three good words

August 24, 2014October 9, 2014

bar & grill

summer, beaches,
surf and waves
lots of very fit people.

the sky’s unbelievable blue.

it’s beautiful here, relaxing,
for me.
The others?
They’re driven,
seriously keeping themselves
busy.

But it’s my day off,
so I’m enjoying it
all the way
the sea, the sun,
the waves.

out on the terrace of the bar & grill,
enjoying the sun
watching the waves
and they start talking right next to me.

as in, loud.

probably on a date,
sorting out deal-breakers,
pasts, presents, wishes, dreams.

I guess everyone here is out to make it big,
and if that doesn’t work out
then have a comfortable life.

it’s about dreaming big
having, keeping,
accumulating your assets,
promoting
your Self.

the beach, the sun,
the waves
all fantastic
really great

but they keep on talking,
listing
promoting
loud and louder
stereo surround

Her No-No list:
drugs, alcohol, smoking

His: violence
Got hit by his ex…
sounded psychotic.

Both:pet peeves
real hates
what neither would tolerate

a frantic search for similarities
but no real conversation

It’s like there are boxes
they need to check

fun, motivated
real wishes
genuine dreams
a perspective.

And people are getting a massive load of parking-tickets.

A young woman’s asking,
cajoling,
trying what she can,
but the ticket’s already written.

Apparently it costs $8
to go to the beach in NJ.

2nd date
they’re gone now

and it’s back to the beach
the sea, the waves.

It’s beautiful here
a great place to wind down
for me

the waves, the beach
the sea
really pretty.

August 22, 2014May 16, 2020

throwback thursday

Livy.

She stopped. This was Bloomingdales. Nobody knew that name. No, she must have heard wrong. She continued but then, again.

Livy. Livy.

In a second she was twenty-two again, young and hopeful and proud of her job, how good she was. She’d managed to prove that she didn’t only have the looks, she also had the skills. She really was good at her job. She remembered when he first walked in, young, brash, angry at the boss, asking her sharply Is he in? She had asked him firmly but politely to wait. He had paced, hands in his pockets, flashing her quick, impatient looks. After the call she told him, He’ll see you now and he went in. There had been shouting. He stormed out and she didn’t really think of him again until a week later when she ran into him at the Xerox, and he asked her for a favor. A file he needed copying, he’d pick it up later, he was on the run. He was charming and sweet, so she did it. He came after his lunch break and small talked with her about music and movies and how he’d like to see the latest one, she forgot which one. The second time he did that she knew her hunch was right, he was looking for reasons to see her. It amused her. It was flattering. But they were all flirts so she never took it seriously. Until he asked her out. She should have said no. She was foolish and hopeful though, and said yes. And now someone was calling her Livy.

She stopped at the watches and acted as if she was looking. She felt someone stop next to her and ask if he could look at the something Phillip. The clerk was eager and polite. She dared a glance. No. Yes, but… No. Please. He was talking to the clerk and then said, She has slim wrists. Much like the lady here. Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you, but could I ask you for a favor? She looked and looked and swallowed. He had aged well, very well. She asked, Pardon? And he said. My wife has about the same slim wrists as you do. Do you mind if I borrowed you as a mannequin? And she knew then, clearly, it was his old trick again, finding excuses to talk to her. She wanted to say no, but the clerk was surprised and expectant and she didn’t want to look mean-spirited or worse. So she stretched out her hand and the clerk fastened the watch around her wrist and he looked at it, nodding approvingly before saying Gold or silver? And the clerk asked, What does your wife usually wear? Both, he smiled and suddenly she was speaking. I think this one is very nice. It was beautiful, white gold and polished gold intertwined, with stones sparkling around the dial. It had to cost a fortune, but then he looked like money. He always had. The clerk smiled graciously and asked if he would take it. He said, I think I’ll look some more, and the clerk asked her politely if she could remove the watch. She watched her unfasten it and put it back on display. She moved to leave, saying a polite Goodbye. He turned, sharply, and there was something in his eyes and face that she hoped she was just imagining. He said, Thank you for your help, and she just nodded and walked down the aisle. She already passed the perfumes when she heard, Livy wait.

She stopped this time and turned. He was walking towards her, hands in his pockets, just like he used to. I’m sorry about that, he said once he stopped. Can I – can I ask you to a coffee? She just looked at him. Thirty-seven years and he wanted coffee. It’s only a coffee. Please. I know a place just round the corner. Unless you’re busy. He didn’t want to say the last part, she could see that. He still had his hands in his pockets. And she couldn’t deny that she was curious about his life.

The coffee extended to a dinner. He talked about himself and asked her questions. He had three children, she had two, all of them doing well in their own ways. They laughed more than she expected. He never looked anywhere else, his eyes fixed on her, that look becoming clearer and clearer. She knew she should stop this even before she agreed to the dinner. It wasn’t right. She knew that look on a man, she knew that feel of him. But she couldn’t deny how much she liked it, how nice it was, how simply nice it was to be looked at like that again. He began touching her over dinner, or rather, half way through, he took her hand and looked at her ring and brushed his thumb over it, looking serious, maybe sad. It was a sudden and very intimate gesture that broke down all the politeness they had been floating on till then. He said, I was such a coward. Then he let her hand go.

The tears just happened, she never saw them coming. She did what she could to stop them, smudging her napkin with her mascara, and finally the tears stopped. She looked at him and saw what she had dreaded, what had made her so furious back then, what had hurt her so much. She had known he loved her. She had known it, felt it, her whole body and senses, every single part of her knew it. And then he told her he’d met someone else and that he’d fallen in love with her and all those other horrible things that made her slap him and throw things and kick him out of her flat. The worst was how he took it, how he never defended himself, as if he knew he deserved it. She couldn’t face him after that. Just hearing his name was too much. And then she saw them, a year later, walking down some street, near here. She saw them together, saw how happy they were, and something broke and couldn’t be repaired again. She met Arthur soon after and started a new life, a good life, but that was always there, a shadow in her heart she could never get rid of.

And now, thirty-seven years later, he said I was such a coward. She got up and left the table, left the restaurant and hailed a cab. He caught up with her before she could get one, holding her back, making her yank herself free. He said Livy, please and she snapped, My name is Olivia. Olivia, he said, I’m sorry if I said something stupid – but she interrupted him with a Don’t apologize. You made your choice and I respect that. Just don’t come along now acting as if you cared. He looked hurt, but said nothing. I never forgot you, he said then, but she just scoffed, looking to the sky, trying to hold back the goddamn tears. Her Moma had warned her, the nice ones were the worst. I don’t know why you’re doing this, she finally said. You don’t look divorced so it can’t be that – Livy. Olivia. I understand if you hate me, but at least let me apologize. For what, she asked. Almost past her fives and she felt like twenty-two again. He pulled her closer to the restaurant, out of people’s way, and she had no way to fight it. I shouldn’t have cared, he said, I know that. I always thought it was the time, but I know that was an excuse. There was no excuse for what I did. I just wanted you to know that. That, and that I never forgot you, and that I’m sorry for what happened. I can’t make it un-happened. I want to, but I can’t. It’s not like I don’t love my family. I love them, all of them, my wife, my kids and yet – I regret every day that I just threw it all away. I – I never wanted to hurt you. Livy. Olivia. I never wanted to hurt you. I was just – I know you’ll probably never forgive me, but I – I couldn’t let you walk away like that, without letting you know – I never meant it to be this way.

She just looked at him. Did he think this would change anything? He didn’t look like it, nor did he sound like it. He looked and sounded like someone who was saying I’m sorry and meant it. It took him almost four decades, but at least he got around to saying it. She nodded, Ok. He looked hopeful, but she stopped that when she said I should go home. Thank you for dinner. And without waiting, she walked to the next cab, got in without caring who hailed and drove home.

Three weeks later she received a huge bouquet of roses and a small gift-wrapped box with a bow. She opened the box and found the beautiful wristwatch in it, with a small card saying For a different time, Don. She had no idea what to think of it, except that he didn’t go by Donavan anymore. She looked at the watch. It was exquisitely light and very beautiful. She could never wear it. How explain it to Arthur, let alone the kids. She kept it hidden in her desk drawer and went back to the showroom, happy to entertain the next client. If she learnt one thing from what happened back then, then it was to stick to her ambition and start her own business. And now she had it, the kind of PR that was solid and ran really well, and it was all her own.

He kept sending flowers. Every Thursday, as if to commemorate their second meeting. Her assistant thought she had them ordered, she always put them in a tall glass vase on the round table she used for meetings. Once at her own desk, she couldn’t avoid seeing them. Every Thursday, a beautiful bouquet of flowers, very often roses, red, pink, cream, in all shades and always beautiful, filling her room with a perfect scent. Six months passed this way, every Thursday a bouquet of roses, and then she received an invitation to a fundraiser. It was too good to let pass, all she was thinking about when she accepted was the people she could meet there. New clients meant more business, and you could never have enough business. So she went with Arthur and saw him standing there with his wife, smiling, and she knew it, she just knew it. This was not going to end well.

August 21, 2014May 18, 2020

pursuit of happiness

A year, almost.
Twelve months.

Fall was filling the streets with cardinal colours.

Marla no longer felt new in Ferin Mews.
Her loft was her home now,
her housemates peculiar accessories to her life.

If her life was the planet they were the satellites, rotating obscurely around her quotidian, always near yet out of reach. Though Sunny would join her in the kitchen for a cuppa if she wasn’t out and about, busy with her own life.

Sunny, yes.
Sunny was always busy.
An afternoon’s rest
an evening without something to do,
impossible.

If she wasn’t working, Sunny and her friends crowded into the apartment, laughing and screaming, giggling and shouting, talking about things Marla didn’t always understand.

There was fashion, there was music, there were the does and don’ts of post-adolescent life where you were just old enough to be grown up to the school-kids, but still young enough to be a kid for the real grannies and grandpas. Life was dreary after 25, and anyone who survived that dreadful age was both awesomely brave and awfully to be pitied .

Some of Sunny’s friends, if they found Marla in the living room or kitchen or just down the hall, some of them would ask her how it was in The Life Beyond.

Wasn’t it terrifically difficult finding a decent bloke? Most, after all, were married or useless now anyway. Was it very difficult? It had to be bad. Was it? Were there any clubs she could go to without, you know, sticking out? She looked good, she really did, but still, she was, y’know, older? And why did she wear those really bright skirts? They were kind of ethnic weren’t they? Sometimes she looked like a Mexican – oh God, were you still allowed to say that?

Yes, of course!
No, you can’t!
Shame on you!
Heathens!
Endless arguments,
more giggling,
more questions,
more drinks.

Her hair was incredible by the way, and Sunny had told them she had a sari, which was ultracool, though cool was out and awesome was in, and if something was really magnificent it was super delish.

Marla answered as best as she could, trying to follow the ping-pong conversations that seemed to be made out of clauses. She was pleased however, when Sunny mentioned that her friends thought she was ‘swell’, (they had dug up the word from God-knows-where and now used it as their own group-speak). It was high praise for someone thirty, that horrible age when all desirability disappeared at the stroke of twelve.

Marla would sometimes relate the conversations she heard to her own friends. Theresa, Rena, Val and Beth laughed and shook their heads. They all started remembering their own early twens. That time when everyone was convinced they knew everything, and those older were either horribly disfigured or perfectly boring. Naturally everyone younger was puerile and childish and not to be considered. It was a blessed time of hubris, a time when one really felt like the king of the world, or rather the Queen of Sheba with King Solomon at her feet.

‘But would you want to go back?’ Beth asked last time, and everyone started laughing, ‘Oh God, no!’

The confusion,
the fading dreams,
the disillusionment.

The simple disappointment one had to live through, for all the nonsense and self-importance to be chipped away, for all the blue-eyed naïveté to be burned off by the blowtorch that was life… no, there was no need for that all over again. It was much better to know now, than to be learning then. Really, thank God it was over.

The conversation continued while Marla prepared dessert, missing out on most, until she handed out the plates of tiramisu. The whole table was laughing when Theresa suggested they all grab a fresher the next time they were out on town.

‘Never mind that you have to teach them everything,’ she grinned, ‘that way they don’t get messed up by someone else.’
‘I don’t know about teaching, love,’ Rena chuckled, ‘they’re pretty knowledgeable from what I hear.’

There was more laughter and Val had some news to tell anyway, so they moved on from there. After her friends left though, Marla couldn’t forget what Theresa said about being ‘messed up by someone else’.

Past experiences formed the present character, ok.
Ric and Alicia were… not a conventional couple.
Did she ever have a chance?

Was it all predetermined?
Maybe to a certain extent.
She could hardly influence her childhood.
Who could?

Marla did think she had a say on her more adult years though. She spent the rest of the night wondering if she would have been someone different if she hadn’t met Eric.

Eric. Well.

Would she be different
if she’d never moved to New York?
Probably.
Those three years did change a lot.
Yet she couldn’t say she was completely altered.

She was still hardworking professionally.
Easy-going personally,
More optimistic than pessimistic.
And she still loved being in company.

That hadn’t changed,
The core was still the same.
Everything else though, that had gone through various revolutions.

She didn’t take things for granted as much as she used to.
She was more careful with herself, emotionally speaking.
She was no longer so reckless in her demands on life.
She had become a little more content with what she had.
Yes, that had changed.

All this pursuit of happiness,
it killed you.

It was a real chase on the other side, all the way over there.
It was like 5.0 racing through the square streets with all the sirens blaring.

And you had to give everything a shot,
you needed all the ammunition you got,
And then, when you thought you had it, this happiness,
this perfection that was apparently all what it was about –

Then it was skin and bones and hardly breathing,
and you had to race to the hospital to get a reanimation,
and have the doctor shake his head and order a steady diet,

real carbs
real fruits
real exercise
and fresh, fresh air

Which meant at least ten weeks in an exclusive help-centre in Vermont.

Marla hoped Heather was doing better.

They wrote emails, they talked on the phone. Heather wouldn’t Skype yet, she didn’t feel ready for a screen, but she was good with the phone. She said she had put on weight. She didn’t sound as stressed-out/spaced-out as she used to. Marla guessed that was a good thing.

Sadie said something like that would never have happened in San Francisco, but Marla wasn’t too sure. She packed her bags and returned home. She’d been thinking about it for some time anyway. Especially after Eric turned out to be as immature and irresponsible as her mother had warned her he would be – that was the worst part of it.

Marla felt it was that, that had angered her most about Eric:
That he made Marla make that concession,
That her mother was proven right instead of wrong.
How on earth was she ever to voice doubt again?

Anyway, now she was in Ferin Mews, living in a lovely loft.

With a happy blonde,
a quiet bartender,
and a whole Irish pub downstairs.
It wasn’t what she expected.
It wasn’t the West Side flat she shared with Heather

Heather who wanted to try out a bohemian life
before she married a stock broker,
and sent her kids to schools that taught Mandarin.

She only let Marla move in because
‘co-habs are character-building and so a good thing’
and Marla was ‘so exotic and beautiful and strange’
Heather, verbatim.

The place was ‘a treat’ as they said.
And Heather was really nice, once you got over her prep-school ways.

And exhausting.

It was so exhausting.
It drained everything out of her.
Eric. Heather. New York.

Everything she was,
everything she had,
it just got sucked in and disappeared.
Three years
one huge drain on her soul.
So she left.

She had to.
It was either that or no sanity.
Marla preferred to be sane.
And made sure to call Heather.
They wrote emails, texts, words
and once a week they talked on the phone.

Marla really hoped she was better.

August 20, 2014May 17, 2020

plus 1

It was raining again, which was good, he liked the rain crowd. They were quieter somehow, saner than what happened when the sun was out. Caden didn’t know what the sun did to people, if they heated up over the day more, so tempers just boiled over by the time they showed up. Summer fights were always much worse than when it rained or snowed. People had less on though, so maybe it was that. Cuts and punches went deeper, looked worse with nothing to soak up the blood. Whatever it was, Caden preferred the rain crowd, they tended to mind their own business more, drinking pints, ordering whatever Siobhan had on the menu, or standing at the boards and tables having a decent time.

It was a quiet day, so Caden checked the taps, the third one was giving some trouble lately. Turns out it wasn’t anything serious, the tubes just got twisted again, Christ he’d told Mike five times to watch out for that. Anyway, after that was fixed, he sorted out the last sign-up, they needed an extra set of speakers and were definitely having an entrance fee, they expected half their fanbase to show up. Caden did the math, and told Becca to get Sean on the tickets.

After that, Caden took three orders, two Guinness one lager for the three at the screen, Man U was playing, but they were Chelsea fans. The Merlot and the Chardonnay for the girls at the pool table, and two pints for the couple in the booth, arguing quietly. After that was done, he checked the menu Siobhan suggested for the next three days and changed the soup. It was bound to get warmer again next week, Steff kept on sending out updates about the weather. Once thought of, Caden couldn’t ignore it anymore. He needed a plus one. Steff had been very clear on having a full table. At the last dinner he couldn’t avoid, Richter basically begged him to come, he wouldn’t survive it otherwise, well, last time it was, ‘I swear to God Steve, if anyone of you fuck’s it up I will kill you. All of you. I mean it. It took me six months to set up everything, this is going to be perfect.’ So, if Caden wanted peace for the next five years, he needed a plus one.

Problem was, he didn’t have anyone to take with him. Sunny was coming anyway, but she wanted to stay free to ‘nab whatever fresh meat’s gonna be there’, which Caden didn’t comment on. So, a plus one. Only who? Sunny said he should ask Marla, but Caden didn’t want to ask Marla. Ever since Vicky got herself carted off to A&E, Marla looked at him like he was part of some Greek tragedy. He knew she was waiting for him to explain, but how start that? It was bad enough that she knew Vicky existed. People always got curious once he started, then they wanted to meet her and then the real mess began. Nah, better not. She still gave him those looks though. And frankly, it would be convenient to have her around. She’d be able to keep an eye on Sunny when he wasn’t looking.

It was after her girls came over again. It was like a ritual with them, once, maybe twice a month, Marla asked if she could have a bottle or two of his wines, always offering to pay, which was ridiculous. So he decanted one and left the other on the counter, half an hour later her girls piled into the house. They were the kind you’d expect on a hen night, loud, laughing, wolf-whistling down the street, especially that Theresa. She looked good, they all looked good actually, they kept themselves well, which was nice to see. He got to see some disturbing things these days. Half of them seemed to have forgotten their underwear. He couldn’t count the times he was faced with some girl, pissed through her brain, her tits spilling out onto the counter all naked. Or the other ones who started jumping around and he ended up hoping she at least had a thong on, some drunks were watching a bit too closely. He did keep a look out, but he couldn’t be everywhere all the time and anyway, it really wasn’t any of his business what they wore, as long as the Met didn’t turn up afterwards.

This time the crowd was quiet, there was no match on so it was just the usual Wednesday crowd, easy to deal with, regular, the kind Caden liked most. Coach Lewis dropped by for a couple pints and complained about Bayern Munich again, and Greggs couldn’t stop ranting about his wife, but it was all right, Caden didn’t mind. He just stood by, nodded when he had to, and wiped down the glasses in the back so he didn’t forget them again. It was an easy evening, and luckily, Marla’s girls were out by the time he closed up the place and went up. She was still in the kitchen though, the lights out, candles on the sideboard and the sill. She had a thing with candles. It was strange though, coming up and having her scrub pans in the sink. It felt like something out of a movie he’d probably seen somewhere. Anyway, he helped her with the last, she still had some wine left, so he poured out two glasses, they drank some and he finally asked if she was busy Saturday two weeks from now. She said, ‘Ah… no, I don’t think so, why?’ So he explained. Marla listened, nodding. He wrapped it up with,

‘You don’t have to but – it’s not too bad. It’s just a bit of a party really.’
‘Ok. Is it very – I don’t know – fancy?’

Caden smiled. Fancy didn’t even begin to describe.

‘Steff likes it… just think top hats and cut-aways.’
‘Oh. Ok. Wow. I’ll have to check what I’ve got –’
‘You’ll be fine –’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she smiled suddenly. It always caught him off guard. She had an incredible smile. ‘I’ll get enough help, Theresa’ll make sure of that.’

He liked how easy it was, how he didn’t have to watch out with how he explained it. He needed a plus one to Steff’s second wedding, and thought she’d be good company. Sunny would be there anyway, so they could all show up. Naturally she asked questions, but he could explain most of it without going into too much detail by the time they were done with the wine. She did say,

‘So she’s not really your sister?’
‘We grew up together.’
‘But you’re not related.’
Caden drained his glass and said, ‘No. Definitely not.’

Marla wanted to say something, he knew it, but she stopped herself, finished her wine and said,

‘Ok. I think I should go up, it’s been a long day. Good night.’
‘Night.’

He liked that about her. She really did mind her own business. And she’d stayed much longer in the loft than he expected. Maybe she wasn’t like all the others on the hill, but you never knew really. It could be good for three years, and then suddenly it was all wrong for God knows what reason. He never understood what happened with Ella. From one day to the next, she just got – vicious. Vicky said it was all Steff, dripping poison into her ear ‘like in that play, what’s it called.’ ‘Hamlet.’ ‘Yes, that. Poisoned her brain, that one, you bet your fuckin’ arse on it.’ Caden didn’t know, and it didn’t matter anymore anyway. Ella was history and Steff was getting married, which was two problems solved without much effort.

August 20, 2014May 17, 2020

family

The wide hall was bright, thuds from the punch bags loud in the busy silence. Coach Lewis was giving stern commands to the new kids while twenty men and five women worked the bags and benches, some with their heads hidden in head gear, hands sunk in boxing mitts. Two men were on the mattresses, barefoot in track shorts and shirts, sparring. One held the shields, the second had his hands tied up in mitts, quick with the punches, doubles and triples, the first encouraging earnestly, holding against the punches, instructing him to punch higher, lower, use his left more, keep his weight steady, keep his balance right.

The door opened, there was a short commotion, heads turning, a few low whistles, some murmuring. Coach Lewis shouted, ‘Shut up, all of yer!’ and walked over. Exchanges were made. Coach Lewis nodded earnestly and walked over to the mattresses.

‘Tellis! Tellis! Oi! Tellis!’

The two men finally jumped apart. The one with the sparring shields walked over to the ropes.

‘What?’
‘Someone’s here for yer.’
‘What?’
‘Girl. She’s here for yer. Says it’s urgent.’

Coach Lewis pointed over to the door. There was a girl, no, a woman standing there in heels, coat and umbrella, looking nervous. That looked like Marla. What the fuck was she doing here? Nobody knew he was here, even Sunny had a hard time finding the place. It had to be urgent if she figured it out. And she did look nervous.

Caden climbed down and removed the shields, ignoring the, ‘Oi Tellis, what’s her name?’ and ‘Fuckin’ hell, Tellis, where’ve you been hidin’ that all this time?’ Caden walked over. The closer he came, the more nervous Marla looked. It had to be really bad then.

‘What happened?’
‘What? Oh – Hi. Yes. Sorry. Ahm. I hope I’m not disturbing – ?’
‘What happened?’

She pressed her lips together first, and Caden noticed she was wearing lipstick. She usually didn’t wear lipstick.

‘There was a call. From a hospital. Sunny couldn’t leave, the pub’s packed but –’
‘But what?’
‘They said a Vicky Lawrence is in the –’

Fuck.

‘Where?’
‘What?’
‘Where? Where is she?’
‘I have it here,’ she said, eyes wide, opening her handbag quickly.

It took her ages until she finally found the piece of paper and handed it to him. Caden checked. St George’s. Fuck.

‘Do you know her?’
‘You here with the car?’
‘Um. Yeah. Sunny gave me –’
‘Are you busy now?’
‘What?’
‘Do you need to be anywhere?’
‘I – well – no, I just came home –’
‘I’ll drop you off. That ok?’
‘Of course. Of course that’s ok.’

Caden just nodded and ran to the lockers. Fuck. Again. Why the fuck didn’t she finally stop with the fucking fags? But that was like asking an alcoholic to stop with the drink. It took ages until stopping even registered.

Forty-five minutes later, Caden was in St George’s, walking down the A&E, they never liked it when you ran. The nurse recognised him though and pointed matter-of-factly, ‘Three two seven, love. Should be stable now.’ Caden nodded and walked over. He knocked and waited, nothing happened. He opened the door and walked in. The air wasn’t as stale as he expected. He walked in quietly. She was asleep. There was a drip. No tubes though, which was a relief.

The curtains were still open, late sunlight spilling in, red and grey. Caden stood at the window first and looked out. There was just the street, black with the last rain that splashed all over the windshield, wipers clacking. He’d dropped off Marla right away, she must’ve known it was serious with the way she jumped out of the car, running in those heels to the house. How did women always manage to run in heels? Probably all the practice. He turned and drove on, it was thirty minutes with the rain. It was the nearest hospital to Vicky’s place.

She moved here once he was back, said they had to stick together. He didn’t know how bad it was then, he was just glad to have her around. She was still like she used to be back then, foul-mouthed and good for a laugh, saying fuck in every other sentence. He remembered that first ‘Fuck’ at the Corrigans, the silence, the stares. He hadn’t known it was wrong, everyone was always saying it where he used to be, nobody batted an eye. Then, at dinner, it was there, loud and clear like a pistol shot, and all four stared at him as if he was some kind of monster.

Caden heard a cough and turned. She shifted a little in the bed. She looked so weak, so grey. Her face was no longer full, the wrinkles were no longer laugh lines. He looked back out, it was raining again, the red brick of the buildings opposite a dark kind of bright, the windows white squares of light, or dark, shuttered. Someone told him that was where the outpatients went, or something like that. He’d never been in a hospital after that first time at the Corrigans. Joan dragged him to a full check-up once a year for the first five he was there, eyes, ears, brain, everything, like he might have some unknown bug after all. He didn’t mind the first time, or the second. The other three really weren’t necessary, but there was no talking to Joan once she set her mind .

‘Fuck, kid, is that you?’

Caden turned back to the bed. Her eyes were open now, tired, watery. She was still in there somewhere, he could still see her, but it was getting harder and harder these days. The worse she got, the more he felt some part of him was slipping away.

‘Hi, Vicky.’

She smiled a tired smiled and tried to sit up. Caden went over and helped her, feeling her thin arms, her whole body shaking when she coughed. It sounded much worse than last time.

‘So they did call you.’
‘Of course they did.’
‘I thought you’d be too busy getting famous to come,’ she smiled again, showing her stained teeth.

They used to be white once, he remembered that. That was years ago.

‘Never too famous for you,’ he said and she smiled, ‘Oh, fuck off,’ pleased.
‘So how are things?’ she asked, coughing.
‘Good.’
‘Still haven’t fucked you over yet from what I see,’ she grinned. ‘That posh slut still trying to get your money?’

Caden sighed. Of course.

‘Vicky, Ella’s been history for years.’
‘I’m not talkin’about Ella fuckin’ Smythe, sweetheart. Whatshername, Steff? She still after you like the rabid bitch she is? What? She’s fuckin’ nuts – ’
‘She’s getting married.’
‘Again?’

Caden nodded, Vicky started laughing that hoarse laugh that was just like home.

‘Poor fucker. Who’s it this time?’
‘Steve Richter.’
‘Ain’t that your mate?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Couldn’t get you so she dug her claws into your best mate? Classy.’

There was no point in starting that so he said, ‘How are you?’

‘Fucked, that’s what I am. What? It’s true. I’m a fuckin’ trainwreck. Look at me. All you need now are some fuckin’ cameras and you got a million-dollar show for yourself, so I’d say you start cashin’ in right now. ’

He couldn’t help it, he did smile. Vicky chuckled, pleased, but another cough stopped that.

‘Fuck.’
‘You all right?’
‘No? I’m not fuckin’ all right.’

These days, she could switch from fun to raving in seconds. Caden just waited. She coughed some more then sighed,

‘They want me to stop with the fags. Yeah, yeah, I know, but how’s that supposed to fuckin’ work? I live on the fuckin’ things, the only fun I have left – what?’
‘You really should stop.’
‘For what?’ she snapped bitterly. ‘It’s all I got left. You famous and Dickie off with that fuckin’ Riley slut –’ but she stopped herself, coughed a little and sighed. ‘Sorry, kid. I get carried away these days.’
‘Are you all alone up there again?’
‘I’m ok.’

Caden knew she was lying. Every time she started picking lint off something she was lying, and she was picking something invisible off the sheets. He’d asked her countless times to move in with them, showed her the loft and everything, but all she said was ‘This is way too fuckin’ fancy for me, kid, I’d just stain up the walls.’ Which was true, but at least that way he’d have been able to keep an eye on her. She refused though, but she was close, so he dropped by once a week. If he could. Sometimes he really did forget. She just slipped his mind, like she’d never been. He didn’t mean to, it just happened.

This was probably how people felt when they forgot to call up their Mum. It’s not like you hated her. It was… it was walking up those stairs into that apartment, seeing the dirty dishes piled up in the sink, the empty beer cans and vodka bottles on the table, the stubs spilling out of the ashtray, the TV on some shopping channel again and having one of her neighbours sitting on the sofa with his gut out, shouting, ‘You got any more beer left, luv?’ It was that. And hearing her cough like that. And having to blackmail her to the GP.

Last time she couldn’t pay the rent. She loaned it all to some fuckwit down the hall who never paid it back of course. So she called him up. Promised she’d do anything for this favour. So Caden went over, heard the predictable, idiotic story, and said he’d pay if she went to the GP and got a decent check-up. First she snapped he was ‘a fuckin’ tightarse’, and when he refused to budge, she shouted he was the ‘same sadistic shit’ like all the others. Then she coughed something bad, she hardly got any air. For five seconds he thought she’d suffocate right in front of him, but she finally could breathe again. Once that was over, she collapsed on a chair and cried, ‘I’m such a mess. Why d’you even put up with me?’ He waited until she was done crying and said, ‘Ready?’ She wiped her eyes and nodded and he drove her to the GP, he already got her an appointment, there was no point in asking her to do it herself.

It was that. And having to see her face that was nothing like the one on the pictures he had on the kitchen wall. She used to be so full of life. She used to be this… brightness. Ease. Laughter. By the time he got his acceptance letter, he genuinely looked forward to seeing her again. She was a real breath of fresh air, foul-mouthed, smoking like haystack, downing shots with him at The King’s Head on the high street, laughing loud.

He didn’t want to see her like this, remember her like this, thin and grey, just this side of bitter, coughing so hard he half expected her to literally spit out her lungs. He couldn’t stay away though, he had to come. She was all the family he had left.