Melissa sent me to a chemist friend of hers who let me buy my drugs at a reduced rate. “And you can stop hiding them in Jake’s bedroom if you want to,” she called after me as I ran upstairs, and the Clash song “Drug-Stabbing Time” played in my head.
“How’d you know?” I yelled down. I had the Takamine guitar case open and I heard Melissa climbing the stairs.
“Oh, so that’s where you’ve been keeping them,” she said. “It wasn’t hard to suss out.” Melissa sat on Jake’s bed with a notepad and biro. “What other drugs have you tried?” she asked, crossing her legs.
“All of them.”
“All of them?” She raised her eyebrows.
“All of them,” I repeated firmly. “Ask.”
Melissa began naming drugs, starting with the newer antidepressants. I’d tried all of them. She moved through the older antidepressants, then into the antianxiety drugs and tranquillizers. I’d taken them all. When she got to the antipsychotics she said, “Now this is ridiculous. What the hell did they think you’d got?”
“Everything.”
“Surely not schizophrenia?”
“When I take that standardized test, you know, the long one with eight-hundred questions like—‘are you afraid of snakes?’—I come out schizophrenic. The report I saw on myself, after I found I had a legal right to demand it, said I was either schizophrenic, had a drinking problem, or couldn’t read very well.”
“I don’t suppose you need to read well to get a PhD in English.” Melissa’s accent was a little poshed up when she was being medical. “You’re moderately in touch with reality. And with the drugs you take, I’m surprised you can drink at all without getting violently ill.”
“I can’t.” I grimaced. “Remember the Isle of Whitby? Not being able to drink is my drinking problem.”
“You’ve certainly covered every dangerous and addictive sedative,” Melissa said. “You’ve pretty much had everything except for drugs that are really meant only for full-blown schizophrenia with delusions and hallucinations. I am impressed. Well done, you.”
“I’ve been writing a song called ‘Empathy Death’ about my Gestapo ex-therapist.” I recited what I had so far.
I’ve had enough fake empathy
I’ll give you all of mine for free
once I had a therapist
now I need an exorcist
my therapist was a Nazi
she was Ayatollah Khomeini
she was convicted for war crimes
she worked for the devil
but other than that I have no opinion.
Melissa laughed. “That’s you all over. It’s so hard to talk to you. You never have an opinion. She’s a Nazi. No, really, what was she really like? What do you really think? Don’t be shy. Pick a side.”
“It’s a new genre. I call it ‘lesbian hatecore.’ You didn’t realize I played ‘women’s music,’ did you?” I laughed.
“Well,” Melissa put down her notepad, “I feel absolutely convinced you’ve told me enough so I’m not snogging you falsely. Wha’d ya reckon?”
I said dramatically, “Take me.”
Melissa pulled me down onto the bed and brushed my hair out of my eyes with both hands as I hovered over her. As I lowered myself into her kiss, she asked, “Do you still have symptoms that bother you?”
“Mmm.” I sucked her lower lip. “It’s not like there’s a cure, you know.”
“People respond to medication differently.”
“I’ve tried everything short of having a hole drilled in my head.”
“Is there anything else you want me to know?”
“Mm umm.” My whole body tingled, and I couldn’t pry my lips off Melissa’s mouth.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“The surgery is closed,” I said, and nuzzled her soft neck and cheek as she caressed my back.
“I would never let anybody drill a hole in your head.”
“That’s because you’re lovely.”
She cradled and kissed my head.
“That’s better,” I said. “I had a serotonin and norepinephrine boo-boo.”
“I’m glad your brain feels better.”
“My problem is I get norepinephrine confused with Neo-Synephrine. That’s a nasal spray.”
“Yes, I know,” Melissa smiled, “we have it here.” She put a hand on the side of my face and moved my head into a better position then began kissing me deeply. I could feel her trembling, and the Song of Songs splashed through my head again. “You feel so good,” Melissa groaned, “but I’m afraid if we take this any further, I’ll shut down.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing, Melissa,” I said, thinking, “The song of songs, which is Solomon’s.” But out loud I said, “The song of songs, which is now mine.” I only changed it slightly.
“Let her kiss me with the kisses of her mouth—
For thy love is better than wine.
Thine ointments have a goodly fragrance;
Thy name is as ointment poured forth;
Therefore do the maidens love thee.”
Melissa’s ringing mobile startled us. “It’s Harriet,” Melissa whispered, as she picked up her phone. At first Melissa mostly nodded her head vigorously. But then she started saying things like “ta very much” and “oh, that’s brilliant.” She rang off and stared at me in wonder.
“Well, what is it?” I demanded. “What did she say?”
“The good news is you’ve got to move in with me right away,” Melissa said, putting her arms around me. “There’s something called the Unmarried Partners rule. If we’ve been living together for two years as a same-sex couple, you can be granted the right to remain here. There are various ways to build up our two years of cohabitation. One way Harriet suggested is we spend six months at a time living together in each other’s countries. But of course that’s hard with work commitments and the cost. But we can consider it as a last resort. A student visa is another route. I know you’ve had about as much education as you can stand, but it’s easier than leaving the country for six months. For me, anyway. We’d just have to come up with the dosh for two years of study. We’re allowed to be apart for up to six months out of the two years if there’s a good reason—no, me neither,” Melissa said, as I violently shook my head. “We need to provide evidence of our cohabitation, but that’s no problem since we’ve engaged a solicitor right away. The best thing is for you not to leave the country. Homophobic Entry Clearance Officers, if they suspect we’re trying to build up cohabitation evidence, can refuse you reentry and deport you. If you’re ever refused entry, it’s going to be difficult to get you back in again. Also, since you’re on a tourist visa, the ECOs can argue our relationship is evidence that you don’t intend to leave, and all tourists have to show their intention of leaving when their visa’s up. So just don’t leave the country for any reason and don’t volunteer information to immigration officials, as it’s an offense to lie to them.”
“And if I just stayed on illegally?”
“Some people try that, but the problem is the Home Office can say you have to return to the States and apply from there because one of the conditions of the Unmarried Partners rule is that you have to be legally in the country when you make the application. If you ask to extend your visa because you want to stay with your partner, it will probably be rejected. The important thing is for us to get your visa extended before it expires. If it does expire, you have to leave the country to reapply. If you’re caught here illegally, you can be banned from returning for five years.”
“Jesus, that’s harsh,” I said. “Did Harriet say anything else?”
“She said it’s about time I fell in love, and she hopes we’ll be happy.”
“You’re absolutely adorable,” I said.
“You’ve got to move in with me.”
“Christ, Melissa, that’s a big decision. I feel like it’s being forced on you. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I wanted you to move in before we found out about the Unmarried Partners rule. Of course I’m sure. Especially if it means you can stay.”
“I’m paid up at the bedsit through the end of the month,” I said. “That’s gives us a little time to think about it.”
“As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to think about.”
“But we’re jumping into being partners and bypassing all the intermediate steps. How do you know you’re even going to like having sex with a woman? What if you change your mind?”
“Even if our relationship weren’t a romantic one, I’d still say I was your same-sex partner if it meant you could stay in the country. I can’t imagine my life or Nick’s without you now.”
“If, after some thought—I insist,” I said, as Melissa started to protest. “If you still want me here, we’re going to have to tell Nick about our relationship.”
“Why? We can tell her it’s so you can stay in the UK.”
“You don’t think she’s going to wonder why we’re suddenly using the rule for same-sex partners? That it was the first sodding thing we came up with? She’s not bloody stupid. I doubt I can officially start cohabitating with you until I’m completely out of that bedsit anyway, so you’ve got a fortnight to decide. You’re acting like it’s not, but it’s a big decision. Really.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. Jake’s bedroom is now yours, so you can do what you like.” Melissa put her arms around my neck. “Please recite more poetry to me. I’ve never had a— lover do that before.”
Her use of the word “lover” made me shiver, and I said,
“Thy two breasts are like two fawns
That are twins of a gazelle,
Which feed among the lilies.
“Or,” I smiled, “to put it in my own words,
Thy lovely Bristols
are hot as pistols.”
Bristol Cities—titties.
Melissa laughed. “You’re getting really good at that. Soon you’ll be a rhyming-slang dictionary.”
I said,
“Thy lips, O my bride, drop honey—
Honey and milk are under thy tongue;
And the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.”
“Do it in your own words again,” Melissa asked.
I paused.
Your mouth leaves honey on my tongue,
And your hair smells of London.
Your fingerprints are on my bum.
When I’m with you I am among
The lucky ones
Whom God has blessed.
I’m trembling here in your caress.
“That’s bloody good for off the top of your head. Please stay,” Melissa whispered.