The Manner of the Mourning

by Robert Ward

  “Oops,” Charlotte said. “I think that was someone’s hand on my bottom. Now, whose could it have been?”

  “Mine,” Philip said. “I’m the guilty party. Am I to be accused of rape or something? I know these things can lead to court cases.”

  “That’s all right, Philip, dear,” Charlotte said. “But you shouldn’t be furtive about these things. Having one’s bottom felt is rather nice if you like the person who’s feeling it, that is. How would you like to feel it some more?”

  “I’d like to very much,” he said. “Why? Is that an invitation?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” Charlotte said. “Are you ready, Liz?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Elizabeth said, getting up from her seat. “Come on then. Come on, Martin. It isn’t far, so we can walk. If we stay here any longer I don’t suppose we’ll be able to do much except fall over.”

  They left the club, the girls clattering up the steps and the boys following after. A ten minute drunken walk and they would be back at the girls’ flat.

  “This is lovely,” Philip said, sitting on an old worn settee in the sitting room, next to Charlotte.

  “It’s a sort of decent grotesque, I suppose,” Elizabeth said, handing round the drinks. “Sorry we haven’t any proper beer, other than lager I mean. I know you boys like that warm brown stuff that foams.”

  “This tastes nice, though. I mean, it’s all right.” Martin said, pouring his bottled pilsner into a glass.

  “Now there’s a well brought up boy. He’s very polite, isn’t he?” Elizabeth said to the others.

  “You’ll have to make allowances for her, Martin. She feels she has to be cruel in order to maintain her image,” Charlotte said. “Underneath it all, she’s really, almost a nice person.”

  “Charlotte. No more of that. You’re supposed to be on my side, remember? Now, please don’t try to undermine my viciousness.”

  “Sorry, darling, I keep forgetting you’re just getting crabby because of your extreme old age. She’s twenty seven now you know, Martin. I thought I’d better tell you, to let you know what you’re getting yourself involved with.”

  “Charlotte, “ Elizabeth said. “Please don’t tell him about the false teeth and the colostomy bag.”

  “Yuk,” said Charlotte. “Sometimes you can be so gross.”

  “I can’t help it. But I thought you’d be used to it by now, especially after having to bathe my weeping bedsores.”

  “Can we change the subject, please? And yes, before you say it, I know I started it. I should have known better.”

  Philip and Martin had taken off their jackets and were feeling quite relaxed, mainly because they were almost drunk of course, but also because, for some reason, probably the fact that Elizabeth and Charlotte were keeping up the conversation, they didn’t feel under any pressure to take the initiative. That burden had long ago been taken from them. Elizabeth and Charlotte would decide what was going to happen.

  At the back of Martin’s mind however, something was lurking. Something so frightful that he knew he would never release it. And that fear kept him from enjoying the moment as he should have. It was always the same.

  Charlotte put some music on the stereo and then went to get more drinks for everybody.

  “We’re not really alcoholics,” Elizabeth said. “It’s just that we’re so nervous having you two back here with us that we’re trying to bolster our courage.”

  “No comments about the choice of music, please,” Charlotte said as she sat down again next to Philip. “I know you probably only ever listen to Bartok or Schoenberg, but this will have to do. I don’t even know what it is. What is it?”

  “It sounds like one of those things they advertise on the telly,” Elizabeth said. “You know, when they tell you that this is not available in the shops, like they’re offering you the chance to buy something wonderfully rare and mysterious, when what they really mean to say is that it’s crap.”

  “Well you must have bought it,” Charlotte said. “Because it certainly isn’t mine.”

  “Liar. She buys all this crap,” Elizabeth said. “What the hell is it though? It isn’t actually that bad.”

  “I like it,” Martin said. “I’ve got this myself.”

  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked again. “We don’t know you see, because we’ve both been in the habit of stealing our ex-boyfriend’s CDs when we’ve left them, and this is probably one of those.”

  “It’s one of those pop compilations,” Martin said. “Some of them have themes like love songs or rock songs. This one’s got some good songs on it, if it’s the one I think it is.”

  “Everyone seems to have those, don’t they,” Elizabeth said. “I think I stole this one, actually.”

  Philip, emboldened by drink, began to move around the room and scrutinize things, and Martin continued to lean forward in his chair, holding his glass out in front of him with both hands. Elizabeth and Charlotte both sat back, feeling nicely drunk.

  “If anyone’s hungry, help yourselves from the fridge,” Charlotte said, slowly and drunkenly. “I don’t know what’s in there but there must be something. We went shopping today. I think there’s some quiche as well, though I couldn’t say how old it is. I don’t think it’ll poison you though.”

  Philip went off into the kitchen to find the fridge and Elizabeth suddenly came to, snapping her head forward and reaching for her very large scotch on the coffee table.

  “I’m always doing that,” she said to Martin. “Losing consciousness, and then the first thing I do when I wake up is reach for alcohol. That probably tells you something about me.”

  Martin didn’t answer.

  “Does anyone else want something to eat?” Philip asked as he entered the room with the quiche on a tray with plates and forks. “Martin?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Charlotte? Elizabeth? Would you like some of your own quiche? I took the liberty of rummaging in your kitchen.”

  The girls declined, dismissively. Elizabeth explaining that food took up space that could be better used accommodating alcohol.

  “I didn’t mean that you had to have the quiche, you know? There’s plenty of other stuff,” Charlotte said.

  “No, this’ll do fine. It looks lovely,” Philip said.

  He and Martin ate, obviously enjoying it, so much so in fact that only a thin wedge was left on the plate. And that was left only for form’s sake.

  “My, you boys were hungry,” Elizabeth said. “I suppose your intention was to have thirty seven pints at the club and then three curries on the way home? That’s if you didn’t strike lucky of course.”

  “You seem to have a jaundiced view of the likes of us, Elizabeth,” Philip said.

  “The likes of you?”

  “Frightful oiks, I think is what you called us.”

  “Oh yes. Perhaps you’re not quite so frightful. At least you haven’t thrown up yet.”

  The music, from the seemingly endless recording, continued to flow nicely out from the big speakers placed on the floor in two corners of the room, and light from the street lamp outside beamed down through the basement flat windows. There was a lull in the conversation and it was getting late.

  Elizabeth was feeling mischievous and went over and sat down between Charlotte and Philip, forcing them apart. She then started to kiss Charlotte and hug her and Charlotte responded and they began to moan as they felt each other. They then both burst out laughing.

  “Very good, girls,” Philip said. “We already know you’re terribly decadent and sophisticated.”

  “Now who’s having a jaundiced view?” Elizabeth said. “We thought this kind of thing might turn you on. What is it about men liking girls together? When they can’t bear the thought of it being men? Is it because to do that would make you feel less than a man? It’s like when you’re told you look like a girl, isn’t it? It means you’re somehow less than what you should be.”

  “You’re just too much for me, Eliz
abeth. We could talk all night,” Philip said. “If my brain could still engage my mouth.”

  “Who knows,” she said. “Maybe one time, we will?”

  “All this smooching has made me think it’s time for bed,” Charlotte said, winking at Elizabeth and then at Philip. “Philip, I think I need you to fix my bed frame. Have you got a spanner?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I think I could help you with that.”

  Charlotte stood up and swayed a little and Philip took his jacket from the chair he had thrown it onto, and followed her to the door.

  “Goodnight all,” Charlotte said, and stumbled out into the hall. “Who’s that patting my bottom?” Elizabeth and Martin could hear her say, as Philip helped her across to her bedroom.

  Martin, who hadn’t said anything for a long time, was now left alone with Elizabeth and he began to panic. He wanted her so much, and from everything she’d said, even the cruelties, he felt that he did love her, or maybe someone like her. It was a situation he wanted to be happening and had dreamed of often, but now that it actually was, he didn’t know what to do.

  “Can I have a cigarette?” he asked, when Elizabeth had sat down again and was near the coffee table where her packet of cigarettes and lighter lay next to her glass.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I really feel like one. Stuff the cancer.”

  “There’s heart disease as well.”

  “Stuff that, too.”

  “Come and sit next to me,” she said. “Over here on the settee.”

  They carried their drinks and the ash tray across the room and sat down together, too hard, bouncing up again from the springs of the seats.

  “Ha,” Elizabeth said. “How the physical world is distorted by chemicals.”

  Martin choked on his cigarette and felt light-headed, not having smoked for so long. He felt himself sweating and he ran the palm of his hand across his brow.

  “Relax,” she said.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I know you don’t like me,” he said, not knowing if he was right in being honest with her, but thinking it was the only way he could handle the situation.

  “What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked. “If I didn’t like you, you don’t think for a moment that you’d have been asked back here, do you?”

  “You only asked us back here because Charlotte likes Philip. And I know you like Philip as well. I know I’m short and fat and ugly and boring.”

  Elizabeth looked at him with something like regret in her eyes and took hold of his hand.

  “I’m so sorry, Martin,” she said. “I had no idea… That I came across that way, I mean. I’ve misjudged you, but I almost always do, with everybody. I’m just a vicious lonely old bitch. And listen, compared with some of the men I’ve known, you’re lovely. No, I didn’t mean that. I just mean that I like you.”

  Martin stubbed out his cigarette and leaned across so that he was pressing against her. She cradled his head in her hands.

  “Shall we go to bed now?” she asked. “We can do this much more comfortably there.”

  Martin pulled away from her and sat upright, this time holding his head in his own hands.

  “There’s something I haven’t told you,” he said.

  “What?”

  He sat even further forward and took a drink.

  “I’ve never slept with a girl before,” he said, cringing as he did so, and hating himself. “Who’d want to make love to a fat little nothing like me?”

  Elizabeth wasn’t sure how to react, but felt something for him, which wasn’t pity.

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “Twenty five,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong. There’ve been plenty of fumblings and almosts, but I’ve never actually gone all the way with a girl. Mostly because of me. I just can’t do it. I get too nervous. There’s something wrong with me.”

  Martin actually did wish that a hole would open up and swallow him, but he’d had no choice in telling her, because he knew that the next movement would have meant going to bed with her after she’d suggested it.

  “Put your jacket on,” she said. “We’re going for a walk.”

  “What, now?” he asked.

  “Yes, now,” she said.

  The streets were deserted and the sound of their tread echoed in the darkness. They walked in no particular direction and towards no particular place, but the cool night air refreshed them and Elizabeth took hold of Martin’s hand and then guided his arm inside hers so that they linked as they walked.

  “I’ve never made love to anyone, either. Not really. I don’t suppose that any of us have. You’re not alone, Martin.”

  “You’re like something I dream about,” Martin said.

  “You wouldn’t. Not if you really knew me,” she said, and then she laughed.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “This is ridiculous. Why do people make such a big deal about something so unimportant? I bet this has blighted your life, hasn’t it, your terrible secret? Sex is hilarious, don’t worry about it.”

  They stopped under a street lamp and stood facing each other. She folded her arms and smiled at him.

  “People will think I’m a tart and you’re my pimp, standing here,” she said.

  “What about when we go back?” he asked. “Are you going to let me sleep with you?”

  “Do you mean have sex with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m not a deflowerer of virgins.”

  “Did you ever mean to?”

  “I’m not sure. Now we’ll never know.”

  “But I thought, from what you said, that we were going to?”

  “Maybe we were. Like I said, we’ll never know now.”

  “Have you any idea how cruel you are?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. I know exactly how cruel I am.”

  “Why did you bring me out here?”

  “I felt like a walk, of course.”

  They walked back the short distance to the basement flat as light rain began to fall. At the top of the steps, Martin gently took hold of her wrist.

  “I’ll never see you again after tonight, will I?”

  “No, I shouldn’t think so. But one never knows. If Charlotte and Philip hit it off, we might, because they’re our friends.”

  “I feel so embarrassed,” he said.

  “Don’t be silly. You’ll find a nice girl who’ll adore you,” she said, ruffling his short hair. “Now let’s go in. It’s raining if you hadn’t noticed.”

  Martin felt physically sick as he watched her descend the steps, hating her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Rich,

  Once again you astound me. Gargantuan Pictures! It sounds like something out of a film about films, when they disguise a real studio by giving it a ridiculous but not impossible name. And why only a distributor? Why don’t they actually make it on the lot, where you bump into famous film stars and directors etc? A Channel Four film, eh. They do rather well at these things, don’t they. I’m afraid for someone who works for the BBC I’m rather disappointed we didn’t produce it.

  And will you get to press some part of your anatomy in the cement in that famous place? Whatever, again, you astound me.

  By the way, it was my birthday the other day, and do you realise how old we are? The big three zero is looming large and it doesn’t bear thinking about. It’s all right for you, being a famous Hollywood scriptwriter, or is it screenplay writer? What about poor old me? I’ve done fuck all! I was supposed to be the one who succeeded, remember? You’re just not sticking to the rules of our game at all. You were always meant to be in my shadow. Some shadow, heh? And what would it matter even if I cast one when you’re not walking behind me? It’s over ten years since we left school as well. God, Rich, ten years! We could both have been hideously disfigured and neither of us would know. You’re not, are you?

  How is that Miranda sort, anyway?
I’m amazed you’re still together. Of course, I know you had to get her a part in the film because otherwise she’d have made your life hell. Surely it couldn’t have been because she has any talent as an actress? I hope she gets crabs and her hair falls out. Red-gold, beautiful, luxuriant, you said. The bitch. I hope I’ve got the address right, by the way. What exactly is a zip code?

  I expect you’re dying to know all about me and my exciting life, so here’s a brief resume. My pal, Charlotte, who I shared with, has got herself with child and is about to be married to some frightful oik that we picked up one night in a nightclub. Actually, he’s not really so frightful, but even so. His name’s Philip, by the way, not that it matters, but actually, I rather fancied him myself. You know what a nympho I am!

  Anyway, now Charlotte has buggered off, I’m left alone in this goddamn awful flat, often with a glass of warm milk and my memories. I don’t know what it is, but I seem to have lost interest in almost everything. I had a snort of coke the other night, mainly for old times’ sake, but apart from that I haven’t tried to destroy myself for quite some time. I don’t even drink half as much as I used to. It must be the onset of old age. I still work for the Beeb by the way, but each day, I go in with the intention of resigning. Last week I was researching the decline of the red squirrel population. Honestly! And I had to go to Bristol to do it! They could at least give me something remotely interesting to do, even if it was only checking the authenticity of costume for a period drama. Charlotte got that one, the cow, even though she’s monstrously gravid and could drop the sprog at any moment. Actually she’s only five months, so I’m just being bitter. Am I boring you? I must be I suppose because I’m boring myself. Departments aren’t as well defined as they used to be, by the way. One can be sent anywhere. Am I making any sense?

  Otherwise, I’m becoming so desperately bored that I’ve started taking an interest in the flat. I painted a cupboard door yesterday. Lime green. I found the paint tin under the sink. After I’d done it I realised that I’m finally going insane. It looks hideous. I don’t know that else to tell you. God, Rich, what a sad old bitch I’m becoming. If something doesn’t happen to me soon I think I’ll join some cranky Christian sect if only for the sex. I’m definitely becoming unhinged. I wish I had your life. What a thing to admit?