‘Where…?’
‘In the corridor, we were told one at a time.’
He smiled. ‘I think you…’ He closed his eyes, opened them again. Seemed to have lost track of what he was going to say.
‘Shall I get him? If you’re too tired he’ll understand. He can come tomorrow.’
‘No, he…’ His smile faded. ‘But don’go.’
‘You want me with him.’ He nodded.
I fetched Nando, coming back to Jeremy together, one each side of the bed.
‘Khe-re-mi?’ Nando asked, his voice low and gentle. Jeremy opened his eyes. They smiled at each other. Nando held his hand and kissed it. Then put his face close to Jeremy’s and softly talked with him. I wanted to let Sleeping Beauty enjoy Prince Charming on his own, started to edge away.
‘No, toge’her,’ Jeremy said suddenly, and held out the wired hand with the clip on his thumb. I took it as well as I could. But he pulled my hand towards the one holding Nando’s, and looked at each of us with a faint smile before closing his eyes.
Chapter 23
abrazar vt to hug, to take charge of
How could I have had nearly twelve hours’ sleep and still feel completely lifeless? I picked up the Blackberry and realised I hadn’t remembered to switch it back on again after ICU. Which was unfair on quite a few people. Including Javi. I’d replied to a text on Sunday, telling him Jeremy and I had had an accident but were okay. Just before I found out that Jeremy wasn’t. And then… I could only think of Jeremy. I’d contacted other people, giving information and asking favours, but I’d had nothing to say to Javi. Then there was Nando, always there. I didn’t want to speak to Javi in front of him; Jeremy had said their relationship had to be a secret, and with a brain full of thick-air I couldn’t trust myself.
Two more texts from Andrew, and he must have contacted Ginny because there was a long one from her. Emma asking what else she could do, Kirsty telling me that my teaching was sorted out between her and Helen, and one of the new girls was covering me for the Trio. Some other people I didn’t recognise. And amongst all these, numerous texts from Javi. How was Jeremy? How was my finger? Had I gone back for my eye check? Thinking about me. Loving me. Please could I call when I had a moment…
‘Yoli! I was thinking of you this minute… How are you and Jeremy?’
‘I’m okay but he’s had a… bleed between the skull and the brain. He had to have an operation, and they’re still trying to get the pressure down. He’s awake now but rather confused…’
‘Dios, but with time…?’
‘He should recover completely, but it’s likely there’ll be difficulties… they just can’t say for how long.’
‘Oh… poor Jeremy. And for you… Can I look after you? I could come Friday night and stay to Sunday, yes?’
‘I… can’t think that far ahead.’
‘But it must be so difficult for you with the hand, and so tired, worrying…’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Is that… still you can’t forgive me?’
‘No. We need to talk but… I just need to concentrate on Jeremy.’
‘If you change your mind…’
‘Of course. Everything okay with the group?’
‘Yes. It’s certain now about Jerez, so Rafa and Diego will teach for me on Wednesday and Thursday. Oh - but I must be there now. Call again when you can. Take care of yourself too, no? Muchos besos.’
A knock on the door. Perfect timing, or perhaps he could hear I was on the phone and had been waiting.
‘Yoli, you sleep well?’ That just-showered smell and wet blue-black hair, the jeans and pale blue shirt. Just a twitch of memory, then thinking how delighted Jeremy would be, having looked forward to seeing him all morning. If he was capable of looking forward.
‘Still you are tired.’ He helped me get my arm into the dressing gown sleeve, pulled the belt tight. ‘You call the hospital?’
‘Yes. They said he’s had a good night and made some healthy complaints about the choice of cereals. But they’re busy with him now and suggested eleven o’clock.’
‘Okay. I have prepare our breakfast.’
I followed him through to Jeremy’s flat. Pavlova was rattling away as she spluttered through a heaped bowl. But ours consisted of cutlery, glasses, juice and ketchup on the table; eggs, saucepan and bread on the work surface.
‘But you want me to make it.’
‘No, no, you say me how to do it.’
‘Tell you how to do it.’
‘Uff… yes. I am studying English now, you know. Even I have done it this morning, like something I can do for Jeremy.’ He disappeared to the bedroom and came back with a book on gramática inglesa. ‘You not see the difference?’
‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’
‘You are going to see. Any-way, sit down and say… tell me how to make the eggs.’
I did, but it was ridiculous; he had absolutely ninguna idea, and stood there with a smirking can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this look on his face. Rather like the one I’d been accused of having in Jersey when Simon decided that his single sister-in-law should know a few things about a car, starting with how to check the oil. I told Nando about it while he was stirring the eggs.
‘But is not necessary, Jeremy can do the car.’
‘Are you joking? When a light comes on we just go to Dan at the garage. But cooking’s different - I mean, even Jeremy can make an omelette.’
‘He can? I don’t know, in Cádiz we went to restaurants for all the meals.’
All the meals: so he’d stayed the night. I imagined them sleeping together - not… well, doing anything, just side by side. Then getting up in the morning and doing their dancer stretches together; two beautiful men in harmony with each other, like Nureyev and Bruhn…
‘Yoli? What I do now? I put—’
‘No, first you have to… What d’you want in it? Cheese? Onion? Sorry, no ham.’
He looked uncertain. ‘I think we make it simple, first time.’
Their first time was still to come, and - simple or not would now be much delayed. Perhaps in the summer… I imagined them entwined on Jeremy’s bed. Wondered which one of them would be the ‘man’, although Jeremy had once told me it wasn’t really like that…
He looked over. ‘Yoli? You dream, think too far… you not watch.’
I let him serve up, taught him how to slice a tomato.
‘So who does the cooking at home?’
‘The two Marias. They do the house for us. But also my mother and sisters.’
‘So your sisters aren’t married?’
‘Estrella, yes, but came home. Very difficult time, and my parents…’ He tutted and shook his head. ‘And Carmelita… she will not marry, is autista, you know?’
‘Oh, that must be—’
‘Very good tocaora, but cannot play with others. Can do very little with others, content to be in house. But is beautiful person.’
‘Ah… So are they younger or…’
‘Forty-two and forty.’
‘So quite a gap then. You were a surprise?’
‘No. No gap. I had a brother, but he die.’
‘Oh. How awful… as a baby, or…’
‘He was twenty-two. Problem with drugs. We both, even that already die a cousin and a musician friend.’
‘Oh no. I’m sorry. What was his name?’
‘Jose Luis. Very good dancer.’ He collected up the plates. ‘So you take bath now?’
‘Yes.’ I wondered if I’d asked too many questions.
‘But is difficult. How you do the hair?’
‘I’m about to work that out.’
‘No, call me when you are ready and I do it for you.’
‘Oh no, I’m sure I—’
‘Yes, Yoli. Is okay, I have done for my sister. Then we do the eye.’
I went back to my flat. There was no arguing with the man; how did this work between him and bossy Jeremy?
Like most things, baths took twice as
long with one hand. And then I lay there wondering which of the nurses would wash Jeremy’s golden-haired body in his bed. Or perhaps they would get him up and help him in the shower today…
Nando was knocking on the door to the flat. ‘Yoli? Apúrate.’
Why should I hurry up? We still had plenty of time. I got out and dried myself, struggled with my underwear, put on a blouse and a pull-on skirt.
I went to the door and found him pacing around. He chuckled and corrected my mismatched buttons and buttonholes, his hands against my chest and tummy. Then he led me through to the bathroom and unravelled my plait.
‘Ay qué sucia.’ Dirty. I suppose it was.
‘Sorry. Just didn’t—’
‘We make pretty your hair for Jeremy. Put the head…’
I leant over the bath and felt a hot burst of water on my head followed by a large cold dollop of shampoo that was going to take a lot of rinsing. I thought about Javi joking around with the snaky shower attachment and felt a bit guilty as Nando started to rub my head firmly, his body against mine as he bent over me. I closed my eyes, told myself that now he was probably gay I could try and see him as a Spanish Jeremy.
‘Yoli? You sleep?’
‘It’s really nice. And I don’t think my hair’s ever been this clean.’
He put a towel round my head and got me to stand up.
‘Sit on bed.’ He used the hairdryer like a professional, but combed my hair rather painfully. ‘Now the eye. Down.’
I put my head back.
‘Is better if…’ He pushed me back onto the pillow and sat next to me. I wasn’t too happy about the manhandling but it would have looked silly to make a fuss. The first drop was a hit. ‘We are good at this now,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
He leaned closer. ‘I think it is a little better.’
Of course, he was examining my eye. ‘Shall we go now?’ I said, getting up. ‘If we’re early we can always go to the café.’
Duncan had sorted the post and added a couple of newspaper clippings; I put it all in my bag to look at in the taxi.
There were several cards, including one from Andrew saying that he’d been deluged with get-well wishes from Jeremy’s readers since the accident came out in the paper. I found the articles: the After Lorca picture and an inaccurate description of what had happened to author Jeremy Webster, 39, followed by one or two anti-cyclist paragraphs.
‘That’s so unfair,’ I said. ‘They were fast.’
‘But only because they thought we’d stepped out of their way. Which we had until…’ My eyes stung. ‘I said all this to the police.’
‘Yoli, you have to stop this. Is an accident. You step out, they go too fast. Both.’
‘I’ll send the cyclist another text, I don’t want him thinking I’ve said this stuff to the papers. He’s feeling bad enough as it is.’
I got out the Blackberry and typed a message.
‘Your phone, what happened?’
‘Oh… I dropped it.’
‘I know, I see the pedazos.’
‘Bits.’
‘But why?’
‘Why I dropped it? I dunno - why does one drop anything?’
‘Look like drop from very high place. Or… with mucha fuerza. Other word: echar. Throw, I think.’
I looked out of the window.
‘Yoli.’
‘What.’
‘Is correct word?’
‘Echar does mean throw, yes.’
‘But is correct word for what happen?’
I turned to him. ‘Oh alright yes, I threw it.’ I gazed out again. ‘What’s this traffic about…’
‘You and Jeremy have… pelea?’
‘An argument? No!’
He looked relieved. ‘Then why you throw the phone?’
I turned to him. ‘What’s the Spanish for nosey-parker?’ I asked, tapping my nose.
He picked something off his jeans. Then looked up again. ‘Javi.’
‘You don’t give up, do you? Yes, I had a row with Javi, and maybe if I… But I really don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay now, and Jeremy’s going to get better…’ My eyes were filling up with tears.
‘I’m sorry, Yoli.’ He pulled a packet of tissues out of his jacket. ‘I don’t know why I… Cálmate. Yoli, no pink nose for Jeremy, come.’
‘He’s okay now, and his anticonvulsant’s been adjusted so hopefully he won’t have another…’ Deirdre was saying.
‘But you said it was less likely he’d have fits now.’
‘Yes, but as I say, maybe that’ll be the only one. Go and see him, he’s been asking for you.’
I sat down on the chair next to the bed and leaned over. ‘Jeremy?’
His eyes remained shut; maybe the medication had sent him into a deeper sleep. I kissed his forehead. Then felt a sharp tug of my hair.
‘Yol. Called you earlier.’
‘Called me?’
‘Yes. You said you’d come but you’re late. Always late.’
He pulled harder, painfully, as if to speed up my reply; I tried to put my hand in his, hoping to release some hair. ‘I think you were dreaming. Deirdre said to come at eleven.’
‘Deer-dree.’
‘Yes… your nurse.’
A pause. ‘I know who she is, Yol.’
I wished Nando had come in with me. ‘Look, I’d be here day and night with you if I could.’
‘In bed with me.’
‘Yes.’ I stroked his hair.
‘You always wanted me to… but I’m gay.’
‘I meant cuddle, like we do on the sofa with Pavlova.’
‘The sofa, yes.’ He closed his eyes, smiling weakly.
‘Shall I get—?’
He opened his eyes again, the smile fading. ‘Sorry about your boyfriend.’
‘It’s okay now.’
‘You’ve forgiven me?’
Him? ‘You haven’t done anything wrong, Jeremy.’
‘He’s mine now.’
‘Wh… He was never… I’m with Javi, and you’re with Nando, it’s fine.’
‘Javi?’ Surely he could remember who Javi was. ‘Javier. Javier Bardem…’
‘Yes, it’s a common name in….’
He seemed to have fallen asleep. But then he was pulling my hair again, bringing my face close to his, his eyes fixed on mine as if trying to tell me something. Then he let go and moved his hand to my head.
‘Soft.’
I wanted to tell him Nando had washed it, but wasn’t sure what he’d make of that now.
‘Javi,’ he said, slowly nodding his head. A tear trickled down his cheek. ‘Take me home, Yol. Can’t think in here.’
I smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry, I will the minute you’re ready.’
‘Ready now.’
‘Not quite. But look, Nando wants to say hello.’
He shook his head. ‘No… not like this.’
‘He understands, Jeremy.’ I wiped away another tear with my finger. ‘But if you like we could come back later when you’ve had a sleep.’
He nodded but held onto me. I stroked his forehead, over and over, until his grip weakened and his breathing slowed. Then I put his hands under the covers and went out to the corridor.
‘Doesn’t feel he can… see you now,’ I said to Nando. ‘He’s…’ Concerned faces, the box of tissues, and no, I didn’t want to talk. So Deirdre patted my arm and suggested coming back at about five.
I remembered the first time I’d come to the gallery with Jeremy. He thought Tom’s love of abstract expressionism had left me with a kind of art phobia, and wanted to administer the antidote. I’d said I didn’t want to float round a whole load of old pictures, furniture and crap; he’d said, you will. In the cab on the way back I’d opened up my party bag and found the Wallace Collection book, marquetry-inspired velvet scarf and Laughing Cavalier playing cards that he’d seen me look at in the shop. The first consolation prize.
‘Where we pay?’
‘It�
��s free. But they like you to donate - and oh look, you get a Laughing Cavalier badge now.’
He picked one up. ‘It is here?’ He bounded up the stairs two at a time. I caught up with him in the room with all the Venice pictures.
‘I thought you said you were always careful with stairs…’
He was standing open-mouthed in front of a view of the Grand Canal.
‘Tell me artist Jeremy likes the best, it makes like he is with us.’
‘Guess.’
‘Guardi more than Canaletto.’
‘Correcto. And his favourite in the whole place.’
I let the picture draw me in with its busy little boat people, turquoise blues and dream-like shimmer. ‘God, I can hear the lapping of the waves.’
He smiled at the painting and nodded. ‘You have gone to Venice? Oh yes, with musician boyfriend.’
‘Uh, why would Jeremy tell you about that?’
‘Five English men: teacher, actor, dentista, fotógrafo and Da-vid.’
‘Blimey, can’t you two find anything more interesting to talk about than my miserable past love life?’
‘Of course he talks much of you. You are wife, mother, child… and also inspiración.’
My eyes started to sting.
He gave me a squeeze. ‘Ah - this.’ We gazed in silence. ‘I love this… the Rialto, no? Maybe one day we go in gondola under this and think of today.’
‘He’d love that.’
‘And you too, Yoli.’ On holiday with them; nice thought, but hardly likely.
‘Okay. To the caballero.’ He took my arm and strode forward, reverently slowing his pace when he approached the painting.
‘The Laughing Cava-li-er,’ he read. ‘You and Jeremy—’
‘Oh yes, we love it. But we’re never quite sure why.’
‘Not what he appear. He is confident, looking at us with desprecio, but also there is his beautiful jacket, with all the símbolos of the pain and pleasure of love…’
We walked on.
‘God, looks just like Javi,’ I said, looking at a chunky chap in a Van Dyke.
‘He plays rugby?’
‘No! He’s a gentle person. Bit of football, that’s all.’
FLAMENCO BABY Page 21
