Eimear McBride - The Lesser Bohemians

Shower. Cheese on toast after that. Cups of tea. Marlboro Red. The still of his flat and both slightly scared at the weave we are utterly in. On the floor, in the shell of his arms, I shake. Alright love? I think so, did you like that? I did. And when you were me? Not as much. Does it always hurt? Not always and there’re things you can do. Like what? Doesn’t matter, that was a once-off. You mean Last Tango-ish? Oh God! he laughs That’s all I’d need how about a pint instead? Okay, I’ll bring my lines along, you can be on the book.

So to the Prince Albert. There sit out in the sun. In an hour I’ve most of Juliet down. He says That RP’s really coming along. But useless distracted by all this love I think of the mess we’ve both made of each other under our clothes. Scratches and bruises. Even the tenderness of mouths and look at him and Let’s go home again.

And this night is a hot one. We must leave the windows wide. Fall asleep and stick with sweat and wake and laugh and Show me? What? Mmmmm. Have a think. How you do it by yourself. Kinky! Watch and. Give us a hand? So lazy! but do it with my tongue. Okay, no, that’s going to make me come. And I let him tonight, wherever he wants. Breasts or inside but Not my mouth. I know that Eil, I never would. I don’t want to be that man to you. Do you miss it? No and I’ve news for you, a lot of women don’t anyway. I know but I might’ve, if I’d got to choose. Well if it’s any consolation, I never liked the taste much. Oh of course, what haven’t you done? Until Friday night told anyone half of what I told you. God, you’re good. That’s what they say! Mouths elsewhere then and hands all ways, going further rounds until he complains I don’t think I can again. So lie in together and kiss instead. Telling the stories of ourselves. Do you remember I cried the first night in this bed? And you’d been so brassy back in the pub Remember that girl after Christmas? I certainly do. She was because I’d spent that month just dying for you so I thought I’d run a mile instead. Aren’t you lucky then I’m the forgiving kind! Yeah, you’ve made me a lucky man. Kiss for luck, and me. All this between and still more to say. I love you. I want you. I want you every day. Searching for some, any, words to explain but left following each other around this foreign place until we go under to a deeper sleep and let this day slip from what we live out into memory.

Morning.

I’m so relaxed but completely fucked, he says clicking and stretching. Too old now for all this sex? So much for empathy, he complains. It’s the youth makes me callous. Yeah, among other things, now, go make us a tea. And he does look tired but so well to me. Lying there, smoking, watching me dress. Saying when I’m leaving Peace at last! I’m going to get at least five hours’ sleep. And I sark — to evade any tears as I leave — Yeah well, lucky old you!

Then I am back in the world and must understand again how to cover my bones with my skin. Just London and traffic, with no night to hide in, and what I leave or bring with me from there. Walk. Know your way. See the here. Recall the place. Turn the corner. Make and make. But those histories related, settled like stun, open their eyes now. Unfurl their tongues. Begin to exhibit in different lights. They beat in me. Hammer at. Declaim Have your love but remember this All our houses are the same and there is no place now without us in. Off. Get off. What do I care what he did when I was two or four? Six. Eight. In that room you are the closest to life, the nearest you have ever been. He for you and you for him. Know you should know you might never feel this again and let it in. What it is. Let it be.

Well, who’s been making the beast with two backs? What? You and, I’m guessing here, Montgomery Clift? What’re you on about? So innocent, Flatmate laughs Yet carpet-burned to fuck. What? Elbows and knees. Oh those mind your business! Trying, he says Anyway, I changed the locks yesterday so here’s your new key. We reckon, a month before they shut off everything. Might get to the end of the term, if we’re lucky. Ta, I say But I’m staying at his. Well, if you need it, it’s there.

And on. My other life, first life swinging relentlessly back. So we’ll start the Emotion Memory exercises next week. Everyone clear what these are about? Recreating a memory from the inside out. Every detail. Sound. Every smell. As though you were back there again. You never know what you’ll find useful. It’s a big one though. Sometimes people get upset so nothing that’s happened less than two years ago, alright?

Can of soup and note on his desk. Sorry, got a call about a meeting last minute. Tell you all about it when I get in. Shouldn’t be back too late. Love

And. Behind the soup. A photo, like I’m meant to look. Lots of black eyeliner. Tall and thin. On my birthday, written on it. Looking so pretty. Looking so like him. That’s her then. I’ve seen. Behind that again, a birthday card. PS on the left saying Thanks for the programmes. It’ll be an A for me now thanks to you. Signed with Hope you have a lovely day and don’t feel too old now Dad, Grace x

In the dark I wait for him. Long for him to come home.

Still up? Thought you’d be fast asleep — such a late one last night, and kissing, he sniffs of wine and hums with good feeling. Tea? Yeah, good meeting? Great, he’s pleased with the draft and making headway on the budget. Couple of grants came through too so looks like we’re on. Brilliant, I say I saw the photo. Oh right she’s beautiful, don’t you think? She is. I just wanted you to see her I didn’t mean to freak you out. You didn’t do you love me? Of course I do, what’s wrong? Nothing, she’s just lucky to have you, is all. Yeah, I wouldn’t say that. You’re alive aren’t you? Ah Eily, love. You’ll always choose her, won’t you? No, no more choosing for me. You will though, won’t you? Hey, listen, all my fucking choosing is done. But I choose you, I say. Eily, he says Just miss him and come over here to me.

So time runs off with us. Days first. Then weeks. Happier, almost, than we know how to be in this overcrowded room. In the never quiet house. Gnawing Hula Hoops from fingertips. Sharing fags. Eating toast. And he helps me with Shakespeare for he knows his way right through. Now and then reads me bits of his script to check the dialogue’s human. Some nights we walk to the end of legs and on the night bus home he shows me an older London, round the City, to the east. We are both, we are not from here but still it is for us. Whether luminous or its fathomless spans or its work to be a place. Then on his road another house sold. Not long now, he suspects. But cramped as we are, with my stuff everywhere, it’s a wonderful life.

Then

Wait, he says Wait, I’m expecting a call. Don’t make me wait, it’s Saturday morning! That’s it now, he hops up Don’t move a muscle, I mean it, I’ll be right back. But roll on my front to watch him go. Hear him in the hall pick up the phone half laughing Be quick Nick I Oh, and the door goes bang. Muscles itching, I sit and wait. Five minutes later there’s a door scrabble. Kick. When I open he’s saying Ah ha, and I see, but indicating Cigarette, to me. I get, give and go back in.

Who was that? for he’s white as I’ve ever seen a man. That was mmmm. Bring again of the phone. Fuck! He turns back round Hello? Yeah Nick, it’s me. Five minutes of odds flow through my brain but those silent eyes are history meaning. Who was it? I ask, as he comes back in. Ahhh Nick you know he’s producing the film we’ve got a meeting in ah Dublin. And the first call? That was, he says That was Gracie’s mother. That was Marianne.

Oh God what did she want? Is Grace okay? His body sits down, lank over itself and hair hanging down. I kneel beside to touch it but I am nowhere in this room. She’s not sick she definitely said that there’s nothing wrong with her but that’s the first time she’s called me since they left that’s twelve years and she wants to meet whatever it is has to be done in person apparently so ‘in principle’ would I agree? Did you? Yes, of course I did but she’ll call with a date once she’s booked her flight. You never know, it might be something good? No no, whenever I’ve called that house every conversation has finished with I wish you were dead, so whatever it is it won’t be good. Are you alright? You look terrible. Yeah I’m it’s just a shock His face a picture of I don’t know what, shifting into Ah fuck her, of course she’d do it like that. Like what? Not just fucking saying what it’s about so now I’m left just Left what? Just fucking wondering about what she’s going to make me live without next. What can I do? I say. Nothing nothing, love. Cup of tea? Breakfast? Actually What? Anything. I could really I could really use that fuck now.