by Lisa Jewell
Gervase turned and squinted at him. ‘Scared and pathetic’
Ned nodded keenly. That was exactly how he was feeling.
‘Wanna talk about it?’ said Gervase, grimacing as he took the final drag on a cigarette and dropped it to the floor.
‘I thought you said you didn’t like talking about stuff?’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t like it – I said I wasn’t any good at it. Subtle difference, Ned. But I can listen. I’m good at listening. Wanna tell me what you’re so scared of?’
Ned looked at him thoughtfully and then nodded. ‘But you’ve got to promise me you won’t say anything to anyone else. To Mum or Dad or my brothers. Promise?’
Gervase gave him his Scout’s honour. ‘The very soul of discretion,’ he said, ‘that’s what I am.’
And then, with his mouth an inch away from Gervase’s ear to be heard over the live music, Ned told him everything. He told him about Carly and their disastrous night out, how much he missed her and how scared he was that he was missing the boat, that everyone was leaving him behind. He told him about Monica and how he’d done a runner and was now being plagued by rude text messages and unsavoury parts of her person. He told him how even though it made him really angry he still couldn’t stop feeling guilty and worrying about her, how she was in his thoughts all the time, how it was like even though she was on the other side of the planet he still couldn’t escape her. And as Ned talked he could feel all his deepest fears dissolving into a big warm mulch, like he’d been emotionally constipated and Gervase’s ear was a pint of prune juice. He’d never felt like this before, he’d never had this sense of total and utter honesty and, more importantly, of being truly listened to. It was like there was some kind of invisible telegraph wire between his mouth and Gervase’s ear and his thoughts were being transmitted directly into Gervase’s head without the awkwardness of having to translate them into cumbersome words first. He felt like his mouth and Gervase’s ear were all alone in the room, hermetically sealed in a warm, pink bubble. It was like being on E but a hundred times better.
‘Well,’ said Gervase thoughtfully, when Ned had finally finished speaking. ‘Well, well, well.’ He pulled a Chesterfield out of his top pocket and lit it. ‘You feeling a bit better now?’
‘Er – yeah,’ said Ned, ‘definitely.’
‘Good,’ said Gervase, patting his shoulder, ‘good.’
Ned waited for a moment, expecting Gervase to say something, to comment on the litany of human patheticness he’d just regaled him with. But he didn’t say a word. Just stood there, smoking his fag, watching the band.
Ned felt himself deflate a little. But then Gervase turned round and looked at him. ‘Monica,’ he said, ‘she’s not your responsibility, all right?’
‘Yes, but she feels like my responsibility. All the time. For three years and even now. I can’t get rid of her.’
‘What you want to do, Ned, is delegate. Pass the baton. Yeah?’
‘No. What do you mean?’
‘I mean – you wanna hand responsibility over to someone else. Her family, for example. Give them a ring. Tell them you’re worried. Tell them what she’s been doing. Then they can worry about her instead of you. You’ve done your bit, Ned. It’s time to pass the buck.’
Ned nodded enthusiastically. Of course, he thought, her parents. He had their address in his book at home. That was the thing to do. Definitely.
‘And I’ll tell you another thing, Ned. You want to try and be a bit more philosophical about things.’
‘What – think about them more?’
‘No, Ned. Think about them less. Everything in life happens for a reason, Ned. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true. There’s a pattern to life and if you just stop worrying and stressing, if you just relax a little bit, then you can see it.’
‘What?’
‘The pattern, Ned – the fucking pattern. And you’ll see that, if you’re a good man, everything’ll work out in the end. Just let go, man. Stop trying to control everything, let go, see where life takes you. You’re a good man, Ned. Good things will come to you. Chill.’
Ned nodded mutely. And then the support band finished their set and Gervase went to the bar to get another round and Ned stood there swaying slightly in among this sea of sweaty, boozy, slightly bizarre humanity, feeling completely shell-shocked. Chill, he thought, see where life takes me. But wasn’t that exactly what he’d been doing all his life? Wasn’t that the Story of Ned? All he’d done for the past twenty-odd years was chill – and look where life had brought him: Wood fucking Green.
‘All right?’
Ned looked around and then down at Bud.
‘Yeah.’
‘You enjoying it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Ned. ‘It’s different. But, yeah.’
Bud grinned at him. ‘So,’ he said, ‘how long’ve you known Gervase, then?’
Ned shrugged. ‘A couple of weeks.’
Bud looked a bit surprised. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘right.’
‘You?’ said Ned, expecting Bud to say that they’d know each since they were kids.
‘Same.’
‘What – you mean you’ve only just met him?’
‘Yeah. Met him at a record fair in Addington. Got talking about music. Funny – I got the impression you’d known him longer. That he was some kind of family friend, you know?’
‘No,’ said Ned, ‘he met my mum in a pub three months ago and she rented him a room. I’ve only known him since I got back from Australia. Funny – I thought you’d known him for a while, too. You seem to have such a strong rapport.’
Bud nodded. Yeah! That’s it! That’s spot on,’ he said, ‘we’re on the same wavelength.’ He waggled his fingers out from his forehead to demonstrate the wavelength. ‘It’s incredible, man. I feel like I’ve known him for ever.’Bud pulled himself up, then, and smoothed his quiff, obviously feeling he’d been a bit too forthcoming about his feelings for another man. ‘He’s a good bloke, though, that one. Diamond. Solid gold.’ He cleared his throat and turned back to watch the roadies loading equipment on to the stage, and Ned stood there wondering more than ever who the hell Gervase was and why he suddenly felt like he loved him.
Horse Shit on Beulah Hill
Ned ended up drinking somewhere in the region of eight pints that night. There might have been more, he couldn’t remember. He’d been so pissed that he’d managed to get into Bud’s car really easily at the end of the night and didn’t recall feeling any discomfort whatsoever. All he could remember was being dropped off on Beulah Hill at some unspecific time of the night, falling backwards out of the car and landing straight in a pile of what had at first appeared to be mud but soon identified itself as horse shit. Horse shit. On Beulah Hill. In the middle of the night. For fuck’s sake.
He’d had a shower when he got in. He couldn’t remember much about that either but he had a very uneasy feeling that Gervase might have helped him get undressed. He’d woken up this morning completely naked with very strange hair where it had dried against his pillow in the night.
He’d also woken up with one of the worst hangovers he could remember since his university days. It had been so long since he’d had a hangover like this that he’d actually been under the impression that he didn’t get hangovers any more. He thought he was hardened to it, that he could take his alcohol like a real man. But what he realized, as he contemplated the extent of his unwellness that morning, was that these days he simply didn’t drink as much as he’d drunk as a student. And he also didn’t drink things with Pernod in them. He’d subconsciously developed a cut-off point over the years – five pints usually did it these days – then he’d switch to water or go home. But he’d felt so morose last night, so alone and out of his depth, that he’d lost sight of his usual boundaries. And actually, as bad as he was feeling now, he was glad in a way that he’d lost control. He’d had a top, top night.
He had another shower, attempted to do something with his bizarre hair
, got dressed and headed downstairs towards the kitchen. It was just gone twelve and the house appeared to be empty. He poked around in the fridge, hoping for a sighting of a packet of bacon and maybe an egg or two, found nothing suitable so gave up and decided that he’d go into Crystal Palace later for a fry up. He took a cup of coffee into the living room and did a double take.
Ness was sitting in front of the TV, watching Football Focus and wearing a very short skirt.
‘Ness!’
‘Hello, Ned.’ She turned round and smiled at him, giving him a quick once up and down. ‘Rough night?’
Ned looked at her and for some reason felt an enormous blush exploding all over his body. She had her shoes off with one unfeasibly long leg tucked up underneath her. Her hair was all wild and unkempt and, even though she wasn’t classically pretty, there was something unbelievably sexy about her – the way she looked at him as if he was a badly behaved schoolboy and she was the hot young biology teacher. Her eyes were green and twinkly. She looked like she’d be fantastic in bed, a really good laugh and a good listener, all wrapped up in one.
‘Er, yeah. You could say that.’ He looked around the room and behind him. ‘Is Tony here?’
‘No. Just little old me.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here – I’d have offered to make you a coffee otherwise.’
‘S’ all right,’ she said, pointing at a mug in front of her, ‘Bernie already made me one.’
‘Where is Mum?’
‘Upstairs, getting ready.’
‘You two going out somewhere?’
‘Uh-huh – it’s the traditional day-after-pay-day shopping extravaganza. We’re off to Bromley.’
‘What, you do this every month?’
‘Yup. We both get paid on the same day every month, so we hit the town and burn holes in our credit cards.’
‘Cool,’ said Ned, who was the only member of his family apart from his dad who’d never really understood the appeal of retail therapy. Spending money just stressed him out. Probably because he never had any.
‘So – what were you up to last night, then?’
‘I was out with Gervase, actually.’
‘Really?’ She smiled at him in surprise. ‘And what sort of places does the mysterious Gervase go to?’Ned felt his blush ratchet itself up a few notches under her interested gaze. She really was completely fucking gorgeous. She was wearing a sort of woollen cardigan thing with, apparently, nothing underneath it at all. Her breasts, from what he could ascertain without gawping, appeared to be of the small but perfectly formed variety and there was definitely more than a hint of perky nipple there.
‘Er, sorry?’ he blustered.
‘You and Gervase – where did you go?’
He told her about Robert Gordon and Bud and driving all the way to Wood Green in his Robin Reliant. He told her about the eight pints and the horse shit and showering in the middle of the night and she laughed out loud like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life. The more she laughed the more Ned embellished the story until eventually he became so animated that he completely forgot he had a hangover.
‘God,’ she said, wiping tears away from under her eyes, ‘that’s so funny. Where the hell did the horse shit come from?’
‘I have absolutely no idea. Maybe it fell out of an aeroplane. You know. With horses on it…’
She burst into hysterical laughter again and Ned smiled contentedly.
‘You two sound like you’re having fun,’ said Mum, walking into the living room with her coat on.
‘Bernie,’ said Ness getting to her feet and displaying the full vertiginous extent of her legs, ‘Ned fell into horse shit last night – out there.’ She pointed through the window at Beulah Hall, snorting with laughter. ‘Where d’you reckon it came from?’
Bernie looked out of the window in bemusement. ‘What – out on the road?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve got no idea,’ she said, starting to laugh. ‘But trust Ned to find it, eh?’
She ruffled his hair and he shrugged her off.
‘OK,’ she picked up her handbag, ‘let’s hit the shops.’
Ness pulled on a fawn-coloured coat that was the exact same shade as her hair and made her way to the broken mirror over the fireplace. Ned watched her as she examined her teeth and teased her hair, twisting it up suddenly into a top-knot and sticking something into it that made it stay there. She pulled some bits free so that they framed her face, adjusted her cardigan and her skirt with a wiggle and then picked up her handbag. Funny, thought Ned, but in a strange kind of way Ness seemed to belong here. She fitted the surroundings, with her unruly hair and slightly mismatched clothes. She had the same warmth as this house, the same sense of cosiness and welcome.
‘What are your plans for the day, then?’ said Bernie, pulling her car keys out of her bag.
‘Dunno really. Going to get some breakfast up the road. Might get my hair cut…’
‘Oh, don’t get your hair cut,’ said Ness unexpectedly. ‘You’ve got lovely hair.’
Ned blushed and put a hand up to his hair. ‘Do you think so?’
Yes. It’s gorgeous. It’s funny, ‘cause I don’t usually like long hair on men, but yours really suits you. Don’t get it cut.’
‘Er, OK,’ stammered Ned, ‘I won’t.’
‘You might want to think about losing the fungus, though,’ she said, suddenly lunging at his chin and rubbing her fingers across his beard. Ned was too shell-shocked to say anything.
‘Well, have a good day. And watch out for the horse shit.’ She grinned at him and left the room and Ned sat there feeling slightly dazed. He was all buzzy and sweaty and nervous. He fancied his brother’s girlfriend. He really did. God almighty – was it even legal to fancy your brother’s girlfriend?
His mum’s car horn sounded in the driveway and Ned went to the window. Ness was standing in the road waving at him and pointing at the pavement. Ned wondered what she was doing until she pinched her nose with her fingertips and waved away some imaginary smell. Then she tossed her head back and laughed and got into the passenger seat of Mum’s car. Ned watched the car reversing out of the driveway and on to Beulah Hill. He watched Ness sliding on her seatbelt, chatting with Mum, adjusting her hair with her fingertips, laughing. God. She was great. She had all that confidence and up-frontness he’d loved about Monica when he first met her, but without the dark side. You could tell that she had sunshine running through her soul – she didn’t appear to have a negative or cynical bone in her body. He wondered how old she was. He’d assumed she must be Tony’s age because she was going out with him, but actually, in the daylight and out of context, she looked quite young – maybe late twenties. Maybe around his age…
Shit. He felt himself flushing red again. He was shocked at himself. He’d never fancied any of his brothers’ girlfriends in the past, not even the ravishing beauties Sean used to bring home. He’d always assumed that there was some sort of gene that actively prevented you from taking a sexual interest in someone a member of your family was involved with, that it was only strange people on the Jerry Springer show who wanted to have sex with people their relatives had already shagged.
How did it work, he wondered, fancying your brother’s girlfriend? And what happened if Tony and Ness split up – would he be allowed to go out with her then, or was that completely beyond the pale? God, what was he thinking?
He got to his feet and searched the house for Goldie. He eventually found him in the laundry room on a pile of clean sheets and dragged him to his feet.
‘Come on, mate. We’re going for a walk.’
Goldie wheezed and whistled and finally creaked himself upright, placidly allowing Ned to clip him to his lead.
Ned walked all the way into the village, relishing the fine drizzle that sprayed his skin and dampened his clothes. He walked incredibly fast, almost as if he was trying to sweat out his unclean feelings about Ness. He walked so fast, with his hea
d so full of strange, alien thoughts, that for the first time since he got back from Oz he completely forgot about Monica. She could have been riding piggy-back on his shoulders with a crop in her hand shouting, ‘Gee-up, pony-boy’, and he wouldn’t have noticed. His thoughts were all over the place, veering from imagining how he’d break the news to Mum that he was going out with Ness, to shaking hands with Tony and Tony saying, ‘Fair-dos, the best man won’, to him packing a bag and leaving Beulah Hill for ever, his family standing on the doorstep with stony-faces and folded arms, to having sex with Ness, to Ness having sex with Tony, to having babies with Ness, to whether his dick was the same size as Tony’s, to whether he’d be as good as him in bed.
He tied Goldie up outside the caff and wolfed down a full English breakfast and a mug of stewed tea, staring through the misted-up window at the street outside while he thought about the fact that Tony had a flash flat, a sports car and his own business versus the fact that Ned had nice hair, a flat stomach and a degree. He wondered what sort of flat Ness had and whether he’d like living in Beckenham or not. He even found himself thinking about train routes and how long it would take to get into town from Beckenham Junction and whether he could live without the number 68 bus.
He wiped his plate clean with a piece of toast, left the caff, untied Goldie and started the walk home.
And when he got home he went straight to the bathroom and shaved off his beard.
A Terrifying Proposal
Because Ness was going shopping with Bernie in Bromley on Saturday, and because they were having dinner at Rob and Trisha’s that night, Tony said he’d pick her up from Beulah Hill at seven.
Mum’s car wasn’t in the drive when he got there so he assumed that they were still lost in retail nirvana somewhere and let himself in with his keys.
He headed straight for the fridge, like he always did when he came home, and had a poke about. Packets of ham, pots of cream, fresh fruit, five different types of cheese, leftover cake. Yummy. He resisted the temptation to make himself an enormous cheese-and-mayonnaise sandwich with the thick-sliced loaf sitting in the breadbin and just nibbled on a handful of grapes instead.
