Benjamin Wood - The Ecliptic

‘He’s just a boy,’ I said. ‘You should have seen him, earlier, scribbling away on his notecards. If you could just let him know if it’s actually Japanese, that would be a start.’

Quickman carved up his food. ‘Why can’t you leave him alone? That seems to be what he wants.’

‘Because there’s alone and there’s alone .’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Explain to me the difference again.’

Pettifer shifted forwards. ‘I know a bit of Japanese myself,’ he said.

‘The difference, Q, is he’s only seventeen, and when you’re that age all you really need is someone to—’ I was so used to ignoring Tif’s interjections that it took a moment for my brain to engage. ‘Sorry, did you just say that you speak Japanese?’

Pettifer shrugged his eyebrows. ‘Well, sort of. I can read hiragana , anyway. I’m not brilliant with kanji , but I could probably give him the gist.’

I was so overcome with gladness that I almost leaned over and hugged him. ‘Tif, you gorgeous, brilliant thing — I should have known.’

‘It’s these ravishing good looks, you see. They obscure my intellect.’

‘Of course they do.’ I blew him a kiss.

At once, Quickman became interested in the conversation. He put his fork down and gave Tif a querying look. ‘ Doko de nihongo wo narattandai? ’ he said.

Pettifer nodded thoughtfully. ‘ Nihon de shibaraku hataraki-mashita. ’

‘ Dākuhōsu dana. ’

‘ Chigauyo. Futotta buta dayo. ’

‘ Sōdana!’

It was quite disconcerting to hear another language emerging from the lips of two people I knew so well. ‘OK, that settles it,’ I said. ‘You’re both going to help him.’

Quickman stabbed at his dinner. ‘He’ll have to give my lighter back first.’

‘I’m sure he’d be happy to trade.’

‘My father died with that thing in his hand, you know. I should never have bet with it.’

‘You could always try and win it back.’

‘I plan to. Just as soon as I’ve reviewed my strategy.’

‘Oi, you two. Get a load of this,’ Pettifer said, gesturing to the kitchen pass. ‘Mac’s talking to those transients again. We should rescue her.’ MacKinney did appear to be standing in close counsel with Gluck, which would not have been such a grave misfortune in itself, had the irritating Spaniard not also been with him. ‘Is it me, or does she seem to be enjoying their company?’

It was true: she was laughing, and not in the hollow fashion we had come to recognise, but in that wonderful, resounding way that we had not heard for some time. I was glad that she was smiling again, even if I felt resentful of her sudden bonhomie with the short-termers.

‘Crikey,’ said Quickman. ‘This place is going to ruin.’

Mac’s face was still flushed by the time she came over to join us at the table a while later. As she sat down, a residue of laughter came out of her nose, like steam releasing. ‘Oh Lord, that was seriously funny,’ she said. ‘Did you know that Lindo did impressions? I haven’t laughed so much in ages.’

‘Yes, we could hear you cackling from here,’ Quickman said.

Pettifer gave his little snort. ‘Who’s Lindo?’

‘The Spanish fellow. He’s actually quite lovely. It’s a shame we wrote him off so early.’

‘You know, she’s right,’ Quickman said. ‘We’ve been lacking a decent impressionist for a while now.’

‘Fine. Be that way.’ She nudged up the bridge of her glasses. ‘You should hear the one he does of you .’

‘I’m sure it’s wonderfully subversive,’ Q said.

Mac huffed. She was sideways on the chair, as though not quite committed to sitting with us. ‘Knell, you have to hear the way he takes off Quickman. He does this clever trick with his mouth, as though he’s speaking through a pipe. It’s hysterical.’ Another spit-ball of laughter came up from her throat.

‘Sounds terrific,’ I said, the dullness of my voice betraying me.

‘Oh, come on, what’s wrong with everybody? Can’t you stop being so serious about everything for once? A break from all the cynicism might do you some good.’ She stood up, reaching for a slice of Quickman’s bread, but he moved his plate away from her.

‘Get your own,’ he said.

Mac lingered at the end of the table, ruminating. ‘You know, Lindo says he’s getting out of here. He’s close to finishing his collection.’

‘Bully for him,’ Q said. ‘That didn’t take long.’

‘He’s having a reading soon. We should all go along and listen. It’ll make a nice change to hear something that’s actually complete.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Quickman pushed his plate aside. ‘Bad poetry is one thing, but bad Spanish poetry? That could push me over the edge.’

‘Well,’ Mac said, ‘it’s easy to be critical when your best work is behind you.’

Quickman looked suitably wounded, but he knew better than to rise to provocation. He just drew the pipe from his blazer pocket, tapped it on the tabletop, and bit on the mouthpiece.

At this point, Pettifer leaned into my ear and whispered: ‘What is she doing?’

‘I don’t know,’ I whispered back, but I knew exactly: MacKinney was letting us go.

After all, it would be so much easier to say goodbye if we resented her. If she attached herself to short-termers like Gluck and Lindo in the time she had left, she could forget them as soon as her feet touched the mainland; but we — the stalwarts who had been together, season after season — we would be harder to miss. She was going to amputate us from her side, one by one, starting with Quickman, because he was the newest and the thinnest joint to hack away. Next, she would come for Pettifer, and then it would be my turn. I decided to intervene before that happened. ‘Well, you definitely know how to make a scene, Mac, I’ll give you that,’ I said.

She glared at me. ‘Huh?’

‘I suppose when all that drama’s in your blood, you never lose it.’ I took out the folded pages from my skirt and waved them.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You mean. .’

‘What else?’

‘Let’s go outside a sec. It’s too loud in here.’

‘Yes, I think that’s probably best for everyone.’

We stepped out onto the landing. The noise of the mess hall softened to a drone. There was a thumbnail of a moon that night, framed in the picture window, and the darkness was thickening above the trees. MacKinney turned on a lamp and leaned against the banister. ‘Sorry for getting irked in there,’ she said. ‘It’s just that Q can really sound so high and mighty sometimes.’

‘I’m amazed you’ve finally noticed.’

She groaned, sweeping underneath her lenses with her fingers. ‘So, tell me: how bad is it?’

I gave her the pages. ‘Well, first of all, the Willa character, the painter, she reminds me of someone. Can’t think who.’

Mac shrugged. ‘That’s not exactly a coincidence.’

‘Good. I’m glad I wasn’t imagining it. People used to see themselves in my paintings all the time and I never had the heart to disappoint them.’ I put my hand upon her shoulder. ‘The most important thing, as far as you’re concerned, is that the characters felt very real to me — in fact, I understood their situation better than you know. I assume that’s why you asked me to read it.’

Mac’s face bloomed. ‘They did?’

‘I had the most sympathy for Christopher, of course, though I could understand Willa’s dilemma, and I thought she was nicely conflicted. It’s strange, I almost never feel for the man in that kind of scenario — usually, it’s the woman who has to make all the compromises and do all the forgiving. I found that quite refreshing. It’s another kind of infidelity that’s breaking them up, isn’t it? That’s how I read it, anyway. The affair is between Willa and her art. . I liked that idea. If you’d given me more than a few pages, I could’ve found out what happens next. Now I’ll have to wait and catch it in the West End.’