Jane Green - Bookends

I cannot believe that I have a proper date, and, more importantly, I cannot believe that I am actually excited about this date. It has been so long since anyone has made me feel these things, and even though I know I’ve avoided this for fear of getting hurt, there’s something about James that makes me want to trust him.

And the more I get to know him, the more I like what I see. I thought he was so shy, so nervous at first, but I’m starting to see his sense of humour, and the fact that he’s incredibly comfortable with who he is, and I like that about him. I could learn to like that a lot.

I dry my hair, change into something more appropriate, and when, at twenty to eight, the doorbell rings, I curse James silently for being so early, but thank God I am ready.

But it’s not James, it’s Si, and I have completely forgotten that he would be coming round for supper if his friend wasn’t in, and I start to apologize, start to explain, when I notice that Si is as white as a sheet and looks suspiciously like he’s about to throw up.

‘Si? What is it? What’s the matter?’ I clutch him in alarm as he threatens to topple over, and then lead him inside, terrified of his shaking.

He sits down as if in a daze, and then turns to me. ‘Will’s not well.’

‘Oh, Si.’ My face crumples in sympathy, because, hate Will though I do, I can see that this is hurting Si, and that hurts me. ‘I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Did you just find out?’

Si turns to me. ‘Ian just told me.’

‘Is it something serious?’

‘Cath,’ he whispers, turning to look at me, showing me the fear in his eyes. ‘He’s got AIDS.’

‘What?’ I never really knew what people meant when they talked about their blood running cold. Until now.

‘He said he was fine. We talked about it because you know how completely paranoid I am, and he said he’d had a test last year and it was negative, and that if I was negative too, there was no reason to… well… you know, safe sex and everything.’

‘Oh my God. Oh my God. Si.’ My breath catches in my throat and I’m so angry, so frightened, I want to start shaking him. ‘Please tell me you used condoms. Please tell me you didn’t…’

Si looks at me and then starts to cry, and I reach out and put my arms around him, rocking him to and fro as his body heaves with the sobs.

Four years ago Si lost one of his best friends. Jake was gorgeous. Funny, handsome, self-deprecating. They met at a cinema. Si, bored, took off for the afternoon and went by himself to catch a matinée. I remember he said he’d noticed Jake in the queue – and how, I laughed at the time, could he not.

Si caught Jake’s eye, and Jake caught Si’s, and although they weren’t sitting together – Si was three rows behind Jake – there were only eight people in the cinema, and when the film was over Jake turned around and asked Si what he thought.

They went for coffee. Which turned into dinner. Which, at the time, quite probably could have turned into something more, but somehow the timing wasn’t right, and instead of becoming lovers they became friends.

I remember feeling jealous of Jake. Jealous because despite the longer history that Si and I shared, there was an understanding between Jake and Si that I could never be a part of. Jealous because the two of them could go off and hit the clubs together, and even though I went, from time to time, I could never have as good a time as they could. And jealous because all of us could see that although they were only friends, Si had fallen hook, line and sinker, and if Jake’s friendship was the only thing on offer, then that would have to be enough.

Jake was American, and very early on, before they even got to know one another that well – although of course Si was already secretly planning their cottage in the country, had already planted out the vegetable garden, named their two golden Labradors – Jake sat Si down and told him about his past. He told him about his youth, the years of anonymous sex with strangers, and he told him that, despite everything, he would not have lived those years differently.

Despite everything? Jake told him that when he first arrived in London he came down with a fever. One hundred and four degrees, vomiting and shivering, and he went to a doctor who tested him for HIV.

And because this was real life, and because real life doesn’t always go the way we would like, Jake was positive. He was also devastated. He went through everything the counsellors told him he might experience: anger, fear, grief and, finally, acceptance.

His fever went away, the vomiting and shivering stopped, and he tried to pretend that everything was fine, that it had all been a nightmare, but of course it wasn’t. Jake went to counselling, he met people living with AIDS, heard their stories, and somehow along the way he discovered that perhaps he was being shown a different way to live his life.

He learned that the challenge of having AIDS is not dying of AIDS, but living with AIDS. That it isn’t an instant death sentence, that his life could be just as fulfilling, more even, than before: he could work with the community, give something back, make the absolute most of the rest of his life, however long, or short, it would turn out to be.

And Si listened to Jake, heard what he was saying, and when Jake finished, Si reached over and gave him a hug.

‘I’m scared,’ Si said. ‘I have to be honest and if I’m honest then you have to know that it frightens me, terrifies me, because it, AIDS, has always been there, but it’s never directly affected anyone who’s been close to me. But I also know that you’re one of my best friends, and whatever I can do for you, I will.’

They went to a bookshop that afternoon, and Jake pointed out the books he had read, some of which Si bought, to arm himself with information.

He learned to stop being frightened. He learned what was safe and what was not. And he learned that not every cough, every headache, every sneeze, was the onset of the downward spiral.

But Jake wasn’t just HIV positive – Si always said he wished he’d met him years ago, wished he’d got to know him before the illness, even though Jake said he wouldn’t have liked him as much, that he was a far nicer person since contracting HIV – Jake had AIDS, and although he had friends who had gone years without opportunistic infections, Jake was unlucky.

Soon after they met Jake developed PCP pneumonia. He’d already lost his appetite, had night sweats, but this was the moment he’d been dreading, the moment he hoped wouldn’t come for years.

His CD4 count dropped to just under 100, he lost his appetite, his sleep, and his mood swings were frightening, but Si tried to fight for him, tried to find the strength to make him survive. Even during the times he shouted at Si, screamed at him to fuck off, Si sat silently, patiently, stroking his hair until Jake broke down in tears.

When the end finally came, all the people Jake had ever loved gathered together in the tiny terraced cottage he owned in Clapham. His mother and sister flew over from North Carolina. The friends came who had become closer to him than his family had ever been.

And then it was over. Jake was, finally, at peace, and Si, after cocooning himself away for months, gradually came out of his shell, and started to live in the real world again.

And since Jake, since reading the books, watching his friend die, Si has become the ‘condom queen’ of North London. (His expression, not mine.) AIDS, he has always subsequently said (an expression he picked up from someone else), is one hundred per cent fatal but one hundred per cent preventable.

And sure, he’s had one-night-stands, brief encounters, but the one thing I was always absolutely certain of was that he had never, ever, practised unsafe sex. Not Si. So why is he sitting on my sofa crying, not answering my question?