The State of Me

by Nasim Marie Jafry

  stranger You couldn’t just write it by hand?

  me No one writes stuff by hand anymore. I wish I could type properly – I should’ve done typing at school instead of physics. It would’ve been a lot more useful than knowing that Velocity = Frequency x Wavelength.

  stranger Why didn’t you do typing?

  me Bright pupils didn’t do secretarial studies. It wasn’t on the academic timetable. I didn’t actually want to do it at the time, but looking back it would have made much more sense.

  stranger How’s everything else going?

  me Don’t ask.

  stranger Ivan?

  me It’s my own fault – I should’ve known it would be like this. He’s such a good friend to me and I keep putting pressure on him about other women. He’s so calm, he hardly gets angry when I’m being emotional and choppy. Can you believe I kept a condom wrapper to confront him with? I ended up throwing it away – I just couldn’t bear a big fight, it saps me, leaves me like jelly for days.

  stranger He’s not exactly blameless though. You’ve said he’s still quite flirtatious with you.

  me He is, but I think it’s more affectionate than sexual. It’s hard to tell. I think he sees me like a sister.

  stranger His sister died, didn’t she?

  me Yup, and he still thinks it was his fault. She was running across the road to the ice cream van. His mum had asked him to go and he sent Molly instead. I think he’s missing what she would be like now. He talks about her more than he ever did.

  stranger It’s good he’s got you then.

  me His family’s going through a lot just now. His granny’s got Alzheimer’s and is wreaking havoc at his parents’. And his dad’s got no emotions. I feel sorry for his mum, she’s got no one to talk to, his dad’s so remote. Ivan thinks he’s autistic. No wonder his mum drinks sometimes.

  stranger Everyone’s got their problems.

  me I know.

  stranger Still, you can’t put all your eggs in one basket – you don’t want to invest all your emotions in Ivan again.

  me You sound like my mother! I just have to get through my essay and end of term exam. That’s what’s most important.

  stranger Good luck then. And enjoy the Christmas break.

  me You too.

  Got my first Christmas card today: a glittery robin from Callum. It made me laugh. He said he’ll phone me over the holidays. I put the card up in the kitchen for Ivan to see. Last night, I dreamt that Granny Fleet was chasing me with giant plastic cocktail sticks. I woke myself up shouting, Why don’t you believe that I’m ill?!

  New Year’s Day 1990

  We’ve all got flu, I’m terrified: ME + FLU = DEATH. Back to twenty-four hours a day in bed, no life. I’m scared Rita and Nab don’t get better.

  My nose drips onto the pillow all night, and my ears are squeaking with catarrh.

  Sean’s the only one not ill, he has to go back to London tomorrow for work. I wish he could stay longer. He’s living in Ilford with graduates who work for Ford. He travels into the centre of London for his job. He knows the Tube stations off by heart and talks about the Central line as if he grew up there.

  I’m worried I won’t be well enough for the start of term. I’ll need to borrow Mo’s notes and his writing’s impossible to read. It’s like code, he writes in tiny letters with arrows and asterisks all over the place. I could ask the mature student in my tutorial, his writing’s perfect, but he blushes whenever I speak to him. He probably wouldn’t want to lend his notes anyway, he’d be too nervous that I’d lose them.

  My granny’s coming over later to make stovies. She’ll tell us (again) about the time she was almost dead with flu and my grandad was doing the cooking and boiled the pork chops.

  21

  MA, ME!

  SOMETIMES I GO to the careers office. I feel in awe of all the opportunities, looking through the toyshop window at treasures I can never have: glittering jobs, glamorous placements, exotic Master’s degrees.

  I always check, but there are no jobs for four hours a week.

  Callum phoned out of the blue (I hadn’t heard anything since the robin) and asked if I wanted to see The Unbearable Lightness of Being at the GFT. He asked if he could stay over. It’s shite going for the last train, he said. I thought you’d gone to Australia, I said.

  The weekend he came, Ivan was in Dundee – his granny had poured a boiling kettle over the floor and scalded the skin off her feet, and his mum was crying all the time. I’d asked if he wanted me to go with him, but he said it’d be better if he went on his own.

  When we got back from the film, we sat in my room and Callum lit a joint. Rez’ll kill you, I said, he’ll get struck off if he’s got drugs in his flat. You have to sit at the window.

  You’ve landed on your feet, doll, he said, inhaling loudly and grinning.

  How?

  Living in such a toasty pad.

  I’m lucky the way it’s worked out, I said, even though my room’s tiny.

  Cosy and toasty. Extremely toasty.

  He offered me the joint and I had a couple of draws. I was fed up being so careful about my health – it didn’t make any difference, I still felt crap, even with all my abstaining.

  What you doing tomorrow? he asked.

  Starting my essay on potlatching.

  What’s potlatching?

  The Pacific Northwest Indians had wild ceremonies where they sang and danced and ate tons – they gave away their property as gifts and got prestige in return.

  Big feasts and presents, sounds brilliant!

  It’s a lovely word, isn’t it? I said.

  Pot…latch. He said it slowly with delight on his face, like a toddler who’d just completed a puzzle.

  It means ‘to give’ in Chinook Jargon which was the trade language then.

  Chinook! Another lovely word. Is that all they do on your course, teach you lovely words?

  I heard a noise and went into the living room to check it wasn’t Rez’s car. When I came back, Callum was lying on the floor, wedged against the wall like a draft excluder. So if you wanted a canoe for nothing, you could go to a potlatch? he said.

  I laughed and sat down on the floor, leaning against the bed.

  It was a kind of trading as well, I said, a way to get rid of surplus stock. Sometimes they burned blankets if they had too many, just to show off – the more they destroyed or gave away, the more social status for the chief.

  My head felt pointed and my lips were going numb. I felt as if it was someone else with my voice who was talking.

  You know what would be good, he said, if you had a potlatch instead of a twenty-first. You’d get invitations saying: YOU ARE INVITED TO MY POTLATCH IN THE SWAN HOTEL ON 10th MAY.

  But you wouldn’t get any presents, you’d have to give other people presents.

  Right enough, he said…you could give them all blankets.

  I’d rather get shells or beads. Is the tenth of May your birthday?

  Yup.

  What age will you be?

  Twenty-eight.

  I’ll need to remember to send you a card. It’s terrible I don’t even know when your birthday is.

  It’s sinful, he said.

  Ivan’s is in a couple of weeks. He’ll be twenty-nine, it seems so fucking old.

  Where is the handsome brute anyway?

  I told you, he’s gone to Dundee, there’s a family crisis with his granny.

  Aye, grannies can be bedlam.

  There are good grannies and bad grannies, I said.

  There’s good and bad everything, he said, sitting up. He leaned over and kissed me.

  I kissed him back without really meaning to. He told me he wanted me. You can’t have me, I said, we’ve got no condoms.

  There must be some in the flat.

  I’m not rummaging through Rez and Ivan’s stuff, I said.

  I’ll do it, he said.

  Behave yourself, you will not.

  Let’s just lie down and be
cosy then.

  We went to bed and made each other come. My arm got tired quickly. Callum was in his element. Use your mouth, he gasped.

  I ran to the bathroom and spat out his sperm and brushed my teeth.

  I hope you’ve not got AIDS, I said. You can get it from oral sex if you’ve got lesions in your mouth.

  I’m riddled with it, he said.

  I sincerely hope you’re joking.

  You need to relax, doll, take a chill pill. (He pronounced it cheel peel.)

  I don’t need a chill pill, I just don’t want AIDS. My immune system’s fucked as it is.

  I think it’s time for some shut-eye, he said. I’m knackered.

  I’ll sleep in Ivan’s bed. You stay in here.

  Can I not come in with you?

  No, Rez’ll clipe on me.

  Fuck’s sake, it’s like the police in here.

  We can’t both sleep in Ivan’s bed, you know we can’t.

  Has he got a double?

  You know he’s got a double bed.

  Lovely jubbly.

  I’m sorry, I said. I just want to be discreet.

  He stood up. Have you got a toothbrush I can use, if it’s not too much to ask?

  I’m sure I can find you one, I said.

  He followed me into the bathroom. There’s a forest of them in here, he said, examining the toothbrush mug.

  I’ll sterilise one for you, I said, plucking one that I knew wasn’t Ivan’s or Rez’s.

  I’ll just rinse it, he said. No need to sterilise.

  You don’t want me to pour boiling water over it?

  It’s too much. You’re hyper-clean.

  I’m funny about toothbrushes, I said.

  You should live in a bubble and wear white gloves.

  I’m a dentist’s daughter.

  That’s no excuse.

  I kissed him on the forehead and ruffled his hair. Sorry to be so clinical about everything. It’s just how I am.

  Have you got a nightie I can borrow? he said.

  I’ve got a big T-shirt you can have. It’s ancient, it says RELAX on it.

  I left him in the bathroom, singing Frankie Goes To Hollywood and cleaning his teeth with God knows whose toothbrush. I found the T-shirt, crumpled in a ball at the back of my wardrobe, but it had a huge blood stain on it. It had been there for weeks. I was horrified at myself for forgetting. I found him a T-shirt of Ivan’s instead.

  Couldn’t find mine, take Ivan’s, I said.

  Thanks, doll. I’m not allowed in his bed but I get to wear his T-shirt!

  I’m sorry, I said.

  Only joshing. Nighty night. Sleep tight.

  I got changed and went into Ivan’s room and got into bed. I felt something on my foot. There was a rolled-up elastoplast stuck to the sheets. It looked like a moth. I got up and put it in the bin and washed my hands. I could hear Callum moving around, I knew he was having another smoke. I prayed that Rez wouldn’t come back.

  Ivan’s pillows were musty. I lay awake for ages. Eventually, I fell asleep wondering what the gap between your eyelashes and your face is when your eyes are shut.

  Ivan looked done in when he got back from Dundee. I just wish she’d die, he said. For everyone’s sake. Her brain’s a black hole. It’s a fucking nightmare.

  How’s your mum? I said

  She’s at the end of her tether, she does everything. My dad’s sister does fuck all. My granny’s in hospital with no skin on her feet and that bitch is hardly in touch. Too busy having dinner parties in London.

  It’s always like that in families. One person does all the caring. D’you not think it’s time your granny went into a home? I said gently.

  I think my dad’s come round to the fact. They’re going to start looking.

  You poor boy, I said. What can I do to make you feel better?

  Nothing, he said. No one can do anything.

  I’d never seen him so demoralised.

  And we’re fucking around in the lab with mice, he said – it’ll take years to get these cognitive enhancers on the market – and meanwhile demented old people are eating plants and smearing shit everywhere.

  Was your mum drinking at all? I said.

  She only had one glass of wine on Saturday with dinner.

  Well, that’s good, isn’t it?

  I think she gets tipsy more out of loneliness than an inability to cope.

  I didn’t want to tell him that when she’d phoned for him last week in the afternoon, she’d been slurring her words.

  Anyway, how was your weekend – did Callum come?

  Yeah. We saw the film, it was brilliant. It had the same actor as My Beautiful Laundrette. Callum stayed over, I slept in your bed and he had mine. I changed your sheets for you.

  Thanks, he said.

  You should sleep, you look exhausted, I said.

  I’ll have an early night. I’ve got a meeting with my principal investigator first thing.

  D’you want some tea?

  Yeah, but not homeopathic, a bit of colour in it, please.

  I put the kettle on and hugged him. Is that a new polo neck? I said.

  Yeah, my mum got it. The neck’s funny, isn’t it? It doesn’t sit right, it juts out.

  You look like a Tudor.

  He laughed. You’re a cheeky brat.

  I got you to laugh though, didn’t I?

  I felt guilty that I’d been taking drugs and having sex while he’d been in Dundee having a crap weekend.

  I got tickets for the Robert Cray Band for Ivan’s birthday. They were playing in the QM. Rez and Dr Wanker Lawrence came too. I tried standing but had to sit down after one song. I wondered if Dr Wanker thought I was putting it on. Ivan (my hero) made a point of telling him I had to find a seat. The seats in the balcony were already taken so I sat on the tables at the side, jammed between sweaty undergraduates, hardly able to see a thing. The music was brilliant though, the band was pooled in pink and purple light. At the end, Ivan came and found me and grabbed me and kissed me on the lips. Thanks for such a great present, Looby. You’re a star. He was drunk and his kiss was wet and studenty. I hugged him, and it reminded me of years ago when we’d be in the union, drinking and dancing all night.

  When we got home he took his trainers off and got into my bed fully dressed. I want to sleep in your bed, he said.

  But you smell drunk and you’ll snore.

  I’ve got a semi.

  Go to bed you cheeky chemist.

  I’m not a chemist, I’m a biochemist.

  I sat on the bed and stroked the back of his head.

  D’you want some Irish in you? he said.

  Not tonight, thank you.

  I’ve got a condom, he said, mumbling into the pillow, but it’s been through the washing machine in my jeans.

  D’you want some coffee?

  Yes, please.

  When I came back with the coffee, he was sitting up and looked a bit like he’d been crying.

  I was studying for my end of term exam the week before Easter. Ivan came into my room and asked if I wanted toasted cheese. My head’s a sieve, I said tearfully, I can’t remember anything.

  You’ll be grand, he said.

  I loved it when he used Irish expressions.

  I told him that if I got seventy percent in my exam and an ‘A’ in my next essay, I’d get an exemption and wouldn’t have to sit the final exam in June.

  Fingers crossed, he said. Do you want toasted cheese or not?

  Please, I said. At least I don’t have to look after those leopards.

  What leopards?

  I dreamt you gave me two baby leopards to look after and they kept running away. I was knackered. I was so relieved to wake up.

  In June 1990, I graduated. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

  Helen Fleet, MA, ME.

  I felt sexy with my hair up, important in my new black suit, my graduation present from Rita and Nab.

  Everyone beaming their heads off in the photos.

  Nab and Rita
were sophisticated in their pale grey suits. My grandad was tall and too thin in his navy blue suit – he looked like a Giacometti sculpture. I couldn’t take my eyes off my granny’s brooch, a hideous rolled-gold deer with diamond antlers, a present from the Toronto pencils woman. Brian was wearing his suit for special occasions and kept fiddling with his collar.

  Sean couldn’t make it but sent an Interflora bouquet. Peter came but left straight after the ceremony.

  We went to the Ubiquitous Chip.

  Brian begged to be allowed some champagne. We all clinked to my achievement. My granny said she’d stormed the gates of heaven with prayers for me. Uncle Donnie, her cousin, came up in the conversation. He’s not keeping well, she said, he can’t take cheese because of his pills.

  Ivan joined us for coffee afterwards. I’d wanted him at the whole lunch but he’d said it should just be my family. He had a single white rose for me. I’ll dry it and keep it forever, I said. When we’d finished, Brian asked if he could have his photo taken wearing my graduation robe. I like that purple hood, he said. It’s lovely.

  Later, I asked Ivan what drugs reacted with cheese.

  MAOIs, he said. They’re a kind of antidepressant.

  Uncle Donnie must be depressed then, I said.

  Is he the guy who cuts your mum’s grass?

  Yeah, he was always so cheery – who’d have thought it?

  Cheese and red wine are both dodgy – they can cause your blood pressure to soar.

  Poor man, I said. He lives on his own, he’s got no one to look after him.

  You should phone him.

  I should, I said, but I’ve never phoned him before – I don’t really know him.

  22

  London

  A COUPLE OF weeks after graduating, I went to London to see Sean. The last time I’d been on the train to Euston I’d been going to France with Jana. Seven years ago.

  The guy sitting opposite was handsome, in his early thirties. He only had one leg. I tried not to look when he was laying his crutches on the luggage rack above. He was wearing shorts which made his stump more obvious, the denim fringe against his skin. He had cheese sandwiches in a Tupperware box. They were cut in triangles.