By the crushed tin bin. At the 5 on his door. He must be there. His light is, so press the bell. Press again. All afloat with the. Clang keys. Then him just filling my eye. Barefoot. Shiver. Bathrobe slack tied. Hello there, he says. Hello, I light, tip-toeing up to How come you’re back? he asks. I’m supposed to be, it’s the sixth. Oh right, he crosses the threshold to kiss my cheek making everything in me go but Look it’s lovely to see you but I’m sorry I can’t ask you in. Oh God, I Sorry, are you working? I’m not, he says, going quiet-eyed. Oh. I stare at the step and the phlegm there, spat. That’s disgusting, I say. Well I didn’t do it listen if I’d known you were back tonight You’d have done it yesterday? Sorry, bad timing that’s all but I’m really glad to see you. So tell her to go. I can’t do that, he says Not now. Fuck you, I say backing down the path. Wait – him quick checking up behind – How about tomorrow? We could meet in the morning and have the day. I turn sharp though and hurt his gate by the looks of rust crumbs fly. Come back, he loud whispers Wait, hang on! But when I don’t the front door shuts and from across his street I look up. There. His room. The lowliest bulb. Skewed curtain light streaming and what beyond? Then even it goes out. You bollocks! I scream I feel like screaming but mostly that I’m such a child as the rain comes roaring down.
So happy home to London. Rain-haired unpack my case. Hailstone-eyed smoke cigarettes, despising these last thirty nights spent liking the thought of his body on mine. There for you now with your worthless wiles. Singed myself already when my landlady shouts Phone, and you can tell your friend it’s too late to call, I’m half an hour in bed.
Hello? You’re Falkland Road, aren’t you? he says Which number? You can’t come here. Come on, just tell me? No way. Please? he says. So I tell him it. For what? For trouble again.
Stooped against the drizzle he comes then. Neat though. Clean. Hair wet from showering, now from rain. Stands on my step with my front door barely opened What? is all I say. He tosses his fag Can I come in? No. I won’t stay long. No. But it’s raining. I’m not allowed men in. I’ll be so quiet, he says Please let me in – raising a look that runs over the wound – I’m sorry about before. I. So. Relent. Alright. You fool.
Blink noughts from her oven. Almost all the rest dark. Can I smoke? No. There’s an ashtray there. So? And put the kettle on, for something. Come here, he says. I ignore that. Will you look at me? I don’t but Did you get my postcard? I did, yes, thanks. And when I meet his eyes now he knows. But those weeks of waiting, for them I hold out. Let him flex his long fingers until they Alright I did know you were back tonight. And still did it? Yes. On purpose? No for no good reason I just I’m sorry it was a shitty thing to do. The kettle rises to the boil. Will you forgive me? I won’t. I’m so sorry. I see he means it but You better go before someone comes. Instead he reaches for me but I won’t let him touch. Just turn my face and, when he kisses it, relive Lights Out on his street so that’s where all the feeling goes. And when he kisses to my lips I stay close-mouthed. Cross. Immune to his every practised pass, even to the most of myself that wants. Stop doing that, he maddens at last Let me kiss you properly. You’ve been having it off with someone else! There. At last it crosses his face, a sign he is ashamed. I know, he says – stepping back – I know I have and that was poor and I’m a piece of shit, which is historically pretty accurate, but I really am sorry and you’re quite right I should go so I’ll go. And I give him an eye. Taste of smile. His turn to calculate me now Well, bye bye. But as he turns I think fuck all those other things and close my hand around his wet wrist. And even that, just that touch swings both bodies to.
He kisses me in the best way then. Back banged to the sideboard and Watch the kettle! God and a month is too long to wait for being kissed this way. From here, so quick us, to badly behaved. My pyjamas unbuttoned. His long coat the same. Eye on the door. Ear to the ceiling. If we’re quiet, can we manage a quick one here? he says. Is she not waiting for you? No, once you left I told her I had an early start. Jesus Christ! Well you asked. Have you no shame? That cup over-runneth believe me, he laughs But I’ve been thinking about you for a month.
Slow suffering eek then up the creep-proof stairs. Pointing my landlady’s room out with Shush. Slapping at him for his hand up my leg and wanting it to all the more.
Fuck your room’s tiny. And the walls are thin. Wet coat shed and quick caught me. Osip Mandelstam digging in the back of my knees as the kissing gets me pinned. But laugh we in the struggle to strip and not bump. Stilling into statues at the landlady’s coughs. I trample too on his new-pressed shirt, just a little just. Just for her. Worse though the mattress when he inches me there. Shush, I shush. Shush yourself. I am so for him now and yet What traces has she left? What did they do? How did they kiss? Did she do this to you? He considers – I see it – telling a lie. Did she? Yes, he says. What do I say to that? Like a stone on his back. Like a stone on mine. Have you protection with you? Of course I have. And, for all my want, I could kick myself for so easily giving in to his charms. When he’s ready though, I lift to him. Kiss him as he’s about to, then it’s just us two again, finding how we creaklessly can and we mostly do – mostly he finds – while I hold to him, shaking in the silence. He makes me and waits. Lets himself once I have and and The weight of him on me. Christ. But all things between us made new.
In the after, I listen to the rain. His breath on my shoulder That was great. And this is how I’d like the night to be – hours of lying here with him – but Don’t sleep, I say You have to leave. Don’t send me back out there. Consider it punishment for your sins! But I’ll get up so early. No. An hour? No. Half? No. Five minutes more? Those five he gets but after them Up. You’re a hard woman, he says getting off, all reluctant. And so I am, watching him dress now in the dark. We kiss a good while though before my door shuts and I listen to no sound on the stairs. Practice makes perfect. But I go to my window. Heavy rain beyond and him coming out into that. Tugging up his collar. Lighting a cigarette. Look up look up. He looks up. I show a hand. In turn, he bows then goes out to the footpath. I follow him to the end of the street where he disappears round Our Lady Help of Christians. Then slip back into the smell of him on my sheet. Search out the last of his taste on my lips. Imagine that I’d kept him here. Then think of him, in the rain, out there. That could – if I wanted – make my heart a little break. But I don’t want it to, so it does not.
Drift steam in the bath. Early morning. Thread his name through the bubbles and pop. Counting last night that’s six times I’ve had sex. If he was still here he’d make it seven. If he was still here if he was still here what would we not do?
Before leaving, I wrap up the condom – if she found it she’d kill me stone dead. But at the bin on Leighton Road that little bit of him with Andrex wrapped round. Put it back in my pocket. Does he wish he had something of me? Even his sheets smell of someone else. No. Remember us there in the dark. I hang onto it so, until the bin at the top of Anglers Lane.
She stands smoking by the gate. Happy New Year! Her eyes are red. What’s wrong? He stayed over. He was collecting his stuff and you know how it is. I ended up begging him not to do it but she’s going to pay off his fees. And inside her distress, I see a little of mine. They won’t be ‘married married’ though, couldn’t you still go out? How could I trust him? He kept it secret all this time I mean it’s happening Friday afternoon. Sorry, I say – pushing my own glee down – Why don’t we go out that night? You’re on, she says And fuck him anyway.
Congregate in the Church first for Acting. Welcome back. I hope you had a good break. This term we’ll work on the Private Moment exercise. So choose something you really only do in private, something you’d never do around anyone else and No – before you ask – no kind of masturbation. There’s enough of that going on around here as it is.
Go.
Plays read. Cigarettes on the step. Ballet gear re-squeezed into cursing Quality Street. A laugh at lunch with some of the lads. Meet our new director. Sleep heavy every night and every day wait for his call. It comes How about Saturday, I’ll get us tickets for something? Yes! Great, meet for a drink first at the Prince Albert at six? Poor her though. Her week drags. Thinner and thinner. Him avoiding her now. By Friday afternoon, I’m pleading Please eat something or. That fucker’s already been married an hour, time for a drink, she says.
We are installed. We are impinted. Somewhere in the West End. She has a brief whimper, then the real drinking begins.
Come on, she hisses, hours later – hammered completely and fuckeringly now. Staggering brothelly-haired outside. In the mucklight, the starlight, we are on the town. Fuck him the fucker I knew he fucked around have you? No. Why NO? Just no. Ah you probably swill. Nah! I laugh. But he’s good, your one? she offers the bottle. It hits my throat, rascally sweet – we are in the tooth-rinse stage, fine, but gone to the dogs. Do you know what he know what he did? I cough. What did he? Shagged some other one the night I came back. In the room. In the very bed. Bastard! she Wankers all. Cat-headed and slurry-mouthed mewlers on the tiles. Eating a kebab she scorns Dick on a stick. Disgusting. But we have it, slocked on a bench, eyed by some fella who’s surely pissed his pants. There’s no one suffered like the poor of east London, he says Do you hear me? Do you know that? Sure I’m not English. She is. What? Come on girls give us some change. Fuck right off, she says. Jesus chilli sauce my friend. Queens and cockroaches. But you got your oats? Certainly cerealisation, I agree. Men are bastards, she shouts scattering the paper around. On we go – langered for heaven, or under it tonight. And apparently, girls are Here Here Here. Men making kissy suck sounds as we gawk in the door. Are you lookin’ at me? – when they gawk back – Tell your sister get her knickers off you scum bumming pig. Me sliding on the Soho muck of shed human skin, jizz, piss chips spilt lager rain onion rings. Out to the cobbles, licking sauce from her hair. What for money though? What for geld? Nun on me Not twenty of the pence. Pounds, she finds. We’ve started so we’ll finish. Bitch of a baby still this night. Come on. What are you staring for? I never saw men hold hands. They’ll think you hate them and you’ll be a homophobic then. I don’t. I’m not. But she’s fallen off the path. Hobblety when I haul her up. One blue high heel snapped and now I am not looking. Where to? Leicester Square. I’ve never seen it after dark so many nevers. No Toto, woof, you’re not in Ireland any more. On Shaftesbury Avenue laughing ’Tis Pity she’s a Fiona Pshaw! You wish you were! And swaying around lamp posts. Singing in the rain. Heave through the heave. There. Arse on the bit of stone. Flicking chips at the tourists gets her laughing a lot, while drink makes me tired and foolish work. What do you think he’s doing now with Frankenbitch? Taking her roughly from behind. Cake mashed in her dress. Talking Czechoslovakian. Let’s toast him. Them both! To his clap and her burning pants. A pox on his penis. Minimus! Egg! Dwarf! Can I have a chip? some man asks. No, I say. She says Yes. Are you Irish? Oh for fuck’s fucking sake! but make that chat Irish people must. Do. Where are you from? Do you know my cousin? Yah. Nah. Yah. Nah. Sure I’ll buy ye a drink. No, I say. She says Yes. So up on our trotters we go off again. Slithering through Chinatown. Glitter ducks and squids and all. There were I with. Lonely for him now. Up yet another street. In there. A bar. A new kind of glamorous for – under wigs I long to pull – are men in white dresses with blue satin sashes, and him saying I’ll get the cockstails in. What’s his name? Who cares? What’s the harm? It’s only pink drinks from a Connemara man. Get that down you, he says. I drink and try not to burp. He talks. Strokes my hair but the room starts to twirl as he’s finger flicking Another round, more. She sliding down the pvc telling fuck all men. So this is how we drink, dribble kiss and go to bed? No. No. Not with him even if I let a kiss with the tongue. Whoo! she says Look at you, and I am I am Got to go to the loo. But the toilet’s a maze, now I’m drink undone. Far drunker than I know how to be. Wee. Wash my hands. Stare. Is she really me? The sad of her. Her sad eyes ponder. Ow! Smack on the cheek. Ow! Sorry, I didn’t expect someone there that’ll bruise sorry. Don’t worry I’m perfect, and stagger out into crashed light. There’s him, but where’s her? Ah her, slumped. Hey! I say. He doesn’t look. Reaches over for my hand. His other up her top and Hey! Stop that! Let go! Hey! Wake up! She, head swings. Sees. Hits him a thump. Fucking slut. I pull her Please be able to get up. Sit down, he orders I bought you drinks. Fuck you, you fucking pervert! then slipping between tables of men going Who are you calling pervert, love? No, not you not you HIM!
Wake up, wake up I think I’m going to puke. I call Stop, on the bus, and she stumbles off. Does. Me holding her hair back, trying not to myself. Oh Jack’s Sore Asshole how’d we get to the Heath? I don’t know I don’t know where we are, and as the two-ten disappears What are we going to do? She points to the park Kentish Town’s the other side. No way! Are you mad? There could be rapists or anything. More like men having it off. And, in all our drinks, that’s enough. So down we go. In. Sobering under tree creak. Terrified to holding hands. At least the wind doesn’t whip as we trudge, smoking, regretting our livers’ work. Do you know where we are? No I’ve not been here in the dark. Some rustle sets us running out to the open and up. Look! Look at that. Night London. God it’s ugly, she says. But no no no I take its side. Somewhere below he is sleeping I hope on his own. And her beloved lies married down there while we, above, wait, enumerating our grass stains and watching til dawn lifts through the morning sky. Froze to the bones and organs tired, making our ways down. Well, that’s all folks! See you Monday, she says at the gate and knight us it Skank Night for immemorial ahead.
*
Six thirty-five and him pulling me out to Royal College Street.
Jesus, fucking Hellcat, what’s wrong with you? You heard him. I heard him but that’s no excuse, he could’ve fucking killed you, he could’ve killed me – he was easily taller and four times the width! I barely touched him. That’s not the fucking point. I bet you’re glad you bombed Warrington, you heard what he said. I know and it was out of order and I told him that but you shouldn’t have hit him. Yes I should anyway you got him to stay back. That was only luck and him being far too drunk to realise he could’ve snapped me like a twig. Well fuck him. Yeah fuck him but I have to tell you something I’m not much good in a fight any more so let’s not do that again.
After, I lie across him, all licked and kissed, lifting odd drags from his cigarette. Warm in the gaslight. Half under the clothes. My hair being wound his thumb while I smoke and So much for Blasted, he says. Sorry, maybe we shouldn’t have stopped for a drink first. Yeah I can now see that. But I’m frisk and careless, tracing his ribs So tell me which ones broke? Left lower those three. Which arm? Left too press there feel that? Poor arm – I kiss the spot. Well, it was years ago, he says. Was it a high roof? Three-storey house. You could have been killed then. Ah I fell in a bush. What were you doing up there? The Book of Revelation, I think, with asides from the man Himself. And what did he say? Not much not enough anyway I soon fell off and that was the end of that but listen the other night I know why you were upset and it was shitty but I wouldn’t want you to think I expect I just think that, after everything, you know, in your past now is the moment to let yourself have a good time. I am, I say Here. Yeah and me but if you met someone else – maybe more your own age – you should feel that you have no obligations here. Why do you say that? Because because this is great but there’s twenty years between us so this is all there is. And I could let that ice slide down my neck or refute with Have you been watching Manhattan or what? That I choose. Oh you’re a wit, he says I just thought I’d mention it. And I don’t really believe him but is it the thought that counts? So I’m not your girlfriend then? I’m not up on that stuff. In what way? It’s just a long time since I’ve been with someone more than once or twice. How long? Oh long, he smoke exhales. Why’s that? I like it that way and it didn’t end too well with my daughter’s with her mother and that. What happened? Oh, you know. No I don’t. Well just the usual I suppose. What does that mean? Nothing anyway that story’s too long for tonight. But I see a world turning around him then, usually invisible to the eye except for every so often when something slips out, like now. So ask. Would you like to get married one day? What, he laughs When I grow up? Nip him. Ow! No, I can’t imagine it. Do you have other children? Not that I know of so I really hope not! Would you like to have more? Oh, he says I think all that’s done for me. Don’t you like being a father? That’s not what I said. And his face suddenly then just as quickly blanks so his eyes let nothing out. But something grows heavy, fastening him down while I stiffen to dull like told off. Sorry. It’s fine it’s just a subject best left. He’s away though and what have I by way of recompense? Sit up. Take his cigarette. Look at him down through the gap in my legs. Can I touch your penis? Which he does not expect Why? It looks so sleepy now. Well, before it was busy enough. So can I? I never refuse that request, as a rule. So I take it and touch it. And watch him watch. Aren’t you shy about me doing that? No. What’s the scar? Where my foreskin was. I like them better like yours. Him laughing again then I’m glad to hear that! His knowitall smile and my mouth on his stomach. Sharp bone of his hip. Ruck quilt and go to lower. Hey, you don’t have to do that, he says. I know, but I like shifting his lank body up into life as my own learns to forget. Airlessness helps. The slight sweat on his skin. It is a new way, made for him. I like even how he lets me and how much he likes me to. Come back here, he says I want to be inside you now. So I get up on him and do. Tangle then in the twisting play. Mix sorting what to where and when. Ignoring him saying Let me get something on, because because I can. Him liking that too, I can see. Follow though his instructions of You go I’ll wait. The pleasure then, side of my face to his face. Surprised by how much and Fuck I feel that, he says then quickly Fuck! again and pulls me up. Pulls out. Springing straight to the wet, sticking him to my stomach. I don’t care. Or when he’s done. Or when he says That’s why we shouldn’t do that, you know. But he divil-smile smears it and I divil laugh. Glop it up on my finger I’ll try if you try. He solemn assesses then abruptly licks Tastes like chicken, he says. I lick No tastes like come. Well come here pretty girl and let me sweeten it up. Then he kisses me until I’m grand. Until I’m airy in fact. Can be. Full of sex and dare. Stretching and letting him do the mop up himself. When he clicks off the lamp though I ask Can I just ask? Absolutely not, he says. Have you ever had sex with a man? Excuse me? You heard. Sex Ed. for the under twenties, is it? he laughs. But have you? Why? Just wondering. Well then, yes, I have. Did you like it? I did. So you go both ways? I wouldn’t say that. Then what would you say? That I was young and fucked up and he helped me so when he wanted to I didn’t object no actually that’s not quite right I was very happy to oblige. And my fingers run round the seam of his lips. First to the past, then forward to Could we try it, like that? Not tonight Josephine! Another time then? No and, before you ask, the list of my achievements in life doesn’t need to extend to sodomising teenage girls, alright? But? Shush now, go to sleep. And soon as his eyes close he’s off into it, leaving me fluttering there.
I sleep so safe here, far from the world. Rousing only when I’m stirred by him, climbing across. Go back to sleep I’m just making some notes, tucking the duvet round. Then through til morning. Light and smoke. Drowse-eyed watch him push his glasses up, stretch, light another cigarette, itching to run my hands down his back. And what can want mean? Something in here. So tumble out to kiss his messed hair with a Morning – then a mis-angled Love. Morning, he says still writing though, in his loping old-fashioned longhand. Do you want to come back to bed? He kisses my wrist Do you mind if I don’t? I’m just Fine – but a little put out – Tea? Yeah that’d be nice. Then Actually, would you go get some breakfast in? Like what? Eggs, bread, butter – not that spread shit – and whatever you want yourself, any cash in my wallet? I check Receipts. Take my switch card then and get out fifty quid. The number’s three six seven eight.
Ambling Camden, before Sunday breaks loose, I divine this money thing means trust, so take it out, get what he wants, make sure of receipts. Check his balance? No. Don’t. Be better than you’d like to be.
Here’s your wallet, the receipt and your change. Chuck it anywhere. Oh okay scrambled eggs? Please, he says and while I make it, boxes get dragged out. What’re you looking for? Old records might just remind me of stuff. Strew. Some I’ve heard of. Most, I’ve not. A player and speakers dug from a box filled with postcards of the sea. Before I ask, he asks Know this? No, I don’t. Wild World it is then. Hey!
It plays as we eat. Repeat. Repeat. He cleans his plate and makes the tea but with all his other self listens until I can see old weather in his eyes. You like The Birthday Party? I did, he says. So why are the records put away? I don’t remember maybe I got too keen. What? But he’s back to the desk. Repeat and repeat. On he writes so I read and, in a little, sleep.
Don’t move. What? Don’t open your eyes yet. Why? You look so peaceful and you get so pink. Shut up! Lazy lapse to a kiss. But. I’ve got homework, I better head. Still, there’s wrestling before I persuade off the bed and only then permitted by letting him walk me back.
Light, this winter wander. Kentish Town. High on the night and eyeing his hand but Don’t take it. Kissing at the gate. Devil don’t care for the London Irish social’s today, meaning she and all the rest should be out til six. So sneak in with me? And I don’t have to ask twice.
Up! Slam my door. Kiss like slaps. Bang against the wall with me fiddling flies. Stripping to stumble. Down on the bed. Pulling me under. Him inside. Ow! Sorry. No don’t stop. Between us though, and irk of the mattress, it’s rowdy enou What’s going on up there? Oh Jesus! Oh fuck! She mustn’t have gone out. What’re we going to do? Bollocks to her, keep going, he says but she’s on the stairs, shouting Stop that! Panic What’ll we do? It quicker? he suggests. No, stop it, shush. Stop that fornicating! she yells and he tips, laughing, into my neck. No, don’t laugh, stop! I’m trying, he pleads. It jumps him though and kicks me off too. Ripping us, the pair of us, to cracking ribs. I hear that laughing Lady, stop it! He rolls off me For God’s sake woman, have mercy! Don’t cheek me, she shrieks Get out of my house! I’m going, he says. Right now! Or you may take that hussy with. As it is, Madam, you have your two weeks! Shit, shit, what’ll I do? Don’t worry, he says We’ll find somewhere for you in Loot, minus the landlady interruptus, how does that sound? Good, I say, hurrying to help his shirt on. Dressed though, he lingers Come back to mine? No I better not. Will you be alright? I’ll be fine. I’ll head off then sorry about all this. But before I reply he’s away out into Yes off you slink! You’re a disgrace and that girl is a tramp! Don’t, he warns. Don’t you ‘Don’t’ me, young man, you should be ashamed! Doubtless, he sighs going on down. And pressed to the window I watch him come out, hoping he’ll look up, willing him to see that I am all for him. But he doesn’t. He goes and does not look back.
What are you like? she chokes. I thump her back She called me Jezebel this morning. You are too, she laughs But is he worth it? All the faff? Ah he is, I’m mad about him. We stamp our feet on the froze stone steps. So did you catch his film at Christmas? Yeah, I started it but there was so much sex my mother had a fit so then I tried to tape it but recorded something else, was he good? He was amazing, you should ask him if he taped it himself. I couldn’t, he never talks about work and he might think you know. True, it’ll be out on video soon enough but don’t you think it’s weird with the TV leads and West End stuff that he still lives in some crappy bedsit? No, he’s not fussed, his mind’s on higher things. Or lower! she cackles Speaking of which, Don Giovanni might have a room going in the marital flat. Oh really? That’d be handy, thanks, I’ll ask.
That’d be yours, he yawns, nudging open the door It’s only a bed, but bills included. When do you want move in? Week after next? Perfect but, one thing, will she be over a lot? No more than she has to. Then it’s a deal. Which is just as well, because a few days later Listen I have to go to Scotland tonight. They’ve been dicking about with these film dates for a while. Now suddenly they’re ready so I have to go but I was thinking, if you need somewhere to Don’t worry, I’ve sorted it out. Great, that’s a relief, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.
On that said Saturday she helps me move into the flat. Tired white walls. No curtains or blinds. But perfect. Landlady free. The I hope you’re proud of yourself, ringing in my ears as I lug my stuff from the Safeway’s trolley I nicked and pushed down to Patshull Road. I think I’ll blank him, she decides. Fair enough, I say, blu-tacking Betty Blue up. I pity you, he’s such an asshole! Keep it down, I live here now. I bet he shags you before the term is out. I wouldn’t. You will, I know what he’s like. Give me some credit, shall we go for a pint? Sorry, I’ve got a date. And when she’s gone I sit mapping this weekend alone. Coast clear? he shouts. Yes. Then come meet the wife and her boyfriend, we’re getting a take-out. So.
New again opens to me. Girl I’ve been, woman I’ll be. This weekend becoming the first of many video-watching nights on the sitting-room floor. Spliffs and parties. Self-pitying Sundays, hungover. And this tides me across his away, on into February when A certain northern gentleman rang, asking you to meet him in the Prince Albert tonight. Blind again with delight for it’s been long long long. First though, this morning, Private Moment exercise.
Baited in Room Two and the dust light there. Prokofiev tape. Cigarette. I put my father’s jacket on. This an only when I’m alone. Its yellowed tweed still smells of him though it’s getting hard to tell. But here, beneath analytical eyes, I remember when he wore it last. Me reading on his knee. Nineteen eighty-five and not knowing it was the final night we’d ever spend that way. Next. A letter I’ve read once before – written from the hospital after he’d been told. Printed in block capitals because I was so small, and opening it slowly now. Concentrate, the teacher says And – trying to remain by yourself – start to read aloud. IIIIII put tongue to words but the sound is none. The reason is, he interrupts We can see you’re having an emotional reaction to it and, when that happens on stage, your speech needs to be clear for the audience’s sake, do you understand? Yes. Wish I’d never chosen this and just leapt around naked like everyone else but I don’t do that when I’m alone. It was this or the clipped breath of burns and. Be brave, the teacher says. So I open. Open it. Make myself by myself and read MY DEAREST
Fine again, nine and in my coat, I make my way down Prince of Wales Road. Weaving the dark and rain of it. Frail for a friendly face, and warmth, and going back to his.
Hey there! He looks up Hi. You’re tired, I say. No I’m drunk. How long are you here? Since three o’clock. Why’s that? He shrugs. Is something wrong? No I’ll get you a drink, but even standing up’s an ordeal. His walk there an intricate maze of wheels. At the bar, he orders pints and a shot. Sure? I see her ask. He nods. Tosses it. Manages back. Thanks, I anxious How was the shoot? Ffffffff, he shakes his head Waste of fucking time the fucking director I fucking hate his kind shit and sweat confidence but you know all the time there’s nothing else going on. So why did you do it? Producer’s a mate, and he wipes the spit from his lip then resurrects Jesus! and ‘Beautiful ingénue’ my arse. Fifteen years too old for the part and that full of plastic if you fucked her she’d bounce but she’s the ‘name’ so we’re left hanging around in the freezing fucking cold while they sew her face on it’s bullshit it’s just And it’s a shock to see, like he’s gone deaf inside. Just pulling words over whatever’s behind. Suddenly though taking my hand Sorry for ranting, how’s your new place? But the temper still going up and down in his eyes. It’s above Blockbuster sharing with my friend’s ex listen did something happen today? He drags his cigarette to the quick I wanted to apologise for you getting kicked out of your place I should have I should sorry for that I’m such a fucking arsehole sometimes. You’re not, I say. I hope you don’t mind me calling I I know they rehearse you late up there I just thought some company might I’m glad you called. Really? Of course, I say. So ready for another then?
Soon we are in the fet night. I and him. Drinking like savages. Smoke every breath in. Another? And Another? If that’s okay? Yeah, what isn’t with me, he says Every single fucking thing. Pints retired for the lash of Jameson’s until tempting the welt of his strangeness, I press Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? I can’t. But something is? Oh well, isn’t it always? The way he speaks though, some unknowable voice. And I’ve never seen anyone get drunk this hard, like hammering nails down into his head. Stoops to kiss though in his drunken elegance. Long kiss. Good, first. But quick switched to rough. Hand between my legs. I push him back Stop! Why? You never complained before? But not in public. Who the fuck cares? Please don’t. Fuck this! he says, then seems to see himself Sorry I am I’m very I think I’d better be off. Wait! I get my coat. No, don’t come, he says, and reels on out to the filthy night. But I follow – if only as crutch – except Get the fuck off I can walk by myself. And though he falls again in the London muck, I tow behind to under the bridge. His face in the streetlight, in the sockets of his eyes. Something gnawing. Wheedles open his fly. Don’t, hang on, we’ll be home in a sec. I-have-to-take-a-leak, he says. Pisses right there, while I, mortified, wait. What is going on tonight? Mortification interrupted by another kiss and in the midst of, my skirt hiked up. Let’s have a fuck. For God’s sake, not here! Don’t you want me? Stop! You do. You’re wet. And I do want him. I always want but I am not at all drunk enough. Let’s go back to yours. I don’t want to, he says I hate that fucking place. I yank away. What’s the fucking problem? Hey! I’m not going back there, do you hear? I walk on, leaving him to stagger in circles and then slowly roll after me.
Up the stairs. Into the room. Take your knickers off, he says. Slams the door and Oh God the state of the place. I missed you, I say. It’s nice that you care but you’re here to fuck aren’t you or why are you here? Don’t be like that. He drops his coat You can take your knickers off or you can go, either is fine by me. So there’ll be nothing like kindness between us tonight. Acquiescing the bargain, I tug at my tights, shy with his watching. Him, much tightened, gripping hold. Kissing full on but kissing cold. He’s off into this, I think, on his own, just with my body too. And it’s stripped impatiently like I’m a bold child. Fingers in til That hurts. Get on the bed. So I lie down to become bits of girl for him and one who’s going to have it bad. The fear of it though, what it will spoil. I switch from myself into her and he knows. Don’t fucking look at me that way, turn on your front. Then a rage at his belt. Fucking come on. Let me do it. Shut the fuck up. What? Just be quiet, and he gets it. Kneels down and Turn over, I said. So I give him the body, hope it is the trick but he takes it so hard and Christ you’re tight! Light streaking across the ceiling from the cars in the street as I struggle. Don’t you like it? You’re scaring me now. I’m just fucking you, he says No need for alarm. Something though. He eases off then. Lies himself down on my back. Does things with his mouth – which may or may not be a bite – but how he touches me makes my whole body soft, collapsing me onto my front. What’s wrong? I ask. Don’t, he says You ask so much. Then far again and hard as he can. Too much, I Too much you’re hurting me. Well now you know how it feels. What? Do you think this is easy? What is? Shut up, he says Shut up shut up, until I gasp with the take. How long will this be? Can I manage? Please not so deep. But the way he is. He. Fuck! and he comes. No! I NO! Ripping free. Him insisting at it as I claw from beneath. Turn, chaos-blind, and slap him in the face. Like woke, he Fuck! I hit him again How fucking dare you do that! He slumps against the wall, dick in his hand. He knows what he did and won’t meet my eye or look at his come making trails down my thigh. Race. Run. Get it out.
Now the lightless hall sings sanctuary from the frenzy left in there. But crouched in the loo I start to cry – no fucking toilet roll either. Don’t. Be grown-up now. Hunt the dressing-gown pocket. Used tissue there. Wipe it out. Take a breath, and myself, right back in.
Gloom. Him. Thin and long cat limbs stretched wrong-way on the bed. Limp in the aftermath. Head to the side. Wash between my legs. The anger though. He is not allowed and I can trespass too. So in the black, sit. Asleep or awake? Run a hand up him and take hold of it. Damp shrunk back in its bad self but I begin the graft. Soon there’s life and rub until – despite the drink – it’s hard. Flicker his lids up and What are you at? almost scared then Fuck! he knows what. Don’t you speak to me, I say and silent so, he lies. Only once reaches across and sounding like his old self asks Can I touch you too? No. I no to whatever he wants. Avoid his grasp. Still, he strokes my wrist. More tenderness in that caress than anything else this night. Although drink holds him off, I keep on until he does. Little, this time. Fragile almost. Spilt on me. I don’t care. Mess it into that dark hair. Gentle, he says but I do what I want and when it’s over, neither blinks. Or knows what to think about what’s gone on in here tonight. Just sit dishevelled, sore and drunk. At last, he says I’m going to sleep. Then go to fucking sleep, I say. But watch him fall off, far from me. Brush the hair back from his cheek. Its fine bones. His open lips. Beautiful for a man, I think, and know, I am afraid. If he was awake, I’d lie on his chest. Make him tell me it’s alright, even if it’s probably not. Not for me. Not for him. A half-way though is take his hand and in his sleep he squeezes mine. It is the best that can be done.
Later on, he climbs across. Naked, goes out. There’s throwing up. Under lowered lashes watch him falter back. Rinse in the sink. Mirror stare. No relief in water from what he sees there. You awake? he asks. I pretend I’m not as he slips in by again. Then warm and drunk, tired and scared, fall asleep together.
Rise up to morning from hours of dead. I open my eyes. You were snoring, he says. Sorry. I examine his face. Him examining mine. Quiet and grave as close we lie, shattered by the night. Its afters spread in the early light but link our hands beneath the quilt. Palm to palm like silent prayer. Soft and with more feeling, I think, than we know how to say. Soon enough though it’s too bright to hide. You came in me. He closes his eyes I know I’m sorry for everything last night will I take you to the. No tell me what happened? What does it matter now? I should never have called. Tell me? I sit up but following me he goes Fuck! What? He backs from the bed. Oh fuck oh fuck look what I did. I look and all down my arms skin pushes forth purple bruise. Oh. Jesus fucking Christ, he says I’m so sorry I’m so sorry. I forgive you, I say. Well you shouldn’t get dressed. Why? Because this isn’t right. I can’t be at this with you. You scared me, I say But No, I can’t see you again. You can. I can’t. So you’re throwing me away? I’m not. You fucking bastard! Agreed, he says starting to pass my clothes. I start to dress and I am so I am so after everything. Not to have or be with him. Please, I say. He shakes his head. Well if you don’t want me there’ll be someone else who’ll want me and want me. It’s not that, he says It isn’t that at all. Then why is it over? He hides his face. Because oh God I can’t manage this it’s fucking pathetic but I can’t and I don’t want something bad to happen. Something bad already has. Yes so nothing worse. And how he looks at me then. I know it’s done. And I am so crushed I walk straight out, hoping he will call me back then hear his door go BANG.
*
I find the smallest part of my life and crawl in there. I have no faith in the night or the morning either and cannot believe how this day dares glow all up to Kentish Town. Past Kwik Save. The steps off Patshull to where I live. To where I live. I live there and know that now. Every bit of you lives here. No bit of you lives anywhere else.
And my flatmate’s ejecting some girl at the door. She doesn’t seem to mind. He is sweet enough. When I squeeze by though he goes What the fuck? You look like shit on toast. Thanks.
If I could I’d lie under the bed but it’s only a mattress so the sheet instead. Minutes later he knocks, I ignore it. Then there’s a wallop outside on the glass. When I look up, he’s pressed to it You alright? I just want to be by myself. Okay, he says I’ll catch you later on. All later ons though I avoid, knowing what I should do. Get the morning after pill but that needs a face to look at me, which needs me being there. And I am busy in the smallest part of my life. I have crawled in here. It’s made for abstaining. A box of breath. Blood pumping and limbs shifting over pages of the A–Z. A couple of days and its good stead should have me flesh again. Nice again. Back on, though hoarse. Go get the morning after no, I don’t want. Cannot go. No volition to bring. I would rather lie here, make a face of my palm and listen to the traffic outside.
Bollocks. Cup of tea. Pizza. Spliff. That’s what you need so you’re in luck, the Missus brought all the leftovers from her work. I’m tired. Every part of me is broke. You’ve been in this bed for a week and if you don’t quit skiving they’ll turf you out so come on, we’re all in the sitting room. Blast of Withnail will do you good.
Key. Key. I do see it but don’t care about making it turn.
Lazy bint, get up! I made you a coffee. Thanks I just. Drink it. Hop in the shower. There’s toast if you want and in half an hour you can walk in with me.
Work.
Work work work work work.
Look out at Camden from a bus and the Oh God oh god ohmygodthefuckingpainofthis
Three minutes.
We are only on the first.
Why didn’t you tell me? How late is late? Late enough. Too late, aren’t all lates that? And I’m always late so it’s just to check. You should’ve gone on the pill. I know I should but You should go on it now. I will. Imagine if you were though, she says Pregnant with a famous actor’s child, how romantic would that be? making moustaches with her hair.
Second minute.
Would you tell him? I’d have to. He’d have to pay for the operation. So, you wouldn’t have it? How could I have it? Yeah, you’re probably right. Plus he doesn’t want any more children himself.
Third minute.
Well he should have thought of that first. It was an accident, so. Happens to everyone I suppose. Does it? Yes, how could it not, is this really your first ever test? Ever. I had mine at fifteen. Positive but negative on the next three, thank God! Beginner’s luck, I say. And may it extend to thee now. Thanks. So, she says Want to have a look?
Yes.
Check it.
And again.
All hooks offed.
Oh
No blue.
Pill. I say Good girl, to myself. That’s the spirit. When there’s war be ready for it. Have it. But I don’t start it. I might though. I will though, soon.
Black ceiling above. Somewhere there’s stars. Music soaks down. The first coming up and rolling out. Feeling the love? Flatmate laughs, ducking around me Come on! Let’s dance! Giddy and led so, I give to the trance. Where the bodies are greeting, beckoning mine. Where the heat is. Joy lives. Swapped smiles and mixed hands. Inside me opening as the room begins to go. All turned to heartbeat and all I am is all hope. You’re beautiful, he says. You too, I shout. Kiss like we’re meant. Memory wiped. This night the finest yet. Freer than I’ve ever been and we’re all here dancing so free. Dancing in the absence of my body. Weight or look or pain. As though I am perfection moving against the sweat of strange men. Him. Her. The strange sweat of women. I find and lose, the very same. I relinquish my best self to them. Sometimes he dances where I am. What he offers, I take from him. And who wants my love has it, for we’re a unit of life. More. In this dark we are a unit of light.
Great night. Another night. One more dance? One more pill. And the night bus. Grand. Feeling any better these days? I am. I really love you man. I really love you back. And laugh into each other as London gallivants in its circus of lights.
I really feel like shit. Me too, he on my bed Missus? Hey! Missus? Make us a brew? which she actually does What time back? Five or so. Her hairy boyfriend, in her dressing gown, smirking asides. She translates You are together now? No. He was cheering me up. Your broken heart? Stays broken but I am up for the odd chemical whirl. Pure selfishness on my part, Flatmate says Couldn’t stomach another month of her lying in bed!
I’m glad that month is over too. In it I thought I’d die. I thought about you every day. I think about you all the time. Missing more as the bruises greened – which wasn’t long because they were gripping not hitting – and when they faded I started burning again. It didn’t work. It didn’t hurt enough. And I should hate you for what you were. And I do want to hurt you but can’t manage either, for how’s that done to the closed-over door? Look for ways though, sleeping beside your Black Snow. Just so much feeling left behind. It wishes you’d tell me you want me again and tells itself it would turn you down.
’Nother? Please. Lounge between the flatmate’s legs. He pours over my shoulder Coming out tomorrow night? Where? Camden. Few drinks with mates – men – you should come. Okay.
Skite over the hours until we’re drunk. Last glugs of vermouth. Mound of fag butts with gall-guts and gall-eyes from watching Reservoir Dogs. After that Bound and Gagged. After that Your Missus is nice. Isn’t she though? After that How’s married life treating you? Brilliant. So tell me what upsets men? What, like Spurs losing? No like your ex what would she have to do? She couldn’t, I don’t fancy her any more. But if you did? Seeing her with someone else I suppose. And cat out on the carpet to ponder that. Low to play jealousy but I’m all tats and Would you ever give me a love bite? Why? Just because. So he, too trashed for incompliance, does. Ow! Me kicking That fucking hurts! Yep, you’ll need a load of toothpaste on that, he showboats. And there, touching my throat on the pain he’s made I Look outside, it’s light. Pull myself up Time for bed. Wait! What? Do you want to sleep with me? he asks. In blear-gratified vacuum I say Yes do you want to sleep with me? Yeah, let’s go to bed – which is back on the floor, him on top, kissing to rubbish truck squeal beyond. He kisses well too, without remorse but no iota in me stirs. Still, I just have his jeans off when the front door creaks. Sssh it’s your wife! Mithered by giggling we freeze where we are. Czechoslovakian-sounding words. Wait. Ssssh. Her bedroom door. Right, your place or mine? Follow, I instruct, stumbling into the hall. Dawn spidering across my mattress now. Still no curtains! No one’s around to see. Slide down the wall and he slides down on me. Kiss. Stripping. Different. Why shouldn’t it be? Though he’s tall, not as tall. Thin, not as thin. Further unnerving the not smelling the same. Still, it’s friendly to wriggle about, touch in those ways. And, despite the drunkness, I like this something like sex, even though it only seems its cousin twice removed when compared with. Don’t. Don’t think about him. Too quick, he says after Sorry about that. But sprawling I offer the comfort of females Don’t worry about it, happens to everyone. Go to sleep then knowing I’ve made the first step towards rubbing him out.
Bit weird that, Flatmate says around three. Yeah, I eating my bowl of rice crispies Let’s not repeat it. Yeah, nice love bite though why did you want it again? I forget I haven’t. It’s the best thought I’ve ever had. Could I though? Dwell on him. Pick at the scab of missing him. Just to see him. Even to hurt him, that’s something. He’s the one closed the door. Got to say it, Flatmate says lifting my hair to inspect Damn fine work there on my part.
Six hours later. Come the fuck on! I’m coming but I have to drop this book off. Where? The Prince Albert, it’s on the way. Hurry up then! Okay, I’m just doing my hair.
Feast of the crowd. Pub. Saturday night. Rites of laughter. Crisps. Fags. Pint. Flatmate declares he’s off for a slash, deserting me to the boots and bag straps I. He’s probably not here anyway. He’s probably at the World’s End. He’s not. He’s in the corner, lighting a cigarette. Two girls beside him of course he has. No. Look harder. They’re just there as well. Then all I can do is look at him, burning with what’s left of not burnt down. Tired, he seems but hair been cut. Little more grey, maybe. Don’t see me. Please don’t. Palming the bite mark I make to retreat. Flicking a match though he catches sight and Shit! Drops it. Stands. Paperback swatting it off while my inside life shows whatever it wants. Hello, he says, once fully extinguished. You shouldn’t dog-ear it, I say. Oh God, spare me the books, he says then It’s nice to see you. And you. But I can’t meet his eyes so stare at his fingers instead. He’s a better trier So how’ve you been? Fine, you? Fine here for a drink? But suddenly remembering I came to be cold I fish out his book Just returning Black Snow. Oh did you read it? Yes it was good. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I really did. Listen – quick his hand goes for my hand but WHACK from the flatmate hits my arse right then with Awight darlin’? Ready or what? So here it is, the flower of my plot. Them face to face, with him – for just a second – off guard. Perfect in every way except I don’t feel so vindictive now. Oh God you did this so you have to now. This is my new flatmate Oh right, he says Nice to meet you, and he shakes his hand. You too mate, the flatmate says impressed then, for the moment’s a bit crippled, adds I saw you in ’Tis Pity last year you were great! Cheers, he says It worked out alright, but his eyes move back across my face and down my neck. I see him see it then by just the tiniest flick that he covers by itching at his lip. So, Flatmate soldiers We’re meeting up with some mates, you’re very welcome to come along if? Thanks but I’m just out for a quiet pint. How he looks at him though, gauging what might be the thing. Fair enough, Flatmate says Well I better head out nice to meet you – and to me – don’t be long, then disappears into the crowd.
He seems like a nice lad. Yeah, he is. Well I’ll let you get off, and he stoops to kiss my cheek but the chaste peck turns to kiss, half-kiss, between us. I’d go all but he says up close I’m so sorry for what I did and I want you to know I’ve regretted it every day since. I know, I say the pain of this What upset you though? Won’t you tell me that? He steps back, but then just says I spoke to my daughter on the phone and it had been so long I didn’t recognise her voice I had to ask her who she was which wasn’t great I suppose. And the bareness of him, down to the bone. What I’d give to ask him more but Anyway that set me off and it’s not an excuse but you’re owed the truth so, poor as it is, that’s it. Quiet world again. Thank you, I say. He just nods so I If you want if you’d like I could stay for a pint? Don’t be silly, besides your bloke’ll be freezing his arse off outside. I’m not with him, you know. He says Oh right. So and because there’s nothing else for it, I say Goodbye, and leave.
You sneaky fucking cow! You made me look a right twat! I cool my face on the tile What does it matter? It matters because he’s fucking great and now he thinks I’m shagging his bird. I’m not his bird and he doesn’t care. Are you crying? No. Stop crying. I’m not. Fuck’s sake, you’ll be alright, look, take one of these.
*
In. Under the hot and dark. Waterfall pictures. Plastic flowers. Doner turning. Seven Skol. Chippy fingers. Back room. Smoke. Some girl going It’s like a vision in my head. Some lad’s hand sitting welcome on my leg. Me to Flatmate passing the joint. The laugh of it all on this good night. Mix compound found and herb-induced free. Hours of drinking over the E. But gathered together. Brain working loose. Belonging to London. Safe from the world. Three o’clock. Four, before they start picking off. Got to get the last night bus. Him. Then her. Then Flatmate with the some girl staggers out to the breeze. Coming? Not yet. My accomplices lads, saying You’re very welcome to our floor. Sure? Sure. So, caning, stay until we’re turfed to the dawn.
We three here. Thy will be done. Satan under every skin. Skinful under all our skin. Skitter bedraggled laughing in the streets. Linking arms. Split cigarettes. Steps and stairs and to the room. Copies of Loaded. Dirty tissues. Cramped. Drink more? Shall, I think – bottle of vodka that stinks of fridge. First, more drugs? Jesus, please. Snuffed off a Dog Man Star. Kick away boots. Tights the bane of mankind. Better off with young men, amn’t I? Chin, my dears. Chin chin to you. Hum in the lungs and the spine and the gullet. Everything cancelling everything out. Dance lazy loose like playing trust. Safe they rock me about, between. Kind hands helping air to my skin. Draughty strip. More! More! they complain and I lay, am laid down. Still, I have laid on beds before. Who objects? Answer – No one. No one in here ever does to a speed quick kiss from two drink thick mouths. Sure ye’re nice lads. Decent lads. Nestled in my neck. What are ye at? Well, what would you like? To be dead no that’s not right. Twine me round. More kisses perhaps? A mouth finds mine. A mouth finds my back. Smell of hair on a pillow. Bra unclasped. Devil at my navel. Devil at my breast. Right hand in tight jeans, doing its work. Whoever they are though, they’re good to me. Good at pointing out my sovereignty. And why shouldn’t I reject my scum-rid history and wherever I’m wanted, go? So I touch. Am touched by both. If it’s more than I bargained for it’s only life. Fine to the moment of Suck us off? Then No, I won’t do that. We thought you were up for it? I thought I was. Quick one? No. Please? Listen lads, maybe it’s time I head for the wilds. Don’t. Stay. We’ll have a good time. Plenty condoms. Plenty drink. But I can leave if I want. We know that. We just hope you won’t. So now as I chose him can I choose them? If I let it this will happen. If it happens, who would care? Not all girls have fathers who get upset. Not all men hurt girls for their daughter’s sake. And how much do I already know I can take. To spite myself, for him. To hurt myself. I open my thighs saying Lads, do anything. Nothing matters. And it is nothing. Empty vessels making most sound. Stretch her. She deserves it. The well-trained mouth. Just go where she treads herself underfoot. Beneath unwashed bodies. She chooses this. This time she chooses what she is. Beyond the fright, even disgust, she passes her body on to their want and only when they have fucked enough goes down to the sleep where no dream penetrates.
*
I wake up. Again there’s life. I wake up. It is daylight. Their trousers off. In my skin. Find my clothes. They stay asleep. Got to go. Monsters approach and the morning knows what you did.
I push outside to the night that’s day. To the street where I was before I became what I’ve become – a form of thing. What does it mean? Look into the sun and want and want to be safe. Down Chalk Farm Road. The Marathon. If I could step back there, I’d choose to go home. But it’s in me, forever. The Roundhouse here. Safeway’s. Offstage. The Monarch. Moon under Water. The Fusilier. Under railway. Over canal. The Elephant’s Head. Market stalls. Round the tube to the Camden Road. Canal again. Cross beneath the overground. Again over Royal College Street. Further up. Turn right. The hedge. The house. His door and ring his bell. Ring it and listen and ring.
Steps. Unlatch locked opened. There. Him, light-wincing, half-asleep Hey it’s barely seven what are you doing here? I only stand. Then his eyes catch up Jesus, what happened? But she is silent, spring-snapped. What’s the matter? What happened? I did something bad. What did you do? I went back to this fella’s with him and his friend. Why are you telling me this? Can I come in? No, go home. Please. No. Please I’m frightened. His fingers in his sleep-flat hair Alright, go on upstairs.
Lair early, old cigarettes and sleep. The stuffiness, comfort. Even the mess. Oblivious to its magic he leans on the desk Right, what is it you want? Can I say what I want is to lie on his bed, in his crease on his sheets until my body forgets what it’s done and where it’s been? By the cool of his eye I don’t think I can. Instead I stare at floor. He takes a deep breath From the beginning then, did they make you? No. Did they hurt you? Shake again. Use protection? I look up – he looks away – Yes. Well that’s something at least so why are you frightened? Because of what I did. And what exactly was that, do you remember? Everything I did everything with the both of them. For fuck’s sake! he says. It was only a good time but then I woke up and how can he not see what it took to make myself do that? So what is it you want me to do? Let me stay here. No, go home, sleep it off. But fright goes everywhere like losing blood. Don’t look at me like that, he says What am I supposed to say? If you’re upset by what you did don’t do it again you know these things happen you’ll be fine. I nod. Do you hear me? Yes. Then why don’t you go? But Sorry’s all that comes. Don’t apologise to me, he shouts I don’t give a fuck what you did. Why are you shouting at me then? He just shakes his head and seeing now he won’t be kind, I shut my eyes. Shame fuses to silence letting the night maraud, killing bit by useless hope of not being this girl I was. Am. She is. Don’t fucking cry, he says Do you think I don’t understand? I know all about having a good time. Having it and having it until a good time’s all there is, until it’s not a good time, until it’s everything turned to shit and you can’t believe the things you’ve done, look at me, is that what you want? I look and I think I’m going to puke. Ah fuck it! he grabs me, drags me by the arm out. Half carrying by the toilet. Holding hair back and me forward Just try to aim. Drugs, drink, chewed chips spittle bile. Again. Again until That everything? Yes. Go wash your mouth in the shower then. Brain whacks with spun though and balance off. Hand out to the nowhere. Knuckles the lock but. He catches me. Hikes me under his arm over each nail in the floor. Past blue telly flicker. Click. Green mirror mould and. Puke stain all down my top. There’s the. What’s she? Just get in it, he says so I try to but seize up.
Cold drizzle it spits as he strips me then, detouring his eyes to the crust-scaled screen. Get in. Slip. Oh! It’s freezing! Take this, he says – beige bar of soap I rotate, rotate, drop. Fuck it, he fishes for it, finds. I drop it again. Come on, stop fucking around. I’m trying. But in the froze water and distress turn myself to wall, to the thousands of cells of the thousands of bodies who have cleaned themselves off by these cracks. And I’d be one. Any of which, any, to slip this being this. Back scratched by some two. Flatmate neck bit. And him there, seeing all of it. Knees give in. Give. Slide to the shower floor with the greasy ingrains of one thousand soles and cry like I am ripped. I’m afraid I’m afraid of everything please don’t be angry with me I don’t know what to do. Sssh water down. Sssh. Step and he steps in. Pulls me up by the arm. Wangles me round to him. I know, he says I know, I’m sorry for I’ll switch on the hot water now.
He scrubs me then. Forehead to feet. In between my fingers. Everything. When he’s done reaches No towel. Shit! Rolls me in his bathrobe instead and, shorts sodden to see-through, limps me back to his room. Dries my skin to the smell of frayed towel mildew. No hairdryer, sorry. I’ll just wrap it up. Here, drink this tea while it’s hot then have a lie down. Such witchment for me in that unwashed sheet. He’d laugh if I said but, still, there is. Get some sleep now but I grip until he must slip fingers free Close your eyes, I’ve got lines to go through.
Down down I down to the last flakes in. Dreaming for hours I think in my dream. Over over. Day white tongue teeth. Quickness and slowness. Stilts pander to streets and their up down their. I don’t know what I’ve yet. Wander where no notion wanders in amongst the dust of. Devil may Slip. Then wake up.
Where? Here. Light on my leg. Four fingers. Lift. Another place. Five tips pressing. Flutter open my eyes. Him, smoking and carefully matching his fingers to the prints they left behind. Calculating their progress. Mapping their night. What time is it? Five-ish how are you feeling now? Ashamed. That’ll pass it always does. Always? Mostly, it’s cumulative though so as long as that’s a once-off in a few days you’ll be normal. And now he, smallest fragment, smiles Come on lie down here. So lay my head on his legs. He picks the hair from my eyes and lets me curl in there, be fragile with him. Lets me cry and be a little girl again although that wipes nothing out.
Later. Hungry? Famished. What do you fancy? Chinese. Alright, up you get, I’ll find you a T-shirt and we’ll see what we can see.
It is the evening and the last of bright. Streets still Saturday tawdry but up for the night. And lurch along we, like after the twelfth. Step syncing though. Side by side.
I watch him in the glass as he watches the street, lolled on his shoulder. His hand on my knee and the quiet inside moves between as he picks at the last of my plate. How much of your term’s left? About four weeks. Off to Ireland for Easter? Yeah, for the month. So when are you back? Beginning of May. It’ll be summer by then, he says I think you’ll love that. What? London in the summer, especially at night. The smell of the trees and the heat of the streets – it’s always hot because the concrete holds it in. When I came down here first it was summertime. When was that? Seventy-two I’d just gone sixteen god to think I was so young then. I can’t imagine you as younger than me, I say. And yet once upon a time. Was it amazing? It was and a mess and violent but incredible as well the clothes women wore down here drove me mad. And the music. I didn’t know what was going on but that was also it, like not being alright was alright was fine was how it should be. And I was so shy then, hanging around, smoking fags in the street. Wanting to be part of things but not knowing what. Not knowing anyone or anything. But even when I was lonely or when it was going bad and I was scared, I was still always so glad to be here. Safe in London. Even if I was all fucked up in myself. How were you fucked up? Let me count the ways! Will I ever get a bigger answer? Not tonight but maybe one day. I bet you were lovely, I say. I bet I wasn’t, he laughs In those days a girl like you wouldn’t have given me a second glance. But the streetlights glitter on then so he hauls himself up Come on, I’ll get the bill, you get on your coat.
We spend the evening lying on his bed, watching his old Kayvision black and white. News, sport, some crappy film. Later he packs an old duffel bag. Can I stay over? Yeah alright, but I have an early start. Is that the truth? It’s a half-seven train. How long are you away this time? Two weeks. Same film? Luckily, not. Was it really that bad? It really was. And this? Week in Prague, a week up North. Will you go see your family? No. No time? No, I don’t, anyway, how are you? A lot better now, thanks. Good, shove up, I’ll turn out the light and let’s get some kip. So we do, as if everything’s simple for us and, in the dark, it is.
And where the eye goes, an ocean. No. Overcast sea. In with the hiss of it. In with eyes wetting breeze like sea does, hair goes, strands across tongue. Far off, in pewterish clouds and rain. The rolling unseen where whales might be and underneath does not even bear thinking of. Does not bear there but bears me up. On a skillet pallet small boat. Where I am stood strid and balanced, but for the swell. Over small roilers. Over the place like unreasonable same. Hidden from a shore. Tir na. From nowhere then comes iron and stain. Up close a harbour wall. And a man, just as the rain. Just as it comes he. Knowing who I am and waiting for me to know him, know that he is an again. His eye makes my eye and I kno ww ho you are. How many ways to, and know you, and can know you still. Do you know how much I suffered when you went away? Or how now my heart grows large with pain? That longing for you running over everything else. Was all I ever knew a trick and you were always coming back? I touch the stone. I find the step. I climb to the highest. Why are you further off? Turn around. Let me see you. Turn around. Wait. If you leave again now my heart will break. And he does. And it does and Wake up! Wake up! Wake up love, it’s only a dream.
Back in the. Back in It’s alright, he says Don’t cry, I have you. My father was like I’ve never seen like he’s always been somewhere. That’s a rough kind of dream, he says, smoothing my hair You must miss him. But that miss is already making chain with the weight of my heart, then the body it hates. Blind in revulsion at what it did. On a floor. In a half thought. It should spit itself out not to mingle with memory or become what I might. I hate it, I fucking hate it. What? All of myself. Take it easy, he says. All my fucking skin. I’d rip it off if I could. I’d start again. I wouldn’t be this. Stop! him wrestling my hands. Stop it, you’ll hurt yourself. I want to. Lie down! Lie down, and him pinning me best as feral permits. But what worthless limbs can’t, my mouth invites Hit me, I want you to hit me or fuck me til I bleed. You can do anything you want to me, until he’s shaking me Stop saying those things, like I’m only half wild when I really, all am. Would he hate me? Would he hate me? Would I make him sick? Your father? My father. No, he’d never feel that. How do you know? Because because You don’t know. I do. How? Because I have loved a child and I’d never feel like that about her. Then I try to kiss him but he won’t. Do I make you sick now? No, you couldn’t, what do I care about those things? Then he does kiss me and sear go the weeks. Keep kissing me, I say I missed you too much. So he does and we kiss to No, he says Not tonight. Why not? Don’t you want to? I do but not like this. I sit up Well fuck you. No, don’t be offended, and he kisses my back I really want to but not when you’re this upset. Humiliated I look at the litter of his room. Buckle of boxes. Piles of books. Scripts on his desk. Tore. Overfilled bin. All still here and now I am, again. Lie down with me, he says. Instead I turn to look. Study each other but his mouth gives first. So I lie down and we kiss like innocents with disco nerves. Enough and not too much and let fingers fold. Just to be with him. This isn’t the last time though, is it? Don’t know, he says What do you think? I don’t want it to be, I say What do you want? Well I don’t have much right to want anything but you’ve been pretty hard to do without.
Morning lovely daylight early I get out of bed. Tie up all my hair. Put his dressing gown on. Kettle too. He sleeps deep on his front. I light a cigarette then watch the sunlight inch up to his face. Young-looking despite the lines that show deeper when he laughs around his eyes. In a little they open. He rolls onto his side What time is it? Half six. Come here. I sit by and he takes my hand Some woman’s yellow hair has maddened every mother’s son, he smiles. Impressive, I say, softly itching his chin. Then you better go put your clothes on before I make both of us late.
Partly patched so I go back to the world. Blue of the day and Monday round making my way along the Prince of Wales Road eating a Belgian bun.
Where the fuck have you been? Flatmate shouts from the steps I thought you’d been murdered, I nearly called the cops. Out, I say. Doing what? I haven’t seen you since Saturday night! Just stuff. What fucking stuff? he says Oh wait, I can see.
In the changing room I catch sight of myself. Mischief bruised. Slightly proud. It’s a long enough way to here from Ireland. But there is one more bad thing.
Ho ho harlot! What have you been at? Couldn’t take my eyes off it all Character Analysis class. Did someone try to suck your blood? It was a mad weekend. Well bring your tea out onto the step and tell me EVERYTHING! Who? Where? All the pork. Mmmm I Mmmm I. Mmmm.
It was terrible. I feel terrible. She was so upset. So what did you tell her for, you fucking idiot? I had to, besides, she guessed. I’m a terrible liar and now she’s going to hate me forever. Yeah well, join the club.
Dubious this, and awkward – from here now unto then on. Such sufferous vistas of eye-rolled ignoring I had not thought possible. Allegiance-mad others crowd in too with You know the rules – though I perhaps didn’t. Take it all, as my due. But it’s a mercy to get cast in the Third Year play. Maid. And why not? The Director says The Irish sort. Raw-boned you know, I want you to play that. Raw-boned. Okay. Still, to be sitting in with them from six o’clock to nine every evening helps cut to the last of the term. Finding a little more out all the time. Making something of nothing’s easier said than done but – oh – once it gets done is when the fun begins. Solving the search for that idle moment when the own eye loses touch. When slipping the focus allows it to reach elbow-deep into other, and else. Additional. Extra. Hinted at. Imagined. Imbibed. Made possible because of. Bent to the will by. Smothered at the breast. Left for the wolves. No. Thrown to is best. For it’s finding to there that finds to where pure is indivisible from its reverse.
Hold on and suck in! the Wardrobe Mistress instructs, rib cracking corset as I suffer gulp. Now hike them up and, as if by magic, Jacobean boobs. So starts Tech Week. First I’ve had. Costume fittings. Running lines. Keyed-up Third Years. Lighting and sound designers keeping us on set til late. Home from rehearsal and the Missus’s pizza box No help yourself, they give me so much. Flatmate Here, have a look at my contact sheets. This one’s for Spotlight but maybe that with CVs? What do you think? I don’t know, they all look nice to me. Yeah but which says Just some nice guy. Not too good-looking or serial killer mad. Ordinary bloke. Some guy you would. Jesus maybe this? And as for the phone. Drilled to the drill. If an agent calls TAKE ALL HIS DETAILS and you, don’t be a twat – to the Missus’s boyfriend whose skittering English often makes him hang up.
And one Sunday morning phone Morning. Are you back? Just. How was it? It was alright, very early to very late. No buxom extras to cheer you up? No, they were all a bit grumpy for that, anyway, you around tonight? Later on. Later when? We’re supposed to be teching at least until ten. After then, want to come back to mine? Or you could come here? Aaaaaaalright, what’s your new address?
Only onto the couch when knocks a knock. Flatmate goes out. I should have but, devil loves bait and can’t resist the straitened Oh alright mate? Alright she in? Yeah follow me. Eyes from the flatmate like Fucking Jesus! Placated though by the bag of beers and For the fridge, help yourself. Flatmate takes to the kitchen as I swing round his neck. Kiss, then a quiet Didn’t expect to see your mate. Why not? Just thought it would be us, why don’t we head to your room? No I haven’t eaten yet, sit down, slice of pizza? Okay, thanks, stretching long legs out. Can? Flatmate calls through. Please, but accepts it cautious-like and eyes him sitting down by my left side. So how goes the tech? Fine. You in this too? I’m playing Vindice. Great. How was Prague? So and tides until our small chat sticks and Flatmate mines his stack of tapes. How about The Italian Job? Why not. On. Mystified me but both of them, right off, doing their Michael Caines like easiest segue for English males. Reminding each other of The Swarm or Ever seen his Acting on Film? Making this weirdest couch weirdly alright before Flatmate reaches for his. Do not, I kick. What? Just making a spliff. No, put it away. What the fuck? She’s looking out for me I think, he says But it’s okay, there’s no need. Come again? I think she’s concerned, he says Because I have a history of problems with various substances, am I right? I nod and my hand gets squeezed. Like how? Flatmate asks. Like a junkie, he says. Like shooting up and shit? Yeah, at the end mostly other stuff but, really, weed was never a problem so feel free to roll away. And so Flatmate does brazen asking How long are you clean? Sixteen years. Fair play mate. Thanks, he thanks him, though wrestling a smile off his face. What did it? He yawns up at the artex Let’s just say life’s rich buffet signalled it was time for a change. Anyway, look at this, she’s wrecked, come on you, let’s go to bed.
In the dark he says Leave off the light, so instead we shine in the moon and car light. He sits on the mattress while I undress. You need some curtains. I do. You alright with all that chat? Were you really a junkie? I really was, does it bother you? No but I just can’t imagine it. Well that’s good I suppose. It was another kind of life and one I don’t plan on returning to so have you slept with him? Yes. And are you still? I’m not. You can, you know, as far as I’m concerned. I know but it’s not like that. Okay, he says. Kicking off my knickers so, I sink onto his lap. He kisses me then and I kiss him back. Too long, he says pulling up the duvet to hide us. Far too long, I agree.
And night. And us, sleeping nose to nose warm. Waking each other up for more. Until we’re alone in the world. Half four. Naked in the kitchen, drinking glasses of water, looking down on the High road below. I’m knackered now. And me, I say. Him tipping drips on my elbow. Me kneeing his knee. Black cab go. To the drips on my breast. Night bus. Touching the drips on his chest. Two cars. Three. Kissing my neck. Come on, and I lead him back to my bed. For what is the night for? Lovers, that’s what and how I will think of him now.
*
Jam. Yeah? I think. Raspberry or strawberry? Check the fridge, second shelf is mine. Missus’s head round my door Who is the man? HIM. Oh, I see, I’ll go talk. Then hear her in the kitchen finding him a knife. Don’t forget tea, I shout as excuse to come down. She pointing and mouthing Very handsome, while he pretends not to see. Only stopping his spreading to kiss my cheek. Telling her about Prague and asking things. Her boyfriend stumbling out to demand Czech-sounding Coffee and be, friendly enough, introduced. Translations too then. Turn the radio on. Fuck off Take That. Flatmate roaring KEEP IT DOWN, some of us have an all-day tech. Him laughing through his cigarette Better let Vindice get his beauty sleep. Jammy thumb lick turned to jammy quick kiss until chat, slice, pour gets the better of quiet and rowdier feels just fine. We in my kitchen. Eat toast in my kitchen, for anyone to see.
And hard to kiss goodbye at the corner of Prince of Wales Road with the flatmate’s Come the fuck on, we’re already late for the call! Him calling after Have a good run! And See you Saturday night!
Mad so, the plummet and hell breaks loose. Opening Night. Tech unfinished. Lighting board crashed. Director panicked. Designer in a huff. Wardrobe Mistress’s weary It’s always like this, and abdicating pell for its mell. In the dressing room Flatmate drops a card in my lap From the pigeon hole. Rip it open – though scarce half made-up. Postcard of the sea and on its back Hope it all goes well tonight, break a leg!
Starched and parched I jit in the wings. Flatmate, most dashing, has remembered his lines and all those hours spent chanting seem to have paid off. Don’t drop the tray. Mouth my own and Please God don’t let me drop the tray. Cue. DSM Go. Go into the light. Yes sir and no sirs present and correct. Recalling raw-boned, recreating the life of the country girl who’s fled. Here in the city with the Dukes and Dames. I am impressed and think of what I will say in the letter I’ll write by candlelight tonight while the bootblack stomps the corridor beneath. Three sisters at home I will tell about silk. The fine perfumes of the fine and handsome gents. How there’s one has stole my heart but I’ll not give him more, yet. Yes, there he is across the room, deep in conversation but as I pour tea imagine he might look at me so tuck a stray lock back in my cap. I’m not a vain maid and raw-boned means a little obvious too perhaps. True-hearted though. So hide my hands behind my back because they’re probably red from skivvying because the skivvy’s off and I’m last in so it’s my job but I wouldn’t want him to see. Too soon though and long before getting his gaze I’m signalled out. Yes madam bob my knees. One last bit of longing as I exit stage left but, poor maid, her heart stays broke. Over the cables and out behind flats. Three sets of pressed bosoms pushing past How’s the house? Good I think, more than three quarters full. Great!
And for all my five lines, goes a good run for me. A little stare at the brink of how life might be. Loneliness loves camaraderie, the fun, fuss, even the fright. Then our relief-giddy traipse out to bow and get clap-salved end of every night. Learn the ritual of cards – mine tight wedged in the mirror by the flatmate’s greasepainted Break a leg Slutty Maid! X. Flowers for some or My Mum’s in tonight, let’s make it a good one! Or the fortunates – quiet – whispering how they’ve had a call from some agent but keeping it low so the miscast won’t feel bad. Under house lights after, notes on the stage from the Director, Voice teacher, Movement analyst. And in the day, the Principal letting it be known who’ll pay for bad work with bad casting next term.
In my free second half I’m usually up smoking in Wardrobe with its Mistress’s cough and great gossip from her stack of life in the theatre, this way or that. Tales of the school from when it first begun and all the young Turks out for revolution. Dreadful tales of famous who she knew back when that I love to hear and again. When I tell her about him, she knows who he is. Fantastic Oswald in Ghosts must be ten years ago now and that ’Tis Pity, my God he was good. So how old must he be? And how old are you? Tut tut, though I can’t say blame you and that voice of his ffffff like a cave.
Terrible nerves but, Saturday night, knowing he’ll be in. If he thinks I’m useless. You’ve got five lines, besides – her strapping me down – Your cups over-runneth so I doubt he’ll see much beyond! Oh no, don’t say that! Why? she laughs Or have men suddenly stopped being men?
Crane in the wings but can’t see a thing. Even sneak looks at the audience during. Only at the end though, spot him there at the back, giving us all the good clap so I drop my best bow his way.
Third Years hug in the dressing room, whooping relief and cracking open champagne some rich one’s aunt sent. Unloosing me from my dress, the Wardrobe Mistress says I was in the foyer before when your man walked past. How’d you like the maid? I said. He said Why do you ask? I said She was nervous. Ah, she was great, he laughed Lovely presence, don’t you think? She has, I said, giving him a wink. You didn’t? Oh God, but I’m shame-delight red. Well done all, yells the Director across the mayhem Now let’s go get very drunk.
Unringing ringlets, I weave the canteen. Not in the foyer. Sideways out through the throng and there he is, by the fence beyond, smoking a cigarette. Hey curly! But in my hop down get a fly in the eye Ow! Rub it to watering. Let me see it, he licking a finger, preparing to poke. Careful careful. Look right up there I’ve got it now try not to rub there – tiny dead midge that he flicks. You were great by the way, but Hello stranger, and he. Straightens abruptly. Turns around. Standing behind, a woman in white. Older, beautiful, elegant and Oh God, I tongue-tie at her fame. Hello, he says offering a hand but she rolls her eyes so he must kiss her instead. I haven’t seen you since the funeral, she says Let me look at you. And she looks at him like she’s looking, then touches his face. You look tired. I’m fine, he says Been away on location, you know how it gets so what are you doing here? Oh they want me on the Board you know, ever since it’s like I’m made of gold and everybody wants a piece. You’ll manage all the adulation, he says. Yes, I expect I will. Both go Anyway, then laugh and she But what brings you up to these wilds? When steps he to show me No! she says No! It’s not! No! My God! I can’t believe it! and I am caught in her arms. No wait! he cuts sharp across but I’m rich perfume up close now, delicate crow’s feet and kissed, thrill-bewildered. Oh my darling, she’s saying You’re all grown up, your father must be so Don’t, he says Stop, this isn’t her. Oh? she says, setting me down I’m sorry, my mistake, and there I was about to launch down memory lane about you bringing her to the dressing room but of course that was only well how many years since that Seagull now? Fifteen, he says. Fifteen. And his quiet face. As many as that? Yes I suppose you’re right – and releases me completely – But you were in the play, that’s why you seem familiar, what a charming performance you gave, how do you know each other? I look over to but he’s looking away. W we’re friends, I say. Yes I’m sure you are well I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night. Lovely to meet you – like kiss of the signet – and you my love should get some rest and, as usual, take better care of yourself, speaking of which – manicure drumming his chest – how’s all of that? Fine, thanks. Truly? Yes. I know you hate a fuss so I won’t press but really, my darling, I have to tell you, this protracted bachelorhood is making you odd. Yes, he says That’s something you’ve mentioned before. I mean, how old is this jacket? she mock-exasperates his cuffs Time for another trip to Harvey Nick’s, no now don’t pull that face, was that or was that not a beautiful suit? Beautiful, he mollifies but fond sounding too of whatever this memory is. Well then give me another kiss and let’s not keep leaving it to chance to meet. So he kisses her again Give everyone my best. I’ll be sure to and, I mean it, take care of yourself – turns she then, then turns again – And little girl? Good luck!
Spell and probably waft of Chanel, people part for her path. Out to the car waiting. Knees in then heels up. Slam and immaculate exit. Ignore her, he says dropping his cigarette as, laid bare, I uncoil at curls and rankle. Did you bring your case? Yeah, I’ll get it from inside. But my legs make pools all the way back in, perhaps from the wade and wade.
He shoulders it Coming? We make onto the street. A chiller night than planned to be. Preoccupied silences pushing between, part buffeted by others racing down to the Crown. Coming for a drink? No do. No come. No. Okay, see you next term. Until we’re at Malden Road. You hungry? crossing to Barnacle Bill’s. Starving. Come on then, and he steps in Two large, open please, anything else? No, that’s fine.
Chip smells close the distance as we trek on down. You were great tonight. Really? I had five lines. Not many lines but so much soul and that dress had a vivid inner life of its own! Oh that doesn’t sound pervy at all what about him? Vindice? Not bad actually. He had a lot to carry and I thought he managed it pretty well. The trick with How old is your little girl? Fuck, he says This bag of yours weighs a ton, how about stopping here til we’re fed? Alright, and sit on a bench in the damp. Talacre gardens opening empty behind but, across, the Grafton Arms making plenty of life. He eats his chips though like displacing quiet. Head down. One by one. So I eat and bide but he eats on. I know you don’t like talking about her but Nothing. Chews til his mouth is clear and only at wiping his hand on the paper says I was twenty-two when she came so she’s sixteen, seventeen in June. And it falls through the air like the starting of rain. Put my hand out into, trying to grasp what it means but can’t. Or don’t, so say You must find it strange I do find it strange, he says. Is it strange though? Yes it is why do you think I didn’t call you all those weeks before Christmas? I didn’t know. No how could you I suppose. Why didn’t you tell me before? I don’t know it was never the right time the day you asked about her picture it wasn’t like I thought I’d see you again after that we were always well There were plenty of times you could’ve Maybe but this wasn’t supposed to be More the sex? You know what I mean. And now it is? He nods So here comes the fucking mess. Why’s that? You’re practically the same age as my daughter what do you think that makes me? I don’t know. Well I do, he says. Really? I make you that ashamed? Yes no not you myself I mean what the fuck am I playing at? I mean if you were thirty-eight, even twenty-eight, twenty-five What? I don’t know. Well I don’t know either. And the truth is all I can see is this is harder for him than it is for me. Would be again for her, though isn’t, I’m sure. Does she know about me? Does she fuck! I would never discuss sex with her. I don’t mean sex I just No, she’s my daughter and I can’t even see her that way. What way? Being older being nearly seventeen and I know she is but I haven’t seen her since she was eight and I haven’t really been her father since she was younger than that and, despite the hours of staring at photographs, I can’t seem to make my head make up the time. Which makes So how much do you love her? go all around mine. To not ask I light a cigarette. Smoke and pass. He smokes it and. I. He. I. Then back. Lay my head on his shoulder. He allows that and both breathe out the breeze. I can’t stop thinking about Sunday night. Me too, he says. Do you wish we hadn’t? No, I don’t. Do you want me to go back to my own tonight? No but I can’t think this is normal, can I? Why not? Can’t you think what you want? That’s not how it works, there’s right and wrong. And I’m wrong? You’re not. But being with me is? Yes. Fuck you. I get up. No! Wait! he catches my wrist It’s not as simple as that and there’s just there’s a lot that you don’t know. I want you anyway, I say Do you still want me? I do. Well that seems pretty simple so let’s just go back to yours. Jesus, he – eyes supplicating the sky, cross to the Grafton, down to mine – and breathes out Alright let’s go.
Maybe against his will I hold his hand. He lets me though, now and then swaps the bag but also indulges my Tell me one thing, what’s the story with her? Nothing she’s always like that. We did The Seagull together. It was my first proper job. She played Arkadina. I was Konstantin. One thing led to another. There was some carry-on. Not more serious? No, not for me, but enough for her to wreck something I should have been more careful of anyway any chance that’ll do? For tonight, I grant and at last he laughs. Then we’re fine walking through the scurf streets side by side. My back moulding to the bridge under Kentish Town West where I persuade him to lean and chippy-kiss. Later I’ll ask more. Further from this. After. Once we’ve made our way home.
*
Up out of the world back into his realm. All tidied and hoovered. Expecting someone? Maybe, he smiles but subdued for him. Get that bottle from the fridge. I do. Is this champagne? For you, for the last night of your play. Thank and kiss him and sit on his desk. Open his shirt while he opens the cork. Turn from the pop, then swallow the fizz. Drip bottle mouth to mouth. Kiss. And make what I want, my own normal with him. Belt first. Next his fly. Both now falling back into time where all the past waits outside. It doesn’t matter to me, I say. Then it doesn’t matter tonight, he says Now take off your clothes and show me yourself, I want to remember every freckle when you’re gone. And I. And bra. Kneels down to my breasts. I. Watch his mouth there. Teeth making twitch running right up to my scalp. How he knows me – and all of me – so much. Kiss. Touch. Already damp his. Slip down where he knelt to. Lick. To put. Oh Fuck, he says, gone so hard in there and now neither us care for she’s away to the back of him. Let her. Let her. His hand in my hair God I love how you do that but lie back on the floor. So do and wait for you on me. In me. This is my father. What? Mine. Just beyond. Little girl in a photo who looks like him. He made me doing this, what he’ll do with you. He made you with it but did he mean to? And after, did they know they had? In that other life? On that far-off bed? This is my father. So? What of it? He’s taken care of me. And me, from the first. But he is my father. And your father taught me this, showed me how until I love to and know him like you never can. This is my father. Taking my knickers down. Putting his fingers. Putting his mouth. This is my father. The want he makes and I have no father. Who cares? Who cares? You can never do what he and I can. So sayeth the latest in the longest line. How many have gone before? I am the kingdom. I shine above because he is my father. Do I ever shine? Let me just get a, he says You don’t have to. Why? I’m on the pill. But Sunday. Wasn’t safe, now it is. Are you sure? Yes. And. All him in me. The work of it. God that’s lovely, you’re so wet. He is my father. I prefer him this to that. My father. I choose your father over the dead. Choose to kiss and touch and fuck so it hurts. And good to be hurt by him in ways you never will. Good to be hurt by him in ways no one else has. Kissing each other so deep in our mouths like forgetting now who is in who. He is my father. Not now. Always is. Not where I allow every journey he wants to make across my body. It is for him so get back from it to where you belong in the usual world, in the distantest time as slow he, slow. Kisses back down to wait. His beautiful eyes on me and his beautiful body pacing inside, asking Are you with me? I am. Kissing and. Then we hardly can for There it. I. He I am. All my body, lighting, all over his. I could say anything, anything. Just feeling and heat as and. Wet from inside him so far up inside me. Stings from the rough of. One atom in tiny wishing that the pill was a lie. Wishing for risk or being that moment in his past. Being closest to. Making life with No do not even anything and
wild sky and
he is really don’t really
I
really me
my whole body breathes
Fuck, he by my ear Fuck you beautiful girl I thought that was never going stop godthatwas wh wwww I can hardly speak. So kiss me and kisses me. Be off all that stuff. Just take the pleasure of being young under his hands. Safe in his knowledge. Full of his heat. Forgetting time passing and the sleep that we’ll need. Separation ahead. Touch. Breathe how he breathes and try keeping him, try keeping him inside. Still though he slips from but whispering Stay. I can’t. I know, and he rolls away That’s just the sex talking now. But pretty good sex. Yeah, not bad. Curl I into then kiss at his hair Oh, getting a bit grey in there. Tell me about it, he says Any more fucking like that and I’ll be white by dawn.
Sit side by side, smiling down, almost shy. He kisses my shoulder every once in a while. Drinking more, now warm, champagne. Who needs glasses? and laugh as our legs shake from the effort of what they’ve been through. Elbows slit carpet burns and where they’ll bruise. He’ll have bite marks tomorrow for I was bad. Such straight teeth! he observes and examines. But stay close these last hours. Fall asleep. Wake. Repeat. Sleep. Do again. All the night wrapped in his quilt on his floor. Eventually him saying No white yet but it’s dawn and we should try to sleep. Don’t. And instead sit the far side of his desk. Pull open his curtains to watch the sun together rise slowly through the Camden sky. Help itself to chimneys. Across bins and bikes. Between footpaths and hedges. Up our naked legs’ swing. His reach to the window ledge. Mine not as long. Take the light on our bodies and not caring who might see from the street. Besides, they’d be lucky to witness. Finish off the bottle. Smoke cigarettes and. White will be the day. Later on, maybe blue. What you’ll do once I’m gone? Sleep and not think about you, what’ll you do in Ireland? Walk. Where? By the lake. Nice lake? Has its moments. Just a month, isn’t it? Yes. But we kiss long to stave it off and shiver in our tiredness until he says Come on. It’s time to get dressed. I’ll take you to the train.
Through quiet Liverpool Street he carries my bag. Quiet concourse. Stansted Express. Quietest platform. Loneliest journey I know. I’ll miss you, I say Will you write? If you want. Or you want. Then I’ll want, if you will. All I want though is to tell him how much I No, go, or you’ll miss your train. Just one quiet kiss more so before taking my bag and going. And. What if he just disappears? Has already gone as utterly utterly as before he came? Snatched look back. No. There he is. Tall in his long coat and glasses. Waving to my wave. Watching me to my carriage. Wave again. Get on and all doors slam. Then the train pulls away.
Ireland is what it is. Sealed in itself, like me. I miss London, with my fondness for ignoring in the street opposing endless Howaya’s from impenetrable people to whom I am blood belonged. But I can do that talk. To mind myself, do, for the more vocabulary managed the farther between you. And into that revel space instead open ways of considering aspects of him. The delve deep burn of body. Done, told, and the gap between.
And I write notes about walks. Books. Trips to the flicks then try not to pang for the longed reciprocate. He said he would but he might not, which would be no surprise. Such a plain brown envelope enveloping it when he does, neat in his lovely longhand. Sketch of fraught meetings about his script, a Duchess of Malfi he thought was alright and a chance bump into the Missus on the street – her Easter lunch shopping and pity invite. Nice of her but he probably won’t, though perhaps, if I don’t object? I don’t. So by the next he has. Says my flatmate – and several Czechs – send their regards. He supposes he finds him decent enough despite the way too many drugs – which he knows he is in no position to judge – and the Missus can cook pretty well. Later he tells me to prepare for the change in the trees. How, once it’s warmer, we’ll go lie up on the Heath, read books whose spines we won’t spoil and drink cold beers. That in Regent’s Park the first fat men without shirts have been seen so summer is surely on its way. And I study his chose punctuation for leaks of hide or tell. But do not find so do not ask. Especially about the little girl who is not. And this greater swathe that she cuts through his life, what is its what can it mean? As for his years? What hides in them? Her in almost all my eighteen, then the twenty before I was born?
And something else, though this I don’t tell. It or its resultant fag out on my leg. Choose to recount how my mother instead – at the sight of such obviously male handwriting – said Missy I hope you’re not up to anything over there that would make me feel ashamed! He replies Her concern’s well and truly out of date but, if I’m inclining to make a clean breast, I should mention how those bite marks I gave him have only just healed up.