Lucy English - Selfish People

Bailey was not handsome. His face was too long and his ears too big. But he was impressive. For a start he had dark red hair, not ginger, but chestnut red, shoulder length and wavy. He was vain about his hair and was always patting or flicking it. When he played basketball he tied it up with scarves and headbands. The first time Leah met him he said, ‘Yer hair’s almost as thick as mine,’ which she understood later was a compliment. Secondly, Bailey wore odd clothes. Plaid trousers, red shirts, a lime green tracksuit and fluorescent pink cycling shorts. What with his scarves, dangling earrings and all-revealing shorts, the old biddies at the Project stared at him. So did everybody else.

‘Take one,’ he said, pointing to his fags on the low table. Leah did; the smoke made her more dizzy.

‘How’s your training going?’

‘Mega naff.’

‘Have you not been well?’

‘No, I’ve been pissed.’

They sat in silence, their smoke mingling in the tiny sitting room, the children mesmerised by the wrestling Americans.

I should go. I’m an intruder. But I can’t quite believe this, because muddled up with Ian and Rachel and dying and things changing is last Friday …

She was walking home from a particularly boring Project meeting when she saw Bailey. She recognised him immediately: he had a peculiar stiff way of walking as if he were trying to conserve energy.

‘Bailey!’ she called. She expected him to wave back and keep walking, but he didn’t, he crossed the road.

‘Yo! Wotcha!’

‘Friday night, Bailey, you on the town?’

‘Sure am.’ He was wearing his best plain trousers and a bright orange anorak. He let her admire him for some moments. ‘What you been up to then?’

‘Oh God, meetings, meetings, they’re so tedious!’

Bailey laughed. ‘You’re always at meetings.’

‘I know. Somebody’s got to make decisions.’ She turned to go.

‘Come for a drink,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’m off to the Cambridge.’

She was surprised. She saw him frequently but only in a work context. Yet now he looked so friendly and ridiculous and harmless. ‘Yes, why not.’

The Cambridge was on the other side of the park on the main road. It was seedy. Inside, he looked sharply around and went straight to the bar. Leah sat in a corner. The interior was as tacky as the exterior. Smoke-stained wallpaper and plastic-upholstered chairs. A few young men were playing snooker. Apart from the barmaid Leah was the only woman. Everybody stared at Bailey. He wasn’t bothered. He lit a cigarette, inhaled and stretched himself as if he had just landed in paradise. He took a great gulp of his drink. It was Guinness, thick and black, and he wiped the froth off his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Take one.’ He tapped his cigarette packet. She did and sipped her drink, which was white wine.

‘They’re here!’ Bailey jumped up as through the door came two men, one dark haired and tall, the other small and fair.

‘Bailey!’ ‘Yo, Declan! Mike!’ ‘How’s you?’ ‘Pint of Guinness? You buy the next one.’ Bailey and the dark-haired man went to the bar. Bailey’s laugh could be heard right through the pub. The small man sat down.

‘How do you do. I’m Declan.’

‘I’m Leah, I work with Bailey.’

‘He has mentioned you.’ He smiled. He had a soft public school voice. He wasn’t much taller than Leah. His hair stuck up like an unbrushed schoolboy’s. He leaned close: ‘Is he dreadful to work with?’

‘He’s shocking, he never does what he’s told.’ Across Declan’s nose were tiny freckles. Mike joined them. Bailey was at the jukebox pronouncing every record ‘mega naff’.

‘He does this every time,’ said Declan and drank nearly half his Guinness in one go. ‘Mike’s from Birmingham.’

‘Don’t tell her that!’ yelled Bailey. ‘Never say you come from Birmingham.’

‘Well, what can I say – he’s from Guildford?’

Bailey roared, ‘Never! Guildford? Never say you’re from Birmingham or Guildford!’

‘Actually … I don’t live there now,’ said Mike.

‘Where do you live?’ Bailey was on his third pint.

‘I’ve just moved to Milton Keynes …’

‘Milton Keynes?’ Bailey and Declan were almost choking. Mike might have been good looking if he hadn’t had such a hesitant manner. He had large brown eyes, which made him seem rabbit-like. He also appeared stunned as if he had been subjected to a week-long trauma.

‘He’s staying with us,’ said Declan with a cute smile.

‘You buy the next one,’ said Bailey.

‘And what do you do?’ Mike asked Leah. Bailey’s choice of music was making conversation difficult.

‘She’s my boss!’ Bailey’s voice could be heard above anything.

Several drinks later Leah had learned very little about Declan and Mike except that Mike never rode scooters, never ever and Declan taught delinquents how to be louts. Mike had become silent and only his drink was keeping him alert. Bailey and Declan had downed at least six pints. There was talk of a party.

‘So how do we get there?’ said Leah, who had no intention of going.

‘On Mike’s scooter!’ shouted Bailey.

The landlord started sweeping up and giving them threatening glances. Eventually they stumbled out. They were the last to leave. Declan and Mike untangled their bicycles. Bailey yawned.

‘Where’s this party then? William Street? Gwilliam Street?’

It occurred to Leah that Al didn’t know where she was. ‘I think I’d better go,’ she said.

‘No, don’t do that,’ said Bailey. Declan and Mike were trying to mount their bikes. ‘We’ll see you there.’ They watched them wobble up the street. Bailey and Leah stayed outside the pub. Inside the lights were being switched off one by one.

‘I don’t fancy a party,’ said Bailey, yawning again. ‘Coffee at my place?’

It’s nearly midnight. Al will be in bed . ‘Yes,’ she said.

They went up the hill to the Wells Road. Leah had to run to keep up with Bailey. This made him laugh; he was extremely fit. ‘This way!’ And he pulled her across the road and into the sloping streets of Totterdown. Terraced houses skidded down the hill off narrow uneven pavements. There were few street lights. They passed an area of bushy wilderness and on the top of it was a row of houses. ‘Up there,’ said Bailey, pointing, and they turned into a street so steep Leah gasped.

‘I run up here every morning,’ said Bailey.

When they reached his house she was only too glad to sit down. He didn’t. He tidied up magazines and emptied ashtrays. ‘Do you like this room?’

‘It’s lovely,’ she said, and it was, it was blue and peaceful apart from Bailey standing there patting his hair.

‘I’ll show you the rest. I helped Declan choose the colours. That’s the kitchen. That’s the back room, but we haven’t done that yet. Come and see my room.’ He bounded upstairs.

Perhaps I shouldn’t visit strange men’s bedrooms . He was standing in the doorway holding the door open for her.

Bailey’s room was large and blue, a sea-greeny blue. There were at least eight plants, big ones, and pictures all over the walls. Paintings of unicorns and other, winged creatures.

‘Did you do these?’ asked Leah. She didn’t think of him as an artist.

‘They’re my dreams,’ said Bailey. She wanted to look at them longer. On the floor were crystals, dried flowers in vases and an enormous double bed.

‘Tea or coffee?’ said Bailey.

They sat downstairs. Bailey slurped out of a huge cup, smoked two cigarettes in a row, put on some music, didn’t like it, went through all his tapes and eventually chose some band he knew from France, who were ‘mega brilliant and nobody has heard of them’. Fortunately he didn’t turn it up loud. He sat next to Leah. She wasn’t drunk, but she was in that odd state where she didn’t care what time it was or what was happening.