11

Jim runs down the road, then slows and continues up the hill in a light jog. His shirt is soon soaked from the rain. If he’d been wearing trainers he’d be lighter on his feet. He has no idea where he is heading. He simply had to get out of the house. When he reaches Hampstead Lane, the rain has stopped. He speeds up. The yellow light from the street lamps reflects on the wet tarmac. His legs feel heavy but his breathing has become easier. A stitch in his side suddenly makes him bend over. He has nearly reached the Spaniards Inn; a small group of people are leaving the pub, laughing. He would love a beer. Straightening up, he searches in his trouser pockets for change. Nothing. Not a penny. Stupid to have left the house without his wallet. Without a jacket. At least he grabbed his keys. He carries on running towards Hampstead. Gus might be in. Worth a try. Jim and Gus have known each other since university. They both have a weak spot for heavy metal and have kept in touch by meeting once a year for a gig featuring one of their ailing heroes. Three months ago they saw Iron Maiden. For over twenty years Gus worked as a successful City lawyer and earned enough to retire five years ago. His marriage broke up soon afterwards. His wife, who was fifteen years his junior, wanted children, but he didn’t. He now occupies the airy top part of an old Victorian house in the Vale of Health, takes guitar lessons and is planning to buy a vineyard in the South of France. Jim sees the light in Gus’s flat as he approaches the house.

‘Wow! Did she chuck you out?’ Gus exclaims when he opens the door. ‘You look like a drowned rat.’

‘Long story,’ Jim replies.

‘I’ll fetch you a dry shirt.’

‘Thanks,’ says Jim, who can feel the chill from his wet clothes on his skin now that he has stopped running.

As they are heading out of the door again fifteen minutes later, Jim asks, ‘Can I borrow a hundred from you?’

‘The night is on me.’ Gus’s hand comes down on Jim’s shoulder. Then he pulls out a banknote. ‘So that you are not entirely cashless.’

 

The pub Gus has recommended on Upper Street is crowded. A band is playing. The two men manoeuvre their way through to the bar. Just as they are about to head back out with their pints, Gus spots an empty table in the corner next to the small stage. He points to it, shouting above the noise, ‘Our chance! Or would you prefer to go outside?’

Jim nods in the direction of the table. He doesn’t feel like talking. Perhaps after a couple of pints. Gus will understand. He leans back against the wall, his mind empty, the loud bass filling his body. The glass becomes lighter in his hand. Gus nudges him. Jim opens one eye.

‘Another one?’

Jim nods and closes his eyes again.

‘Some very pretty women around,’ he hears Gus say.

Jim smiles. He has had enough of women for the day. When he becomes aware of his second glass being nearly empty, he stands up. Gus nods in agreement to a third pint.

Waiting to be served at the bar, Jim scrutinizes the room. The average age is about twenty to thirty years younger than him. And a lot of young women. All looking very similar. And very good. Long blonde hair, long beautiful legs in miniskirts, very high heels. He orders his two pints, takes one in each hand and, just as he is about to make his way back through the crowd, someone pushes against him from the side. He accidentally kicks the calf of the woman next to him. He hears her sharp intake of breath. Beer spills on to her arm. She is a head smaller than him. He looks down into her face, she looks up at him. He notices her shining bright eyes. A brief expression of indignation flickers across her face.

‘I am so sorry,’ he shouts above the noise.

She wipes the liquid off her naked arm, while her eyes don’t let go of his face.

‘Lucky I’m wearing short sleeves.’ She smiles.

Jim can detect a slight foreign accent, but it is too loud to decipher where it is from. He smiles back at her. She is older than some of the others. Early to mid-thirties, he guesses.

‘It’s so crowded in here,’ he says, lifting the glasses above his head as he feels another push from behind, forced to step closer to the woman. His body briefly touches hers; he can smell her flowery perfume. He quickly nods, then turns to head back to the table.

A few minutes later the band stops playing, announcing a half-hour break. Jim scans the room, conscious of who he is looking for. Gus follows his gaze.

‘Attractive woman,’ he says.

Jim furrows his brow. The bar is hidden behind two large pillars. Gus points to the big mirror on the wall behind them. Jim twists his neck. A clear view of the bar. The woman is talking to a female friend.

‘They’re regulars,’ Gus now says. ‘I’ve never seen them with any man.’

Jim drinks half his pint. The alcohol starts to wash away the tension from the early evening.

‘Fancy a bite to eat?’ he enquires. His half-eaten fish didn’t leave him satisfied. And he needs some food in his stomach to absorb the alcohol. He puts the glass on the table. He catches a glimpse of two laughing women moving through the crowd. He looks in the direction they seem to be heading and sees two empty chairs at a table a few metres away.

‘There is a lovely Indian down the road,’ Gus replies.

The women are now sitting down. The one Jim spoke to smiles briefly in his direction but has already averted her eyes before he has time to react.

‘Let’s go,’ he says.

He stands up, gulps down the rest of his beer. He lifts the black leather jacket he borrowed from Gus off the back of his chair. For a second it feels as if he is about to lose his balance, then he stands firmly rooted on the ground again.

‘Shall we get some company for our dinner?’ he asks, slightly surprised at his bold suggestion. But who cares? After all, he is a mature man in control of himself.

‘You know me. I am not going to decline,’ Gus answers.

Jim heads straight for the table with the two women.

‘May I give you my telephone number?’ He grins.

She looks up at him. If she is surprised she certainly doesn’t show it.

‘No, thank you,’ she replies.

Her tone, however, is soft. Jim didn’t expect her to say yes; in fact, he would have been disappointed if she had.

‘What a pity. May I have your phone number?’ he then asks without batting an eyelid.

She shakes her head. But her eyes shine brightly.

‘It’s not my lucky day, is it!’

She raises her eyebrows playfully, slowly shaking her head.

With a twinkle in his eye, he then says, ‘Two more proposals. My friend and I could join you here for a drink, or you could join us for dinner at a restaurant of your choice on Upper Street.’

The women exchange a quick glance.

‘We have no objections to your joining us at the table.’ She pauses before adding, ‘If you can find two chairs.’

She nods at the table behind him, the one Gus and Jim have just left. Jim looks over his shoulder. A couple are sitting down.

‘Ladies, don’t you worry. We will sort this out.’

Gus has now stepped in, gesturing theatrically, before forging his way through the crowd to the other side of the room. Jim catches up with him, just as Gus is about to lift two chairs.

‘I’m not sure this is a good idea. I chatted them up; it was fun. I haven’t done something like this in ages. But I think we should leave it at that. Let’s go and have a curry. My supper earlier was cut rather short.’

Gus’s hands remain on the back of the seats. ‘They won’t bite.’

Jim shakes his head. ‘Michele and I are going through a bit of a rough patch, but I’m not up for a fling.’

‘You sound like a frightened schoolboy.’ Gus laughs. ‘Marriage really does weird things to us men, eh? We are going to have a nice pleasant chat and invite them out for a meal. That’s all. Take the chairs back and I’ll buy us another round of drinks.’

Hanna and Natalie are from Poland. Jim met Natalie at the bar. She is a doctor at the Royal Free. Her friend Hanna works as a hairdresser and appears younger. Natalie has been in the UK for five years, while Hanna only arrived six months ago. They love hard rock. ‘Like all Eastern Europeans,’ Natalie laughs self-mockingly. Soon the conversation turns to Scotland. Gus was born and bred in Edinburgh, and the two women are planning a three-week summer break up in Scotland next month, island-hopping in the Hebrides. When the music starts up again, the invitation to the restaurant, this time made by Gus, feels natural, and Hanna and Natalie are clearly delighted to have met two admirers of Scotland.

The remains of Jim’s initial trepidation are washed away with Indian lager. He sees Hanna’s head flirtatiously fall on to Gus’s shoulder. Gus’s arm rests on the back of Hanna’s chair. Natalie reaches for the water and, filling his glass, her hand briefly touches Jim’s. A perfect little round birthmark sits in the middle of her right cheek.

They are the last to leave the restaurant. Outside, the air smells beautifully fresh and clean. Hanna has put her arm into Gus’s. Natalie keeps both hands in the pockets of her jacket, but every few steps her arm brushes Jim’s by chance.

‘What would the ladies like to do now?’ Gus asks.

‘Let’s go dancing,’ Hanna says.

‘Do you know a place?’

‘Of course,’ she assures him.

They take a taxi to a nightclub near Piccadilly. Thumping beat, flashing lights through darkness, twitching bodies. The smell of sweat and perfume and life and desire. And youth. Natalie’s body touches Jim’s on the dance floor. Her arms above her head. Their legs move into each other, their upper bodies brush and for moments sway in unison. Then she takes a step back and their eyes meet and Jim pulls her gently closer by the waist. Over her head, he sees Gus and Hanna kissing.

‘Hanna and I are heading back to mine,’ Gus says when they meet back at the table.

He sees Hanna talk to Natalie. Natalie replies, Hanna shakes her head, laughs.

Hanna turns back to Gus.

‘My friend says I am not allowed to go on my own into a stranger’s apartment. She is coming too.’ She pauses, then taps Gus’s nose with her index finger. ‘But not that you get the wrong idea.’

In the taxi Gus entertains them with anecdotes about buying a French chateau. ‘The deal is nearly concluded,’ he says proudly. ‘And then I will produce the best wine in the world. It’s pretty good already, what they’ve been producing, but I will improve upon it.’

‘We will taste the wine,’ Hanna declares. ‘I love French wine.’

Gus kisses her neck. ‘Whatever you wish.’

Back at his flat, they open a bottle and taste the wine. Then they open another. Gus and Hanna have disappeared. Natalie snuggles up closer to Jim on the sofa. She puts her feet under his legs. Her mouth feels soft and warm and tastes of red wine.