Zadie Smith - NW

Tom waited for the bit about the mechanic thing — it didn’t come. Like a man who has been thrown a lot of strange-shaped objects, he clung to the one that struck him first.

“You used to make t-shirts?”

Felix frowned. It was not the thing that usually interested people. He stood up and pulled at his own t-shirt so its faded message at least read straight without creases.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak — is it Polish?”

“Exactly! Says: I Love Polish Girls .”

“Oh. Are you Polish?” asked Tom doubtfully.

That struck Felix as very funny. He fell back in his seat and was a good time repeating the question, slapping the table and laughing, while Tom took quiet sips off the head of his pint like a little bird swooping over a puddle.

“Nah, Tom, nah, not Polish. London born and bred. These I did a long time back — business venture. Five years back — know what? It’s seven. Time flies, innit! Truthfully it was my old man’s idea, I was more like… the money man,” said Felix awkwardly, for it was a bold way to describe his thousand-pound stake, “Each one was in its own language. I love Spanish girls in Spanish, I love German girls in German, I love Italian girls in Italian, I love Brazilian girls in Brazilian—”

“Portuguese,” said Tom, but the list continued.

“I love Norwegian girls in Norwegian, I love Swedish girls in Swedish, I love Welsh girls in Welsh — that was more of a joke one, you get me? — nah, that’s harsh, but you know what I’m saying — I love Russian girls in Russian, I love Chinese girls in Chinese. But there’s two types of Chinese — not many people know that, my mate Alan told me. You got to have both. I love Indian girls in Hindi, and we had a lot of different ones in Arabic, and I love African girls in I think it was Yoruba or something. Got the translations off the Internet.”

“Yes,” said Tom.

“Made three thousand of them and took them to Ibiza, to sell them, didn’t I. Imagine you’re walking through Ibiza town with a t-shirt says I love Italian Girls in Italian! You’d clean up!”

Repeating the idea, with Lloyd’s enthusiasm, as Lloyd had first conveyed it to him, Felix was almost able to forget that they had not cleaned up, that he had lost his stake, along with the good job at the Thai restaurant he had given up, at Lloyd’s insistence, so that he could go to Ibiza. Two thousand five hundred t-shirts still sat in boxes in Lloyd’s cousin Clive’s lock-up, under the railway arches of King’s Cross.

“Tom, what about you?”

“What about me what?”

Felix grinned: “Don’t be shy now. What would I put you down for? Everyone got a type. Let me guess: bet you like some of that Brazilian!”

Tom, somewhat dazzled by the gleaming hardware in Felix’s mouth, said, “I’ll say French,” and wondered what the true answer was, and found it troubling.

“French girls. Right. I’ll throw one of them in with the deal. Still got a few.”

“Isn’t it me who’s making the deal?”

Felix reached over the table and patted Tom on the shoulder.

“Course it is, Tom, course it is.”

The phrase “the drug thing” still hovered over the table. Tom left it alone.

“And are you married, Felix?”

“Not yet. Planning to. That your Missus keeps belling you?”

“Christ, no. We’ve only been going out nine months. I’m only twenty-five!”

“I had two kids when I was your age,” said Felix and flashed the screen of his phone at Tom. “That’s them in their Sunday best. Felix Jr….; he’s a man now himself, almost fourteen. And Whitney, she’s nine.”

“They’re beautiful,” said Tom, though he hadn’t seen anything. “You must be very proud.”

“I don’t see much of them, to tell you the truth. They live with their Mum. We ain’t together. To be honest, me and the mum don’t really get on. She’s one of them real… oppositional women.”

Tom laughed, and then saw that Felix had not meant to be funny.

“Sorry — I just — well, it’s a good phrase for it. I think that may be what I’ve got on my hands. An oppositional woman.”

“Listen, if I told Jasmine: the sky’s blue, she’d say it’s green, you get me?” said Felix, clawing at the label on his bottle of ginger beer. “Got a lot of mental issues. Grew up in care. My mum was in care — same thing. Does something to you. Does something. I known Jasmine since we was sixteen and she was like that from time . Depressed, don’t leave the flat for days, don’t clean, place is like a pigsty, all of that. She’s had a hard time. Anyway.”

“Yes, that must be hard,” said Tom, quietly, and took another large swig of his pint.

After that they sat in silence, both looking out upon the street, as if only accidentally sat together.

“Felix, could I maybe trouble you for one of those? Terrible roller.”

Felix lit his own, nodded and silently started work on another. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He read the message and thrust the handset once more in Tom’s face.

“Oi, Tom, you’re an advertiser — what d’you make of that?”

Tom, who was long-sighted, drew back from the screen in order to read it: “Our records indicate you still haven’t claimed compensation for your accident. You may be entitled up to £3650. To claim free reply ‘CLAIM.’ To opt out text ‘STOP.’”

“Scam, innit.”

“Oh, I should think so, yes.”

“Cos how could they know if I’d had an accident? Evil. Imagine if you were old, or ill, getting that.”

“Yes, said Tom, not really following, “I think they just have these… databases.”

“Databases,” said Felix and shook his head in despair, “and you reply and five quid comes off your bill. But that’s the way people are these days. Everyone’s looking out for themselves. My girl gave me this book, Ten Secrets of Successful Leaders . You read it?”

“No.”

“Should read it. She was like, ‘Fee, you know who reads this book? Bill Gates. The Mafia. The Royal family. Bankers. Tupac read it. Jewish people read this book. Educate yourself.’ She’s a smart one. I’m not even a reader but that one opened my eyes. There you go.”

Tom took the cigarette and lit it and inhaled with the deep relief of a man who had given up smoking entirely only a few hours before.

“Listen — Felix, this is a bit of a weird one,” said Tom, nodding at the packet of Amber Leaf between them, lowering his voice, “But you wouldn’t by any chance have anything stronger? Not to buy, just a pinch. I find it takes the edge off.”

Felix sighed and leaned back into his bench and began murmuring. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

“Oh dear,” said Tom. He cringed to the right, then somehow reversed his body and cringed to the left. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re all right. My girl thinks I’ve got an invisible tattoo on my forehead: PLEASE ASK ME FOR WEED. Must have one of them faces.”

Tom lifted his drink and finished it off. Did this mean there was weed or there wasn’t? He examined a distorted Felix through the bottom of his pint glass.

“Well, she sounds sensible,” said Tom, at last. Felix passed him the finished fag.

“Come again?”

“The girl you mentioned, your girlfriend person.”

Felix smiled enormously: “Oh. Grace. Yeah. She is. Never been happier in my life, Tom, to tell you the truth. Changed my life. I tell her, all the time: you’re a lifesaver. And she is.”

Tom held up his ringing phone and gave it the evil eye.

“I seem to be stuck with a life-destroyer.”

“Nobody can do that, Tom. Only you have the power to do that.”