November 1997. Max has not attempted any communication with Moe Levy since July. He wishes he’d never gone to that dreadful council flat, he’ll certainly never go there again. He doesn’t feel too comfortable with Fujitsu/Siemens any more. He doesn’t check his e-mail or turn on the modem. Once in a while he scribbles something in longhand and he keeps a clipboard handy with yellow sheets of A4 but the top page says nothing except:
3 BOTTLES OF RED CRISPS, OLIVES
There is a poem by Walter de la Mare, ‘Goodnight’. It begins:
Look thy last on all things lovely every hour
This line has got into Max’s head as:
Look thy last on Lola lovely every hour
It’s in his brain like one of those pop tunes that won’t go away and Max is sick and tired of it.
Lula Mae is also in his thoughts. He’s had short notes from her in her rounded and loopy handwriting. No Everest Technology printouts, the notes call up Lula Mae’s roundnesses, the generosity with which she gave herself. Photos of her, full-length frontal and profile. The pregnancy’s been coming along nicely, no problems. She’s had ultrasounds but she’s asked not to be told the baby’s sex. ‘I know it’s going to be a boy,’ she says, ‘and I don’t want to hear it from anyone else. Victor feels comfortable inside me and I love him dearly. He’s got a kick like a mule. I’ve been reading Edward Lear to him, I want to start him off right. I’m staying with my parents for the time being and I’m still with Everest. I’ll take my maternity leave when I’m closer to my time. They have a good medical plan so Victor and I will have the best of care. Thanks for the check. Give my regards to Clowed. Love XXX, Lula Mae.’
Max imagines Victor reclining comfortably in Lula Mae’s womb, listening to her pleasant voice with his feet up, shaking his head thoughtfully from time to time as he takes in the tragicomic histories of the Yonghy-Bonghy Bo, the Jumblies, and the Dong with a luminous Nose. ‘Lucky kid,’ he says. He wipes his eyes and blows his nose.
‘He’d be luckier with two parents,’ says his mind.
‘Lula Mae could have stayed here,’ says Max. ‘But Austin is her homeplace and that’s where she wants to be. And London has become my homeplace. So there we are with an ocean between us.’
‘Is there something in you that doesn’t want life to be simple?’ says his mind.
‘I’d like it to be simple,’ says Max. ‘I just don’t know how to manage it.’