a nail scissors in as well. And a hairbrush that needs a clean.
Is that what you think in the moment, or what you’re thinking now?
Now.
Don’t do that, recreate only what was.
There’s a hairbrush with a lot of hair stuck in it.
Whose? Mine.
How do you know? Because it’s long and blonde and my mother’s hair is short and my father uses a comb so
     What else do you see?
A toilet. The old type, with a chain and a fluffy peach cover that matches the mat under the sink.
And what can you smell?
Coal tar shampoo.
Why does that make you smile?
It smells like my father.
Is he with you now?
No
   
I
. Is anyone there?
My mother is. She’s washing me in the bath and singing The Spinning Wheel, but swapping Eileen for Eily.
Is she a good singer?
She is.
Describe the walls.
Green      Anaglypta I think      with a plasticky feel, peeling off under the window.
Can you see through the window?
Yes.
So looking through, what do you see?
Mountains, in the distance. They’re heathery. Purple and rocks.
And closer?
A barn. Made of corrugated that’s red with rust.
What else?
The farmhouse where my friends live. Then a blue car on the road and all the fields between.
And closer?
Horse chestnuts out our back. Blossoming.
Can you get closer again?
Fingerprints in Sadolin on the glass      my father’s prints. He painted them and
he
wasn’t very handy at stuff.
Present tense.
He isn’t very handy at things and a bit messy.
Do you know why that thought affects your voice?
Yes.
Why?
The future.
No, keep out of that. What time is it?
Morning.
How can you tell?
The radio’s talking, that’s morning.
Why does that make you smile?
I don’t know.
Yes you do.
It’s Gay Byrne      it’s just so Irish.
Make a sound and let that feeling go into it.
Ahhhhhhhh.
To a hundred people.
Ahhhhhh.
Now what else do you hear?
Still my mother singing The Spinning Wheel.
And what’s she doing?
Drying me off now.
Describe the towel.
Pink      with roses in white thread       rough.
Eily relax the tension round your mouth. Go on.
I want out but she’s doing the talc. I pretend it’s snow sprinkling on my back. I can hear it make the bubbles hiss.
Do you speak?
Yes, I ask What does it do? She says It helps you to dry.
What’s affecting you?
I don’t know.
Say the first thing that comes into your mind.
I want my father.
Why?
Because I know what’s next.
No, stay in the moment, recreate the smell of talc and the sound of her voice, and once you’ve done that go on.
I     she asks     Have I missed anywhere? And I point down.
Point down where?
Between my legs.
Why?
Because I’m still damp there.
And what does she do?
She looks cross.
Why?
Because      I don’t know yet.
Alright, what does she say?
She says she   I   I can’t.
Eily, describe what she’s wearing.
A blouse.
What colour?
Reddy brown      browny slacks       with a crooked crease because she’s kneeling down and      I see a thumbtack stuck in the sole of her shoe.
Make a sound.
Ahhhhhh.
To a hundred people.
Ahhhhhhh.
Now – and remembering precisely – tell us what she says.
She says Don’t you ever let anyone touch you there.
Make a sound.
Ahhhhhhh.
To a thousand people, Eily, trying not to hurt your voice.
Ahhhhhhhh.
Again.
Ahhhhhhhhhhh.
What’s affecting you?
I’m      I’m ashamed.
Why?
Because       someone already has.
Make a sound.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh
and it goes through the Church,
to
the balcony, beyond, back to the girl in nineteen-eighty who, for the first time, knows she is alone with something she should not know at all.
Describe a physical sensation.
I
    Eily, do it now.
I      Burning. My stomach is.
Why?
I’m afraid.
And what are you looking at?
My towel dangling in the suds.
And what do you hear?
Her asking Do you understand?
And do you answer?
I say I do.
You don’t tell her?
I don’t.
Why not?
Because I’m.
Because you’re what?
Scared.
Because?
Because if she knew she would think I’m disgusting and not love me any more.