Noah's Heart

by Neil Rowland

  “Noah’s always in the mood for a good knees up,” Corrina tells them.

  “Not since I came back from holiday,” I remark, enigmatically.

  “As Sue said, we’re delighted to see you, Noah. We’re glad you came to say hello to everyone, and enjoy yourself,” Bob tells me, squeezing the top of my arm.

  “He knows how to enjoy himself all right, Bob. Noah’s the world authority on enjoying himself.” The cold vodka is racing to her head.

  The Huntingdons stare back, as if exposed to another indecipherable dialect among the remote hill tribes of New Guinea.

  “That was sun stroke,” I tell her.

  “Noah can be down for a while, but then he bounces back again, as big and strong as ever. Isn’t that the idea, Noah?”

  Susan gazes at her not innocently. Bob pulls a wry face of discomfort and heaves a deep breath. Corrina’s new boyfriend, Ashley, coughs and colours. Ross’s fiancée giggles outrageously, then shuts herself up in a second. A jogging couple are out of breath at the end of the table. Finally it is left to Ross to break the deadlock of stymied embarrassment.

  “So you heard rumours about my little birthday bash on the boat, Robert?”

  “It was his dream party come true,” Shirley adds.

  “Yes, yes Ross, quite a lot about your party. Sorry that we couldn’t make it.”

  “It was an incredibly enjoyable little celebration,” Ross explains.

  “That’s right, we ordered fourteen crates of pink champagne, two hundred thousand rounds of sandwiches and we held a beautiful bottom competition. Which I won.”

  “Which she won!” Ross adds proudly.

  “Do you have anything to prove it?” Bob jokes. Laughter unites the varied company.

  What does Corrina make of me now? Last thing she knew I was a broken down wreck, like a bike that’s hit rocks on the descent; a warning to humanity in the Alps. They wheeled me through the terminal like a set of buckled golf clubs. Could anything much have changed? I bear all the gouges and marks of a triple heart bypass operation. With Wickham’s little added extra. Not that I any longer resemble death warmed up, but I don’t look like Johnny Depp in his swimming trunks either; or even Burt Lancaster in his.

  She kicks my shin under the table again; another gentle erotic protest. So I offer her a friendly tap in response. A nanosecond afterwards Ashley explodes into agony.

  “AArrhh! Whatever made you?” This was more devastating than ‘the wall’.

  “Ashley? Ashley, I’m really so terribly sorry. How very clumsy of me.”

  “Bloody hurt! Look at the bump there,” he suggests.

  She attends to him. She struck at the wrong target. Ashley had been playing footsie with her too. Masculine feet had been attacking her from all angles, like war planes. Ashley rolls up the leg of his trouser and begins to rub a bump, as she bends down to investigate her work.

  “Can I go and fetch anyone another drink?” I offer. “Corrina?”

  “What?”

  “Can I fix you up?”

  She stares at me in hostile amazement. “Thanks all the same.”

  “Yes, go on Corrina, have another drink,” Bob tells her. “While there’s still a few bottles left,” he suggests.

  Reluctantly Corrina gets to her feet and scrapes back her chair.

  “Well, perhaps one more vodka, just for the road,” she concedes.

  I exchange a few ironic glances with my friends and their guests. If her looks could kill me, as they say. Undoubtedly she’s already had a few shots over the limit. Sober or drunk she will flirt with the speed limits. That isn’t a good idea when you refuse to wear body leather and you’re returning home on a reconditioned antique Triumph. She’s extremely fond of that ageing but characterful machine.

  To the amazement of Bob and Sue it seems we’re reunited again. Ashley isn’t alone in questioning our intentions or our sanity, as we head towards Bob’s cache of beers and spirits. You just don’t need to drop any acid in this life.

  It’s a beautiful and scary world, and appearances can deceive.

  Chapter 17

  But Corrina looks as sober as the vodka: clear, sharp, fierce and icy; like the expression of the county court judge, who couldn’t help but share his ideas as he dissolved my marriage.

  “So you’re leaving already?” I ask.

  “That’s a safe assumption,” she tells me.

  “Didn’t we have this conversation somewhere before? Lemon?” I ask.

  She takes a grip of a ferocious serrated knife: the centre piece of an expensive set. In a second she is seduced by the wide glinting blade and holds it up between us. She wasn’t seriously thinking of putting that between my ribs, was she?

  Talk has resumed around the table behind us. They are relieved to escape our sexual animosity and debts; with the exception of Ashley, who dashes desperate glances towards us, between rubbing his shin. Where did she pick him up from?

  “Enough for you?” I say, holding up the little glass.

  She signals and takes it away from me. “You seem to be on the mend, Noah. Aren’t you? No more heart shocks I assume.”

  “No, nothing to get excited about,” I inform her. But she’s still trying to work out the new features in my face. Only the landscape of Iceland changes so much.

  “You were definitely frightened when you had that attack,” she recalls.

  “True,” I admit.

  “Not the kind of excitement you were looking for.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Your surgery was a complete success though?” she queries.

  “Disappointed?”

  “You must be glad that it’s all over with.” There’s brightness in her voice, like relief.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  I’m uneasy about my appearance, as I try to keep a firm voice and a straight face. The warning signs are flagged up, despite my self-confident get up. The exact malady is hard to identify, just a lack of good health and a troubled mind. My daughter said I looked like an old cheese sandwich. I continue to avoid hot lights.

  “So Corrina, where have you been hiding all these weeks?”

  “I’ve just been extremely busy,” she tells me.

  “With what?”

  “Did you forget? There’s the Whig Wham festival to organise. So we’re busy attracting top musicians and performers from around the world to play.”

  “Did you invite those throat singers and nose flautists back?” I wonder.

  “We bought enough of those silly balloons from you. Don’t you want our order this year?”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get everything in time,” I say.

  “Perhaps this will tip you back into profit again,” she suggests, looking sardonically through her soft lashes.

  “You’ll fall in love with them,” I insist.

  “Hopefully that will do something for your share price.”

  She’d been watching that at least. “I didn’t come to this party to think about business, never mind to talk about it,” I argue, loosening the epaulettes of my jacket.

  “You do know that your company is going down like...like a burst balloon?”

  “Like a Lead Zeppelin. That’s been said before? You don’t know that?”

  “Take a look at your ex-wife’s business. Elizabeth. Her company is absolutely roaring ahead, it seems. Didn’t you notice that?”

  “Never look back,” I suggest.

  “She’s known as Elizabeth Noggins now, isn’t she?” Corrina leans forward on her toes to get my response to the situation.

  “Hilarious isn’t it?”

  “He’s really quite a big handsome, charming sort of chap, it would seem, isn’t he? Frank Noggins?”

  “How do y
ou say that with a straight face?” I reply.

  “However you may scoff, Frank certainly knows how to run a dynamic business.”

  “They make a nice couple then, don’t they,” I say.

  “They must be worth something between the two of them. She with the baking business and he with his computer company.”

  “Do you think so?” I tell her.

  “Your ex certainly landed on her feet,” Corrina argues. “You have to admire her for making such a success of her life.”

  “You’re going to buy yourself an apron, are you?”

  “She also manufactures herbal medicines. Health products, doesn’t she?”

  “I obviously broke up with her too soon,” I comment.

  “I bumped into her the other day.”

  “Who?” I declare. “Where?”

  “Your ex. She didn’t have much time for me. You’d hardly expect her to though, would you?” Corrina says. “Yes, she was in town with her son. The eldest one, I believe.”

  “Luke. He’s my son too, you know.”

  “Though he exactly resembles her.”

  “Physically.”

  “They look lovely together,” she remarks.

  I stare into her midnight blue vortices, trying to pull out a splinter of sympathy. The vodka just sharpens her tongue to an arrow. As Marvin Gaye said: only love can conquer hate.

  “Did you miss me?”

  “Not a great deal,” she admits. “Perhaps in the early hours, if I was very restless.”

  “Right, well, that’s a start I suppose.”

  I feel my anger and excitement, like a double aggravation.

  “I’ve no intention of listening to your erotic complaints,” she informs me.

  “Not even after our romantic escape?”

  “That was the worst experience of my whole life,” she says.

  “Women can be so bloody sentimental,” I remark. “Too much feeling.”

  “Look Noah, why take me away on holiday, if you had a blasted heart condition?” she wants to know.

  “Why didn’t you visit me? In hospital?” I ask her.

  “Did you want me at your bed side, crying?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” I tell her.

  “I was afraid you were going to die,” she admits.

  “Well, I’m feeling much better these days,” I say.

  “Are you sure?” she wonders.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’m back in great shape. I feel like making love to you. At this very moment, as a matter of fact.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous Noah. With all these people around?”

  But her eyes flicker to the bridge of her nose: the outrageous idea excites her.

  “We can go upstairs,” I suggest. What’s wrong with me? If I have to prove I am a teenager again?

  “Don’t try to get us hitched again, Noah, will you. Upstairs is full of guests.”

  The hallway is crowded, the stairway is congested, the living room is packed. As a friend of the owners I know the secrets of their house. There’s a back room at the end of the dining room which leads to a hidden room. An underworld made for two.

  We steal kisses between bitter tasting drinks. I fool myself that our romance is starting over. I’m searching for that new life again, that second youth. How can this be when I’m shy of forty nine? What can she give me other than a final humiliation?

  “This doesn’t mean I want to marry you, or anything. Or to spend the rest of my life with you... as you once talked about,” she insists.

  “Haven’t we been through all this before?” I tell her.

  “I don’t want you to have any illusions,” she says.

  I support myself with a sturdy posture. “We’ve been through a bad trip, but that’s all behind us.”

  “Are you sure? You have a rumpled type of charm. I like older guys. But I have my own life.”

  “I’m in a good place now too,” I say. “You don’t think so?”

  “Why should I get myself involved with you again?” She shakes her head of abundant hair - gold from an emperor’s hands.

  “I’m fully restored. You can see for yourself?” Deliberately missing the point. I have an arm around her shoulder pulling her into me.

  Corrina gazes at me with anxious doubt.

  “They just opened up the old fire box and made sure it sparked properly.”

  “They obviously didn’t mess around with you too much.”

  “You’re still a very beautiful and special girl to me,” I assure her.

  “To be honest, you’re not my ideal man,” she confesses.

  I absorb the blow. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Sister, am I not a brother to you? Deserving of affection?

  “That didn’t matter to me on Crete, but it makes a difference now...somehow.”

  “You put my ‘ideal’ into the shade,” I tell her. I’ve plunged back into the ocean, regardless of the potential sharks.

  “You don’t want me to lead you on, do you?” she tells me. “You’re still a good looking guy. So long as you understand where you stand,” she jokes, pushing me in the stomach.

  I need Dylan to write me another protest song. But the hard truth doesn’t restrain me. She falls into my arms again, in the half darkness of the confined room, with party noises dim and distant. I couldn’t resist her.

  No flashbulbs pop, no crowd waits to greet us at barriers, on our return. Perhaps we did manage to slip away unseen this time, as if we are back from holidaying together, in the Sahara. This hope is dashed when I understand that Damon and Melanie have noticed us. They stare at me with a round ‘caught you’ expression on their ruddy angelic faces, as if they spotted a high court judge nicking tea towels in Oxfam. They are stood in one corner of the dining room with home-made fair-trade fruit juice each. Almost as if they followed us here to enjoy the post-coital moment. Or was I just being paranoid? I know they’re on very friendly terms with Liz and the Dino. Will they report back on my party antics? Did they string up Hanratty or stand Gary Gilmore in front of a firing squad?

  Just as Corrina is determined to make a fast getaway, Bob reappears on the scene. It’s our scene, but it’s his party. His friendship offers up these incidents - he’s like a war reporter. He’s the guy doing fatalistic interviews, through the noise of a helicopter above his head, while clearing personnel from the roof of the American embassy in Saigon.

  In typical party pose he’s reduced to waiter’s duties, holding out a couple of foaming beers. A glimpse between Corrina and I informs of the new situation on the ground. He’s a shrewd enough guy. We’re caught in our tracks.

  “Did you finish your drink?” Bob asks her.

  “Thanks Bob.”

  There are these carnations in her cheeks to make any man wonder.

  “You’re leaving after all?”

  “You’ve got another great hoot on your hands this year, mate,” I assure him. “It’s a proper roustabout.”

  Bob gives me a dubious look. He isn’t impressed with me. Long suffering. “Your friend left half an hour ago,” Bob informs her.

  “There or thereabouts,” I say.

  “Your young companion, that is.”

  “Ashley? Did he say why?”

  “No, but he was upset.”

  “I hope he remembered his crash helmet,” I say. “Not to worry, Corrina, he’ll get over it.”

  “That’s all very well for you to say, Noah Sheer. We have to work together at Whig Wham. I can’t afford to upset a colleague like that.”

  “You’re doing well so far.”

  “I just gave him a lift here on my bike, that’s all.”

  “He called for a taxi. I guess he was impatient,” Bo
b observes.

  My friend holds up a beer in each hand, like a water carrier or a moral measure.

  “Damn, I suppose I’ll be eating humble pie on Monday,” she complains.

  “Best to cut your losses,” I advise. “Is one of those beers for me, Bob?”

  “No, not these.” He pulls the tankards out of reach.

  “That’s a pity, because I always get a good thirst after... after a swinging party,” I say reluctantly, pulling my eyes away.

  “Yes, Noah, I’m aware of that,” Bob tells me, before he marches off.

  “I’m leaving,” Corrina clarifies.

  “Story of my life.” But the party isn’t over until I start singing.

  Bob is struggling through the hordes of guests he invited, clinging on to his pitchers of ale, his bacchanalian scales of justice. Apparently the beer is intended for Lloyd, so it’s not just the last laugh he’ll enjoy.

  In his current serving apron Bob resembles a Bavarian barmaid, albeit one with prodigious facial growth. If Jimmy Page could see him now, he’d never offer an autograph.

  I hear Susan’s voice nearby, as she cuts a path through. She’s offering to fetch someone’s coat. Best to get away before Damon insists on genetic fingerprinting. He’ll force some kind of swab into my mouth.

  There’s certainly going to be plenty of health food for thought.

  “Another night cap, Corrina?”

  “I’m going to make tracks,” she tells me. “Some friends and I are going to Bath tomorrow.”

  “More clubbing?”

  “We’re not going clubbing, Noah. We’re working.”

  “Another time then?” I wonder.

  “We’ll see.”

  “You should move in with me. That would make life much easier.”

  “You have to be joking,” she retorts.

  “So maybe you need to sleep on the idea.” To smother it to death perhaps.

  “I wouldn’t hold your breath,” she warns.

  No, I’ve already tried that. “What’s so bad about the idea? Of you and I shacking up together? We discussed it once,” I remind her. “Afraid of being happy?”

  “I already have somewhere perfectly decent to live, thank you.”