by Chris Binchy
I was thinking about how I could deliver this message to her and when would be the right time. I rolled onto my back, and then when I looked over she was gone. It was like a dream. I laughed and then felt a stab of rejection. I got out of bed and went to the bathroom and took two tablets. In the living room I saw glasses and a candle that had burned down to nothing, a puddle of cold wax on the table. An ashtray upside down on the couch. Bits of it came back to me. It seemed to me that we had fun. I wondered why she had left, but then when I was back in bed and the painkiller began to kick in, bringing me closer to sleep with every pulse, I knew that the point of all this was that I had to stop wondering and let it go.
On the Monday I told Frank how I’d done. He was happy and said he’d let the relevant people know.
“It works out well. You’ve got an assessment at the end of the week.”
“Already?”
“Yeah. It’s a formality, really.” I hoped he was right. I thought he was, because I was happy in the job and I was capable. I arrived at work smiling. That was all there was to it.
But the night before the assessment I didn’t sleep well. I tried to guide my dreams to easy material, things that would help me relax, but couldn’t do it. I kept drifting the wrong way, kept being interrupted by good-looking men in suits asking me what it was that they wanted. I tried to answer, but I didn’t know. How could I? They were all different. I kept talking, knowing that if I stopped they would ask me again, and thinking that maybe if I kept going I could bring myself to see what it was. I thought I got it eventually. I said something, and for a moment I could see they were impressed, and then one of them, a guy I hadn’t seen before, stood up and said, Of course that’s what we want but what do you want? What do you want? And I couldn’t say anything. I waited and waited, and as soon as I started to say the words I knew I had failed.
I was exhausted when I woke up. I stood in the shower trying to let the water pound some life into my head. When I was washing my hair I reached out to turn up the heat and it felt like I had been kicked in the chest. My elbow came flying back and hit the glass door, which broke. It took me a moment to realize that I had been electrocuted. A big shock. I shook my arm, which felt numb to the shoulder. My chest felt like I’d been running, I noticed then. I was leaning against the wall, my hair full of suds, the floor covered in broken glass, with an electrically charged lever somewhere in front of me that might be feeling vengeful after its first failed attempt to kill me. I reached out to get a towel and threw it on the floor. I stepped out, avoiding the tiny cubes of glass. The shower was still running. I left the room and closed the door behind me. I rang my father, who said to turn the power and the water off and he’d get someone around later that day. He said it was an old system and that the flat probably needed to be rewired. He didn’t seem surprised that I had nearly died in the shower, or especially relieved that I hadn’t.
“I’m all right,” I said at the end.
“Just a short circuit or something,” he said. “I’d say you got a fright,” and then he laughed.
My meeting was in two hours. I needed to rinse myself and to shave. I wouldn’t have time to get out to my parents’ place. I washed most of the soap out of my hair in the kitchen sink and rang Alex. It was only after I dialed that I thought that he might not be up yet.
“What time is it?” he asked when he heard it was me.
“Eight o’clock.”
“Why are you ringing me so early?”
“I need to use your shower.”
“Why?”
I wasn’t going to start explaining.
“Mine’s not working. Is it okay?”
“Yeah. It’s fine. No problem.”
I got my suit and went out and took a taxi over. He answered the door in a T-shirt and shorts. He laughed when he saw me.
“Nice hair.”
“I know,” I said, walking by him. “Can I get into your bathroom now?”
“Camille’s in there. She’ll be out in a sec. Do you want a coffee?”
It hadn’t occurred to me that she would be there. I didn’t want to be a part of a domestic scene involving the two of them, but what could I do? I wanted to turn around and walk away. I didn’t even care about the stupid assessment. I just hadn’t slept properly, it was nothing to worry about. I couldn’t leave as soon as he mentioned her name. I had to stay. I followed him into the kitchen. There was coffee in a pot. He put a cup on the table for me and sat down and picked up a newspaper.
“So what happened?” he asked.
“Some kind of short circuit. I don’t know. I got a shock and I broke the shower door and I had to get out. I was in the middle of washing my hair, and I had to get a taxi over here, and I’ve got an assessment in a couple of hours.”
He was trying not to laugh.
“What? I could have died,” I said. “Electricity and water. Why is no one taking this seriously?”
“Sorry,” he said. “You’re all right now, though.”
“My arm’s sore. I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Sure. So when is this meeting?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Loads of time. You’ll be fine. If this one ever gets out of the shower. Camille!” he shouted from where he sat. It hurt my ears.
“Jesus,” I said.
“What?” he asked, smiling.
“I’m not in a rush.”
Her voice called back from the bathroom.
“What is it?”
“David needs you to get out,” Alex said. “He’s in a rush.”
“Okay,” she said.
“I’m really not,” I called out. “You’re such a dick,” I said to him then. “Why did you say that?”
“Believe me. I had to. She won’t get out for me. She’d still be there at ten o’clock.”
I picked up a magazine and was flicking through it.
“How are things with you anyway?” he asked me.
“Fine,” I said. “Yeah, fine. And you?”
“Okay. Not bad. Tired.”
There were a hundred things he might have told me that I didn’t need to hear. I let the conversation fade away, kept my head down, and got on with pretending to read. We had been there for ten minutes when Camille came out. She walked into the kitchen, her hair tied back and wet, wearing a T-shirt and a pair of panties that barely covered her arse. Her legs were longer than I would have thought, and her tits were smaller. Her skin was pale, white, and the intensity of seeing something that was rarely seen, by the sun or anybody else, added to my pleasure. It was a guilty kind of joy, mildly painful, and I blushed like an idiot, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Hi, David,” she said, completely casual as she went to the sink and poured a glass of water. “You all right?”
“Fine, yeah.”
“He was cursing your name,” Alex said. “He said, ‘If that bird doesn’t get out of your bathroom, I’m going in regardless.’ ”
“No, he wasn’t,” she said, looking at me with a hint of a question. She was leaning against the fridge, a pint glass of water in her hand. The gap between the T-shirt and her underwear showed a part of her stomach that I wanted to touch.
“No, I wasn’t,” I said.
“What happened to you?”
“Shower problems. Electric problems. Broken doors. You know.” I was looking at her face, talking to her, trying to behave as if breakfast conversations with semi-naked visions of beauty were a normal part of my life. I was not doing well. I coughed.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I better get on in and do . . . my thing.”
“Yeah, you do your thing,” Alex said. He wasn’t making it easy for me.
The room smelled of her shampoo. The towel on t
he rail was damp. As I showered, I thought about how it was a sad reflection that using the same towel as her would count as a thrill for me, as close to physical intimacy as I would ever get with her. And then I thought that maybe it belonged to one of Alex’s flatmates and realized that I was underslept and hassled because of the meeting, and that all this messing around with showers and taxis had thrown me. Maybe the shock had taken more out of me than I had thought, I thought as I was drying myself.
“Look at you,” he said when I came out, washed and suited.
“Very nice,” she said. She was sitting at the table now, still wearing the same clothes. The two of them were making me feel very dressed.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You clean up well,” he said.
“I better go.”
“You’re okay for a while yet. Where is this place?”
“In town.”
“So sit down. Stay. Have a coffee or something.”
“No,” I said, moving to the door. “I want to get ready. Thanks though.”
“You’re sure?” she said.
“Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”
“Sorry about earlier,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Shut up,” Camille said. “This is what I was talking about.” I said nothing, just stood in the doorway looking at him.
“She thinks I try to embarrass you,” he said. “She thinks you don’t like it. She says I should go easy on you.”
“For Christ’s sake.” She was blushing now.
“I told her you don’t mind,” Alex went on. “And that she doesn’t understand the nature of our friendship.”
“I tolerate you because I have to,” I said. “Camille may not be so indulgent.”
“I won’t,” she said to me. “He thinks he’s funny.”
“I know,” I said. “He tries so hard. Thanks for the shower. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Good luck,” both of them called after me, like they were my parents.
I spent the morning trying to concentrate on what I should say when they called me in to the assessment. I tried to come up with one sentence that would let them know how happy and enthusiastic and grateful I was. I tried to think of anything that wasn’t her. Her body. Her skin. Her legs and her arse. How her throat moved when she drank. The sleepy thickness of her voice. The relaxed confident way that she stood in front of me, showing me how comfortable she was in my company, proved that she didn’t know what she was doing to me, that to see her like that was hard because it reminded me of how close to me she was but out of reach.
It was as if I was being taunted by circumstance, as if I was being shown that however much I thought I wanted her, there was room for more. My desire could still be ratcheted up. This was what happened to people who wouldn’t move quickly and say what they wanted. It was how fate showed the indecisive the damage they were inflicting on themselves by not jumping when they had the opportunity.
In the meeting room the three people who had interviewed me for the job sat smiling. O’Toole told me that my work was very satisfactory and that my college results were excellent. They were delighted to offer me a contract, and then he asked did I have anything to ask them. I said that I was very happy. I stopped there, and they stayed looking at me as if I was going to keep talking. It wasn’t even a question, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
We were in my place one evening. We had been planning on going out, but when they arrived we had a drink and then another, and then we decided to stay put. I had the windows open, the sky outside was turning orange and pink, we were playing music, and it just didn’t make sense to leave. Three people with two cocktails in each of them. It seemed like nowhere could be better than where we were. I had nothing more to drink in the house, and Alex said he’d go, that he’d run down and he’d be quick, before any of us could lose this buzz that wasn’t just booze.
“Wait there,” he said as he stopped in the doorway, about to go. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Will we leave him?” she said as soon as the door closed behind him. “Go off on our own and forget about him?”
“Let’s do it,” I said. She laughed and the music played, suddenly too loud in the moment of silence that followed.
“You know, he’s much happier since he’s started seeing you again,” she said then. I wondered about the words “seeing you” and remembered what it had been like for those weeks on my own. This was better.
“Me too,” I said.
“He can be really moody, you know. But recently he’s a lot more relaxed.”
“That’s good.”
“Does he give out about me all the time, then?” she said, a flicker on her face that made it seem like she could be setting me up for a joke.
“No,” I said. “Not at all.”
“I just thought, with the two of you being so close, that he might tell you everything. All the horror stories.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” I said. If she had been joking, there was nowhere for her to go now. I felt bad. “And I’m sure there are none anyway.”
“What?”
“Horror stories. About you.”
She laughed.
“Of course not. I’m immaculate.”
“Well, I could believe that.”
“So has he said anything to you about going away?” she asked a moment later. I didn’t know what to say.
“He mentioned something about New York. Just talk, really. Nothing definite.”
“For the rest of the summer?”
“I think so. I don’t really know. Why? Has he not talked to you about it?”
“Oh, he has, yeah. I just didn’t know . . .” She smiled. “I just didn’t know was he planning on coming back.”
“I suppose he’ll have to. To finish college.”
“Yeah,” she said vaguely. “Or I don’t know. Is that what he’s going to do? He can be very enigmatic.”
“Him?”
“You don’t find that?”
“Not really. Ask him. Ask him when he comes back. He’ll tell you.”
“You see, it’s easier for you,” she said, smiling at me. “You can do that. You’re the old friend. It’s not the same for me.”
“I don’t see why that should be,” I said.
“Because the new girlfriend asking about future plans means something different. There are implications. Does he want me to go away with him? What happens if he doesn’t?”
I wasn’t sure if these questions were meant to be answered.
“I’m sure he would,” I said as casually as I could.
“Why?”
“Because he likes you. A lot. I think.”
“And I like him,” she said. “But you can understand the confusion.”
“Sure.”
“And what if I don’t want to go? What happens then? Would he stay here for me?”
I needed to move back. Away. Out into the known world. A safer place.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But come on. You should have this conversation with him. You obviously need to.”
“I’m sorry for dragging you into it,” she said.
“It’s no problem,” I said, “but I don’t know what the story is.”
“I needed to talk about it with somebody, and I wasn’t sure if I should say anything to him. I don’t want you to think that I’m conspiring against him. It’s just that I wanted to know what you thought.”
“You should ask him,” I said, more definite now.
“I will,” she said. “Thanks for that. I feel better after it.”
“Good.”
When Alex arrived back a couple of minutes later, we tried to get back to where we had been before, but we could
n’t. We drank until we ran out again, and then they left.
Alex rang the following week.
“Here’s the thing,” he said. “Camille wants you to come out with us next Friday.”
“Okay,” I said. “I think I’m around.”
“She’s going to see if Fiona’s free.” He didn’t try to sound casual about it. I said nothing, trying to work out what this meant. “Hello?” he said then into the silence.
“I’m still here,” I said.
“So?”
“So what? I don’t know. What does she think will happen?”
“Who? Fiona?”
“Or Camille or whoever. What’s this about?”
“I don’t know. I think she likes you or something.”
“She hated me when I met her first.”
“Well, she seems to have got over it.”
“Why does she have to like me?” I asked.
“Really, I have no idea. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. We go out. Have a few drinks. You might have fun.”
“Fun,” I said. “For fuck’s sake.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to do it.”
“Okay. That’s fine. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“Ah, no,” I said. “You’re wrong. I’m stuck now because you’ve asked me. If you go back and tell Camille that I won’t go, she’ll think I’m being difficult, and Fiona . . . I don’t know what she’ll think, but it won’t be good. She’ll think I’m rejecting her.”
“You are rejecting her,” he said.
“I’m not. I just don’t want to do it. For whatever reason, I just don’t.”
“All right. Don’t worry about it. Fiona doesn’t even know that anything was planned.”
“Really? Are you sure about that?” He paused long enough for me to speak again. “So there’s room for doubt?” I said.
“I’m pretty sure Camille wouldn’t have said anything.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re talking about it now. Right now. My ears are burning.”
“Oh, stop whining,” he said then. “Your friends want to meet you in a pub, and there’ll be a girl there who fancies you. What’s the problem? Do you not like her?”
