‘Rosa,’ said Judy. ‘That’s all great. Now, when are you coming? Do you know how to get to our house?’
So Rosa took instructions. She said she would leave London after lunch, when she had seen her father. She was willing to be persuaded, and she thought at least this would get her away from the TEMP and the things that perplexed her. The neon-lit shop and the dusted archways and the shaved strands of twilight. And the trains that woke her before dawn. Yet even as she thanked Judy she was wondering if silence was the last thing she needed. She nodded and wrote down directions. They parted the best of friends.
*
Later, when she had packed a bag and checked the trains, she knocked on the door of Andreas’s flat and found he was definitely alone and quite happy to receive her. ‘Rosa, darling,’ he said, smiling and kissing her cheek. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘Yes, so many hours.’
‘And what, what has been happening? We didn’t really talk earlier. Well, I think I talked and you were mysterious, as ever. Come in, come in. What have you been doing?’
‘Nothing at all. And you?’
‘Oh, I was abused by the dentist. It was truly horrible. But it’s my fault, for being so scared I never go. Look,’ and he opened his mouth to show her something — a new set of fillings. ‘All of these are new,’ he said. ‘Terrible. It cost me so much money. I almost cried. Now I am just numb.’
They walked along the corridor greeting each other. ‘Good,’ said Andreas, apropos of nothing much. ‘Good. Come in, come in,’ he said again. The flat was warm, and she was aware she was sweating, out of breath. ‘You ran?’ he said. ‘Eager to see me?’
‘Yes, yes, couldn’t wait,’ she said, smirking at him. And it was true, she had run, because the evening was cold.
‘I like my women to come panting to the door,’ he said. She laughed indulgently, and he said, ‘Anyway, you have perfect timing. I’m just trying to digest the terrible food I made.’ They walked along the hall, which he had adorned with antiques — a grandfather clock, china figurines and the cuckoo clock on the wall. There was a Bavarian hat hanging on a peg, with a green feather in it.
‘That’s new,’ she said.
‘Yes, it’s vile,’ he said. ‘My grandfather sent it, to remind me of my roots or something. I think I will throw it away soon.’
‘So you have a grandfather?’ she said.
‘I have four grandparents.’
‘That’s amazing,’ she said. ‘I have none.’
‘Well, that’s a shame.’ And he pouted at her, trying to stop her from being too serious.
They walked past the mirror which distorted their reflections, so old the glass, and into his kitchen. That was a place of solid wooden chairs and a big old table which smelt of sap. He pushed a chair out for her. There was a plate of food on the table, a book open next to it. ‘I’ve been trying to learn my lines,’ he said. ‘I’m in rehearsal at the moment. I told you — I have a real job. Fortunately I hardly have any — lines that is. My best line is “Fuck you fuck you all you fucking fools, you wasted shits and fuck you all.” You can imagine it’s a real task getting the fucks in the right sequence.’
‘Who is the playwright?’ said Rosa, as she followed him admiring the contours of his legs and the strong line of his shoulders. She wanted to put her hands on him, but he was setting a place for her.
‘I don’t know, I’ve no idea. It doesn’t concern me. The play is so terrible that I really don’t want to know. Imagine if I met them, one day, I would have to fight them! “I’ll fuck you so you cry and I’ll fuck you so you want to die you bitch you bitch get down there and I’ll fuck you” — there’s another bit I get to say. All these beautiful lines, and just for ME!’ And he slapped his chest, in mock pride. That made her laugh, quite genuinely.
‘Wow, it sounds like the play really taps into the zeitgeist,’ she said.
‘Ah, you know German,’ he said, putting a fork in her hand. ‘Anyway I get paid. Really, I actually draw a cheque each week, and it’s going to be running for several months. It’s on south of the river in an experimental theatre, of course. I’ve always hated experimental theatre, but now I find they pay you to do it, so who cares? I am a convert. You should come and see it, if you want to experience something truly horrible. I’ll get you some comps. Bring your friends. I am on for literally three minutes. The play goes on much longer, all will say too long. They are hoping it will run for months, though. But I can imagine we’ll be playing to a house of five each night. So the more the merrier. Anyway you can imagine how pleased my mother is. She’s even saying she will come over from Berlin to see it.’ He smiled slightly, cracked his knuckles, and looking more closely she thought he was tired. His face was more shadowed than usual.
‘Is she really pleased?’ asked Rosa.
‘Oh yes, she’s delighted. Do you want ketchup with your melted cheese?’ He had a bottle in his hand.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘I’d have it. Otherwise the cheese is quite monotonous.’
‘OK, thanks.’
‘Anyway, so you’ll come to my terrible play, yes?’ he said. ‘You can meet my mother.’
By now she was sitting at the table, while he stood at the cooker, stirring some food in a pan. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. There was a gentle pause, while he turned to the pan and pretended to sniff the air like a chef. She smiled at him. Then she said, ‘So, have you been burning the wick?’
‘Burning the wick?’
‘You know, staying up late?’
‘A little, at the bar,’ he said, putting down the book again. ‘I’ve been rehearsing all day and then working at the bar. In a few days I’ll have to quit the bar. They won’t keep my slot open while I do my Art.’ And he laughed again. Still, it was clear that he was becoming industrious. A glimmer of success, and he started trying. Perhaps he would never be more than a bit-parter. Perhaps he would go from one minor play to another, stating the lines of bad playwrights. But he would throw himself into it, all the same.
‘But you know, these bars, you can always find another terrible bar to work in. Although I am sentimental about this bar, because it’s where we met.’ And he patted her hand, laughing.
‘That’s true, how could you leave it?’ she said, awkwardly, and thought Now what? But now he was giving her a plate of something he had cooked, which tasted of cheese and spinach and grease. ‘You know, I should have cooked something better,’ he said, shrugging at the mass of cheese he had created.
‘It’s great,’ she said. ‘Delicious.’
‘You’re lying, and you can’t even do it well,’ he said. He smiled. ‘You are such an honest person, to see you struggling to praise my food is moving. Really, it’s moving.’
‘I’m not lying,’ she said. They smiled at each other. That was easy enough, and then there was a pause. They brushed each other’s hands, claimed it as an intimate moment. They paused again then Rosa told him she was going away. ‘Tomorrow, for a few days,’ she said. ‘But only for a few days.’ Then I will need a place to stay. But how about it, Andreas? For a week, or so? The problem was she hardly knew him. This banter, and the way they stuck to facts, concrete statements about family history and observable qualities, meant they never really progressed. They talked like friendly strangers, for the most part. It unnerved her. It seemed to be what he wanted. And she, perhaps she had also insisted upon this careful talk, because it allowed her to conceal her thoughts. Much of what she thought she couldn’t say to him, aware that he would believe her arrogant or a fool. And what would she say? Andreas, you’re a great guy, better than I deserve. It’s a failure of mine that I can’t respond to your overtures of kindness. But thanks for the melted cheese. She would hardly be saying that to him. So she put her head down to the trough and ate.