Another Country (6 page)

Amy stooped, dived into a pile of laundry, emerged with something frilled and pink and used it to tie up her hair: a pair of knickers. ‘They're clean,' she said.

Leela grinned. ‘I've got a present for you in my bag.'

‘Oh, lovely! I don't have your Christmas present yet, but I'm doing my shopping at home.'

They were spending Christmas at Amy's parents'. Leela looked forward to it: as much to the warmth and adult conversation, the sense of an ordered world, as to the comfort.

‘I'm feeling really sick, Leela,' said Amy pathetically.

‘Get into bed,' she suggested. Amy climbed under the duvet.

‘I'll get you some aspirin,' Leela said.

‘Think I just need to sleep,' she said, rolling herself in the covers. ‘Talk to me for a bit.'

Leela sat on the other side of the bed, hugging her knees, and they began a conversation; Amy fell asleep within minutes. The room filled with her smell: a mix of musk, tea, and yoghurt.

Leela went downstairs, feeling she was on a stage set, waiting to be found. The others knew she would be there, but only for a couple of days before she and Amy went away.

She opened her book,
Moon Park
. She was reading about cunnilingus in a lift when the door opened, introducing a man in a brown suit and loafers, James, and a blast of cold air.

‘Hi Leela,' James said. He gave her a big grin. They hugged. ‘How was your trip? Did you get in today?'

‘In the afternoon.'

‘Is Amy here?' James was getting a pouch of tobacco out of his jacket pocket. He put down a leather briefcase, sat in an armchair near Leela, and began to talk, rolling a cigarette. Tobacco fell on his corduroy suit. He worked in art publishing. How grown up everyone had become.

‘How's work?' Leela asked.

James lit the cigarette. Smoke filtered into his blondish hair. ‘Huh?' he said.

‘How's work?'

‘It's all right.' He grinned, showing yellow teeth. ‘It's all right, it's all right.' He sighed, shoved his hand in his hair, smoked again. ‘Actually it's good. They really like me.'

‘Oh really? That's good.'

‘Yeah, yeah,' James drawled. ‘They get me to come along to a lot of important meetings, stuff I'm not even supposed to be at.'

‘What's your actual job?'

She had to repeat the question because he was making for the kitchen. His shirt cuffs flared. His trousers were too long. His hair became dishevelled. He came back with three cans of lager from a four pack.

‘Wannabeer?'

‘No thanks. Um – okay.'

He was a marketing executive, it was his job to promote art books. But his art history degree and ability to talk to anyone had led to his getting to know the editorial department. Now they took him to meetings, and he'd met a professional art historian, and sat in on a meeting with another regular author.

‘It's like a ceramic book. Like updated ceramics.'

‘Oh right. My dad used to do pottery.'

‘Not pottery. They're very particular. You're supposed to call them ceramicists.'

‘Oh, really?'

‘Yeah. It's like a really big deal for them.'

His mobile buzzed, and he waved it. Leela was slightly put out; everyone seemed to have a mobile now. ‘Excuse me for a second.'

‘Sure.'

There was a creaking on the stairs. Ellen came in. She was thinner than Leela remembered her. ‘Let me just take a shower,' she said after she hugged Leela. ‘I left here at seven this morning.' She worked in sales, and did shifts. She went to her room, and Leela, disenfranchised, went to see if Amy was up. She was; music blared from her stereo, she was brushing her hair, and putting on make-up. The honey and lemon Leela had made her was untouched.

‘These pills Tom got me are fucking brilliant.'

Ellen's boyfriend had gone out to get her the cold remedy. It was now time for everyone to go to the pub on the main road.

Ellen, Tom, James, Amy and Leela sheltered in the front bar and drank pints, followed by whiskies. Tom's cheerful face became rosy. Amy became more and more amusing, and loud. She knocked over a drink. James's chat became more frenetic and less clearly enounced. The lights got brighter. Leela ate crisps. Amy licked the crumbs off the packet. The jukebox was turned off.

They went home.

In the dark, Amy whispered grievances. ‘We all pay the same rent, right, but this is the worst room.'

‘I think it's nice,' said Leela, partly out of loyalty, partly out of a desire not to have the conversation because her own resentment was more than she could handle; she preferred to pretend other people were more easy-going than she, and partly because she did think the room attractive. Admittedly it backed onto a yard and the small window was barred. But the room was big enough for a double bed, there was a fitted wardrobe, and it was possessed of the cosiness and comfort that Amy's rooms always had. Was it her friend's presence, or the props that travelled with her: a fringed lamp, a stereo, candles, a bedspread, a rug from home?

‘Yeah, well, you should see James's room, or Tom's. It's because they found the house, and James said we'd get dibs on rooms, but he got one of the best ones, and so did Tom, and obviously they made sure Ellen did.'

How, Leela wondered, did she really feel about Simon? She longed to talk to Amy about him. She would when they were on the train. Perhaps he was her boyfriend. No. They were seeing each other. She felt a warm burst of affection for him, in his absence. It was sweet, he could be sweet. She had someone, that part of her life wasn't inactive. She fell asleep, the night getting away from her, carrying her like a soporific toddler towards sanity, breakfast, the pretence of function.

Chapter 10

‘What do you think?' Amy was whispering so loudly she almost seemed to be shouting.

‘About what?'

‘Oh, come on.'

‘He's nice, he's nice looking,' Leela said. She felt thrilled, but put-upon.

‘Did you talk to him?' Amy was singing out her words in aggressive exuberance. She dabbed powder on her face, stretched her mouth, reapplied lipstick. Leela looked at herself in the mirror, recoiled, wondered if the skin under her eyes could really be so dark.

‘Pub mirrors are horrible, aren't they?'

‘Ugh.'

They began to leave the lavatory.

‘So are you going to pull him?'

‘What?'

‘Rob. Are you going to pull him?'

Leela felt rattled and became aggressive in turn. ‘What are you on about? Leave me alone.'

‘I'm just trying to help. Jesus.' Amy marched away, and a marooned Leela watched her. Without her friend, she was helpless.

Leela and Rob had a conversation. He was tall, dark-haired, fair-skinned, a bit awkward.

‘So what do you do?' Leela asked abruptly. She had Simon after all, or whatever, she didn't need this. Nevertheless, Rob's attention, what she saw as his slightly rat-like smile, unnerved her. He continued to meet her eyes.

‘I'm in gardening.'

‘Right. Do you like that?'

He shrugged. ‘It's all right. Pretty boring.' He grinned at her.

They were upstairs in the pub. Crowded: Christmas Eve. She and Amy had come up to Stratford the day before. That was when Leela had met Rob, the elder brother of Amy's chirpier, but less good-looking friend Jason, and a few of Amy's other numerous friends from home. Like Leela, perhaps like everyone, Amy had a different persona for college and for the town where she'd grown up. At home, many of her friends were the easy-going, down-to-earth young men she'd worked or drunk with: Jason and she had waited tables at the Grillhouse, a steak place in a retail park. Jason still worked there, and was now the junior manager. Amy hadn't met Rob, but had told Jason to bring his fit brother along. Rob was reputed to be serious. He and Leela sounded ideal for each other, in the short term.

They were standing up now, wedged against a small table with a stool near it. The stool was covered in coats. The pub was smoky. Leela shrank into the passage. Rob put an arm around her, just brushing her shoulder, as three men walked by. They skirted Leela and Rob as a couple.

‘What about Simon?' Leela had checked with Amy when they were getting ready.

‘Well, has he asked you to be his girlfriend?'

‘No, but, I mean, we see each other almost every week. Sometimes more than once a week.'

‘Has he had a conversation with you about seeing other people?'

‘No.' Leela had felt sick.

Rob looked at her now and, as though straining a group of muscles, made a conversational foray. ‘Have you been to Stratford before?'

Leela's heart sank. ‘Yeah, a few times, yeah. To … visit Amy and stuff.'

‘Oh, right.' He nodded. She examined his hair, which was impeccable with gel. Jason must have told him Amy had a friend who was single. Last night they'd smiled at each other; today Amy had reported that Jason said Rob thought Leela was fit. It was on, then.

‘He's a nice-looking boy, love,' Amy's mother had remarked.

There they were. She smiled at Rob. He smiled uneasily back.

‘I think I feel sick.'

‘I feel really unwell. Here, do you want some cheese? Mm, so fattening and good.' Amy cut herself a piece of stilton and ate it. Leela removed orange peel from her sweater and lay prone on the sofa.

‘We can do the Mr Motivator video tomorrow,' Amy said.

‘That bloke in Lycra?'

‘He's brilliant. It really tones you up.'

‘Okay.'

They lay near the fire, and outside the lawn and garden darkened; late winter, Christmas Day. Leela was sandwiched between the softness of the sofa and the hot blast of the fire and aware, further away, of the cold beyond the French doors. It was like
Jane Eyre
, she thought groggily, but without the cruelty. Surely they would now start reading enormous picture books, or look at maps, then fall into a frowsy and terrifying dream. England at Christmas was always like this: a fictional place into which she, Gulliver-like, had fallen. But Amy's family and their warmth cushioned her.

Orange peel, pips, and cheese rind sat on a plate. Leela and Amy drank tea.

‘I'm seriously going to lose some weight.'

‘Yeah, as soon as New Year's done.'

‘So we'll be fat for New Year?'

‘It's inevitable, with the way it comes straight after Christmas.' Amy pressed her stomach down and towards her groin, as though willing it to flatten.

‘I feel sick,' Leela repeated.

‘Cheese?'

They both started to laugh.

‘Maybe just a bit.'

Leela went up to stash her presents, throw away the wrapping, and tidy up – they were later going out to the sole pub nearby that would be open, with Amy's father and a friend of his. Just then, the telephone began to ring. Amy's mother's silvery voice called up.

‘Lee-la!'

‘Yes?'

‘Telephone for you, love. It's your mother.'

She ran down the stairs, slightly embarrassed. She'd given her parents the number when she had still been in Paris. But she'd half hoped they wouldn't call. She had a vague sense that Amy's parents disapproved of hers, but couldn't be sure. She felt mildly guilty about it, and shifty, as whenever different areas of her life converged.

‘Hello?'

She held the cordless phone Amy's mother had given her, and stood looking at the dresser in the kitchen.

‘Hello darling,' said her mother's voice, unexpectedly melodious and soft.

‘Hi,' Leela repeated.

‘Happy Christmas. We thought this'd be a good time to catch you. Are you having a good time?' Her voice, dissociated from her physical presence, was flexible and slightly cracked.

‘Happy Christmas,' Leela said.

‘So how is it?'

‘It's nice, I'm having a really nice time.' She was, but her voice sounded flat and resentful.

In the hall she heard Amy and her little brother squabbling.

Later that night she and Amy lay in bed together, a habit from earlier in their friendship, and talked in the darkness.

‘So has what's-his-name been in touch?'

‘Simon?' Leela could tell she had her friend's attention. ‘No. I don't really know what's happening.' She stretched out one bare foot and a pyjama'd leg. Amy in sleep was assertive about the covers. Leela usually tried the stealth pull: loosening the duvet from Amy's grasp, then rolling over to cover herself. It rarely worked for long.

‘Did he speak to you before you left?'

‘Well, we saw each other a few days before that.'

‘Did he say when he'd be in touch?'

‘Uh, no.'

‘Oh, right.'

Silence.

‘So you didn't fancy Rob?'

‘He was fit, sort of. Do you think the lower half of his face is a bit ratty?'

‘Well – no, I think he's lovely looking.'

‘We didn't have anything to say to each other.'

‘You didn't have to
say
anything.'

‘Yeah. I dunno. I didn't want to. What did he say? Did he say anything?'

Amy rolled over, taking much of the duvet with her. ‘Dunno. Jason said, Rob said he thought Leela fancied him, then she didn't get off with him.'

Leela mused on this. After a minute or two she said, ‘But listen, right –'

Amy was asleep.

Leela lay with one leg under the covers, then got up and walked around. She went to the window and put her head under the heavy velvet curtain, a little away from the icy pane. Outside it was nearly dark, except for the acid-white glow of a street light. In the garden, the leaves of a small tree next to the wall appeared to be dead still.

She went back to bed, thinking wistfully for some reason of the discomfort of sleeping at Simon's. He never stayed at her house, of course; she thought of the platform bed and didn't miss it. She annexed part of the duvet, and rolled to the side, to avoid Amy, who was saying something indistinct and violent in sleep, and tossing from one side to the other.