Untouchable Things (15 page)

It’s just… I’d never heard him afraid before.

Good old law-abiding Charles zipping through residential streets at 3am in a car he shouldn’t be driving. He knew it made no sense, he and Seth, that it took the cliché of opposites attracting to a new dimension. But it worked, mostly. His parents had told him to have some fun, not to worry about Sarah too much, and fun was something Seth did in style. On some level it thrilled him to be hanging out with the bad boy instead of the swots. In return he supposed he provided some sort of anchor for Seth in the absence of family.

He squinted at the scribbled notes resting on the passenger seat. Left after the pub on the corner. As predicted, he heard music blaring as he pulled up into Wharf Villas. The front door of number three was slightly ajar; since no one stood a chance of hearing his knock, he pushed it open. A bare light bulb blared down on a tangle of semi-clothed limbs and discarded clothes on the stairs. Charles shuddered slightly. Averting his eyes, he followed the hall and turned into the first room he found. Thumping bass and near-darkness stopped him in his tracks; then, as his eyes and ears relaxed, he saw a familiar figure propped against the sofa holding a thin, misshapen cigarette.

“Charlie boy! You made it! Hang on a tick.” The figure leaned over to his left making jabbing motions. Without warning the music slammed to a halt.

Whatever Charles had expected, it was not this. Seth had his free hand around a bobbed brunette who looked up at him with unconvincing head control.

“Oi, what you doing? Put the music back.” She turned a slack face towards Charles. “Is this your friend then?”

“It certainly is. Charles – get yourself a drink, old chap. There’s beer in the kitchen – unless we’ve drunk it – oops.” The two of them started giggling.

Charles stared, feeling jarringly displaced and sober.

“Are you okay, Seth?”

“Okay? I’m fucking fantastic. Must be the weed this charming lady has served me. Did you get a drink?”

“I thought I was supposed to be driving you home.”

“But you’ve only just arrived. Besides I’m – um – starting to enjoy myself.” He winked as the woman’s head slumped towards his shoulder.

Charles felt an unfamiliar surge of fury. “Fine, well I’m off anyway. Have a good night.” His legs shook as he strode towards the door.

“Hey, hey, wait – what the hell’s wrong with you?” Seth came lurching after him and flung an arm over his shoulder.

“Fuck!” Something moved and groaned on the floor. Charles threw off Seth’s arm and stepped away from the body at his feet, which appeared to be trying to sleep. He faced Seth.

“What’s wrong with me? You wake me in the middle of the night, tell me you’re in trouble, I drive over without fucking insurance and then you just say ‘Hi Charles, want a drink?’ Work it out.” The expletive registered more than the words. Charles never swore. Seth opened his eyes wider and tottered like a discarded beer bottle.

“Sorry, I’m a twat.” Then his face changed. “Poor little Charlie boy, all tucked up in his little bed in his jim jams when along comes the big, bad wolf… oh God…” He made a sudden zig-zag stagger, shoving Charles out of the way and diving towards the door. Bursts of violent hawking from the back of his throat intermingled with the splattering of liquid hitting the ground.

“Fuck, man.” The figure from the floor began to crawl towards the lounge. Charles stood with his face turned away as Seth continued to gag and moan.

“God, I feel terrible. Need to go home. Sorry.” Seth put his head in his hands and began to cry.

Charles went to pull him up like so many times before. “It’s okay. We’ll get you home now.”

Scene 19

Such an idiot. Such a bloody idiot. He might just as well have the words ‘gullible fool’ tattooed onto his forehead.

Safe in the privacy of his room, Michael clenched his fists, letting his frustration explode loudly and wordlessly from the back of his throat. Like a child having a tantrum. A child who didn’t like the magic show.

A fucking magic show. That was what happened when you tried to have a serious conversation with Seth. He’d turned up on Saturday all set to have a heart-to-heart, assure himself about Seth’s state of mind, and then the doorbell had rung not once but twice more. Catherine, Jose and him, all expecting a private audience with Seth, all worried about him after that strange business with
The Waste Land.
Instead of which it was literally smoke and mirrors and Jake dancing around in that ridiculous costume as he and Seth put on their show. Seth, giddy as a goat, delighted with the way his little surprise had turned out, the others humouring him as per. Exposed as rivals, beneath the banter and bonhomie, all vying to be Seth’s number one.

I will not be that person. I will draw back. But I don’t know if I can. Or if I can afford to.

Mr Stanley? My colleague asked how the Friday Folly came about. We already have accounts from some of the others but we’d like to hear your perspective.

I’m sorry, I skipped ahead. It was at the musical evening that Seth hosted. June 1994. At the time it seemed like a spontaneous idea. Now, of course, I’m not so sure.

All it needed was a stag’s head hanging over the doorway to complete the scene. Oil paintings, period furnishings, chandeliers, chaise longue; the man was a living relic. Every one of Michael’s worst fears brought to life like a nightmare. Canapés, old school tie, the hum of polite chit-chat. And here came the orchestrator, clad in black tie and about to pump Michael’s hand.

“Delighted you could make it. Are you a purist or will you have a drink?” At the flick of his fingers Catherine appeared with a drinks tray. “Champagne okay? Let me take that from you.” Michael relinquished his £3.99 bottle of plonk he now saw was a mistake. Seth glanced at it and deposited it somewhere in the kitchen. Catherine raised her eyebrows as Michael lifted a glass from the tray and took a sizeable swig.

“Dutch courage?”

He laughed without humour. “I can’t believe you persuaded me to come. How are you?” She was pale under her smile.

“Oh, you know, terrified. Handing out drinks gives me something to do.”

“You’ll be fantastic, you always are. Do you know anyone else here?”

She made a face. “I’ve met some of them.”

“Anna – over here.” A short Mediterranean-looking man was approaching, with a tall blonde woman behind him. He grinned at them. “So this is where the champagne is hiding.”

Michael noticed the flush seeping over Catherine’s cheeks as she greeted him.

“Hi, José.”

“How are you, Catherine? I see Seth’s got you working again.” Both he and the blonde woman gave her broad smiles. Catherine wouldn’t meet their eyes.

“I’m Michael.” He stepped forward to take the attention away from Catherine. The blonde woman gave him a handshake that wouldn’t have been out of place in a boardroom. They all talked for a few minutes while Catherine moved away with the drinks tray. They seemed okay, not stuffy and not in black tie. Very loud, especially in the woman’s case. Another man joined them, Charles, had been at Cambridge with Seth, but after a few minutes Michael didn’t hold it against him. He spoke thoughtfully, although Michael couldn’t catch everything he said; some of his words seemed to get lost in his beard. Not the type of friends he’d expected Seth to attract.

Some of the others were, though. By now Michael had nearly finished his glass of champagne and didn’t care so much. A vile cellist, Camilla, who called everyone ‘darling’, kept throwing her head back and whinnying like a horse. He could see Anna and José sniggering at her in the corner. There was a Chinese-looking girl, surely no older than seventeen, and a whole clique of the usual concert-going crowd that Michael avoided. Also a petite, incredibly pretty brunette called Penny who said she was just there because Seth had invited her and didn’t know anything about music. Michael tried to get her into proper conversation but whenever he was talking her eyes would drift over towards Seth, like their old family Renault that always pulled to the left.

Seth’s introductory address anticipated an evening of shared music-making rather than a recital or competition. Michael felt himself relax a bit. Whatever you thought of Seth he was seductively articulate. And the musical part did turn out to be very enjoyable. The bearded man, Charles, opened with a gorgeous Brahms
lied
– song – that was new to Michael, accompanied by Catherine – so those two must have met before. The Chinese girl got up next, amid whispers that she was some sort of prodigy. She performed an incredibly difficult Rachmaninov Étude, fingers moving almost comically fast while her upper body remained ramrod straight. She bowed to acknowledge the extravagant applause, but didn’t smile.

Just his luck to follow that. He had lost concentration on the last part of the Étude and now regretted the champagne as he walked to the piano. He’d chosen Schubert’s
An Die Musik
– ‘To Music’ – because it was short and had a gorgeous piano line. And there was Catherine smiling at him and actually it was fine, all over in a couple of minutes. He even remembered to reach down to the top note in the way his college singing tutor had shown him to avoid the classic tenor yelp. It was slightly uncomfortable performing to such a small audience, though. He knew the received wisdom: look round the room and make as much eye contact as possible to draw people in. The trouble was that Seth was looking at him with an intensity that made it hard to look away. He was also mouthing the words – probably unconsciously, though God knows how, unless he was a German-speaker – but the effect was unsettling, as if they were having a private conversation over other people’s heads.

Camilla the cellist’s contribution turned out to be as vile as her laugh. Her tuning meandered and her timing departed altogether; Michael started to feel seasick. Some of his kids could have done better. But she still took her bows as if she were Slava Rostropovich himself, reluctant to relinquish the spotlight to Catherine, the last performer. Michael had a suspicion that the whole evening was really an opportunity to showcase Catherine – for motives he didn’t fully understand.

She was amazing. It made you realise what you’d been missing with the Chinese girl, whose technique far out-classed Catherine’s. Soul. Her fingers gave this shy, self-deprecating woman an eloquence he had never encountered in poetry, an insight he had never found in philosophy. As his tear ducts started itching he caught Seth’s eye again. They both looked quickly back at Catherine.

* * * * *

The applause had been far more than she’d deserved, especially with that blunder in the middle section, but Catherine had to admit it felt good. She’d been terrified of showing herself up after the Chinese student’s incredible performance. Seth should have told her he was inviting a pianist of that calibre. Of course she’d never have agreed to play, and he knew that. And now she was so glad she had, and he probably knew that too.

People were coming up and saying lovely things. Anna, who never bothered with her much, looked a bit stunned as she congratulated her. Good. She knew Anna and José thought she was Seth’s doormat and she was pleased to show there was more to her than handing round canapés or doing his ironing. Michael gave her a big hug and Seth got down on his knees and kissed her hand. That gave Anna something to look at.

* * * * *

Okay, the woman was good, but did he really need to make such a fuss of her? She’d played the piano, not had his baby. To be honest this whole music thing was a bit much. Anna looked at her watch. Would it be sacrilege to suggest going clubbing?

* * * * *

José couldn’t help watching Seth differently now he knew the truth. Watching him around women. He was suddenly jealous of their accentuated breasts and curvy backsides. Not that there were many curves going on with Catherine. He saw Anna watching too.

“Bit over the top, don’t you think? I mean I know she was good…”

“Come on, you’ve got to admit, she plays piano like an angel.”

Anna shrugged. “You wouldn’t want to have a beer with an angel, though, would you? Let alone shag her.”

“An-na. Do I detect a note of jealousy?” He asked lightly but there was a catch in his voice. God forbid they should end up chasing the same man.

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s just something about her that I don’t trust, I suppose. All this butter wouldn’t melt stuff, but I’ve caught a look on her face.”

“You women – it’s always so complicated between you.” They were interrupted by Seth, bringing Charles, Catherine and her friend Michael over.

“Fantastic evening, Seth. Well done.”

“Well, don’t thank me, thank our three artistes here. I had a good feeling about tonight.” He surveyed the small group of them. “You know, I think we might be ready for the next level up.”

Charles chuckled. “The next level up? I’m afraid I’m as far up that ladder as I’m ever likely to get.”

Seth looked thoughtful. “I don’t mean standard. Something else. A regular group, doing this sort of thing – but not just music. Poetry, art – you could bring your paintings, José.”

José blinked.

“We could meet here on Fridays. The Friday Group. The Friday… Folly. That’s it, the Friday Folly!”

“Folly? You mean silliness? I’m all for that.” Anna was starting to slur her words.

“In a way. I’m thinking architectural follies.” Seth pointed at Charles. “Ask the expert here.”

Charles coughed. “Not exactly much call for follies these days. More offices and shopping malls. Dull though it may sound.” He looked at José’s blank face. “Sorry. A folly is a building that looks functional but is in fact purely decorative. You see them quite a lot in the gardens of stately homes. Bit of a nineteenth-century fixation.”

Seth grinned. “There you go – perfect for our purposes. Give it some thought. I’ll be right back.” He ushered his protégés on to the next group, Charles calling back over his shoulder something about a giant pineapple in Scotland.

José and Anna looked at each other and giggled. Anna shook her head. “Barking, the lot of them.” They watched Seth making more introductions. “What d’you think of Catherine’s friend? He looks like he’d rather be somewhere else.”