Edward Aubyn - The Patrick Melrose Novels - Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, and Mother's Milk

‘Are you implying that morticians can’t be nice?’ asked Patrick lugubriously.

‘Lord, no, I think they do a wonderful job.’

‘I don’t really know. I have to collect the ashes, otherwise I’m as free as the wind. I wish you were here.’

‘So do I, but I’ll, see you tomorrow, won’t I?’

‘Absolutely. I’ll come round straight from the airport.’ Patrick lit a cigarette. ‘I’ve been thinking all night,’ he continued rapidly, ‘– if you can call that thinking – about whether ideas come from the continual need to talk, relieved occasionally by the paralysing presence of other people, or if we simply realize in speech what we’ve already thought.’ He hoped this was the kind of question that would distract Kay from the exact details of his return.

‘That shouldn’t have kept you up,’ she laughed. ‘I’ll tell you the answer tomorrow night. What time do you get in?’

‘Around ten,’ said Patrick, adding a few hours to the arrival time.

‘So I’ll see you about eleven?’

‘Perfect.’

‘Bye, baby. Lots of love.’

‘You too. Bye now.’

Patrick put down the phone and made himself another little fix of coke to keep him going. The last fix was still too recent and he had to lie on the bed for a while, sweating, before he could make the next call.

‘Hello? Debbie?’

‘Darling. I didn’t dare call you in case you were asleep.’

‘That hasn’t been my problem.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, I didn’t know that.’

‘I’m not accusing you of anything. There’s no need to be so defensive.’

‘I’m not being defensive,’ laughed Debbie. ‘I was just worried about you. This is ridiculous. I only meant that I’ve been worried all night about how you were.’

‘Ridiculous, I suppose.’

‘Oh, please don’t let’s argue. I wasn’t saying you were ridiculous. I meant that arguing is ridiculous.’

‘Well, I was arguing, and if arguing is ridiculous then I was being ridiculous. My case rests.’

‘What case? You always think I’m attacking you. We’re not in a courtroom. I’m not your opponent or your enemy.’

Silence. Patrick’s head pounded from the effort of not contradicting her. ‘So what did you do last night?’ he asked at last.

‘Well, I was trying to get hold of you for a long time, and then I went to Gregory and Rebecca’s dinner thing.’

‘Suffering takes place while somebody else is eating. Who said that?’

‘It could have been almost anyone,’ laughed Debbie.

‘It just popped into my mind.’

‘Mm. You should try editing some of the things that just pop into your mind.’

‘Well, never mind last night, what are you doing tomorrow night?’

‘We’ve been asked to China’s thing, but I don’t suppose you want to eat and suffer at the same time.’ Debbie laughed at her own joke, as was her habit, while Patrick pursued his ruthless policy of never laughing at anything she said, without feeling on this occasion the least trace of meanness.

‘What a brilliant remark,’ he said drily. ‘I won’t come along, but nothing could persuade me to stop you from going.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll cancel.’

‘It sounds as if I had better not stop being ridiculous, or you won’t recognize me. I was going to come and see you straight from the airport, but I’ll come when you get back from China’s. At twelve or one.’

‘Well, OK, but I’ll cancel if you like.’

‘No, no, I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘I’d better not go or you’ll just use it against me later.’

‘We’re not in a courtroom. I’m not your opponent or your enemy,’ Patrick echoed mockingly.

Silence. Debbie waited until she could make a fresh start, trying to ignore Patrick’s impossibly contradictory demands.

‘Are you in the Pierre?’ she asked brightly.

‘If you don’t know what hotel I’m in, how could you have rung me?’

‘I guessed you were in the Pierre, but I couldn’t be sure since you didn’t see fit to tell me,’ sighed Debbie. ‘Is the room lovely?’

‘I think you would like it. There are lots of sachets in the bathroom and a phone next to the loo, so you needn’t miss any important calls – an invitation to dinner at China’s, for instance.’

‘Why are you being so horrid?’

‘Am I?’

‘I’m going to cancel tomorrow.’

‘No, no, please don’t. It was only a joke. I feel rather mad at the moment.’

‘You always feel rather mad,’ laughed Debbie.

‘Well, my father happens to have died, which makes me feel especially mad.’

‘I know, darling, I’m sorry.’

‘Plus, I’ve taken a huge quantity of coke.’

‘Was that a good idea?’

‘Of course it wasn’t a good idea,’ yelped Patrick indignantly.

‘Do you think your father’s death will make you less like him?’ Debbie sighed again.

‘I’ll have the work of two to do now.’

‘God, are you sure you wouldn’t rather forget the whole thing?’

‘Of course I’d rather forget the whole thing,’ snapped Patrick, ‘but that’s not an option.’

‘Well, everyone has their cross to bear.’

‘Really? What’s yours?’

‘You,’ laughed Debbie.

‘Well, be careful or somebody might steal it from you.’

‘They’ll have to fight for it,’ said Debbie affectionately.

‘Sweet,’ cooed Patrick, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear and sitting on the edge of the bed.

‘Oh, darling, why do we always argue?’ asked Debbie.

‘Because we’re so in love,’ said Patrick haphazardly, as he opened the packet of heroin over the bedside table. He dipped his little finger in the powder, put it to one of his nostrils and inhaled quietly.

‘That would seem a strange explanation from anybody else.’

‘Well, I hope you’re not getting it from anybody else,’ said Patrick babyishly, dipping and sniffing several more times.

‘Nobody else would dare give it, if they behaved like you,’ laughed Debbie.

‘It’s just that I need you so much,’ whispered Patrick, reclining again on the pillows. ‘It’s frightening if you’re addicted to independence like I am.’

‘Oh, that’s what you’re addicted to, is it?’

‘Yes. All the other things are illusions.’

‘Am I an illusion?’

‘No! That’s why we argue so much. Do you see?’ It sounded good to him.

‘Because I’m a real obstacle to your independence?’

‘To my foolish and misguided desire for independence,’ Patrick corrected her gallantly.

‘Well, you certainly know how to pay a girl a compliment,’ laughed Debbie.

‘I wish you were here,’ croaked Patrick, dabbing his finger in the white powder again.

‘So do I, you must be having a horrible time. Why don’t you go and see Marianne? She’ll look after you.’

‘What a good idea. I’ll give her a ring later on.’

‘I’d better go now,’ sighed Debbie. ‘I’ve got to be interviewed by some silly magazine.’

‘What for?’

‘Oh, about people who go to lots of parties. I don’t know why I agreed to it.’

‘Because you’re so kind and helpful,’ said Patrick.

‘Mm … I’ll call you later. I think you’re being very brave and I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

‘Bye, darling.’

‘Bye now.’

Patrick hung up the phone and glanced at the clock. Six thirty-five. He ordered Canadian bacon, fried eggs, toast, porridge, stewed fruit, orange juice, coffee, and tea.

‘Is that breakfast for two?’ asked the cheerful sounding woman taking the order.

‘No, just for one.’

‘Wooh, you’re sure having a hearty breakfast, honey,’ she giggled.