Paul Murray - An Evening of Long Goodbyes

‘There’s a nice smell , I don’t remember there being a nice smell…’

‘Oh yes,’ opening the window and vigorously shooing in fresh air, ‘yes, Laura came by with about half a ton of pot pourri. Now, Bel —’

‘Do you have anything to drink?’

‘I think you’ve probably had enough,’ I said, then, reluctantly, added: ‘I’ll make you some tea, if you want.’

‘You’re prob’ly right,’ she said, crashing on to the sofa. ‘I had to stop the taxi three times on the way over because I thought I was going to be…’ She pored over her purse as though it might contain the key to the whole business, then turned it upside-down and shook it, to no avail. ‘I think he overcharged me,’ she concluded mournfully.

I went into the kitchen and put on the kettle, then stood over the sink racking my brains. What was she doing here? How was I going to get her out? Of all the nights she could possibly have chosen to visit me…

The kettle clicked off. At least Mirela had had the good sense to stay in the bedroom, that was something. And it was just possible that Bel was too drunk to notice anything amiss.

‘Oh my God… What’s this ?’

Heart pounding, I sprinted out into the living room to see her gazing at a sheaf of dog-eared pages.

‘Put that down,’ I ordered her.

‘“ There’s Bosnians In My Attic! A Tragedy in Three Acts by Charles Hythloday —”’

‘Give that to me, please.’ I held out my hand. She dodged it and turned over the page.

‘“ Plot ”.’ She flipped it over, then back, then through the other pages. ‘Is that all you’ve written?’

‘It takes time,’ I said haughtily. ‘If one is going about it properly.’

‘ There’s Bosnians In My Attic .’ She rolled over on to her stomach. ‘Please tell me you’re not writing your autobiography.’

‘There are autobiographical elements, yes,’ I informed her. ‘Though as you can see I changed the Folly to an attic. I thought people might be able to relate to it better.’

‘ Relate to it…’ She rolled back, groaning, and folded the pages over her face. ‘Wealthy mother’s boy moons about house, twiddles thumbs, conducts imaginary conversations with his late father… God, Charles, only you could possibly find our stupid lives in any way interesting or, or edifying…’

‘Just because a fellow’s life isn’t set in a kitchen sink doesn’t mean it’s not interesting,’ I said stiffly. ‘That’s a prejudice that belongs to you alone. Anyway, sounds a bit like Hamlet , when you put it like that.’

Bel mumbled something about a tale told by an idiot and didn’t offer any resistance as I bent down and gathered the pages scattered over her face, drifting off instead into dark babblings half-lost to the couch about how some day she’d tell me a thing or two about Father and we’d see how instructive it was. She was fond of making ominous pronouncements at times like this: I didn’t pursue it. I crossed over to my bedroom and, without looking in, thrust the pages through the door. I brought it to and, hearing the snick of the latch, felt my heart begin to slow its pounding. I returned to the kitchen and poured the tea. ‘May I ask to what we owe this very great pleasure?’

She didn’t reply: she was lying with her hands folded limply over her midriff, staring at the ceiling as if picking out constellations. I set a cup down in front of her. ‘Bel, what are you doing here?’

There was a pause, and then she said slowly, ‘I’ve left Amaurot.’

I felt my heart sink again. ‘You’ve left ?’

‘I couldn’t stay there another second,’ she said. She held her head still a moment, then pronounced, ‘Not another second.’

‘But you’d gone to bed ,’ I beseeched her, clasping my hands. ‘When I left you’d gone to bed. I mean what happened, did someone spike your hot-water bottle?’

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said. ‘They were making such a racket, singing songs and… So I came downstairs for a nightcap. And it made me feel better, so I stayed there. I was drinking White Russians but then I used up all the cream so I thought the logical thing to do would be to move on to Black Russians and I was looking in the kitchen for the Coke when he came in.’

‘When who came in? Harry?’

‘Don’t even say it.’ She turned over on her side. ‘I don’t even want to hear his name. He came in and instead of just leaving me alone he started talking to me. He just started going on and on. Apologizing for not saying anything earlier but there were all these people round and he didn’t want to make a scene, and then about how if we cared we shouldn’t want to possess each other, and then about how the theatre was bigger than both of us. And I was standing there listening to this, when all I wanted was the Coke, and I started thinking, this is unreal, this has got to be some kind of sign, this is like the universe saying once and for all would you please get out of there —’

My shoulders slumped. ‘You’re not going to start all that business about the house again, are you?’ I said wanly. ‘Because I have enough on my plate without being told I don’t even exist any more.’

‘No, but — well, yes ,’ pulling herself upright and gazing at me earnestly through her mask of streaked colours. ‘I mean it made me realize that nothing there is ever going to change . Harry is one thing. I mean, you were totally right about him. But he’s probably better off with her, if you think about it. They probably deserve each other. But the truth is it doesn’t matter whether there’s a theatre there or not. That’s what I realized while he was making his speech. All the reasons I’ve ever wanted to leave — they’re still there. They’ll always be there. They’re like a part of the house. And suddenly it was like this fog had been lifted and I could see that everything I’d been doing was basically wrong , that it’s no good just waiting around for things to change. So I listened politely and then as soon as he was finished I went upstairs and packed my suitcase and called a cab. I should have done it years ago. I don’t know why I didn’t. I was afraid, I suppose.’

Bel and her signs! Everything had to be a sign, nothing could simply be the result of lack of foresight or bad planning — ‘You can’t just leave , though,’ I said weakly. ‘I mean, where would you go?’

Her eyes widened, as if in surprise that I hadn’t guessed. ‘Well, I thought I’d stay here with you.’

‘Here?’ I repeated. ‘With me? Now?’

‘With you and Frank,’ she said. ‘What’s wrong with that? I thought it might be sort of fun.’

I passed around behind the sofa and paced about, distractedly wringing my hands and glancing back at the shut door. ‘Wouldn’t that be rather awkward? What with your and Frank’s, shall we say, history ?’

‘It’s not a history,’ Bel said. ‘And he wouldn’t mind, I’m sure of it.’

‘Yes, but — well, where would you sleep, for a start?’

‘I thought I could sleep on the couch, please don’t get all moral guardianish…’

‘It’s not that, it’s just a little awkward, you see Droyd normally sleeps on the couch —’

‘Well, the armchair then, or the floor, I don’t care — Charles, why won’t you sit down? Why do you keep skulking around like that?’

‘I’m not skulking.’

‘You are, you’re making me nervous,’ she said.

I sat down in the armchair opposite her as unfurtively as I could manage.

‘Is it that you don’t want me to stay? Because if it is, just say.’