The Last Word (15 page)

‘Perverse?’

Harry said that some might call it that.

‘Do you know for sure?’

‘He confirmed it. When this material comes out, people will think about both of you differently. The hacks and papers simplify things. They might call it sadomasochism.’

She thought for a moment and said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t put this in, but I wondered why, at the beginning, he asked if he could watch me urinate. Being a lady, I said no. Why would anyone want such a thing?’

‘To experience a particular form of intimacy.’

She said, ‘Listen, Harry, what the bloody fuck are you hinting at? Can’t you actually be precise? I don’t want to live in the dark like an idiot! As a mature woman –’ she pressed her face close to his, ‘and don’t you like to remind me all the time that I am? – I need to know every detail of the Marion part.’

‘Why?’

‘How awful it would be if you knew things about him that I didn’t.’

He pulled on a tracksuit top and sat with her. It wasn’t long before she’d turned red, and was waving furiously at her face with her book as if trying to put out a fire but succeeding only in fanning the flames. To her credit she heard him out before saying, ‘And you say you’re going to put this filth in the book we commissioned?’

‘If it is relevant to the work, which around that time turns very dark and sometimes brutal.’

She began to cry, and covered her face. ‘Poor Marion. I think of her often and how she was rejected. That will happen to me!’

‘Why would it?’

‘She couldn’t do enough to keep him interested. He regrets leaving her.’

‘He does?’

‘She inspired him, she was intelligent. They loved to talk about Shakespeare. She was learning Arabic and he said she was cleverer than him. He read her letters with a dictionary. I had an intelligent father, so I know men love women who are useful to them, like assistants.’

He asked her if she’d be okay.

She said, ‘You did promise, Harry dear, that you’d help me earn his love and kisses. Now you come to me with this
merda
. He will blame me for stirring it up. What have you done!’ She got up and walked quickly away, into the woods, stopping only to turn and say, ‘I’ve cursed you. I thought of unleashing the bees on you only I’m too well bred. But a very bad thing is going to happen to you – tonight.’

That evening, while changing in his room, Harry could hear the two of them hollering, their voices overlapping as they interrogated one another. He had had, he guessed, something of an effect on their marriage. Too bad; he had a book to write. Writing was the devil. Writing was what he was employed to do.

He played music through his headphones and waited until it was nearly dark, although the kitchen light was on, when he crept out of the back door. He was smoking in the yard and about to get in the car when he heard a shout, or perhaps it was a shriek. Mamoon was coming out of the kitchen and heading towards the man chosen to make his portrait.

Mamoon was not leaning on his stick, as he always did now, the very stick Harry had cut for him, carving the head into the rough approximation of a rabbit. Mamoon was bearing it above his head with the genuine intention, Harry guessed, of bringing it into contact with the young writer’s cognitive equipment.

Harry turned and jogged across the yard towards the track. To Harry’s surprise, Mamoon was behind him, running and tripping, as if trying to throw away his limbs.

‘Mamoon, please, sir—’ tried Harry.

Harry ran some more, and so did Mamoon. He could hear Mamoon breathing heavily, and thought he must be tiring already. Harry was also keen to use reason and discuss literary matters. He’d had an expensive education and, even now, didn’t want to waste it.

‘Listen,’ he began, and stopped. The writer was on him. Harry dodged the coming stick by ducking and turning away. ‘I say, sir—’

Mamoon struck him across the back with the stick, as hard as he could. Harry fell down, and Mamoon followed up with two more blows. ‘See, Judas – I’ve still got the forehand!’

‘Stop that – Jesus! It hurts! What are you doing?’

‘You want the cross-court smash with top spin?’ said Mamoon, raising the stick again. He was ready to strike Harry across the face with it. ‘The horse whip is coming – ha!’

‘No, it’s not!’

Harry crawled away as quickly as he could, got up, manhandled the stick away from Mamoon, and took it across the yard, placing it on the top of his car. The old fool, full of adrenaline, stumbled after it, and soon learned, after attempting to jump up, that his days as a sportsman were done. He tripped and fell face down, grovelling in the gravel.

‘Don’t touch me. You blabbed about what Marion alleged,’ puffed Mamoon, as Harry hauled him to his feet and brushed the dirt off him.

‘You agreed, sir, that nowadays not a moment of existence goes unrecorded.’

‘How would you like it if you had everyone you’d ever fucked dragging behind you forever? Perhaps they will, a ghostly crowd of dead souls, howling hostile curses. Then I’ll laugh.’

‘You’ve always been dissident, nonconformist, anarchic. Aren’t most good books about sexual weakness?’ Spying an opening for the intertextual discussion he’d long anticipated, Harry said, ‘You adore Strindberg, adapted his work for the stage and wrote an essay on him. Kafka’s agonised hysterical letters to Felice have long fascinated you. Let’s think about how male writers have characterised the force of female sexuality—’

‘Shut it, bastard! Liana’s killing me, screaming and raving. She can’t believe I’ve had a good time with anyone but her. She dismissed me from the bedroom into the room next to yours. Now she insists I tell her every detail of my life with Marion. How can I do that? How will I get her back?’

‘Do you want her?’

‘If I have a terrible dream or become ill in the night will
you
give me the kiss of life?’

‘My kisses are soft and deep, sir. But to be honest, this material was going to come out anyway, by Marion’s hand or mine. What else am I doing but teasing out the truth, knot by knot – like Goole in
An Inspector Calls
?’

‘You’re a ghoul trying to play God with me. It was bloody well private.’

‘You forfeited that right when you invited me here to tell the story of your life. Why worry, when you know that sexuality makes fools of everyone?’

Mamoon told Harry that he could not confirm his material, but Harry explained that Marion had shown him the letters. When Mamoon asked why Marion would do that, Harry replied, ‘The life and the writing make one continuous book. It’s the same for all writers.’

‘Marion – I mean Liana – said you’re the sort to want to appear on television! You’re trying to make a career out of me, young man!’

‘We’re strapped together, sir. We sink or swim as one beast.’

‘Yours is a work of envy, and you are a third-rate semi-failure of a parasite who has got by on meretricious charm and fading looks. Did you ever read a biographer who could write as well as his subject?’

As if this wasn’t enough, Mamoon grabbed Harry by the lapels and tried to throw him against the car.

‘You’re fired, Harry. You’re never going to finish this work of tittle-tattle and when I come in from work tomorrow lunchtime I want to know this ridiculous misadventure is over! We’ve got another writer lined up to take over. He wears a tie!’ He put his face close to Harry’s. ‘Remember this, little boy. You know nothing. You
are
nothing. You will always be nothing.’

Mamoon seemed to have exhausted himself and began to cough. Harry led him back into the kitchen and sat him down with a glass of whisky.

‘You want me to call Liana?’ He guessed she was upstairs somewhere, tearing at something or listening to Leonard Cohen.

Mamoon shook his head and said, as Harry went to the door, ‘Do I look particularly ancient and infirm to you? Have I suddenly aged? Don’t leave me – I don’t think I have long.’

But Harry hurried outside and sat in the car for a bit, collecting himself, before driving to Julia’s and picking up the key she’d left for him.

Sliding up the passage, he saw that Ruth was in the living room, wearing the bright shirt Liana had worn to Mamoon’s birthday dinner. She was sitting at the table with two of her paramours, in a smog of dope smoke, drinking Mamoon’s champagne in beer glasses and, Harry soon made out, discussing some money-making scheme involving forged signatures, which they were practising. Harry greeted them quietly. He interested them, unfortunately; one of the men stood up and shouted for him to sit down for a bevvy, and Ruth called, ‘Harry, Harry, Harry – won’t you grace us for a drink?’

Harry was sensible enough to continue to the woman he had come to see.

In the attic Julia was waiting in bed for him.

He stripped off his shirt. ‘Look!’

‘Gorgeous. Thanks – I’ve been waiting for this.’

He turned. ‘Notice the bruises!’

‘Oh my God, who did this? My brother? Is he back?’

‘Luckily not. Mamoon.’

She laughed. ‘Shut up.’

He took her hand and laid it against his face. ‘He’s dangerous for an old man, Julia, with strong wrists.’

‘Jesus, it’ll go a funny colour. You’ll look like an aubergine.’

‘That is a vegetable I don’t like. Here’s my phone. Photograph the injury. It’s all gone wrong. I’ve been sacked.’

She photographed him, before pulling the rest of his clothes off and sitting on top of him. Her kisses were calming.

‘I need your love, Julia.’

‘I know. Congrats, lover boy.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘You’ve been beaten as well as sacked. You must be doing good work.’

‘Yes, well, the old boy pretends to rise above the everyday stupidities, gazing into the immeasurable distance with that superior tortoise blink, presumably regretting all the sexual opportunities he eschewed. Then he goes berserk with the stick I carved for him.’

She began to fuck him, knowing he would relax. ‘Can I ask you something? I’ve been thinking about it non-stop. How many times did you have Alice while she was here?’

‘Just the once. We were going again when we were interrupted by you, thanks. I know you were pretending to work outside the room, ears vibrating. I added some keen grunts to flush you out with laughter.’

‘I wasn’t listening!’

‘With Alice, it’s only ever on her terms, like being granted an appointment with the queen. Her latest thing is claiming to be allergic to semen. She has the rigidity of a hurt child.’

‘I was going to say, abuse. You’ll get it less and less from her, pretty boy.’

‘How soon these things wear out. I’m nearly ready for a change.’

‘But you don’t like to let people go.’

‘Tell me what you really think.’

She popped a joint into his mouth and lit it for him. ‘You two might have a chance if she can appreciate you. She doesn’t notice that you’re funny and sweet. You say fascinating things, and you’re good company. Unlike the old man, you’re interested in other people. Plus, a gift for cunnilingus puts you in the top one per cent of all men.’

‘It takes practice to be such a gourmand.’

‘I always put musky perfume there for you, but I won’t ask you to do that for me right now, Harry.’ She turned off the lights, lit candles, and blew on his eyelids. ‘You seem cracked; you look like you’re going to cry on me.’

‘I’m down. This is our last night together. If I’m really sacked, I won’t be that displeased, to be honest. I’ve had enough of them both.’

‘I’ll set my alarm. I predict I can help you. I’m your girl, remember?’

‘If you save me this time,’ he said, ‘you’re a genius. I’ll take you out for an Indian.’

‘You will do something for me, Harry. You know what it is. I’ve asked you before. Take me with you, Fizzy Pants.’

‘Where to?’

‘London.’

He laughed. ‘I wish I could. As it is, I’m done for.’

In the morning he cried, ‘Why have they put floodlights outside the window?’

‘Er . . . shut up. It’s called the sun,’ she said. ‘Are you ill?’

‘Julia, I’m going to give all this up and go back to London.’

‘You’re going to Liana now.’

‘I can’t face either of them. I can’t face anything.’

She pulled him out of bed, filled him with food, and got him into his car, giving him instructions all the while; he nodded and shook his head silently. She ensured he was back at the house and in the kitchen hunting for haddock, and running up a Bloody Mary to accompany the Arnold Bennett, before Liana finally made her entrance in a satin dressing gown.

As she stood there, taking in the day, feeling out her head with her fingers and deciding to be jaunty, he dashed across the kitchen to lay her favourite breakfast in front of her.

‘Here, Liana darling.’

‘
Ciao bello
, you sweetie, this is too lovely, thanks. How did you know where to find this fish? What a treat.’

‘And here – for you.’

‘What is it?’

‘Some of those things you asked for.’

He handed her a saucer of pills. There had been a jar full of Es in Julia’s bedroom, as well as some hash, and a bag of mushrooms. She’d told him to take something for Liana. He was kind; he’d taken a lot.

All night he’d been persecuted by the ghost of Mamoon’s words, coming at him in sinister whispers: over-educated but mediocre, worthless, parasitic . . .

‘You can be a fine boy,’ said Liana, dropping them into the pocket of her dressing gown.

‘A caress from nirvana,’ he said. ‘But how can Mamoon resist you when you wear that cream silk dressing gown, and pyjamas with high heels? Even I—’

‘Shut it, this early, and take your sunglasses off in here! Are you straight with me or any woman? Do you let any of them in? I don’t think you’re an idiot, just difficult, evasive, and probably a fraud. Darling, give me a little morning kiss on the lips.’

‘Please, Liana, you smell of fish, and I’ve got a problem that only a diplomat like you can help me with. The day has come – I’ve been fired.’

‘Who by?’

‘Your husband. Last night he chased me with his stick. He was a little, let’s say, agitated by the Marion material.’

‘So was I.’

‘Do I leave then?’

‘Why not?’

‘Okay. I’ll get my things.’

She said, ‘Not that I believed a word of that filth. Did you? The
puttana
made it all up for revenge and publicity. Can you imagine for a moment him behaving like that? The British public are decent and will understand. It was obvious he would fall out with you.’

‘Doesn’t he ensure a fatal fight with everyone? Particularly the women.’

‘Not with me,’ she said. ‘I’m the boss here,
tesoro
, don’t worry.’

‘I’ll ring Alice and give her the news that you will help,’ he said. ‘She’s at home fretting about me.’

‘She is delicate, we must take care of her. But doesn’t it worry you,’ Liana said, ‘and don’t take this the wrong way – that she doesn’t find you at all amusing?’

‘Thanks for that, Liana.’

‘You
are
very funny, you know.’ She looked at him, and said, ‘As for Mamoon, never ignore him, and never listen to him. You go to work, and I’ll speak to him at exactly the right time.’ She winked. ‘Observe the masterly way I shoot for his G-spot. It’s like feeding a lion while keeping your fingers.’

Mamoon came in, with a dressing on his forehead. If Harry had wondered whether Mamoon would remember last night’s threat, he needn’t have worried.

Mamoon scowled, and said with a ferocity Harry had yet to become accustomed to, ‘My spine aches the entire time, I can’t see a foot in front of my face and I’m dizzy. My knee feels like an envelope full of broken glass and my penis is like a chloroformed slug—’

‘Are you constipated? Have you had the dream again?’ asked Liana.

‘I am facing this urchin in my kitchen.’ He jabbed at Harry and said, ‘I rang Rob and ordered that you must stand out of my sunshine, sunshine.’

‘No, Mamoon.’ Liana pointed the washing-up brush at him, and then flicked it, as she did with the cats when they jumped on the table. ‘Idiot or not, we’ve given him this damn job and he has to complete the paperwork. Your tantrums are ridiculous and interfering.’

‘This serpent, the woodworm, insulted me.’

‘How?’

‘He made allegations against my honour.’

‘Are you finally saying they’re absolutely and completely wrong?’

‘Liana, I’ve told you, he’s beyond a pest.’

‘He is. Even Alice has absolutely confirmed the woodworm is a blood-boiler. But he stays.’

‘Why defend a fake who actually hasn’t written a word? I think you like him a bit too much.’

‘Too much for what?’

‘It’s repulsive in a woman of your age. You resemble a mutton chop.’

She started to laugh. ‘Eat me then!’

‘Shut up.’

‘Watch it.’ She repointed the brush in his direction.

Harry wouldn’t have wanted that brush pointed at
him
, and could see that a younger Mamoon, at this point, could become mightily annoyed and cranky. He appeared to be looking about for something handy to heave in her direction. Then his breathing slowed, he closed his eyes and caressed his battered forehead.

‘Remove him for ever from my sight.’

She said, ‘We made a decision, you and I together, and we should follow it through without this mad fatwa against him. Otherwise I won’t feed you.’ She picked up the saucepan from the Aga and walked to the bin. ‘Dal makhani, your favourite. And your paneer – say bye bye, paneer.’

‘Liana—’

‘And you love my salty raita. It was going to be followed by apple crumble and cream. Choose now – food or mood.’

‘Food or mood? Don’t throw that away! I choose food.’ He was hurriedly tucking his napkin into the neck of his shirt. ‘Will there be tomatoes? I love how you cooked them last time.’

‘Did you?’ she said, winking at Harry. She went and kissed Mamoon, sliding her hand down the front of his shirt. ‘Did you like that,
habibi
,
my love?’

‘It might be more tasty if you cooked everything that way.’

‘I will do it like that – if you make me.’

‘One more thing.’ He thrust his finger at Harry. ‘Where is Alice?’

‘Why?’ asked Liana.

‘She has calming hands,’ he said.

Liana rolled her hands over Mamoon’s belly. ‘Don’t I?’

‘She’s professional.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ said Harry.

‘Looks like you’ve been given a last chance,’ said Liana. ‘You’d better get that book done. Soon we will read some of it. And we had better like it . . .’