Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex

by Robert Bryndza

  Sunday 29th April

  Adam’s shifts have been worked out for the next two weeks, and he gets one day off. I’ve hardly seen him. Tonight I decided to go and visit him at The Hop & Grape.

  I went during a lull between the lunchtime and evening rush, but it was still full of tourists and a couple of depressed buskers; thankfully Daniel wasn’t one of them. Adam was working with another tall scrawny guy who can’t have been more than eighteen and didn’t have a clue about bar work. Adam had just pulled a couple of pints of bitter for two elderly American men, who couldn’t fathom why bitter was served warm.

  ‘Hey can we get some ice?’ asked one of them. Adam filled an ice bucket from below the bar and the two guys reached over and plopped handfuls into their bitter.

  I was about to go and say hello, when a tiny woman emerged from a door behind the bar. She had bug eyes and a shaved head, which contrasted weirdly with her bright red lipstick. She pulled Adam to one side.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she asked. Adam looked around as the American guys leaned over the bar, poured a little of their pints into the drip trays, and added more ice.

  ‘Bishop’s Bell-end is meant to be served at room temperature!’ she said.

  ‘They asked for ice.’

  ‘What if a representative from the brewery came in right now?’

  ‘They’d see how much those guys are enjoying their bell-ends,’ grinned Adam.

  ‘No. They’ll say we’re not serving the drinks properly.’

  ‘Then I’d tell the representatives the guys asked for the ice.’

  ‘You don’t get it Adam, the representatives don’t come and talk to us, they work anonymously. They come in and they report back.’

  ‘Sally, you’re being paranoid…’

  ‘Watch your mouth. My arse is on the line with the Bishop’s Bell End.’ I laughed. Sally looked up and turned her attention to me.

  ‘Can I help you, madam?’

  ‘Hi. I’m Adam’s wife,’ I said leaning over the bar and offering my hand.

  ‘Adam didn’t tell me he had a wife. What do you do?’

  ‘I’m a writer. And we’re expecting a baby.’

  ‘Shit Adam, you’d better get back to work. Those tips don’t earn themselves.’

  Adam nodded and went off.

  ‘Do you want a drink love?’ asked Sally.

  ‘Yes, I’ll have a tomato juice,’ I said feeling thrown, and sounding like Dot from Eastenders. In a practised move she pulled down a glass, reached for a bottle, opened and poured it.

  ‘It’s on the house,’ she said, and she disappeared through the doorway behind the bar. I sat sipping my vile drink as the bar suddenly filled up with office workers and impatient pre-theatre goers. Adam and the skinny guy were rushed off their feet, and I felt my comfortable spot at the bar being slowly squeezed by the throngs waiting two-, and then three-deep to be served. When it got really busy, Sally came out to help, and then a couple more young people arrived.

  Adam seemed to really enjoy himself. He had a good banter with the customers, and looked like he was having fun. In the end I came home, oddly jealous.

  May

  Tuesday 1st May

  The baby seems to be on a different schedule to me. He was wide awake all night wiggling around inside me. At five thirty, when the sun started streaming through the bedroom window I gave up trying to sleep and came down to the kitchen.

  When Adam came down at eight, I was standing by the toaster, on my fifth piece of toast. I noticed he was wearing his work uniform.

  ‘You’re working again?’ I said dismayed.

  ‘We need the money. And you didn’t want to do anything.’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t say you wanted to do anything… What do you want to do?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen you properly in ages. London is going to be full of people having fun in the sun.’

  Adam came over and put his arms round me.

  ‘I’m doing this for us, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I just miss you.’

  ‘I miss you too.’ He kissed me on the top of my head and grabbed his bag.

  ‘But you enjoy it at the bar, don’t you?’ I said.

  ‘It’s okay, yes. It’s fun to do a job with very little responsibility… is that wrong?’ he added seeing my face.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ok. Good. I have to go hun.’

  ‘Bye,’ I said turning back to the toaster and slotting in more bread. I didn’t turn round until he had gone. I knew I was being horrible, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  Adam phoned me late in the afternoon to say he’d been asked to do a double shift. I was a little cool, especially when I heard a young girl’s voice calling him in the background.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘Becky,’ said Adam.

  ‘Becky who?’

  ‘Um, I dunno, she’s Becky. She works here too…’

  ‘I’m Becky Jones,’ came her voice in the background.

  ‘Sorry Becky Jones,’ teased Adam. ‘She’s called…’

  ‘I heard,’ I snapped. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Not sure. Do you want me to ask?’ said Adam.

  ‘No! God no, don’t you dare. And don’t answer like I asked you. Just say yes or no… Is she twenty five?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Is she in her twenties?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Is she…?’

  ‘Coco, what’s up? I can just ask her…’ said Adam.

  ‘Shhhh. You idiot. Now she’ll know I’ve been asking. Look I have to go.’

  I hung up and felt stupid. Why can’t I stop being such a cow?

  When Adam got in at two in the morning. I pretended to be asleep. He slid under the covers and started to snore within minutes. I got up to use the loo and saw he’d left his work uniform on the floor. I picked up the trousers; the pockets were empty apart from a little piece of foil that fell out.

  I picked it up.

  The piece of foil was silver with two letters written in blue, ‘ex’. Something about the writing was familiar. I took the foil into the bathroom and scrabbled around in the cabinet and found a condom. The ‘ex’ was the the last two letters of ‘durex.’

  I stared at it for a long moment. I didn’t have the energy to shout and scream and what if he told me he was cheating? Could he be cheating with that girl? He’s so sexy… I’d been alone in the house all afternoon with just the thoughts in my head driving me bonkers… If I did find out he was cheating, I’d have to throw him out. I couldn’t face any of that, so I got into bed and put my arm round him.

  Thursday 3rd May

  I came round to the flat today. We’d hired a team of cleaners who’ve been in and scrubbed away the mess Tabitha left. Adam has seen sense and hired an estate agent to find new tenants. It is now echoing, empty, and costing us money.

  There was a pile of post on the mat and I sorted through the bills and junk. There was also a big plain jiffy bag addressed to ‘Ms Tabitha Mycock’. I tore it open, and it was full of Piña Colada flavoured condoms. Who drinks Piña Colada these days, let alone wants one served up via a penis? The image of Tabitha stark naked came back to me and I was suddenly scared to be alone in the flat. I grabbed the post and ran out.

  When I got onto the street I paused by the door and yanked off the little picture of hearts she’d inserted above the bell. Not only has she left us with unpaid bills, she’d taken away all the happy memories of that flat. It’s where Adam and I had our first date. It also reminded me of the condom wrapper I’d found in his pocket.

  He got home late again.

  Friday 4th May

  I still haven’t said anything about the condom foil, and I threw Tabitha’s big jiffy bag of Piña Colada condoms away. By the time I’ve had the baby and want to have sex again they’ll have passed their use by date. And there would be something disturbing about usin
g another woman’s condoms.

  Adam called me from work this morning.

  ‘I’ve got news,’ he said.

  ‘The estate agent found us a tenant? Already?’

  ‘Um, no, Cokes. I’ve just had Nanette on the phone,’ he said.

  ‘Your ex-wife Nanette?’

  ‘Yes… She’s coming to stay with Holly. That’s my daughter Holly.’

  ‘Ha ha very funny,’ I said.

  ‘She’s coming tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow!’

  ‘For a week.’

  ‘A week?’

  ‘Is that a problem Cokes?’

  ‘She could have given us some notice, there’s no time to prepare.’

  ‘She’s got a meeting with a gallery in London and she wants to come and introduce herself, before the baby arrives.’

  I started to say something, but he said he had to go. I tried his mobile and the bar phone but no one was picking up. He is always at work, we never seem to have a conversation so I got dressed, and went to The Hop & Grape in Covent Garden for eleven thirty, hoping we could talk. I arrived just as Sally the landlady was opening the door. She must shave her head every day with clippers. Her white scalp shows through a fine dark stubble. Her attire was just as striking: huge gold hoop earrings, long false eyelashes and a pillar-box-red lipstick. She was wearing a Japanese print smock dress and those funky trainers where there is a little compartment for each toe.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ she said.

  ‘Who were you expecting?’

  ‘Susan. Skinny old alcy in a denim skirt and spaghetti straps, although why she bothers I don’t know, she’s got very little tit to speak of.’

  ‘Maybe she’s gone somewhere else?’ I suggested.

  ‘Maybe she fell in the Thames…’

  We pondered that for a moment.

  ‘Well are you coming in?’ asked Sally. I came through the door. Adam was busy slicing open boxes of wine and re stocking the mirrored shelf behind the bar. A gorgeous young blonde girl was half-heartedly polishing the broad oak bar. She’d accessorised her dull work t-shirt by tying the bottom in a knot under her full breasts, showing off a taut little stomach with a belly button ring. She leaned her chest into Adam and muttered something, which I assume was a bit cheeky. Adam laughed, pulled out the tea towel he had tucked under his belt and went to whip her behind with it. He looked like he was having such a good time.

  ‘Becky, if you’re polishing, go and rub those tits up against the fruit machine, it’s covered in grubby fingermarks,’ said Sally. Becky started to protest.

  ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Coco, do you want a drink?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ I said. Sally vanished through her little door behind the bar. Adam looked surprised to see me.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I watched Becky sulking and putting out ashtrays. The sun shining through the window made her blond hair dazzle.

  ‘Re-stocking,’ he said

  ‘Is that what you call it?’

  ‘What?’ he said, frowning. It was quiet in the bar and I didn’t want to give Becky the satisfaction of me being a jealous cow.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ I said.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Stuff.’

  ‘You came all the way here to talk about stuff.’

  ‘The menu for when Nanette and Holly arrive.’

  ‘The menu is in a drawer in the kitchen. I presume we’re having takeaway?’

  ‘Adam, we don’t talk, I don’t see you…’

  ‘Coco, I’ve got these boxes, then another delivery to unload.’

  ‘When do you have lunch? I can come back.’

  He began to protest and saw my face. ‘I get half an hour at two o’clock.’

  I missed him so much. It felt like we didn’t have anything in common at the moment. He was absorbed in this job, and he looked really happy. He opened another box and pulled out two elegant brown beer bottles. They had bright labels imprinted with the image of a peacock feather.

  ’What beer is that?’ I said.

  ‘Coco. I need to get on. I’ll see you at two.’ I picked up my bag and left. I noticed Becky Jones’s impossibly pert bottom and I wanted to stab her.

  I hung about for two-and-a-half hours. I realised trying not to spend money in London is difficult. I went to the Apple store and had a play on the iPads, iPods, and phones. I found the biggest iMac and brought up the product page for Agent Fergie still sitting nicely at number one. I stood there and drank it in. It didn’t quench my thirst. I had thought everything would be wonderful when I had a number one book. That I’d feel like a proper writer, or at least that I’d have made it. I felt just the same.

  A very handsome young sales assistant approached me in his blue t- shirt. He grinned with a set of beautiful white teeth.

  ‘Hi how are we doing today?’ he asked. The only answer I could give was ‘Fine.’ I wasn’t about to launch into my pre-pregnancy symptoms (leaky breasts started this morning I hasten to add).

  ‘Do you need any help?’ he asked grinning at the screen.

  ‘No, thank you.’ I said. An old lady in a rain mac holding an AppleMac joined us and put her bag and computer down. She pulled out her glasses and minimised my screen.

  ’Right, young man, tell me all about apps!’ she said with zeal.

  ‘Would you mind excusing us,’ asked the smiley young man. ‘This is my genius appointment.’

  They both looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to leave. I waddled off feeling strangely rejected. I made my way across Covent Garden, past Charing Cross Station and down to Trafalgar Square. I drifted about, lost in my thoughts. I realised this was the first time in years I’d been in London with nothing to do. I perched on one of the fountains and started to people watch. I could easily pick out the tourists. They wander around unhurried with the excitement of discovery in their eyes. Then there are the Londoners. They are usually wearing black, and running late to something, moving hurriedly in straight lines, tutting at the tourists getting in their way.

  Then I noticed the homeless, the slightly lunatic, the drifters with not much more to do than watch, like me. I walked over to Nelson’s column to have a look at the lions. I’ve always wanted to sit on one. I vowed to come back on a sunny day with Adam and sit on a lion.

  A wizened little man with a hooked nose, rosy tanned cheeks and dyed black hair parted greasily to one side appeared from round the corner. He had a whimsical manner.

  ‘Been busy?’

  ‘Me?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah you.’

  ‘Well I’ve just been to the Apple Store and now I’m…’ my voice trailed off. He wasn’t really listening.

  ‘I’ve just been up the column,’ he said. He pointed up to the top of Nelson’s Column.

  ‘Have you?’

  He nodded pursing his lips theatrically. I stared at him. He kept nodding quickly.

  ‘Did you climb?’ I asked.

  He nodded harder.

  ‘Must be chilly up there,’ I said retreating. He kept nodding then he noticed my stomach.

  ‘Ooh, are you expecting?’ he cooed flashing a revolting row of yellow teeth.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ I said stepping back. He reached out and put a hand on my bump. He had fingerless gloves and long yellowing fingernails.

  ‘You’re going to have trouble with your son,’ he said dropping the whimsy. His eyes stared into mine.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Stick by him though, Coco. We all need someone to stick by us.’

  He gently lifted his hand off me.

  ‘How do you know my name?’ I asked. His voice changed and he became all whimsical again.

  ‘Did you know? I’ve been up Nelson’s column.’

  ‘Do I know you? What do you mean, trouble?’

  ‘Ooh, it was very windy… Lots of bird poo…’ He said screwing up his face in a grimace. Then he turned and walked away
quickly ploughing though a flock of pigeons. They took flight, hundreds soaring into the air, it was frightening. All the more frightening because it was in the daylight.

  I was shaking. Then I noticed Chris walking through the crowds. He was one of the tsk tsk Londoners in a hurry. He was dressed in a very smart suit and carrying a briefcase. I’ve never seen him walk with such purpose. After the horrible little man it was a relief to see someone I knew from the real world. I shouted his name. He didn’t hear so I shouted again.

  ‘Coco?’ he said stopping and seeing me. He came over and we hugged.

  ‘Cokes, you’re blooming! What are you doing hanging about in Trafalgar Square?’ I didn’t have an answer. For us Londoners Trafalgar Square was for walking through, and occasionally, attending a protest.

  ‘Is there a protest?’ he asked, almost on cue.

  ’No,’ I said. Then I started to cry.

  ‘Hey come on,’ he said.

  ‘Could you spare time for a drink? I’ve just had a freaky experience.’

  He looked at his watch then my face.

  ‘Of course, hun. Let’s grab a cab, I’ll take you to Cathedral.’

  I always seem to end up going to Cathedral Members’ Club with Chris when I’m in a state. In fact every visit marks a personal crisis. Chris flashed his card at the doorman and we took the lift down into the bowels of Soho. The bar is designed like a miniature Cathedral, and the owner seems to have upped the ante since I last visited. We sat in a confession box booth under the beautiful domed ceiling; candles cast a peaceful glow over the elegant marble walls. A waitress in a nun’s habit approached our booth and asked what we wanted to order.

  ‘I’ll have a portion of holy see salt fries, and a virgin Mary,’ I said.

  ‘Do you want stigmata ketchup with that?’ asked the nun. I said I did.

  ‘I’ll have a Virgin Mary and, let’s see, a green salad… the kale Mary,’ said Chris. The nun left.