Chapter 18 #2
‘So. Let me get this straight. You haven’t worked for nearly a year. You live at home with your mum. You’ve got no friends and you never go out.’
‘Yup.’
‘Christ. That’s tragic. That’s one of the most tragic things I’ve ever heard. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘Twenty-five. Jesus – what would I give to be twenty-five again. You wait – one day you’ll be my age – thirty-six – and you’ll be wondering what the fuck happened to your youth, where’d it go.
Can I tell you the worst thing about getting old, Ana?
They try and make out that ageing is all about gain – gaining experience, wisdom, happiness, all that.
They’re lying. All getting older is about is loss.
Losing things. Losing your hair, your figure, your looks.
Losing your sight. Losing your hearing. Losing your mother, losing your father.
Losing time to experience things. Losing touch with people, losing your mind.
And the worst thing of all – losing memories.
The more time you’ve got to look back on, the less you remember.
Whole days, weeks, months that you have no recollection of.
People you’ve spent entire days with, worked with for months, slept with, partied with …
Fuck, Ana. You should be living life. Not wasting your youth.
You’ll regret it one day, you really will … ’
Ana smiled tightly and to Flint’s horror her eyes suddenly filled up with tears. She cleared her throat and looked away abruptly.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a hard time, really I didn’t.
It’s just – people not making the most of what they’ve got – it annoys me.
It winds me up. I don’t believe in God, Ana, in the bible, but if there was to be one commandment from on high, it should be that – Thou Shalt Make the Most of What Thou Hast.’
‘Oh yeah. And what exactly have I got to make the most of?’
‘Do you want me to make you a list?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK, then. OK. Youth.’
‘Not all it’s cracked up to be.’
‘Beauty.’
‘Yeah. Right.’
‘What – you don’t think you’re beautiful?’
‘Er, no? Not even slightly.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s my nose …’
‘You don’t like your nose?’
‘No – I hate it. Look.’ She turned round sideways to show Flint her profile. ‘I look like a … a buzzard or something. It’s like a beak. It’s disgusting.’
Flint shook his head and laughed. ‘Women! Jesus. What are you like? Well – for what it’s worth, I think it’s a very beautiful nose. It’s elegant. Regal. Dignified. It’s like you.’ She blushed. Vividly.
‘And, of course,’ Ana continued, ‘there’s the fact that I look like a giant coat-stand.’
‘You mean you don’t like being tall?’
‘Well, it’s not so much the tallness as the tallness combined with the thinness.’
‘Jesus,’ said Flint, ‘did you know that London is literally bursting at the seams with women who would sell their lungs to have your figure?’
‘Yeah. Sure.’
‘No. Really. For a hell of a lot of women, your shape is an absolute ideal.’
‘But that’s ridiculous. Why?’
Flint shrugged. ‘Because that’s what models look like, I suppose, and some actresses.’
Ana looked unconvinced. ‘So. Carry on. Other things to make the most of …’
‘Your freedom.’
‘I haven’t got freedom.’
‘Of course you have.’
‘I haven’t. My mother has my freedom.’
‘Oh yeah. And what does she do with it?’
‘She keeps it in a little box under the stairs.’ She smiled wryly.
‘Your mother sounds like a bit of a nightmare, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘She is.’
‘So why d’you stay?’
She shrugged. ‘Because she needs me.’
Flint took a deep breath. ‘Are you sure it’s not because you need her?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Ana’s eyes boggled.
‘To hide behind.’
‘I don’t get your point.’
‘I mean – are you sure that you don’t just use your mother’s agoraphobia as an excuse to keep away from the real world? Because you can’t deal with it?’
‘Jesus,’ said Ana, ‘what is this? The Anthony Clare Show?’
‘No. It’s what your sister used to say about you, actually.’
‘What – Bee?’
‘Uh-huh. She was very concerned about you.’
‘You are joking, right?’
Flint shook his head.
‘Jesus,’ said Ana, ‘ever since I got here, all I’ve heard is how great Bee thought I was.’
‘Well – she did.’
‘But she didn’t even know me.’
‘She knew enough. And she lived with your mother, too, remember.’
‘Yeah, but – she had no idea about anything else – she didn’t know about Hugh and my job and my life.’
‘No,’ said Flint, plainly, ‘she didn’t. But she knew what it was like to lose a father and she knew what it was like to live with your mother and she knew what you were like. You know those meetings you all used to have, in Bristol and places like that?’
‘Yeah?’
‘She used to come back in tears sometimes. Usually because of your mother. But other times because she was sad about you. She said you were like this pale, beautiful little ghost, that she just wanted to pick you up and stick you under her arm and take you back to London with her. And she said she felt really bad because she never knew what to say to you, how to talk to you. She wasn’t the most maternal of people, but she always had this huge soft spot for you. ’
‘Huh – well – you could have fooled me. She didn’t even use to look at me unless it was to take the piss.
’ She was looking at her watch again. ‘Oh look,’ she said, ‘it’s seven o’clock.
That pizza place will be open now. We should get back.
Lol’ll be starving.’ She already had her rucksack on her lap, the conversation was over. For now.
They finished their drinks, picked up their crash helmets and headed for the pizzeria.