Forty - Seven

Pran was on his second cappuccino in Café Nero when Alan showed up. His ex partner gave him a cursory nod, deliberately keeping his expression blank, which gave him a severe look. Pran watched as Alan joined the queue to buy himself a coffee, and thought about the phone call he’d made two days ago. He’d told Alan he just wanted to be friends, meet up occasionally, maybe go to the pictures now and again. Which wasn’t strictly true. He wanted more than just friendship, but that would have to do for now.

Alan got his coffee and came over to where Pran was sitting. There was a slightly awkward silence between them, until Pran cleared his throat before asking:

‘So how’ve you been?’

‘It’s been hectic lately.’

‘And what about the promotion?’

Alan smiled softly, looking deep into Pran’s eyes. ‘You are looking at middle management now.’

Pran felt a twinge of jealousy, which he managed to disguise with a weak smile. ‘Congratulations! No more hands on nursing.’

Alan stared harshly at him, and his tone became defensive. ‘Pran it isn’t like that. I can’t help being ambitious. Jesus! I hope this meeting isn’t so you can have another go at me.’

Pran shook his head hastily. ‘No, look! I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m glad you got your promotion. I really am.’

Alan stared at him for a while, trying to ascertain whether or not he was being genuine. Eventually he nodded slowly, as if accepting Pran’s word as the truth.

‘So? Any work?’

Pran knew he had to lie about this, and lie about it convincingly. ‘I start next week. At Morrisons. On the checkout. It’ll be pretty boring, but at least it’s a start.’

There was another awkward silence. They both sipped coffee. Pran was the first to break the silence, putting optimism into his tone. ‘I’ve moved now.’

‘Where to?’

‘Next door to the old flat. Same landlord, but it’s smaller and cheaper. Listen, if you fancy coming back...’

Alan shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Pran. I’ve met someone else.’

Pran slammed his coffee mug down, and frowned as he stared into Alan’s eyes. ‘Oh, right. But why...’

Impatiently, Alan interrupted him. ‘Did I agree to meet you? From your phone call, I thought you wanted us to be friends. You said: no strings.’

Pran could feel himself on the edge of tears. His voice became small and remote. ‘Yes, I know, but - ‘

‘But you haven’t moved on, Pran.’

‘Look, I know I behaved stupidly...’

Alan glared at him across the table, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘It’s in the past, Pran. We had great times, but it’s history. Don’t let’s airbrush them with bitterness. Let’s at least think of those times with love and affection.’

‘So who’s this ... No, I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me anything about him. But I hope you’ll both be very happy.’

Alan sighed. ‘Don’t be bitter.’

‘I’m not.’

‘It sounded that way.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I just want you to be happy.’ Pran smiled broadly, attempting to show that he meant it. He wanted to keep his ex partner sitting across from him as long as possible, but he could feel himself running out of conversation. ‘Actually, I’ve been keeping up tradition. You know how we always went to the cinema - at least once a week. I’ve seen quite a few films lately. I saw a good French movie at Trinity. The Beat That My Heart Skipped. Have you seen it?’

‘No, I went with Lance to see Superman Returns. It was good.’

Pran frowned. ‘Lance?’

‘He’s American.’

Avoiding Alan’s eyes, Pran stared into his coffee. His voice was tiny when he spoke. ‘But you always used to say, America, and it’s foreign policy, and its imperialistic...’

Impatiently and a touch angrily, Alan scraped his chair back from the table. ‘Yeah, well that’s got nothing to do with, Lance, has it? He’s a lovely guy. I’ve got to be off.’

Pran looked up. ‘Will I see you again?’

Alan shook his head. ‘Maybe it’s not such a good idea. ‘Bye, Pran.’

Pran watched as Alan turned and walked away without looking back. He sighed and looked around the coffee bar. Two young girls, possibly in their late teens, were throwing him glances and giggling. He felt exposed and annoyed. Then he remembered that’s what he and Alan used to do. Sit and observe other couples in pubs and restaurants, and make up stories about them.

He stared at the girls and they looked away, embarrassed. He checked the time. It was still quite early in the day, and he’d been trying to lay off alcohol at least until the evening. But what the hell! He felt he deserved a session on the booze after what he’d been through with Alan.

He left Café Nero and walked towards Wetherspoon’s, where he intended getting inebriated. Yet again.

***

Mike knew he had to tell Andrew about leaving home and moving in with Maggie, but he was dreading it. He had debated with his conscience over who he should tell first: his wife or son. Not that it made that much difference, he decided. The end result was the same. And now that Claire had found her new religion, her alternative mumbo- jumbo lifestyle, he thought with bitterness, she was hardly ever around. So why shouldn’t he tell his son first?

Andrew was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cornflakes.

‘Breakfast?’ Mike asked, looking pointedly at his watch.

Andrew looked at him as if he was mad. ‘It’s four in the afternoon, Dad.’

‘I know,’ said Mike weakly, pointing at the bowl. ‘But cornflakes.’ He realised he was making small talk just to put off the dreadful moment. He was glad he’d had four pints of Stella. At least it would give him some Dutch courage.

‘I just felt hungry and fancied a bowl of cornflakes. All right?’

Mike nodded. ‘Actually, Andy, I wanted a word.’

‘And I wanted a word with you, Dad.’

Mike was momentarily thrown. ‘Er - with me? What about?’

‘I’m leaving home for a while.’

‘You what?’

‘Me an’ some mates are popping over to Ireland for a while.’

‘Ireland!’

‘Yeah, you know,’ said Andrew, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Big green country in the west.’

Mike let his Gladstone bag drop onto the floor, and sank into a kitchen chair opposite his son.

‘I know where it is, Andy. So what’s this in aid of?’

Andrew shrugged, pursing his lips. ‘We just fancy trying our luck in Dublin.’

‘Doing what?’

‘It’s a really wicked scene over there. It’s the place to be.’

‘Dublin. That’s news to me.’

Mike stared at Andrew and shook his head disapprovingly.

Andrew pushed his bowl away with a clatter. ‘I didn’t think you’d understand.’

A key rattled in the front door, followed by several female voices, excited and breathless, all talking at once. Mike exchanged a look with Andrew, and they both waited for the women to arrive in the kitchen.

‘In you go,’ said Claire as she swung open the door, standing aside to usher in two women. The woman who entered was an attractive redhead. She beamed confidently at Mike, and also cast a glance at Andrew. She was dressed in white trousers and a tight white sleeveless shirt. She waved a circular open palm at Mike and Andrew and spoke in an American accent.

‘Hi, guys. I’m, Lucy.’

Mike could feel anger welling inside him. ‘Oh. You must be this other Ron Hubbard follower.’

Claire pushed forward a young blonde girl, probably in her late twenties, Mike decided. She wore a short skirt and had terrific legs, but her nose was hawk-like and her eyes were too close together. She moved timidly, and stepped daintily, as if she was frightened of walking on something fragile.

Mike deliberately let out a beery belch. ‘And you must be Ron himself.’

Claire glared at him. ‘This is Japonica.’

Mike laughed and put on a posh, twee voice. ‘Japonica! A nice moniker for someone who believes all this new age mumbo-jumbo.’

Claire’s voice was sharp and brittle. ‘Mike! These are my friends. So try and behave with a little....’

Mike stood up, glaring at the two women, who had shrunk back into themselves.

‘Well, I’m off out. So’s Andy. He’s leaving for pastures new. As am I. I’ve had it up to here. I shall just pack a few things tonight, and I’ll be back for the rest of my things tomorrow.’

He swept out of the house, permitting himself a smile at the stunned silence he had created followed him all along the front path to the gate.