LEONARD AND HUNGRY PAUL

by Ronan Hession

  ‘You’ve had quite a week. Sorry about your job.’

  ‘Please don’t be. It was soul-crushing and stressful. I had just got used to the money and they gave me afternoons off, which will be impossible to get elsewhere, but I would have died in that job.’

  ‘Shelley, I’m not sure what to say. I mean, I’d like to talk, but it’s Grace’s wedding today. I just wasn’t expecting this.’

  ‘I know, I know, it’s over the top. You have a couple of missed calls and a text or two by the way. I just wanted to tell you that I really like your book and that Patrick really loves it.’

  ‘I’m so glad. I wasn’t sure I drew him right.’

  ‘You were pretty close. In real life he has a beard, a glass eye, a wooden leg and a hump, but the rest of it wasn’t too far off. The box about him having a big heart and a big imagination really touched me, you know.’

  ‘I wanted it to be special for him. And you.’

  ‘It really is, Leonard.’

  There was an uncertain pause, silence showing its awkward side.

  ‘I had better get back. It was nice to see you again, Shelley,’ he said, making to get up.

  ‘Don’t punish me, Leonard,’ said Shelley. ‘Don’t be withholding just because I hurt you.’

  Leonard stalled for a moment, unsure of himself. He sat back down, this time beside Shelley on her couch.

  ‘I’m not trying to withhold anything, Shelley. Or punish you. Why would I do that?’

  ‘So what’s going on between us then?’

  ‘I don’t know, Shelley. I don’t know because I don’t know. I’m not used to these conversations. I don’t know the rules. They’re too cryptic. I feel like there is some formulation of words you are willing me to say but I don’t know what it is, and I’m worried that unless I say the right thing you’ll walk away.’

  Shelley looked at him intently. A seriousness hung in the air between them.

  ‘You can’t keep testing me, Shelley. I guarantee that I will fail each and every time. I can’t be spontaneously profound. And do you know what? It doesn’t matter. Or rather it shouldn’t matter but it does, at least to you it does. Anyone can say something beautiful in the moment. Anyone can deliver the right line. But that’s not real. That doesn’t prove anything. What matters is what a person is really like. What matters is what a person is prepared to reveal to you in real time in the real world, when there is no soundtrack in the background and no games going on. I care for you very much, but I’m not scared to be by myself. I can’t perform for you, Shelley. I have thought about Patrick a lot, though. I think about him as being me at his age. I can remember what that was like. I can remember it in my bones. It has never left me. I have no idea what I would have done had I met him that time. I had no plan and no clever answer that would have unlocked everything. But I know I would have been real with him. I wouldn’t have played with his feelings. But I know how important he is to you. I don’t necessarily understand it the way you do, but I do appreciate what he means to you. I have no wish to be a threat to that, but I also know that maybe I’m just too inexperienced or clueless about relationships to avoid doing or saying the wrong thing sometimes. You ask me these questions to make me work, to prove something to you, but I can’t live like that. I can’t be on edge, wondering when the next spot check is going to happen. When the next sphinx riddle is going to be posed. But I’ll do my best to be kind. To listen to you. To learn about being with a girl I care about. I’m just not sure whether that’s going to be enough for you.’

  Leonard stopped, having realised that he had said more than he meant to. Once he began, he had just kept talking and talking, saying things that he had only understood as he said them. True things. The fruit of his grief.

  Shelley, who had been twisting a loose thread around her finger all through Leonard’s improvised speech, took a breath and blinked back some tears before speaking softly.

  ‘You know, the whole time I was driving here I kept running through the script of what I wanted to say. My plan, just so you know, had been to unload and explain a whole bunch of things about myself that it now turns out you probably already understand. I knew I was being impulsive in coming here, but I just needed to get past that limiting voice inside me that says “be careful” every time I have a chance at life. I think that I have constructed this idea of myself as Patrick’s protector; but over the past week, if I am honest, I have come to realise that I have been using him as a reason to protect myself from the world. At the first sign of danger I retreat. Safety first, as they say.’

  Leonard, who had lived much of his life that way, listened quietly.

  ‘But after a while,’ Shelley continued, ‘you get to the stage where you realise that if you don’t give your own life some air and sunlight, it becomes this sad little place inside you. And now I feel stuck in this scary new situation where I can’t figure out the right balance between opening up to the world—and to you—and protecting myself and Patrick from what I know could happen. Does any of this make sense?’

  Leonard nodded, though he left unsaid the reflection that even the Romans struggled to balance the twin urges of expanding out into the world and defending themselves.

  Shelley reached over and took Leonard’s hand, leaning her tearful cheek into his chest and leaving a mark on his birch-green tie. Leonard kissed the top of Shelley’s hair and put his arm around her shoulder, gently stroking her ear with his thumb.

  Inside, in the main dining room, Peter was getting to his feet, promising not to keep the hungry diners too long, as he began his speech.

  Chapter 26: The next morning

  The next morning, Leonard woke up happy. The previous evening, he and Shelley had found a new closeness after sitting together quietly long enough for Leonard’s wedding dinner to go cold. They had left unanswered the question of where they stood with each other, other than having a proper make-up kiss and agreeing to meet for lunch later in the week. He had walked her out to her sister’s car and kissed her through the gap above the window which would only wind down half way. She pulled away with a ‘beep, beep’ and a wave, driving like a cyclist and ignoring the car park’s one-way system.

  Sitting up in bed with a pillow at his back, Leonard rested a cup of hotel-room tea on his tummy and watched the muted morning brightness creep through a gap in the drapes. He had to draw his legs towards him slightly on account of Hungry Paul, who was sleeping across the bed in a position known in heraldry as ‘bend sinister.’ Hungry Paul had every reason to be tired after a full and energetic evening, where he had stayed off alcohol and instead drank Lucozade, something which he had only previously enjoyed as a childhood cold remedy with suspect healing properties. When drunk throughout the night and combined with the high spirits of a family wedding, however, it inspired him to come into his own as a wedding guest. Surely no man has ever put the Lindy Hop to better purpose, at one stage finding himself at the centre of a large circle from which he plucked countless female partners to Hop with, Gloria Grimes, the writer, being among those to go back for a second spin. Of his solo dance performances, it was hard to top the one-man show he put on during ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ when he broke out his judo moves, the tie around his forehead an improvised touch that he was later proud of. Once the music finished and most of the guests went to bed, Hungry Paul stayed up in the residents’ bar—though having switched to hot chocolate at that stage—and played Top Trumps with Grace. It was the ‘Mythical Beasts’ set which Hungry Paul had been carrying in his breast pocket all day. Even though it was her wedding day and she had been so good to him over the years, he still trounced her, though it would have been hard to do otherwise since he had been dealt the Kraken, which was unbeatable on every category except speed. In fairness to Grace, she was somewhat distracted by Hungry Paul telling her the news about his job at the National Mime Association and his plans for Quiet Club, which Lambert had loved an
d was helping him organise. For once, she let her pride silence her scepticism, sisters sometimes having the good sense to know that practicality isn’t everything.

  Upstairs, in the bridal suite, Grace and Andrew had woken up to breakfast in bed, including a complimentary bottle of Prosecco from the hotel. Before going to sleep, Grace had ticked everything on the menu and hung it on the outer doorknob. They had the usual selection of juices, porridge, toast and a cooked breakfast, which even included the more modern additions like hash browns. She didn’t remember ticking the box for kippers, but in any event, there they were—she toyed with the idea of putting them under the duvet on Andrew’s side in case he tried to creep back to bed after his early morning wee.

  The wedding day had been magical. Grace had enjoyed a cheerful serenity all day, her facial muscles now feeling the strain of the posed smiles, not to mention the hilarity of the evening reception. She had been a social and gregarious bride, table hopping to make sure she had conversations with everyone, and then dancing in her bare feet to ‘Come On Eileen’, her legs kicking a raucous can-can. At one stage, Andrew snuck her outside for a little walk and a covert slice of wedding cake. They did a turn around the castle by themselves, and she could see how happy he was. Already he was calling her his wife every chance he got and looking at her in a love-struck staring way whenever she was talking to him.

  As he came in from the en suite, drying his hands and fiddling with his ring and the soap stuck underneath it, he leaned over and kissed Grace on the back of her neck.

  ‘Have you enough to eat?’ he asked.

  ‘I got you your kippers by the way. If you loved me you’d eat them.’

  Andrew did a barfing face.

  ‘What was your favourite thing?’ she asked. ‘I mean about yesterday. And don’t say “Your beautiful dress Grace, or your loving eyes.” I mean what was really the best?’

  He thought for a few seconds.

  ‘Let me see, maybe the church? Or the first dance? Actually, do you know what it was?’

  ‘Go on—surprise me.’

  ‘My favourite bit was sitting in the Inspector Morse Jag just after we got married. Our first private moment as a married couple. Just the two of us. Happy. Starving, mind you, but yes, happy. How about you?’

  Grace went quiet for a sec.

  ‘I think it was my dad’s speech. He just emptied himself into it without being mawkish. It had such emotional clarity. He has known me all my life and our relationship just seems to have got richer now that we’re both older. It was a big moment for him, I know that. He really, really, wanted to capture it just right. He was so… what’s the word I’m looking for? Tender. Yes, that’s it, tender. I had never realised that it was possible to make someone feel so loved at the very moment you are letting them go. I’ll never forget it.’

  She lifted the bell covers off the plates and started into her first married breakfast, clearing the mushrooms onto Andrew’s plate and taking his hash brown.

  She swivelled around.

  ‘How about let’s eat this and then go back to bed? What do you think?’ she asked.

  Andrew clinked his apple juice with hers and poured honey on his pre-coital porridge.

  Downstairs, Helen was sitting at the roll-top writing desk in her room, having a coffee and looking out over the foggy morning. Peter was still asleep after another snorey night, his hay fever made worse by the wheat beers he had been drinking. He had done well. She had known he was good at presentations at work, but had not heard him give a speech since their own wedding all those years ago. The way he opened up and spoke about their family and what it meant to him. The way he spoke about Helen. ‘The one true love of my lifetime,’ he had said. And he an economist of all things.

  It had been a special day, those long phone calls with Grace over the previous few weeks paying off as all the meticulous details came together beautifully without seeming fussy. Helen would miss those calls. Grace would soon be off on her extended honeymoon and it wouldn’t be cheap to call from Japan. After that, who knows? Grace getting married that little bit older meant that they wouldn’t delay starting a family. ‘The fun is in the trying,’ her own father had said to her at that stage.

  After Hungry Paul had explained to her the previous evening about his new job and the availability of an executive bedsit, Helen couldn’t deny the nascent feeling that she was entering a new stage in her life, that some important decisions and choices would have to be confronted soon, but could wait for now. It was strange that after all the years of getting the kids to be independent, she would feel so daunted at having her life back. But it was the nature of being a parent. The kids’ lives are their own. From day one you are handing it back to them bit by bit, until they move on.

  She looked across at Peter sleeping. The man she had spent her life on and whom she loved so much. It had been so long since they had had an unencumbered relationship. They had talked about it on and off: travel plans, date nights, maybe even downsizing and freeing up a few bob. She could barely admit to herself the minor panic in her abdomen at the thought of it being the two of them, and just the two of them, from here on in.

  She finished her coffee and hopped back into bed. Her feet were a little cold and Peter stirred as she warmed them under his legs. He pulled her gently towards him, still fitting like two jigsaw pieces after all these years.

  Chapter 27: Dead Zoo sandwiches

  Things were slow at work for Leonard. The work-from-home illustrators were busy with their kids during the mid-term break so there were no new drafts to go over. The boilerplate Roman book was in pre-production and wouldn’t be ready for checking for another fortnight. He had been told that there were another couple of projects in the pipeline, but nothing definite had been assigned to him—a rumoured book about world religions had been mothballed as ‘too topical.’ His admin was up to date, and he had killed twenty minutes changing his desktop wallpaper and experimenting with the more esoteric settings on his computer. Things got so bad that he had wandered over to Helpdesk Greg voluntarily for a chat.

  ‘Hi Greg. Busy?’

  Helpdesk Greg was carving open a foot-long baguette on his desk and had a pot of all-in-one sandwich spread ready and waiting; it was basically the normal ingredients of a salad sandwich, blended to look like septic pus.

  ‘Just putting the finishing touches to this masterpiece. My body is a temple, Leonard, and my stomach is its altar. Of course the way to a man’s heart is through the stomach,’ he said, raising his voice and directing it at Margaret, Shelley’s erstwhile colleague, who was on a call to an unhappy customer. She threw a pen at him without even looking.

  ‘What brings you to my confession booth, Leonard? I hear that love is no longer blossoming in your pants. Sorry to hear about that. Men like you and I just can’t seem to catch a break. Fussiness is the precursor to loneliness,’ he said, again directing his voice at Margaret.

  ‘Oh, well, things aren’t so bad. Any news on the new colour cartridges coming in for the printers? I have a few things that I’m waiting to print out, to see how they look.’

  ‘No need to print off internet porn Leonard. There are magazines for men like you who prefer printed amusement. Dirty books too.’

  Greg widened his jaw in preparation for an attack on his baguette. Margaret wore a frozen expression of disgust as she watched. Leonard had to admit that he was kind of curious himself about whether Greg could eat the whole thing.

  Helpdesk Greg didn’t disappoint.

  He shouted in triumph, raising a double thumbs-up while chewing the last chunks of bread in his open mouth, churning like a washing machine on its final cycle.

  ‘Okay. Best be getting back,’ said Leonard.

  ‘The young challenger leaves,’ said Greg, doing a nature programme voiceover, ‘Defeated by the alpha male, who will celebrate a successful hunt with the rest of his harem.’ />
  This time the flying stapler actually hurt.

  When Leonard got back to his desk, there was an email from Mark Baxter, BEd:

  From: himark@markbaxterbed.com

  Hi Lenny,

  Had a great meeting with the guys over at Factorial Publishing. Some seriously sharp people there—going to take the encyclopaedia business to the next level. Totally disruptive.

  They loved your book. And I mean loved it. Only problem is, they say it’s not for them. They say it’s not really a fact book. More of a story book. I told them, I said ‘No way! It’s a totally disruptive fact book – absolute game changer!’ They were cool with that but said they’d never get shelf space in the reference section for it, and they’re not a fiction publisher, so it’s kind of falling between stools I guess. They say they want to stick with regular reference books and try to be disruptive that way.

  So, I’m sorry my friend. Thanks for coming to me with it. Anytime you want to bounce something off me, just treat me like a friendly old squash court.

  Take it easy (but not too easy!).

  You may wish to note the above.

  Mark Baxter, BEd

  Leonard sent him a quick response, thanking him for trying and wishing him well with his next project, and saying that he hoped they would get to work together again sometime soon. It goes without saying that he suggested that Mark Baxter, BEd, may wish to note the above.