Джон Бойн - A Ladder to the Sky

‘Apparently, I am.’

‘Well, congratulations you.’

‘Thanks, but it’s not really all that important,’ he said with the insouciant air of a man who was beside himself with happiness but didn’t want to make it too obvious in case he came across as gauche. ‘Prizes are rather ridiculous, don’t you think? Writers of my generation make such a fuss about them. It’s an unedifying sight. I mean, you ask someone how their book is doing and they reply by telling you that it didn’t make this shortlist or that longlist and it just makes one roll one’s eyes in despair.’

‘So you won’t be going on the night then?’ I asked. ‘You’ll be making a stand, on principle?’

‘Oh, well, I have to go,’ he said, colouring slightly. ‘I mean, I owe it to Rufus and to everyone at the publishing house who’s put so much work into my book. But whether I win or not is neither here nor there. I’ll just get drunk and enjoy the silliness of it all. I daresay it will make for a good scene in a later novel.’

‘Of course you’re going to win,’ said Rufus, reaching across and gripping Garrett by his pathetic little biceps, around which a small child could have comfortably wrapped his thumb and middle finger. ‘It’s your year. It has to be.’

‘Do you really think so?’ he asked hopefully.

‘I’m sure of it. The reviews for Garrett’s book have been extraordinary,’ he added, turning to me. ‘Have you read them?’

‘I was neither aware of the reviews nor of the book,’ I lied. ‘But I’m delighted to hear it’s gone down so well. Edith would be proud of you.’

‘We’ll be adding your name to the list of all those great writers whose names have been associated with The Prize,’ he said, turning back to Garrett. ‘Including, of course, our friend Maurice here.’

‘Well, that was all a long time ago,’ I said.

‘Oh, that’s right, you were shortlisted once, weren’t you?’ said Garrett. ‘I’d completely forgotten that. When was it? Sometime back in the nineties?’

‘Who can recall? My memory isn’t what it was. I am, as you say, on the wrong side of fifty.’

‘Well, if you will spend your afternoons in a pub, you can expect a little diminishment of your powers.’

‘You’re in a pub too,’ I pointed out. ‘And look at you! Enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame.’

‘Yes, but I’m celebrating. I’ve been shortlisted.’

I smiled and felt an unexpected rush of affection for the boy, who’d always been able to give as good as he got. I’d rather missed his cuntish behaviour.

‘Who’s that you’re with over there, anyway?’ he continued, looking back towards my table. ‘He looks like something you’d pick up at King’s Cross Station in the men’s toilets on a Thursday night.’

‘That’s my son, actually,’ I said, the words out of my mouth before I could even consider the wisdom of the lie. I glanced at Rufus, whose expression hadn’t changed, and I assumed that he knew nothing about what had happened to Daniel. Or perhaps he did and thought that I had two sons.

‘Oh right, sorry,’ said Garrett, who at least had the good grace to look embarrassed at his faux-pas. ‘My mistake.’

‘No, it’s fine,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I daresay you’re more familiar with that type of fellow than I am. Thursday night, you say? Why Thursday night? Is that a particularly good time to catch some rough trade?’

‘I said sorry. It was just a joke.’

‘A hilarious one,’ I muttered.

‘And are you working on anything at the moment, Maurice?’ asked Rufus, who was blushing scarlet for some inexplicable reason, and I turned back to him with a shrug.

‘Oh, I’m sure you’re not that interested,’ I said. ‘You were never a great fan of my work, after all.’

‘Well, I did publish Two Germans ,’ he said, pushing his glasses up his nose and looking a little wounded by that remark. ‘So, to be fair, I was the first person to spot your talent.’

‘Erich Ackermann was the first person to spot my talent,’ I pointed out.

‘And look what happened to him,’ said Garrett.

‘But you’re right. You did publish me. Twice, in fact. Before you dropped me.’

‘In retrospect, that whole situation was handled rather badly,’ Rufus replied, looking down at the floor. ‘I was fairly new to the game myself and I listened to the bean counters upstairs when I should have followed my gut. I always knew that you were the real deal.’

‘It would have been nice to have heard that at the time,’ I said. ‘It was quite a blow when you showed me the door. It led to some pretty dark years.’

No one said anything for a few moments. I’d only been at their table a few minutes but had already managed to insult them both and make them each feel like shit, so I was beginning to feel that my work there was done. Suddenly I longed for the days before I’d met Theo, when I was just a solo drinker and rarely spoke to anyone. Life was simpler then.

‘Anyway,’ I said at last, placing a hand on both their shoulders simultaneously and squeezing them just enough to leave a bruise, ‘I’ve probably taken up enough of your time. It was nice to see you both. And congratulations again, Garrett, on your longlisting.’

‘Shortlisting,’ he said, but the word was thrown at my back for I’d already walked away and was heading back to our table.

‘Sorry about that,’ I said as I sat down, and Theo shook his head as if to say, No problem , while he put his phone away. ‘A couple of old friends. You probably know one of them. Garrett Colby?’

‘The writer?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve heard of him. I’ve never read him.’

‘You’re better off. He’s an idiot. And his work is infantile. His first book had something to do with talking animals, if I recall correctly.’

‘Like Animal Farm .’

‘Yes, just without the wit, the politics, the style or the genius.’

Theo laughed and took a long drink from his pint. He still seemed distracted by the revelation I had made but I was determined not to talk about that any more. I didn’t want to make a bigger issue of it than it needed to be.

‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘Where were we?’

‘You were telling me about The Tribesman and how you—’

‘No, we’ve covered that. Something else.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Well, you were going to talk to me about Daniel, but instead we—’

My good humour melted away instantly. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said. ‘Well, what else would you like to know?’

‘Anything you want to tell me. Was he a writer?’

‘No. A good reader but not a writer.’

‘Did he see much of the world?’

‘Some. A little of Europe, with me, when we travelled to festivals. But not enough.’

‘And when he died—’

‘I don’t want to talk about the day itself, if you don’t mind,’ I said.

‘Of course. That’s fine.’

‘Another time, maybe,’ I said, looking away. ‘It’s not an afternoon that I like to revisit.’

‘Time for a smoke then, if you don’t mind,’ he said, standing up, and I nodded as he made his way out of the door, glancing at Garrett and Rufus as he went. I put the beermats on top of our pints and made my way into the toilet, where I pressed one hand against the wall as I pissed. When I went back outside I ordered more drinks and sat waiting for him. Upon his return, he sat down, brushed the hair out of his eyes, and the smell of nicotine from his jacket made me sit back a little. I’ve never liked the smell of cigarettes. I had caught Daniel with them once and we’d had a rare argument when I’d pointed out how damaging it could be to him, given his asthma.