Dont worry, he said.
I just cant have a relationship with ye Pat.
It’s okay.
Is it?
Yeh.
I just cant.
It’s alright.
She gazed at him.
Honest.
I cant.
Fine.
She smiled. He took her hand and studied it, he grinned at her for a moment. I have never held this hand before tonight, and it’ll probably be the last chance I ever get.
Alison shook her head and withdrew it.
…
Things are always so complicated, she was saying while opening her cigarette packet.
Pat nodded. When she glanced at him he said, I’m no going back to school. I’m just gonni chuck it as from this afternoon. That includes Barnskirk after Easter, I’m no going, I’m just chucking it all the gether.
It’s supposed to be quite a good school.
He shrugged.
It is.
There’s no such thing.
I hate ye when ye say that.
I’ve never said it before.
Yes you have.
I havent.
Ye have.
He nodded. His hand moved towards her and stopped.
Sometimes your cynicism makes me feel physically sick.
Jesus christ Alison I’m no cynical I’m the very fucking opposite. Pat sighed, he looked away from her. She exhaled smoke and snapped shut the handbag. He had spoken too loudly again. He knew it by her manner. I’m sorry, he said quietly. His hand moved towards hers and stopped.
I dont mind, she said.
He grasped it and replied: I just feel better touching ye, at the moment.
She nodded and he grinned:
It’s giving me strength.
Pat …
D’you think I’m daft?
Of course no.
Ye sure?
She nodded.
Not too convinced but eh!
Dont be silly.
I’m no being silly, just daft!
Ssh.
Do you love your husband?
Alison dropped his hand and glanced roundabout. She was silent for a time. She didnt smoke the cigarette; she looked down at it.
Patrick said: Sorry. Sorry Alison.
Immediately she answered. Come on we’ll go.
He gestured at her gin & tonic, then squeezed his way out when she didni respond, waiting for her by the side of the table. She walked past him, restricting her gaze to the path ahead. She walked to the exit, he following and attempting to reach the door first, but she was opening it and going along the lobby, staying in front of him.
She didnt speak until outside on the pavement, and along and into the doorway of a shop. It was a small general grocer and it was open. A young couple with a toddler came from inside, the man carrying the toddler while the woman had the plastic carrier bag of messages. When they had gone Alison said, That was not fair. It was not fair. You put me into a position.
I’m sorry.
It was just not fair. Alison stared into the road.
I really am sorry … Patrick pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. The young couple had crossed to the pavement opposite; they turned the corner of the street there.
The people behind the bar know us, said Alison; they’ve seen us together before.
Aye but christ Alison they never heard what I said. I wasnt shouting. I just said it aloud, I wasnt shouting, I said it quiet.
The people at the table would’ve heard ye.
No they wouldnt.
They would, they would’ve heard.
They were involved with themselves, said Pat, they wereni listening to us, they were away enjoying themselves, they were talking about funny things that happened to them, they wereni interested in us, what we were talking about.
Alison didnt respond. Then she shivered. She said, O God … and her right hand went to the side of her eyebrow.
Okay? he said, he touched the cuff of her coat-sleeve.
She shook her head.
Alison, I didni recognise one single face in that pub, apart from that lassie behind the bar.
It’s not the point.
He nodded.
She looked at him. It’s not the point.
Patrick stared at her. He kept his eyes open. He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets and pulled them out again. He smiled for a moment, she was looking at him. He raised his hands, placed them on the sides of each of her upper arms and moved a half-step closer to her, craning his head to her so that her hair was onto his face and he smelled it, his eyelids shut and he got a fit of trembling and it was down below in his knees it was worst and he pressed his feet more solidly on the ground and smiled, shivering. Christ, he said. Alison was standing in the same position, as if she hadnt moved. He took care not to increase the pressure in the way he was holding her. He sighed. It was a straight relief and he was aware of himself relaxed all over. He sighed again. His eyes were shut and he drifted into a sleep.
Alison was smiling when she said very seriously, I’m not going to have a relationship with ye.
No. He breathed in her hair and his lips touched her on the forehead in a kiss. There was a fierce draught in the doorway, blowing around his legs.
Are you cold? she asked. Her hands were to the sides of his waist.
It was just a shiver. What about you?
It’s cold in here … Alison glanced sideways as though she would be able to see it — the cold. But she would be able to see the draught. Her hair smelled of perfume. A shampoo maybe. Patrick breathed in it. His hands held her at the elbows.
Am I allowed to kiss ye? he asked.
Dont.
He nodded. His mouth was only a couple of inches from her forehead and he could kiss her again if he wanted. He put his lips against her forehead then away. He felt an increase of pressure on his waist. He had an erection. He had had an erection for a long time. He had been holding her for a long time. Her hair was dark dark brown and her eyes were dark brown as well. There was a warmth too, it came from just holding her, and he moved that wee bit in closer, and her chest was to his chest, he put his right arm round her back and she lifted it off by the wrist; he returned his hand to the side of her elbow. He felt like making plans for the future. He felt like saying something to her. What could he say to her he didnt know. He smelled her hair, the shampoo smell, it was so much better than his, he didnt have any shampoo like that, that smelled as good as this. He grinned. She was so beautiful. And he was not! He grinned, shook his head.
What is it? she asked.
Nothing, just daft.
You keep saying you’re daft.
He smiled.
She stepped away from him, looking at him. It’s time to go home, she said. And she was out from the doorway glancing at him, continuing along in the direction away from Miller’s Bar. The motor’s back there, he called.
I’ll get a taxi Pat.
He sniffed and walked after her, strolling, keeping a couple of paces behind her. And she kept going although the direction she would be travelling lay in the direction opposite. A taxi appeared quite soon. She signalled it immediately. He stood to the side as she tugged open the door. Dont phone me, she said.
He nodded.
Okay? I would prefer ye not to.
Aye.
Thanks … She slammed shut the door; he couldnt see whether she was looking back when the driver drove off.
So that was that. That was her gone. The tail-lights in the distance. She was sitting there getting whisked home. Lighting her fag. The idea of jumping into the motor and racing after the taxi, catching it up at the next set of traffic lights.
At the interval next morning he went quickly to the staffroom and got his mug and his tea and was sitting on his chair across by the window, the computing magazine on his lap, before she entered. She was with Mrs Bryson and Diana. Pat gazed at the magazine and sipped his tea. Others came in, there was a queue at the urn. A middle-aged bloke called Martin Russell, who was attached to the Crafts and Arts department, leaned over and asked if he had read the Herald this morning. No, Patrick hadnt read the Herald this morning. The Herald was a thing he had not read any fucking morning. Martin said, On the Centralamerican assassination …