Eimear McBride - The Lesser Bohemians

We walk up the Embankment by Charing Cross Oh God please take my hand. But deaf to petition he on the Strand asks Do you like Chinese? I do but. But what? I’ve no money. You’re a student, he laughs Don’t worry, dinner’s on me. By St Martin-in-the-Fields I’m lagging his gait Could you slow down? I can’t walk as quick. Sorry, he says Sometimes I forget, how’s this? Better, and is. Soon walking gives — bus-lunged — to staring at the road-load of bookshops and that. God there’s so many, I could live on this street! Up twitch of his mouth. Are you laughing at me? No! I wouldn’t dare! I’m just enjoying the wonder, he says. When I Oh Les Mis! though, he tilts his head Musicals? Really? It’s not that, I say It’s the being here. Thank fuck for that, he says Chinatown’s this way.

And the smell comes out to get me as I follow into Gerrard Street. Look at the ducks in the window! Look! Do you like duck then? I’ve never eaten it. Okay, well go on in there to Harbour City and let’s try to rectify that.

He picks a table by the window so I can see out. Beer or wine? What goes with Chinese food? I wasn’t allowed to drink at home. Jesus, are you really only eighteen? I am, I say How old are you? Mmmm, he swallows Older than that I’m actually thirty-eight. Twice as old as me. And then some, he says Fuck so a beer I think and quick. Feeling like a dirty old man now? A bit actually quite a lot yeah thanks.

Still. He eats prawn crackers and smokes in chains twisting quotes from my first term play. ‘Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscrib’d in one self place, for where we are is hell and where hell is there must we ever be.’ Cheery! I chew Have you done it? Not yet but I live in hope, I’ve a few more years before I’m too old. What did you do last? ’Tis Pity. Where was that on? Here, in the West End. Did it go well? Think so, he says But can I ask you about something else? If your father died when you were eight how well do you remember him? Pretty well, better than people expect, are your parents alive? My father is, much married and living in Bradford. Is that where you’re from then? No, Sheffield. And your mother? Dead, a long time dead. How long? Don’t know I was in my early twenties. I’m sorry. I’m not, do you want another drink? Alright, I say Thanks. And the food goes over and I watch him eat, liking long fingers manoeuvring chopsticks thinking God I fancy him something wicked. What? he asks. Nothing, I say.

Once he’s paid we go to the street, salt dark now but hot with seething. Tube? he asks Or a bit more walking? I could walk a bit. So he’s off and I’m after. Charing Cross Road. On it me saying My friend’s boyfriend knows you. Oh right, does he? What’s his name? No I mean, from the stage. Small pool, he shrugs. So are you famous? Well am I famous to you? No, I say. Then there you go, let’s make a stop in Foyles.

Upstairs in second-hand, he finds it — I knew I’d seen it here. I’m going to get this for you. What is it? I ask. Book about Marlowe, you’ll like it, it’ll help with your play. You shouldn’t, I fluster Anyway, isn’t there some weird paying thing? Yeah, Soviet three-queue system, I’ll be right back. So I follow him with the track of my eye, cheek to the shelf and tired by the weight of all I don’t know.

You alright? he asks, handing it over. I Thanks, go to kiss his cheek. But there it is in the turning dust. Oh no, he warns No kissing in Foyles. Maybe though, just because I am already close, he kisses me anyway. And more, until Excuse me, we’re closing up! I Anthony Burgess over my mouth. He offers the intruder a grave Of course, me a significant eyebrow and Alright jailbait, let’s go.

Quick down the stairwell together and out. Cross between traffic on Oxford Street. Past the Virgin Megastore. Up the Tottenham Court Road. Past sex shops. Electric shops. Let’s cut down. So Torrington Place then. Across Gower Street. I went there, he points back. Posh! Not really, scholarship. Nips into Dillon’s for a new Time Out. Over Malet Street. Byng Place. Gordon Square. Out by Wellcome building to the Euston Road. And we go across it, glittering, in buses, cabs and the race of things. Night upon us and I must quick to keep with his long legs. As he lights up on Eversholt Street, I ask Will you tell me what your script’s about? It’s about someone falling off a roof. Is it based on you? Ah! he says You remember that? Is it? A little. How come you did? The usual, a problem of balance, and drugs. So because you were high? No, because I usually was and things a little got out of hand when I stopped. When was that? I ask. Oh years ago — probably when you were two. Do you miss them? The drugs? I nod. Sometimes but not enough — Royal Mail depot — to go back. And won’t you miss acting while you’re writing? He says I might, acting’s been a lot of my life but it’s time now for something else. Walk quieter then — quick took looks at him. Tall and straight. Proverbial thin. His face showing different in the light and dark. What? he asks. Nothing, I shrug as the drunks go fight up Oakley Square.

By Mornington Crescent, legs wore from wear, I ask Can we get the tube? Sorry, eternally closed for repairs. The Palace pumps to our right though won’t get going until late. Oh we’re in Camden, I see. High road spilling up for the night. So weave we through serious clouds of spliff. If you’re tired we could stop at the Liberties for a drink? I’m alright, I say, divining junctions ahead and the hope in me wanting him to be explicit. He, oblivious, only moves us through so by the World’s End I stop. In here? he says It’ll be a meat market tonight. No, I point to the Kentish Town Road sign. Oh right, you going home? Guess me guess me with your grey eyes. Shame, he says I was hoping you’d want another go on me tonight. There it is, on a plate, and he only giving smallest smile. I suppose I owe you for dinner, I say. You don’t really think that do you? And what if I did? If you were that stupid I’d make sure I got my money’s worth, he laughs. I don’t owe you for dinner. I know, he says Come back anyway.

No this one, he grabs me as I go the wrong gate. Careful on the stairs too, still no light. Here again for what new night? Were you expecting to bring someone back? Why do you say that? It’s all tidy. I tidy sometimes, he says. Yeah but there’re also clean sheets on your bed. I get a look but continue anyway So, if we hadn’t met would you have gone to the World’s End tonight? Might have done, he says Pass me your coat. As I pass it to him If you think it’s a meat market, isn’t that a bit grim? Well not liking it and not doing it are two different things, aren’t they Nancy Drew? And he kneels at the fire letting the air go thin. I scrabble back What’re the boxes for? Keeping my stuff in. I never noticed them last time. Well you were somewhat preoccupied, he says With what you wanted to achieve. Quiet bite. How wrong’s my foot? So — he leans back on his desk — What now? Sorry how do you mean? Well we’re both here for sex aren’t we? I just thought, given your insightfulness, maybe you’d like to get things going this time? And his eyes say nothing so I die inside. Don’t make me make the first move. Why, would that be unkind? I mumble I think it would. So you see, he says — surveying his shoes — I also have insight and, if I wanted, could be unkind as well. Sorry I it was a stupid thing to say. No, it was a clever thing to see but I don’t need to be caught out so what exactly would you like to know? Nothing. Really? Nothing. Adversaries it seems but I don’t look away and he is the first to smile. Well, in that case, he says I think we should get back to the kissing now.

From which, on to mischief. By the time of the bra he’s joking Still coping without the duvet? And wrangling the waves of myself rolling through I let him cramp up the small space between. Good that the smell of his body’s not new. Helps he remembers small what’s of mine also like God those freckly shoulders again or. Laughing Your tights are the bane of mankind. Kissing to strip off, to lick of my palm then sliding it sliding it down. God! I God! Do you mind? he says. No but I don’t want to make a mistake. You won’t, just do whatever you want, if I don’t like it I’ll say. So, and pact made, fall in with his mouth but what is it he wouldn’t allow? And I let him do all sorts now, modesty flying everywhere. It’s only him backing me back to the bed, suffering Fuck you do that well, that re-catches me old sight of myself and opens the anxious eye. Wrestle. Be easy with this stuff said — not as if it never has. But this is not that, here with him. He kisses like he means it, like he’s with some person who can be liked and kissed. Who is not bits of body, floating parts, there for a finger in the mouth or What? You know what things. In the atom though his fancying must be a lie and I go so far from my body now. Left, from his skin to the switching off. Turn it down. Turn it Stop! I Stop Please Stop. And bolt my arms across until the air goes lock. Why? he asks. No reason, just stop. He stands back Whatever you want, but his eyes stay right on mine. Shy again? I shake my head. Something I did? No. Something I said? but rathering chaos than answering questions I panic Stop talking, shut up! He drops his eyes Okay, let’s not have this again, this is when it stopped being fun last time, remember? And I see he is now calm annoyed, showing only to the carpet, but I am Oh God filled with remorse. I’m sorry, I say I don’t know what’s wrong. He, as though I’m lying, shrugs Never mind, some other time, stooping down for his shirt. Don’t do that, I say. No? Why not? There and has me on the spot decide decide on him. So turn I braille eights on his long hand. Prise the shirt from him, tug and down. Please don’t put your clothes back on. I won’t if you won’t, he says. I won’t. Promise me that! Why? Because, he laughs I nearly had to take you back to the Gents at the Festival Hall before. Really? Really and as for Foyles well. But then. Then he. And he makes it so easy for me. I’m glad he wants to, still.