by Adam Watts
‘Will Tuesday be coming?’
Eve looks confused. ‘Do you… want Tuesday to come?’
‘No!’ I say, sounding all at once desperate and odd. ‘That’s not what I meant, I just…’
‘I can invite her,’ Eve says, still looking confused.
‘No, no. That’s not what I meant, I just wondered… y’know whether you just wanted me and you there, or…’
‘Well…’
‘Because if you didn’t, that’s ok, I just didn’t want to assume anything.’
‘What would there be to assume?’ she asks. There’s a look on her face that I can’t quite decipher. Is she hoping that I’m assuming something, or is she telling me that I shouldn’t be assuming anything?
‘Nothing…’ I say, playing it safe. ‘Just…’
‘Just what?’ she says with what I think is a coy(ish) grin.
Is she fishing for a response or trying to shut me down?
Christ sake, Preston, just tell her that having a fire would be good. Does it really have to be this hard?
‘Nothing…’ I say. Again.
Eve lets out a long sigh, fixes her eyes on mine. ‘This whole thing with Stan has really got to you, hasn’t it?’
That’ll do. That’s my angle.
‘Yeah. Sorry. My head’s a little fuzzy with it all.’
‘Hence the lack of rabbits and simple responses to simple questions.’
‘Yep.’
‘So… Preston, I’ll make this easy for you, being that you’re a complete clod at the best of times. You, me, fire, booze, this evening. Yes?’
‘Sounds good,’ I say, relieved to have been thrown a rope.
‘I’ll see you later then,’ she says, turning abruptly, not giving me the chance to ruin our plans further.
‘Shall I wear my tux?’ I yell after her.
Without turning she raises thumb to the sky.
‘I’ll need to borrow your iron,’ I yell. ‘Your ironing board too… and also a tux.’
She turns and says, ‘It’ll cost ya!’
A bright and giddy feeling blooms in my stomach. Like drunk butterflies. This is not the kind of feeling you’d expect to have in a post-apocalyptic compound when your best friend is potentially being consumed by a rabid horde amid the decaying ruins of a once proud and decent society. There’s some conflict there; something I’m usually keen to avoid. But not today, it would seem.
WHO’S GOT A MATCH?
Neither of us were particularly good at getting the fire going. You’d think we would be by now, but it was always Stan’s job. He did the fire, Eve did the booze and I had a ‘supportive role’, which involved sitting about and doing very little. Eve seemed amused by my lack of fire-making skills; she mocked me a little, which I found myself enjoying. Who knows why. Once I got the thing going, I became anxious about sustaining it. I still am.
‘Do you think I should put another log on yet?’ I ask.
‘No, I think you should drink that before it gets too warm,’ she says, pointing at my drink. ‘Trust me, this stuff tastes like concentrated evil once it starts going tepid.’
I pick up my glass and take a solid swig. ‘It tastes like 20/20,’ I say, shuddering like a wet dog.
‘What’s 20/20?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yeah, I’m serious. It sounds like engine coolant or something.’
‘You never had MD 20/20?’
‘Nope.’
‘Mad Dog?’
‘Still nope,’ she says. ‘Never heard of the stuff. But it tastes like this?’
‘Yeah. But worse. 20/20 is concentrated evil… mixed with horse piss. Even when it’s ice cold it’s vile.’
‘Sounds great, can’t think why I never drank it. And thanks for comparing my lovingly created alcoholic beverage to evil horse piss,’ she says with a wry smile.
‘So what did you drink as a teenager then? I thought everyone had dabbled in a little Mad Dog.’
‘I drank cider. Like a normal teenager. Cheap, sweet and strong.’
‘Classy girl.’
‘Probably still a cut above Mad Dog,’ she says.
‘First time I met Stan he had a bottle on him. Strawberry and Kiwi flavour, which he insisted I drank with him. Probably so I’d feel obliged to repay the favour with something from my own stash.’
‘And did you?’ she says, before bringing her glass to her lips. For some reason, I avert my gaze.
‘He didn’t really give me much choice. Think it was a bottle of Jack Daniels, so not exactly a fair exchange for a few swigs of warm 20/20.’
‘Yep… sounds like the Stan we know and love.’
There’s a moments silence as we consider Stan. Our Callum Stanhope. Our wrong-headed clown prince.
‘You worried about him?’ Eve asks, placing her drink on the floor between her feet.
‘Yeah…’ I say, finding it hard to add a great deal more. Worried doesn’t quite cover it.
‘You think he’ll come back?’
‘I hope so.’
‘I’m sure he will, Pres.’
‘I just feel a bit stupid for not having seen it coming. He was always on about it, I just never thought he’d actually go. And we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. I think that’s what’s bugging me most, that he’s out there feeling pissed at me.’
‘Lover’s tiff?’ she says, raising her eyebrows.
‘Something like that,’ I say, not wanting to broach the matter of the actual conversation we had, since my feelings for her were firmly at the centre of it. I don’t want her to feel like I’m using Stan’s departure as a way of bringing up the subject of ‘us’. She’d probably just shut me down anyway, and then I’d have to deal with the rejection and the awkwardness and the avoiding each other and the silences…
‘Stan’s not the type to hold a grudge, though,’ she says. She’s absolutely right. I know this already but it’s good to hear it from somebody else.
‘I know. I just wonder where he is. Hate to think of him floating around out there and not coming back.’
Eve looks at me for a while, like she’s trying to figure something out.
‘What?’ I ask, somewhat self-consciously.
‘You want to go and look for him, don’t you?’
‘It’s crossed my mind.’
She continues to stare at me.
‘What?!’ I ask, only feigning annoyance.
‘Nothing… I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to go and find him. If it were my best friend then I’d probably do the same. There’s been times where I’ve sat and looked at that horizon, thought about leaving…’
My stomach plummets at the thought of finding her gone. ‘Where would you go, though? I mean… there could be anything out there. The bad kind of anything.’
‘Don’t worry, Pres, I’m not planning on going anywhere. I just sometimes get thinking about home, that’s all. I think about Stan being out there and there’s a little part of me that’s envious, like I’d like to be out there too, heading for home and the people I care about… that kind of thing. Don’t suppose you have that problem since you’re already home.’
‘I’m lucky, I suppose.’ And then something occurs to me. ‘Where’s home? For you, I mean… I just realised I never asked you that.’
Eve looks puzzled. ‘Town. And I’m pretty sure you did ask me that.’
‘Oh… I think I did. But if you told me when you first arrived –’
‘I think you were too busy making sure I wasn’t dying.’ She narrows her eyes, grins just a little. ‘You always were a flapper.’
‘Well excuse me for caring.’
‘I liked that you cared.’
We sit for a few moments and say nothing. Both watching the flames dance, sending sparks into the fading daylight.
‘Should I throw another log on yet?’ I ask.
Eve laughs then picks up her drink from between her feet. ‘Not yet. Be patient.’ She turns her gaze upwards, proba
bly searching out the first stars of the evening.
‘You err… you always live in town?’ I say, conscious of how small-talky I’m being.
‘Yeah, born and raised. I used to gripe about it sometimes, but I guess liked it well enough. All my family were there… friends too…’ A distance grows between Eve and that easy smile of hers. ‘For all I know, Stan could be right around the corner from my house right now.’
‘Now there’s a funny thought.’
‘Y’know… something occurred to me earlier,’ she says, straightening herself.
I try and think of something witty to say, but fail. ‘What occurred to you?’ I ask, cursing my dull-mindedness.
‘Well… it occurred to me that this is the first time that you and I have been properly alone in the whole two years I’ve been here.’
‘Really?’ I say, playing dumb even though I’m keenly aware of this fact.
‘Yep. True story.’ Eve looks at me expectantly. Like I should know what to say… without hesitation...
‘What about earlier today when I was up at the lookout post? We were alone then.’
Very poor attempt. Idiot.
Eve smiles weakly and tops up her glass, offering the same to me. ‘No thanks,’ I say, ‘still got plenty left.’
‘Presumably because it tastes like horse piss,’ she says.
Thank God one of us is good at this.
‘If it’s any consolation, it’s the finest horse piss I’ve ever tasted. An outstanding vintage, I’m sure,’ I say swirling the drink in my glass and inhaling its aroma with a polite cough.
‘Never knew you were such a connoisseur. Seriously though, drink it up quick before the heat gets to it.’
I hold my breath and down what’s left of it, doing a reasonable job of masking my distaste. Eve immediately refills the glass. ‘Thanks,’ I tell her. I stop short of telling her that she’s the only girl in the world I’d drink this stuff for. I take a timid sip just so I don’t end up slopping it down myself. ‘If Stan were here he’d have quaffed the lot by now, whad’ya reckon?’
‘Yeah… probably,’ she says with a detectable sigh in her tone, perhaps feeling a little disappointed that I’ve steered the conversation back to Stan once again, like a new mum who can talk of nothing but her offspring.
I’m equally disappointed. Here I am, alone with possibly my most favourite woman on the entire planet and all I can talk about is Stan. This is me, failing to seize the moment once again. Mitten-fisted, ball-fumbling, slack-footed, dough-brained. But still I march on, resolute in my folly, like the proverbial lemming towards the well-signposted cliff edge.
‘I did wonder whether he went looking for his uncle.’
‘Maybe…’ she says, with polite disinterest.
‘Because he clearly liked his uncle, right? And he just went off one day. It must’ve played on his mind.’
‘Yeah, probably.’
‘Although, the chances of finding him are probably slim. He went so long ago, he could literally be anywhere.’ I can feel myself heading towards a desperate, full-tilt ramble. I’m losing her…
‘True…’ she says, no doubt distracted by the idea of a much better conversation we could be having if I weren’t such an imbecile.
‘He could be in Luxemburg for all we know,’ I say, starting to trail off.
‘Yeah… wait,’ she says, her interest stirred once more. ‘Luxemburg? Why Luxemburg?’
‘Don’t know really, he’s just mentioned wanting to go there.’
‘Hmm… he said the same thing to me not so long ago. Why Luxemburg, though?’
‘Apparently there’s no zombies in Luxemburg.’
‘Why?’ she says, leaning forward and grinning like I’m about to deliver the punchline to the best joke she ever heard.
‘Because… why would there be zombies in Luxemburg?’
Eve looks stumped, like it’s a trick question.
‘Stan logic,’ I say. ‘Probably forgot to take his brain medicine that day.’
‘Brain medicine?’
‘Joke…’
‘Oh…’ she says, slapping her forehead and glaring at her drink. ‘The flavoured horse piss, it makes a fool of me!’
‘To be fair, it’s not that much of a stretch to assume he needs brain medicine,’ I say.
‘Very true, I think his theory about zombies being the inevitable next phase of human evolution is testament to that. Or the one about spores… was it spores?’
‘Errr… yeah… Cordyceps. Some kind of brain altering fungal thing. I can’t really remember. Just thinking about it gives me brain-ache.’
‘A slug of Mad Dog Moonshine is good for what ails ya!’ she says, raising a glass. I raise mine too before taking a bold but reluctant mouthful.
Eve takes a long drink, then raises her glass again. ‘A toast… to Callum Stanhope. May he return safely to the village, having added to his education at The University of Life.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ I say, swallowing another mouthful of the grog. The things we do in pursuit of the fairer sex.
‘You ever wonder what he was like before he came to the village?’ Eve says.
‘Much the same. Think he out-stayed his welcome with his parents. I imagine they got sick of his mooching so he came here to mooch off his uncle instead.’
‘Does make you wonder, though. I bet everyone here has secrets. Parts of their lives left on the other side of the fence, other parts polished up, embellished and made better than they actually were. Like Facebook.’
‘Sounds to me like it’s you who’s got the secrets,’ I say, leaning forward a little and wrapping my fingers around my glass.
‘Everyone has secrets, Pres.’
‘Does that mean you’re going to tell me one of yours?’
Eve smiles, clearly giving it some consideration. My heart picks up in hopeful anticipation that I might be at the heart of whatever secret she’s toying with sharing.
‘You tell me one first,’ she says, bottling it.
‘Tease! How do you even know I have secrets?’
‘Now then… let’s see… you grew up in a small middle-class village, you have a complete inability to express your feelings and you’re male. I should think that qualifies you as a bearer of many a deep dark secret.’
‘What, like taking part in blood-orgies or something?’
‘You took part in blood-orgies?’
‘Well… the village jam-making competition did used to get a little heated at times. Does that count?’
‘Jesus… what a life you’ve led.’
‘Well excuse me, Town Mouse.’
‘You must have at least one dirty little secret,’ she says, smiling in that way which practically obliges me to spill my guts to her.
‘Fine… ok… are you ready?’ I say, causing her to raise an eyebrow. ‘My secret is… even though I’m a clever boy from a nice family and lived in a four-bed detached house, I never actually went to university.’
Eve feigns a horrified look. ‘You mean to tell me… you’re a pleb?’
‘King of the plebs.’
‘Shocking. Did you at least attend The University of Life?’
‘Abso-fucking-lutely not. I think I’d have fared better at Oxford.’
‘I thought you’d have at least been a media studies drop-out. Like, maybe you did a year, got hooked on caffeine pills and had to come back home before your blood pressure burst your head.’
‘Nope. Never even applied.’
‘So, you never fancied getting out on your own? Cheap booze and road-cone hats?’
‘Fancying it was never the problem. Actually getting off my arse and doing it was the problem. I told myself I’d do it the next year and then the years came and went and there always seemed to be another reason not to go.’
‘Like what kind of reasons?’
I sit and think for a moment, casting my mind back to that blank space after finishing sixth form with some spectacularly standard grades. I
shake my head, like this is going to make me remember. ‘There wasn’t a reason. I was just… preoccupied, but I’m not sure what with.’
‘You regret it?’
‘Yeah… I guess. Probably should’ve taken a chance.’
Eve places her drink on the ground, looks straight at me and says, ‘You never know what might happen if you take a chance every now and then.’
My mind spins, and not because I don’t know what she’s implying. Even to a fool like me it seems crystal clear. But how to find the right words or perform the right actions when your mind’s all thumbs? I could happily fall into this moment forever, over and over, the anticipation of something rare and wonderful. But such moments are fleeting. They need to be taken. They need to be seized.
She continues to search my eyes, but I keep falling, spinning, my mouth gaping idiotically, and before long her gaze drifts somewhere beyond this moment she’s created for us.
I clear my throat, readying myself to say the wrong thing. Again.
‘So… erm… you… do you have a secret? I mean, tit for tat and all that.’
Eve sighs; this is not the conversation she’d hoped to engineer. But she perseveres, kindly allowing me another chance to test her patience.
‘Before the world went wrong and I ended up alone, running for my life and stumbling across Tuesday out in the woods… before I came here and met you, I was a married woman.’ Eve purses her lips, like there’s more she wants to tell me but obliges herself to hold it in for the time being.
‘Married?’ I say, my simple response belying the cauldron of jealousy and possessiveness boiling up inside me.
‘Yep, and you’re the only one here I’ve told.’
‘How long for?’ I ask, trying so very hard to sound ok about it, when in reality I could fall to my knees and shovel the dirt off the ground into my mouth to scour the bitter taste of all that envy from my tongue!
