Lucy English - Selfish People

‘How long have you been married?’ said Bailey.

‘Ten years.’

He laughed. ‘I’ve never done anything for ten years! But I’ve been a cook, taught English in France and managed a band.’

‘And now you’re on to sports.’

‘But this is permanent.’ He was dead serious. She didn’t contradict him.

‘Well, you must be busy, what with your kids and all?’

‘I do far too much. Work. Husband. Children.’ She looked at him. In one ear he wore an earring with the sun and moon dangling off it. Then, she didn’t know why she asked it, she said, ‘Bailey, have you got any children?’

He went very quiet and spread out his fingers. ‘Yes, I’ve got a little girl in France.’

‘In France? Do you see her?’

He patted his hair. ‘No, not really. I lived there for a while. Things started to go wrong and I left.’

‘What, just like that?’

‘Just like that,’ said Bailey. He took a picture out of a drawer and showed it to her. A little girl of about four with Bailey’s long face and big ears. Leah almost felt like saying, poor little thing.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘She’s called Ghislaine.’

They were now sitting quite close together on the sofa and she was looking into his eyes. What a strange colour they are, a greeny greeny blue, and you smell sweet as if you rub yourself all over with aromatic oil . ‘Bailey, have you got a girlfriend?’

‘No. Have you got a boyfriend?’

‘Don’t be silly, you know I’m married.’

‘Why should that stop you –’ Then the front door crashed open. It was Declan tripping over his bike in the hall. He was completely drunk. Bailey hauled him into the sitting room. ‘Where’s Mike?’

‘God … who? I think he’s lost.’

‘I’d better make some tea then,’ said Bailey.

‘Was it a good party?’ asked Leah. Declan had collapsed on the sofa. ‘Awful.’ He grinned at the ceiling. ‘And you … enjoying yourself?’

‘I’m having the time of my life.’

‘Oh good … and what music is this?’

‘An unknown band of Bailey’s.’

‘It’s … terrible.’ He eased himself to the deck, stopped the music abruptly and began looking through the tapes. ‘This –’ he held up an Andy Sheppard tape – ‘is better … my friend gave it to me … and now –’ he was saying each word slowly as if in an elocution lesson – ‘he is dying, he might be dead now and he gave it to me, my best friend.’

‘Are you sure you want to listen to it?’

‘Absolutely.’ He put it on. It took him ages. He sat next to Leah and the music began.

‘I’m sorry to hear about your friend,’ said Leah.

‘It happens … we all die … one day … everything dies …’

Bailey brought in the tea tray. He looked critically at Declan and slammed the tray on the table. ‘I’m not listening to this jazzy crap!’

‘Everything dies, Bailey.’

‘Not right now it bloody doesn’t. Drink yer tea!’

Declan sipped his grumpily. ‘I think there’s wine in the fridge.’ They started arguing about the tape and eventually settled for reggae. Bailey danced at one end of the room. Leah and Declan watched him. He danced awkwardly, but it was fascinating, he was so serious.

‘He practises in front of the mirror,’ whispered Declan.

Someone was knocking on the door. It was Mike with a taxi and no money.

‘Where’s your bike?’ shouted Bailey. ‘Where’s your scooter?’

‘Oh Christ,’ said Mike. Declan found a fiver for the taxi man.

‘Where’s your bike, Mike?’ yelled Bailey.

‘I need a drink.’ Mike held his head. Bailey got the wine and glasses, which were like brandy glasses.

‘I have to go soon,’ said Leah.

‘No, not yet,’ said Bailey. She drank the wine. It was thick and red. Mike began rolling joints. Bailey turned the music up. Declan started rolling joints and soon the room was a Turkish bath of dope smoke.

‘I really ought to go,’ said Leah but she couldn’t move.

‘Have you noticed …’ began Declan, ‘about filo pastry … sometimes it’s much more … Greek than other times?’

‘What?’ said Mike.

‘It’s important … the Greekness of it … the essential Greekness.’

‘It’s mega important,’ said Bailey.

‘What is?’ said Mike.

‘All of it, right through to the last crumb, the last flake.’

‘It’s mega flaky,’ said Bailey, drinking all his wine and starting on Mike’s.

‘What? Just what is what?’ shouted Mike.

‘That’s another question entirely.’ And Declan handed Leah the fourth joint.

I’m on the sofa, smoking and thinking, and what did I just think? That I’m myself, I’m Leah and I’m not somebody’s mother or somebody’s wife … I’m here because I’m myself … and the music is through the ceiling and all the furniture and down the street and inside me … it’s dreamy and perfect … ‘What time is it?’ she asked. Mike was going to bed.

‘It’s three … in the morning,’ said Declan.

‘My God! I really really have to go. I really do!’

She got as far as the front door. Bailey was there, all brilliant colours and smiling.

‘Oh Bailey, I don’t want to go home!’

‘Well, don’t then,’ he said.

She woke up on the sofa. Cold and under a musty-smelling blanket. She rushed into the kitchen. Bailey was making toast. Relaxed and clean in a different outfit. Leah looked at the clock. ‘Oh my God, half-past nine, oh my God!’

He handed her a cup of tea. Her mouth felt like a furry glove.

‘Oh Bailey, what a thing! I’ve never … Al’ll be furious, he’s always furious and today’s bonfire night and I’m selling sausages at the Project …’

She rang up Al. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry. I just got drunk and fell asleep …’

‘Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been up all night … I rang the police, I rang the hospitals.’

‘Oh Al …’

‘Couldn’t you have phoned, eh?’

‘I did think about it.’ She could hear children crying in the background.

‘Yes, your bloody mother is perfectly all right!’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Where the hell are you, anyway?’

‘I’m at Declan’s.’

‘And who the fuck is Declan?’

‘He’s Bailey’s friend.’

‘Bailey? Bailey. What, that ponce in the tracksuit?’

She was about to say he wasn’t a ponce but Al shouted, ‘Oh I see!’ and slammed down the phone.

In the kitchen Bailey gave her toast and a sympathetic smile. ‘Rough, was it?’

‘He thinks … but I didn’t … we didn’t … did we?’

‘Drink yer tea.’ She did and ate half a piece of toast and watched him eat four. He did have an incredible appetite.

‘Bailey, what shall I do?’

‘You’ll be all right.’ And he patted her hand.

Bonfire night was dreadful. Al didn’t speak to her. She saw Bailey again briefly on Wednesday at the Project.

‘How are you?’ she asked, feeling flushed. He was in a hurry.

‘Mega naffed off. Declan’s mate died and he’s been writing poems ever since.’ And he was gone.

Now he was watching television with a face like marble. Leah stood up.

‘It’s time to go,’ she said to the children. ‘Say goodbye to Bailey.’ She led them into the hall. He was still staring at the telly.

‘I’ll see you, Bailey.’

‘You probably will.’

Al had convinced himself Leah was having an affair with Bailey. The whole business became another thing to row about. They didn’t sleep together, they barely conversed, Al was fed up with his teacher’s course, Leah was fed up with Al and the house was full of mould and crumble. But these things weren’t important. Leah was bonking Bailey. ‘But I’m not,’ she said, quite desperately now. Al came back from college. They pushed tea into the children and put them to bed. Then it all started.