She smiled. He lifted the drinks across to the table. Alison smiled at him and shifted on her seat so that he could sit in beside her. The seat was an upholstered bench and he had to squeeze in there because there wasnt very much room. The bloke who was sitting at the edge of the company at the next table had to squeeze along a bit to help create space. Patrick apologised. A bit of a squeeze, he said, eh!
Aye, said the bloke.
Pat winked at Alison. Busy in here the night eh!
Yeh. She indicated the tomato juice in such a strange, peaceful way, that his heart sank to the furthest depth of his belly. He could not speak.
It was also her thigh solid jammed against his and they were jammed together, it was silly. He put his hand towards her but stopped it in the act and got it onto the glass of tomato juice. Things were running away from him, they were coming to a head. She was so kindly too, her intentions were with being gentle and if he could get touching her hand. If he could get touching her hand. What like would that be. And he was going to actually get hard, he was getting these twinges from the tip of his prick right to beneath the bollocks and if he relaxed his knees even a moment that would be that for christ sake. He tried a smile but it would not have been appearing right it would be too strained, what a strain, his forehead was strained, into something or other, something else, altogether, he was touching her hand, her hand was obviously soft, he was holding it, it was softer than his, or was it, was it really, was it not just like his and therefore okay different but the softer-than-his business just being stereotypical because she was female and he was male. He studied it. Her fingers. They were soft as well. She wore rings. He had to be intent on it, what he was doing, not to notice it, what he was doing, to give that impression to her. Sorry, he said, withdrawing his hand.
Alison didnt smile. On her face there was a rueful look.
I’m sorry, he said.
She stared at her gin & tonic, and the bottle of what was left of the tonic alone; her cigarette lay smouldering in the ashtray.
Sorry, he whispered.
She continued to stare. Eventually she muttered, O Pat.
…
I dont want to have a relationship with ye.
No.
It would just make things so complicated. It would make things so complicated. Her head was bowed. She lifted the cigarette in her left hand, inhaled on it, her head moving to the side, so that the smoke wouldnt interfere with other people. She blew the smoke down the way, to beneath the table. She kept her head bowed. Pat looked at the bar. It was busy. It was busy at the bar. This was a Monday evening. She raised her head. They glanced briefly at each other. Do you understand? she said.
It sounds like a Hollywood picture o my darling! he said, smiling.
Alison didnt smile in reply.
Aye, he said, I know what you’re saying.
She didnt respond. She looked at the table. The bloke squeezed in on the side of Patrick seemed to be jumping about or something and Patrick felt like digging him one in the fucking ribs but he restrained himself because maybe it was just to do with scapegoats.
So:
that was that. He gulped. Saliva at the throat and a feeling across his shoulders. He lifted the glass of tomato juice. It was all up now it was all over. But it was good to have it in the open, to have had it in the open.
But just getting things out, aired.
Some sort of song was playing on the stupid muzak jukebox as if this was the fucking stupid piece of goods he would always remember in association — I remember the night etcetera etcetera. Would he fuck. He stared at the tomato juice. He felt like flinging it at the wall. What had he bought it for? He would never fucking buy it again, that was for fucking definite. He looked at the waitress: a waitress had come to gather the empty glasses and give things a tidy up. An older woman; methodical in what she was doing. Alison said very quietly, I wish ye hadnt done it Pat.
He nodded.
She was gazing at the table.
She touched his hand.
She smiled and said something. He missed what it was. She said something but he couldnt make out what it was. He laughed a moment. He shook his head to clear or settle his brains. She smiled and said something, he missed it. Their hands were not touching now. He said, I appreciate what ye did there. He smiled at her. He raised his hand to cover his eyes, but he just smoothed his forehead instead and he smiled and shook his head.
After yesterday, she was saying.
I appreciate it, he said.
Alison touched him on the hand again, but just this touch and she had stopped it. He looked at her hand and then he put his onto it and she didnt withdraw it. He said: I’ve just been I dont know, I’ve just been wanting to talk to ye properly because things areni fucking just really christ they’re no really going well at all, just now. And I’ve been needing to get things clear with ye, with you … He turned his head to look at her more directly; she didnt avoid the look. Then she leaned to stub out the cigarette.
I heard about the transfer, she said.
It’s terrible. I dont know how it’s happened. I dont know how the hell. It’s terrible, really terrible.
Did you apply for it?
If I did I canni remember.
2E was telling me.
2E, christ. Mind you, better to hear it from there than the staffroom.
O they were talking about it there as well, said Alison; she smiled. But they werent as surprised, more especially after your Friday morning announcement.
Aye … He nodded. It’s embarrassing.
Och away ye go.
It is but, it’s bloody embarrassing. It’s embarrassing because … I dont want to go. I dont want to bloody go. Patrick shifted slightly and he put his right hand around, taking hers in both of his, cupping it there, and she put her left hand on top, so that the four hands were now bound together. Neither spoke. Then he said, It’s so unusual to get talking to ye like this, just with the two of us and no having any of them in the company.
Alison said nothing. Then she withdrew her hand from the top, but her other was still in between his. She whispered, You’re speaking a bit too loudly Pat.
O.
She smiled, but it wasnt the best of smiles.
In extremis, he said, one’s voice is allowed to rise.
Her gaze dropped. She stared at the hands and Patrick opened his so that hers just lay on the left one and was free to do what it wanted. He smiled after a moment. He took each one of her fingers in turn, pinching them very gently between his thumb and first two fingers. She smiled. Pat.
Daft.
It’s no daft. Then she glanced at him and took her hand from his, glanced round the lounge. I dont want a relationship with ye, she muttered. And she was looking so sad and worried that Patrick wanted to give her a cuddle and say, Look everything’s okay for fuck sake dont bloody worry.