‘You know they are!’
She had made the effort: her lips were bright, her black clothes expensive, her hair colouring and cut the best. She wore high-heeled black suede boots. He noticed, though, when talking to her, that her eyes kept closing, even as she told a story about getting stuck in a lift with her boss. During this narcoleptic monologue, she spilled her drink over him.
He stood up.
‘Oh God, God, God! So sorry!’ she said. ‘I’ve made you wet.’ She was pulling at his wrist. ‘Sit down!’ She wiped his leg with her hand; she dried her hand on the sofa. ‘Don’t look so grumpy. You did the same to me once. Except it went over my breasts.’
He looked at her breasts.
‘I didn’t.’
‘You won’t remember. You don’t remember anything, remember?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I do.’
If he’d forgotten, it wasn’t only that dissipation had wiped his memory: he hadn’t properly been there in the first place.
‘You are out of your mind.’ Francine shifted closer to him and stroked his hair. ‘Your face is smooth. You’ve shaved, for a change. But you really are gone, this time.’
‘Perhaps I am,’ he said, and chuckled. ‘Please tell me what you’re talking about.’
‘First, you can give me some of that. Brett, you owe me.’
Her hands were in his crotch, searching for his pockets.
She said, ‘Your face is white, dear! I’ve never seen you so tense or wide-eyed. Is it that pure stuff people are talking about? You shouldn’t be taking it, with your blood pressure. Give it to me and get to the rehab!’
‘Is there really something wrong with me, Francine? Tell me if you think there is.’
‘What’s right with you? You haven’t laughed at anything I’ve said.’
‘You haven’t said anything funny.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Brett.’
‘Stop that fiddling!’ he said. ‘There’s absolutely nothing for you in my pocket.’
It didn’t discourage her.
‘You banged your head when you fell in the river. That’s what did you in. Isn’t that right?’ She was laughing with her mouth open. ‘What were you doing down there, by the river?’
People loved this story; they rang to ask about it, and it was repeated around town. He couldn’t deny her.
He said, ‘I got Carol to stop the cab after that party because I needed a pee and didn’t want people to see me.’
‘Is that why you climbed over the wall and slipped?’
‘With my cock out, actually, all the way down the ramp. Right into the cold river, I feared. But into the cold mud, luckily.’
‘Didn’t Rowena and Carol haul you out?’
‘Haul me out?’ he said. ‘They were tottering around hysterically at the top. I could hear them screeching like a zoo. I was told Rowena rang her agent who was having dinner at Gaga and asked him what to do.’
‘What did the agent say? I told her to get rid of that fish. I can fix her up with Morton. He did that deal for Ronnie. Maybe I should arrange —’
Brett said, ‘If you really want to know about it, the taxi driver pulled me out. Otherwise, I would have gone down for good, and that, as they say, would have been that. He had blankets in the boot which he wrapped me in. He took me home. I guess I messed up his car. D’you think it’s too late to call him and apologise?’
‘Where did Carol and Rowena go afterwards?’
‘Don’t know.’
The taxi driver had been tall and dark-skinned, a North African of some sort, wearing worn-out shoes. At home, Brett invited him in and made tea. The man sat there with Brett’s mud on him and said he was a law student with two children. He studied half the time and drove the rest; sometimes he slept; occasionally he played with his children.
Brett offered him dry clothes. When the man refused, Brett tried to give him money for his dry-cleaning bill. At this, the man raised his hands in protest.
‘What’s wrong?’ Brett had asked.
‘You don’t understand!’
‘Please tell me —’
‘Anyone would have done this thing!’
‘Yes, of course!’ said Brett. The man seemed relieved. ‘I see, I do see,’ said Brett.
He shook the man’s hand.
Drinking tea only, Brett had thought about this for the rest of the night and went over it again the next day.
Probably the man was religious. But you didn’t need religion to save someone. It had not been a sentimental gesture but what you did when someone fell.
Now Brett watched people shouting at one another. They would laugh inexplicably, their mouths almost touching. No one was listening, but what was there to hear? People’s words were not in any recognisable order and their gestures were unrelated to anything they said. A couple dancing looked as though they were wrestling.
Brett kissed Francine’s cheek. ‘It’s time I made a move.’
‘Already? That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard in minutes.’
They went out into the hall, where she started talking to someone. She and the other person went into the bathroom and Brett left the house.
Outside, he lit a cigarette and looked for his car keys. It was frosty and still. From the house opposite, he could hear voices singing, and a piano.
He had reached the gate when she caught up with him, one arm in her coat.
‘You tried to sneak off without me. Would I leave you here alone? Have I ever done that to you? Here are the keys I took from your pocket.’
He helped her on with the coat and said, ‘You live way across town.’
‘We’re going on to Gaga! Please, just for a bit. Then you can take me home.’
‘I don’t want to go to Gaga, but I’ll drop you off there.’
‘How will I get home?’
‘How have you got home every night for the last fifteen years?’
‘What nonsense you talk, Brett. Come on, you’ve got to sober up for the drive.’
In the car, she was smoking. Her skirt was up.
‘You behave so badly, Brett. But somehow I always forgive you.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Jesus. Have you seen what’s going on tonight?’
He drove slowly. The high street was more than busy. Crowds gathered outside bars and clubs. People ran into the road; they shouted and a man threw a punch; there were ambulances and police cars about. He slowed to a stop and waved at the cars behind him. Someone was lying face-down in the road. Others were trying to pull the person to the pavement but couldn’t decide which side of the road was best.
He said, ‘What you just said sounded strange but intriguing. What do I have to be forgiven for?’
‘Brett, where is the light in this wretched car?’
She had managed to empty her bag on to the floor and was bent double, trying to reclaim her credit cards, cocaine, numerous pills and keys.
He thought he was bleeding. He reached up and realised it was snowing on his head. Slush ran down the back of his neck. Looking for the light, she had released the sun roof. He left it open.
She was saying, ‘Forget all that. Brett, the thing is, I think we both need to go away. It’s that time of the year. How about Rio?’
‘Now?’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘It’s too far.’
‘Paris? It’s only up the road now.’
‘What would we do?’
‘Eat, drink, go out.’
‘I don’t want to do that any more.’
‘What else is there?’
He said, ‘Where am I going to park?’
She had already opened the car door and was heading towards the members’ club, plumping her hair and squirting perfume at her throat.
‘See you inside!’ she called.
They knew him at Gaga. At the end of the night, they often called cabs for him and lent him money to pay for them.