by Paul Charles
ann rea broke into a smile at this point. She held the memory for a few seconds, took another drink and continued, ‘Jens is so cute, you know. She really is like a little person. She’s always busily going about her business, always laughing and smiling, a very happy child. Holmer is a bit more serious. He’s a protector, always looking after his sister. Anyway, we had a great afternoon. We were in the park for practically two hours. The time just flew by. We all piled back into the Traveller, which refused to start, so I walked home with them – it wasn’t very far – and then I caught a cab back to the office.’
‘Did you have enough material to do a piece?’ Kennedy asked, as he poured the remains of the first bottle of wine into their glasses.
‘Yes. Yes, I didn’t really do it as a piece about the time we spent together. I felt she’d want to keep her personal life out of the papers, so I did the article about her music and about how revolutionary I felt Axis was. How important a work it was, still is. I know at the time some people labelled it a depressing album, but they’d missed the point entirely. Although her music was sad in places, she was dealing with her own demons, so, when she wrote it she was in a good frame of mind. I could never think of her music as depressing. Sure, it’s sad, mournful, soulful, uplifting. But I’d never categorise it as depressing. Time you opened another bottle, Kennedy,’ ann rea suggested as a gulp revealed the bottom of her third glass.
‘Do me a favour first. Have some water. Eat something solid or you’re going to pay for it in the morning. Yeah?’ Kennedy said, more as a plea.
‘Okay, Mr Wise Man, what have you got?’ ann rea replied, as she eyed the unopened wine bottle near the fridge.
‘Hummus and pitta bread?’
‘Brilliant, Kennedy. As ever the perfect host.’
Kennedy went over to the fridge, took out the mineral water and poured ann rea a large glass. Next he took out the hummus, placed some pitta bread in the oven and made to open the bottle of wine.
‘Do you know if she liked your piece?’ Kennedy asked, picking up the threads of their conversation.
ann rea took a seriously large gulp of the icy cold mineral water and then an equally large gasp for air before continuing.
‘Yes, she did actually. She rang me up the day it was published. She said she was shocked I was talking about the same dishevelled person who’d turned up in a mess, with two kids in tow. She said she was happy because she felt I understood what she was trying to do with her music. She suggested we have a drink one evening, away from the kids this time, and we went out on the first of our regular little meets. Sometimes when she couldn’t get a babysitter, we’d stay in her flat and just open a bottle of wine. On several occasions we’d go to a gig together. When it came to live music though, she wasn’t interested in anything like her own stuff, she just wanted good-time music when she went out. I think one of the best nights we had was going to see the Mavericks at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire. They’re such a good-time band. We had a brilliant night.’
‘Did she ever talk about Paul Yeats?’ Kennedy asked, fetching the pitta bread out of the oven and placing it and the hummus on a plate in front of ann rea, together with a knife and napkin. He poured her another large glass of water.
‘Yeah, a lot,’ ann rea said. She was so eager, she nearly burnt her fingers on the pitta bread.
‘And?’ Kennedy asked, as ann rea blew cold air on her fingers.
‘Sometimes she liked him, sometimes she thought he was a shit. I think she was basically grateful to him for getting her through a particularly troubled time in her life. He was the father of her two children and she forgave him most things because of that. She no longer loved him. She thought he suffered from the common weakness most men suffer from – being unable to say no to a woman, any woman. She thought that in the early days he’d like to have been able to give them up. She felt it was similar to being an alcoholic who knows that life would be improved if they could just give up the demon drink. But the next time a bottle is placed in front of them, they are helpless, they’ve got to have it. It’s as simple as that. Well, Paul Yeats was like that with women. And, Esther claimed, it wasn’t as though he was a great lover or anything. He’d like the conquest of sleeping with a woman once or twice, but once he’d shared that special intimacy he felt satisfied and ready to move on, you know? She felt it was something primal like that. He’d be close to them for a time and then another woman would come along.’
ann rea tore up some of the pitta bread and dunked it in the hummus. She savoured the irresistible taste and licked her lips to catch some that was trying to escape. What, in its right mind, would want to escape those lips, Kennedy wondered.
‘You’ve never been like that, have you, Kennedy?’ she asked, changing tack.
‘Ah no. That is definitely not my style. Not that I’d be as attractive to women as Paul Yeats obviously is, mind you.’
‘You see, there are two of your finest qualities in that one sentence. One, your faithfulness; and two, your modesty.’
Kennedy didn’t like discussing himself. He was far more interested in the morsels of information he was getting from ann rea about Esther and Yeats.
‘Aye, as my mother would say, I’ve a lot to be modest about,’ Kennedy said, and ann rea smiled a doey kind of smile. ‘Talking about Yeats and his women, did you know Rosslyn St Clair is pregnant?’
ann rea spluttered, sending pitta bread, hummus and wine in an arc over the table.
‘You’re not serious?’
‘I’m perfectly serious,’ Kennedy replied. ‘At least as far as the gospel according to Judy Dillon goes.’
‘Kennedy, that’s just unbelievable, unforgivable.’
‘Do you think Esther could have known about it?’
‘You know what?’ ann rea began, rising and fetching a piece of kitchen towel to clean up her chin and another for the table. ‘I’m shocked and all that, but I think she might just have grown to expect anything from him. She might just have shrugged her shoulders and thought that Rosslyn was welcome to him. What about the poor kids? What was he thinking? Does he need to go sowing his wild oats everywhere just to prove to himself and to the rest of the world how virile he is? You know, “I may not be able to produce songs but boy can I produce children”. Would you like children, Christy?’
There, right out of the blue, she’d dropped a bombshell on him. Or was it a bombshell? Perhaps she was merely asking him a question, the general sort of question that would naturally come out of a conversation about children and babies.
‘I’ve no definite thoughts on it one way or the other,’ Kennedy confessed. ‘I mean, obviously I’ve thought about it over the years. I’ve often thought if I was with someone and we were in love how great it would be to have a baby, particularly if the baby were born at, say, two years old. Now, that would be perfect. Beyond that, I haven’t given it much consideration, to be truthful.’
‘Would you want to have a child with me, Christy?’ ann rea asked, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear what she was saying.
Now, that was most definitely a bombshell!
How do you answer such a question? Should you take a hypothetical line? More importantly, how do you answer that question to someone currently in a high emotional state due to the death of her friend, and someone currently more than a little squiffy?
‘Could you guarantee it would be born at least two years old?’ Kennedy ventured.
‘Kennedy, I’m serious’
‘Look, ann rea, we’ve a lot of other things to get through first,’ Kennedy said, feeling there was no use trying to be easy with her just because of the circumstances. Honesty was the best policy.
‘Such as?’
‘Such as every time we seem to be getting remotely close, you turn and run for the hills. Then you come back like it never happened and we start all over again. The problem Paul Yeats and Esther had was that they were obviously totally unsuitable for each other. Surely, if there was just the slightes
t chance of that they should never have gotten married, let alone have two children,’ Kennedy said.
‘But—’ ann rea started.
‘Yes, yes, I know Esther was a great mother. But that still does not compensate for the fact that to all intents and purposes Jens and Holmer were going to grow up without a father. Aren’t we led to believe that a similar situation was one of the contributory factors to Esther’s early mental illness? If you are going to bring a child into the world you have to do it for them, and not for yourself.’
‘God, that’s very profound, Kennedy, who’ve you been reading?’
‘But it’s true, ann rea. It’s so true. And so…we…we should…’
‘We should what? We should get married? Is that what you’re trying to say, Kennedy?’
‘That’s not what I’m trying to say. It’s never been about that, ann rea, you should know that.’
‘What’s it been about then, Kennedy? Go on, you tell me what this has all been about. What have these last four years been about?’
‘Listen, I was happy going on as we were. I was enjoying being together – that in itself was enough for me. It might develop into something, it might not. We were just what we were and we didn’t spend too much time contemplating our navels and talking about it. Then you came up with the idea that I loved you too much. You felt, perhaps because of this, I was crowding you too much. I was asking nothing from you. I was happy with things as they were. You said you felt bad because you didn’t love me as much as I appeared to love you. We went around those circles a few more times, then you were off, and then you were back as if nothing had happened. Then we enjoyed a few months of no commitment and lots of chasing the butterfly. Then, instead of discussing it, you panicked and ran away again because you felt we were getting too close again.’
‘Ah, Christy, you have so much anger in your voice when you’re talking about all of this. Is that anger directed towards me?’
Kennedy thought for a moment. He poured himself another glass of wine. He doubted he would drink it; he just wanted something to do to fill the space.
‘No. No, ann rea. It’s directed to myself. You see, when I started going out with you. I so much wanted it to work. I wanted it to be so right between us. I felt so warm towards you. I felt like I had known you all my life. I wanted to spend the rest of my life getting to know you better. I convinced myself we’d make it work. You seemed reluctant at the beginning, so I didn’t push you. You seemed to want your space, so I stood back and gave it to you. It’s like I was trying so hard to make it work I fecked it up. I’d always known I wasn’t much of a ladies’ man, that I couldn’t, wouldn’t and didn’t chase every woman simply because she was a member of the opposite sex and I could be naughty with them. Never in a million years could I have done what Paul Yeats had been doing, creating perpetual drama and tension around him. I love peace and tranquillity. I love space to think, to figure things out.’ Kennedy laughed. ‘All this talking is thirsty work. Cheers!’
And he succumbed to his glass of wine.
‘You’ve started, so you’d better finish,’ ann rea said, misquoting the television quiz-master.
‘Yeah,’ Kennedy said, as he put his wine glass back on the table. He drew liquid circles on the table top, where he’d spilt some wine. ‘You see, I really thought I had it right. I thought, I’m not like the Yeats’ of the world. I’m okay. I respect women. Pure vanity, I know, but if I’m being honest, that is exactly what I did think. I thought if I did all the right things at the right times, then, by the simple laws of nature, it would work out. I so badly wanted it to work out with you. But, and here’s the important bit, I didn’t have the experience to carry it off. If I’d only spent more time in the company of women, and particularly the intimate company of women, I’d have been better equipped to deal with it all. Wouldn’t I?’
‘Kennedy, you lovely, lovely man, it’s not about making it work. It either works or it doesn’t. You can’t control human nature. You can’t control natural instincts. Let me tell you something – I’ve got these friends, Rodney and Cathy, two wonderful people. They have two children, a boy just about to become a teenager and a girl of eleven. Rodney’s a musician and Cathy’s a teacher. They are the perfect couple, they love each other dearly and they adore their kids. They’ve always wanted to be the perfect parents. They saw the mistakes all their friends had made with their children and they were convinced they were not going to make the same mistakes. They weren’t going to be too hard on them, they weren’t going to be too lenient with them. They weren’t going to hide things from them. They were going to be perfectly honest with the children all of the time. Their logic was a simple one – the children would grow up into well-balanced adults. Okay, so far?’ ann rea asked, and as Kennedy nodded, she continued.
‘In recent times, as the teenage years approached, along came the peer pressure from school-friends, hints of rebellion and the flexing of muscles. These two ideal kids have turned into two of the most troublesome children of their set. All that love and care and attention had meant jack-shit. The children are uncontrollable. They are little adults with their own opinions, opinions most certainly not shared with their parents. Their friends are considered cooler if they are friends their parents disapprove of. Smoking and drinking are musts. Rodney and Cathy thought they’d won the battle lost by all of their peers by being liberal parents. “Of course you can smoke, I prefer to see you smoke at home than hiding behind some corner in a shopping mall.” Then what did they do? Or at least what does the son do? He invites his friends home and they roll up joints in the living room. Honest! There’s more… Cathy allowed them the occasional glass of wine. Same logic. “I prefer you to do this in my house than at some party or in some dirty pub.” The next thing she catches both of them drunk as skunks before Sunday lunch. The father sends them both to their rooms. The son stands up and takes a pop at his father; it’s a clean punch, he connects, breaks his father’s glasses and gives him a black eye, the likes of which Barry McGuigan would have been proud of.’
‘And the point?’ Kennedy asks, deadpan.
‘The point, Christy dear,’ ann rea started, a hint of irony showing in her voice, ‘is that you can’t control, or calculate, anything as far as people are concerned. Our magic is that we are all individuals. You see, those two parents were trying to remove that individuality by controlling the environment, on the premise that the children would grow up to be perfectly happy and well-balanced. What the children are doing, by their actions, is screaming at their parents. “It’s our life, it’s our right to feck up”. Perhaps in a way I was doing the same with you. It was too perfect. Here you are – a really nice guy, good-looking, with no apparent vices, a good steady job, a great house. I mean what is there not to like? And maybe I was going, “Hey, hang on a moment, don’t I have say in this?”’
‘You did have your say every time you ran away.’
‘Thanks, Kennedy. Thanks a bunch. Didn’t you learn anything from my running away?’
‘Oh, so it’s my fault now?’ Kennedy said and immediately wished that he hadn’t opted for such a childish resort.
‘This is not about fault, Kennedy, this is about dealing with stuff. This is what happens, Kennedy. This is what people do.’
‘What, you mean, make each other miserable?’ Kennedy asked, taking another low punch and regretting it. But, just like in the boxing ring, every time you make a low punch, you expose your chin.
‘Well, we can stop making each other miserable right now!’ ann rea whispered.
‘That might be best. You know I think we’ve dissected and examined this thing so much that we’ll never ever have a chance to put it back together again properly. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be and we’re both tired of it and…’
‘Don’t say what I think you’re going to say. And a few minutes ago I asked you if you wanted to have a baby with me,’ ann rea said, all the fight gone out of her.
‘ann rea, this is
all because of what happened to Esther. Because you’re aware of your own mortality, there’s an emptiness that won’t go away. This baby thing is for a hundred reasons I’ll never fully understand, but it’s not for the right reason is it? It’s not because you and I are in love and we want to have a child together. That’s the only right way to make a baby. Every other reason is selfish and should be avoided at all costs.’
‘So does that mean it’s over?’
Kennedy sighed. He pushed his half-empty glass of wine away.
‘Well, these repeat performances are too painful for both of us. Perhaps we should agree that it’s over once and for all, and we can each be free to get on with our lives and concentrate on trying to become just good friends, which was what you wanted in the first place, wasn’t it?’
‘Aye, Kennedy, you might be right,’ ann rea began, rising from the table. ‘It’s just that when you kissed the sky it’s hard to return to the unshaven faces.’
Kennedy wasn’t sure ann rea had nailed that one. She might work out a better simile in the cold light of tomorrow morning.
‘Look, it’s fine for you to stay tonight, there’s no need to go home,’ Kennedy offered, as hospitable as ever.
‘No, you know what would happen. It would be too convenient and you know we’d end up in bed together, and that’s been one of our problems. It’s been just a little bit too convenient to be together.’
Kennedy had lost all his fight. He barely looked after ann rea as she gathered her things together and vanished into the hall. A few seconds later he heard the door close. It wasn’t slammed in anger but it was a firm close. Perhaps to ensure there was no turning back.
