Bookends

by Jane Green

  ‘The last time I tried to take you out for dinner it all ended up in a shambles, and I would really like to see you properly.’

  ‘What do you mean, see me properly?’ Although I know what he means, and he knows that I know, because there’s a huge grin on my face.

  ‘I mean go out for dinner. Spend some proper time with you. Get to know you properly.’

  ‘We could always start tonight,’ I say coquettishly.

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘We could have dinner tonight.’

  ‘You’re not busy?’

  ‘Nope. The only thing is you’ll have to wait around while I get dressed and stuff.’

  James looks delighted. ‘Tell you what,’ he says, looking at his watch and standing up. ‘If this is a proper date, and I bloody well hope it is, then I’ll be back here at eight o’clock to pick you up. How does that sound?’

  ‘Perfect.’ I walk him to the door, and then a thought occurs to me. ‘James, you know the last time we had dinner, when we saw Josh and… well, you know. Aren’t you going to ask about Josh and Lucy?’

  ‘Not my business, Cath.’ He shrugs, at which point I’m incredibly tempted to kiss him. ‘If you want to talk about it with someone, then I’m happy to listen, or try and help, but you should only tell me if you want to.’

  ‘James,’ I laugh. ‘You’re just too good to be true. I’ll see you at eight.’ And I close the front door behind him and squeal to myself for a bit, suddenly feeling things I thought I was incapable of feeling any more – excitement, exhilaration and more than a touch of anticipation.

  I cannot believe that I have a proper date, and, more importantly, I cannot believe that I am actually excited about this date. It has been so long since anyone has made me feel these things, and even though I know I’ve avoided this for fear of getting hurt, there’s something about James that makes me want to trust him.

  And the more I get to know him, the more I like what I see. I thought he was so shy, so nervous at first, but I’m starting to see his sense of humour, and the fact that he’s incredibly comfortable with who he is, and I like that about him. I could learn to like that a lot.

  I dry my hair, change into something more appropriate, and when, at twenty to eight, the doorbell rings, I curse James silently for being so early, but thank God I am ready.

  But it’s not James, it’s Si, and I have completely forgotten that he would be coming round for supper if his friend wasn’t in, and I start to apologize, start to explain, when I notice that Si is as white as a sheet and looks suspiciously like he’s about to throw up.

  ‘Si? What is it? What’s the matter?’ I clutch him in alarm as he threatens to topple over, and then lead him inside, terrified of his shaking.

  He sits down as if in a daze, and then turns to me. ‘Will’s not well.’

  ‘Oh, Si.’ My face crumples in sympathy, because, hate Will though I do, I can see that this is hurting Si, and that hurts me. ‘I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Did you just find out?’

  Si turns to me. ‘Ian just told me.’

  ‘Is it something serious?’

  ‘Cath,’ he whispers, turning to look at me, showing me the fear in his eyes. ‘He’s got AIDS.’

  ‘What?’ I never really knew what people meant when they talked about their blood running cold. Until now.

  ‘He said he was fine. We talked about it because you know how completely paranoid I am, and he said he’d had a test last year and it was negative, and that if I was negative too, there was no reason to… well… you know, safe sex and everything.’

  ‘Oh my God. Oh my God. Si.’ My breath catches in my throat and I’m so angry, so frightened, I want to start shaking him. ‘Please tell me you used condoms. Please tell me you didn’t…’

  Si looks at me and then starts to cry, and I reach out and put my arms around him, rocking him to and fro as his body heaves with the sobs.

  Four years ago Si lost one of his best friends. Jake was gorgeous. Funny, handsome, self-deprecating. They met at a cinema. Si, bored, took off for the afternoon and went by himself to catch a matinée. I remember he said he’d noticed Jake in the queue – and how, I laughed at the time, could he not.

  Si caught Jake’s eye, and Jake caught Si’s, and although they weren’t sitting together – Si was three rows behind Jake – there were only eight people in the cinema, and when the film was over Jake turned around and asked Si what he thought.

  They went for coffee. Which turned into dinner. Which, at the time, quite probably could have turned into something more, but somehow the timing wasn’t right, and instead of becoming lovers they became friends.

  I remember feeling jealous of Jake. Jealous because despite the longer history that Si and I shared, there was an understanding between Jake and Si that I could never be a part of. Jealous because the two of them could go off and hit the clubs together, and even though I went, from time to time, I could never have as good a time as they could. And jealous because all of us could see that although they were only friends, Si had fallen hook, line and sinker, and if Jake’s friendship was the only thing on offer, then that would have to be enough.

  Jake was American, and very early on, before they even got to know one another that well – although of course Si was already secretly planning their cottage in the country, had already planted out the vegetable garden, named their two golden Labradors – Jake sat Si down and told him about his past. He told him about his youth, the years of anonymous sex with strangers, and he told him that, despite everything, he would not have lived those years differently.

  Despite everything? Jake told him that when he first arrived in London he came down with a fever. One hundred and four degrees, vomiting and shivering, and he went to a doctor who tested him for HIV.

  And because this was real life, and because real life doesn’t always go the way we would like, Jake was positive. He was also devastated. He went through everything the counsellors told him he might experience: anger, fear, grief and, finally, acceptance.

  His fever went away, the vomiting and shivering stopped, and he tried to pretend that everything was fine, that it had all been a nightmare, but of course it wasn’t. Jake went to counselling, he met people living with AIDS, heard their stories, and somehow along the way he discovered that perhaps he was being shown a different way to live his life.

  He learned that the challenge of having AIDS is not dying of AIDS, but living with AIDS. That it isn’t an instant death sentence, that his life could be just as fulfilling, more even, than before: he could work with the community, give something back, make the absolute most of the rest of his life, however long, or short, it would turn out to be.

  And Si listened to Jake, heard what he was saying, and when Jake finished, Si reached over and gave him a hug.

  ‘I’m scared,’ Si said. ‘I have to be honest and if I’m honest then you have to know that it frightens me, terrifies me, because it, AIDS, has always been there, but it’s never directly affected anyone who’s been close to me. But I also know that you’re one of my best friends, and whatever I can do for you, I will.’

  They went to a bookshop that afternoon, and Jake pointed out the books he had read, some of which Si bought, to arm himself with information.

  He learned to stop being frightened. He learned what was safe and what was not. And he learned that not every cough, every headache, every sneeze, was the onset of the downward spiral.

  But Jake wasn’t just HIV positive – Si always said he wished he’d met him years ago, wished he’d got to know him before the illness, even though Jake said he wouldn’t have liked him as much, that he was a far nicer person since contracting HIV – Jake had AIDS, and although he had friends who had gone years without opportunistic infections, Jake was unlucky.

  Soon after they met Jake developed PCP pneumonia. He’d already lost his appetite, had night sweats, but this was the moment he’d been dreading, the moment he hoped wouldn’t come for years.

  His CD4 c
ount dropped to just under 100, he lost his appetite, his sleep, and his mood swings were frightening, but Si tried to fight for him, tried to find the strength to make him survive. Even during the times he shouted at Si, screamed at him to fuck off, Si sat silently, patiently, stroking his hair until Jake broke down in tears.

  When the end finally came, all the people Jake had ever loved gathered together in the tiny terraced cottage he owned in Clapham. His mother and sister flew over from North Carolina. The friends came who had become closer to him than his family had ever been.

  And then it was over. Jake was, finally, at peace, and Si, after cocooning himself away for months, gradually came out of his shell, and started to live in the real world again.

  And since Jake, since reading the books, watching his friend die, Si has become the ‘condom queen’ of North London. (His expression, not mine.) AIDS, he has always subsequently said (an expression he picked up from someone else), is one hundred per cent fatal but one hundred per cent preventable.

  And sure, he’s had one-night-stands, brief encounters, but the one thing I was always absolutely certain of was that he had never, ever, practised unsafe sex. Not Si. So why is he sitting on my sofa crying, not answering my question?

  I am about to ask again, when the doorbell goes. Oh Christ. James. Si looks at me questioningly and I whisper that I’ll be back in a second. I go to the front door, feeling ridiculous for having to cancel again, but knowing that there’s no way on earth I will leave Si like this.

  And James can see immediately that there’s something wrong.

  ‘I don’t bloody believe it,’ he sighs, visibly annoyed. ‘You’re cancelling me again, aren’t you?’ he says flatly, and I can see that this time he really is pissed off.

  ‘I’m so sorry, James, something has come up. I can’t explain now. I’ll have to explain later. Can I call you tomorrow?’

  ‘You know what, Cath?’ he says, and his voice is hard, and although I’d like to tell him why, I can’t, and I know that he’s upset, and this hardness is his way of covering it up, but if he gives me a second chance I will make certain he understands that it’s not him, that I am not trying to avoid him. I start to speak but he turns to go.

  ‘Just forget it. Let’s just forget it.’

  ‘James?’ I plead softly as he looks at the floor. ‘I am so, so sorry. I was so looking forward to this evening, and if there were any way I could go out with you, I would, but it’s going to have to wait. I’m not cancelling, James, I’m just postponing.’

  ‘How long,’ he finally sighs, looking up at me and forcing a smile, ‘do you suppose I will wait? Because I have to tell you, Cath, my patience has pretty much run out.’

  ‘I promise I’ll call you tomorrow,’ I say, and this time he does turn to leave, and I shut the door and go back into the living room, to Si.

  Chapter twenty-five

  I know this isn’t the time for recriminations, and I know that Si, above all else, needs support and understanding, but I’m in shock. I still can’t understand how Si, the Condom Queen, could have risked everything for Will. Especially because we’ve always laughed in the past when Si’s been told that people are fine – as Si has always said, ‘He would say that, wouldn’t he?’, and it has never stopped Si from practising safe sex.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I keep saying. ‘How? Why?’ But having a test a year ago means that a year ago Will was negative, and evidently a lot can change in a year.

  After a while Si calms down and starts to breathe normally, and soon he even makes a joke or two. I make tea, and I can see the warmth flow slowly back into his veins, and suddenly I think that we are being ridiculous. We are being overdramatic, we don’t know anything for sure, and surely we should not be making these assumptions. Not yet. Not when this life feels so normal.

  And I feel the maternal Cath kick in. The Cath that wants to make everything better, the Cath who will right wrongs and soothe the furrowed brow. And it might be inappropriate, what I’m trying to say, but I so want this to be some horrible nightmare. I just want to wake up and for everything to be fine.

  ‘Si,’ I start, ‘I know this might sound crazy, but you couldn’t possibly have it. You’re as healthy as an ox, for starters, and so you slept with Will a handful of times without using anything, it doesn’t mean you’ve got it.

  ‘I remember reading an article about HIV,’ I continue, my words tripping over themselves in their hurry to be heard, ‘which said that it really isn’t that easy to catch. In fact, there was some study taken about partners of people with HIV who hadn’t known about it and were having unprotected sex, and all of them were fine.’

  ‘Cath,’ he says slowly, ‘I have no idea whether you’ll be able to understand this, but I’ve got it. I know I’m HIV positive.’

  ‘Si, that’s ridiculous. That’s you being overdramatic. You can’t possibly know that…’ And I tail off because of course there is then only one question left for me to ask. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Are you going to get tested?’

  Si looks into his mug for a long time, and then looks back at me. ’Cath, this is something that I’ve thought about for years. All the time that Jake was ill I kept thinking about his courage and his bravery, and wondering what I would do if I were in the same position.

  ‘What would I do if my glands swelled up for no apparent reason and then refused to go down. What would I do if a cold refused to go away, sticking around until it got worse and worse. And I always thought that unless I absolutely had to, unless I had absolutely no other choice, I would live in blissful ignorance because I never thought I’d be able to handle the results.’

  ‘And now? How do you feel now?’ My voice is gentle, but I’m still trying to take this in.

  ‘Jake must have changed my attitudes far more than I had thought.’ He looks up at me and shrugs. ‘How could I not know? If I am positive, then the best thing I can do is to know now, to deal with it now, to take whatever drugs I might need. But you know what the worst thing is?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘I’ve got to have the test, but there’s an incubation period of three months, and the last time we slept together was the beginning of October, only a month ago, so it might not even show. Then again, I suppose we did meet in July, so who knows, I might get lucky.’

  ‘Oh God, Si.’ I can feel my own tears welling up. ‘You can’t have it. Please say you haven’t got it.’

  ‘Cath,’ and he tries to smile. ‘It’s only a virus, for God’s sake. I’m going to go tomorrow.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘That’s what I was going to ask. The only thing I’m pretty certain of right now is that I couldn’t handle getting the results on my own. I want you to come.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  He mentions the name of a GUM clinic at a local hospital. A clinic that specializes in testing for sexually transmitted diseases. A clinic that gives you the results within an hour, where you can remain anonymous, where even your GP doesn’t have to be told.

  ‘And you’re sure you can handle the results?’ I’m amazed that, once Si had got over the initial shakes and tears at the prospect of a positive result, he is now so calm. I keep waiting for something to happen, for the histrionics to start, because this is not the Si I know and love, this is an altogether calmer version, and I’m not entirely sure how to play him.

  ‘You know,’ Si says, looking up at me with a smile, a genuine smile, ‘I can’t believe how well I’m handling this.’

  ‘Jesus. Neither can I.’

  ‘You know, Cath, it doesn’t mean AIDS. Not necessarily. Not yet. People can go for years and years being absolutely fine. Now, with all these new drugs, these cocktails and combination therapies, they’re talking about twenty years, no problem, and who knows, by then they’ll probably have found a cure.’

  ‘Si.’ I shiver. ‘You’re spooking me. Stop talking as if you already
have it.’

  All of a sudden he looks lost again, like a little boy, and I put my arm around his shoulders and give him a squeeze.

  ‘I’m scared, Cath,’ he says. ‘I’m really, really scared, but if I have it, then we’ll just have to deal with it.’

  We sit in silence for a while, and eventually I ask, ‘Have you made an appointment?’

  ‘I have to phone first thing in the morning. I’m just praying they’ll see me first thing, because the one thing I don’t think I can cope with is the wait. Once I know, then I can just get on with my life, but I have to know.’

  ‘Do you want to stay here tonight?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he sighs. ‘I’m not sure whether I can handle being on my own, but on the other hand part of me wants to go back home, to climb into bed with the duvet over my head. I just don’t know.’

  In the event Si doesn’t stay the night. He stays until midnight and we talk softly about the implications of being HIV positive, about what he might do, how he might tell people, how it will affect his life. And of course we talk about Jake, which is something we haven’t really talked about before now.

  When Jake died, Si, as always, shut down, and even when he came out of hibernation he still found it difficult to talk about him. We’d all learned to leave the subject alone unless Si brought it up, which he rarely did.

  But tonight it’s as if the floodgates have opened. Si talks about how much he loved Jake, and then, later, sheds more tears as he remembers his illness, his pain, and sobs in my arms as he cries that he does not want to go through this.

  There is nothing I can say. I am still numbed by the horror of it all, because, out of all of us, Si is, or I should say, was, the most careful. He was the one who would shout at me on the rare occasions I got carried away by the moment, forgetting the condom in the heat of passion.

  When Si eventually leaves, I sit for a very long time on my sofa, and I do something I have not done for years. I pray. I, who have not believed in God since I was a little girl, who do not believe in religion, sit there with my eyes clenched tightly shut, and I pray that if there is someone out there, then he must make Si be negative.