The Lesser Bohemians (11 page)

Hey there! He looks up Hi. You're tired, I say. No      I'm drunk. How long are you here? Since three o'clock. Why's that? He shrugs. Is something wrong? No   I'll get you a drink, but even standing up's an ordeal. His walk there an intricate maze of wheels. At the bar, he orders pints and a shot. Sure? I see her ask. He nods. Tosses it. Manages back. Thanks, I anxious How was the shoot? Ffffffff, he shakes his head Waste of fucking time      the fucking director     I fucking hate his kind     shit and sweat confidence but     you know all the time there's nothing else going on. So why did you do it? Producer's a mate, and he
wipes the spit from his lip then resurrects Jesus! and ‘Beautiful ingénue' my arse. Fifteen years too old for the part and that full of plastic if you fucked her she'd bounce but      she's the ‘name' so we're left hanging around in the freezing fucking cold while they sew her face on it's bullshit      it's just      And it's a shock to see, like he's gone deaf inside. Just pulling words over whatever's behind. Suddenly though taking my hand Sorry for ranting, how's your new place? But the temper still going up and down in his eyes. It's above Blockbuster      sharing with my friend's ex    listen     did something happen today? He drags his cigarette to the quick I wanted to apologise      for you getting kicked out of your place I should have      I should      sorry for that     I'm such a fucking arsehole sometimes. You're not, I say. I hope you don't mind me calling   I   I know they rehearse you late up there      I just thought some company might      I'm glad you called. Really? Of course, I say. So ready for another then?

Soon we are in the fet night. I and him. Drinking like savages. Smoke every breath in. Another? And Another? If that's okay? Yeah, what isn't with me, he says Every single fucking thing. Pints retired for the lash of Jameson's until tempting the welt of his strangeness, I press Won't you tell me what's wrong? I can't. But something is? Oh well, isn't it always? The way he speaks though, some unknowable voice. And I've never seen anyone get drunk this hard, like hammering nails down into his head. Stoops to kiss though in his drunken elegance. Long kiss. Good, first. But quick switched to rough. Hand between my legs. I push him back Stop! Why? You never complained before? But not in public. Who the fuck cares? Please don't. Fuck this! he says, then seems to see himself Sorry      I am     I'm very      I think I'd better be off. Wait! I get my coat. No, don't come, he says, and reels on out to the filthy night. But
I follow – if only as crutch – except Get the fuck off I can walk by myself. And though he falls again in the London muck, I tow behind to under the bridge. His face in the streetlight, in the sockets of his eyes. Something gnawing. Wheedles open his fly. Don't, hang on, we'll be home in a sec. I-have-to-take-a-leak, he says. Pisses right there, while I, mortified, wait.
What is going on tonight?
Mortification interrupted by another kiss and in the midst of, my skirt hiked up. Let's have a fuck. For God's sake, not here! Don't you want me? Stop! You do. You're wet. And I do want him. I always want but I am not at all drunk enough. Let's go back to yours. I don't want to, he says I hate that fucking place. I yank away. What's the fucking problem? Hey! I'm not going back there, do you hear? I walk on, leaving him to stagger in circles and then slowly roll after me.

Up the stairs. Into the room. Take your knickers off, he says. Slams the door and Oh God the state of the place. I missed you, I say. It's nice that you care but you're here to fuck aren't you      or why are you here? Don't be like that. He drops his coat You can take your knickers off or you can go, either is fine by me. So there'll be nothing like kindness between us tonight. Acquiescing the bargain, I tug at my tights, shy with his watching. Him, much tightened, gripping hold. Kissing full on but kissing cold. He's off into this, I think, on his own, just with my body too. And it's stripped impatiently like I'm a bold child. Fingers in til That hurts. Get on the bed. So I lie down to become bits of girl for him and one who's going to have it bad. The fear of it though, what it will spoil. I switch from myself into her and he knows. Don't fucking look at me that way, turn on your front. Then a rage at his belt. Fucking come on. Let me do it. Shut the fuck up. What? Just be quiet, and he gets it. Kneels down and Turn over, I said. So I give him the body,
hope it is the trick but he takes it so hard and Christ you're tight! Light streaking across the ceiling from the cars in the street as I struggle. Don't you like it? You're scaring me now. I'm just fucking you, he says No need for alarm. Something though. He eases off then. Lies himself down on my back. Does things with his mouth – which may or may not be a bite – but how he touches me makes my whole body soft, collapsing me onto my front. What's wrong? I ask. Don't, he says You ask so much. Then far again and hard as he can. Too much, I Too much     you're hurting me. Well now you know how it feels. What? Do you think this is easy? What is? Shut up, he says Shut up shut up, until I gasp with the take. How long will this be? Can I manage? Please not so deep. But the way he is. He. Fuck! and he comes. No! I NO! Ripping free. Him insisting at it as I claw from beneath. Turn, chaos-blind, and slap him in the face. Like woke, he Fuck! I hit him again How fucking dare you do that! He slumps against the wall, dick in his hand. He knows what he did and won't meet my eye or look at his come making trails down my thigh. Race. Run. Get it out.

Now the lightless hall sings sanctuary from the frenzy left in there. But crouched in the loo I start to cry – no fucking toilet roll either. Don't. Be grown-up now. Hunt the dressing-gown pocket. Used tissue there. Wipe it out. Take a breath, and myself, right back in.

Gloom. Him. Thin and long cat limbs stretched wrong-way on the bed. Limp in the aftermath. Head to the side. Wash between my legs. The anger though. He is not allowed and I can trespass too. So in the black, sit. Asleep or awake? Run a hand up him and take hold of it. Damp shrunk back in its bad self but I begin the graft. Soon there's life and rub until – despite the drink – it's hard. Flicker his lids up and What are you at?
almost scared then Fuck! he knows what. Don't you speak to me, I say and silent so, he lies. Only once reaches across and sounding like his old self asks Can I touch you too? No. I no to whatever he wants. Avoid his grasp. Still, he strokes my wrist. More tenderness in that caress than anything else this night. Although drink holds him off, I keep on until he does. Little, this time. Fragile almost. Spilt on me. I don't care. Mess it into that dark hair. Gentle, he says but I do what I want and when it's over, neither blinks. Or knows what to think about what's gone on in here tonight. Just sit dishevelled, sore and drunk. At last, he says I'm going to sleep. Then go to fucking sleep, I say. But watch him fall off, far from me. Brush the hair back from his cheek. Its fine bones. His open lips. Beautiful for a man, I think, and know, I am afraid. If he was awake, I'd lie on his chest. Make him tell me it's alright, even if it's probably not. Not for me. Not for him. A half-way though is take his hand and in his sleep he squeezes mine. It is the best that can be done.

Later on, he climbs across. Naked, goes out. There's throwing up. Under lowered lashes watch him falter back. Rinse in the sink. Mirror stare. No relief in water from what he sees there. You awake? he asks. I pretend I'm not as he slips in by again. Then warm and drunk, tired and scared, fall asleep together.

Rise up to morning from hours of dead. I open my eyes. You were snoring, he says. Sorry. I examine his face. Him examining mine. Quiet and grave as close we lie, shattered by the night. Its afters spread in the early light but link our hands beneath the quilt. Palm to palm like silent prayer. Soft and with more feeling, I think, than we know how to say. Soon enough though it's too bright to hide. You came in me. He closes his eyes I know I'm sorry      for everything last night will I take you to the. No    tell me what happened? What does it matter now?
I should never have called. Tell me? I sit up but following me he goes Fuck! What? He backs from the bed. Oh fuck oh fuck look what I did. I look and all down my arms skin pushes forth purple bruise. Oh. Jesus fucking Christ, he says I'm so sorry I'm so sorry. I forgive you, I say. Well you shouldn't      get dressed. Why? Because this isn't right. I can't be at this with you. You scared me, I say But      No, I can't see you again. You can. I can't. So you're throwing me away? I'm not. You fucking bastard! Agreed, he says starting to pass my clothes. I start to dress and I am so      I am so      after everything. Not to have or be with him. Please, I say. He shakes his head. Well if you don't want me there'll be someone else who'll want me and want me. It's not that, he says It isn't that at all. Then why is it over? He hides his face. Because      oh God      I can't manage this      it's fucking pathetic but I can't and    I don't want something bad to happen. Something bad already has. Yes    so nothing worse. And how he looks at me then. I know it's done. And I am so crushed I walk straight out, hoping he will call me back then hear his door go BANG.

I find the smallest part of my life and crawl in there. I have no faith in the night or the morning either and cannot believe how this day dares glow all up to Kentish Town. Past Kwik Save. The steps off Patshull to where I live. To where I live. I live there and
know that now. Every bit of you lives here. No bit of you lives anywhere else.

And my flatmate's ejecting some girl at the door. She doesn't seem to mind. He is sweet enough. When I squeeze by though he goes What the fuck? You look like shit on toast. Thanks.

If I could I'd lie under the bed but it's only a mattress so the sheet instead. Minutes later he knocks, I ignore it. Then there's
a wallop outside on the glass. When I look up, he's pressed to it You alright? I just want to be by myself. Okay, he says I'll catch you later on. All later ons though I avoid, knowing what I should do. Get the morning after pill but      that needs a face to look at me, which needs me being there. And I am busy in the smallest part of my life. I have crawled in here. It's made for abstaining. A box of breath. Blood pumping and limbs shifting over pages of the A–Z. A couple of days and its good stead should have me flesh again. Nice again. Back on, though hoarse. Go get the morning after no, I don't want. Cannot go. No volition to bring. I would rather lie here, make a face of my palm and listen to the traffic outside.

Bollocks. Cup of tea. Pizza. Spliff. That's what you need so you're in luck, the Missus brought all the leftovers from her work. I'm tired.
Every part of me is broke.
You've been in this bed for a week and if you don't quit skiving they'll turf you out so come on, we're all in the sitting room. Blast of Withnail will do you good.

Key. Key. I do see it but don't care about making it turn.

Lazy bint, get up! I made you a coffee. Thanks    I just. Drink it. Hop in the shower. There's toast if you want and in half an hour you can walk in with me.

Work.

Work work work work work.

Look out at Camden from a bus and the Oh God oh god ohmygodthefuckingpainofthis

Three minutes.

We are only on the first.

Why didn't you tell me? How late is late? Late enough. Too late, aren't all lates that? And I'm always late      so      it's just to check. You should've gone on the pill. I know I should but You should go on it now. I will. Imagine if you were though, she says Pregnant with a famous actor's child, how romantic would that be? making moustaches with her hair.

Second minute.

Would you tell him? I'd have to. He'd have to pay for the operation. So, you wouldn't have it? How could I have it? Yeah, you're probably right. Plus he doesn't want any more children himself.

Third minute.

Well he should have thought of that first. It was an accident, so. Happens to everyone I suppose. Does it? Yes, how could it not, is this really your first ever test? Ever. I had mine at fifteen. Positive but negative on the next three, thank God! Beginner's luck, I say. And may it extend to thee now. Thanks. So, she says Want to have a look?

Yes.

Check it.

And again.

All hooks offed.

Oh

No blue.

Pill. I say Good girl, to myself. That's the spirit. When there's war be ready for it. Have it. But I don't start it. I might though. I will though, soon.

Black ceiling above. Somewhere there's stars. Music soaks down. The first coming up and rolling out. Feeling the love? Flatmate laughs, ducking around me Come on! Let's dance! Giddy and led so, I give to the trance. Where the bodies are greeting, beckoning mine. Where the heat is. Joy lives. Swapped smiles and mixed hands. Inside me opening as the room begins to go. All turned to heartbeat and all I am is all hope. You're beautiful, he says. You too, I shout. Kiss like we're meant. Memory wiped. This night the finest yet. Freer than I've ever been and we're all here dancing so free. Dancing in the absence of my body. Weight or look or pain. As though I am perfection moving against the sweat of strange men. Him. Her. The strange sweat of women. I find and lose, the very same. I relinquish my best self to them. Sometimes he dances where I am. What he offers, I take from him. And who wants my love has it, for we're a unit of life. More. In this dark we are a unit of light.

Great night. Another night. One more dance? One more pill. And the night bus. Grand. Feeling any better these days? I am. I really love you man. I really love you back. And laugh into each other as London gallivants in its circus of lights.