Love

by Roddy Doyle

  He burst out laughing.

  —Why did you look it up? I asked him.

  —Somethin’ Trish said.

  —You’re still talking to Trish?

  —Listenin’ to her.

  I saw his face. He regretted what he’d just said, he wanted to take it back.

  —There’s nothing necessarily salacious about having sex with a woman you’re not married to, I said. —Or talking about it – more to the point. Is there?

  —Not at all, he said. —Not at all.

  The drink was talking for him too.

  —Not at all. But what I’m sayin’ is, it wasn’t like that. We didn’t – I don’t know – paw each other.

  —Did you want to?

  —What?

  —You said it, not me – paw her. I don’t know – put your hands where you’d wanted to put them back in the day.

  —No.

  Where you’d wanted to, was what I’d said. Where we’d wanted to, was what I’d meant.

  —Not really, he said.

  —Not really?

  —Stop it, Davy.

  —Stop what, Joe?

  —Just fuckin’ stop it. You’re not listenin’. You’re like fuckin’ Trish.

  —I’m sorry?

  —Lookin’ for muck where there isn’t any. Wantin’ it to be about body parts.

  I knew now why he’d been googling. I could hardly remember what Trish looked like but I could hear her saying salacious. And body parts.

  —Okay, I said. —Sorry. I’m interrupting you. Go on.

  —Well, he said. —What?

  —Go on with what you were saying.

  —Well, all I was sayin’ – all I wanted to clarify –. Was that it wasn’t about – like – the biology. Or just biology.

  —Okay.

  —Just that. It was like we were friends. Lifelong friends, I mean.

  —Like you and Trish.

  —Okay, he said. —Yeah.

  —How did Trish take it? I asked.

  —Oh, for fuck sake.

  He seemed to be grateful. He was off the hook. He’d have no problem relating this part.

  —God, he said. —Jesus.

  —Did you tell her?

  —What d’you mean?

  —Did you tell her? I repeated. —I mean, did you get to tell her, yourself, or did she find out?

  —Oh, he said. —No, no. I told her. I plucked up the fuckin’ stupidity. Jesus.

  He laughed.

  —I made sure the house was empty, he said. —But I don’t know, Davy. I didn’t –. I thought it would be grand.

  —You didn’t.

  —I did.

  —You can’t have.

  —I fuckin’ did, he said. —We were gettin’ on great, me and Trish. We always have. But, I can see why that might seem like a ridiculous thing to say, and I agree – it’s fuckin’ daft. But I’ll tell you what happened. The way the unconscious works or whatever – fuckin’ hell. I decided I’d better put me shoes on. Before, you know, I told her – don’t ask me why.

  I started laughing.

  —I know, he said. —I thought I’d have to escape – I don’t know.

  —Probably.

  —Yeah – but I don’t know. It made sense – if anythin’ made fuckin’ sense. But they were in under the coffee table. I’d taken them off earlier. We were watchin’ –

  —The Affair.

  —No – fuck off. Somethin’ else – I can’t remember now. But, anyway, here goes, I said to myself. Get it out there. It was Friday, the kids were all out. And I started puttin’ one of me fuckin’ shoes on. Why are you doin’ that? she asks. And d’you know what I said? I’m just goin’ to put the bins out. It was the first thing I thought of – instead of what I’d actually been goin’ to tell her. Puttin’ the fuckin’ bins out. It’s Friday, she says. I’d put the bins out the night before. And I’m still puttin’ my other shoe on. I should’ve stopped – I don’t know – and waited for another time. But she was lookin’ at me like she might be witnessing early-onset Alzheimer’s or somethin’.

  He was loving this. He was telling a different, much easier story.

  —I should’ve taken the fuckin’ things off – the shoes, like. But –. This is where the madness kicks in or somethin’. I actually told her. I decided to go ahead and tell her. To reassure her, nearly. That I wasn’t losin’ the marbles.

  —You told Trish you were seeing another woman so she wouldn’t think you had dementia?

  —Basically, he said. —Yeah.

  —How did you word it?

  He ignored my question, or he seemed to.

  —The shoes were fuckin’ awkward, he said. —I’ll tell you that.

  He looked down at his feet – he stuck a foot out.

  —These aren’t the same ones, he said. —They were more like boots, the ones I was wearin’. It was a bit of a fight gettin’ them on – especially the way we were sittin’ – back on the couch, you know. And so, anyway, I was puttin’ the other one on – doin’ the lace – and I said, I met someone I used to know, by the way.

  —Like that?

  —Yeah.

  —And?

  —Hiroshima, Davy. Fuckin’ Hiroshima. She was straight in there, no warnin’. I knew it! I fuckin’ knew it! You fuckin’ bastard!

  He looked around, to make sure he wasn’t being heard. He looked at me.

  —I expected her to say, Who?, or somethin’ like that. I don’t know – ease my way into tellin’ her. But she went straight to the end. D’you know what she said?

  —What?

  He’d lowered his voice.

  —I knew you weren’t ridin’ me.

  —Jesus, I said. —That’s brilliant.

  —It is in a way, he said. —Isn’t it? Not accurate. But deep – or somethin’. Astute. Would we ever guess that?

  —Men?

  —Yeah, he said. —Would we? That our partner was thinkin’ of another man while –

  —Or a woman.

  —Better yet. But a man – keep it simple. A different man. While she’s with you.

  —Would we notice – is that what you mean?

  —Yeah. Or care. Anyway, I wasn’t. Ridin’ a different woman.

  —But you were thinking of her.

  —No, he said. —No. I wasn’t.

  The fun was out of his voice, suddenly. He was remembering: he had something he’d been trying to tell me.

  —It wasn’t about sex, he said. —Jessica.

  —Really?

  —Yeah. Really.

  —Is that an age thing? I asked him.

  —What?

  —Well, I said. —If you’d met her, say, twenty years ago – even ten. Would it have made a difference?

  —She’s a beautiful woman.

  —I don’t doubt you, I said. —I didn’t say different. Just to be clear. I’m not saying that you weren’t all over her because her tits have sagged or she has a couple of chins that she didn’t have before.

  I didn’t like talking this way – but I was enjoying myself, now that Joe wasn’t.

  —And so do we, by the way, I said. —We all age, is what I’m saying. The urge mightn’t be there – or it’s different. Or subtle. Not based on erections.

  —Take it easy, Davy, for fuck sake.

  —No, listen, I said. —You see a middle-aged woman. Almost elderly, really. Statistically. You meet her again after years apart. But – here’s the thing. She’s contemplating an elderly man – almost. You. Late middle-age – very late middle-age. It has to – I don’t know – influence how we behave. Somehow. Doesn’t it?

  I was denying him the integrity of his story. But I wasn’t. I was with him. Still with him. Trying to stay with him. For old times’ sake.

  —I don’t t
hink so, he said. —Not the way you mean.

  —What do I mean?

  —We get older, we slow down, he said. —I’m with you there. I agree with you. We calm down. We’re less impetuous. Unless –. But, okay, I see what you mean. Two people – man, woman – both of them nearly sixty. There’d be a different pace. The energy levels are different – it’s only natural. But.

  —But?

  —I don’t want to be – well – salacious. I already have been, just there, I know. But that was what Trish said. I was only quoting her. But. Me and Trish made love every night, for weeks. Months – before I left. Nearly every night now. Twice a fuckin’ night, occasionally. Now and again.

  He’d lowered his voice again. I was leaning over to him again, to hear.

  —I couldn’t get enough of her, he said. —And she was the same – just as bad.

  —She didn’t know you were leaving. Presumably.

  —You’re missin’ the point, Davy, he said. —I think you are. And, actually, I think she did know. She sensed it. That’s what she was sayin’, anyway. And I wouldn’t be disagreein’ with her. Although I hadn’t made the decision. And I never did. She threw me out, basically.

  —Did she?

  —I couldn’t stay, he said. —It was fuckin’ unbearable. But she knew all the time – so she said. But that’s a different story – kind of. The point is, the sex was never better. Old and all as I am – we are. She is. She’d kill me if she heard me but it was fuckin’ incredible.

  I could see it again: regret.

  —So, you’re right, he said. —But you’re wrong.

  —Go on, I said.

  —Well, he said. —I think I’m too drunk now. I’ve lost me thread. Or somethin’.

  —Not really, I said. —It’s my fault. I’ve been interrupting you. Distracting you. Go on.

  —Okay, he said. —But I am drunk – a bit. I’m out o’ practice. You’re the same, I’d say – you must be.

  —A bit, I said.

  —We should have gone into trainin’, said Joe.

  —Go on, anyway, I said.

  —Where was I?

  —Sex or the lack, I said. —Trish versus Jessica.

  —Fuck off, Davy.

  —Sorry, I said. —I’m only jogging your memory.

  —Right, he said. —Like –. Okay. This sounds –. This is what I’ve wanted to say all night. But it feels too late. I’ve missed the opportunity.

  —You haven’t.

  —All the talk about sex. It wrecks everythin’. Always has. Tryin’ to do your exams – back in the day. And all you could think about was tits. D’you remember that?

  —I don’t need to, I said. —But we’re falling into the trap again.

  —The tits trap.

  —There are worse traps.

  —There are. But Jesus. There now – did Jesus think about tits?

  —Definitely.

  —Up on the cross?

  —Especially up on the cross, I said. —He was looking out over the crowd. Scoping the talent. Your woman at the back looks pleasant.

  —There we go again.

  —Go on.

  —Avoidin’ the issue.

  —Go on then.

  —Yeah – okay. But I’m goin’ to ask your man for a glass of water. I’m not used to drinkin’ any more, Davy.

  —Same here.

  —We’re up for the sex but down on the drink, he said. —Excuse me?

  The place was still quiet; the barman heard him.

  —Could you give us a glass of tap water, please? said Joe.

  The barman nodded.

  —No problem.

  —And two more pints, said Joe.

  He sat back.

  —While he’s at it.

  He sat up again, put a hand on his back.

  —So, he said.

  He waited until the barman had brought him the water.

  —Thanks very much.

  The pints would be another few minutes.

  —So.

  He knocked back half the water. He placed the glass behind his pint glass.

  —This is –. I have to be careful here, Davy. How I express it. I’m not bein’ cagey or whatever. But first of all – goin’ back to Trish an’ that. She was wrong. There was never another woman in the bed with us.

  —Okay.

  —I don’t know why I’m tellin’ you all this, by the way. Maybe cos Trish wouldn’t listen to me. You’re Trish for the night, Davy. How does tha’ feel?

  —I’ll get back to you, I said.

  We laughed.

  —You were puttin’ your shoes on, I reminded him.

  —I was goin’ to tell you about the other thing, he said.

  —What other thing?

  —How I felt about Jessica.

  —Finish the Trish story first.

  —It’s not a story, he said.

  —Oh, it is, I said. —It definitely is.

  —Well, it’s a true one, he said. —She caught me on the hop, anyway. And that’s puttin’ it mildly. What was I doin’, puttin’ my fuckin’ shoes on, though?

  —You knew you were going to have to leave, I said.

  —But I didn’t.

  —Didn’t know?

  —Didn’t leave.

  —Oh.

  —Not then, he said.

  —But she attacked you.

  —Well, yeah, she did, he said. —I told you what she said – I knew you weren’t riding me. An’ God, Davy – I hadn’t been anticipatin’ anythin’ like that. Like I said, she skipped loads of pages an’ went straight to the fuckin’ conclusion. An’ I think now, actually –. I think puttin’ the shoes on, continuin’ that – it helped. It gave me somethin’ to do, if that makes sense. Does it?

  —Yeah.

  —I could kind o’ stay calm, he said. —Because I was doin’ somethin’ else. She was standin’ up over me. She’d stood up – that was the problem. Part of it. And another thing went through my mind. The things we think of – Jesus. In moments o’ crisis. We’ve a stove in the room, a gas stove. We got it put in, it must be fifteen years ago – longer. But I was thinkin’, thank Christ we did. Because we’d the coal fire up to that, you know. So there would’ve been the poker there an’ the coal tongs and she’d have fuckin’ skulled me with the poker.

  —Has she hit you before? I asked him.

  —Trish? No, never – no. But this was kind of exceptional, in fairness. An’ the way she exploded –. But, like I said, I stayed calm. Not calm – numb. Numb’s better. I stayed where I was – sittin’, I mean. An’ I kept putting the shoe on. What’re you on about? I said. It was only someone I used to know. But she wasn’t havin’ it. No way. Who is she, she wanted to know. An’ I said, Who said it was a woman? An’ she definitely wasn’t havin’ that. Did I take her for a complete eejit? And I probably had. An’ the only eejit in the room was me.

  He stopped. I watched him, thinking. I said nothing – I made sure I said nothing.

  —I’m fallin’ for it again, he said.

  —What?

  —I’m pretendin’ it’s about me bein’ caught doin’ the dirty on me wife. But it isn’t. But Trish, I suppose, thought I was, so I got dragged into tha’ – that interpretation, I suppose. But tha’ wasn’t what I’d intended at all. But I was back-pedallin’ from the outset, so to speak, an’ I never got the chance to say what I’d wanted to say.

  —What did you tell her, though? I asked.

  —Oh, he said. —Just, she’s a girl I used to know, ages back.

  —That’s true.

  —But it’s not, he said. —It’s not true. She’s not just anythin’. But I told Trish it was – she was; Jessica – before her time an’ I’d hardly known her then either. I dismissed it – her. Jessica. But funnily –.

  —What?

  —Trish didn�
��t.

  —Wha’?

  —Dismiss it, he said. —She wanted to know everythin’. Her name. An’ I was blessed there. I didn’t know her name – her surname. It’s true. An’ I must’ve looked honest when I said I didn’t, because I didn’t. But then she grabbed my fuckin’ phone.

  —Oh, Christ.

  —Exactly. But then I thought, it’s not too bad because I didn’t have Jessica’s name in the phone book.

  —George.

  —There you go – you remember. But Trish is racing through my phone – the fingers, you know – the way women can do it. An’ I don’t stop her. I don’t try to get it back. But I’m lookin’ at her an’ I’m thinkin’ she’s done this before, she’s searched through my phone before. I mean, she knew my password already. And that’s grand – I know hers. Do you know Faye’s?

  It took me a second to realise he’d asked me a question.

  —Yeah, I said. —I do.

  —I’d have thought so, he said. —It’s the same with most couples is my bet. But the way Trish was doin’ it, scrollin’ through whatever she was scrollin’ through. I knew she’d done it before. When I wasn’t there. An’ I knew I was fucked. She’d been ready for me all along. You phone this George item a lot, don’t you? she says. An’ she phones you as well, look it. And she phones her.

  —Trish phoned Jessica?

  —Yep.

  —On your phone.

  —Yep.

  —Fuckin’ hell, Joe.

  —Go on, he said. —Laugh. Get it over with.

  He was laughing before I was.

  —Jesus, Joe.

  —I know.

  —Your two worlds collided.

  —Oh, they did, he said.

  —What happened?

  —Well, he said. —She phoned her. An’ she answered. Is that George? she says – Trish – an’ she doesn’t wait to hear wha’ Jessica is goin’ to say. Is that George the lezzer from Enid Blyton? she says. I couldn’t believe it – I nearly laughed. But then she says, Stay away from my husband, bitch, I know where you live. An’ fuckin’ hell, I wondered if she did.

  —She said it with conviction.

  —She fuckin’ did, man, he said. —Then Jessica must’ve been talkin’, because all Trish did was go, Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah – drownin’ her out, you know. Just you mark my words, she said. Stay away from him or I’ll improve your face for you. I’d never heard her talk like tha’ before – so brutally, like. An’ then she deleted the number. She held it up to show me she was doin’ it – Look.