The Lesser Bohemians (29 page)

Alone beneath the bulb, I am all seen and I have done this, made his eyes full of disbelief. When did it happen? This morning. So   did you spend the night with him? I did. Did he make you Eil? Shake my head. That’s      good, he nods relieved but killed. I’m so sorry, I say It was a mistake, I didn’t even enjoy it. Well that’s a relief! I mean it      I was wasted and      you were away. What’s that supposed to mean? Nothing      I just I didn’t know if      No! I didn’t do anything Eily, you did! I know please forgive me? and wind my arms around his waist. Let go of me. But I will not. So for a half-blasted moment we half-blasted stand. Close together yet ghosts by our reflections back. And everything passes over. Everything passes through. Then his body decides to leave. Don’t leave me! No      I’m going home and – unlocking my arms – you should probably lie down. Don’t go, you can’t go, please, I’m scared. Of what?      That I’ll never see you again, and the tears come down. Jesus Christ!
he says, still the anger, though conflicting, across his face. You know how it is to do something terrible, I say Please don’t leave me alone with it. Like balancing the many then, his eyes take mine. I cannot see into what he thinks but he says Alright. He doesn’t want to be here though, rebels at the hurt. And as we strip off I can tell he has already left. He is halfway home in his mind.

Put out the light and, in its absence, lie side by side. Where miracles were, prayers only now. When I touch his hand though, he lets me. Shifts an arm to take me in. But the memory of myself here against him slowly gets to agony. Then because neither of us know what to do with any feeling, except be together in it, we do. Him taking me under. Letting me hide. The sadness making want but, that it might be the last time, has me cry almost the whole way through. Please stop, he says I hate hearing you cry. I can’t though, and when we kiss, the pain crosses our mouths so he stops that and won’t try again. Wipes off my tears instead. Puts his lips to the burn. And he is so quiet, like sound might break whatever he’s brokered inside to spend this night with me. At odd moments the anger takes him though, has him pin me down. I’d like him to hurt me but he doesn’t, much. He mostly holds onto it, as I hold onto him. And after, lying in his arms, I dream this is another time. That first night when I also cried. The night he told me he loved me. The Rafi white night. So many nights and days we’ve had. Those things we have done. All we have said. But he lets go of me then, turns to face the wall, reminding my heart that it’s breaking down. And there’ll be no sleep. There’ll be no rest. Just dread of the morning to come.

Slow the awful dawn pursues the night above my bed. Tongues of it on the ceiling glow in from far off but I have him
still. Still I clutch. Only after hours he is asleep. I watch though because I know when I close my eyes he will get up and leave. What I have done, does it have to mean this? Is there no way back?

Blasted by daylight come to torture me. I think of the long veins in his arms and     know, before turning, there’ll be no one there. Did I just dream him stepping over? Putting on trousers. Putting on his shirt. Sitting near me to do his laces up? Running his hand down my cheek saying Don’t wake up love, I’m off. So was I not asleep? Where was I? All I know is he was here beside me and isn’t any more.

Flatmate looks up. Where is he? Gone. When? Just now, just a moment ago. I fling open the window to hang myself out. And see him. The back of him. Tall and straight. Come back, I shout Please don’t leave. I can see him hear me. Know he almost turns his head but chooses not to and keeps walking away. Don’t do that, Flatmate says Get in. You’ll fall. But still I’m calling Don’t go! although he already has. Please turn round! Please come back! Flatmate’s pulling me in Calm down. If I run I could catch him. Don’t, he’s gone and he doesn’t want to talk to you. But I’m kicking and pulling until we’re both on the lino. Calm down. Christ. You’re going to hurt yourself. But the grief is wild. I cannot tolerate it. To have lost him. To have lost him. There is no worse than this. I can’t contain the panic so Flatmate pins me until I exhaust it. But the will is strong and it takes some time. Come on, let’s go into the sitting room. Christ, I’ve never seen anything like that. He left me. I gathered as much. He left, I say again, to test for truth. I know, he says, and so it is. If it’s any consolation, he looked a right fucking state. And it is, I think it is.

And lie long on the sofa. Flatmate in and out. But I am there
forever. Why have I done this to myself? Couldn’t have timed a betrayal better. Could scarcely have hurt him more. I attempt his silence but get wrecked by my own. I think I’m going to lie down.

Destruction only though in my room. Traces of sex with the man who is gone. And the big bag of crisps. I lift, open them. Tongue swelling to the salt. Cheese and onion comfort and pangs innocent. I eat the packet. Another one too. Then another. Nother to long past full. But I’m not running across schoolyards. Their magic’s outgrown. Go so, adult, and puke them again then come hide in your dirty sheets. Under there I have so many dreams but none of them of anything. Just all the doors in London. Going through. Into blank. One more. One after. No faces behind and I’m not even lost. I am futility. I am nothing at all.

Wake later, but don’t think to get up. Lie in the lack of air and discomfort. Instead return to the crisps. Eat more. Many as I can fit to wall myself behind full, but useless body will not collude. It wants to throw up and forces me to. Choking over the toilet to bile and cramp. Then’s when tears. Shivering and slime. And the flatmate says Let’s watch a film and don’t worry, he’ll be back. He’s mad about you. Anyone can see that. Just give him a few days, then a call.

The night’s all race with that, the thought. And because I do sleep, then feel better for it, hope begins to show. Perhaps it’s not all as bad as I think. He still loves me I know so might remember the things I have forgiven him. I did try to forgive him things.

Monday. Early. I almost run in. Only zealous other First Years about at this time. Ma May Me May Ma Mo Moo-ing and,
more essentially, not queuing for the phone.

Ring.

Rings for a bit.

Normal.

Like we are in bed and he leaves it for next door to get. Only when next door won’t, he does. Bathrobe in winter. Summer not. Goes out to but always barefoot. Getting at last to Hello? And I am sprung open by hearing his voice. The miss of him Jesus. Hello? he repeats. It’s me I just. I’m busy, he says and hangs up.

Alright love? says the cook. Can I have a tea? I go outside. Have a fag and watch the day with an enemy’s eye. The cup burning a hole in my palm. Alright? she says, coming up the steps You look like shit. Thanks, I say. What’s wrong? I tell her everything. At the end of it, she says Shouldn’t have taken that stuff off that dick. I know but. Anyway, let’s go to Voice.

And today drags the more for owing nothing to me. Store the pain in some switched-off place, which is becoming everywhere it seems. Only later on do I get back my brain and by rehearsal I am on the knife. I understand everything I need to do. Excused of myself by the in out of words. Such a small space between me and her – girl about to lose her love. But we are not the same. She loves truly, doesn’t she? Was pure and steadfast in ways I could not be. She was intact though and I cannot help thinking he was always knocking on a broken door so when the gale came there I was, useless and letting it in. But I understand something of her strangle at the light so bring it along for her now. Much better, the Director says at the end You’ve not wasted your weekend. No, I suppose I’ve not.

On the tread back though I try him again. Breathing hot phone box piss and getting his neighbour who shouts in Phone
for you mate, yet again! He opens up. I know that creak. Cheers for that, and because of tiredness his accent’s gone all strong Hello? It’s me, please don’t hang up. Eily, he says. Yes. And silence and   You didn’t say goodbye. You were asleep   thought it was as well to leave you be. Right      so      have you had a busy day? Yeah      bit of follow-up and that. Well that   sounds like      Listen Eily, I want you to come and get your stuff. Oh no    I      Or I can bring it over if you want? Wait      I. And I’ve been thinking, he says If you need money for a deposit or anything, you know you only have to say. And I and I cannot. He has organised this thought. He has been considering this today. I don’t need money. Well, think about it anyway, I don’t want you to be struggling on top of      so how will we do this then? Do what? Move your things      I’ve      packed them up. Do you want me to throw them in a cab or      No    I’ll come. Already arranged and done. Shall I come down now? No      it’s late. Well      I’m not rehearsing tomorrow? No      I’m not here how does Thursday suit? That’s fine     are you going away? No just dubbing on that stupid film and it always puts me in such a foul mood. I say I know you hate dubbing, as indication of I know you, but he does not pick up on it. Right, Thursday then, around six? Fine, I say and and and It’s nice to hear your voice. Yours too, he says Are you alright, Eily? Not really, are you? No, not really either. So at least there are two of us in it. Night then, he says. Night, I say.

Switch the kettle on when I get in but the Flatmate says I wouldn’t bother, the electricity’s gone.

The next two evenings I hang around the school. Might as well do extra work with the lads on my scene. But the fucking around in the canteen does my head in now. I can’t find it in me to care about the Agents’ Showing and the bitching Third
Years because some slippery fucker’s wedged herself into three scenes. Even Second Years foaming over their end-of-term purge elicit no pity, for all the world’s an empty stage if he’s not standing in it. And even to sleep, no fucking perchance to dream. Just nightmares of leavings to be.

The Camden Road at five to six, dusty with summer and leavings of itself. Litter in hedges. Sweet wrappers and chips. Roadwork gravel filled with neighbourly dog shit as cyclists and buses go by. And his street, more under the reach of trees, much the same as it was. Front door though splintered and broken-locked. TVs from everywhere giving out chat, or rolls of News music, as I go up. Hesitate but knock. Hang on a sec, he opens then Come in.

Walks well away though, before I am. The beginnings of Transfigured Night but switched off then. I’m not too early? No no. But he won’t show his face and fake sorts at papers on his desk – his tidying belied by the state of the place, worse than I’ve seen for months. Sit down if you want – vague wave to behind. I shift books from the bed Where’ll I? Anywhere, anywhere, dump them on the floor. So how was the dubbing? Oh you know, and rubs behind his glasses. Tired? A bit. What happened your front door? Someone kicked it in, we’ll be waiting years now to get it fixed. Yeah      I know how useless your landlord is. Trip back to silence. Then. Cigarette? No thanks. He tries lighting his but Fucking thing! Shakes away at it until, sparks later, it does. Then smokes and examines a hole in his jeans and, only once he’s organised, looks right at me So   how are things? Not great, and you? He shrugs, surveying me but with eyes gone quiet. Eating much? for he’s gotten thin. Enough, he smiles Your burn’s calming down. I touch my arm but,
mercifully he moves on to End of term next week, is that right? Yes. Well good luck with the showing. Thanks    you still meeting Marianne that Thursday? Yes. I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m sure it will, he agrees, re-attempting a smile but the weird decorum cracking it. I’m sorry, I rush out. Don’t worry, he says – up on his feet though – Anyway, you’re here for your stuff. I just      I stuck it all in your bags. Oh right. And everything suddenly manics. He’s hauling them out. Shedding fag ash. Knocking over books There were quite a few bits and pieces, you might want to have a quick look      Wait, I say. He does not Your purple case has a rip so I used some gaffer tape and   Please, I say. No, let’s just get this done. Will I carry these bags down to the station or      All the flurry making panic. Far too quick to keep up. Five minutes of tidy to clear out of our life. Does it really have to be over? It really does. Really? as though disbelief might alter it somehow. Yes, he says. But why? Why do you fucking think? Please, I’m so sorry, I really am. I know you are, now get up. Won’t you forgive me? I do Eily, but that doesn’t change anything. Why? He drops the bags What do you mean? You know yourself why we’re here. But I love you, I say, pulling at every seal. And what did that matter last Friday night? Don’t be cruel, I made a mistake. I know, he says – more gently – Far better than most. God knows I’ve done enough fucking around to have no right to judge or ask for anything as far as fidelity’s concerned – least of all from an eighteen-year-old girl. But that’s the problem, you’re eighteen and you shouldn’t have to feel bad about wanting your freedom. No, I say Don’t do that. It wasn’t about wanting freedom. It was just being fucked up, all those things we’ve said, I meant them and I know you did. I did, he agrees But I should never have said them to a girl your age. And I hate this voice he’s suddenly made for her. Pat on the
head. Now run along. It was just a stupid fucking mistake, I shout I was upset and with everything else going on with us. And what the fuck was going on with us? his own voice shouts back You wouldn’t say what the fucking problem was and      I couldn’t work it out and      You went after someone else right in front of me, I say You went home with her and      whatever you did or didn’t do      it frightened me      you were so unlike yourself then. He covers his face and sits down beside I’m sorry, he says That was very bad and, you know what’s worse? I was so proud of not having gone through with it. The fucking life I’ve had Eily, the way I’ve lived, I’ve no reason to expect you to be alright with it   or recognise some stupid fucking difference that no woman would, or could, never mind a girl your age. All those things I told you would’ve been best kept to myself      I just thought     never mind     what does it matter anyway. Don’t be sorry, I say I’m the one who really fucked up. No, these things happen Eily, don’t feel bad about it and besides if you were with someone else, someone better than me, that stuff would probably get easier for you. And so quickly he is closing me out. A logic working far beyond where I thought. His life arranging itself around the idea I’d be better off without. But I don’t see that and I don’t agree. For Friday night has also shown me how he works, under the skin, and I want to say Come up from your dead life again, retell me your secrets my love, and this time I will be more. Too late though. He won’t believe me now and just strokes my back like I am a child. But I’m not and I feel the pain in him – bad in this moment as it’s ever been – so put my arms around him. At least we can have that. You just came into my life so unexpectedly, he says I never thought this would happen to me but, right from the start, I knew I could love you. I tried not to but     I did anyway and      then there was no more
calm. You just brought me to life in ways I haven’t been in years. I’ve fucking loved it Eily, you and me together, but it was a mistake. How could it not be when you’re so young and I’m so fucking incapable? It wasn’t, I say It’s how things should be. He doesn’t object, but he doesn’t agree. Come on, I say resting against his cheek. And he seems so fragile. Does not protest even when I kiss him then. Allows me to and gets tempted into kissing back. Lips parting just enough to kiss how we’ve always liked. Secretly. Intimately. Bitter and fine. Touch his face and his Stop, he says We’re not doing that any more. I want to, I say And so do you. I know, he stands up I’d fucking love to but I’m not going to Eil. Why not? Because, he says All those years before we met were mostly quiet inside for me. Long as I kept things in order I’ve been almost fine. Do a job. Smoke. Go for a pint. Lie here and read a book of a night or bring someone back, should the opportunity arise. Then write my letters and think of Grace. Dream about her being old enough to visit. And it got to suit me Eily. It’s kept me very calm. This is how I’ve learned to fix my life. I don’t have to touch the walls. I can rattle around inside. It’s like looking down through water and seeing to when I’m old. I know exactly how I’ll get there if I stay on course. And that would be an alright life Eily. It would do for me and I was resigned to it, content with it even but      then you came along and      I loved you much more than I wanted, far more than I thought I could. But with you all this other stuff began to return. The life I wanted when I still had the right to want anything. It was there inside me all this time, asleep, but it’s wide awake now. And the problem is      after all the people I’ve slept with and the things I’ve done, I’m so ready to try to be with someone but      you’re eighteen and      that’s not right. You don’t want to get married or have children and why should
you either? I certainly didn’t at your age. And, much as I could wait, by the time you’re ready you won’t want to with someone like me because    as you’ve seen nothing    comes easy to me. So I have to stop this now and get rid of all these things that you never meant to bring. But at least with what’s happened, I’m thinking straight. And I know to come up out of that old life, to this, to you, isn’t what I want. Please, I say Can’t we try? Can’t we just see what happens? He shakes his head. But why? Because this isn’t how normal people are when they’re in love. They know how to be happy, and you need someone who knows that, who can do that for you. I thought, for a while there, maybe I could but      I don’t think I can and       that’s hardly a surprise. But you love me, I say. I do, he agrees I really fucking love you and right now it feels like I always will but I don’t want to any more so       we’re going to have to let this go. And I can tell he means it. This is what we won’t come through. The implacable logic of a well-built wall that I cannot see around or get through and he will not help. You’re a liar, I say And that’s all bullshit. I slept with someone and hurt you, just admit it, just shout at me and then forgive me and then let’s get on with our life. I’m not hurt, he says. Yes you are, I can see it, that’s why you won’t even give me a chance, you fucking hypocrite, how many things have I forgiven you? All the anger stretching out between as I stand up to start pulling my bags free. Let me help you, he says. No, get off, I don’t want anything from you any more. Eily, let me help. No! I shout. He steps back Alright, if that’s how you want it. It’s not how I fucking want it but apparently this is how it is. Then bang open his door and toss out my bags. Eily, he says Let’s not part like this. But I’m crying with frustration and don’t care for polite. I don’t care how he’s planned his formaldehyde life and hope he feels every bit as
bad as I do now. Please love, he says, trying to take my hand. Get off me, I’m going, just like you wanted. And as I’m about to Eily, he says. What now? Fucking flesh as well? No, he stretches his hand out Keys. Jesus, I say How can you bear to do this? But his face’s gone back to December. And before. Impassive grey eyes content to wait while I rummage. There! I slap them into his palm. Thank you, he says long fingers closing. Then I just go. Before the door shuts though, hear them thumped across the room. A little satisfaction. Where did they land? Behind the desk? On his armchair? Stop. You are not going back there any more. And the great abyss of the loss of him opens up inside.