After the race I walk down to catch Paul in the middle of the circle. It’s almost midnight, and I’m starving. I’ve been sitting on the emptying grandstand, just looking at him for a while. As I enter the circle he is talking to a man in one of those ridiculous Caradine Airway hats. The kind that looks as though mice have been at the front of it.
Paul introduces him as Morgan Lindsey from the Sunday Times. The man goes on to explain that Paul’s the youngest ever leader of the cup, and that he’s been predicted to win the thing. I nod, making sure he doesn’t catch my name. I have other interests than being known in the papers. Paul is speaking and the man is scribbling away furiously in a little notebook. After a few minutes I send Mr Lindsey away. Hacks like being treated with disrespect. Makes them think they’re speaking to someone busy. And either way my appetite is acting as a great motivator to get going.
‘Come on Paul, I’ll take you out for some food,’ I say. ‘To celebrate.’
‘You sure? Haven’t you got somewhere more important to be?’
‘Where else should I be you think?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s just something to eat.’
‘Fine, just not to Belinda’s.’
‘Why not? You don’t like seafood any more?’
‘Eels are not from the sea.’
‘They’re from the Sargasso.’
‘But they’re caught in the Thames,’ he says slowly, like he’s speaking to a child.
‘Let’s not get bogged down in details. Are you hungry or not?’
‘I am, but not Belinda’s food. I always feel a bit funny after a race.’
‘You used to be very keen on it. This recent success has gotten to your head.’
‘It’s not that.’
By now we’ve locked the bike up in an overnight storage unit, and walked out into the night.
‘I’m sorry. Is it that obvious?’
‘What?’
‘Is she reading you the letters from the camel herder?’
He stops abruptly, ‘You know them?’ he asks.
‘Do they sound a little like fairy tales to you?’
‘Is he not real?’ he says, eyes wide open.
‘Did it make you jealous?’
‘Not really.’
‘Shame.’
‘More confused as to why she wouldn’t, I don’t know, emigrate if he was that perfect.’
‘Only mirages are perfect, my mother used to say.’
‘So he’s a fake?’
‘She’s just lonely I think. Besides why do you dislike her so much?’
‘I don’t. I think she’s nice,’ Paul says, throwing his hands out either side of him.
‘But she’s not for you?’ I offer.
‘Something like that.’ Relief on his face.
We have now crossed the canal, walking down Ladbroke Grove. We’re in Portobello which is not the nicest part of town to be honest, but I know a place, a small place, unassuming, where the food is marvellous.
‘Because you take your pleasures from other things?’ I ask.
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’ His brow knitted.
‘You prefer men?’
‘No, no I wouldn’t say that,’ he says looking shocked.
‘Never had the urge.’
‘Do you want to try?’
‘No. NO!’ He looks at me like I’ve got rabies. I smile and tell him it was just a joke. That his post-race nerves are playing havoc with him. I continue, ‘So, go and see Belinda. God knows my mother and father didn’t choose each other.’
‘You really want me to?’
‘Either you’ll begin to like her, or start to hate her. Then at least you’ll have strong feelings. That’d be better than this bland indifference you British people seem to wallow in, thrive on, even.’
‘Why are you so keen for me and Belinda to be together?’
‘I’m just curious as to why you don’t have a lady friend. And besides I like you both and think you could be happy.’
I don’t tell him it’d be easier to keep track of them together than as now, separate.
‘Well, I think she’s not for me,’ he says.
We cross the road. The boy who can judge where a bicycle wheel will be in five seconds’ time almost walks into a taxi. I take hold of his lapel, save him from death, although he doesn’t seem to notice. He shrugs me off. But doesn’t thank me. It’s not the first time he’s seemed uncomfortable with me touching him. Once we’ve reached the relative safety of the pavement, he blurts out, ‘I’ve got a girl.’
‘Who hasn’t? What makes you think Belinda doesn’t have a man?’
‘Nothing. I’ve not thought about her situation at all.’
‘Well, there are five or six other men that come and listen to her letters. Men better than you.’
‘Good for her. Do you send them?’
‘Yes.’
We walk down the street. Me noticing everything. Him like a lumbering ox, oblivious to the world. He seems distracted. Then it hits me. He’s in love. This can cause mild heartache, nausea, confusion and an increased aversion to risk in young people.
‘Watch out,’ I tell him. He’s almost stepped on a sleeping dog. Then I resume my thinking. For me his new development can work two ways. I just need to make sure it’s going to work my way.
‘So you’ve got a girl?’ I ask.
He looks at me, a child who’s found a sugar lump, and says, ‘Yes.’
‘And has she got you?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Is this a mutual affection?’
‘I think so.’
I put an arm around his shoulders, and say, ‘You’re sure?’
‘I’ve not asked her.’
‘Do. A lot of broken hearts could have stayed whole if people had been reading from the same page.’
‘Is that your mother’s wisdom again?’
‘Be quiet.’ I smile. I’m not sure he has any concept of how much he should fear me, but his cockiness is quite refreshing.
‘Yes sir.’ He spins around, big grin on his face, and salutes like a soldier. My arm comes flying off him.
I say, ‘So not eel? That’s fine. Despite it being my treat I’ll let you be fussy. I’ve already made up my mind though, and Kalamaki it is.’
‘Don’t tell Belinda.’
‘Of course not. And don’t feel bad about it. These other five fellows who come in and don’t accept their change are wellbred, single. With normal hair colours and interests. Lots of money.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Belinda’s a nice woman. She’s come a long way,’ I say.
We’ve now circled the same block three times, passing the restaurant twice. He’s not noticed. He’s clearly affected by the woman. I hope he soon parts with her. Can’t see how she’d be good for him. But then again, women have always struck me as a bit peculiar.
‘What is Kalakaki?’
‘I don’t know? A sailor’s disease?’
‘But…’ he says, looking confused.
‘Kalamaki on the other hand is a dish you won’t find properly done in many places in London. Nor Athens for that matter, but I know where.’
‘Is it eel? Greek eel?’
‘What an ignoramus you are. Stick to bikes and let me do the rest of life.’
‘Fine by me.’
‘By the way, it was a great race. I was surprised. You told me Tuesdays were usually dull, but tonight wasn’t. You’re tonight’s champion so we should celebrate properly.’
We’re now right outside the restaurant. I stop him, one hand resting on his arm, my other hand on his chest. I turn him around and point him in through the door of the place. He’s so incredibly taut. I can’t but admire him, and it pains me to think of the woman. Then he puts his hand on mine. It looks like a pancake compared to my dainty, money-counting ones, and gently, gently removes my other hand from his chest. He holds on for a second too long. Does he hold on for a second too long? I shake the feeling and the old, sunny, couldn’t-careless Silas returns. I throw a mock punch and ask, ‘Now, this woman. Who is she?’
He grins widely. ‘Let’s eat,’ is all he says before ducking into the smells of my childhood.
That’s all I manage to get out of him for the rest of the evening. I must confess I’m impressed. This reluctance means it’s not just some floozy, some barmaid he’s toppled by chance. This is not some exotic dancer who’s taken his brain and turned it into mashed potato for her to enjoy. It must be serious. And it must be someone I know. Otherwise he would just say a name. His secrecy whets my mind.
After the meal he leaves to get his bike from the velodrome. I stay in the restaurant. Footing the bill, chatting with the owner. I enjoy a second coffee, some ouzo, a little music.
I think about the economic climate. In general terms we all have what we need. Much more than we need. The war really sparked something in people, myself included. We are more inclined to spend than ever, and our industries are churning out material goods we’re more than happy to gobble up. When people spend more money they are more likely to end up in debt, which is great news. But I have a niggling suspicion that we’re riding high on a somewhat inflated market. I can’t be the only person thinking this. I must make sure to read the financial sections of my American papers closer. If anything’s going to happen it’ll come from over there. Pushing these less than happy thoughts out of my mind I rise to leave the restaurant.
I have just started rolling a Pyramide between my fingers when I realise who it may be. My heart stops. Please don’t let it be her. I have to get out into the fresh air. I leave the cigar on a windowsill and walk off into the night. In the back of the taxi, going home alone, I’m suddenly terrified for him. My stomach is full of food that tastes of summers in Athens and beyond. My heart is cold.