Кен Бруен - A Fifth of Bruen - Early Fiction of Ken Bruen

“You know Stephen, I have quite a healthy nest egg put by.”

“That’s good, Mother. Nice to sleep easy at night.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking. A young man ought to have his own pad... a bachelor pad... in a nice area.”

“Pad... Jesus wept... Have you been mixing with beatniks or something? Jack Kerouac will never be dead.”

“Really Stephen, you talk so strange. Anyway, where was I?”

“You were thinking... As Sundance said to Butch, ‘Keep thinking Butch, it’s what you’re good at.’ As I recall the Mexican army was just about to punch their tickets.”

“Do stop interrupting... What I had in mind was £25,000 to secure down payment on a good single man’s apartment.”

“Ah, right, this... this inducement is open only to a continuing bachelor.”

“Tut tut, Stephen, as if I’d bribe my own son. Really, the very idea of it... it’s just that were you to marry at this moment in time, I’d be unable to disturb the nest egg.”

Stephen knew exactly how to respond. How you’d tell someone you behaved. Naturally, you leapt to your feet... spluttering... bristling with indignation. He was especially fond of the bristle. The old splutter wasn’t too bad either. You cried,

“How dare you attempt to bribe me... the effrontery to think for a minute I could be bought. This is the woman I love. I’ll thank you never to mention her name again. The cheque hasn’t been written, etc... However, if you didn’t intend telling anyone.”

Stephen rose, looked squarely at his mother and said,

“When might I have this money?”

Three weeks later, he and Nina were married. Mrs. Beck, Senior, was not among those in attendance. Peter Ustinov said that parents were the bones on which children sharpen their teeth. Stephen would dearly have loved to introduce his mother to him. See what he’d write then.

NINA

Stephen met her his first year at college. Just over 5 foot, she had the English pretty face that disintegrates into plainness. Inclined to plumpness, she lived from diet to tortured diet. Her quietness attracted him. She had a sporadic humour that time would sharpen.

Mrs. Beck disliked her instantly and showed it. Nina studied English Lit. and did a further year’s training as a Teacher of English as a Foreign Language. On graduation, Stephen proposed and she said “No.” She wanted to travel, and Stephen... he said,

“I want to stall.”

“You’ve stalled enough, Steve, time to get moving.”

“I’m serious Nina... I want to run a market stall.”

“Whatever else you might be Steve, alas, serious isn’t one of them.”

Mrs. Beck was delighted.

“You’re well rid of that wan. Mark my words, she’ll end up working for the poor in Calcutta.”

“She’s a teacher for God’s sake.”

“Wait and see. The likes of that wan ease their guilt by highlighting everyone else’s.”

“Mother, that might even be profound were it not so vicious. As it is, it’s plain vicious.”

“And Nina is a professional depressive. She works at it...”

Stephen got his stall and then the years blended into casual encounters, the pub and banality.

The night of his 33rd birthday, he invited some of the market traders for a drink. On the other side of five vodkas, the good side, he said aloud,

“Fuck, how did I get to 33? I turned my head for an instant when I was 19... and bang... I’m over 30... from nowhere.”

“Your language hasn’t improved.”

First he didn’t recognise her... she had glasses, the plumpness was gone. A leanness now and her hair cut short.

“So,” she asked, “did you miss me?”

“What do you think.”

“I think you might buy me a drink.”

He did, and six months later, they married. The twenty-five grand he lodged in a new account. Martin was best man. A rich one. He’d asked,

“Do you love her?”

“No.”

“At all?”

“I’m not even sure I like her.”

“Well Steve-o, I hate to be obvious, but why did you decide to marry?”

“She’s pregnant.”

“Steve... this is the ’80s, buddy. No one does the decent thing. You fuck off, it’s almost mandatory.”

“I like to be awkward.”

“From your lips to God’s ear.”

“I don’t think God listens a whole lot anymore, Martin.”

“Let’s hope he isn’t today.”

The baby came, a girl, and turned Stephen’s world. He expected he’d like the child... well, it was natural. He intended to provide for her. But he never expected to be involved. The day of her birth, they handed the baby to him. He had the appropriate responses prepared,

“Oh gee... wow... I’m amazed.”

And then?

And then what you did was go to the pub and get legless. “Wet the baby’s head,” total strangers bought you buckets of it. He liked that scenario.

Ideally, you’d have contact with the baby when she was four and cute and most of all... behaved. All the leaky parts you left to the mother. Guys don’t know about that stuff.

From the moment he held her, looked at her, he was taken. His heart felt kicked. The pub was forgotten. In the weeks after, he was the one to wash, feed, change and comfort. Nina went back to work, his stall went to the dogs. A love beyond him had altered the world. For 6 months, he lived in her tiny shadow.

Almost the caricature of the doting father. If a stranger asked him the time, he’d show her photo first. His local pub had her framed next to Lady Di. That he was tiptoeing on the lunacy of obsession fazed him not at all.

“You love that child too much.”

“How can you love too much?” he asked... I wish I’d had that problem myself!

He bought a video to check out the range of children’s cartoons and found he loved Lady and the Tramp . The day she’d watch with him was a source of joy in purity. Even Sesame Street had become unmissable.

When he was checking through brochures for schools, Nina sat before him.

“What are you doing Stephen?”

“Schools. I want to be sure they’re the best.”

“That’s nice... Do you think the market stall will pay for them? What? You’ll sell a few extra Korean watches and pay for a term, is that it... is that the master plan? Bearing in mind you haven’t tended the stall for six months. ‘If I might plan a little,’ that’s bloody rich, in fact... it’s priceless.”

Nina, this may be the best time of all to tell you. I have money. A whole bundle of it, and I think you’ll appreciate the irony .

He told her... Then added,

“£25,000, are you delighted?”

“You’re a piece of work Stephen, a real one off. You thought I’d be pleased... you... you fuckin’ moron... As if I’d touch a penny of that... or let my daughter be smeared with it.”

“Our daughter... Jesus Nina, come on... Money has no conscience, it doesn’t care.”

“I care... I bloody care, how dare you sell me?”

“What?”

“You like surprises... well, here’s one for you. I got the job in Brussels and I leave in a week.”

“Brussels, what job, you never said.”

“No Stephen, you never listened...”

“But the baby, how will you be able to leave her?”

“I don’t intend to.”

“What, you think I’ll go to Brussels?”

“I don’t want you to come.”

Slowly he began to comprehend what was happening.

“You’re leaving me?”

“That’s right... you’ll miss me, is that it? You haven’t touched me since the baby came.”

He floundered, felt it all slide... in desperation tried...

“The market, that’s it, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I’ll do something else... use my degree.”

“Worry... I’m not worried Stephen. I now know the market is where you belong. You can feel superior and still have street cred... ‘Oh, I could do anything I wanted’ — wise-up. You’ve risen to the level of your arrogant incompetence. Poverty is still a romantic notion for you. Well not for me. I was raised with it, the smell and feel of it... no toilet, six in a bed, third-hand clothes. You’re worse than a loser Stephen... You just never showed up.”