Come Again

by Robert Webb

  ‘Ha ha! Yes, I take cider incredibly seriously. The thing you have to understand about the way they make Scrumpy Jack is …’ Kate realised that in the great cathedral of her memory there was absolutely nothing to be found under the subject heading, ‘the way they make Scrumpy Jack is’. She just liked drinking the stuff because it helped her forget that she could remember basically everything else. Fortunately Malcolm arrived with her pint so she styled-out the pause by handing over her warm ten-pound note. Malcolm received it with a frown. She looked back at Luke, hoping he’d forgotten what she was talking about.

  ‘You were saying …’ he prompted, annoyingly.

  ‘Yes,’ Kate said. She took a drink and watched Malcolm open the till and sigh at the meagre state of the float, before mournfully closing the till, taking a massive Bell’s whisky bottle full of change and starting to slowly and rhythmically shake silver and coppers onto a bar towel. ‘Yes,’ Kate continued, ‘it’s made from very special apples.’

  ‘Special apples. Right.’ Luke wasn’t even bothering to keep the satire out of his voice and had arranged his face into the kind of nodding sincerity he would use a few years later for charity workers on the doorstep.

  Kate suddenly felt like slapping the little shit. Standing there, smugly innocent of the nine months of torment he’d put her through. She hadn’t been dragged back to the 1990s to be mocked by this child. And not even the fun bit of the 1990s but the shit bit where white boys thought nothing of spraying their armpits with deodorant calling itself ‘Oriental’ and the word ‘chairperson’ was a joke and ‘recycled loo roll’ was a joke and Malcolm was sparking up another Lambert in a public place and ‘global warming’ was something that may or may not happen in the ‘future’ where we would all be living on Mars anyway and …

  But it was now a matter of pride that she persevere. She looked at him squarely. ‘Special apples. Yes, that’s what I said. They grow them in a climate controlled dome just outside Salisbury. I don’t know if you know the area? I’m a big fan of Wiltshire generally but Salisbury itself can be full of facetious twats. So they get the special apples and instead of just pressing them in a machine like an idiot would – like an idiot doing an English degree but hasn’t even read Middlemarch would – they separate them into special groups of special apples – thank you, Malcolm.’

  ‘Sorry about the change.’

  ‘That’s no problem whatsoever.’ Kate began stuffing the half-ton of massive coins into her pockets. ‘They get groups of apples, separated both by size and genetic compatibility according to European Union – by which obviously I mean European Community – regulations, and then basically fry them.’

  She took a swift drink of cider and looked up at Luke, daring him to challenge her. Luke’s sarcasm had been quickly replaced by a rising anxiety. He took a drink and said, ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you, though?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You heard me say that they fry the apples.’

  ‘I did, yeah.’

  ‘And you’ve nothing to say about that.’

  ‘Actually, I do have one thing to say.’ Luke looked around the room as if he didn’t want to be overheard.

  ‘And what’s that?’ Kate asked.

  ‘I’ve missed you.’

  Chapter 11

  ‘Marsden does seem to faint on a regular basis. Could it be vaginismus?’

  ‘I just ran over. I mean, she basically lives here now. I might as well open a B&B.’

  ‘You’ve been very good to her, Amy. My God, Marsden is deeply troubled. I salute her!’

  ‘D’you not think this is just a wee bit odd? She looked like she was five seconds from an aneurysm when I offered to buy her a drink.’

  ‘My dear Toby, that’s the natural reaction when—’

  ‘Please don’t make a joke about Scots and money.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to.’

  ‘Yes, you were.’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘Lads, you don’t have to stay.’

  ‘We’ll leave you in peace if you like, Amy, but I don’t see why Kate’s your responsibility.’

  ‘Because I’m the girl.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘We won’t hear of it, Amelia! Toby, pass the medicinal brandy.’

  ‘Oi! This is my room and that’s for Fainting Fanny when she comes round.’

  ‘Quite right, Amelia. The Karate Child does have remarkable powers of recovery, mind. She was on the floor crying her eyes out when I met her near the phones. And then she … well, she perked up no end. It seems fanciful but it was as if she knew me already.’

  There was a thoughtful silence. The next voice was Amy’s. ‘If anything, it’s not what we’re doing for her but what she’s doing to us.’

  Toby now: ‘Go on? Kes, put her cider down.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Well,’ Amy continued, ‘how long have we all known her? Kes had a drink with her in the theatre but that’s not exactly This Is Your Life. You and me can’t have spent more than five minutes apiece with her. That tall bloke who caught her scampered off to the off-licence to get us all booze. I mean … here we are. Eight o’clock on the first night of Freshers’ Week holding a bloody vigil.’

  ‘Seems only decent.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, Toby, I don’t mind. It’s just …’

  ‘No, I know what you mean. By the way, Kes, I saw that.’

  ‘Sorry. Marsden can have the brandy.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’

  ‘But you’re both right,’ Kes said through a cidery burp. ‘I don’t know what it is about this Kate Marsden. She seems to have an aura.’

  Kate felt bad about eavesdropping on her friends but had taken the last minute to gather her wits. She felt a presence at the side of the bed. Toby. ‘I’m not sure I believe in auras.’

  Now Kes again, from the corner of the room: ‘Me neither, come to think of it. But there’s something going on. We must have all loved her in another life.’

  Another pause. Kate decided it was time to wake up. Here was Toby, pulling the little student duvet protectively over her shoulder. Her eyes were only half open as they met his. She said, ‘Where’s Luke?’

  ‘Who?’

  Amy joined Toby by the bed. ‘She means the tall bloke.’

  Toby kept his eyes on Kate. ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘To the offy!’ shouted Kes from his chair.

  ‘I need to talk to Luke,’ Kate said, swinging her legs out of Amy’s bed and finding the floor.

  ‘Which one’s Luke?’ Kes asked.

  ‘I just said. The tall lad that went to the offy.’

  Toby withdrew to Amy’s desk chair and Kate heard him mutter to himself, ‘He’s not that fucking tall.’

  It was at this point that Kate realised she wasn’t wearing any trousers. ‘Erm …’

  Amy handed over her jeans. ‘Sorry, love, I took your jeans and boots off. Don’t worry, the fellas stepped outside.’

  Kes lit a cigarette. ‘I was all for having a good old stare but Tobias here literally pushed me out of the door with his gallant biceps.’

  Toby found the ceiling in embarrassment and said quietly, ‘Oh, shoosh yer face.’

  Kate took her clothes upside down and all of Malcolm’s change spilled onto the floor. ‘Oh, bollocks.’

  ‘Look at that, Marsden’s a millionaire!’

  Kate pulled on her jeans, causing Toby to take a sudden interest in Amy’s lava lamp. She said, ‘Sorry I’ve been so shit. I didn’t mean to spoil your first night here.’

  ‘It’s your first night too, Kate,’ Amy said, taking Kes’s fag from him and stubbing it out in a cactus plant.

  Kes watched the action with equanimity and said, ‘Absolutely. Anyway, we brought our drinks.’

  ‘I brought the drinks,’ Toby corrected, ‘you carried Kate.’

  ‘That’s it. You brought the drinks, I carried Kate.’

  ‘And I just organised,’ said Amy, lighti
ng a joss stick.

  Kate couldn’t help being amused that her oldest/newest friends had rescued her again but without being so careless as to leave their booze in the bar. They were students after all.

  ‘Let’s go back to the bar!’ she announced. ‘I’ll get a round in.’ She glanced at the constellation of change on Amy’s carpet. ‘I’ve still got eight pounds, twenty-five pee. We’re in for a hell of a night!’

  Toby looked at the huge pile of coins and frowned.

  ‘Jesus Christ, not Benedict bar again!’ Kes almost shouted. ‘It’s a screeching fuckhole beyond imagining.’

  Toby knelt down and began collecting Kate’s money for her. She pursed her lips as she realised he was secretly counting it. Surely a spy in the making. He said, ‘Maybe find a pub, then?’

  ‘I’ll go with the flow,’ Amy said easily, ‘but we should really wait for the tall bloke. He’ll be back any minute.’

  Kate was suddenly in no hurry to be in Luke’s presence again. ‘Okay, just text him.’

  Toby’s hands stopped and he looked at Kate. ‘Just what him?’

  ‘I mean, just leave a note on the door for him.’

  Kes let out a semi-discreet fart. ‘Who are we talking about?’

  ‘“Luke”, apparently,’ said Toby. He had stacked Kate’s change into columns and now looked up at her. ‘It’s exactly eight pounds, twenty-five.’

  Hmm, not much of a spy then. Spies don’t just announce the results of their spying.

  Kate knelt down opposite him and began to pocket the money. He handed her a pile or two of silver and she noted his bitten nails and the surprising warmth of his fingers as they brushed against hers. ‘What can I say?’ she grinned at him. ‘A girl on a budget knows the price of cider, right?’

  Toby returned the smile. ‘Evidently.’

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Oh, that’ll be Luke,’ Amy said on her way to answer.

  Kate and Toby didn’t move. She found herself listening to Amy at the door and her gaze wandering freely over Toby’s hands, Toby’s watch, the fine blond hairs of Toby’s bare arms.

  ‘That’s nice of you, love. What do we owe you?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, my grant came through early.’

  ‘Come on in.’

  Stiffly and automatically, Kate stood. Physically impressive in the small room, Luke advanced into the space like the world’s most hesitant panther. There was a brief round of re-introductions during which Kate had time to collect herself. Behind her, she sensed Toby returning to his seat.

  Luke held up one of two plastic bags from Oddbins. ‘I didn’t know whether people liked red or white so I got both.’

  Kes was immediately on his feet, relieving Luke of both bottles. ‘That’s the kind of decision-making I can do business with.’

  Luke regarded Kate warily. ‘And I … sorry, it’s Kate, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s Kate.’

  ‘I thought so. Anyway, I got you this.’

  From the second bag he produced a litre bottle of Scrumpy Jack. In her t-shirt and jeans and bare feet, Kate took a couple of steps towards him and took the bottle in silence. Looking at the label, she asked, ‘Why did you say that you’d missed me?’

  There was a level of awkwardness that a student room containing five British humans was not built to cope with. Luke blushed and started to babble. ‘Yeah, I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t think you were going to – it’s just a stupid line.’

  ‘A line?’

  ‘Yeah. A chat-up line. Sorry.’

  Amy handed a corkscrew to Kes and Kate caught them sharing two pairs of raised eyebrows. Toby was still inspecting the lava lamp but this time as if he might hate the lava lamp and everything lava lamps stood for. Amy cleared her throat and started to put on a CD.

  Luke went on. ‘From a film. Sorry. That makes it even cornier, doesn’t it? From Sammy and Rosie Get … well, Get Laid.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Kes came in swiftly as he made short work of opening Luke’s bottle of Spanish plonk. ‘Roland Gift and Frances Barber. La Barber.’

  ‘Film Four, 1987, directed by Stephen Frears,’ Toby flatly informed the lava lamp.

  ‘Yeah, exactly,’ said Luke. So …’ He looked around but there was nowhere to sit. Kate was now staring at him and Amy’s speakers sounded the first notes of REM’s ‘Losing My Religion’.

  Luke carried on: ‘So … yeah. Roland Gift meets this girl and says “I missed you” and she says “We’ve never met” and he says “If we’d met, it would have been worse.”’

  ‘I see,’ said Kate, swaying slightly.

  ‘So he’s kind of cheekily assuming a pre-destiny, where in fact—’

  ‘I get it.’

  ‘Sorry. Really cheesy. People don’t normally faint.’

  At this, Toby turned his attention directly to Luke. ‘It’s something you’ve said before, then, I take it.’ He said it with his most charming smile and the lightness of tone that public school boys deploy when they want to call someone an arsehole just to see if they notice.

  Luke did not. He shrugged affably and said, ‘Well, only once. And it didn’t really work, but …’

  Kes and Amy chuckled indulgently and started asking Luke friendly questions about what course he was doing. Kate sat slowly back down on Amy’s bed and regarded the boy with whom she’d shared her life. She saw how easy it was for him. He was going to shrug and self-deprecate his way through it all. He would bat off compliments and insults in exactly the same way – by simply not hearing them.

  So this is how you did it. This is how you subsisted for twenty-eight years without getting an actual job.

  Luke elected to sit next to her on the bed. Kes had apparently been holding forth on the subject of literary novels. ‘It’s exactly the same with Ben Okri,’ he concluded.

  In a long day of surreal moments, Kate reflected that this was an extraordinary wind-up. The man whom everyone in the room knew had just tried to chat her up was now sitting next to her and talking about Ben Okri. She marvelled at how these young people just accepted the weirdness and rolled with it. They were so light.

  ‘The thing about Ben Okri,’ Luke was saying, ‘is that he needs to go back to short stories to refresh his style.’

  If Kate’s eyeballs were capable of swivelling as far back as they suddenly needed to, she would now have a close-up view of her own brain. ‘Ben Okri needs to go back to short stories to refresh his style’ was one of Luke’s Greatest Hits. He wheeled it out every time he thought he needed to say something that sounded smart about books. It was right up there with ‘Ulysses is actually amazingly conventional’ and ‘I prefer Ian McEwan’s earlier, darker stuff’. The fact that Luke hadn’t read Ulysses or a single word written by Ben Okri was beside the point. He was yet to meet anyone willing to call out his bullshit. He was, in other words, yet to properly meet Kate Marsden.

  Kate crossed one leg over the other and tried to look out of the window but it was dark now and all she saw was her own reflection.

  Give the kid a break. He’s a fresher and an English student – of course he’s lying about books. You, on the other hand – you’re lying about everything.

  She found Toby’s gaze in the window – a look of quizzical concern. Whatever she was doing with her face, it didn’t look normal. What would be the normal thing to do now? Join in. Must join in. She heard what she had to say – she was saying it in an unnaturally loud voice. ‘So, Luke – what’s your very favourite short story by Ben Okri?’

  He turned to her in surprise but kept his composure. ‘Oh God, so many, so many …’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she sympathised.

  I’ve so had it with your bullshit.

  ‘Well …’ He picked soulfully at the loose thread of his ripped jeans. ‘Oh God, you’re not really going to make me pick just one?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ said Kate, beaming at him pleasantly, ‘I really am going to make you pick just one.’

/>   Luke gave a brave little smile and looked deeply troubled. It was surely very unfair that someone who loved Ben Okri as much as Luke should be expected to choose just one story. He waited patiently for someone to rescue him. It took about three seconds.

  ‘There are good things in Incidents at the Shrine,’ Kes ventured, as if agreeing with something Luke had just said.

  Luke nodded painfully. He shrugged in a worldly manner. ‘But the reviews …’

  ‘Oh God, yes, the fucking reviews were—’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Kate.

  Kes continued, ‘Well, critics are all wankers, as we know.’

  ‘As we know,’ Luke repeated, as if giving his magnanimous blessing to this powerful insight.

  Kate wasn’t giving up that easily. ‘Yes, but Incidents at the Shrine is the name of a collection, isn’t it? What’s your favourite story within that collection, Luke?’

  Luke – unfazed and apparently quite used to young women insisting on his opinion of such matters – turned to her. ‘Well, the first one in the collection, the one that’s …’ His head spun quickly back to Kes and he frowned as if the trifling matter of a title was something his new assistant might help him with.

  ‘“Laughter Beneath the Bridge”,’ Kes obliged.

  ‘Yes, that’s … is that … that’s not the first one, is it?’

  ‘I believe it is. I might be wrong.’

  ‘No, sorry, I think you’re right. Well, it has this lyrical quality that …’

  Kate didn’t listen to the rest of Luke’s content-free speech. That little hesitation he had feigned, that reflexive gaslighting of Kes to find out which story came first – it chilled her. She started to pull on her socks.

  Luke was still talking. ‘… qualities which get confused with Zola but I think that’s a false opposition. I suppose I have an affinity with French literature anyway, y’know, what with my name.’

  Kate shook her head and tied the laces of her Doc Martens with abrupt movements. Toby couldn’t resist the bait but managed to keep his tone neutral. ‘What is it about your name, Luke?’

  ‘Well, it’s actually spelt L-U-C. Something in the family going way back. My dad thinks we’re descended from Eleanor of Aquitaine, but I don’t really believe that.’