Jonathan Coe - The Dwarves of Death

‘I’m so sorry,’ Madeline had said. ‘How awful, to lose a parent like that, so early.’

‘It doesn’t make much sense, does it? The randomness of it.’

‘But you know — ’ and here she had actually touched his hand, while I looked on admiringly ‘ — the important thing is to die with dignity. Death can be gentle, and calm, and even beautiful. And if we leave this life with dignity, what is there to regret?’

‘That’s very true,’ said Tony.

‘How did your father die?’

‘Gangrene of the scrotum.’

So Tony wasn’t the best person to confide in about my relationship with Madeline, but then who else did I have? When it came to their emotional politics, the other members of the band were — and this is putting it kindly — unsophisticated. And after well over a year in London, I’d made hardly any other friends. Doesn’t that speak volumes about this city? I lived in embarrassing physical proximity to my neighbours on the estate; I could hear them through the walls, throwing crockery around and beating each other up, but I never got to know their names. I could stand with my body pressed up against another man’s on a crowded tube, and our eyes would never meet. I could go into the same grocer’s three times a week and never have a proper conversation with the girl on the till. What a stupid place. But I mustn’t lose the point. The point is that I was glad of Tony’s question, glad of the chance to talk about Madeline while she was away.

‘Yes, we’re still getting on OK,’ I said. ‘No worse than usual, anyway.’

‘Have you slept with her yet?’

It was no real business of his, of course, but I didn’t resent the question.

‘We think it’s important not to rush things.’

‘Well, nobody could accuse you of doing that. I should try and catch her before the menopause, all the same.’

‘Anyway, you know, she has this Catholic thing…’

‘Don’t you find it frustrating?’

‘I try to work it out in other ways. I think I’m using music as a substitute for sex.’

‘Really? Well that’s the last time you play my piano without washing your hands. Have you spoken to her about it? Do you talk about these things?’

‘I’m waiting for the right moment to come up.’

‘But it’s been six months, William. And it can’t be cheap, dating a girl like Madeline. Where did you take her tonight?’

I told him.

‘You did what ’

‘It was her idea. She’s been wanting to see it for ages.’

‘How much did you pay for the tickets?’

I told him.

‘You paid what? William, you can’t afford to do things like that.’

‘I’ve been working lots of overtime. I can afford it, just, once in a while. Anyway, I’ve written to some magazines, and I think… I think it’s only a matter of time before one of them gives me some work. I sent some sample reviews, and a CV. I spoke to this guy on the telephone, and he sounded quite encouraging.’

‘Journalists are full of shit. How many times do I have to tell you that? I mean, maybe, maybe you’ll be lucky but you can’t rely on any of these people.’

‘Well, sooner or later I’ve got to get some kind of career for myself or I think I’m going to go nuts. I can’t work in that shop for much longer.’

‘William, you’re young. Relax, carry on as you are, get plenty of practice in. You’re a gifted performer, I’ve told you that, there’s no saying what kind of break may come your way if you just stick at it. There’s no reason on earth why you need to think in terms of a career at the moment.’

‘Well, supposing I wanted to get married.’

‘Married, at your age? You’re kidding. Who would you marry?’

I raised my eyebrows and poured some more wine. Tony shook his head.

‘I’m sorry, William, I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

‘You like being married, don’t you? Having a home, and a kid and all that.’

‘Yes, but you have to be ready for it. For God’s sake, you’ve already been engaged once, and what are you — twenty-three? Cool off a bit. Just because you like seeing a woman now and again, it doesn’t mean you have to spend the rest of your life with her. Think casual.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to start playing again, I’ve had my twenty minutes.’

‘Fine. We’ll stay around and listen for a while.’

‘Look, you’ve reminded me about something — could you do me a favour?’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s about Ben. I was wondering if you were doing anything on the eleventh. A fortnight on Sunday.’

‘I doubt it. Why?’

‘Judith’s boss has asked her up to some lunch party in Cambridge and she wants me to go along with her, but it’s not really the kind of thing we can take Ben to. I was wondering if you’d mind sitting with him for the day. I’m sure we’ll be back before the evening.’

‘Sounds fine.’

I liked the idea of a day round at Tony’s house: it would give me the chance to use his piano.

‘Keep it free, then, will you? I appreciate it.’ Tony stood up and stretched his fingers. ‘Any requests?’

In the distance on the other side of the room I could see Madeline returning from the ladies’.

‘How about “I Got it Bad and That Ain’t Good"?’

He followed my gaze and smiled.

‘Coming up.’

What did Madeline and I talk about for the rest of that evening? As I look back on the times we spent together, I find it almost impossible to remember the substance of our conversations. The awful suspicion raises itself that we spent most of the time in silence, or in conversation so banal that I have purposely blotted it from my memory. I know we didn’t argue again that night, and I know that we didn’t talk about the show. Perhaps we really didn’t hang around for any longer than it took to finish off the remains of the wine. The next thing I can remember for sure is that we were standing in the depths of Tottenham Court Road tube, at the point where the paths to our different lines diverged, and I was holding her and stretching up to kiss her forehead.

‘Well, good night,’ I said.

‘Thanks for taking me. I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy it more.’

I shrugged, and asked, ‘When can I see you again?’ Suddenly the pain of being away from her was imminent, and as raw as it had ever been.

She shrugged too.

‘How about…’ I chose a day at random, at what seemed like a reasonable distance ‘… Tuesday?’

‘Fine.’

(She would have said the same if I had suggested meeting tomorrow or in six months’ time.)

We fixed up a time and place, and then kissed good night. It wasn’t a bad kiss. It lasted about four or five seconds, and our lips were slightly parted. It surpassed my expectations, in fact.

I wasn’t exactly elated as I rode home, though. I took a Northern Line train down to Embankment and then joined the Circle Line eastbound to Tower Hill. It was the last train, I think. It was certainly well after midnight as I came out into the open air and began the thirty-minute walk back to the flat. The man on the ticket barrier recognized me and nodded tiredly and didn’t ask to see my ticket. I turned up at this station and at this time so regularly that he probably thought I worked on a late shift somewhere. Tower Hill. It suddenly struck me as an appropriate title for a piano piece I was in the process of writing. It was meant to have a weary and melancholy feel to it — like you feel at the end of a long day, with maybe the vague hope of better to come. The first couple of phrases had emerged quite spontaneously in the course of an improvisation, and I’d been doodling with it for more than a week now, trying to put a structure on it. Perhaps having a title would help.