Still feeling tense, Neil looked around, not entirely convinced that the room wasn’t bugged or booby-trapped. It was a shared bedroom, divided unofficially but decisively down the middle, each side with its own rickety single bed and tipsy wardrobe. The side of the room he was standing in was marked by a small potted bay tree and several musical instruments on stands, all variations on guitars and harps, many of which seemed to be antiques. The pictures on this side of the room were reproductions of Renaissance paintings—or at least he assumed they were reproductions—mostly consisting of representations of Greek mythology and the god—but of course, he was that arrogant—Apollo.
The other side of the room was quite different. While the bed he was standing by had been made in haste, the other one’s khaki bedspread had been straightened with great precision, not a crease on it. The walls displayed an extraordinary collection of army memorabilia, with every possible space taken up with uniforms, flags, medals, replica firearms—he hoped they were replicas—and maps and charts of famous military campaigns.
“Which side of the room is Apollo’s?” he said.
“This side,” said Alice.
“So the guns belong to his brother?”
“Ares, yes,” said Alice.
“I think we should go right now,” said Neil, “before we get shot.”
“Oh, Neil,” said Alice, “you’re so funny.”
The door to the room opened again, and Apollo came in with a tall, muscular, shaven-headed man with a face like a bullet.
“Neil,” said Apollo. “Meet my brother Ares.”
“Hi,” said Neil, shrugging.
“What do you want me to meet him for?” said Ares to Apollo. “I’m busy. There’s a skirmish in Southeast Asia that I need to escalate.”
“It’ll just take a few minutes,” said Apollo. “If you stay, I promise I’ll polish your medal collection for you for ten years.”
“Fine. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing,” said Apollo, “just wait here.”
“Well,” said Neil, “it was nice meeting you, you’ve both been more than welcoming, but we really must be going.”
“Why?” said Alice. “Because you said so?”
“But I thought you wanted to go,” said Neil.
“You didn’t think,” said Alice. “You just assumed.”
Apollo smiled at Ares, who rolled his eyes.
“Oh, I get it,” he said.
Ares slouched over to the wall by the window in his half of the room and squatted down on the ground, took a huge knife from his belt, and started picking the dirt from under his fingernails. Apollo sat down on Ares’s bed with his hands on his knees and grinned over at Neil.
“What are you looking at?” said Neil.
“Don’t talk to him like that,” said Alice. “You’re in his house. You should treat him with respect.”
“Respect? You are joking, right? Why on earth should I respect him?”
“Everybody deserves respect, actually,” said Alice. “Though I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. You’re the most cynical man I’ve ever met.”
“I’d rather be cynical than believe everything anyone ever tells me. There’s nothing clever about being gullible just to be nice,” said Neil.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Alice.
Neil wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean. He just knew that it suddenly felt very important to say everything he could to make Alice feel small.
“It’s not surprising,” he said, “that you’d take his side, seeing as he likes to manipulate the vulnerable and weak.”
“Who are you calling vulnerable?” said Alice. “I’m surprised you can even spell the word.”
“Oh, don’t start attacking my intellect,” said Neil, “just because you’re good at board games. At least I’ve got a proper job and don’t just stand around vacuuming and flirting all day.”
“Flirting!” said Alice. “I wasn’t flirting! I never flirt!”
“You were flirting with him!” said Neil, pointing at Apollo.
“I was not!” said Alice.
“Were too! Don’t deny it! I can see you blushing!”
And indeed that tedious tide of redness was yet again rushing up Alice’s neck and flushing her face. She looked ugly, he thought, wattled, like a turkey.
“Anyway, it’s none of your business,” said Alice. “What are you even doing here? You can’t just turn up at my place of work and start insulting my clients! Who do you think you are?”
Alice was actually shouting now. Neil had never heard her shout, not ever. It had not been worth waiting for.
“Actually,” said Neil, waggling his head, “I think you’ll find that that poncy, self-important idiot is not, in fact, your client, but your boss.”
“Well, even more to the point, then.” Alice waggled her head too. It was incredibly annoying when she did it. “I’d never come round to where you work and be rude to anybody there, whether it was your client or your boss.”
“You wouldn’t be able to,” said Neil. “They took your security pass away when you stopped cleaning my office.”
Alice reeled back as if she had been slapped.
“So is that what this is all about then?” she said.
“Is what what this is all about?” said Neil.
“You look down on me because of my job,” said Alice. “No wonder you’ve never made a pass at me. You’re too scared of getting your hands dirty.”
“That’s not true,” said Neil.
“Yes, it is,” said Alice. “You do. You look down on me.” Alice sounded more sad than angry.
“I do not look down on you,” said Neil more gently.
“Yes, you do. You think your work is so much more important than mine, because you’re a clever engineer and I’m just a cleaner.”
“Don’t think that, Alice,” said Neil. “Never think that. I have so much respect for you and for what you do. I couldn’t do it. Really.”
Alice half smiled. Apollo shot a desperate look over at Ares, who nodded and shifted slightly.
“Although,” said Neil, feeling his anger return to him in a burst, “when I say that I couldn’t do your job, obviously technically I could, I just couldn’t face actually doing it. You couldn’t do my job, we both know that. It takes years of careful training. What kind of training do you need to wield a toilet brush?”
Alice was speechless so Neil took the opportunity to press home his advantage.
“But just because you don’t have any education,” he said, “doesn’t mean you need to bolster your self-esteem by flirting with the likes of him.”
Alice’s jaw actually dropped as he spoke. Seeing this, Neil felt a peculiar stab of achievement. Beat that!
“Well, thank you for your comments,” said Alice. Rage had definitely returned to replace sadness in her tone. “I’m not feeling at all patronized now. But just so you know, I do actually have an education. A university education, as it happens. I have a first-class degree in linguistics. I happen to clean because I like cleaning. It gives me time to think. Something that you, apparently, choose not to do most of the time.”
Something inside Neil grabbed his stomach and squeezed. He knew a lost argument when he saw one.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” said Alice.
“I don’t want to go,” said Neil.
“Too bad,” said Alice. “I want you to go. And don’t call me. I’ll call you. Maybe.”
Neil realized that Alice, Apollo, and Ares were all staring at him, Alice in fury, Apollo in glee, and Ares with a look, oddly, of quiet satisfaction.
“Right,” said Neil. “I’ll be off then. Lovely to meet you all.”
“Good-bye,” said Alice firmly.
So that was the last he’d be seeing of her, then. Good riddance. He had no idea what he ever saw in her in the first place.
And that feeling lasted all the way out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the f
ront door, until the moment that it slammed behind him and he suddenly found himself standing alone on the cold, hard pavement, and he burst into tears, wondering what in God’s name had just happened to him.
16
UPSTAIRS IN APOLLO’S room, they heard the front door slam. A small cloud of plaster fell from the ceiling.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll be off too,” said Ares, standing up and making his way to the door.
Apollo followed him out.
“Thanks, bro,” he said.
“Actually, it was quite fun,” said Ares.
“Oh, by the way, I was lying about the medals.”
“What?”
“I’m not going to polish them. You didn’t make me swear on Styx. See you later.”
“You’re a rancid little shit,” said Ares as he sauntered down the stairs, but he didn’t sound too angry.
Apollo went back into the bedroom. Much to his delight, Alice had sat down on the bed and was crying. Apollo sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. This time she didn’t run away to the bathroom. Still, he had to time this carefully. He told his erection to wait.
“There, there,” he said. “He’s not worth it.”
“I don’t understand.” Alice wept. “I don’t know what just happened. Who were those people? That wasn’t Neil. That wasn’t me. I never argue with anyone.”
Apollo was mesmerized by the water coming out of her eyes. Tears were a mortal thing; gods produced nothing when they cried. He reached a finger over and touched one of the wet trails snaking down her face. Alice flinched away.
“Sorry,” Apollo said. Slow down, he told himself. “I’ll get you a tissue,” he said. He looked around. “Though I don’t know if we’ve got any.”
“I’ve got some downstairs in my bag,” said Alice.
“I’ll get it for you.”
“Thank you,” said Alice. “You’re being very sweet.”
Though he didn’t like leaving her side, Apollo went downstairs and quickly found Alice’s handbag, alongside her coat, which he rubbed against his face and body, relishing the smell of her. He slung the bag over his shoulder and headed back toward the stairs, thought better of it, and went into the kitchen instead.
Sitting on the bed in Apollo and Ares’s room, Alice wiped her nose on the back of her hand, took a deep, trembling breath, and told herself firmly to stop crying. She tried to piece together what had happened, but none of it made any sense. She had been in a normal, cheerful mood. Apollo had been all overexcited about his new phone and she hadn’t discouraged him, not really. Maybe that was her fault. She examined her conscience: had she been flirting? No. She knew she hadn’t. Then Neil had arrived, out of the blue, and she had been pleased to see him—she was always pleased to see him—though a little self-conscious that she was grubby, and wearing a housecoat, and stank of bleach, which was exactly the state she didn’t want him seeing her in, in case he thought less of her . . . Which of course was a silly thing to think, because that was how they had met, so how could he think less of her? Only wasn’t that exactly what had happened, what their argument had proved?
The door to the bedroom opened and Apollo came in carrying her handbag and two glasses of wine. He put the bag on the floor and sat down beside her on the bed.
“Here you go,” he said, holding out one of the glasses. “I thought you might need this.”
“Oh no,” said Alice, “I couldn’t possibly. I don’t really drink alcohol and it’s terribly early.”
“Go on,” said Apollo. “Just a little bit. It’ll do you some good, I promise. And Dionysus will be horribly upset if you don’t. He makes it himself.”
“Really?” said Alice. “I thought he was a disk jockey.”
“DJ, viniculturist, clubbing entrepreneur . . .”
Apollo proffered the glass again, and this time she took it. She had a little sip.
“Oh dear,” she said, “that’s very strong.”
“I don’t think it is,” said Apollo. “We drink it all the time.”
“Oh well,” said Alice. “I suppose I’m just not used to it.”
She drank a little bit more. Apollo reached down to the bag at his feet, opened it, got out the tissues, and handed them over.
“There you are,” said Apollo.
Alice took a tissue out of the packet and blew her nose, embarrassingly loudly.
“Sorry,” she said.
“That’s okay,” said Apollo. “Go on, have a good old blow.”
Alice did as she was told and then folded the tissue and put it up her sleeve.
“Feeling any better?” said Apollo.
“A little,” said Alice.
She took another sip of the wine. It seemed to be going to her head already, but she was probably just dizzy from all that crying.
“I’m very sorry for how I behaved,” said Alice.
“You don’t need to apologize,” said Apollo. “I don’t think you did anything wrong.”
“Oh, but I did,” said Alice. “You see, I’m just not like that. Not like that at all. Poor Neil! I do hope I haven’t hurt his feelings too much.”
At the thought of it, Alice could feel herself begin to get tearful again, and she drank a bit more wine to steady herself.
“If you did, it’s only what he deserves,” said Apollo.
“Don’t say that,” said Alice. “He’s really a very nice man and he really cares about me.”
“He didn’t sound very nice to me,” said Apollo. “He didn’t sound like he cared very much about you either.”
“Well, no,” said Alice. “I suppose not. Not just then. Something must be wrong. I do hope he’s okay.”
“You worry about other people too much. You should worry about yourself.”
“Oh no,” said Alice. “No, no, really, not at all.”
She squirmed in embarrassment, and as she did, her knee brushed against Apollo’s on the bed beside her. The touch gave her a little shock—a pleasant shock. She drank a bit more of the wine. It was very more-ish; she had no idea that Dionysus was so accomplished.
“We’ve been friends for quite a long time now,” Alice explained, “Neil and I, and I just think I owe him the benefit of the doubt, because really he’s not usually like that. He’s never spoken to me crossly before, never. Oh, except—”
She broke off, confused.
“Except what?” Apollo prompted, letting his hand rest on her arm for a moment.
“Well, last time we met up he seemed a bit funny—just not like himself. He wanted to know all about the house, this house, and I couldn’t tell him, you see, and then he got a bit . . .”
“A bit what?”
“Just a bit funny.”
“Well,” said Apollo, “I didn’t find him very funny just now.”
“No,” said Alice. “No, I don’t suppose he was.”
Alice’s head felt cloudy and she shook it to try to clear it.
“Dear me,” said Apollo, “you’ve finished your wine. Here, why don’t you have mine.”
Apollo held out his untouched wineglass and exchanged it for Alice’s empty one. As he took her glass their fingers brushed against each other and she felt herself shiver. This didn’t seem quite right. She blinked, had another drink. Then she thought for a few moments about the argument, replaying it in her head. It was no better for the remembering.
“Oh!” she said suddenly. “I’m so, so sorry. I haven’t even apologized to you for the things he said to you, those terrible, rude things! I am so sorry that he spoke to you like that.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me,” said Apollo. “He’s not a family member, is he? He’s not your boyfriend.”
“No . . .”
“So what he says is nothing to do with you. It doesn’t reflect on you at all. In fact, I should be thanking you, for defending me.”
“Oh no,” said Alice. “Not at all. I hardly defended you . . . I should have defended you more. You haven’t done
a thing wrong. The things he was saying . . . Accusing us of flirting. As if we were flirting. We aren’t flirting . . . are we?”
Alice looked up at him with the question, and at that moment the wineglass was removed from her hand and she found herself being kissed.
“Oh,” she said, as Apollo moved his lips from her mouth to her neck. “I suppose we are.”
It wasn’t as if Alice had never had sex before. She’d had a boyfriend back at university, a scientist who talked a lot and assumed that she wanted him to make all of the decisions for them both. In three years she didn’t think he’d asked her a single question. The relationship had ended when he’d got a job in America and assumed that she was coming with him. It was only when she arrived at the airport without any luggage that he had started to suspect, and then all she’d had to do was to point out that she didn’t have a ticket, wave him through the departure gate, and say good-bye. She hadn’t heard from him since.
And there was absolutely no reason why she shouldn’t have sex with Apollo. She was a single, independent woman with no ties. He was, undeniably, an attractive man, and his hand running up the seam of her jeans inside her thigh felt very good. She lay back on the bed, let her legs slide open, put up no resistance as he undid the buttons down the front of her housecoat, reached round behind her back, and unclipped her bra (white cotton, no underwiring, Next catalog). But as his head bowed down and the tip of his tongue touched her nipple, a vision of Neil popped into her head and she shot backward off the bed away from Apollo, her knee smacking hard into his jaw as she passed.
“I’m sorry!” she cried, holding the sides of her housecoat together. “I’m so sorry, Apollo. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you. Oh, I am sorry. But I can’t do this. I have to go.”
“But you can’t go!” said Apollo. He was sitting up on the bed, rubbing his chin, his trousers absurdly undone. “I love you!”
“Oh dear,” said Alice. “I’m sorry. Do you? I’m really sorry about that. But the thing is, I don’t love you.”
“Yes, you do,” said Apollo. “You have to. Didn’t you hear what I said? I love you.”
“Yes,” said Alice, “I’m sorry, I did hear. But the thing is, it has to be both people who love each other. I really should go home.”
Marie Phillips Page 9