The Lesser Bohemians (24 page)

Really? Really. After everything you’ve heard? Even then. Are you sure? I’m sure. Then there’s one last thing. No, no more, I say for we are in such fragile skin, so close to getting lost in the in-between. But out of darkness and into what’s left of the night, he says I love you Eily and I’ve been wanting to tell you for nights, for weeks. I’m so in love with you I can’t think of anything else. And those words shift through my body as he pulls me round. I love you too, I say What took you so long? Then I watch it shift through him. See him know I love him then. He smiles at me. I smile at him. And the fall that was coming has come here now. We welcome it. Leap down into it. Cannot wait to see how far.

Could I grow up in a night? Grow up in this day? Curled here with him on his small bed, in the cradle of our arms and wrap of our legs watching him deep in his deep dream, far the threat of what he’s been while I lie here, in love. So much and sooner than I thought I’d be. Years off, I’d thought and not like this. But I have come into my kingdom where only pens and pencils were. Abrupt and all abrupt. No longer minnow in the darkness and the deep. Through the portholes and currents I’ve been. Going to the surface. Up into the sun. Touch my own throat.
His long arm. Shining like a body come fresh into the light. And she is in the centre of life. I am. I am her. Not unspun either, for what can it mean, more than how a life was lived? His breath gone peaceful in the tight and warm. Twin mine to his. Indifferent dreams, I hope. And list in their pooling through the dark, across books and wine glasses, over my bags, contenting us while across the world she lies, his girl, who is not me. Does she love him like I would if he were mine, that way? That other way I do not want? Tie up your long hair that the salt drops have wet. Being young you have not known the fool’s triumph nor yet   nor yet love lost as soon as won. No. That’s wrong. Only won here. Not lost at all. And dread? Won’t any more. For bound to him is what’s to bind and as for crying? For the wind.

Light falling all over, my legs ache awake. Kiss lips to his crepe lids and think Birthday cake! then cross his sleeping to do.

Outside this day is just as you’d want for the day when you are in love. Head up in clouds that aren’t in the sky and clouds where my head should be now. In Sainsbury’s I choose chocolate cake – Smarties and icing. Ridiculous perfect. Singing like a magpie all the way home, across the gutters, over the drains. But Where’ve you been? he says when I get in. To the shop, are you alright? I am I just      I thought you’d gone. Why would I? I say. Because because. I went to get you a birthday cake. Oh God, he says Sorry, and taking my face. It’s alright. It’s alright. And kiss him and we sit on the bed and I touch and      I really want to, he says But I don’t think I can yet, do you mind if we leave it a while? It’s fine, I say I’ll make some tea. Shall we have your cake for breakfast? Yeah, that’d be lovely. Then he sits watching me and we are fine. We are fine, I think.

What do you want to do today then? I ask, over the cup. Don’t know, he says What do you think? Well, maybe today’s the day to lie on the Heath and drink cold beers and read books whose spines we will not spoil, remember? Good idea, he says Sandwiches as well.

So get the sandwiches at M&S. A few cold beers from the corner shop. In my bag, a book of his. The Anatomy of Melancholy. Are you fucking kidding? You’ll be as old as me by the time you finish that and I only got it for research then barely read half. I like a challenge, I shrug. Yeah, I’ve noticed, he says and laughs and takes my hand.

Then we are revolting on the tube. Kiss all the way up to Belsize Park. Utmostly oblivious to ladies with their dog. Not really what you want to be in the proximity of, they loudly agree. Oh, but what you want to be at, I sigh. Him laughing Shhh you, hussy! and kissing me all the more.

Then lace we through backstreets down by the Royal Free. Holding hands. Being silly. Stopping to kiss, and touch, when others can’t see. On into the parkland. Up Parliament Hill.

In the white wrenching view I ask How do you feel? Relieved, he says But I can’t quite believe you’re still here. I am though, I say. And even if I feel spaces opening between that neither seem to know how to fill, I know we will. I know I will once I’ve worked out the right distance again.

So on we go until we find a tree unoccupied by students busily out-clevering or pop stars playing pop stars or lonely people alone. He spreads his jacket on the roots and we lie on it. Kiss on it. Open our beers. Get out books. Do you ever see your brothers? From Sheffield? Sometimes, he says Mostly the younger one, John. The first time I saw him again, he just showed up at the door. I had Grace that night – so early eighties,
probably. He stayed on my floor, drank a lot, got an ear-bashing from me for being drunk around her, then borrowed some money and disappeared. I think Gracie picked up a few choice words that weekend, which meant I got an ear-bashing from her mother about swearing. I didn’t see him again for another five years when he just as suddenly reappeared. He’d been off to India, sorted himself out, become a psychotherapist – which made me laugh a bit – and he paid me back too. We get on pretty well now. I see him once or twice a year. We don’t talk much about back then. I did once ask what happened, after I left. She went mental, he said but their father pulled her up pretty smart and I wasn’t mentioned any more. When I asked if he was surprised I’d gone he said There were bite marks all down your arm, no one was surprised. He knew more than I’d realised about what had gone on as well, which means the other two must’ve had some idea also      maybe     who can say? He agrees with my theory though, that she starved herself to death. I doubt we’ll ever know the truth but we both think there’s something there. The other one, Peter, I don’t know much. Lives in Sheffield with his second wife. Big Christian apparently. Found his faith when Jesus forgave him for gambling his house away. Last saw him at his father’s funeral five or six years back, a real pious piece of work. Trying to convert me, complaining about John being gay. If he knew the fucking half of it he’d curl up and die of shame. Then he cracks open a beer, has a good long sup and stretches his lanky limbs out in the sun. And we roast a while, taking it on closed eyes. His at least. Mine are wide, tacking tales to his silhouette. His starved-feeling stomach breathing under my hand. Funny, after all my fancying, to find that I am loved and how much I love too. Come here. Sleepy kissed til there’s leaves in my hair. Then mud-thumbed and grass-kneed
we find fits together but drowsy. Absolving. Estranging ourselves from the residue of last night’s rendered hell. Asking Tonight then? I trace his face Should I call him Mister? Just Rafi, he says, snapping at my fingertips And you don’t need to worry, you don’t have to impress, you’re already the most hoped-for woman in the world. Why’s that then? They never believed it when I said I was better off alone, kept telling me it was time to take a chance and never believed when I said that I was happy as I was. So humble pie for you tonight? True, he laughs But oh it tastes so sweet.

And the day weights to dozing. I read as he sleeps, feeling as though I got shook in the night and somehow forgot. It’s not me it all happened to      and yet. Now that I see how he wears it I cannot forget or be back to before. This must be a getting used to thing. Soon enough it’ll probably lie down. For him too. I know because here in the skin, where no strand seems strange, this love insists upon itself. And we will be ourselves again. It’s only odd today. So watch the sun go right across the sky, then nudge him. Wakey wakey, rise and shine, time to go home and change.

What’re you wearing? I ask back at his. This? he tugs. You can’t, it’s filthy. Who cares, Raf won’t be looking at me. Oh don’t, I say I’m so nervous already. Why? Because it’s like meeting your dad. It’s really not, he’d be chasing you round the table in five minutes flat and I promise Rafi won’t do that      the dad was more David anyway. You miss him. I do. How long is he dead? Two years. It happened pretty quick. Sore leg turned out to be cancer of the pancreas but we were both with him at the end. You know my dad died from that? I remember, it’s a bad way to go but his wasn’t a bad death, if you know what I mean and when I go     You’re not though. No. How’s your heart? It’s
fine. Is it? Yes, I have a yearly check and      Eily   really   it’s okay. Promise me promise me. Hey love      hey   I promise, it’s fine           so what do you want me to wear? Have you a suit? Mmmm, might have, he says. Well, I’ve never seen you in one, will you wear it? Raf’ll know I’ve lost my mind for sure but, for you, anything. Okay then go get in the shower while I blow-dry my hair.

I draw the line at a tie, he says buttoning his shirt and sitting to light a fag while I attempt make-up. Kneeling with my hand mirror by the bed. Blue dress, old, but nicest I have. I like having you here, he says Cluttering the place up with your hairbrushes and that, all those little weird bottles and woman’s stuff. I roll my eyes. Fine, laugh, but it’s nice watching you get ready to go out for the night, with me, to my friend’s, like any couple might, anywhere in London on a Saturday night. I’m just sitting here, watching you and      I can’t believe my luck – and his face goes full of feeling suddenly – I’m thirty-nine today and, you know, I can’t remember the last time I felt so normal. That’s you Eil, you’ve done that. You make me feel like I’m a normal man with normal things going on and that’s all I’ve wanted, as far back as I can recall. I go sit by him then. Kiss his crown, put my arms round his neck and be with him, just for a bit, not for long. Until a clock somewhere downstairs clangs time. Alright, he says putting his glasses on We should be on our way.

Hand in hand we walk. Turning heads, I think. I’m so proud to be with him. Look at us, he nods, into a shop window You’re so lovely and I clean up alright. And surveying ourselves now we try to believe it. That we have come through that night, out into these days. That we are in love and anyone can see, for isn’t it burning off us? Hey! Taxi! Come on Eily, get in.

Jesus, this is where he lives? Yeah, he gets the gate but I insist You go first, as the great door swings and whirl comes pouring through. Music. Booming Hello Hellos and that man from months ago, in knee-length shirt, grabbing hold and kissing him. Then back at arm’s length Let me look at you! Tugging at his hair Rapunzel! and My God, a suit! Ah, he shrugs and Nice dress Raf, who laughs Especially for you, now introduce us. He steps aside and I       I am under eyes and suddenly palmed forward into yet more of his life Eily, this is Raf. Nice to meet you, I say, hand out but find myself crushed against exotic scents instead. Wonderful to meet you, darling girl, you’re very welcome. Now come in! Come in! fussing my jacket off while I stare at the ceiling that closes miles above. And all the rest, just as he said. Books. Paintings. Beautiful universe that he is crossing into obliviously, already halfway down the hall saying Smells good Raf, and Where do you want this wine? In the fridge, champagne first, open it for me, would you? And the so much space takes him away, leaving me to finicket beneath my surveyal. Kindly meant though, I think. Glasses passed and Is it short for Eileen? No, I. I’m sorry, Irish names are It’s alright, I say Everyone asks that, it’s actually short for. Pop. Fuck! he says quick to the imprecise pour, laughing, licking it from his fingers. Clink it and Happy Birthday, Rafi says And to finally meeting you – then more quietly – David would’ve been so pleased. Well cheers, he says as I take his hand. Drink and
hope it loosens my tongue.
What’s dinner? he asks, lighting up. Roast beef, just how you like – although really, why you English do is a mystery to me – and Eily you’re a good influence, I see. Usually he arrives like he’s been through the hedge. Well, there was some protesting, I say. Changed man Raf! Now if you can work on his
smoking. No, there are limits, he laughs and amid it Rafi’s eyes move over us and I feel seen as better than I can possibly be but then, maybe, he’s only noticing that little hole in my dress. Lay the table, will you both? Dining room? But of course! Come on Eil, and I’m led in through beautiful rooms. Alright so far, love? I nod, but marvel at him at home in such realms and their photographs Look, it’s you! Glass Menagerie, he says David directed, Rafi designed. And this? – him asleep on a crate, sword under his head. End of the tech, he says Henry V. And this one is David? Rafi, at the door, says It is. I put it down Sorry. No, no need, no need. Him – draping me – saying He’d have loved her, don’t you think? Rafi pats my cheek I think he would.
Where am I now? What is this world?
I remember you from the National, Rafi continues He came back during that awful play. When I suggested a drink though he said he had a girl waiting. Oh, I said Unlucky for her. Not this one, he said. So, another long-lost sister? But no, apparently not. My goodness, I said Really? What’s going on? I don’t know, he said. But something is? Something, he said. I couldn’t believe it. Would you really let yourself? I asked and he just smiled. That’s why I came outside, to see if you were real. He kept warning me Not too close, like you were some exotic bird he didn’t want to scare away. Sure enough though, there you were and now you’re here, well well.

Off into the eating then. My manners, and Rafi’s, are good but his      attentive though at every turn. Peas, love? Another yorkshire? More wine? while Rafi sporadically invokes David’s view of this blessed night being long overdue. And I try to give smiles because they’re all I have. Yet what remedy are they? Plain they both feel his loss but      happy tonight, happy too. And after eating Now, go open more wine and cut up that
cheese, it’s out on the counter, while I escort Eily into the sitting room.

It bleeds its description. Big and cold. Pasts slide by side as Rafi steers to a piano laid out with more photos in frames. Lots of him, with them, by himself. Some from productions. One with David, obviously ill, attempting to trap a last moment of normal but the smiles are too happy and the exhaustion plain. I have a few of those photos at home. Rafi offers another Ten years ago, France. Himself and David sat on a bench. Him, down front, smoking a cigarette. Younger and smiling but      not happy in himself. And this one I like, from later that same day. Him sat alone, cigarette again, apparently staring into the sun. So handsome, I say, then cringe. Rafi only laughs His blessing and curse. He has a good heart though. I’m sure you know that but      do you know about the nights he spent here? Well      I know he and David were    together. No no, I don’t mean that. Sorry, I crucify. I meant, he smiles David was the saving kind, used to allow all sorts to stay here. God knows where he found them. It used to drive me crazy – although I must say I miss it now. But if it was      drugs or problems like that David would ask him to come over, whatever the time, even three a.m. I’d say He’s rehearsing in the morning, but David still called and he always came. Sometimes spend hours talking them down. He’s good at that. Very calm. Not afraid of what people might do to him.
And I am surprised and not surprised to hear these things. So many worlds swim beneath his skin.
I think David hoped it would help him forgive himself because that’s all he really Ah now Raf, he interrupts Stop putting the weight of the world on her, I already have. Ignore his forgiveness spiel Eil, I’m fine as I am, and I get a quick kiss. Rafi raises his palms Not another word.