After spending a couple of weeks away — visiting family and friends, drinking a little too much and eating my weight in cake — I feel replenished and inspired. Writing has never been an exact science for me: sometimes monotonous repetition stokes the fire, and sometimes a dose of novelty sparks a new idea. Since being home, I’ve returned to my desk, fuelled by the freshness of the past couple of weeks. I think this short story is one of my best.
Dirty plates, dusty floor, so many smudges on the windows that when the sun falls I can’t help wondering if someone else lives here. Below my feet, my neighbour’s fingers wrestle with what I think is a piece of Mozart. He never plays for long though, and I suppose that’s why his fingers are always grappling with the keys instead of dancing with them. When I turn on both taps – hot and cold – the sounds of running water and my old boiler just about drown him out. I have to slap the bottom of the washing liquid bottle to make use of the last squirts clinging to the plastic grooves.
They’ll be here soon, childhood friends and their pretty wives – one with a swollen belly and the other with no stomach at all. I can see them inching closer, their blue dot sliding along the map on the outskirts of the city. When they do arrive, my nerves might settle, pulled down with the weight of polite conversation. How was the drive? Did you find a spot on the road or at the tennis club? Girls, you look gorgeous as always. What can I get you to drink – wine, water, ginger beer? Until then though, I can’t help wondering what they’ll think: of the floor, the smudges, that lingering smell of smoke. Or have I managed to disguise it behind a curtain of vanilla candles and freshly washed linen? There’s more washing piled next to the sink than there ought to be for one man living alone. Half a dozen glasses, four mugs – one perpetually stained brown from tea, the other three home to lifeless stems of mint. Five plates are stacked beneath them, four dinner plates and a small cake plate, all smeared with a shadow of their former contents. I cut my thumb on the good knife swimming in the soapy water, but it’s not a deep one, and I carry on, feeling a numb, stinging pain on my skin.
I check the dot again: now they’re really close. Probably close enough to be looking out the window in search of a spot to park. Every time I open my phone, I open up a little hole in my chest, just wide enough to feel the wind tickling my heart. The first few times I found that feeling unbearable – chewing ice with sensitive teeth, but concentrated in the middle of your chest. My breath slows, my brows tighten and I can’t think about anything other than how much it hurts. I’m waiting for a text, just a few lines or a simple question. Even a solitary ‘Hi’ might help me close that hole. Waiting has never been one of my strengths; she knows that.
I sweep the floor because the vacuum is full and I’ve never been great at putting it back together after emptying it. My knees hurt against the wooden floor and my back aches from bending over. Then the doorbell rings.
‘Hello, Mr Mathews. Would you buzz us in, please? I really need a wee.’ Lauren’s voice crackles on its way to me, passing through a dozen metres of loose wiring. When I press the buzzer, I leave a little smudge of blood on the button. Their voices echo up the stairs as I wipe the floor, then wrap tissue paper around my cut.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey, one sec and I’ll give you a hug.’ Lauren rushes past me, her usual scent of lilies deepened by her new pheromones. If it wasn’t for her widened gait, she wouldn’t look pregnant from the back.
‘Hello, buddy. How are you?’ Jack’s hug is longer and tighter than usual. Over his shoulder, I see the other two smiling as they climb the last flight of stairs. ‘Good, thanks. How was the drive?’
‘Aside from the near death experience, it was great.’ I can tell by his grin that Will is only half joking. ‘We almost got caught in a pile up.’
‘Almost being the important word in that sentence,’ Jack answers. I’m double-teamed by Will and Tilly, and I can tell he’s had to listen to their comments the whole drive here. ‘What happened to your thumb?’ Tilly asks, holding my wrist up to her face.
‘I was washing up.’
‘Is it bad?’
‘I don’t think so.’ I really don’t think it is, although the tissue wrapped around it is trying to convince me otherwise. The toilet flushes as I close the front door, and Lauren hugs me longer than any of the other three
‘Love you, Freddy.’
‘Thanks. I love you too.
Now we’re all standing in the living room, Jack, Tilly and Will looking around as if it’s their first time here. It’s not. For once, I wish the neighbour had the stamina for a longer practice. Across the street, another neighbour is drawing his blinds, suddenly aware of a eyes peering out the window.
‘It feels weird,’ Lauren starts, lowering herself into a chair.
‘I know. Sorry if it’s a bit untidy.’
‘You should see our place right now.’ Jack’s always the first to try and deflate tension. That’s what you get when you grow up in a house of shouting matches and fist fights, but I’m not ready to hear that other word. Everything here used to be ours, and now it’s just mine. Four letters can make such a painful difference.
‘Wine, water, ginger beer?’ I ask, the fridge door jangling with glass as I pull it open.
There’s a spare chair at the table, threatening to spoil our meal with its enormous presence. While the conversation is loud and quick, I take the opportunity to pull it away. But as soon as my hands land on its high wooden back, their voices stop. Four pairs of eyes burn their way through the back of my head.
‘So when is your next check?’ Tilly's question is a throwaway, no doubt she already knows the answer. She’s just stringing words together to fill the air. I look over, and three out of the four are staring at Lauren, hoping she’ll take the bait and run. But she stalls, glancing over her shoulder as I carry the chair out of the room.
‘I’ll be right back.’ I should have done it earlier – she would have. Remembering details like that was one of her specialties. But you don’t tend to notice until she’s not here to do it, and then suddenly it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Its back to the window it looks funny in the middle of my bedroom, but at least here it’s out of sight instead of lurking in my periphery all night. When I went shopping earlier, I heard her voice in my ear. I slide my phone out of my pocket, remembering. She has the dots too, perhaps she’s noticed them converging around mine. Strolling through the air conditioned alleys, I heard her voice. Lauren’s pregnant, so don’t get anything crazy. And don’t forget Will hates coriander. I wanted to call her after that – apologise, submit, surrender. But I couldn’t.
‘I’m just telling them the story from my last checkup.’ Lauren’s hands rest on her swollen belly while she lies out on the sofa. My thumb’s starting to throb a little, but as I unwrap the tissue, I’m pleased to see it has stopped bleeding.
‘She’s about to get fingered,’ Jack grins, filling his glass on the other side of the room.
‘And the doctor’s really fit,’ Tilly adds, her small frame huddled onto the last of the sofa’s space.
‘I’m not getting fingered, but he is fit. I’m in a gown, on my back, feet in the air. I can’t see him in that position, and then he said – face a few inches from my vagina – this must be your first. A few seconds later, his head pops up between my legs. He gave me this suave smile, which would usually be hot, but I just found it hilarious and started laughing. Once I get going, I can’t stop myself, right? So I ended up pissing on his hand.’ Red wine dribbles from Will’s mouth before he starts choking, barely stopping himself from spraying it across the room. Tilly’s in a rapturous state of disbelief, and for a moment I forget all about the last couple of weeks and allow my lips to dig into my cheeks. Jack’s the only straight face and I get it; once you’re with someone for long enough, you’ve heard all their stories before.
‘Amy would have died at that.’ Her name is in the air before I realise it. It’s heavy and deflating.
‘She did.’ Lauren answers. Her smile is cautious but genuine, skillfully tiptoeing around the awkward hole I inadvertently opened up between us. I feel that cold, sharp pain in my chest again and reach for my beer to soften it.
‘So are you seeing him again or has he demanded you find someone else?’ Will asks, his face still red.
‘Funnily enough, that wasn’t his first time being pissed on. We’re going in again next Tuesday.’
‘Do you know the gender yet?’
‘It’s a surprise.’ Jack's voice grumbles from his position next to the fridge. The one thing that man hates is a surprise. But he loves his wife more.
Dinner arrives in plastic tubs and fills the table quicker than I expected when I’d read the order back over the phone. Sure, I had stuff ready to cook, but sometimes you don’t have the energy, confidence or concentration. Tonight was down to the latter. While Lauren has a biological excuse to visit the toilet every half an hour, so do I – my hand constantly reaching for my phone. That ice-cold sting in my chest numbs for a few minutes each time I check. There’s plenty of dish passing and plate scratching, blending into a steady hum of conversation.
‘We’ve just booked Sri Lanka,’ Will starts, glancing over my shoulder to the pin-filled map on the wall behind me.
‘Oh god, Will and Till in a tuk-tuk. I think that’s classed as cultural appropriation,’ I say. Everyone laughs a little too hard – though the empty bottles of wine might have something to do with that.
‘You’re the one who plays county cricket.’
‘Played.’
‘Whatever. I’d just like to remind you, I grew up on a council estate. Tilly is the only posh one here.’ Tilly punches his shoulder and smiles, a chunk of black bean covering one of her teeth.
‘Council estate or not, you’re on holiday more than you’re in the country.’
‘Don’t be salty, you chose to buy a house and have a kid,’ Will shoots back at Jack, neither of them taking the other one seriously. I fight to keep the grin on my face while the hole in my chest opens enough to swallow me. I wonder if any of the others can see it. Has she told them why she left?
‘You’re lucky,’ I start. ‘At least you both wanted one and neither of you do.’ I’m sure the grin’s still there; I can feel the strain in my lips. But there's nothing in my eyes, my blue irises frozen in place. Once upon a time we were lucky, and then we weren’t.
Here are some pics from my travels.
A little about me
With friends spread across Europe and the world it can be hard to keep up with everyone. More often than not these rare but precious meet-ups inspire me more than anything else. FYI I lost the bet.
Love, Luke
This is heartbreaking and beautiful and true. You found words to describe all the things that life pulls of at the same time. You captured it perfectly.