Five Days Apart

by Chris Binchy

  “That was a joke. You can meet me there on Wednesday. Wear old clothes.”

  I sat there trying to work out if this was a normal thing to be doing. It wasn’t the start I had imagined. But then if the company was successful, this could become a part of my own legend. I would look back and laugh. If it worked out. The phone rang.

  “David?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Fred again.”

  “Fred?”

  “Mr. O’Toole, you idiot. Jesus, do you not recognize me? It’s only been ten seconds.”

  “Sorry. I forgot your name was Fred.”

  “I haven’t told you where this place is.”

  “Oh yeah. Hang on.”

  “Where were you going to go?” he asked as I was looking around for a pen. I seemed to spend most of our conversations floundering.

  “The thought hadn’t occurred to me,” I said.

  “You’ll have to do better than that. I’m paying you to think. And to paint. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

  It was fine for him to talk about how much we would save by doing the work ourselves. After the first day I understood that his role would be as an adviser to me and two of his nephews, tall silent young fellows who never spoke. He wandered around complaining. He talked into his phone and argued with people about chairs and printers and delivery dates and times. He talked with his wife about a holiday that they were going to take before we opened. Intense argument and negotiation with everyone about everything. He’d never paid a penny more for anything than he needed to. After three days of working until after eight o’clock, on the Saturday he took us to the pub at five and bought us pints for a couple of hours. He knew what needed to be done and the order in which to do it. But I never saw him touch a brush.

  Alex didn’t ring me. The following Wednesday I called him. His phone was off, and I left a message. He texted me back the next day, saying he wanted to meet up. He gave the name of a bar I’d never been in. It was almost ten when we finished work that evening, and I went straight in wearing my dirty clothes, too tired to care. If the bouncers didn’t let me in, I wouldn’t mind. But there were no bouncers. It was a small old place down a side street, not his sort of thing at all. When I went in, it was packed, and the crowd wasn’t what I’d expected either. Good-looking and loud and talking in a way that you’d notice. All very happy. I listened in on snatches of animated conversations as I tried to find Alex. He was standing at the bar, and he smiled when he saw me.

  “What the young start-up millionaire is wearing this season.”

  “He has me painting,” I said.

  “I can see that. This job not working out the way you’d hoped?”

  “I’m happy to be getting paid. What is this place?”

  “What do you mean? It’s a pub.”

  “Look around you. Who are these people, and what are they doing in this dump?”

  He scanned the room and smiled. “It’s not a dump. They’re just people. It gets a theater crowd from around the corner, I suppose. Actors and stage crew and the like.”

  “Actors,” I said. “I thought there was something wrong with them. What brings you here?”

  “I was at a play earlier. It had its first preview tonight. I was at that, so I just thought it would be a good place to meet. Broaden your horizons.”

  “I didn’t know you did the theater. I thought you were strictly film.”

  “It overlaps sometimes.” He smiled to himself. I bought a round, and we stayed at the counter.

  “So where’s Camille?” I asked.

  “At home.” I waited, but he didn’t say anything else.

  “Not her thing?”

  “No, not really.”

  “And was the play good?”

  “It was great. You should see it.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I might do that.”

  “That means no,” he said.

  “Not necessarily. So where have you been?” I asked. “I thought we were going to get together last week. I haven’t seen you properly since I came back.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been busy with work. It’s just very unpredictable. I don’t know where I’m going to be from one day to the next.”

  “You could have called.”

  “Oh, stop whining. I’m here now. We’re out together. It’s good to see you.”

  “And you.”

  “So how come this guy is using you as a decorator?” he asked then. “I thought he said you’d be programming.”

  We stood at the counter and talked. It was easier than it had been for a long time. Without the distraction of her presence and the tension of being stuck between the two of them, I was relaxed. We knew how to be comfortable around each other, we hadn’t forgotten that in a few months. I talked about O’Toole for a while, and he told me then about the jobs he was doing, working for a guy making ads. He was turning up every day on set and doing whatever needed to be done. But it was all experience. Meeting lots of useful people. Making enough money to get by.

  It was later on, when we were beginning to loosen up, that I felt it was all right to ask.

  “So how is Camille?”

  “She’s fine.” He looked at me and smiled. “You know yourself.” I nodded in response, even though I had no idea.

  “She seemed in good form,” I said.

  “When?”

  “That day we met in town.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve seen her since then.”

  “Seriously? That’s nearly two weeks.”

  “I’ve been working a lot. Long days.”

  “Still. She’ll have forgotten what you look like.”

  “David, I don’t need you to give me advice—” He cut himself short.

  “What?” I said. “Say it.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I don’t want to drag you into my personal life.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, though I was considering how directly involved I’d been since they’d met. I looked around the room, trying to think of something to say, something neutral and dull.

  “I haven’t been in good form for a while,” he said then. “It’s hard, you know? We haven’t been together that long, so when we’re heading in different directions, what are you supposed to do? How much should either of us be prepared to compromise?”

  “Are you heading in different directions?”

  He said nothing for a moment, maybe deciding how much he wanted to tell me.

  “At first she wanted to hang around together all the time, and that was fine. It’s the same for everybody when you start. Every day, every night. No problem. But after a while you need to open it up, you know? You need to have your own separate life as well, or you get sick of each other.” He saw me react. “Not sick, I don’t mean that. I’m just saying you need your own space. You have to get out and work and meet other people and do things. That way when the two of you meet up again, you’re happy to see each other. You and me do it. Everybody does. Apart from married people.”

  “Even some of them,” I said.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. Anyway, once a week I’d plan something that didn’t involve her, and she’d do the same, and that was cool. I was happy, she was happy. But then I thought she started getting clingy.”

  “Clingy,” I said. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

  “It probably doesn’t. But she’d get pissed off if I arranged things at the weekend that didn’t involve her.”

  “That’s hardly clingy,” I said.

  “I’m not getting into an argument about fucking semantics, David. Just wait a second, will you? Listen to what I’m saying.”

  “I am listening,” I said. “Go on.”

  “I thought it was clingy.
At first. But then I thought, if I’m serious about this girl and if I love her or whatever, I shouldn’t just react the same way I always have—back off and stop communicating or act like a prick until she gets bored and wanders off. The fact that a girlfriend wanted to spend time with me at the weekends wasn’t unreasonable.”

  I laughed at that.

  “Probably not.”

  “So I tried to do something,” he said. “The whole going-away idea was a part of that. Just the two of us together. We would have been living with each other somewhere new. I wanted to do that with her. I’ve never done that with anyone else. But she pissed me off, stalling until it wasn’t an option and then telling me that maybe I should stay here and finish college. She didn’t see what it was that I was saying to her. It wasn’t about college or work. It was about doing something exciting and fun with her. But she wasn’t interested, so fuck it. I’m working all the time now, and I hardly see her. And then when we are together, she’s either angry or tragic. I don’t look forward to seeing her, so I don’t make the effort. It’s not a deliberate thing, that’s just the way it’s worked out. It’s pretty sad.” He smiled at me without conviction. “Not the basis of a healthy relationship,” he said then to finish.

  “Have you talked to her about this?” I asked.

  “We don’t talk about anything else. I can’t remember the last time we had a proper conversation.”

  “That’s tough,” I said.

  “Yeah. Well, anyway. We’ll see. I’m sorry. It’s depressing stuff, and I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Will you have a drink? Counselor’s fee?”

  “Sure.”

  He looked at me, then laughed.

  “Jesus, you look traumatized. Don’t worry. We’ll sort it out. These long-term things need more work than I’m used to, that’s all.”

  “How long has it been exactly?”

  “It’s long-term for me,” he said. “Anyway, who are you to talk? Have you ever made it to a second week with a girl?”

  “No. It’s always gone downhill after day one,” I said.

  “There’s a lesson there.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Frank came into the office at eleven o’clock one morning. He laughed when he saw me with a face mask on, hair white with paint dust.

  “There you are,” he said. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m all right,” I said.

  “Good trip?”

  “It was great,” I said.

  “I’m sure it was. We’ll talk another time. Is he around?”

  “Out the back. On the phone, I think. Are you going to help with this?”

  He laughed. “Ah, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not a painter.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “I know that,” he said, looking around the room. “So what are you doing here?”

  “Because he’s paying me. I’m not a complete fool.”

  “Fair enough. But I wouldn’t be stuck in here sanding windows for anything.”

  “Aren’t you lucky that you’re richer than me?” I said.

  “I suppose I am,” he said. He was walking out and then turned. “My stag is on Saturday, if you’re free. Just a few people going to a pub. Nothing major.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I can do that. Thanks.”

  “It could be all right. I don’t know what the plan is. I just know where we’re meeting.”

  “Are you looking forward to it?”

  “Not enormously.”

  “Well, I’ll be there.”

  He sighed.

  “That doesn’t help me at all,” he said.

  In a strip club on the Saturday night with a bunch of people I didn’t know there was a girl sitting beside me. She wanted to start a conversation that would end with me handing her fifty quid, and I wasn’t giving it to her. I didn’t want to be there anymore, and I looked around for Frank, but there was no sign of him. In the pub before we’d come to this place, I’d talked to a couple of his friends. They were a nice crowd, friendly enough. But as the night went on and they drank more, they broke into groups. The tight organic units of their friendship made sense in a place like this, where they were afraid of themselves, afraid of what they might do. Retreat to the group and hope you keep each other from straying too far. I was sitting near a few of them, but not close enough to talk. After a couple of minutes the girl left. I drank from a bottle, hoping that it might help me handle this better. Around me there were other men on their own, guys who looked turned on and depressed by girls who just seemed distracted. I wanted to go, but I couldn’t leave without saying good-bye to Frank, and I couldn’t wander around looking for him. Not in a place like this. So I stayed where I was. Another girl sat beside me. She was beautiful. They all were. She smiled at me, and I smiled back.

  “You look lost,” she said.

  “I’m all right.”

  “Do you not like it here?” she said. Her accent came from somewhere warm, and it made me relax a bit.

  “I’m just here for a friend. It’s a stag thing.”

  “Okay. Well, you can just look. It’s not so bad. You can have a drink and watch the show.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “It’s not so bad.” I felt a wave of love for her. She was looking after me. “Where are you from?” I asked then.

  “From Martinique. In the Caribbean.”

  “Is that French?” I said.

  “It was. Now it’s an overseas territory. French people can come and live there if they want.”

  “I saw a film set somewhere there. Like an island paradise kind of place, right?”

  “Not paradise, no. Maybe before, but now, you know, the tourism is everywhere so the culture is changing. The people are losing their identity. They have money but nothing else. So I don’t know, is that better?”

  “Maybe not. It’s a problem,” I said.

  “It is,” she said. “Anyway. Do you want to come into the back with me?” She stood and waited, smiling, her hand reaching out to me. “I’ll dance for you and spread my ass in your face, would you like that? Really turn you on. There are things I will do that you’ll never have seen. Come with me. I’ll show you.” She held a hand out to me.

  “Thank you very much, but I won’t,” I said. “I’ll just hang on for my friend. But thank you.” She shrugged and walked off. “Nice talking to you,” I said to her back as she went and I watched.

  When Frank emerged from wherever he’d been, we moved on. It was almost three o’clock. He was holding it together better than his friends and wanted to go somewhere else. We had lost some people already, and a few of the others trailed off when they realized that the night wasn’t over yet. Then there were four of us left, and I felt I had to stay. I was taking it easy, so I didn’t mind. I could do it for Frank. We went to a place that served until five. One of them had been before, and he led us in. A sticky steamy place that got hotter as we kept going up stairs, past floors full of people. The ceilings got lower as we got higher, the music got louder, and the people got drunker. We reached the top, where there was a bar and a DJ, and Frank went to order shots of something for everybody. People were wedged into the space, holding each other up. Water dripped off the ceiling. The atmosphere was wild, messy, and loose, and it felt like if one person stepped out of line, in a moment it would turn into a riot. Frank brought the drinks over, and we knocked them back in one together. Somebody went off to get another, and I began to worry. I was talking to one of Frank’s friends when across the room I saw Alex. He was leaning against the wall, talking to a girl. It was a relief. I could talk to him and stop having to try with these nice people that I didn’t know. I was just tired. I excused myself and made my way over to hi
m. He didn’t see me until I was nearly in front of him. For a moment he looked like he didn’t know me, as if he was struggling to recognize me out of context. He said something to the girl and took a step toward me.

  “What are you doing here?” he said.

  “On a stag. Guy from work. And you?”

  “It’s late, and it’s got a bar. Where else would I be? I’m always in places like this.”

  “Who are you with?”

  He pointed toward a group of people.

  “This lot. They’re doing that play I was at during the week. I met a couple of them on a set.”

  “Right.”

  The girl was standing behind him, half-smiling at me. Alex turned around.

  “Hi,” he said to her.

  “Hi.”

  “I was just saying how brilliant you were. This is David. David, this is Rebecca.” We shook hands. “Rebecca has a part in this play I was telling you about,” he said then.

  “A small part,” she said.

  “It was great, though. You were great.”

  “He’s telling me this all night,” she said, and I smiled. “How come I haven’t met you before?” she asked me then. I didn’t know what to say.

  “David was away for a while. He was off in Brazil.”

  “That was you. I remember now. Alex told me. How was that?”

  “It was great.” I didn’t know what was going on.

  “Can you do me a favor?” Alex said to her. “Could you go to the bar for me? Get me the same again. Will you have one?”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “Do you mind?”

  “No,” she said, “it’s no problem.” She leaned in to him and kissed him on the neck. She drew her hand across his stomach as she went off to the bar, a trail of intimacy in her wake.

  “So that’s Rebecca,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said. He was watching her in the mirror behind the bar. “And what’s the story with her?”

  He shrugged.

  “No story. Just a friend.”

  I laughed to myself.

  “I’m a friend,” I said. “I don’t kiss you on the neck.”