Chapter Three
When I went over to the workshop the following day, Jason was finishing off stretching a portrait of David Beckham across the front end of a Deltic diesel.
‘Kettle’s on.’ He didn’t even look at me, just hung from his ladder and welded another wire through the footballer’s face. Poor Mr Beckham now looked as though he had a case of ferrous acne, and even the engine wasn’t coming out of it well, but this was the sort of thing Jason did. And sold. Made you wonder about art, sometimes.
‘Thanks.’
‘Oh, and you got an e-mail. Two sugars.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t go through my mails, Jase. They might be private.’
Jason hooked a leg around a strut for stability and looked thoughtful. ‘Right. So your secret lover is going to communicate by e-mail? Not very romantic.’
‘Yes, Jason,’ I said pointedly. ‘And with you being such a romantic, and all, you feel able to comment.’ I made the coffee, but to punish him didn’t put any sugar in.
Jason gave me his best Johnny Depp look, lowering his head and peeping out from under his eyelashes.
‘Aw, come on, babe.’ He slid down the ladder and landed at my feet. ‘It was only the once!’
‘Taking a girl to see Hot Fuzz and then dumping her by text because she didn’t laugh? Believe me, Jase, it only needed to be the once.’
Jason took a huge swig of his coffee then made a series of faces which were an artwork in their own right. ‘Jem, you trying to kill me, babe, or what?’
‘By text , Jason,’ I said sternly. ‘It’s never acceptable.’
‘You sold something.’
‘It’s like being dumped by Post-It. I . . . what ?’
‘Some guy mailed to say he’d sold your buckle? Now, presuming that’s not kinda slang for having nailed you last night, which, babe, ain’t happened since I’ve known ya and I’m thinking you’ve fossilised down there . . .’
‘You are such a pain, Jase.’ I elbowed him out of the way and ran through to the office where we kept the computer. Jason liked his appliances like he liked his women so it was slim and sexy. And very, very slow. He didn’t like to be intellectually challenged by his girlfriends, he said, but still managed to swim in an enormous dating pool. Mind you, he normally went out with supermodels, so, there you go. ‘It must be from Ben. The guy I left the big buckle with yesterday? My only hope? I told you last night, remember.’
‘Oh, right.’ He hovered behind me as I logged on. ‘The guy in the tiny shop, with no customers, who sold guitars. Yeah. Sounds a real possibility.’
I ignored him and opened my in-box. There amid the offers and deals was one from [email protected].
Dear Jemima
I’m glad to say that I sold your belt buckle this morning. So, if you’d like to drop by with some more of your work I would be delighted to stock it.
Best regards, Benedict Davies
------------
Davies Guitars — Bessel Street — York. For all your musical needs
‘“Best Regards”! Bloody Nora, Jem! ’E talks like my dad!’
‘It is meant to be a business e-mail, not like you’d know. The only e-mails you get hold the world record for the number of times you can mention sex in a subject line.’
‘Jemima! Jason!’ It was Rosie calling from the front. ‘Are you in?’
‘Hi, Rosie.’ I popped out of the office. ‘What’s up?’
‘Saskia just rang.’ Rosie was slightly out of breath. She wasn’t going to take up going to the gym again until her stomach stopped needing its own postcode. ‘She’s doubled my order.’
‘Wow.’
‘Yes. But she wants it by next weekend. So I wondered . . . would you mind Harry for me? Just for today, to let me make a start?’
And, sure enough, parked in the doorway was the pram. ‘I assume he’s in there.’ Jason eyed up the changing bag and advanced on the pram with the gormless grin he always adopted when Harry was around. Whatever his faults may be, and there were earthquake zones with less faults than Jason, he doted on the baby. ‘You didn’t just bring the transport to, like, ease us in gently.’
‘I don’t know what else to do!’ And Rosie suddenly had tears overflowing. ‘I can’t work with him there, I can’t! He cries and I have to hold him, it’s the only thing that stops him! And I can’t do the cards with one hand!’
Jason was instantly all sympathy. Well, mostly sympathy, some of him was solder and rust. ‘Course we’ll have him, won’t we, Jem? He’s a lovely little lad, no trouble at all.’ And then, as soon as Rosie had gone, ‘Can you take him, Jem? Only I gotta get Mr Beckham good to go.’
‘But I need to get to York and drop some more pieces off!’
‘You took Harry with you yesterday. Mr Stick-up-his-arse didn’t complain did he?’
‘No, but . . .’
‘I mean, he could stay here but, you know, the glue and everything. Don’t want to turn out the world’s youngest solvent addict.’
‘All right. The guy is weird, at least if I take Harry I could use the pram as a weapon.’
Jason paused, half way back up the ladder. ‘He’s not, like, some kinda psycho, is he?’
‘He . . . what?’
‘Or is he that kinda weird that you girls like, that mean and moody thing?’
‘Wouldn’t know. I’m not interested in him , I just want someone to sell my pieces.’
Jason looked at me out of one eye. ‘So, guess you don’t care if he’s, like, some mass-murderer or something. You want me to come looking if you’re not back by teatime, or are you gonna find that whole loony-tune thing attractive? Eh, Jem, is that what turns you on, that why you’ve not been with anyone? You waiting for some guy that nails bunnies to the wall to get your jollies with?’
I looked at Jason, who was wearing a Railway World T shirt under a set of grubby and frayed overalls, huge leather boots and enormous gauntlets. ‘Any man that can out-weird you, Jase, is probably gibbering in a locked ward.’ I seized the pram handle. ‘And I don’t want jollies, thanks very much. Just business.’
His snorting laugh followed me right the way across the rough patch of paddock that we liked to call lawn.
* * *
Harry and I, Harry’s pram, changing bag, bottles, fluffy toy and spare nappies, got onto the bus to town. It took a while, with me holding everyone up while I tried to get the pram to fit into the space provided and find the brake pedal to prevent Harry suddenly vanishing down the aisle. Today Harry was resplendent in a crimson fleecy jacket like ‘Little Red Riding Hood, The Early Years’. He sat in state, propped up by pillows, his chubby cheeks wobbling as the bus passed over the speed humps on its way into the town centre.
When we got off the bus next to the art gallery, Harry and I looked at one another.
‘Right.’ I tilted the pram so that I could fix him with a steely glare. ‘Please keep your bodily fluids to yourself young man. I’ve got business to discuss.’
And I wanted a proper look at the skinny bloke. Yesterday’s exploding baby incident, combined with the stress of needing to sell my stuff, had meant that I’d been left with the impression of a skeleton wearing hair and a pair of desperate eyes.
This time I wasn’t quite as accurate getting Harry down the alleyway and sparks flew as we scraped our way along the brickwork into the yard. Once there the traffic sounds were muted by the buildings. A couple of hanging baskets trailed the smell of rose and honey through the dusty sunshine and a small ginger cat poked its head out from behind a dustbin. It was like a postcard of somewhere in Greece, with the white-painted buildings and the glossy flowers, the black railings with a bike tethered to it and the bench seat. Even the two small shops had a continental look, low roofed with eaves that sloped down to hide the doors in shadow. Having Harry sitting in the middle of it, slightly stained in his scratched pram, definitely lowered the tone.
Until Ben Davies walked out of his shop doorway, that is.
He was coming backwards at me down the step, shouting to someone inside. ‘And I’m telling you , I will not sign!’ today wearing a pale grey shirt and faded old jeans. He stuttered onto the cobbles of the yard and swivelled on his heel, which brought him face-to-face with me, at which point he closed his eyes. ‘Oh, God,’ he said with emphasis. ‘Just when I thought I was getting the hang of today.’
‘Well, sorry.’ I wasn’t at all and I think my lack of regret might have bled into my expression. ‘I thought I’d better bring the rest of my stuff over. Since you sold the buckle.’
Ben opened his eyes slowly. ‘Ah, yes, of course. I sold the buckle so you’ve immediately assumed that I’d be able to stock the rest of your collection, which you no doubt have somewhere about your person.’ A quick look at Harry. ‘Or his. What do you do, make him sit on everything like a drug smuggler? Nappy stuffed with crystal, is it?’
In the doorway to the shop a man appeared. He waved a hand in Ben’s direction.
‘I think your friendly neighbourhood lawyer wants another word,’ I said.
‘What?’ Ben blinked rapidly at me.
‘The man in your shop. I presume he must be a lawyer, or legal in some capacity if he’s got something he wants you to sign. Anyway, he’s wearing a suit.’
‘Impeccable logic there. Wearing a suit, must be a lawyer. What do you do for an encore, tell people their birth-sign?’
Harry made a gurgling noise as though someone had pulled his plug out. ‘I suppose he could be a Man-In-Black.’ I looked at the besuited and bespectacled figure. ‘Seen any good UFOs lately?’
‘I don’t want to talk to him.’ Ben said tightly. There were tiny lines of stress round his mouth. ‘I’ve said everything I’m going to.’
‘OK, well, looks like he’s got other ideas. He’s coming over,’ I just had chance to say before Ben Davies leaned in, grabbed me by the shoulders and began kissing me.
I didn’t see it coming and I panicked. His claustrophobic closeness, the touch of his mouth on mine; it called to mind memories I’d thought I’d buried, making them rise like dead things surfacing in a lake. I could taste him, a sweet muskiness against my tongue, smell the scent of coconut from his hair. My breath caught, my stomach leaped and I tried to move away but the pram handle was caught between our bodies. It dug into my middle, causing our joint movements to rock Harry dangerously from side to side so I had to stand still or risk tipping him out. Just as I was about to grab Ben’s ears and lever him away from my face he moved back half a step, looked deep into my eyes and whispered:
‘Has he gone?’
My breathing stammered in my throat. My heart was attempting to hijack my ribcage, driving my lungs into uselessness. ‘Urrgh,’ was all I could manage to say.
Ben half turned away until he could see the man still standing on the steps of the shop. ‘ Shit .’ His whisper licked against my skin, raised goosebumps and turned my stomach to water. ‘He’s just standing there, staring. Look I’m really sorry about this, but . . .’ The mouth came down again, but this time it was more gentle and deferential, although his stubble grazed my skin and there was a gap between our bodies that would have given the lie to the situation had anyone come close enough to look.
This time I was stunned enough to stay still. And despite . . . well, despite everything, I felt the tiniest tingle inside.
‘Now?’
I answered like a robot. ‘Yes. He’s gone.’
Ben let me go and stepped away. He blew out a long sigh and combed through his hair with his fingers. ‘He’ll be off to write a report. Great.’ His voice was bitter enough to make his mouth twist. ‘Still, I’ve bought myself some time. Thanks for that, by the way.’
I breathed out, hard, and wiped my hand across my mouth. Forced myself to relax. It was over. ‘Don’t mention it.’
‘Is that all you have to say? “Don’t mention it”?’
‘Well, hold on just a second, I’ll go and look it up in my little book of things to say when some tosser kisses you uninvited, shall I? Oh yes, here we are.’ And I slapped him across the face. Not very hard, I still wanted him to stock my jewellery after all, but hard enough to let him know that I was angry. ‘There. Or would you prefer my original answer?’
Ben stared at me for a second, putting his hand to his slapped cheek as though he couldn’t believe what I’d done. Then, with a kind of snapping shut movement like a swatted insect he folded down to sit on the shop step, where he hunched himself forward over his knees and began to laugh.
I watched for a few seconds. ‘You are weird, you are,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry.’ Ben’s voice was muffled. ‘I’m just . . . things are crazy right now.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘You’re the first girl who’s ever slapped me like that. I’m not used to it.’
‘Well, with you being God’s gift and all, I’m not surprised.’
He looked up into my face and the laughs seemed to die in his throat. ‘You really are upset, aren’t you? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to compromise you or anything.’
‘Compromise me? How? You haven’t got photographers up on the roofs have you? Waiting to sell pictures of some back-street guitar dealer having a furtive snog? I don’t think even Hello are that desperate.’ Yes. We’d put my expression down to my being disturbed at being kissed by a man I hardly knew. That was easiest.
‘Shows what you know.’ Ben stood up again. ‘Anyway, I meant with his father.’ He nodded towards Harry. ‘You can tell your — boyfriend, is it? — that it was only to get rid of Dr Michaels. I was just sick of talking to him today and I needed an excuse to get out of the conversation.’
‘Firstly, I resent the implication that I’d have to go and blab to any significant other that I got conjugated by a freak up an alleyway and secondly, do I really look like someone who gave birth eight weeks ago?’ I indicated myself. Today I was wearing an old pair of black jeans and a little satin and velvet top, which totally failed to disguise my lack of post-natality. ‘Wouldn’t I be all — you know, bouncy and stuff?’
Ben looked from me to Harry, then back again. ‘What do you do then, rent him by the day?’
I gave a deep sigh. ‘Look. I’ve brought my stuff over for you to put on display. If it isn’t too much trouble. That’s all.’
Ben leaned against the shop. The sun shining on his scruffiness didn’t do him any favours, although it did make his hair shine. ‘No, I’m intrigued now. This peculiar, bossy woman comes to my place and appears to be pushing around a stolen baby. You’ve got to admit it catches at the curiosity.’
I opened and closed my mouth a few times.
‘Ah, right, now you’re speechless.’
‘I’m not speechless,’ I protested. ‘I’m just trying not to bite you. Do you have any idea of how unpleasant you are?’
He tilted his head to one side. ‘Using what scale?’
‘How the hell do you ever actually sell anything? Do you glare at people and mutter until they feel they have to buy something just to avoid the Evil Eye? Because you’re not exactly Mr Winning Personality in the salesman stakes, you know.’
Ben gave a tiny shake of his head. ‘Could I just have a recap — who was it that was weird, again? Because I’m beginning to feel that I’m being seriously outclassed.’
I bit my tongue, hard. Me being arrested for killing someone (provocation or not) was the sort of thing Saskia would trumpet about until the end of the world. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I just want to know whether you’re interested in stocking the rest of my jewellery.’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, did I slip into Latvian or something? Yes. Y.E.S. I’ll stock your stuff.’
I opened my mouth a couple of times but the thought-gears wouldn’t mesh. ‘Oh.’
‘Drop it in the shop, would you? I’ve got to go out for a bit, be back this afternoon, so if you could lock up and post the keys through the box.’ Self-preservation cut in just in time for me to snatch the keys out of the air before they hit me on the head. ‘Cheers.’ And Ben turned and sauntered out of the alleyway, walking slowly enough for me to notice the quite spectacular tightness of his jeans, as he headed towards the main road.
‘Baaawaaaah,’ said Harry, succinctly.
* * *
22nd April
Weather — who cares? Opened the shop, no business, thought of calling an ad through to the paper but — really? Who needs it.
Okay, yeah, you got me. I kissed her. But only to embarrass you out of doing another ‘you have to come to terms with things’ monologue. And she’s cute, so shoot me, all this celibacy does things to a guy, you know? While I was kissing her — I just wanted a moment, a little fantasy that things were fine. That I was fine. And for that minute, that one sweet minute when she was still and quiet, I could feel her heart, taste her breath, it was like I was real, like I came into existence just for that.
Hell, she was scared though. I could see her pulse going in her neck like she’d got a rabbit kicking under her skin, and I wish I knew what made her freak like that. I mean — Jesus, I’m not exactly Mister Scary, am I? A six-foot-streak-of-piss. But she recovered well, give her that. Slapped my face and called me unpleasant. It was great.
And there’s something about Jemima. Something that seems to look through me, makes me twitchy, to tell you the truth. Truth-telling, something I don’t do too much of now, doc, you probably noticed that, yeah?
I’m guessing that’s what this little exercise is all about. Making me keep a diary, the one place I can be really honest — good thinking. From your perspective. Me? I think honesty was one of those things that died, crawling on the back of comprehension and lucidity. Now I’m hanging in there and things like today make me realise how far I am from having a normal life. Funny, that one kiss from a reluctant stranger can make me see . . .