by Gerald Wixey
Her frown vanished as she smiled. ‘You say the nicest things.’
I loved the stolen hours of an illicit affair, excited by it all and best of all, Kathy. Whenever she rang me, I listened to her voice, that of a heavy-smoking, forty year old jazz singer, I could even smell her perfume coming out of the phone’s earpiece at me. Kathy twisted me into a slab of stone – just the sight of her did it now.
Her intensity all day; the velocity of it never changed, race after frantic race and another frenzied rush to the finish line. In between we talked and slept, it happened as regularly as the phases of the moon. I forced myself to watch her sliding away, her breathing slowing, a little smile disappearing; replaced with an anxious, sleeping face.
I checked for any signs of life, staring at her, about to shake her back to life until her chest moved and she sighed and opened her eyes. A seconds confusion, what are you doing in my bed? A sleepy smile, then a throaty, ‘You bastard.’ Then we both lost consciousness, a few more seconds of snatched sleep.
Later Kathy sat in front of me in the bath, she leant back and kissed my neck as I soaped her back and whispered, ‘Have you got a girlfriend?’
‘You always ask that question.’
‘That’s because you never answer it. Have you got a girlfriend?’
This drew a reluctant, ‘Not really.’
‘What sort of answer’s that?’ She put her soapy arm around my neck, her supple waist allowing her to look into my eyes. ‘It’s like saying you’re almost pregnant… What’s her name?’
‘Suzie. Works in the restaurant in Mill Street.’
‘Suzie; the gay divorcee?’ Kathy frowned, ‘She’s a bit old for you, isn’t she?’
‘Six years. Its a casual thing, we meet a couple of times a month.’
I had met Suzie just before Christmas, on a Thursday night. Me, Tommy and Patrick went up to the little restaurant above the chip shop in Mill Street; steak and chips, a midnight supper for me as Patrick and Tommy hit the whiskey. The waitress, a few years older than me, joined us after I’d eaten, we had a drink together and started to horse about a bit.
I asked her. ‘You’re married, aren’t you?’
A nod, ‘I was, twice. Widowed, then divorced a couple of years ago.’
‘Children?’
‘Two.’
I liked the way she crossed her legs – thick legs from the knee down, but good enough. My approach became a little forward, ‘I don’t expect either of them could keep their hands off you?’
She stared – I wish.
‘What a waste, I bet you’re good company.’ I raised my eyebrows, I meant in bed and Suzie appeared comfortable enough with this telepathic line in suggestiveness. She knew.
Patrick and Tommy had given up by this time and left. Once they’d gone, she spoke more freely, free to flirt, her dark blue eyes staring hard. ‘I have no life at the moment, I think about men all the time, every waking minute, how they’ve messed me about – how there must be someone out there.’
She tipped her head a little and leaned over the table, coming close to me, smiled a broad, confident message, from her generous, seductive mouth, answer my question, I’m interested… are you?
It was that Friday night feeling on a Thursday.
She had a flat just behind Chandler’s yard, a dingy, frozen little place with an unshaded light in the small hallway and threadbare carpet. A damp smell of, if not nappies, then wet coats.
Heavy kisses; long and deep, with her head moving from side to side and a vice like grip around my neck. It had been a long time for her. As I undid her bra, she shuddered, trembling as I turned her around. We never bothered with names, cast adrift in a sea of solitude, wrapped across each other at four in the morning, she had been all business – practical and pushing, urging.
Later, she smoked a cigarette, turned the radio on; Radio Luxemburg quietly crackled away. It faded in and out at the same time; the Newbeats sang like a girl group, ‘Run baby run – back into my arms.’
‘Where are the kids?’
‘At my mum’s; you’ll have to go soon.’
Half past seven; dawn and the black spirit of winter, substantial heavy grey sky that softened rooftops, fading colours; a sepia photograph of heavy coated workers on slate grey pavements – all these people going to work, it was a good time to be going home to a warm bed.
But it never felt right, Suzie wanted to be with me and yet something was wrong. I wasn’t really interested, despite a short skirt and knee-length suede boots. Despite her willowy blondeness, I found the going tough. Last week when I picked her up, she snapped, ‘You stink of beer.’
She was right; I stank of beer, she’d notice that all right, but Suzie couldn’t see me thinking about someone else.
Kathy jerked me back to the present, ‘Ready-made family, I never saw you as a surrogate dad, somehow.’
I felt this was a tease too far and must have sounded somewhat defensive when I said, ‘I’ve never seen her kids.’ I ploughed on, ‘It’s not what…’ I started again, ‘I want a woman that wants the same as me. Sometimes I think I don’t really care at what level it’s pitched at, casual, deep, occasional, head over heels, infrequent, irregular – anything, as long as we both want the same. I want an equation that balances.’
‘Does she expect you to pray in just the one church?’ I smiled at that one, but never answered her. Kathy said, ‘Your silence says it all – are we bad?’
‘Not really.’ I shook my head, a miserable shake.
I’d finished drying myself before Kathy stepped out of the bath. She stood, not bony, but spare; slender. The hot bath had flushed her skin and her wet black hair was slicked back, close to the scalp and the back of her neck. The soap shined away on her breasts and shoulders. Kathy came up close, smiled at me and my heart rose as sure as the sun in the east.
‘I’m sorry – but it makes me jealous, you with someone else.’
I liked that, her being jealous made me feel good. ‘It’s not the love of my life. She’s a nice woman, but…’
Kathy interrupted me, not interested in Suzie, ‘Sometimes I ask myself, I hope you make love to me because you like me. But other times, when I’m feeling down, especially this last week, I worry and I can’t get it out of my head – tell me you don’t do it just because you hate Kenny so much.’
‘I’m not a fan of his, it’s true.’ But Kathy would have hurt less if she’d have punched me in the stomach. I did hate him; hated him so much. ‘He’s not the reason I’m here.’
Kathy had moved on, like a river after winter rain, unstoppable and flowed quickly on before I could argue with her, ‘Have you ever been head over heels, crazy in love?’ She came close and wrapped her arms around me, as our cheeks touched, I felt her smile. Was it just a smile of comfortable intimacy as we touched? Or the mischievous smirk of a woman who had just driven another impish carpet tack into me?
I said, ‘Just before Christmas, I watched a couple in a restaurant.’
‘Were you with Suzie? Sorry – I won’t ask another one.’ Her eyes sparkled – really!
I smiled; the thought entered my head that nothing she said or did could ever upset me. I said, ‘An attractive couple, wrapped up in each other, I watched them kiss, lips just brushing, their fingers touching each others cheeks, just the tips – so intimate as they smiled, eroticism firing across, back and forth. Telepathy perfectly in tune – anything, you can do anything. I watched on and on as they leant back in their chairs, maintaining eye contact and still smiling. Fingertips against fingertips across the table they laughed; when they realised the waiter was stood close by with the bill.’ I brought my hands up and rested my fingers on her cheeks. ‘How does that sound?’
Kathy removed my right hand and kissed the palm. ‘Perfect, it’s a nice image, is that what you want?’ She never let me answer, just teased away, ‘The trouble is, I don’t believe you. One day, maybe but you’ve got the life of
Riley at the moment. Get a bit of money playing football, work a couple of days for your dad – why would you want to change that?’
Hearing her say that made me feel sad, unsure if the tease was still going or not. I wanted to tell her, I’m just a badly scarred young man who loves you so much. Obviously I didn’t; after all, I had a reputation as an affable waster to maintain, apparently happy to meet on her terms. I tried to hide the frustration, ‘I wouldn’t need to change anything; having the life of Riley doesn’t mean I don’t want to fall in love. And it’s so easy to fall in love with that perfect image I suppose. What about you?’
Kathy ignored me and led me by the hand back to bed. She liked to kiss when we made love; the wide hard mouth melting against my lips. Two fingers either walking up, via my left thigh, or down the tense flatness of my stomach. They dwelled for a while in amongst my pubic hair, some sort of teasing courtesy stop, walking on the spot for a few agonising seconds.
A glow swelled from within me as I watched her ask, ‘You like that?’ Her face told me – oh yes. I shut my eyes, felt her close by me, felt her breath against my neck, felt her face against mine. As she slept, I burned with an irrational, anxious thought. I was going to lose what I loved most. Is this what’s going to happen – are we doomed? What price do I have to pay to make it last forever?
I wanted her… whatever it cost.
An hour later and she looked around as I pulled the car up in Walton Street. North, south, east and finally, west. Kathy said, ‘Here I go, wish me luck. I’m worried, I think he’s cracking up at the moment.’
Instead of jumping out of the car quicker than a greyhound out of the trap, Kathy just sat and stared down. She suddenly expelled a deep, sighing breath. ‘I’ve done something terrible. Don’t look like that, I don’t mean what we’ve just been doing this afternoon.’
‘What…’
‘I’m in trouble, Stu.’ Another sigh, her hands clasped together like two vices. ‘Whatever happens, don’t think badly of me.’
Giving me no time to reply, she leant across and we kissed goodbye, not on the cheek but a long, desperate wrenching kiss – don’t go. I watched her walk down Jericho Street. I should have been happy, but I drove away wondering what Kathy meant. Done something terrible? I clenched the steering wheel hard. The only thing that came to mind was Kenny, my deep-seated uncertainty that he bullied her like he did me.
What if he found out?
***
My old man and Shirley were sat at the table smoking and drinking endless cups of coffee. He had the paper up, she looked at her nails and talked to mum. I never heard the letterbox snap shut. Mum tended to catch whatever came through before it hit the ground. She came back with a gift-wrapped package, six inches long, maybe an inch square in section.
She gave it her custom officer’s once over, smelt it and passed it over to me. ‘Delivered by hand, expensive perfume – got an admirer?’ I stared at it, weighed it, she said. ‘C’mon, open it up, we won’t look.’
Mum and Shirley were smiling away at each other. I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so.’ I took it upstairs, ripped the wrapping away and opened the small jewellery case, a note – I heard Kathy’s voice reading, Thanks for a lovely day, wear it and think of me. Get rid of that monstrous necklace you wear now – it makes you look like a pimp! Whatever happens, please forgive me. Be good and I’ll ring you soon. K
A delicate gold chain and a slender crucifix. My chest heaved like a racehorse after two circuits of Aintree. I went back downstairs, running late and needing to get my skates on.
Mum stopped me, pulled my shirt collar back. ‘Well; that’s much better, very classy.’
Shirley smiled and my old man barked, ‘Don’t forget you’re working tonight.’
I looked at mum, raised my eyebrows and said, ‘I’ll be back by seven.’
‘Don’t be late.’ His deep voice crashed through the vertical wall of newspaper towards me. Then, an afterthought; ‘Have a good game.’
***
A Friday night the following week and I hurried up Alfred Street into a cold, raw wind accompanied by an intuition; it swept over me, all day I felt it. A sense of approaching loss niggled its way inside me. Shirley told me they were in town for a drink so I should have been prepared. When I saw them walking towards me; the intimacy shocked me, holding hands, hips together, both relaxed and happy. As the gap closed, Kenny deliberately ignored me, I looked at Kathy, her eyes briefly met mine, before falling to ground like a sad, wounded finch. We weren’t supposed to know each other, she observed that rule precisely and it hurt me.
I went past them in a silent fury. Kenny laughed, not because he found something funny, just the laugh you laugh to let someone know how good life is. Well he didn’t fool me, but I still fumed with an unreasonable, blind impotent rage. My confidence slipped away, the arrogant brawler disappeared and I wanted to sit on my own, rub my throbbing temples, become a nervous, drab and inoffensive little man in a world that had become suddenly precarious. I needed another visit to the bar. Then I heard a snigger, an angry glance back – yes?
Nothing; they had turned the corner and gone. Why couldn’t I distinguish between fate and accident, destiny and coincidence? I didn’t know what was going on, just that ardour had become linked inexorably with deception. Desire bonded with jealously and I danced the dance. Just an uncoordinated marionette, choreographed by a woman I loved.
I walked on until the doors of the King Alfred’s Head burst open and a long-haired, bearded biker came stumbling across the street towards me; a big man who ranted at the world in general and me in particular, ‘Get out of the way, you queer fucker.’
I recognised him; one of an untidy collection of bikers that forever boasted about doing seventy going through the bends at East Hanney on their powerful bikes. They constantly talked about beefed-up motorbikes, then they’d wander off and get in their beat-up twenty year old Vauxhall Wyverns or their Hillman Imps. Suddenly I felt so good, rising up from the depths of despair like a pearl diver. That split second feeling of anticipation – it felt so good, so concentrated and pure.
I was going to hit him.
I shouted, ‘Have a wash, you smelly greaser.’
He frowned the drunken frown of the confused; not believing what he had heard. I felt relaxed yet so focused as I provoked again, ‘Get out of my way, you smelly fucker.’
He lunged at me, ‘You little poof.’
The greaser threw a huge roundhouse right hand that would have taken my head off. I saw it coming, arching slowly my way. A greasy oil tanker to my minesweeper, I moved inside it and caught him with two – a stiff, straight left and a short, right-cross. Sharp, hard, both hammered into his left eyebrow. It split and blood oozed down and into the eye. Both hands came up and he went down untidily and sat on the kerb groaning.
‘What did you do that for?’
‘Kathy, it’s one for Kathy.’ That sounded grandiose, but so what?
‘What’s going on?’
A shout and Don and Fred were hurrying towards me. Don said, ‘What happened?’
I shrugged. ‘Not sure, I wandered along and there he was, pissed – he must’ve fallen over.’
Don knelt by the biker, who by now rocked backwards and forwards, groaning. The policeman said, ‘What happened, John?’
‘Little queer hit me, just walking past him and he let a couple go – just like that.’
Don stood and grabbed my hands, inspecting the knuckles. Despite the poor street lighting, blood dribbled across the knuckles of my left hand. Whose blood it belonged to was impossible to determine, although my knuckle hurt enough for it to be mine.
‘You flash sod, one day someone’s going to sort you out and when it happens, I’ll laugh so much – you’re just a loud mouth troublemaker.’
It came out fast, unstoppable. ‘And your just a pair of fat pigs.’ I felt better; despite the unpromising start to the evening, things were on the up.<
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‘What?’ Don grabbed me by the lapels. ‘What?’ I stared intensely up at the taller man; he held onto my glare comfortably. ‘You haven’t got the balls to say that again.’
Fred shouted, ‘Stuart…’
Too late, Fred. ‘You fat pig.’
Instant reaction. Don took one hand off my jacket, the other one easily holding me, my head fixed. An open-handed slap hit the side of my face, echoing around Alfred Street. He comfortably held me vertically in position; Fred came quickly between us, pulling Don’s hand away from my neck.
‘Go home, Stuart.’ My eyes were on Fred now, unsettling his usual imperturbable geniality. ‘Go home and we won’t say anything.’
Don helped John to his feet and the biker went wandering off towards the market square with a dirty, oil-soaked handkerchief clamped to his eyebrow. The two policemen stared at me, then turned and walked towards the church, heading for the station and a quick cup of tea before it got too lively.
I heard Fred, ‘Why did you hit him that hard?’
‘He deserves it, serves him right.’ I imagined Don smiling as he said it.
My ear blazed and rang, buzzed and throbbed. I shook my head, like a boxer trying to clear his senses. Both the vision and my hearing were affected on that side. I walked slowly, a growing realisation that there were tears in my eyes – someone was going to pay.
They were both working when I crept in, straight up to bed where I turned into a foetus, my fingers massaging my temples as a black bottomless pain gripped behind my eyes. Then I cried and cried into my hands, into the pillow, into the mattress – silently, no one must hear me. With excruciating slowness, the pain left and sleep took me.
***
Yesterday’s over-charged switchback ride had been replaced by the level savannah of the morning-after blues. So much to say and no one to talk to, I had to wait until lunchtime before Jack would come in. I needed him, as a sounding board for my fevered intuitions. When he eventually arrived, I watched him going through his ritual and just about managed to wait until he’d taken his first drink of the day.