The Last Word (16 page)

Alice and Liana sat in the heat on the lawn, passing a tub of vanilla ice cream between them and conspiring to bring young people to Prospects House. Her face hidden under an umbrella to protect it from the sun, Alice had her feet up on a stool; when she wasn’t scooping up Ben and Jerry’s, she laid the back of her hand on her overheated and worried forehead, and sighed deeply. Then she noticed Harry and started on the considerable business of sitting up.

Liana was writing lists and thinking aloud; she used the words ‘young’ and ‘artist’ a lot, as well as ‘yoga centre’ and ‘writers’ retreat’. In contrast, Mamoon didn’t look like a man whose home would soon be open to the public. Sitting in the shade a decent distance away, working on the proofs of his collected essays,
Means and Ends
, he couldn’t hear his wife. Occasionally, he would interrupt his humming of a tune by Everything But the Girl to groan and complain about his irrelevance, but no one listened. On Liana’s instructions, Julia bustled over with tea until he accused her of trying to poison him with Lapsang Souchong. Despite the sight of Harry pacing up and down outside the back door, Mamoon was cheerful. He had been active: recently, with a few remarks, he had made a lot happen.

Alice had been there for two days, swimming in the river and resting, while Mamoon was working again. Harry, after his conversations with Marion, had been settling back into his work. It had become difficult and frustrating as he fought to find clarity in the chaos of his research. For days he had read letters and written to friends, colleagues and possible lovers of Mamoon, while considering the work in relation to the life, making links across the decades.

But Rob had been attempting to harry Harry, as Mamoon had insisted he should. Harry might have been reinstated as official portraitist, but only on condition, Mamoon had concluded, that Liana get tough with Rob. It was time, Mamoon had said, for Harry’s work to be thoroughly inspected by the editor before Harry became waylaid or dangerous to literature, perhaps going too far in a ‘strange direction’, or becoming ‘self-indulgent’ with the book. Mamoon wanted to look like himself.

Mamoon might be annoyed, but it wasn’t as if Rob had been unprovoked by the biographer. For some time Harry had been ignoring his communications, claiming he was ‘out of range’. However, that morning, waking up late with Alice, Harry had pulled the curtains and stopped dead. Rob was stumbling up the track bearing a large suitcase and rucksack. It wasn’t long before Rob had walked into the house, demanded breakfast from Julia, and, when Harry went to greet him, insisted on seeing his laptop.

When he began to read through Harry’s work both aloud and to himself, Harry said, ‘I’m not ready for this, Rob. These are notes. Why are you doing it?’

‘Liana is right. I have got to know.’

‘Know what?’

‘That man out there is an artist.’ Rob pointed out of the window where Alice and Ruth were trimming a tree to Mamoon’s instructions. ‘He met Borges in Paris in the mid-seventies. They had dinner two or three times. What did they talk about? Kafka? Adjectives? Their agents? Why don’t you tell us?’ He rapped his knuckles dangerously against the screen of Harry’s computer. ‘Talent is gold dust. You can pan among a million people and come up with barely a scrap of it. Commitment to the Word stands against our contemporary fundamentalist belief in the market. Have you forgotten that?’

‘Rob, I’m telling you, he’s vile to ordinary people and charming to fascist monsters.’

‘Put that in.’

‘He’s insane. He attacked me with a stick.’ Harry pulled up his shirt and showed Rob the site, still visible. ‘Joyce didn’t do that to Ellmann!’

‘Jesus, that’s bad. Still,’ he sniffed, ‘any simpleton can be good. Mamoon has the balls to be a sinner. Liana has been phoning me. She says among other things that you have inflated ideas about yourself.’

‘She said that?’

‘It was reported by Ruth: Alice and you – the long, blond boy, with his impossibly tall and thin platinum fashionista girl, strolling with the dogs around town, in fashionable raggedy clothes and scuffed boots, disappointed you couldn’t find somewhere that served nettle fettuccine, staring at the tattooed chavs as though you’d just discovered an African tribe. I heard you even photographed a chav’s dog. Liana had to personally apologise.’

‘To the dog?’

Rob removed his skull ring before taking aim and slapping Harry across the face. He stared at him, daring him to respond. ‘Tell me, how come you haven’t been beaten up more?’

‘Should I be?’

‘The party’s dead. We’re on truth time.’ Rob lowered his eyes to Harry’s efforts on the screen. ‘You sit close enough to inhale every emanation of me, and we will examine what you’ve been doing. Are you having a breakdown? You look crazed and seem sad and manic.’

It was true: since Alice had found herself pregnant with twins, her anxiety had entered the red zone, as had Harry’s. Harry’s father had even summoned his youngest son to London for a talking-to. It was like visiting a mischievous cardinal and, cheerfully, Dad had been glad to repeat his homily that a baby in a family, or worse, two babies, was like a hurricane hitting a crowd. All that which had been blown apart had to be put back together, in a new, broader configuration: this was the work of a man, not a boy. Being a father was not a given; one had to assume the throne, stated Dad the throne-sitter. ‘There will be difficulties,’ he added, dabbing his eyes in amusement. But he was also pleased; Harry, with his easy cleverness and tendency towards arrogance, dissipation and frivolity, particularly when it came to women, had given his father good reason to believe he’d achieve zero. In fact Dad had almost become reconciled to it.

Now, having finished her ice cream, Alice came across the lawn towards Harry. If Rob had already wrung him out, it was Alice’s turn.

Not only feeling sick and faint, Alice now found Harry too noisy, overbearing, with his breath too oniony, his fingers sweaty and his eyes suddenly too beady. Meanwhile he was forbidden, of course, from finding her repulsive though she described herself as ‘just sludge’.

She touched him gently on the back and they walked. Worrying about where they would live, she hadn’t been sleeping at all. They would require, at least, a much bigger place, a house in a safe neighbourhood with a garden. How would she look after the children? For that she would need help since he couldn’t expect her to do the housework and childcare while he was in a library, no doubt sipping espressos with publicity girls who would bring him croissants.

‘I am going to be working even harder, Alice. As Mamoon knows, earning a living for life at this game is difficult. We will have to go where the money is – America, where I hope I’ll be able to get work teaching—’

‘Teaching what?’

‘Creative writing.’

‘You know nothing about it,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking we should move to Devon.’

‘What would we do?’

‘We have to be somewhere quiet. Somewhere we can hide.’ She began to weep. ‘Not only am I pregnant, Harry, but threatening letters from bailiffs have been arriving while you’ve been down here. I’ve gone a bit over with the spending. I’m terrified that someone is going to enter the flat when you’re down here and seize your Telecaster and the Gibson.’

For him there was nothing like hearing the word ‘bailiff’ to evaporate all hope in the world. ‘What did you say to them?’

‘Don’t scold me. I’ll cut back,’ she said. ‘But now he’s here, please ask Rob for more money.’

‘I will. But what have you been buying?’

‘Coats, jewellery, dinners with girlfriends and a few pairs of shoes. I’ll show them to you.’ They were by the front door, and she called out, knowing Julia would be nearby. ‘Julia, could you bring out the pumps, please? I think they’re in our room.’ She said in a low voice, ‘Julia’s a lovely girl. We have similar backgrounds. Council estates and single mothers.’

‘Is that right?’

‘I think you’ve got it from Mamoon, but I wish you wouldn’t answer a question with another. It’s evasive.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Haven’t you noticed Julia?’

‘I’ve been preoccupied with the book.’

‘She and I went shopping together again. She knows where to go in town. Her brother might give me kickboxing lessons to give me confidence.’

‘He knows how to kick, does he?’

‘You seem annoyed. Is it because she’s a cleaner that you’re rotten to her?’

‘Rotten?’

‘Harry, you can be a snob, you know.’

Julia came out with two boxes. Alice tried on a pair of shoes, and Julia an identical pair. They stood in front of Harry. Rob came out and saw the girls showing Harry their feet.

He said, ‘I knew it. This is what you do down here – look at girls. Now, I’ve worn out two pencils and I’m done for today,’ he said, not giving anything else away. ‘Let’s talk later.’

Liana drove Alice to the station, where she waited for the London train. Harry accompanied them, promising Alice he would get a lot of work done, while thinking about their future. He waved her off, before Liana dropped him at the pub, where Rob was waiting. Harry would get the money question settled immediately, text Alice and relax for a bit.

In the pub Rob was already in a good position where he could see Julia sitting with friends across the bar. Unlike most of Harry’s friends, Rob still felt at ease in pubs where there was nothing to do but drink and talk.

‘Thanks for coming down today to see me, Rob,’ said Harry. ‘I need a further advance, my friend. Cash-wise I’m a bit hemmed in and pressured right now.’

Rob laughed. ‘I can’t organise another payment until it looks like you might not only complete this but make it original. What work are you actually doing?’

‘I’m interviewing and planning. But most of it is in my head.’

Rob shook his head. ‘I’m fighting hard to keep you in place here. Mamoon thought you’d run up an innocuous
Reader’s Digest
life to increase his standing. He didn’t understand that not only would you be wearing his pants on your face, you’d tell him about it. I might come to regret hiring you.’

‘Looks like you made a mistake.’

‘Anything to do with art is always a risk.’

‘But you over-idealise artists, Rob. There are more interesting and useful people.’

‘That is a blasphemy.’

‘I’m working well, but you’re undermining me. I feel pretty disturbed by this. Look at my shaking hands.’

‘Don’t drop the drink you’re going to be kind enough to get me. You know I never carry any change.’ Harry got up. Rob said, ‘By the way, can you do me a favour while you’re at it? Please ask that girl—’

He pointed across the bar.

‘Julia?’ said Harry.

‘Ask her if she’d copulate with me later. I put it crudely to save time. Rustle up some smoother words, word-wanker.’

‘Where should she go for the aforementioned copulation?’

‘How about on a coat thrown down on a moonlit field? Being in the country makes me come over bucolic. But it might be draughty. How about your luxurious car?’

Harry said, ‘Consider, Rob, think for a moment how you might appear to her, not having shaved or washed for some time—’

Rob grabbed his collar. ‘What are you talking about? It’s like Iceland here, they haven’t seen an outsider for decades. They queue up to fuck Londoners.’

But Julia had left and Rob was delayed by his drinking. Harry listened to him for too long about interesting events in the world of literature before saying he was going back to the house. He needed to phone Alice and talk calmly. She’d be at home by now; sometimes she could be kind and would listen to him.

It was arduous getting Rob to his feet. Having been consuming duff speed to enable himself to drink for longer, by now his brain appeared to have been drowned, like a Ferrari driven into a pond.

Harry was helping Rob along the lane when Scott and some mates, with their heads covered, stepped out in front of them. Harry and Rob stopped. Scott was in shorts and, as they were near a rare working street light, Harry was able to notice that he had a grey police tag around his ankle.

‘You went too far. You banged my sister and stole my stuff,’ said Scott. ‘You laughed at me. What’s all that about?’

‘Who is this?’ said Rob to Harry, in a low voice.

‘The brother of the girl you were going to fuck.’

‘Ah,’ said Rob, leaning forward to vomit.

‘What stuff?’ said Harry to Scott.

Scott and his mates made a move towards Harry and Rob. Harry fancied giving the little shit a slap; he thought it would help the kid see straight. But Rob was swaying and the boys probably had knives; Harry wouldn’t be able to take the three of them on. Anyway, his legs were trembling.

Scott was swinging a piece of wood. ‘I’d love to kill a nigger tonight. I’m in the mood for a dune coon. Failing that – there’s you.’

‘Look here, chaps,’ said Rob. He took another step forward and dropped his phone, which one of the thugs stamped on.

Harry said to Scott, ‘I can’t imagine you’d have anything I’d want to steal.’

‘Them drugs. In our Julia’s room. You think you can come down from London and take our stuff?’

Harry put his hand in his pocket and offered a couple of twenties to Scott. ‘How much?’

Scott spat on the ground and rubbed his trainer in it. ‘I’m going to remember that you are a stupid boy.’

In the car Rob said, ‘No chance with the girl then? You’re well embedded down here. It’s racy, innit? I haven’t had such a good time for ages. It’s not England or Britain, but another place altogether. Ingerland they call it, and Ingerland it is.’ Rob sang, ‘
Ingerland
,
Ingerland
,
Ingerland . . .
’ all the way to Prospects House.

Everything good in art came from seeing a new thing and saying it, Harry said to himself. So when it came to the book, what mattered most was that
he
liked it. And despite the fact the world seemed be exploding in his face, with everything suddenly shifting and moving in ways he couldn’t comprehend, Harry knew that to write he needed time and regularity. He worked all day and, at the end of each afternoon, had taken to running in the woods, illuminating his way, when it got gloomy under the heavy trees, with the light of a miner’s helmet Julia had found in a market.

By the late evening, Harry was glad to get out of the house. He’d meet Julia at the top of the track. Smiling, she’d rush out from the woods, jump into his car, and they’d go for a drink – she knew all the local high spots. She liked it if, after, he accompanied her to her bedroom. Increasingly under siege from her mother and the agitated suitors, she would ask him to read to her, or to play her guitar while she sang.

Having issued a severe warning, Rob had gone, flinging his rags into his suitcase and taking off like a Romantic poet, striding through forests and across fields, through streams, across car parks and into pubs. He seemed to believe he would gain knowledge of the countryside if made to suffer by it. To celebrate Rob’s departure, Harry thought he’d take Julia out for an Indian. ‘What do you say to that?’

She had to say she was pleased about the on-the-way children. She knew her place, shut her mouth and accepted what she was offered. Her family had always been on the wrong side, too. She was, however, slightly bemused by the dinner. Why pay for something when you could have a tuna sandwich and Coke at home? The last time she and Harry had gone out ‘formally’, they’d taken an E each and gone bowling at a floodlit centre called the Hollywood Bowl, just out of town, where there was a mega-cinema, drive-thru McDonald’s and KFC. The evening had been fluorescent, glittering, like a cartoon.

But drugs were fatuous, he found, as he got older. This time they would talk – about what, he had no idea. Why would he worry? If love is loquacity, in bed they liked to discuss her body and its vicissitudes, as well as her weight and hair colour; and, he had to admit, he learned more about present-day England from her than he did from anyone else. In bed, while he thought about the book, she would ask questions, not wanting to waste the resource she had beside her.

‘Friendly Harry,’ she would say, ‘how many prime ministers have there been since the war? And who was the best? Which is the most interesting newspaper and why? What do you think of Canary Wharf? Will you take me there? Who was Muhammad Ali? Why are men unfaithful to their wives? Will you dump me?’

What tormented her now, she told him, was that he was like a circus which came to town for a while, and then went away. ‘When you and Alice go, I’m scared of being left behind. Mum’s getting worse. More men come to the house. I’m always in her way. She says I put people off loving her.’

But Julia loved Harry, and there
was
something she wanted to give him, a special treat to remember in exchange for the kindness he had shown her. And, as she said, ‘It isn’t every day your lover’s girlfriend gets pregnant.’

And so, that evening, when they walked into the Indian restaurant where Mamoon had had his party, a girl stepped out from behind a screen. Julia had arranged for a friend to join them. Prettier than Julia, like her she wore eye shadow, lip gloss and platform shoes, as if they were going out to meet footballers. ‘This is Lucy,’ she said, as the girl went to kiss him. ‘We both congratulate you.’

Lucy gave them each some MDMA, and took them to a club where an obese woman vomited over the floor. Julia suggested they go somewhere else – not Julia’s, as her brother could be there, no doubt tattooing himself on the forehead with a penknife; and not Lucy’s, because of her child. The girls were keen for him to take them to a hotel in town. They bought alcohol and cocaine, closed the curtains, turned off their phones and didn’t emerge until the next afternoon.

However, some time in the late morning, while the girls slept on either side of him, Harry, who didn’t sleep at all, recalled something Mamoon had said with regard to Marion. ‘The truth is, everything we really desire is either forbidden, immoral or unhealthy, and, if you’re lucky, all three at once.’

‘What follows from that, sir?’

‘Don’t forsake your desire, even if you’re punished. Take the punishment gracefully, as a tribute, and never complain.’

In the afternoon, he and Lucy stood outside the hotel, waiting for Julia, who had misplaced her bra in the room. Lucy kissed him; he held her tight.

‘Three’s always a party,’ she said.

‘You are irresistible, Lucy,’ he said. ‘Last night was so much fun I can only contemplate an eternity of regret and self-recrimination.’

‘For not having a laugh more often?’

He fumbled in his pockets. ‘Here. Perhaps the closing of the abattoir ruined your life too.’

He gave her almost £100 and she handed it back, saying, ‘You’ll need it to buy clothes for the babies. Your partner, Alice, she’s having two, isn’t she?’

‘Yes. Twins.’

‘When did you find out?’

‘At the scan the other day, the nurse said, “There’s your baby – oh, and there’s another one. Looks like you’ve got two there.”’

‘You’ll cope,’ she said, putting her phone number in his phone. ‘You’re a joker, and you’re never happier than when you’re with a woman. It’s like you want to suck us right up. Didn’t your mother have twins?’

Usually he said as little as he could get away with. Like his father, he wanted to be a listener: it seemed safer. But the drugs had undone his tongue and condemned him to the truth, at last. When Julia came out and joined them, he found himself telling them that his older brothers were identical twins, and his mother had been a paranoid psychotic. Distracted by voices, she had gone to the river and drowned herself.

‘“Fear death by water,” the Tarot says. She haunts me, and I think of her floating, like Ophelia.’

‘How bloody awful,’ said Julia, kissing him.

‘It’s the easiest death – you can be gone in thirty seconds if you keep your mouth open.’ He added, ‘What is the desire for death the desire for? Wasn’t my mother always going in that direction? We three boys, who would have maddened a stone, were lucky to have her for as long as we did. I’d say she was too obedient.’

‘To what?’

‘I guess to one fascist voice speaking in her head. Far from being too mad, as some people said, she was too orthodox.’

Lucy banged Harry on the arm. ‘Julia told me you’re weird.’

‘If I’ve been granted a flicker of madness, I’ll be sure to take care of it.’

‘She said at breakfast you were making a list of people with a parent who killed themselves.’

‘And of those who are drawn to suicides. All Hitler’s women – I think there were seven – killed themselves. It is a very particular sort of death to live with. The worst thing that could happen has already happened. I’ve been wondering what sort of psychology it makes.’ He said that if you have a parent who kills themself, you never lose the fear that everything you most loved could be taken from you. ‘This morning, as you beauties slept, it occurred to me that I should attempt a small book about suiciders and those who love them. I’ll talk to Dad about my mother, meet her friends and the writers she was supposedly fond of. Be
her
biographer.’

When Harry’s car rolled up at the house, Julia’s brother Scott came out into the front yard and stood there, looking at Harry sitting in his car, the two girls silent and watchful.

Julia whispered, ‘He’s protective, but he knows what you mean to me.’

Harry lowered the window. ‘Good afternoon.’

‘All well?’ said the brother.

He made a gesture at the girls and they scuttled inside the house. Scott stood in front of the car. Harry went to seal the window once more, but couldn’t manage it.

‘You have a good one?’ Scott asked again, without raising his voice, but unable to resist a little gob on the ground.

‘Yes, thanks,’ said Harry. He thought he might reverse away fast, but wondered if that might seem impolite. The two of them looked at one another until at last the brother stood aside.