Part 16 (1/2)

It didn't work, of course, but at least he was too tired to stay awake all night whacking off.

41.

Agnes didn't phone at all during Justin's stay with Peter and Dorothea. She felt it was kinder that way, though in fact it wasn't. When she finally did make contact she was greatly relieved that it was Peter who answered the phone.

'I'm having a show.' She sounded excited. 'I've had an idea for some time now.' After a few minutes of general chat, she rang off, without asking to speak to Justin.

Peter felt a knot of worry form in his stomach, but there was nothing he could say, nothing to do but wait and see. When he pa.s.sed the message on to Justin over breakfast the next day, he played down the news, but Justin's nonchalance fooled no one.

'What exactly made you fall in love with Agnes?' Dorothea asked, accepting a piece of toast.

Peter glanced at his friend.

'She made me feel important,' Justin said. 'Like I was fascinating. And she's so...' He paused. 'So absolute. I was flattered.'

'Hmmm.'

'What do you mean, ”hmmm”?'

'Just, hmmm.' Dorothea chewed thoughtfully for a minute. 'And that's enough to make a person fall in love?'

'Being flattered? I guess it was for me. She spent a lot of time looking deep into my eyes and coming up with ways to improve me. I guess that sounds pathetic.'

'Yes.' Dorothea's gaze was impa.s.sive.

Justin paused, the bread knife clutched in one hand. 'Maybe it depends how desperate you are to be improved.'

'How desperate are you?'

'Oh, way off the scale,' he said. 'More toast?'

Peter placed a bowl of cat food out by the back door. 'You might be average for all you know. Other people conceal it better.'

'Concealing it better is less desperate.'

Dorothea shook her head. 'Being you must be horrible.'

'Thank you.' Justin looked depressed.

'Never mind. Not much you can do about it anyway.' Brus.h.i.+ng the crumbs off her nightdress, she swapped her slippers for wellies and strode off down the garden to the bird table with a fistful of breadcrusts.

The next time Agnes phoned, it was to tell Justin and Peter she needed to get away for the day, and did they want to come with her to the seaside? Empty vistas, stormy seas and grey skies were what she required. Wide open s.p.a.ces. 'I thought it would be nice to have you both,' Agnes said.

You've already had me, Justin thought mirthlessly. You want to have him too?

'Justin?'

But it's December, he thought. It'll be freezing cold and bleak and lonely, which is probably why you don't want to go by yourself. And anyway, haven't you got any playmates your own age?

'Yes, fine,' he said. She didn't want to be alone with him, that much was clear.

Peter, however, seemed pleased to have been included. So the following Sat.u.r.day, under an early morning sky lit with brilliant suns.h.i.+ne filtered through dark-grey clouds, they set off to Agnes's flat.

Thanks to the proximity of the Christmas season, Luton was at its most garishly festive. They took a detour through the mall, s.h.i.+elding their eyes from the blast of silver glare as they entered. The PA system gushed music so distorted it was impossible to tell what song was playing. It might have been 'Good King Wenceslas', though it also sounded a little like 'Santa Baby'.

Boy whimpered and pressed himself against Justin's leg while Peter and Justin looked around, and then back at each other, eyes wide with mock horror.

'Run!' Peter shouted, and they did, bursting through the automatic doors and collapsing with laughter outside. 'Oh my G.o.d. It's like the ninth circle of h.e.l.l.'

'There's a present I need to find for Charlie,' Justin said. 'I've looked everywhere else, but I can't face that place.'

Peter nodded. 'Nightmare. All Christmas shopping is.'

They walked together towards Agnes's house, squinting into the sun in a companionable silence. Peter occasionally tossed a soggy, shredded toy ring for Boy. The dog didn't bother chasing it, just reached up with each throw and caught it a few inches from his head, returning it to Peter with an air of dutiful resignation.

When they were nearly there, Peter turned suddenly to his friend. 'Justin,' he began tentatively, 'I've been wondering exactly what happened between you and Agnes. I mean, if you don't mind my asking. You seemed to get along, and then... why was there such a rush to move in with us?'

At another time, the question would have plunged Justin into despair, but now he only sighed. 'We had s.e.x. I told her I loved her. It was a disaster.'

Peter looked thoughtful. 'Women are tricky,' he said, taking the ring from Boy and throwing it again as they turned down Agnes's street. 'Of course, I'm only guessing here. My experience with women is fairly limited. Very limited, actually.' He laughed. 'In fact, it begins and ends with sisters.'

'Mine begins and ends with humiliation.'

'Wasn't it worth it?' Peter's interest was genuine.

'Not unless you're a sucker for rejection.'

They rang the bell and Agnes shooed them through to the sitting room while she finished getting dressed. Peter and Justin found themselves sitting awkwardly on Justin's old bed, a fact they both attempted to ignore.

'Hey, cheer up,' Peter whispered once Agnes had left the room, at least you've had s.e.x.'

'It's had me, more like.'

Peter wondered why people so rarely appreciated the complexities of the moment. He wondered what it would be like to have lost his virginity, to be attractive to women, to possess whatever quality it was about Justin they found so hypnotic.

Peter thought he knew what it was. There was something about his friend's uneasy blackness that mesmerized him too: Justin's neediness, his desire (and his inability) to make two plus two equal anything but pi. He appeared utterly incapable of ordering the universe in a rea.s.suring manner, had trouble differentiating hunger from loneliness, anger from love, fear from desire. Peter couldn't imagine going through life with a brain so peculiarly wired, but it made compulsive viewing. Like watching a train crash.

Anger and fear re-entered the room, dressed in a bright green ankle-length oilskin coat, an absurdly long cable-knit Aran scarf, and white high-heeled rubber boots.

'What do you think?' Agnes asked. 'No, don't tell me, I won't have anyone being rude about my country clothes.'

Peter grinned at her. 'The coat is very nice. I wish I had one like it.'