by Guy Burt
‘I’m supposed to be in custody,’ he says after a moment, with a grin. ‘Cooper’s in seeing the head at the moment, and I’m supposed to wait in his study like a good little boy while they decide what to do with me.’
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ I say, caught between wanting him to stay and being afraid for him if he does.
‘Oh, it won’t make any difference.’
‘It won’t?’
‘No. I’ll be out of here by Monday, I guarantee it. After what I said to Cooper, I’d be surprised if they keep me overnight.’
‘What – what did you say?’
His grin broadens. ‘He wanted to know where I’d been. What I’d been doing. He went on and on about it.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘He thought you were doing drugs.’
Jamie laughs. ‘Really? Cool.’
‘So what’d you tell him?’
‘I said I’d spent the weekend in London. He said he knew that, and he wanted to know who I was with and where I’d gone and what I’d done.’ He sits down on the end of the bed, still smiling. ‘God, it was funny. I said OK, I was with my boyfriend, and where we’d gone and what we’d done were our business, not his. You should have seen his face.’
‘I don’t s’pose he was expecting that.’
‘No,’ Jamie says. ‘You could be right there.’
‘Were you? With Paul, I mean.’
‘Yeah. But not in the way I made it sound. There was a festival on, and we played some sets through Friday night and Saturday. That was all. Besides – Paul and me – well. It’s a bit much to call him a boyfriend. I think he knows that too.’
‘Is he OK with it?’
‘Think so.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘Once they work out where I am, they’ll send me home, I guess.’
‘What’ll your parents say?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know if I mind all that much. I’ve got some money saved; I can get work easily enough. There’s a lot of people on the circuit know me now. I’m actually pretty OK.’
‘Good,’ I say.
‘You know what I’m thinking?’
‘What?’
‘I want to get enough together to go back to Italy. I could do it, I think. Work London until I’ve made a stake, and then get back there. Try playing in Rome for a while. There’s bound to be stuff. I think that’s what I’ll do.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ I say.
‘And I was thinking something else,’ he says.
‘Yeah?’
‘Once I’m out there, we could – I mean, you and me, we could maybe go back to Altesa one summer. You know, just – get together and do all the old things together.’
‘What, like read comics?’
He nods. ‘Definitely. Get some Judge Dredds and Silver Surfers and just chill out. Make lemonade.’
I grin, nodding with him. ‘Yeah. And spy on Lucia.’
‘You reckon she’s still there?’
‘Bound to be. Witches never die.’
Jamie snorts with laughter. ‘Yeah. And watch the stars, and have Cokes at Toni’s. All that shit.’
‘I’d like that,’ I say.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, really. It would be cool. I – I miss all that, sometimes.’
‘Me too,’ he says.
We’re quiet for a moment. Then I say, ‘Maybe we can actually build that tree house we were always talking about.’
‘Definitely. Has to be done.’
‘And I’ll referee your races.’
He looks blank for a moment, like he doesn’t understand what I’ve just said; and then a weird expression comes over his face. I’m puzzled. He looks like he’s suddenly sad.
‘What?’ I say.
‘Nothing,’ he says; then takes a breath, and lets it out slowly. ‘Nothing. Hey. How is Anna, anyway?’
‘She’s OK,’ I say. ‘She’s looking for university places now.’
‘Yeah?’ he goes quiet again. Then he says, ‘You write to her a lot, don’t you?’
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘Does she write back much?’
I shrug. ‘Sometimes. I don’t think she has a lot of time.’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘But she does sometimes. Postcards, sometimes.’
Jamie says, ‘What actually happened, in Florence? There were loads of rumours going round.’
It’s the first time he’s mentioned it. I laugh, a little awkwardly. ‘Oh, that. It was nothing. She was just kidding around.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘You know – pretending we were – you know, boyfriend and girlfriend and all that. She really fooled the other guys. You should have seen the looks I got, afterwards.’
‘I bet. Alex the great lover.’
‘Yeah, exactly.’
‘It’s just, I thought you looked kind of weird afterwards. Like you were sad about something.’
I blink, surprised. ‘No. Like what? It was really funny. She’s always like that – you know, joking and that.’
Jamie says, ‘Alex, I’ve known you since you were six, for God’s sake.’
I say, ‘Well – yeah.’
‘You fancy her, don’t you?’
I don’t know what to say. To anyone else, yes; but to Jamie, I’m lost. In the end, I manage, ‘I – I don’t know. I suppose so.’
‘You suppose so. Jesus. It’s worse than that, isn’t it? You love her.’ There’s a kind of pain on his face, as though he can see inside me, know what’s really there. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’
‘I – I don’t know.’
‘How long?’
‘I – well, kind of – kind of right from the start.’
He’s nodding, slowly. ‘Yeah. Yeah.’
‘But it didn’t feel like that to begin with – I mean, you know how it was. We were just friends – and just kids. And then it got so I just – kind of knew.’
‘All that stuff in Florence – pretending to be your girlfriend and everything. She doesn’t know?’
I swallow. My throat feels tight and my hands are cold. ‘It’s not – I mean, she doesn’t seem to think about me like that. She doesn’t really—’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘She made a joke out of it, didn’t she? Jesus, Alex.’ He’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, ‘I’m sorry. I really am.’
I don’t know what to say.
‘Why don’t you tell her?’
‘I don’t think I can. It’s been too long. In Florence, I just – I just looked at her, but I couldn’t make any words come out.’
‘Yeah. I know.’
‘It’s horrible.’
‘Don’t be sad.’ He reaches out and squeezes my hand briefly. ‘Maybe one day it’ll work out, yeah?’
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘Yeah, maybe.’
He’s quiet again for a long time. Somewhere in the distance there’s a bell ringing; it must be time for lunch or something. I hardly notice it. Jamie says, meditatively, ‘Right from the start.’
‘I think so.’
‘What, when you first saw her?’
I think. I can feel my brows draw together. ‘No,’ I say. ‘Not right then, I guess. That first time she was just – a girl, you know? Someone I didn’t know.’
‘And then you got to know her?’
I’m still thinking back. It’s not easy. ‘No. Not like that. There was a moment. There was this thing that happened, and afterwards, it was like I’d got her in my head and I couldn’t get her out again. Just this one thing. Other stuff happened afterwards, but it all felt like it was part of – part of the same thing.’
‘What was the thing that happened?’ he says, surprisingly gently, as if he’s coaxing it out of me.
I say, ‘You remember when we first went swimming? The three of us, I mean. There was a ledge in the cliff we used to dive from.’
Jamie nods. ‘Yeah, I remember.’
‘And there was another one, higher up. Right up in
the cliff face.’
‘Yeah,’ he says.
‘I never told you before. It was when you’d run on. You went to get Cokes or something.’
‘Go on,’ he says quietly.
When I’ve finished, Jamie leans back against the wall. ‘So that’s when you knew?’ he says.
‘I know it doesn’t make sense. But yeah – that was when.’
‘It was a dangerous thing to do.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘Everything Anna did was dangerous; did you ever think of that?’
He considers this for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Yes, I know what you mean. I used to think that, too.’
‘It was like there was some part of her that wanted to be – I don’t know. On the edge of a drop that might be too big. All the time. Even in Florence, she was playing around with stuff like that. I mean, how many girls do you know who’d do something like she did, just for a laugh?’
‘Not many,’ he agrees.
‘It’s something in her,’ I say.
‘And that’s what – that’s what makes her special?’
It’s a nice way to put it. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I suppose so.’
He thinks for a while. ‘And it doesn’t scare you?’
‘No. Why should it?’
‘I don’t know. I think it would scare me,’ he says.
‘You’re not like her, though,’ I say, and something I can’t quite catch flickers in Jamie’s face. ‘I mean – you’re not really scared of her, are you?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know if I even know her, any more. It’s been a long time.’
‘Well, we’re going to change that,’ I say, trying to lift the air of strange sadness that seems to have come over Jamie.
‘How?’
‘You remember – your idea. The three of us back in Altesa, just like old times.’
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘That. Yeah.’
‘You always have good ideas,’ I say.
‘One of us has to,’ he says, but the old rejoinder just sounds tired and out of place.
‘I’m going to go,’ he says.
‘You don’t have to go yet,’ I say, dismayed. ‘They’ll be looking for you for hours.’
‘Yeah. But they might find me before that. I kind of want it all to be over with anyway. And I want to – I want to say goodbye, without being – you know, dragged off.’
‘Oh,’ I say.
He gets up and goes over to the window, staring out at the school grounds. ‘I’m not going to miss this place at all,’ he says quietly.
‘I know.’
‘I wonder what we’d have thought – you know – back then. If someone had said things would turn out like this.’
‘Laughed at them, probably.’
‘Yeah. Probably.’
I say, ‘Jamie—’
‘What?’
‘Are you sure you’re going to be OK?’
He gives me one of his lopsided half-smiles. ‘Of course I am.’
‘You really mean it about going back to Italy?’
‘Yeah. I really do. I’m going to do it, Alex.’
‘Good,’ I say.
‘And if you ever want to come and visit – you and Anna, I mean – you know. Just give me a call.’
I say, ‘You keep leaving me, you know. And I keep following you around and then you do it again.’ I’m trying to make him laugh, and I get a slight grin out of him.
‘Is that what’s happening?’ he says. ‘I s’pose it looks that way. Look, Alex; I’m going to go. I hate all this shit – goodbyes and so on. So I’d better go.’
I stand up too. ‘OK,’ I say.
‘Keep at it,’ he says. ‘Keep on with your painting and stuff. You’re going to be good, some day.’
‘Fuck “some day”,’ I say. ‘I’m good now. And you know it.’
He laughs a little at that. ‘Yeah, I know.’
‘You’re good too. Don’t forget your sax.’
‘No.’
We stand, awkward, not knowing what else to say. Then Jamie turns and goes over to the door.
‘Bye, Alex.’
‘Wait,’ I say.
He looks at me.
‘I need to tell you something,’ I say.
‘You don’t. You don’t need to tell me anything.’
‘That summer,’ I say, rather desperately. ‘On the beach.’
‘Alex – don’t,’ he says, but I can’t stop.
‘I lied,’ I say. ‘I lied to myself. I told myself I didn’t understand.’
‘Alex—’
‘But I did. I did understand.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Yes I do. I understood because – because I felt the same thing.’ I can feel my eyes pricking with tears, and my heart’s hammering; but I have to say this. Jamie is my best friend in the world. I say, ‘I felt the same thing, but – but she – I don’t know, Jamie, I don’t know—’
‘Hey.’ His voice is soft, and he steps close and puts his hand to my arm, and it hesitates there a moment, and then he brings it up and touches the side of my face. ‘Hey. Don’t. You don’t have to say anything. I don’t want to hear it.’
‘Jamie—’ I say. I want to tell him something to make everything feel better, but I don’t know what. I see him smile, and shake his head.
‘It’s all right,’ he says. ‘I’m all right. Don’t do this.’
We stand there frozen for an age of time; and then his hand drops to his side, and he turns back to the door.
‘You should – you should say something. To Anna, I mean. You should tell her what you really feel.’
I stare at him for a long time. He stands framed in the doorway, his hair tousled and dusty and his clothes rumpled from having worn them through the weekend. His hands are the hands of a musician: slender and precise and strong. His face, half hidden by the shadow where his hair falls across his brow and eye, is these things too: and full of sadness and beauty. I want very badly to run to him and hug him and not let him walk out of here and be gone, but my feet are fixed on the floor and I can only look at him. He is the best friend I have in the world.
I say, ‘Bye, Jamie.’
He smiles, one last quick smile, and opens the door, and goes out without looking back. The door closes after him, and after a time I hear the door at the end of the corridor swing shut; and he’s gone. I stand motionless for what feels like hours and hours, watching the grain of the wood in the door where, before, his face was; and then I slowly make my legs work again, and go to the desk under the window, and sit down, and look out across the playing fields and trees of the school grounds.
I say, ‘Everything Anna did was dangerous; did you think of that?’
And Jamie says, ‘Yes.’
He says, ‘I think it would scare me.’
But for me, trust is an easy thing. It is understanding – always understanding – that comes hard, and too late. We should have talked more, Jamie and I, and we should have told each other so many things that we hadn’t had time to say. But before I know it, a year has passed, and Jamie is dead; and all I have left are a few letters and postcards and the memory of how he looks as he smiles and turns and leaves. It’s not enough. Even now, thirty years later, it’s not enough.
My arms ache from reaching above me, but the pattern on the ceiling is starting to emerge, the way it ought to be: another join-the-dots.
I can feel the scar in my shoulder burning softly from the exertion. For a second I hesitate, and put my finger to the place; I can just feel the slight, dimpled depression through the cotton of the shirt. Another dot to be joined into the pattern of stars and snapshots and fragments of the past.
My feet pound down on the city pavements, and my breath comes in short, hot gasps. Where there are loose crowds I push my way through, not stopping to apologize, just shoving the inert bodies out of my way. I know they are staring at me, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but getting to Anna before they hurt her. For once, I te
ll myself, I’ve understood things in time to do something about them.
My legs ache with the pace, but I know I have to keep going. Jamie would keep going. Jamie could have run there in no time. I have to do the same, because I don’t know what might happen if I can’t. I don’t dare think what might happen.
Anna is the only thing left for me. I won’t let them hurt her – not now.
The buildings of Florence hurtle by me in a mass of jumbled, blurred shapes. At the edges of my vision, a kind of haze starts to creep in, crowding the periphery of what I can see. I’m suddenly afraid I’m going to pass out, here in the street. I’d be taken to hospital, maybe, miles from here. I force myself to slow, to let air get into my lungs properly; and gradually the haze clears.
All the cities moved, I think, the thought feeling as uneven and shaky as my body. All the cities.
I drag the crumpled leaflet from my pocket and glance at it once more. Not so far to go now. The street makes a junction up ahead which will take me there. I stuff the paper back in my pocket and blunder on through the crowds and the traffic.
It’s a big old building, solidly built, with a tier of steps in front and a heavy, ornate portico. There are little metal bollards set out, and ropes slung between them, making a kind of funnel up to the main doors which I can imagine filling with a crowd of people earlier in the day. I can almost see Anna joining the queue, her shoulder bag by her side, waiting patiently to go in. It’s the bag with her thesis notes in, I remember; that’s why she won’t trust it to the hold when we board our plane. Years of work. Except it isn’t, not any more; and I doubt Anna’s opened it to check since we’ve arrived. It’s something else, now; something from another time that’s surfaced here, without either of us guessing.
Except I did guess, I tell myself. I worked it out. There’s still time.
There are two carabinieri standing at the top of the steps; it’s a slight jolt to see them with their machine-pistols in this quiet street. Then I remember what Anna has told me about the speaker: some kind of politically sensitive character, extreme right-wing. A second later, I’m glad of their presence. Someone wants to hurt Anna, and they may be near here; may even be watching. Somewhere out there in the city is a woman with red streaks in her hair. I hurry up the steps through the funnel of ropes, and as I reach the top the two men step forward.