Lucian knocked, then opened Michael’s office door. If I’m making lunch, you’re making dinner, okay?
Michael swivelled in the captain’s chair. Pardon? He had been typing on Lucian’s spare machine and had not heard a word.
What are you wearing those old things for?
Michael glanced down at the ornately printed shirt and blue pinstriped trousers he had borrowed from the cupboard in his office. My clothes were wet from the snow, and I didn’t want to disturb you by asking for something to wear.
Why didn’t you just get a cab home?
The roads are closed. Remember? I told you when I came back in.
Lucian repressed the urge to dispute such a claim and offered a perfunctory, Oh yeah, right, before changing the subject. I remember buying that shirt in Rome. I’ve no idea where I got the trousers from though.
Michael stood up and held out his arms. I expected them to be too small, but they seem to fit perfectly.
I was probably bigger then. You tend to shrink a little when you get older.
I’ll put them back as soon as my clothes are dry.
No rush. It’s not as if I’ll be wearing them any time soon. Lunch’ll be ready in about ten minutes.
Michael placed his two pages of notes about Lucian’s life on the coffee table, then began to eat from the platter of hummus, olives, flatbread, cold toast, grilled haloumi, fried zucchini, slices of salami, pickled eggplant and anchovies in olive oil. Lucian poured them each a glass of wine, and carefully draped three of the largest anchovies across a slice of luxuriously buttered toast. Tactlessly Michael winced at the sight, making Lucian grin mischievously while he chewed. The enchantment of the platter subsided only when a detritus of pips, bread scraps and smears of dip were all that remained. They had drunk their wine and sat docile on the couches, listening to The Khan Jamal Creative Arts Ensemble – Drumdance to the Motherland.
Michael looked down and noticed a small stain of olive oil on his trousers. He wiped at it with a napkin, all the while reassuring Lucian that he would get them dry cleaned as soon as he returned to Hobart.
Lucian sighed and shook his head. You know how long I’ve owned those clothes for? If they didn’t mean anything to me; if they didn’t possess some intrinsic value, even if it’s just sentimental, then why would I keep them? Lucian enjoyed watching Michael’s face cloud over with humiliation and fear. It’s about respecting other people’s possessions. Just because you don’t hold them in high regard doesn’t mean that other people are the same. If you can’t put yourself in someone else’s shoes when it comes to something as simple as that, then how do you expect to do it for a novel? Same goes for putting CDs back in their cases, and the butter back in the right compartment of the fridge. I’ve got a memory problem at the moment, unless you hadn’t noticed, and not finding things where I know they ought to be kind of fucks with my head.
You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.
Lucian sighed. Well I suppose this is as good a time as any to come to a decision about our circumstances. After two weeks of having you help me with my leg I think we can both agree that this little arrangement isn’t working out. I won’t deny that in many regards you’ve been a big help, but I don’t believe things can go on as they did before.
They’re just a pair of trousers, I can get them…
Lucian held up his hand. This whole situation has become too incompatible with what I originally planned. I see that now, and I apologise for prolonging my decision. I just wanted to be absolutely sure before I said anything.
Has something happened? Do you feel as though you’re getting worse?
No, no, nothing like that. In respect to this issue my thoughts are refreshingly coherent. I appreciate you being so sensitive to my condition, however I have made my decision. You spending half of every day at my house has become too inconvenient. And I’m sure your expenditure on taxis must be financially crippling. Which is why I think you should move in permanently. Who knows how much more snow is going to fall this season, and if you can’t catch a taxi up here then no work gets done, and the whole plan falls apart.
Michael’s woebegone expression instantly vanished.
There is, however, one very important condition to this offer.
All right.
We go back to our established routines. Writing until 1pm, then you do your research for the rest of the day. Deal?
Deal.