Kazuo Ishiguro - Nocturnes - five stories of music and nightfall

Anyway, at the start of this summer, I went to London to stay with them. It had been arranged well in advance, and when I’d phoned to check a couple of days beforehand, Charlie had said they were both “superbly well.” That’s why I’d no reason to expect anything other than pampering and relaxation after a few months that hadn’t exactly been the best in my life.

In fact, as I emerged out of their local Underground that sunny day, my thoughts were on the possible refinements that might have been added to “my” bedroom since the previous visit. Over the years, there’s almost always been something or other. One time it was some gleaming electronic gadget standing in the corner; another time the whole place had been redecorated. In any case, almost as a point of principle, the room would be prepared for me the way a posh hotel would go about things: towels laid out, a bedside tin of biscuits, a selection of CDs on the dressing table. A few years ago, Charlie had led me in and with nonchalant pride started flicking switches, causing all sorts of subtly hidden lights to go on and off: behind the headboard, above the wardrobe and so on. Another switch had triggered a growling hum and blinds had begun to descend over the two windows.

“Look, Charlie, why do I need blinds?” I’d asked that time.

“I want to see out when I wake up. Just the curtains will do fine.”

“These blinds are Swiss,” he’d said, as though this were explanation enough.

But this time Charlie led me up the stairs mumbling to himself, and as we got to my room, I realised he was making excuses. And then I saw the room as I’d never seen it before. The bed was bare, the mattress on it mottled and askew. On the floor were piles of magazines and paperbacks, bundles of old clothes, a hockey stick and a loudspeaker fallen on its side. I paused at the threshold and stared at it while Charlie cleared a space to put down my bag.

“You look like you’re about to demand to see the manager,” he said, bitterly.

“No, no. It’s just that it’s unusual to see it this way.”

“It’s a mess, I know. A mess.” He sat down on the mattress and sighed. “I thought the cleaning girls would have sorted all this. But of course they haven’t. God knows why not.”

He seemed very dejected, but then he suddenly sprang to his feet again.

“Look, let’s go out for some lunch. I’ll leave a note for Emily. We can have a long leisurely lunch and by the time we come back, your room-the whole flat-will be sorted out.”

“But we can’t ask Emily to tidy everything.”

“Oh, she won’t do it herself. She’ll get on to the cleaners. She knows how to harass them. Me, I don’t even have their number. Lunch, let’s have lunch. Three courses, bottle of wine, everything.”

What Charlie called their flat was in fact the top two floors of a four-storey terrace in a well-to-do but busy street. We came out of the front door straight into a throng of people and traffic. I followed Charlie past shops and offices to a smart little Italian restaurant. We didn’t have a reservation, but the waiters greeted Charlie like a friend and led us to a table. Looking around I saw the place was full of business types in suits and ties, and I was glad Charlie looked as scruffy as I did. He must have guessed my thoughts, because as we sat down he said:

“Oh, you’re so home counties, Ray. Anyway, it’s all changed now. You’ve been out of the country too long.” Then in an alarmingly loud voice: “We look like the ones who’ve made it. Everyone else here looks like middle management.” Then he leant towards me and said more quietly: “Look, we’ve got to talk. I need you to do me a favour.”

I couldn’t remember the last time Charlie had asked my help for anything, but I managed a casual nod and waited. He played with his menu for a few seconds, then put it down.

“The truth is, Emily and I have been going through a bit of a sticky patch. In fact, just recently, we’ve been avoiding one another altogether. That’s why she wasn’t there just now to welcome you. Right now, I’m afraid, you get a choice of one or the other of us. A bit like those plays when the same actor’s playing two parts. You can’t get both me and Emily in the same room at the same time. Rather childish, isn’t it?”

“This is obviously a bad time for me to have come. I’ll go away, straight after lunch. I’ll stay with my Auntie Katie in Finchley.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not listening. I just told you. I want you to do me a favour.”

“I thought that was your way of saying…”

“No, you idiot, I’m the one who has to clear out. I’ve got to go to a meeting in Frankfurt, I’m flying out this afternoon. I’ll be back in two days, Thursday at the latest. Meanwhile, you stay here. You bring things round, make everything okay again. Then I come back, say a cheerful hello, kiss my darling wife like the last two months haven’t happened, and we pick up again.”

At this point the waitress came to take our order, and after she’d gone Charlie seemed reluctant to take up the subject again. Instead, he fired questions at me about my life in Spain, and each time I told him anything, good or bad, he’d do this sour little smile and shake his head, like I was confirming his worst fears. At one point I was trying to tell him how much I’d improved as a cook-how I’d prepared the Christmas buffet for over forty students and teachers virtually single-handed-but he just cut me off in mid-sentence.

“Listen to me,” he said. “Your situation’s hopeless. You’ve got to hand in your notice. But first, you have to get your new job lined up. This Portuguese depressive, use him as a go-between. Secure the Madrid post, then ditch the apartment. Okay, here’s what you do. One.”

He held up his hand and began counting off each instruction as he made it. Our food arrived when he still had a couple of fingers to go, but he ignored it and carried on till he’d finished. Then as we began to eat, he said:

“I can tell you won’t do any of this.”

“No, no, everything you say is very sound.”

“You’ll go back and carry on just the same. Then we’ll be here again in a year’s time and you’ll be moaning about exactly the same things.”

“I wasn’t moaning…”

“You know, Ray, there’s only so much other people can suggest to you. After a certain point, you’ve got to take charge of your life.”

“Okay, I will, I promise. But you were saying earlier, something about a favour.”

“Ah yes.” He chewed his food thoughtfully. “To be honest, this was my real motive in inviting you over. Of course, it’s great to see you and all of that. But for me, the main thing, I wanted you to do something for me. After all you’re my oldest friend, a life-long friend…”

Suddenly he began eating again, and I realised with astonishment he was sobbing quietly. I reached across the table and prodded his shoulder, but he just kept shovelling pasta into his mouth without looking up. When this had gone on for a minute or so, I reached over and gave him another little prod, but this had no more effect than my first one. Then the waitress appeared with a cheerful smile to check on our food. We both said everything was excellent and as she went off, Charlie seemed to become more himself again.

“Okay, Ray, listen. What I’m asking you to do is dead simple. All I want is for you to hang about with Emily for the next few days, be a pleasant guest. That’s all. Just until I get back.”

“That’s all? You’re just asking me to look after her while you’re gone?”

“That’s it. Or rather, let her look after you. You’re the guest. I’ve lined up some things for you to do. Theatre tickets and so on. I’ll be back Thursday at the latest. Your mission’s just to get her in a good mood and keep her that way. So when I come in and say, ‘Hello darling,’ and hug her, she’ll just reply, ‘Oh hello, darling, welcome home, how was everything,’ and hug me back. Then we can carry on as before. Before all this horrible stuff began. That’s your mission. Quite simple really.”