Nicholas Royle - Regicide

‘I had a friend who said life is yearning. I didn’t know what he meant at the time but I think I do now.’

‘How come?’

I told her about the map. That wasn’t the whole story, of course, about yearning, but it had become a quest that seemed to represent the way I felt about life.

I told her how I’d found it and verified that the streets belonged to none of the major towns in the country. I tried to explain how I’d decided the map represented a real place despite this, and how I was determined to find it. She listened closely and at no point did she attempt to rationalise the whole business.

‘How will you find it?’ she asked as the waiter hovered. We ordered gulab jamun.

‘There are clues,’ I said. ‘All around us.’ I realised this was the point at which she could either accept what I was saying and go with it or decide I was paranoid and announce she would never see me again.

‘What sort of clues?’

‘People must know about this place,’ I said. ‘Someone lost the map in the first place. So sometimes I see people talking and something about the way they look makes me think they know.’ I spooned a suet ball into my mouth. ‘Have you never sat on your own somewhere and watched other people?’ I continued. ‘And seen two people sharing a joke or talking with serious looks on their faces and wanted — and I mean really wanted — to know what they’re on about?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, that’s all I’m saying. That’s the reality. The rest is metaphor, if you like. It’s all about knowing what they know, slipping into their lives, almost being another person. Have you ever thought how strange it would be to be another person?’

She nodded again, frowning.

‘That’s all it is,’ I said. ‘Knowing what others know. We’re all too isolated. It’d be great to know everything.’

‘I don’t know. I like the mystery.’

‘So do I, though. That’s what it’s all about. Mystery. Not knowing. Wanting to find out. Mystery is a transient thing on its way to knowledge. It’s like a sheet that you’re trying to get at to pull aside. Look,’ I said with a sudden movement backwards. I reached into my back pocket. ‘This is it. This is the map.’ I unfolded it and spread it out on the cloth. ‘What do you think?’

I watched Annie looking at the map, followed her eyes as she examined the streets, the squares, the boulevards.

‘It exists somewhere,’ I said, then the waiter came back and we ordered coffees.

We walked slowly back to Annie’s place, taking short cuts down back entries.

‘I like these places,’ I said. ‘They’re like secret passages.’

Annie laughed. ‘We’re trespassing really,’ she said. ‘It’s only the kids who use them. Grown-ups use the streets. It’s a sort of unwritten law. I use them sometimes because they remind me of being a kid. I like that.’

‘Me too,’ I said. ‘It’s like me and my map. Your childhood is a strange place, like the city in the map. And it’s good, isn’t it? It’s good to go back there. Or make it feel like you’ve gone back.’

‘Do you want to play Scrabble when we get back?’ she asked out of the blue.

I gave her a look.

‘I used to play it when I was a kid,’ she offered with a smile.

‘In that case, yes.’ I said. ‘I like Scrabble.’

I did like Scrabble but I never won.

Annie made a pot of tea and we sat on the floor in her living room.

I got rubbish letters to start but got rid of them in a couple of goes and after ten minutes I had five letters of a seven-letter word. The word was ADVANCE and I needed only the last two letters. In their place I had a useless K and I. So for the next quarter of an hour I scored in single figures, placing only one tile each go while I hoped to pick up the C and the E. Annie laughed at my piddling scores as she raced ahead. I got the E but it took ages to get the C and of course once I’d got the word the board was almost full and there was nowhere to put it. Chasing a fifty-point bonus had lost me the game, as it almost always did.

Game over, we sat back against her huge cushions and our sleepless night caught up with us. Within seconds I was drifting off, dimly aware of Annie’s head resting nearby. I felt very peaceful, extremely relaxed.

We weren’t actually asleep that long, a couple of hours at the most. Annie stirred first and her movement woke me. Her head was inches from mine and I could see her eyes moving and a wisp of hair that had fallen across her mouth rising and falling.

‘Sleep well?’ I said.

‘Mmm.’

I took hold of her hand, which was lying curled up on the cushion next to her head, and she squeezed my hand firmly. Then she turned and was facing me and I looked at her for a moment before leaning forward and kissing her.

We made love slowly, undressing gradually and spending a lot of time just holding on to each other and either just watching or kissing each other softly.

For a short time I felt slightly detached, observing myself while my mind raced off on its own, recording the various sensations, the emotions. Annie’s body welcomed me like a warm scented bath, and as I immersed myself, the foamy water stroked every inch of my skin.

Later we lay in a cushioned embrace whispering silly things to each other. Reluctantly I reached my hand under the cushions, looking for my watch. It was time to go if I was going to catch the last train back to London.

‘You can stay if you want,’ Annie said.

‘Better not,’ I said. I wanted to but I’d made the mistake before of too much too soon. When my mother warned me in my teens that to go too far with a girl too quickly would spoil the relationship in the long run I had never believed her. But experience had taught me she had been right. She usually was.

I got dressed and went to the bathroom. When I came out Annie was walking across the hallway towards me, her hair in her eyes and orange street lighting from the windows catching her hip and the side of her body. My mouth dried. I felt a rush of blood and had to be strong-willed as I enfolded her in my long arms that for once didn’t feel as awkward as the unfastened arms of a straightjacket. I kissed her on top of her head and she caught hold of a handful of my hair and gave it a little tug.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay?’ She pressed close to me.

‘Better not,’ said a part of me that believed in walking away from piles of presents wrapped in shiny paper with the name Carl written on each one. Another part of me was all for staying and never going anywhere ever again. But I knew we’d stand a better chance if I left now and came back again soon.

‘I’ll see you soon,’ I said, kissing her on the lips. ‘Thanks for everything. I’ve had… you know what kind of time I’ve had.’

As she opened the door for me Annie said softly, ‘Have you got your map?’ I patted the back pocket of my jeans and smiled. ‘Good,’ she said, ‘you don’t want to get lost.’ And she kissed me again lightly and locked the door after me.

I sat and waited on the platform at Piccadilly and smoked a cigarette. I walked along to the end of the platform and looked out at all the lines going off into the darkness. I felt a lot closer now after my weekend with Annie, particularly after the last couple of hours. I was beginning to find my way. As I stared into the darkness I saw at its very heart a light, at first just a pinprick, emerging and expanding. Excitement grew in me as the light got bigger and bigger. I waited for it.

Sitting in the first carriage as the train headed back down south through the night, I looked out of the window. No terror dogs tonight; only a row of terraced houses — beyond Stockport but not yet in Macclesfield — all in darkness except for one bright top-floor window washed yellow like a painting with a figure in the centre of the frame waving his arm at the train.