by Edward Docx
‘What do you think?’ Madeleine asked.
I noticed that she was holding my hand. ‘I don’t know. But then I haven’t got a father.’
‘No. I mean what do you think?’
‘We can only get caught.’ I said this a little quickly and had to glance sideways to check that Madeleine was indeed suggesting what I had thought she was suggesting.
She was. Her eyes laughed. ‘And then we say that we, too, are making a statement. Which is no less true than anything else.’
A genuine soulmate.
We were over the white string and between the most obvious gap in the statues in a second. But two steps inside and already the way was blocked; hurriedly but carefully, we squeezed right and left and then ducked down and half-crawled. The installation went back much further than I expected. And it was darker within than I had imagined – the taller statues seeming to lean more precariously now that we were directly beneath them.
‘They fucked this up,’ Madeleine whispered, ‘you’re meant to be inside here to get any sense of being in a forest. It doesn’t work if you’re looking at it from the outside.’
‘If one of these wood-men falls, we’re going to get hurt,’ I breathed. ‘Crushed by Fatherhood #15.’
Madeleine found the back wall. We edged sideways a few steps until we had reached a spot that wasn’t visible from the gallery beyond.
She slipped out of her shoes, bent to take off her tights, balled them in her fist and stuffed them into the inside pocket of my jacket. Then, eyes wide open, she took my face in one hand – thumb to my jaw and fingers on my cheek – and brought it close to hers.
From beyond the statues, I heard someone speaking: ‘Je les ai vus, il y avait un homme et une femme, ils ont disparu.’
Though we had spoken on the telephone, I hadn’t seen William for nearly two months. So one evening, a few days after the Tate Modern, when Madeleine had gone off somewhere to see her sister, I found myself at a loose end and decided to put a call his way. But the great man wasn’t at home and his mobile was switched off. On the offchance, I tried Le Fromage.
‘I’m not entirely sure that Mr Lacey is here, sir; can I perhaps … take a mess-arge?’ Though seldom over thirty-five, Fromage employees have somehow acquired the knack of sounding like fifty-something actors, reprising their roles as twenty-something desk clerks in seventy-year-old Noel Coward plays.
‘Yes, please,’ I replied. ‘Could you ask him to phone Mr Jackson? I should be on his acceptable-call list – Jasper Jackson. Tell him that I am at home and that it is very urgent.’
‘Oh …’ The voice came down a register or two: straight Soho camp. ‘… Is that Jasper?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hello Jasper – it’s Eric.’
‘Oh hello, Eric. How are you?’
‘Good. More or less. Still off the cigarettes. Which is an absolute miracle. But piling on the pounds.’
‘Swimming?’
‘No. Stopped it.’ He sighed. ‘Can’t jog because of my knees, can’t swim because of the chlorine and you can forget about bicycle wear in my state. I think I am just destined to be one of those people who relies on their personality.’
‘How about dancing?’
‘What? You mean disco?’
‘Ballroom, disco, salsa, whatever. It’s the perfect way to stay trim, plus you meet people, plus everybody fancies someone who can really dance. Imagine how cool you would look at weddings. The men will be falling over themselves to get at you.’
‘Now, Jasper, you know that is not such a bad idea at all. I think they have classes just by the Elephant; I’ve seen them advertised at the Tube. I wonder how much it costs? I might enrol tomorrow.’
‘Great.’ I let a polite beat go by. ‘Is William there at all?’
‘Yes – actually he’s upstairs with some friends. I’ll go up and fetch him and make sure he calls you back.’
‘That would be great. Thanks.’
‘Bye for now.’
I hung up.
Some four minutes later – just as I was halfway through prising six recalcitrant ice cubes from the permafrost of their tray – the telephone shrilled.
‘Jackson, this better be very fucking urgent. I am right in the middle of a seriously interesting rubber and it’s very bad form to leave the table at this stage.’
‘Sorry, Will,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know they let you play cards at Le Fromage? Isn’t it against the law or the rules or something?’
‘It is and they don’t. But they make an exception for bridge as long as you pretend that it is not for money.’
‘Right. Er … listen, Will, can you hang on just a second? I was on the verge of fixing myself a drink and …’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jasper.’
‘Well presumably you chose to leave the table at this moment in the game so it can’t be that inconvenient.’
A pause. Then the inveterate boozer within overcame all rival personae and he asked with a stealthy curiosity: ‘What are you having?’
‘Long Island Iced Tea.’
‘Go on then. Get on with it then. And don’t worry about me. I’ll just hang around here and flirt with Eric. It’s not as though you rang me first or anything.’
‘Two seconds.’ I placed the receiver on the side and went back over to finish making the drink. Half a minute later I was back. I made sure to chink the ice within audible range of the mouthpiece before taking a slightly melodramatic sip, followed by a similar swallow. I then exhaled the irritating and contented sigh of a man in a happy relationship who, finding himself alone for the first time in a while, decides to contact his long-lost friends. ‘So, William, my dear fellow, what are you doing tonight?’
‘I’ve told you. I’m playing bridge, you penis.’
‘With whom?’
‘Well, there are two chaps wearing grotesque suits whom I met the other night and who claim to write soap operas – your guess is as good as mine – and Donald is here – returned from New York especially to be my excellent partner. We are about to fleece them for six hundred pounds, depending on Donald’s performance in four hearts.’
‘Don is back?’
‘Of course he’s back. He’s been back for three days, which you would know if you made the effort to get off your ignorant arse and see your friends once in a while.’
I ignored William’s attack and took another, more meditative sip. ‘What have you got?’
‘What have I got what?’
‘In your hand.’
‘Right now: Eric.’ He sighed. ‘Actually, I’ve got fuck-all. Not a thing – a two, two fives and some other shrapnel, an embarrassment of eights, a queen, the pointless knave of diamonds and a ten. But my cards have been terrible all night. Not that this is necessarily bad. I play rather well as dummy and I do have four hearts.’ William cleared his throat. ‘Look, anyway, what do you want, Jasper? I’ve really got to get back to the table. Is there anything that you have to say for yourself or can I go now?’
‘Actually yes: can I come down?’
‘Of course you can, old chap. We would all be delighted to see you. Cards will be finished after this game, I suspect, so we can all sit round and chit-chat about our new Pilates instructors or whatever else is on your mind. Be nice to see you. By the way, does this sudden re-establishment of communications mean that you are now prepared to come out again?’
‘I haven’t not been.’
‘Balls. Because if so and speaking of which – would you and your new best friend like to come to the Lawn Tennis Association Ball next weekend? I have tickets. I daresay the whole thing will once again be packed to the rafters with depressing wankers but such is England. And I know it will be a little weird going with partners this year but I think it’s important that we all show willing: you, me, Madeleine, Nathalie. Embrace the facts – however unlikely.’
‘That’s quite some invitation, Will.’
‘Consider. I shall see you shortly.’
&
nbsp; Forty tiresome minutes of nerve-mincing London travel later and I was at the reception desk.
‘Hello, Eric,’ I volunteered, sprightly but still a little harried, ‘I made it.’
Eric grinned and pouted and grinned again – his face suddenly unable to settle on its most attractive tableau. ‘Hello, Jasper. Hang on a tick, I am on a call. Please sign the register.’ He pressed a button on the desk phone. ‘Oh I think that would be very popular, Mr Gimbel, sir, I really do.’
Eric swivelled around the guest book before rather stagily leaning over to watch me compose my signature. With his hand over the receiver, he whispered: ‘I do love watching you write. It’s so exhilarating.’
I handed back the pen.
‘Thank you, Mr Gimbel. I know it’s not easy. I know it can be very difficult. So many people seemingly determined to do the wrong thing. But I will do my best to make certain that everybody understands. Goodbye.’ Eric pressed another button to terminate the call. ‘It’s been a such a long time no-see, Jasper. What’s been going on? Have you been away or is it … love?’ He performed a miniature swoon.
‘After William, there can be no love, Eric, only memories and the endless grey afternoons.’
He laughed and then widened his eyes – a good approximation of Marilyn Monroe. ‘Is he wonderful?’
‘Yes. Just don’t try to marry him. Or he’ll stop the sex immediately.’
The main bar was fairly quiet: two older guys in black and grey, drinking mineral water with the air of men who want to draw attention to their abstemiousness – the better to hint at just how wild it gets when they really cut loose; and a cluster of girls trying too hard in their fake tans and faux Buddy Holly glasses, knotted around some reptilian creature whom I probably should have recognized. But no sign of William or Don. I climbed the back stairs to the third floor and checked the smaller rooms. More detritus. I found them at last, sequestered in a quiet alcove around the corner from the high gallery bar.
William stood, polite as ever. ‘Hello Jasper, glad you unearthed us and very good of you to make it. Have a seat. I’m afraid you’ve just missed Robbie and Wes, our two showbiz pals, they had to go and catch up on their Eclogues, I’m afraid. There’s some kind of television awards ceremony tomorrow and Virgil versus Homer is all they talk about at these TV industry bashes.’
‘Hi Don,’ I said, ignoring William, who seemed to be feeling more than customarily insane – or happy, or something. ‘How are you?’ I sat down. ‘I thought you were in New York for the rest of the year.’
‘Flying visit. Extended mini-break. They’re very popular at the moment. Especially with the lasses. It’s Cal’s mother’s wedding tomorrow afternoon.’ He raised his eyes to heaven. ‘Number three.’
William was still standing. ‘So … drinks?’ He looked around enquiringly. ‘No, please Donald, stay right where you are – I’ll go. Makes sense since I’m the only member and therefore the only one who will get served. How about a swift round of Long Island Ice Teas?’
‘For fuck’s sake, William, just get me a beer.’ Don was smiling. ‘Thank Christ you have come, Jasper, I’ve had to put up with him all night.’
‘I’ll have one too,’ I said.
‘A beer?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mmmm.’ William disappeared.
‘D’you win?’
‘Fucked them totally.’
‘Good cards?’
‘Some.’ Don bit his lip. ‘But mainly just had to compensate for fuckface’s hapless bidding and then make sure that he was dummy whenever we played.’
‘Is he really terrible?’
‘Shit. Treats every hand as if he’s learning a whole new game. But he does have a kind of inner modesty, which can make for pleasant surprises when he turns over his cards.’
William returned, whistling in the manner of a newly prosperous protagonist in an Ealing comedy. ‘I have placed my share of the winnings behind the bar – my account is therefore bulging with credit – so I have decided that we’re having a celebration.’
‘What is there to celebrate?’ This from Don.
‘Ah-ha, goodly Donald, know you this: young Jasper here has had some luck with Madeleine – she of the golden hair and lithe bronze limbs last gazed upon by your green and envious eyes on Hampstead Heath before our skulduggery with the keys began.’
Don turned to me and raised his eyebrows just as the barman arrived with three bottles of beer and three glasses of something else.
William continued: ‘Thank you so much, Otto. It is never the wrong time of day for sherry, I always say.’ William took up his glass and offered one to Don. I took mine from the tray. William sat down. ‘We must therefore raise a toast to celebrate the astonishing achievement of Jasper’s almost two whole months of monogamy.’ He fixed me with a stern stare. ‘I presume you haven’t …’
I was quite offended. I shook my head.
Otto retreated.
‘You got off with her?’ Don asked.
‘Yes. Later that day in fact. Finally. Which reminds me, Will, I owe you a bottle of –’
‘Forget it.’
‘Nice one,’ Don smiled.
‘She came back. After the picnic,’ I added.
‘Well, it was a pretty major effort from Will. You had to hope that something was going to happen. About bloody time too, after all the messing about.’ Don looked at me with mild concern in his eye. ‘Will tells me that you were losing your way a bit earlier in the year.’
‘Sort of.’
‘And you are managing to hold it together now?’
‘Yeah.’ There was a general drinking pause.
‘So, come on then,’ Don urged. ‘What’s she like? What’s it like? Are you –’
‘She’s a little weird sometimes but I like her.’ I shifted uncomfortably. Why, I wondered, did I always find this sort of thing embarrassing? ‘You know – it’s good. We get on. She seems to be living with me.’
‘Living with you?’ Don was genuinely taken aback.
William made a face like a dating-show host who specialized in innuendo. ‘She’s living with him.’
‘Yes, her new flat is being sorted out – it’s taking for ever – so she just sort of moved in for a while … But she’s only round the other side of the block anyway – which is how we met – so it’s not that much difference.’
William again: ‘She’s moved in.’
Don took another more forceful sip of his sherry. ‘So, she’s over all the time? Fucking hell, Jasper, I didn’t think that was your scene at all. You really stopped shagging around?’
‘Yes. Neither did I. But it’s not heavy or anything … anyway, she’s away a fair bit – she’s a travel writer and so –’
William: ‘A travel writer.’
‘So it’s not too bad. I mean, I get my own space.’
‘He gets his own space.’ William finished his sherry.
‘William, will you please fuck off?’ I said.
William grinned. ‘I’m telling you, Donald, it’s terrible. Jasper hasn’t been out for weeks – they’re holed up in there like a pair of randy rabbits. Hatching plans against the rest of us, I’ll bet, when they’re not mating. He doesn’t phone, he doesn’t write, he doesn’t even text …’
‘I will never text. There is no such thing as text.’
Don was also grinning. ‘How’s that going – nearly finished?’
‘More than three-quarters done. Christ knows what happens when I come to the end of this commission, though.’ I grimaced. ‘May starve to death unless my agent can find me some more American millionaires.’
‘Well, I’m very jealous.’ Don swirled his glass. ‘If I wasn’t already happily married I’d be begging you to introduce me to her sisters. If they look anything like her then fucking hell.’
‘She’s only got the one. I’ve not met her. So I can’t help you there.’
William spoke more evenly: ‘So, what do you mean she’s weird? She seemed perfe
ctly normal to me. On the single occasion I actually met her, actually.’
‘She’s just weird.’
‘Go on.’ William was curious.
‘Well, she’s sort of … I don’t know … angry a lot but amused and affectionate at the same time. Not angry like cross or irascible or bitter – but maybe angry within.’
‘Angry within.’ William raised his brows.
‘I’m sorry – I’m sounding like a self-help manual. I mean, she’s kind of deliberately antagonistic about stuff and at the same time – in a weird way – deliberately acceding. Anti and pro. Erm … I mean she’s –’
‘Very nice and very horrible,’ Don said.
‘Yes. Thank you, Don.’
‘Well – that’s women.’ Don shook his head. ‘Issues.’
‘I don’t know, Don. Moods may swing but they don’t coalesce – or rather coexist. She sort of hates a thing – like, say, a song or a book or me or whatever – but at the same time she sort of celebrates it. It’s perverse.’
‘You mean, she hates men and she loves men?’ William’s perception was somehow both glib and profound. ‘And she loves hating them and hates loving them?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Family?’ William asked.
‘What the fuck has that got to do with anything?’ I replied, a little testily.
William sighed. ‘Because there are only two ways of living: either your every breath is a conscious rejection of your parents’ life and opinions or it is a subconscious repetition. The key to all human understanding is simply to work out which course your subject is following.’
‘Not true in the case of orphans.’ I finished my sherry.
‘No. Point. Unfortunately, orphans are irreparably fucked up and their revenge is indiscriminate.’ William eyed Don’s as yet untouched beer. ‘But, in general: women are trying to sleep with replacement fathers, which is their least attractive characteristic; and men are trying to sleep with replacement mothers, which is their most.’