When Leonard got off the phone he felt an uncomfortable mixture of guilt and betrayal, having let Hungry Paul down, his best and only true friend. A man who had stood by him through everything and who had always reserved a space in his (admittedly quiet) life just for Leonard. Their friendship was not just one of convenience between two quiet, solitary men with few other options, it was a pact. A pact to resist the vortex of busyness and insensitivity that had engulfed the rest of the world. It was a pact of simplicity, which stood against the forces of competiveness and noise.
The only problem was that Leonard had discovered a flaw in their way of life. It was fine so long as everything else stayed the same. With a stable home and work life, a life of depth and meaning, it was certainly possible to preserve a sanctuary of gentleness through their special friendship. But once life had changed, once the people in your life started slipping away from you, as inevitably happens, then north, south, east and west all move from their fixed points on the compass. You are left bereft, with a choice of whether to enter the world, with all the risks that entails, or retreating from it. Leonard’s natural instinct was to retreat and to create a safe bubble. But the bubble feeds on itself. Solitude and peace lose their specialness when they no longer stand in contrast to anything. In a busy—or at least busier—life, quiet reflection provides resonance to experience. But to deprive life of experiences deliberately and to hide from its realities was not special. It was just another form of fear that led to a life-limiting loneliness that accumulated and accumulated until it became so big that it blocked up the front door, drowned out conversations and put other people behind soundproof glass. And anyway, Leonard was discovering that distancing himself from people didn’t even bring peace. The more he separated himself from others, the more they become unfathomable and perplexing. The distance just made him lose perspective. If he wasn’t careful he could turn vinegary and judgemental, like that man he used to see in the supermarket, muttering to himself with egg down the front of his jumper. In fact, he had discovered that he was less critical of people when he allowed them in. People, it turns out, weren’t so bad. At least that was true of some people. And maybe that was the trick: to find the right people; to be able to recognise them and to know how to appreciate them when you do find them.
All of this left him in a quandary with his best friend. He wasn’t sure whether Hungry Paul had made the same leaps. What if Hungry Paul just planned to womble from day to day for ever, unaware that his universe was shrinking? It pained Leonard to think that he might be outgrowing Hungry Paul, as though their friendship had become a reverse tontine, where the last man standing was the loser. The prize, a retreating life of diminishment.
But Leonard resolved that he would not let his own growth, such as it was, be at Hungry Paul’s expense. Their friendship meant too much to him. He decided that he would not let his burgeoning romance with Shelley—which, after all, was still at a very early stage—interfere with their friendship. This would be the last time he would cancel or renege on Hungry Paul because of thoughtlessness. From now on, he would make extra efforts to include him in his plans and perhaps, in gentle, covert ways he hadn’t yet figured out fully, he would try and guide his friend towards opening up his own life.
Leonard was also clear on one other thing: he recognised that he had an opening with Shelley that provided him with a small but sporting chance of becoming part of her life, and she part of his. He wasn’t exactly sure of where he wanted it to go, and he had parked for now the difficult questions he had about her having a seven-year-old son, but he knew that he didn’t want to mess it up because of dithering and self-doubt. This time, he would take his chances, and bear the risks.
He had been planning their first evening date all week, the plans coming at the expense of progress on his book about the Romans. Rather than trying something unusual, he had decided that he would book a nice restaurant, somewhere quiet and tasteful, but affordable in the event that she wanted to split the bill; no hipster spots. There was a nice little Italian that he often passed on the way home from work, and which had a few veggie options for Shelley, so he decided to book a table there. After dinner he’d suggest a walk and, all going well, they could go somewhere for a nightcap, some friendship, maybe more.
Though still very much a reluctant shopper, he had spent money on a new designer fragrance, but he had already splashed it onto his cheeks when he saw the words pour femme in tiny gold font at the bottom of the dark, male-looking, bottle. Perhaps she wouldn’t recognise it and he could pass it off as unisex. The fragrance had fooled him, so maybe it would fool her too, he thought, his optimism gallivanting ahead of his realism.
Having rushed out of the house, he arrived at their meeting point almost half an hour early. There were several overdressed, over-groomed date night hopefuls already waiting there. It was cold and between his nerves and his new jeans, which were a little snug, he realised that his bladder would not find it easy to last until 8pm. He crossed the road to McDonald’s, which seemed the nearest and most straightforward option. When he went to open the door for the bathrooms, he found them locked.
‘Toilets are for customers only,’ said a deep male voice behind and above him. Leonard turned around to see a security guard who was the size of Mount Rushmore.
‘Oh, I see. How about I buy something then?’ suggested Leonard.
‘That’s the general idea of restaurants. But you need to buy it before you use the bathroom,’ deadpanned Mount Rushmore.
Leonard presented himself at the counter where a sunny cashier was waiting for him.
‘Hi, what’s your cheapest burger?’ asked Leonard.
‘That would be our regular hamburger sir,’ answered the cashier.
‘Okay, I’ll have one of those then. And a 7UP to wash it down.’
‘Sprite okay?’
‘Sprite, 7UP, all the same, yes, that would be fine.’
‘It’s actually cheaper to get the meal deal, so do you want to go for that sir? You’d get chips too and it would cost you less?’
This was getting out of hand, but it was hard to argue with her logic.
‘Okay then. Can I use your toilet now?’ asked Leonard, starting to shift from foot to foot.
‘Sure thing, the code for the door is on your receipt. The food will just be a minute.’
‘Okay, back in a tick.’
Leonard returned from the toilet a changed man. The cashier handed him a tray with his meal on it. It turned out that he had ordered a kids’ Happy Meal, with a toy from the latest Disney franchise included inside the box. Now that he had been to the loo, he no longer wanted the food, but it would be a shame to waste it, so he decided to have a couple of bites, while still leaving room for the restaurant food. Maybe it was a good idea not to be too hungry on the date anyway—he didn’t want Shelley to think he was a pig or anything.
He took his seat and opened up the Happy Meal box. The burger was pretty thin and flimsy, and the portion of chips was small, so he didn’t think he was in danger of spoiling his appetite. He had just started eating when there was a knock at the window beside him. It was dark outside and he could only really see his reflection so he ignored it and took another bite. Then there was another knock followed by a pair of vaguely discernible waving hands. He pressed his face against the window, and there, with her face pressed against his, separated only by the double glazing, was Shelley smiling back at him.
She had likewise arrived early and stepped off her bus to see Leonard tucking into a kids’ Happy Meal in McDonald’s of all places. She came in through the automatic doors, pausing to let some teenagers out, and joined him at his window table.
‘I have to hand it to you, you know how to lay on a surprise for a girl. Is this where we’re going on our date?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely not!’ answered Leonard a little too emphatically.
‘Okay, phew. So what’s the deal? Are you having a double dinner day or were you just dying to see what toy was in the Happy Meal?’
‘It’s just some cartoon fish, it’s from a D—’
‘It’s one of the Finding Nemo fish, or whatever the new movie in the series is. Patrick has a few of them. They’re such landfill toys. No offence intended if you’re, you know, into them or something.’
‘Oh, God no. I know this looks weird but I just needed to use the loo, and then the Mount Rushmore guy over th—’
‘The what guy?’
‘Mount Rushmore—he’s so big and blocky he reminds me of the Thomas Jefferson face in particular. He intercepted me and said I had to buy something if I wanted to use the toilet, so I just got the cheapest, smallest thing, but then I thought it would be a waste to just dump it—and I know you’d disapprove of a cow being slaughtered just to be thrown into the bin—so I said I would just take a bite, and as you can see, I’ve hardly touched it so, well, there you are.’
He took a deep breath and looked at her as she picked at his chips with a strangely uncomprehending look on her face.
‘I get it, I think. This meal is cover for your bladder. I think I can live with that. So, can we start our date now?’ she asked.
‘That would be nice. Hi, by the way.’
Leonard leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek.
‘You smell nice. Kind of reminds me of a fragrance I have at home. Let’s get rid of this,’ she said as she binned what was left of the food and stuffed the Nemo toy into her pocket, for want of a better idea.
At the Italian restaurant, the waiter sat them in a little booth. There was a piano player on the far side of the room, playing romantic voluntaries underneath the healthy ambient sound of conversation between couples of all ages. The diners looked to Leonard like a mix of first dates, wedding anniversaries, and return visits by couples to their favourite spot.
‘This is really lovely. Where did you find this place?’ asked Shelley.
‘Oh, you know. I’ve passed it loads of times and thought it looked nice. I’ve never been here before,’ answered Leonard, when what he meant to say was that every time he walked by it he said to himself, if I ever meet a girl, that’s the place I’m going to bring her.
When she took off her coat, he could see that she had on a beautiful green sleeveless lace dress. Her hair had a slightly darker colour than usual and had been cut and pushed behind her ear, and she was wearing just a little bit of make-up, which he’d never seen her do before. As he watched her scan the menu, with her lips moving as she read, he said ‘You look really beautiful, Shelley,’ having only meant to think it.
She smiled with a little shyness.
‘Thank you. You look very handsome. I like your jacket. Ooh, this is so nice isn’t it?’ she said, possibly referring to the restaurant, the date, or the whole thing. ‘Well there are lots of veggie options, thankfully.’
‘So, how come you’re a vegetarian? Is it an animal welfare thing or just a health thing?’ asked Leonard.
‘Oh, no special reason. I got food poisoning from some reheated mince a few years ago and the thought of eating meat after that just made me nauseous, so I gave up for a month or two and just never went back to it. I’m not a zealous veggie, by the way. I won’t nag you if you order a big T-bone steak. Patrick eats meat—well, sausages, if you can call them meat—and if there’s meat left over, I’ll finish it off. As you rightfully said, I hate the thought of meat being thrown out—death in vain and all that.’
‘How do you make sure you get enough protein?’ asked Leonard.
‘Ah, protein. I know how you meat eaters stay awake at night worrying about how much protein vegetarians get. Margaret, who works with me, lives on a diet of cigarettes, popcorn and Diet Coke, and the other week she starts giving me the whole protein speech. I just told her not to worry, that silverback gorillas are vegetarian and they get by okay. She had to do an image search to see what a silverback looked like and then she seemed to be satisfied. So, anyway, if I collapse during the date, feel free to run over to McDonald’s and get me some protein.’
She had a lovely way of laughing and speaking at the same time, just keeping it together enough until the end of the sentence when she exploded.
‘Okay, okay, fair enough. I’d love to cook you a nice vegetarian meal sometime. I often eat veggie at home,’ replied Leonard, thinking about the oven chips and ice cream in his freezer.
They ordered their food: she was having a sun-dried tomato salad and the mushroom risotto; he was having gazpacho followed by a ragout of some sort, his appetite undented by his pre-starter in McDonald’s. Shelley ordered a glass of Prosecco and drank it a little faster than she meant to, though he was glad to see that he wasn’t the only one who was a little nervous. He ordered a beer and was relieved to be spared the drama that comes with wine: the little taste to see if it’s corked and then the Man-from-Del-Monte nod when it’s not.
Shelley ordered another Prosecco and they chatted through the preliminaries about her family—two brothers and a non-identical twin sister—how he got into encyclopaedias, and about the weirdo she met on the bus on the way into town, who thought she was someone off the TV, which Leonard told her was probably meant as a compliment, though she wasn’t so sure.
After the starters arrived, Shelley decided on a little quiz.
‘So, Leonard my man. It’s about time I found out a little bit more about you. I know where you work, that your desk is pretty tidy, and that you like meat and encyclopaedias. So maybe let’s fill in a few gaps. And just so you know, this won’t be painful and it won’t be one-way. So, first things first…’
Leonard tensed up a little.
‘You’re obviously a book person, so what’s your favourite book ever?’
‘Let me think… The Chronicle of the Twentieth Century,’ he said confidently.
‘The what now?’
‘The Chronicle. Oh, basically it includes all the newspaper highlights from the twentieth century. Each month gets a page, so that’s, what, about twelve hundred pages. It’s fascinating—all contemporaneous accounts of what was going on. I used to love it as a kid and I often read it these days, whenever I’m doing a… em, whenever I am sitting down comfortably. How about you? What’s your favourite?’
‘Wait a minute, I was looking for a favourite novel or something. You know, something that tells me who you are. So pick something like that, not the phone book or whatever it was your first answer was.’
Leonard laughed. He took her businesslike approach as a good sign that she wanted to go places with this.
‘If those are the rules, I’d say probably something like Moby Dick. Yes, Moby Dick. A classic. A monster of a book, but yes, that’s the one.’
‘Isn’t that basically an encyclopaedia of whaling with a story stuck on to it?’
‘In a manner of speaking I suppose you have a point. But really, I’m not being evasive. I just like factual books. You can hardly be surprised. How about you, what’s yours?’
‘I don’t really have that much time or energy to read these days, I’m afraid. But I suppose the book that has stayed with me most over the years is The Mill on the Floss—or maybe it’s just that I’ve always felt there was a bit of Maggie Tulliver in me,’ she answered.
‘I know what you mean—I mean, not that I have Moby Dick, as a creature, within me particularly; I think he and I are very different people. I haven’t read The Mill on the Floss, I’m afraid, although I think I have a copy of it at home somewhere. I wasn’t expecting you to pick a classic actually.’
‘Why not—do I not look brainy?’
‘It’s not that, of course not. You’re just so, I don’t know, energetic. I was expecting something else, I don’t know what. Salinger or something buzzy and current, not that that’s a bad thing or anything, it’s just…’
‘I have a deep side too, you know—and I’m not scared of footnotes.’
‘I never doubted you.’
‘Okay, so what next, favourite piece of music?’ she asked.
‘Easy peasy.’
‘Go on.’
Leonard tried to think of a cool band, but went blank.
‘Am I allowed to include Greatest Hits compilations?’
She turned her eyes upwards to appeal to the god of Italian restaurant ceilings.
‘Just kidding, just kidding. For me it’s the Pie Jesu from Fauré’s Requiem. A divine piece of choral music. You’d love it if you haven’t already heard it.’
‘Oooh, choral music is so pure. I’m not religious, but I love sacred music,’ she said.
‘I’m the same with art. I don’t like Mass, but I like going into churches to look at the art in them. Much nicer than galleries. So what’s your favourite piece of music?’
‘Something less posh I’m afraid. It’s PJ Harvey’s first album. I always liked her. She’s so smart and lyrical, but still a bit raucous. Not a bad way to be,’ said Shelley, adding emphasis with her eyebrows, as she took a sip from her glass.
And so they continued like this, going back and forth with their preferences—a light-hearted bit of fun that nevertheless helped them to scout each other out. His five next answers were: All About Eve, Peru, steak, Leonard Bernstein, snakes and twelve; hers were The Goodbye Girl, Bhutan, marzipan, Shelley Duvall, moths and seven.
Over dessert, and with the alcohol starting to sink in, they waded into deeper water.
‘So how come you left art college?’ he asked.
‘The short answer is that I became pregnant with Patrick. The long answer is that I loved art college. It was really hard to get in and my teacher at secondary school was lazy and uninterested, and told me my portfolio wasn’t good enough and that they wanted to see more originality. I nearly gave up there and then, but my dad dug up a load of my work and put it together and more or less nagged me into having a go at it. Most importantly, he stayed off my case with my other homework, and in the end I managed to submit a pretty strong portfolio but wasn’t really sure what the standard was, as nobody else I knew was going for it. When I got in it was the proudest day of my life. I remember running up to the postman in the street and practically diving into his bag to look for the letter. He said it broke the rules to hand out letters on the street, but he knew there was no point trying to stop me. My folks were so excited. My dad rang the school to tell my art teacher and I think he used some pretty, you know, triumphant language.
‘My first year was great, surrounded by all these people I could relate to for the first time ever. Sparky, exciting, barking mad creative people. Full of ideas and energy. The social life was good too—lots of parties and gate-crashing and just general madness. Anyway, I started having a bit of a thing with a tutor in my fine art class. He was only a couple of years older than me—Stanley Prince was his name. He’s actually quite an established artist now. I used to call him Prince Stanley. Whenever it got to the end of a night at a party we’d seek each other out and we got together a few times and, well, I don’t know whether you did biology at school, but sometimes when a man and a woman love each other very much, blahblahblah. He sort of overreacted to the pregnancy and decided to leave his job and me and told me—from a distance mind you—that he’d help out in any way he could. You can imagine how I responded. Unsurprisingly, we have had very little contact since then. Some of my friends had a go at me because Stanley left, so the whole thing became very difficult. In the end I dropped out. My dad wanted me to keep at it, but my heart was just kind of broken and I didn’t feel up to being superwoman, doing it all by myself. I ended up taking some time out when Patrick was born and only really got back to work a few years ago. Mostly admin and office stuff. At least having a son got me back into drawing. He loves drawing so we draw together—it’s our thing. He likes drawing pictures from your books actually, we both do. Some are better than others. There are a lot of angry-looking people in your books aren’t there?’
‘Ha, ha! Yes. Some of them,’ he answered. ‘I’m actually working on something a bit different at the moment. A little personal side project, although I shouldn’t jinx it by talking about it until I’ve made more progress.’
‘Ah, go on, give us the skinny.’
‘There’s nothing to tell exactly. It’s just I was stuck on this boilerplate encyclopaedia about the Romans, you know, chariots, straight roads—’
‘—noses, aqueducts, I know the type, go on,’ interjected Shelley.
‘Exactly. So I decided to try and write something more human. A real children’s encyclopaedia in that it’s all about children. So, I’m trying to write about a Roman child and what his life is like. All factually correct, but with more of a storytelling approach. Maybe give him a name, a family, toys, friends. Talk about his worries and other aspects of his life that kids nowadays might relate to. I’m not sure if it’ll work but…’
‘That’s a really special idea. You could do a whole series of them. Kids would really get into that. Oh, that’s so great. Is it going to be published?’
‘I’m not sure. You’re the only one I’ve really told about it, to be honest. I’ve been trying to do the illustrations as well, although I feel embarrassed saying that in front of you as I’ve no real training.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly. You should definitely try and do something with it. It sounds like a really original idea and I can’t think of anyone better to do a great job. Pursue your talent. Don’t end up like me, with everything sitting in a drawer.’
‘It would be great if you could get back into it. I’d love to see some of your pictures, if you felt like showing them to me,’ said Leonard, only too happy to shift to focus of the conversation away from himself—he wasn’t used to compliments.
‘Well, we’ll see,’ she said.
As he listened to her he became gradually swept into the current of her openness and enthusiasm. Their lives had been so different. He really, really liked her. Without meaning to, he blurted out a question, asking her what she saw in him?
‘I mean, I don’t want to sound like a loser, but you know what I mean. I suppose I’m asking whether you see yourself as getting involved, or whatever the word is. And if so, what about getting involved with me? Or am I just a friend or something disappointingly platonic like that?’
‘Seeing as you are straight out putting it up to me,’ she began, ‘I suppose it is kind of weird that we were working on the same floor together for months without anything happening. I pretty much overlooked you for the first good while. I sort of recognised you but just, you know, for whatever reason, looked past you, I’m not sure why. But the thing is, I have spent a lot of time on my own with Patrick, and so I read what he reads and we read together, and your books, well, they’re just not like anyone else’s. They are magical really. He really gets excited about them. Your books seem like they’re from a different era, like they’re written with the kid in mind. They’ve just got real heart. So, when I pieced together that you were writing them, and given that you’re a minor celebrity in our house—or at least Mark Baxter, BEd, is, but it’s really you—how could I not take an interest in you? And then when I got to meet you, you just seemed, I dunno, really gentle, and after all the different things I’ve done in my life, and all the people I’ve met, including some really confident guys—no offence by the way, but you know what I mean, you’re not about projecting something, you really are for real—and I suppose I realised how hard it is to find that, to find gentleness in the world. And you really are. I know it sounds like a platonic compliment, but I mean it in the most honest way I can. Does any of this make any sense to you, or am I just talking fluent Prosecco at this stage?’
He knew exactly what she was talking about.
‘I’m really glad you see it that way,’ he said.
‘So, what made you interested in me?’
He paused for a moment to put his finger on it.
‘I just think you’re breathtaking,’ he said, plainly and truly.
For whatever reason, it had been a long time since anyone had looked Shelley in the eye and called her special without any calculation or contrivance. Leonard’s sincerity, so free from art, had a perfection about it. ‘Don’t make me get teary,’ she said.
They talked and talked over the knickerbocker glories they ordered for dessert and the coffee that followed. When the time came, she made the cheque-signing motion with her hands.
‘I don’t mind paying, by the way, unless it offends you that is?’ he offered.
‘You’re okay. You’ve already had to fork out for a Happy Meal, so I couldn’t let you get this too. But I tell you what, you can cook me that veggie meal sometime if you like.’
‘Anytime. Anytime at all.’
They split the bill down the middle and overtipped, for good luck as well as out of generosity.
They walked and talked with linked arms as far as the taxi stand and then talked some more while they waited in the fresh sobering air. As Shelley got ready to get into her cab, all apologies about having to get home to her sister who was babysitting, she stood straight in front of him.
‘This is the bit where you kiss me like a gentleman, by the way,’ she said, looking up at him.
Leonard kept his promise about taking his chances.
‘Bye then,’ she said. ‘Take it easy on the protein won’t you?’
‘Good night Shelley. And thanks for a really lovely time,’ said Leonard.
She gave smiling waves out of the taxi, holding up the plastic Disney fish she had forgotten she had. Leonard waved back and watched the cab disappear down the street and round the roundabout by the Natural History Museum. Happy to prolong his mood, he decided to walk home on that cloudless night, with a light heart and nothing above him but the universe.