“E.B… You’ll be late for work!”
Emily knew that he’d arrived in late last night.
He hadn’t come up to say goodnight, despite the fact that he would have seen her bedroom light on. She tried not to be upset by this kind of slight. She believed that it was not intended as such and had learned that to have even the most pedestrian expectations of romantic convention from Eban was to be disappointed.
Affection, yes.
In his own way.
But he always held something back. And that was alright with her. Because she knew that she did as well.
She was curious, however – less about where he had been, but rather what he had been doing when traipsing around his room into the early hours. Feverishly feeding paper into his printer, the printer-head buzzing back and forth. The paper tray emptied; then refilled immediately for the process to continue. Tramping into the kitchen for coffee. The kettle boiling. The clink of spoon in cup. Then returning. The office chair being pulled up to the desk again. Slapping on the computer keys once more.
Until the very small hours.
Living directly overhead was like living together.
But with a degree of independence.
She knew that his nocturnal machinations could not be work-related.
Eban had strong feelings about that kind of thing.
She returned with a piece of toast and rapped a knuckle lightly on the door, wary of bringing any of the others out onto the landing.
The door cracked a few inches, then wider. Eban’s head emerged and looked furtively back and forth. Hair wild, eyes like saucers.
“What’s the craic?” he said and coughed.
Loose phlegm gurgled up in his throat and sounded like it might involuntarily leap out from his mouth. He covered it with a tissue in time.
“Are you sick?”
“Yes and no.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Well, officially yes – I’m not going to work – but actually no… I’ve lots to do.”
“Want toast?”
“Come in; come in.” He gestured urgently.
He took the slice from her, holding it between his teeth and pulled her into the room, closing the door.
Emily had visited him here less and less in recent months and couldn’t honestly remember when she had last stayed the night.
The room was ultra-tidy for first thing in the morning. He was pretty organised, all things considered. Tidier than her room, that was for sure.
The bed, which dominated the space, had been made up. Duvet pulled tight to all four corners, pillows plumped.
The large bay windows overlooked the back garden, at the centre of which stood an impressive oak. It was a magnificent specimen. Bare now, but with branches that grew up and out at every angle. Up to the sky and down to the ground.
Eban had recently told her that – in its current state – he simply couldn’t believe that it was the same tree that would fill the entire space with such a glorious explosion of swaying, green profusion come May.
Instead, he said, the bare branches reminded him now of nothing less than the capillaries, veins and arteries of the human heart.
He had the window sashes up a fair way and the fresh winter air was bracing.
Emily figured that – what with his cough – he must be smoking weed again, but the ashtrays were pristine.
Facing the bed, on a wide Persian rug, was his media centre.
TV, VCR, CD and DVD players and a dock for his iPhone.
He had it rigged so that they all played through the speakers that bookended the arrangement. In front of the windows sat his desk, with PC and printer.
Across the room a reclining chair, and on every available wall, floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
It was a big, spacious, high-ceilinged room and he had optimised every inch of it.
On the desk sat neatly-piled printed pages. Several bright green folders were lined up to accommodate these and a plethora of newspaper cuttings, also arranged for inclusion in separate files. In the centre of all of this was an official-looking form that Eban had filled in by hand.
“Someone’s been a busy boy,” she said and made to move toward the desk for a closer look.
He sprang across quickly to block her, putting himself between Emily and the desk.
“Private!”
“Okay, okay; you just had to say.” She was a little insulted but knew she shouldn’t be.
She had no rights here.
Emily sat down in the chair whilst Eban gathered up his materials in a rather clandestine manner.
“Look… I think I should mention…” she said a little warily, “it was me who brought the mail in… again.” She rolled her eyes.
Eban shared her disdain regarding their housemates’ tardiness.
“Anyway… I couldn’t help but notice the official-looking letter… something about Historical Enquiries Team? Isn’t that the police or something?”
He spun around from the desk and glared suspiciously at her.
“I’m not snooping or anything—”
“Then don’t!”
“I’m not, but… ummm… and there was a letter from the hospital… you’re not sick or anything are you?”
“CHRIST!”
“Would you rather I’d left it for Rosemary? She’d have had a field day!” she offered in meek defence.
Eban had gone red in the face, and went to speak but stopped himself. Emily could see that he was grinding his teeth together so violently that the veins on his face and forehead became swollen, his jaws taut. Instead he simply gestured toward the door, indicating that she should leave.
“Charming…” she said, and moved to do so.
As she turned the handle, he spoke. His voice was thin and small.
“In case you’re wondering… if I’m not around, I mean… I might have to go away for a little while.”
“Is everything okay?”
She badly wanted to show him something. Concern. Warmth. At the very least, support.
“When has everything ever been okay?” he said sarcastically.
As she left, Emily passed Rosemary and Pascal talking furtively in the kitchen. Their tone dropped discernibly when they saw her.
“Au revoir,” Pascal called after her.
And then, to Rosemary, she clearly heard him say in his heavily accented English, ‘There is one who kisses and there is one who is kissed.’