‘I’m sorry, I just had to get out of there. Are you OK?’ I said into the phone as my taxi turned down my street.
‘Yes,’ Annabelle said. ‘I think so.’
I’d called Annabelle as soon as I was in the cab out of the rain. She said Mum and Dad were very upset and that Dad was almost inconsolable.
‘What do we do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Annabelle said.
‘Me neither.’ I passed the driver some money and slid out of the car. ‘How do you feel?’
Annabelle waited a beat before answering. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Me neither.’ I stepped over some bin bags that a fox had clearly had a go at. ‘What are they doing now?’
‘About to head home. Mum’s rubbing baking soda on the lamp.’
‘God, sorry about that.’
‘It’s OK.’
I reached my flat and looked up at the cracked bricks above the front door that I’d repeatedly told our landlord could collapse at any moment and decapitate someone. ‘We’ll get through this, won’t we?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
Annabelle let out a delicate breath. ‘I don’t know. But we will.’
I stood at my front door, my house keys in my hand. ‘Yeah.’
‘I’d better go,’ Annabelle said. ‘I’ve got to meet Marcus and bring the kids home. I’ll call you later, OK?’
I hung up, entered my flat, hung my coat on the hallway hook and noticed the change immediately. It felt, apart from Dave sitting on the sofa watching a zombie movie and eating cornflakes from a salad bowl, empty.
‘Hey,’ I said, dropping my bag on the dining table and scanning the room.
‘How’s it going?’ he said, not removing his eyes from the TV.
‘My whole life is a lie and I’ve been roofied by my mother and sister.’
‘Stink,’ Dave said, twisting in his position to see the roofie damage. ‘Wanna talk about it?’
‘No.’
He bobbed his head as if to say ‘I get that’ and turned back to the TV while I walked around the flat. Pete had been and gone and removed almost all trace of him having lived there. And it was only 11.17 a.m. To be fair, he hadn’t ever been much into home decor, all the little unnecessary touches that make a house a home had been bought by me (or upcycled and gifted by Annabelle), so he didn’t have much stuff that was ‘his’. Pete was more a functional item owner. If it didn’t do anything practical then he wasn’t interested in the ceramic vase that stood on chicken feet. Or the crocheted owl so ugly I had to buy it and give it a home and a name (Rastus, in case you’re interested), and who now lives on the recovered 1930s sofa I’d found at Camden Market before it got expensive and touristy.
So even with Rastus untouched and the chicken-feet vase still on the dining table that Annabelle and I had bought on eBay then spray-painted glossy white, I knew he’d taken everything that was his. The weights that usually sat under the coffee table for his evening reps while watching a sports documentary were gone; only a dent in the carpet where they’d been kept for the past four years remained. The Men’s Fitness magazines he kept in date order on a side table were gone too.
I moved to the bedroom. His drawers were empty, as was his side of the wardrobe. He’d taken the hangers because he was very fussy about what kind of hangers he hung his uniform shirt on. Too long and they created a sticky-out bit down his arm, too thin and they stretched it and did something else but I’d stopped listening, telling him I was getting closer to death with each passing second and I didn’t want to devote any more of them to talking about hanger damage in what was effectively a school sports uniform worn by a grown man. His manscaping products were gone from the bathroom; his ankle weights, therabands, skipping rope and various other fitness apparatus were no longer under the bed. The top of his bedside table was bare. In the kitchen, all he’d taken was his super-powered blender, his industrial-sized cans of protein powder and a fridge magnet his sister had sent him from Bali of a lizard on a surfboard.
I walked back through the flat looking at all the holes left by Pete’s departure. I thought about my childhood and all those times Dad wasn’t there – supposedly working but actually living his ‘real’ life with his ‘real’ family. Holes in my childhood, holes in my home . . . Man, I’m grim, I thought, shocked at my mood. The Verve were right: the drugs don’t work, they just make you worse. I was not cut out for come-downs. After googling how to fast-track a cannabis purge from the body I arrived back in the living room and stood behind the sofa watching the credits, dripping like blood, roll up the TV screen.
‘Were you here when he took everything?’ I asked.
Dave twisted in his seat again. ‘I was in my room,’ he said, watching my reaction. ‘He had someone helping him. A girl.’
‘Yeah, I know who she is.’
Dave took a bite of his toast sandwich and watched me as he chewed. ‘Wanna watch the new Evil Dead again?’ he said after swallowing his mouthful.
‘Definitely.’ I climbed over the sofa, pulled a crocheted blanket onto my lap and curled up among the cushions.
We ordered pizza, watched hours and hours of zombie stuff, then Dave got ready for work (ate toothpaste) and left. In the subsequent silence my mind went immediately to Jimmy. With everything else falling apart, leaving me feeling completely powerless, that was one area where I could take action. I flicked open my laptop and called him on Skype.
After a mere two rings Jimmy’s face appeared, the sun in the faultless blue sky shining bright behind him. From the angle, I could tell he was sitting at the kitchen island.
‘Hi,’ he said, his expression loaded with unspoken questions.
I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since I’d raced out of Sylvie’s restaurant a week ago. So much had gone on in that time that it felt simultaneously like it had been an age and also like it was just yesterday. His face was still beautiful.
My stomach erupted into frenzied butterflies.
‘Can I talk to Flora, please?’ I said, affecting a polite enquiry.
There was a moment where he looked confused, then his eyes sparkled and a small grin appeared.
‘Sure,’ he said, his voice warm. He disappeared for a moment then came back and positioned Flora on his lap. ‘She’s a bit tired from our walk this morning so if she doesn’t say much don’t be offended.’
I giggled. ‘So, Flora, I wanted to ask your opinion on a guy.’
‘Oh yes?’ I imagined Flora to say. ‘Fucked something up did you? It doesn’t surprise me.’
‘I slept with him and said I’d call but didn’t,’ I said. ‘So I want to apologise but I don’t know how to go about it.’
Jimmy smiled behind Flora, who gave her customary black-eyed assessment with muppet-eared head tilt.
‘I hardly think the male in question would have waited around for someone like you, but should he have low enough self-esteem to do so, I suggest you go up to him and sniff his butt.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I nodded. ‘Then what?’
‘Turn around and let him sniff yours. Then lie on your back and expose yourself.’
‘That sounds kind of desperate.’
Jimmy made a quizzical face.
‘It works a charm for me.’
‘I might go for something less . . . forward,’ I said, glancing at Jimmy, who was grinning.
‘Lame,’ Flora put a paw to Jimmy’s chest. ‘I’d like to get down now, this conversation has been a waste of good crotch-licking time.’
‘You two girls done talking?’ Jimmy said.
‘Yep,’ I said as Jimmy ducked out of view to lower Madam Floof to the floor then reappeared. ‘She wants me to sniff your butt.’
‘I wouldn’t advise that,’ he said, seriously. ‘Diego made beans for breakfast.’
I smiled. ‘So, what do you say? Can you forgive me for not replying to your texts or calls?’
‘Or skypes, or Facebook messages?’
‘Yes, all of those,’ I said, feeling truly sorry. ‘I’ve had a bit going on.’
‘I know,’ Jimmy said. ‘I wanted to see if you were OK.’
I cringed. ‘Sorry.’
Flora ruff-ruffed in the background. Jimmy looked down at her then turned back and faced the screen again. ‘She really wants you to sniff my butt,’ he said, then cracked into a winning smile.
‘Jimmy, I cannot take this any more! I refuse to be caught in the middle of—’ Diego’s voice boomed from somewhere in the room and then stopped as he passed behind Jimmy and spotted me. ‘Oh hello there, sweet girl! We miss you – when are you coming back?’
‘One day, hopefully,’ I said, grinning.
He grinned back then turned to Jimmy and his smile fell and his brow lowered. ‘Well, thank god you’ve called – we need someone who this domkop will actually listen to!’
Jimmy reddened and I felt myself flush with the compliment.
‘Jimmy got his script in on time, you know. And guess what? He got offered one of the placements! He has to be in London in May to do that summer course at the production company.’
My hopes fluttered at the thought of Jimmy coming to London. ‘That’s amazing! Congratulations!’ I beamed at Jimmy, whose face was not the picture of glee you’d imagine. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Exactly,’ Diego said, his muscled arms folded across his huge pecs. He looked at Jimmy expectantly.
‘I can’t take the placement,’ Jimmy said, his expression one of firm resolve.
‘Of course you can!’ Diego said.
‘I can’t,’ Jimmy said. ‘I can’t afford the course fees. And I can’t afford to live in London for three months unpaid. I can barely afford to live here in your basement!’
‘Argh! You’re talking kak!’ Diego leant his elbows on the counter next to Jimmy and spun the laptop his way. ‘Jimmy’s Dad has offered, via Ian, of course, because those two still can’t get their shit together, to lend him the money and for Jimmy to stay at home but he,’ he gave Jimmy some heavy side-eye, ‘is refusing.’
Jimmy spun the laptop towards him. ‘I am not refusing; I’m saying I won’t go.’
‘That’s refusing!’ Diego said, pushing back into the frame.
‘Yeah, but when you say refusing like that it makes me sound like a child.’
‘You’re behaving like a child!’ Diego shoved Jimmy to the side so his face filled the screen. ‘Ian and Jimmy have been at each other like a couple of fishwives for days. I can’t take it any more, sweet girl. I can’t take it!’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to go to a class. Please convince this idiot he is behaving like an idiot.’
He fell into Afrikaans, stalked back and forth in the background collecting his phone and keys, picking up Lucy and Flora and giving them kisses while throwing exasperated looks in Jimmy’s direction, then he blew me a kiss, gave Jimmy a quick final scowl and left.
‘Why won’t you stay at—’ I began.
‘What happened with—’ Jimmy said at the same time.
‘You go first,’ I said.
‘No you,’ Jimmy said. ‘You owe me. You slept with me. And then didn’t call.’ He folded his arms across his chest making his biceps bulge. ‘And now you’re refusing to sniff my butt.’
I smiled and in one big monologue told Jimmy everything that had happened from the moment I drove away from him in Cape Town right up until arriving home and finding the flat completely Pete-less.
‘That’s . . .’ Jimmy sought for a suitable expression of consolation. ‘Fucked.’
‘Yes,’ I said with a slow nod. ‘And I feel like I’m developing a lot of wrath about it.’
Jimmy frowned. ‘You look very unwrathful at present . . .?’
‘It’s probably the drugs,’ I said. ‘I forgot to tell you Mum and Annabelle roofied me.’
After I explained the familial drugging and exfoliation-by-Wotsit, we moved on to Jimmy’s placement and why he was refusing his father’s offer.
‘I didn’t think about how I’d fund it because I never really thought I’d get in,’ he said.
‘But you worked so hard on getting it finished.’
‘I know,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘But it’s just so expensive. There are the course fees, flights and living costs. Apparently they work you really hard so there’s no spare time to get a job on the side. Not even a bar job because sometimes you have to work on a script overnight. I’m earning South African rand – I’d be better off if they paid me in pistachio nuts.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll never be able to save enough by then.’
‘But your dad is offering to help.’
‘I can’t accept,’ he said. ‘I’ve barely spoken to him in ten years.’
‘Can’t you borrow money from Ian and Diego? I’m sure they’d be happy to help.’
‘They’ve offered. But I don’t want to take anything more from them. They already do so much for me. And I don’t know how I can ever earn enough to repay them. It’s three months unpaid in probably the most expensive city in the world. Plus, don’t say anything but I’ve heard them talk about getting married and I know Diego is going to want some big, colourful, ostentatious affair with acrobats and face painters and ice sculptures and a professional dress-up booth.’
‘How exciting!’
We chatted for a little longer, Jimmy only gently scolding me for ignoring his attempts to make contact, and after we said goodbye a small feeling of lightness lingered and I decided it would be my new mission to get Jimmy to come to London.
As it headed towards late afternoon, Annabelle texted to see if I was OK and did I want to come back for dinner at her house with Mum and Dad. I couldn’t understand how she could look those two Liar McLiarsons in their lying eyes. Then Mum texted. Dad had misplaced his phone again so Mum texted on his behalf. I replied that I was fine but no, I didn’t want to join them for roast beef lest some MDMA be hiding in the gravy.
