Part 31 (1/2)

'Why, what else did he say?'

'Well, he was pretty p.i.s.sed, but he said that you were a really good guy, and well, his exact words were that you could be a bit of a t.w.a.t sometimes, but that you were really loyal, and decent, and that there weren't many blokes out there like you and if I had any sense I should ... go out with you.'

'Spencer said all that?'

'Uh-huh,' and I have this fleeting image of Spencer standing under the streetlight, in the drizzle with his eyes closed, the heel 279.

I.

DAVID NICHOLLS.

f of his hand pressed against his forehead, and me walking the other way.

'What are you thinking?' says Alice, facing the wall again.

'Um. Don't know, really.'

'I a.s.sume it's true though, yeah? I mean, I had an idea that it might be true.'

'Is it really so obvious?'

'Well, I suppose I have caught you looking at me every now and then. And then there was our dinner date . . .'

'Oh, G.o.d, I'm so embarra.s.sed about that . . .'

'Don't be. It was nice. It's just . . .'

'What.'

She's silent for a moment, and then sighs deeply and squeezes my hand, the kind of gesture that lets you know your hamster's died, and I brace myself for the good old 'let's-be-friends' speech. But then she flips over to look at me, pushes her hair behind her ears, and I can just about make out her face in the pulsing orange glow of the radio-alarm clock.

'I don't know, Brian. I'm really bad news, you know.'

'No, you're not . . .'

'I am though, really. Every relations.h.i.+p I've ever had has ended up with someone being hurt . . .'

'I don't mind . . .'

'You would though, if it was you. I mean, you know what I'm like . . .'

'I know, you've told me. But like I said, I don't mind, because isn't it better to try? I mean, wouldn't it be better to give it a go, see how we got on? It would be up to you, obviously, because you might not like me in that way . . .'

'Well, I've thought about it, obviously. But it's not even to do with you. I haven't really got time for that whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing, what with playing Hedda, and the team and everything. I value my independence too much . . .'

'Well, I really value my independence, too!' I say, though this is of course a lie of absolutely epic proportions, because 28O.

what am I supposed to do with independence? You know what 'independence' is? 'Independence' is staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night with your fingernails digging into the palms of your hand. 'Independence' is realising that the only person you've spoken to all day is the man in the off-licence. 'Independence' is a value meal in the bas.e.m.e.nt of Burger King on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon. When Alice talks about 'independence' she means something completely different. 'Independence' is the luxury of all those people who are too confident, and busy, and popular, and attractive to be just plain old 'lonely'.

And make no mistake, lonely is absolutely the worst thing to be. Tell someone that you've got a drink problem, or an eating disorder, or your dad died when you were a kid even, and you can almost see their eyes light up with the sheer fascinating drama and pathos of it all, because you've got an issue, something for them to get involved in, to talk about and a.n.a.lyse and discuss and maybe even cure. But tell someone you're lonely and of course they'll seem sympathetic, but look very carefully and you'll see one hand snaking behind their back, groping for the door handle, ready to make a run for it, as if loneliness itself were contagious. Because being lonely is just so ba.n.a.l, so shaming, so plain and dull and ugly.

Well, I've been lonely as a snake all my life and I'm sick of it. I want to be part of a team, a partners.h.i.+p, I want to sense that audible hum of envy and admiration and relief when we walk into a room together - 'thank G.o.d, we're all right now, because they're here' - but also to be slightly scary, slightly intimidating, sharp as razors, d.i.c.k and Nicole Diver in Tender is the Night, glamorous and s.e.xually enthralled with each other, like Burton and Taylor, or like Arthur Miller and Marilyn Monroe, except stable and sensible and constant, without the mental breakdowns and infidelity and divorce. I can't say any of this out loud, of course, because there's nothing at this moment that would scare her more, short of producing an axe, and I certainly can't use the word 'lonely'

281.

because it does tend to make people uncomfortable. So what do I say instead? I take a deep breath, and sigh, and put my hand to my head, and finally this is what I come up with.

'All I know is that I think you're absolutely amazing, Alice, and stunningly beautiful of course, not that it matters, and that I just love being with you, spending time with you, and I think that, well I really think that we should . . .' and then there's a pause, and that's when I do it. I kiss Alice Harbinson.

And then I'm kissing her, actually kissing her properly, on the mouth and everything. Her lips are warm but dry at first, and very slightly chapped, so that I can feel a little hard, sharp spur of dead skin on her bottom lip, which I contemplate biting off, but wonder if maybe that's perhaps a bit audaciously sensual, biting, within the first few seconds. Maybe I could kiss it off, might that be possible? Can you kiss off dead skin? What might that involve? I'm just about to try when Alice pulls her head away, and I think maybe I've blown it, but instead she just smiles and reaches up and pulls the little flap of dead skin off her own lip and drops it down the side of the bed. Then she blots her lip with the back of her hand, glances at it to check she's not bleeding, licks her lips and we're kissing again, and it's heaven.

When it comes to kissing, I'm obviously no connoisseur, but I'm pretty sure that this is good kissing. It's very different from the Rebecca Epstein experience; Rebecca's a great person and a lot of fun and everything, but kissing Rebecca Epstein was all hard edges. Alice's mouth appears to have no edges at all, just warmth and softness, and despite the ever-so-slight tang of hot, minty bad breath from one of us, me probably, it is pretty much heaven, or it would be if I wasn't suddenly aware that I don't know what to do with my tongue, which suddenly seems to have grown ma.s.sive and meaty, like something you see shrink-wrapped in plastic in a butcher's. Is a tongue appropriate here, I wonder? And then in answer I feel her tongue just tentatively touching my teeth, and then she takes 282.

my hand and moves it on top of her T-s.h.i.+rt, Snoopy lying on his kennel, and then underneath her T-s.h.i.+rt, and then after that I have to confess that everything starts to get a little bit blurred.

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32.

QUESTION: What was the more familiar name of the Hungarian rabbi's son Eric Weisz, famed for his feats of escapology and disappearance?

ANSWER Harry Houdini.

The next morning we kiss some more, but with less of the ardent erotic abandon of the previous night, now that we're in daylight and she can see what she's up against. Also Alice has got a 9.15 Mask Workshop, so just after 8.00 I'm holding on to my mud-caked shoes, and heading for the door.

'Sure you don't want me to walk in with you?'

'No, no, that's okay . . .'

'You're sure?'

'I've got to get my stuff together, have a shower and everything . . .' I'd be very happy to hang around for that, and feel in some indefinable way that I've earnt it, but it's a communal bathroom, which obviously makes things difficult, and besides, I've got to remember, play it cool, play it cool...

'Well, thank you for having me,' I say, trying for a kind of saucy swagger that I don't quite pull off, then I lean in and kiss her. She pulls away a little too quickly, and for a moment I wonder if I should be offended, but she immediately provides a perfectly rational explanation; 'Sorry, bad breath!'

'Not at all,' I say, even though her breath actually does smell 284.

really, really bad. I don't care though. She could be breathing fire and I wouldn't mind. 'You could be breathing fire and I wouldn't mind,' I say.

She makes a sceptical 'hmmm' noise and rolls her eyes delightedly, and says, 'Yeah, well, you'd better go, before anyone sees you. And Brian?'

'Uh-huh?'

'You're not to tell anyone. Promise?'

'Of course.'

'Our secret . . . ?'

'Absolutely.'