Dreams of Leaving

by Rupert Thomson

  ‘Changed my mind.’

  The two girls sat down at opposite ends of a stone bench. There would have been room for Moses between them – just – but Moses, imagining that nearness to Gloria as a kind of heat and not wanting to be burned, stood by the pond instead.

  Silence. The city’s parody of silence. Murmuring voices, a hiss of distant cars on wet roads, the hum of a million lit buildings. Something moved in the pond. Moses bent down.

  ‘Hey, there are real goldfish in here.’ He could see a whole shoal of them gliding through the water. Fat gold missiles fired into the darkness at the end of the pond.

  ‘Real goldfish.’ Gloria’s voice mocked him slightly.

  He looked over his shoulder, tried to read something more than mockery into that, but her face, backlit by the bright windows of the house, was illegible.

  ‘Well, you know,’ he said, ‘in a house like this I thought they’d be motorised or something.’

  There he was trying to explain himself and they were laughing at him. I’m making her laugh, he realised. And the thought soared in his head like an anthem.

  *

  Gloria left Louise sitting on the bench and walked across the grass. She paused some distance away. She seemed to be examining a statue of an angel. Moses waited a few moments, then followed her.

  When he reached her he didn’t give himself time to think or reconsider. ‘I’d like you to come away with me,’ he said.

  ‘Now?’ She kept her voice light, detached. Almost visible, it floated through the air towards him.

  ‘No, not now. Well – maybe. But that’s not what I meant.’

  ‘What did you mean then?’

  ‘I meant,’ and he paused, this was sounding dreadful, ‘some weekend.’

  ‘I don’t even know who you are.’

  He swallowed. ‘I’m not dangerous. Really I’m not.’

  She tilted her face towards his. He saw a quizzical smile, the fire of curiosity beginning to burn. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t think you are. But I really can’t afford anything like that at the moment. I’m not working, you see.’

  ‘I thought you sang,’ Moses said, remembering.

  She smiled. ‘Not often enough.’

  A pause.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Moses said. ‘I got £80 the other day. For sheets and things. We could use that.’

  ‘Sheets? What sheets?’

  ‘Sheets. A man from the DHSS came round to see me. He told me I could claim for lots of things that I wasn’t claiming for. “Like what?” I said. “Like sheets,” he said. So I claimed for sheets and a couple of days ago I got a cheque in the post. £80.’

  Gloria was laughing. ‘You’re making this up.’

  ‘I’m not. I got it yesterday. No, the day before. Really.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Gloria said. ‘What if this man comes round again and wants to see your new sheets?’

  ‘Shit. I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Well,’ Gloria said, ‘he probably won’t.’

  ‘He might, though.’ Moses, worried now, clutched at his hair. ‘I mean, that’s just the kind of thing they do, isn’t it?’

  ‘Moses, I’m sorry I said that. I’m sure he won’t come back.’

  ‘He will. I bet he will, the bastard. You know what they’re like. They’ve got clipboards and pencils attached to them with grubby little bits of string. They wear those pullovers. They make you feel guilty even when you haven’t done anything – ’

  Gloria touched his arm. ‘There’s got to be a way round it.’

  Moses looked down at her hand. ‘You’re right,’ he said.

  Gloria smiled as she saw the anxiety lift and a look of deep reflection take its place.

  ‘I know,’ he cried, ‘I’ll borrow some sheets from Eddie.’

  ‘Who’s Eddie?’

  ‘Eddie’s the man who made Louise faint.’

  Gloria began to laugh again. ‘I don’t believe any of this.’

  ‘People never believe me,’ Moses said, ‘but it’s all true.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ Louise said, walking towards them. ‘He’s always lying.’

  Moses swung round. ‘What do you know, Louise? All you can do is fall over at parties – ’

  ‘I didn’t fall over – ’

  ‘– because you’ve drunk too much – ’

  ‘I didn’t drink – ’

  ‘– and then,’ Moses said, grinning, ‘and then you go and sleep with people like Elliot– ‘ He wrinkled his face up in disgust. ‘I just don’t understand how you can – ’

  ‘You bastard, Moses.’

  ‘Who’s Elliot?’ Gloria asked.

  ‘A very good friend of Louise’s,’ Moses told her behind his hand. ‘You know.’

  Louise advanced on Moses.

  ‘Look, if you’re feeling better, Louise,’ Moses said, backing towards the house, ‘maybe we should go back inside and look for Marvin Gaye’s brother. I’ve always wanted to meet Marvin Gaye’s brother. Apparently he’s much more interesting than Marvin – Ow! – Louise! – ’

  *

  ‘Tell you the truth,’ Louise said, when she had done with Moses and they were inside again, ‘I don’t give a fuck about Marvin Gaye’s brother. I’m going to look for the toilet instead.’ She left Moses and Gloria at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘That girl.’ Moses shook his head. ‘Where did you meet her?’

  ‘I’ve known her practically all my life,’ Gloria told him. ‘My parents play tennis with her parents. You know how it is.’

  Moses didn’t, but he was willing to learn.

  In the meantime, they had climbed to the second floor. They timed it badly. They were just passing a room where fifty people were dancing to salsa when Amy blundered out. Three beads of sweat trickled from her hairline. Noticing Gloria, she stopped blundering and began, miraculously, to float. Moses recognised her because she was still wearing that awful blue satin bow. Gloria recognised her because she had no choice.

  ‘Darling,’ Amy oozed. A fourth bead of sweat appeared. Any more of those, Moses thought, and she’ll have a tiara.

  ‘Amy, this is Moses,’ Gloria said. ‘Moses, Amy.’

  Amy studied Moses, her entire face twisting away from the cigarette that she was holding to the corner of her mouth. ‘We’ve met,’ she declared, swaying a little from the waist.

  ‘That’s right,’ Moses said. ‘You had two glasses of wine and you suddenly felt greedy so you gave one to me.’

  ‘I felt sorry for you, darling. Sitting on the stairs all alone like that. What were you doing?’

  ‘I was thinking about fruit,’ Moses said. ‘Mandarins, actually.’

  Amy arched her left eyebrow, smiled out of the side of her mouth, then drew hard on her cigarette. These were separately machined actions. ‘I like that,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Moses said.

  ‘Tell me – ’ and Amy turned to Gloria – ‘is this man anything to do with you?’ Her lips chopped the smoke from her cigarette into signals that were very obvious.

  Gloria considered Moses for a moment. Amy waited, eyelashes clashing. Moses thought of insect-feelers and shuddered.

  ‘Not yet,’ Gloria said finally, smiling.

  ‘Oh well, in that case,’ Amy said, and stalked off, all haughty angles.

  ‘Thank Christ she’s gone,’ Moses said.

  ‘You shouldn’t have flirted with her.’ Gloria’s eyes were glittering with pieces of white light.

  ‘Flirted with her?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gloria said. ‘You were flirting with her.’

  ‘Was I?’ Moses was genuinely shocked. ‘I wasn’t.’

  But Gloria just smiled at him. ‘You know what?’ she said. ‘I’ve just remembered where we might find Marvin Gaye’s brother.’

  She led him back downstairs to a room by the front door. ‘In there,’ she said.

  The door stood ajar, and they could hear somebody playing the piano inside, soft disconnected notes. Moses pushe
d the door open. They paused on the threshold.

  The man sitting at the piano was black. He wore a blue suit and a mustard roll-neck sweater. Did he look like Marvin Gaye? What did Marvin Gaye look like? Moses couldn’t remember. Anyway, the man was alone. There was nobody else in the room. Moses felt awkward, guilty somehow, as if they had stumbled into someone’s private grief. He examined the room carefully. Yes, the man was alone all right. Nobody was listening to Marvin Gaye’s brother playing the piano. Moses tugged nervously on Gloria’s arm. He was fucked if he was going to hang around in a room full of nobody listening to a famous person’s brother play the piano. Too embarrassing.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he whispered. ‘Quick, before he sees us.’

  As they backed away, on tiptoe, the pianist turned round. He didn’t look surprised or hurt or angry. Not a bit. In fact, he seemed very relaxed. He was even smiling.

  ‘Can I help you people?’

  ‘Well, OK,’ Moses said. ‘Are you by any chance Marvin Gaye’s brother?’

  ‘No,’ the pianist said. ‘Are you?’

  Moses laughed. ‘Somebody told us that Marvin Gaye’s brother was going to play the piano tonight.’

  The pianist scratched his head with one long humorous finger. ‘I didn’t know he had a brother.’

  ‘I bet he hasn’t got a brother,’ Moses said.

  Gloria summed up. ‘Amy’s always been full of shit.’

  *

  They found an unopened bottle of Chianti in the kitchen – the way the wine was lasting, anyone would think Jesus was going to play the piano – and wandered back upstairs to look for Louise. They came across Eddie in the Chinese room.

  ‘Look who it is,’ Eddie said.

  ‘What’ve you been up to?’ Moses asked him.

  Eddie eyed Gloria. ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  ‘Oh, you re Eddie,’ Gloria said. ‘The one with the special powers. How exciting. To have special powers.’

  Eddie seemed amused. ‘Highness has a vivid imagination,’ he told her.

  ‘Highness?’

  ‘Some people call him Highness.’

  ‘Some people are drunk,’ Moses said. ‘I’m thinking of leaving. What are you doing?’

  Eddie grinned. ‘I’m thinking of leaving.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘No.’ Eddie turned to a shy girl in tight jeans who had, until now, been attached to the back of his shirt. ‘This is Dawn,’ he said. Or it could have been Diane. Or Doreen. Moses didn’t quite catch the name.

  Dawn/Diane/Doreen smiled hello. A red ribbon blushed in her black hair like a moment of embarrassment.

  ‘Where’s Louise?’ Gloria asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Moses said.

  ‘Police,’ somebody announced calmly.

  Later Moses wondered how this had carried above the soundtrack of the party. Some words had more punch, perhaps.

  ‘It’s a raid,’ came the same calm voice.

  There was a general furtive surge in the direction of the door, as if people were pretending that they weren’t really leaving. Out on the stairs, the urgency increased and Moses was swept along, Gloria in front of him, Eddie and D/D/D somewhere behind.

  Two officers with flat hats and glistening moustaches flanked the front door. One of them tipped his face at Moses.

  ‘Not driving tonight, are we, sir?’

  ‘Beep beep,’ came a voice from the stairs.

  Everybody laughed.

  ‘I don’t – ’ Moses began, but the policeman, scowling, waved him through.

  At the bottom of the steps Moses put his arm round Gloria. She leaned into him a fraction, just enough to tell him that she had been waiting for that. He felt her ribs tremble under his fingers. She glanced up, lips parted. He bent over her. His tongue brushed her teeth. Bedtime.

  Louise’s face floated into the corner of his eye. ‘Somebody chucked a brick through the window,’ she was saying.

  They reached the pavement. Everybody had left the party at the same time, and small groups of people stood about looking out of context. Two panda cars nuzzled the kerb. Their blue disco-lights were flashing, but nobody was dancing. D/D/D shrank against a tree, her coat thrown over her shoulders.

  ‘Where’s Eddie?’ Moses asked her.

  She shrugged. She looked puzzled, derelict, cold.

  Oh Christ, he thought.

  ‘We’ve lost Eddie,’ he told the other three. ‘I’m just going to go and have a look for him. Wait for me, won’t you?’

  Gloria sent a queer little smile through the darkness towards him. He hesitated, self-conscious suddenly. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said.

  Inside the house a few people lay against the walls. Too smashed to move, react or care. Moses stepped over bodies, bottles, ashtrays – the rubble of a party. Music was still playing in the evacuated rooms, loud abrasive music, someone’s expression of defiance. He asked one girl whether she had seen a man who looked like a statue. She stared right through him. It was a conspiracy, he decided. A conspiracy of statues.

  After about five minutes he gave up. He almost broke his ankle on the way downstairs, but it was less out of drunkenness than out of impatience to be with Gloria again. He cursed Eddie as he rubbed the ankle where it had turned over. What was the point of all these escape-acts anyway? Who did he think he was? The Houdini of love? Fuck him.

  He limped out through the door and down the steps. Long splinters of glass from the shattered window made Egyptian shapes on the footpath: pyramids, sabres, crescent moons. The trees creaked overhead, shone black, dripped moisture. Three figures waited by the gate with questions on their faces.

  ‘No luck, I’m afraid,’ he told them.

  They stood there for a moment longer, shoulders hunched against the chill, all staring in different directions.

  Moses leaned on the railings. He watched the road curve out of sight, dissolve into the mist. Someone had bought hundreds of aerosols of fine rain and sprayed them into the orange air that hung around the street-lamps.

  Then Gloria came up, touched his arm. ‘Where did you leave the car?’ she asked, her face a mask of black and silver.

  *

  Moses dropped Louise and D/D/D in Victoria and now he was driving south down Vauxhall Bridge Road, alone with Gloria. They hadn’t needed to discuss anything. It was one of those tacit agreements, after a party, three in the morning. Things like this didn’t happen to Moses very often and when they did he was usually too drunk to notice. He was drunk now, but he was noticing.

  ‘Does he always do that?’ Gloria asked. ‘Disappear like that?’

  She huddled down in the passenger seat, her feet tucked into the glove compartment.

  Moses chuckled. ‘Yes, he does. I don’t know what it is. Maybe he gets bored. Maybe it’s all too easy for him. I don’t know.’

  Gloria wound the window down an inch or two and lit a joint. The slipstream took the smoke from her lips and bent it out into the night air –a silk scarf from a magician’s sleeve. She seemed to be thinking over what he had just said.

  ‘Bastard,’ she said eventually. It was the last carriage in a long train of thought.

  Moses glanced across at her and smiled. They kept turning towards each other at the same time as if there were magnetic forces attracting his face to hers and hers to his.

  ‘Are you going to stay?’ Moses asked, as he accelerated over the bridge. ‘Tonight, I mean.’

  Gloria snuggled deeper in her seat. ‘Why? Have I still got time to change my mind?’

  ‘You’ve got about three minutes.’

  Three minutes isn’t a long time and nothing had changed at the end of it except the name of the road. Suddenly they were home and in the silence as the engine died they kissed for the first time.

  Moses locked the car door and stood, motionless but swaying, looking beyond the unlit windows of his flat. The world whirled. That last joint on the drive back. He could see no stars, only the racing-colours of the city sky, orang
e and grey. The street, high-sided, gorgelike, channelled the power of the wind. He felt as though he was being tested for aerodynamic styling, a test he would almost certainly have failed. A fine rain performed subtle acupuncture on his upturned face. He shivered. It was cold. He was out of his head. He could no longer remember how they had got there.

  ‘Over here,’ came a cry, blown in his direction by the wind.

  Gloria was waving to him from the street-corner.

  ‘See this?’ she said, when he reached her. She was pointing at a poster on the door of The Bunker. It advertised an evening of jazz-funk with somebody called Jet Washington.

  ‘That was yesterday,’ Moses said.

  ‘I know that. What I mean is – ’

  ‘He was terrible.’

  ‘That’s not what I – ’

  ‘People threw glasses at him.’ Moses shook his head at the memory. The look of outrage on Jet’s face when a plastic glass bounced off his shoulder. The impotence. The tearful slope-shouldered way he left the stage halfway through his set.

  ‘Moses, will you – ’

  ‘Jet Washington? Moses said. The side of his mouth twisted to signify disdain.

  He looked down in surprise as Gloria began to pummel him in the stomach with her tiny gloved fists. ‘Why are you doing that?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’m trying to get you to listen to me.’

  ‘I am listening.’

  ‘What I was trying to say was, do you think it would be possible for me to sing here?’

  ‘Are you a singer?’

  ‘You know that, Moses.’

  ‘You’re really a singer?’

  ‘Yes.’ Gloria leaned against the wall, the black plastic of her raincoat catching hundreds of slivers of silver light that twitched and shivered as she moved like broken-off pieces of Moses’s amazement. She now seemed a lot less drunk than he was.

  ‘What time is it?’ he asked her. (Her eyebrows said about ten to four.)

  Gloria held her watch up to the light. The action was beautiful because it was so serious.

  ‘Five past three,’ she said.

  Moses shook with laughter and almost buried her entirely in his arms.

  *

  Why had he come to this foreign country? he wondered, cursing himself over and over again, though it was too late now, of course. The stupidity of it. But words were talismans, there was protection in their syllables, their sounds could stop the bad thing happening. Keep talking, he told himself, because talking can save you. Keep talking. All the time dragging himself across the sand towards the cover of the trees. All the time looking over his shoulder. Looking was important too. Never turn your back.