The Lesser Bohemians (25 page)

Sprung from then, we go into the late, drinking wine and
eating cheese – so much there’ll be weird sleep. Talking about theatre. Talking about his script. His excitement detectable underneath the complaints of not knowing what he’s at or how to write the end. And in their weft I lull, tracing his nails, lighting on every new lit bit of him until Time for bed, he yawns Alright to stay over Eil? Oh   yes   okay. Rafi kisses us Goodnight, once we’ve accompanied him to his door. Then I am led on up through this house in the dark.

At the very top, a room, white linen-laid. Bathroom through there, he points New toothbrushes under the sink. I’ve never stayed in a hotel but it must be like this. Little of everything. And brushing my teeth I watch him, in the mirror, undress. He folds his clothes. Hangs up his jacket and I know what I see is the routine of this room. Different, and who else has seen it I wonder? But before that thought has even moved, he says I don’t think I’ve ever shared this room – maybe once, years ago – with anyone but Grace. Is it weird? No, nice, he says. And comes, stands behind. Kisses my neck. Then reaches over to start the brushing himself as I wander into the room. Undress. Get in the bed. Skylight above. Night and look into it. Black ways to heaven. He turns out the light and slides his long self in beside. It’s a beautiful room, I say But    it’s like I don’t know where we are. Somewhere else, he says, putting his mouth on mine. And. I lift to him. All of my body and inside the same. I love you. I love you. Play at just kissing until, soft, his fingers start to bring. Almost the whole way there but I want him. Tell him. And he is ready at last. So, in the quiet, don’t we make love half the night – for surely now we must call it that? But make as though there’s not enough time in the world to fill up with our pleasure and our delight. Bodies knowing the other’s well from before but everything else running through now, making
it rare. Keeping quiet, for discretion, more. For hearing the secret of our secret thoughts falling between. And the desire that follows, no matter what we do, cannot be spent up and does not let go.

In the morning I wake much before. Still tired though, and good way sore. But sit up, to look at him, lying there on his front. Pale-skinned. Brown hair sleep-pressed forward. And his life like a book lying open on my knee. I can reach down into it, put my hand in it. Read everything. Even my own name is written there now. But instead, stroke the hair back off his forehead. That’s nice, he says Do it some more. For he loves a little tenderness, I’ve come to know. And after a while he asks What are you thinking about Eil? That you make me so happy. He looks up. Smiles. That’s a lovely thing to hear, and drapes an arm over, itches his nose on me. You make me happy too. Then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

Make tea! he says two hours later and once we’re done. I don’t know this house, be a gentleman. Raf will be up, he’s an early bird, go on, I’ll run a bath. So creep to the kitchen. Did you sleep alright? Yes, and under the bathrobe feel so naked Yes thank you you? Very well, he says smiling as if he knows what we just did. Is he running a bath? Yes. So he’s sent you for tea? Yes. Then the tradition continues – between them the bathrooms were always full of dirty cups and covered in rings. His voice gone all soft though for the man I’ll never know, for David. And his smile at the memory barely covering his grief. You must miss him, I say. Rafi touches his heart He’s still very alive in here for me but last night, I must say, has done me good.
And now that I know what love is, how is it possible to be left behind?
I’d like to show you something Eily, may I? and he passes a small case. When I open, a photo. Seventies, I’d guess. Him. Mine.
Looking so young. Looking younger than me and Is that Grace he’s holding? It is. And he seems just a boy really. Thin like he could snap. Skin barely covering the bones in his face and the vein in his forehead plain to see but the smile, for the child on his knee, is filled with happiness. He is completely absorbed. She is all there is in the world. Their long and small fingers curled round the other’s. I can hardly bear to look because I know what’s coming and that smile doesn’t yet. You can see it, can’t you? How much he loved her? I nod. That’s important to know because it explains a great deal of what happened. And he watches to see if I know what that means. He told me, I say. Good, I’m glad he did but I imagine it was hard to hear. First time I heard it came as a shock, not something I expected of him but I understood even then – and better now – what that loss did to him inside. Eily, if you had seen him when she first took her      we didn’t know for a week      he’d just been lying in that room in the dark and      he was so thin we thought he would die. It was terrible   those first years especially   watching him try to hide from the pain and being unable to help. David was so afraid. We begged him to move back here with us but      you know how he is       goes quiet and destroys himself. When those photos finally arrived he just broke apart, then told us. It was a very hard time, and thank God he survived, but all he’s done these past twelve years is wait for her to come back. And maybe he’ll always wait – I can’t tell you how many times David said Why does that boy still not realise how lonely he is? I’m not lonely, he always says but he is the loneliest person I know and there’s no need for it – but      if there’s you, there’s life and      I’m not upsetting you, am I? No no, I say. I only mean, Rafi explains on There’s something very wonderful about him and despite everything that’s happened,
and all the years alone, nothing has ever changed that. But now, before I cause you to run out the door, here’s your tea. Please tell Blanche DuBois we’ll have breakfast in half an hour!

Wide high London. Finchley Road. Once we’ve kissed Rafi goodbye, walk to Swiss Cottage. He showed you, didn’t he? The picture? He did. It’s a beautiful picture. It breaks my heart so I keep it there and only look every couple of months, what did he say? That you’re brilliant. Ah, gave you the sell. Not knowing I was already, and put my arm round his waist and think of his body, how it’s so near. What you want to do today Eil? I don’t know, cinema? We stand, look at the board. What do you think? I look up. Will I get that taxi? he says.

Then must remember we’re still in one by Adelaide Road. Past the school, with Sunday rehearsers outside and on. Camden. His. Go get the door open Eil while I pay for this. And I’m jumping over dandelions all up his path. Opening up quick as I can. Him slamming the front door then behind me two stairs at a time – making me scream with thrill like a child. Making keys fumble. His mouth in my neck. Dress halfway to paradise and his hand in my God I could let him, almost, here in the hall. Come on key. Come on. Turn. Falling in. Falling over. Stumbling onto the rug. Me tugging his pants down and he my dress up and. Door kicked closed. Knickers pushed to the side he That’s better, Christ! No, I say Stop. Stop to what? Doing it like this. Let’s do it the way you once said you wouldn’t, remember that? I remember, he says And do you remember the reason I gave? Because you didn’t want to with a teenage girl. And how old are you now? Is that still how you see me? You know I don’t. Well then, show me      or wouldn’t you like to with me? Jesus, I want to do everything with you
Eily. So? Okay let me get you ready first.

He does it then, when he thinks I am. Just reaching into every next we can and everything he has to teach, I know I want to learn. So even though it hurts me, though it even makes me cry, I say Don’t stop, when he asks if he should? For there’s pleasure in hearing how much he has. More in the knowledge we transgress, and that he has done this himself only serves to heighten it. And after, he nurses me with his kisses and care. Wipes off my tears. Then whispers in through my hair I’ve never been closer to anyone than you and I’ve never loved anyone more.

Shower. Cheese on toast after that. Cups of tea. Marlboro Red. The still of his flat and both slightly scared at the weave we are utterly in. On the floor, in the shell of his arms, I shake. Alright love? I think so, did you like that? I did. And when you were me? Not as much. Does it always hurt? Not always and there’re things you can do. Like what? Doesn’t matter, that was a once-off. You mean Last Tango-ish? Oh God! he laughs That’s all I’d need      how about a pint instead? Okay, I’ll bring my lines along, you can be on the book.

So to the Prince Albert. There sit out in the sun. In an hour I’ve most of Juliet down. He says That RP’s really coming along. But useless distracted by all this love I think of the mess we’ve both made of each other under our clothes. Scratches and bruises. Even the tenderness of mouths and look at him and Let’s go home again.

And this night is a hot one. We must leave the windows wide. Fall asleep and stick with sweat and wake and laugh and Show me? What? Mmmmm. Have a think. How you do it by yourself. Kinky! Watch and. Give us a hand? So lazy! but do it with my tongue. Okay, no, that’s going to make me come.
And I let him tonight, wherever he wants. Breasts or inside but Not my mouth. I know that Eil, I never would. I don’t want to be that man to you. Do you miss it? No and I’ve news for you, a lot of women don’t anyway. I know but I might’ve, if I’d got to choose. Well if it’s any consolation, I never liked the taste much. Oh of course, what haven’t you done? Until Friday night told anyone half of what I told you. God, you’re good. That’s what they say! Mouths elsewhere then and hands all ways, going further rounds until he complains I don’t think I can again. So lie in together and kiss instead. Telling the stories of ourselves. Do you remember I cried the first night in this bed?      And you’d been so brassy back in the pub      Remember that girl after Christmas? I certainly do. She was because I’d spent that month just dying for you so I thought I’d run a mile instead. Aren’t you lucky then I’m the forgiving kind! Yeah, you’ve made me a lucky man. Kiss for luck, and me. All this between and still more to say. I love you. I want you. I want you every day. Searching for some, any, words to explain but left following each other around this foreign place until we go under to a deeper sleep and let this day slip from what we live out into memory.

Morning.

I’m so relaxed but completely fucked, he says clicking and stretching. Too old now for all this sex? So much for empathy, he complains. It’s the youth makes me callous. Yeah, among other things, now, go make us a tea. And he does look tired but so well to me. Lying there, smoking, watching me dress. Saying when I’m leaving Peace at last! I’m going to get at least five hours’ sleep. And I sark – to evade any tears as I leave – Yeah well, lucky old you!

Then I am back in the world and must understand again how to cover my bones with my skin. Just London and traffic, with no night to hide in, and what I leave or bring with me from there. Walk. Know your way. See the here. Recall the place. Turn the corner. Make and make. But those histories related, settled like stun, open their eyes now. Unfurl their tongues. Begin to exhibit in different lights. They beat in me. Hammer at. Declaim Have your love but remember this All our houses are the same and there is no place now without us in. Off. Get off. What do I care what he did when I was two or four? Six. Eight. In that room you are the closest to life, the nearest you have ever been. He for you and you for him. Know you should know you might never feel this again and let it in. What it is. Let it be.

Well, who’s been making the beast with two backs? What? You and, I’m guessing here, Montgomery Clift? What’re you on about? So innocent, Flatmate laughs Yet carpet-burned to fuck. What? Elbows and knees. Oh   those      mind your business! Trying, he says Anyway, I changed the locks yesterday so here’s your new key. We reckon, a month before they shut off everything. Might get to the end of the term, if we’re lucky. Ta, I say But I’m staying at his. Well, if you need it, it’s there.

And on. My other life, first life swinging relentlessly back. So we’ll start the Emotion Memory exercises next week. Everyone clear what these are about? Recreating a memory from the inside out. Every detail. Sound. Every smell. As though you were back there again. You never know what you’ll find useful. It’s a big one though. Sometimes people get upset so nothing that’s happened less than two years ago, alright?

Can of soup and note on his desk. Sorry, got a call about a meeting last minute. Tell you all about it when I get in. Shouldn’t be back too late. Love

And. Behind the soup. A photo, like I’m meant to look. Lots of black eyeliner. Tall and thin. On my birthday, written on it. Looking so pretty. Looking so like him. That’s her then. I’ve seen. Behind that again, a birthday card. PS on the left saying Thanks for the programmes. It’ll be an A for me now thanks to you. Signed with Hope you have a lovely day and don’t feel too old now Dad, Grace x

In the dark I wait for him. Long for him to come home.

Still up? Thought you’d be fast asleep – such a late one last night, and kissing, he sniffs of wine and hums with good feeling. Tea? Yeah, good meeting? Great, he’s pleased with the draft and making headway on the budget. Couple of grants came through too so    looks like we’re on. Brilliant, I say I saw the photo. Oh right      she’s beautiful, don’t you think? She is. I just wanted you to see her      I didn’t mean to freak you out. You didn’t      do you love me? Of course I do, what’s wrong? Nothing, she’s just lucky to have you, is all. Yeah, I wouldn’t say that. You’re alive aren’t you? Ah Eily, love. You’ll always choose her, won’t you? No, no more choosing for me. You will though, won’t you? Hey, listen, all my fucking choosing is done. But I choose you, I say. Eily, he says Just miss him and come over here to me.

So time runs off with us. Days first. Then weeks. Happier, almost, than we know how to be in this overcrowded room. In the never quiet house. Gnawing Hula Hoops from fingertips. Sharing fags. Eating toast. And he helps me with Shakespeare for he knows his way right through. Now and then reads me
bits of his script to check the dialogue’s human. Some nights we walk to the end of legs and on the night bus home he shows me an older London, round the City, to the east. We are both, we are not from here but still it is for us. Whether luminous or its fathomless spans or its work to be a place. Then on his road another house sold. Not long now, he suspects. But cramped as we are, with my stuff everywhere, it’s a wonderful life.