Attend

by West Camel

  ‘I hurried after her – up the stairs, into the hall and out of the empty front doorway. I didn’t call goodbye and I didn’t look back until I was nearly at the corner of the High Street.

  ‘The girl was on the doorstep of number thirty-six, staring after me, her hand on the door post, swinging back and forth on one leg.’

  Chapter 10: Sam

  On Monday afternoon, when he arrived home from work, Sam picked up a letter from the shelf in the hall. There was no stamp on it and his first name sat isolated above the address, underlined heavily twice. Other letters he opened as he climbed the stairs, but this he saved for his room, already sure who it was from. His body pulsed as he tore the seal – and found that his anticipation had been for just one line:

  Sam,

  If you fancy getting together again, here’s my number ––.

  Derek

  x.

  He felt courted – despite the note’s brevity. It was hand delivered, and he was sure this was the last of many rewrites. And then there was the kiss, with a full stop beside it. Perhaps it was just an accidental mark on the paper, but somehow it was the most telling part of the whole letter. A firm kiss: there. I want you.

  He stood by the window, holding the note, debating whether to text or call.

  On Sunday he had visited Deborah again. As he’d turned into the alley beside the railway, he’d wondered for a moment whether he would find a body: Nigel. But no. There was blood though – a few dark, dry patches, hardly noticeable. He’d squatted and stared at them. So Derek had been right – Nigel was able to get up and leave. But to the woman on the phone Derek had denied having him beaten up. It was a mess. Sam had felt like he needed a keen blade – if it came to it, he wanted to be able to cut himself out of all this.

  Now, still at the window, he could see kids were playing football in the garden below – he could hear their occasional cries, for scored or missed goals. There was no debate between contacting or not contacting Derek. The church clock chimed a quarter hour. Sam leaned his head against the cool glass and gazed at the gold clock face – an old coin, long out of use. But it still told the right time.

  He texted: Sam here. Love to meet up. When you free? x.

  He grinned when he placed the full stop.

  The phone rang within minutes.

  ‘Alright, mate? It’s Derek.’

  ‘Hello there, how are you?’

  ‘I’m OK. You took your time, didn’t you?’ It was playful punching – Sam liked it.

  ‘Yeah, thought I’d keep you guessing.’ He left a minute gap. ‘Not really – I only got your note a second ago. Just got in from work.’

  ‘Oh sorry. I posted it really early, so you’d get it. You must start at the crack. So, what you doing tonight? Want to go for a drink?’

  ‘OK. Where are you thinking of?’

  ‘Greenwich suit you?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Right. I’ll pick you up at eight.’

  Hanging up, Sam smiled; this bloke would need some management.

  He ran downstairs to get himself a snack and, coming out of the supermarket, he saw Deborah on the other side of the road, bending over in front of the window of the sewing-machine shop. She immediately turned, almost as if she’d been waiting there for him, and trotted across the road, beaming. He was struck by the crisp lines of her clothes and hair in the daylight.

  ‘Oh, Sam,’ she gasped as she reached him. ‘Am I glad to see you in one piece.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sam took a step back as she grabbed him tightly.

  ‘Someone took a beating down the alley by my place. I saw the blood when I went out yesterday after you’d left. I was worried it was you.’

  Sam gaped at her, not sure how to correct her story. ‘It wasn’t me. Don’t worry,’ he said after a pause. He wanted to shake her hand off his arm.

  ‘They bring people down there to sort them out. Have done for years. Anyway, you’re alright, that’s something.’

  Sam forced himself to nod and smile. ‘I have to get on, Deborah. I’m going out shortly.’

  ‘Take care, then. No doubt see you soon.’

  He watched her back until she turned into the churchyard further down the street. His date was spoiled. With just a few words, she had whipped away the cover he had slung over the beating. Once again, he could see Nigel folded up against the wall.

  Back in his room he threw the chocolate bar and crisps he had bought on the bed. His stomach wouldn’t take them now. Perhaps he should call Derek and say he couldn’t make it. He picked up his phone and scrolled to his number. Perhaps he should delete it and not answer the door at eight. But that might make Derek angry.

  He dropped down onto the bed, but stood up again almost instantly, his heart not letting him stay still. Just half an hour before he had been panting with the excitement of the chase. Now he was thinking he had to go out with this man because he was too scared to cancel. He heard a two-tone horn and the clatter as a fast train sped through Deptford station. If he left now, he could buy a ticket and be halfway to Wellingborough by eight o’clock. But then there was the note, hand delivered. Not even the whole note – the full-stopped kiss. And there was Derek’s rough, playful hug of annoyance at him for having taken so long to reply. And those lashes bordering his sad, boy’s eyes; Sam had seen them, even in the dark of the alley. He put the back of his hand to his slightly parted lips and sighed.

  At 7:50, Sam was on the landing looking down into the street. Derek was outside sitting in his car. Sam found some hair ruffling, wallet checking and jacket changing to do, then tried to descend the stairs slowly.

  In the net of lights made by the street lamps, the evening sky, the shop windows and the car door, Derek’s even teeth and big eyes flashed. He’d had his hair cut since Saturday.

  As Sam got in, Derek grabbed his leg just above the knee. ‘Alright, sexy?’

  Sam felt his throat tighten briefly. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

  ‘I know a couple of quiet places in Greenwich. That alright?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Derek’s hands were strong and veined on the steering wheel. Sam eyed the swell of muscle between thumb and forefinger. He felt he was unravelling, and it was tricky to re-twist the two strands – satisfaction and safety. But as he and Derek made idle car chit-chat, he managed to tie them roughly together, and it seemed easy then to come to a decision: he would ask Derek about Nigel.

  In Greenwich, Derek chose a pub and directed Sam to a quiet table at the back. They’d only taken a few sips from their drinks when Sam, looking across at Derek, so smart and gentle this evening, found he couldn’t hold out any longer.

  ‘I’ve got to tell you,’ he paused to make sure he took the right tone, ‘I’m still really uncomfortable about the other night.’

  Derek straightened up slightly, looked sidelong towards the bar, then back at Sam. It was a horribly long gap.

  ‘You trying to make me feel bad? I’m not as young as you, you know. Sometimes I can’t, you know, do it just like that. It’s not to say I don’t fancy you.’ He dropped his voice. ‘You’re fucking gorgeous. Why do you think we’re here?’

  ‘Oh God, no. I didn’t mean that.’ Sam flicked his hand out to touch Derek’s arm and nudged his glass; it wobbled, but nothing was spilled. ‘I meant about that guy you had beaten up. I know you said not to worry, but I just … I’ve never even been in a fight.’

  Derek was studying him, turning his pint slowly with one hand. Sam knew he was talking too much, but he had to go on now. ‘I like you. But I just need to know I’m not getting myself into some kind of trouble.’

  ‘By coming out with me, you mean?’ Derek widened his eyes and sat back a little. ‘I have to say, mate, you’ve got some front.’ His face relaxed and he grabbed Sam’s leg under the table. His voice was a growl. ‘Makes me want you even more.’

  Sam didn’t allow himself to reply.

  ‘Look,’ Derek went on, ‘you’ve got no worr
ies about that low-life Nigel. He’s not the type who’ll go running to the bill – he can’t afford to. And if you’re scared I’ll do the same to you, don’t be – I’d never touch you. Not unless you fuck me over.’

  He laughed; was it a joke or a tiny threat? Sam took a drink, but couldn’t taste it. ‘Tell me what it was about, anyway. It’ll make me more comfortable.’

  Derek took a big gulp of his beer, put a hand on his knee and smiled, shaking his head slightly. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Sam. Most people don’t get personal shit out of me.’

  Sam waited; would he get the truth or some convenient story?

  ‘I told you I was married, yeah?’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘Well, Nigel – he’s doing my ex-missus. Me and her, we’ve been finished for a good couple of years, so she can go out with who she likes, right? But that wanker’s been telling the world about it. Not just saying, “I got a new bird called Lia”, or whatever; he’s saying, “You know Derek French? That geezer, bit of a boy – I’m rooting his missus.” He’s dragging my name down with his.’

  He looked away; his cheek was pink, his eyes searching the bar for something. He turned back suddenly. ‘It’s not like I didn’t warn him. I said, “Go out with her. But stop making out like you took her off me or something.” But he didn’t listen. So he had to be shown.’

  Sam wasn’t convinced, but couldn’t help but feel generous towards this struggling beast beside him, with that line of delicate lashes above his large eyes. He tried to think of something to say; nothing came, so he touched Derek’s wide thigh.

  ‘I don’t want to go back to her or anything,’ said Derek. ‘It’s over. But, it’s difficult for me. Most people don’t know I’m gay or bi or whatever, but she does. If she tells Nigel, he’s such a fucking weasel, he’ll be in every pub and club in south London saying, “Derek French takes it up the arse.” And I ain’t having that.’

  Derek flipped a beer mat off the edge of the table a few times. There was more coming.

  ‘Lia was a great girl, but things got difficult. She wanted kids – naturally. I wasn’t against having them – it’s what you do, isn’t it? So we tried. Went on trying for a couple of years, but nothing happened. So we went to the doctor’s and he put us under the hospital.’ Derek was talking to the table now. ‘We had tests and all that and it turns out…’ He placed the mat carefully on the table edge and struck it with his heavy thumb; it spun through the air and he caught it in his open hand. ‘I’m infertile.’ He took a swig of beer and put the glass down with a firm clunk; strings of white froth slid down the inside walls.

  ‘She left you for that?’ The question slipped out of Sam’s lips, too slick to suck back in.

  ‘Well, not exactly. While all this was going on, I was playing away – with blokes. She knew something was up. It was rows all the time: “You’re having an affair.” All that. But what she kept on about most was that, if we were supposed to be trying for kids, why weren’t we having sex.’

  Derek’s gaze skipped around the pub. Sam tried to follow it, lighting on the backs bent over the bar, the opaque glass in the wide door, the pair of young men at the pool table, laughing and taking fast, snapping shots. He was breathless trying to make sense of what Derek was telling him. Perhaps it was nothing he could understand.

  Finally, Derek’s eyes settled back on him. Sam had an urge to kiss them, holding the back of the big, warm head, feeling the delicate skin of the lids beneath his lips. But here, in a public bar, the best he could do was say, ‘I’ve never had sex with a woman. I just can’t see myself doing it.’

  ‘Never? It’s alright. It can be great. When I first met Lia, we had a fantastic time. But things change; I changed. It was never the same between us after all the infertility stuff.’

  This was like wearing a new uniform, his first grown-up suit. Sam fumbled around, as if looking for something in the pockets. ‘You don’t have to tell me all this if you don’t want to.’ Shit, that sounded too dismissive. ‘But I suppose it’s good for me to know.’

  ‘To know why I couldn’t get it up the other night, you mean?’

  ‘No, I meant it’s good to get to know each other. Because, well, we’re on a date, aren’t we?’ If the table hadn’t been in the way, Sam might have made a dash for the door right now, he was making such a mess.

  Derek grunted a little laugh from his nostrils. ‘Funny date when I tell you I’m barren and we’ve already been to bed together.’

  Sam sighed, wiped his hands on his jeans and leaned back against the padding of the seat. After a moment, Derek did the same and they watched as one of the pool players cleared the thick green baize. He potted the white with a crack of celebration, and Sam put two fingers on Derek’s knee. ‘So, the other night, it was Nigel that was bugging you?’

  ‘Yeah, it was. You were so fucking sexy.’ This time Derek placed a warm hand on Sam’s back. ‘I was all worked up and wanted to do something, but that cunt was getting in the way. And then Lia rang, and that was it.’

  ‘She still bothers you?’

  ‘Only over this Nigel thing. Don’t worry, mate, I haven’t had sex with a woman for donkey’s. I want you.’ He slipped his hand onto Sam’s leg, at the same time looking over at the pool players, who were beginning another game.

  One of them broke with a wild shot and the white leaped off the table and onto the wooden floor, rattling towards Derek and Sam’s table. Derek bent down to pick it up. The player came over to collect it and Derek handed it to him carefully, saying, ‘Watch it, lads. That’s not the way to play.’

  ‘Alright, mate. Sorry.’ There was sarcasm in the boy’s voice.

  ‘That’s OK. Don’t do it again.’ Derek’s tone was flat, his stare hard. His hand tightened around Sam’s thigh. It was almost painful, yet Sam felt beautifully safe, pressed up now against Derek’s warm body.

  Chapter 11: Anne

  It took a moment for Anne to understand that the sharp rapping sound was someone knocking at her door. She scrabbled to mute the TV and waited, tensed, while the figures on the screen flapped in silence. This was the first person to knock since she had moved in. What time of day was it? – evening. Who could it be? Rita and Julie were the only people she had given her address to, but they would never just drop in. Or maybe they would. Wasn’t that what coming home was all about – opening her door to family?

  The knock was repeated – louder this time. Anne got up from the sofa, dropping the clothes catalogue open at a page where the women were holding their hips, elbows awkwardly out. The kitchen light was on, so whoever it was would know someone was at home. Perhaps it was a neighbour. And then with a little squirm she thought it could be Deborah. They had had tea together every afternoon for the past few days, but always at her house, never here. And Deborah didn’t know what flat she lived in. But then again, Anne wouldn’t have put it past her to have found out. Perhaps she was on the balcony with a pile of fabric – a new set of stories to tell.

  From habit, she scanned the room to see if anything incriminating was on display. She tutted at herself and went into the hall; of course there was nothing incriminating, except for the puckered skin on her arms – and, as always, this was covered.

  She opened the door using the chain, just in case, and it snapped taut. The face and figure looking through the narrow gap were not Deborah’s. It was Kathleen.

  Anne warmed with relief and recognition. ‘Oh my God, Kath. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Come to see you, haven’t I? Open up – what’s this, Fort Knox?’

  Anne apologised, closed the door and released the chain, but then had a great struggle to open it again to let Kathleen in.

  ‘It’s getting worse, this door. Come in. You alright?’ But as Kathleen stepped into the light of the hall, Anne’s question was answered. Her green eyes seemed huge and the rounds of her cheeks, chin and forehead had disappeared; her face hung off its bones. She wore a dark-blue headscarf. Anne kissed Ka
thleen briskly to cover up her shock. It was perhaps a year since she had last seen her; a short time really, but the change was complete.

  Kathleen looked about her. ‘Nice place,’ she said.

  But following her into the living room, Anne realised how stark the flat was. And then took a breath in as she fully appreciated that a seal had been broken: someone else was in her home. ‘I’m just pleased to have somewhere of my own, you know.’

  ‘Well, you’re keeping it tidy. You were such a messy bitch before – what happened?’ Kathleen chuckled throatily, making herself cough.

  Anne laughed along, pleased that Kathleen had kept her sting, at least; but then Kathleen removed her coat and the laugh dissolved in Anne’s throat.

  ‘I know, Anne, I’m all skinny. Your mum can’t get over it.’

  Formerly full, her bust sagged inside her jumper; her jeans stood up stiffly around her hips, a belt cinching the waist in. The curved figure that had made her so similar to Mel, and that Julie now shared and showed off with the tightest jeans and cropped tops, was gone. Eaten away.

  ‘Kath, I’m so sorry. Mum told me. Hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘It’s no secret. How could it be, looking like this?’

  Anne raised her hand, beginning a movement that would have ended in a hug, but Kathleen turned away from her and sat down on the sofa.

  ‘Want a cup of tea, then?’ Anne tried not to sound hurt.

  ‘I could do with a proper drink if you’ve got one.’

  ‘You allowed?’ Was this too smothering? Anne’s trouble with tending to people was like an object in the room. But Kathleen was relaxed. ‘I’m allowed anything, Anne.’ She adjusted the sofa cushion under her. ‘Won’t make a difference now.’

  ‘All I’ve got is an old bottle of Southern Comfort.’ Anne bit her thumb.

  ‘That’ll do.’

  In the kitchen, Anne hesitated before pouring herself a drink too. She had taken nothing stronger than coffee for weeks, and while alcohol had never been a problem for her, once the almost oily liquid was in the glass it seemed a little like a self-betrayal – a foot placed on a stair. She thought of trying to pour it back into the bottle, but, glancing into the living room, she decided she was permitted a drink tonight. Kathleen, Mel and Julie had been a trio, with their shared looks and almost swollen, ripe bodies. But it had been Kathleen she had known first, and Kathleen she had been closest to – closer than she had been to her husband or even her own child. Now it was as if she had dropped from the cluster, shrivelled and begun to rot. Anne took a sip and held the warming spirit in her mouth as she carried the glasses into the living room, wondering why Kathleen was really here.