Caging a Wild Bird

          I woke up early this morning, seized with a lust for life. I went to check my email, then I logged onto MySpace. Even though I know that girl, Sharona #1, isn’t for me, there’s still something about her. She looks so… acceptable. Strangely she still hadn’t signed back in since our confrontation. I worried she might’ve come to harm at the hands of that oaf we’d encountered with her.

            Turning to more important matters, I typed ‘Sharona + blues singer + New Orleans’ into Google. I found her straightaway. Her full name is Sharona Sophia. Apparently she’s well regarded, if little known. There was even a video of her on YouTube. It was all somewhat overwhelming. Half way through the video Ed appeared.

            “Christ that chick’s hot. Wait… is that Sharona?”

            Someone behind him stopped and looked. “Ah, she’s great guys, I saw her in a local bar the other day.” He moved on but left me feeling rather beset with pressure. In some ways I was rather sad about it.

“I’m not sure about this, Ed.” I said.

“What are you on about?”

“I mean, how am I, a mere barrister, supposed to countenance even the mere possibility of even dating such a girl, let alone persuading her to come back to England with me? It’s a doomed romance. I couldn’t do it. It would be like caging a beautiful wild bird. I could never be so exciting or entertaining as to keep such a creature for long.”

“Blah blah blah, stop being such a melodramatic fucktard and get on with it.”

“I don’t know Ed. I think maybe it’s time to move on. This adventure’s done.”

“You’re an idiot, Evans.” He shook his head and walked over to the guitar in the corner. He started playing a few chords to some interested girls who immediately crowded round. He smiled at them and sang them a line. They swooned a little. As he continued he looked subtly up at me, eye to eye, and held my gaze. I left to go pack upstairs.

Twenty minutes later Ed entered the room, guitar in hand and told me to stop.

“Come on, Ed, what’s the point?”

At this moment Sharona walked in the room. She was dressed in ripped blue jeans, black t-shirt, and long black fingerless arm warmers. Her hair was full and glossy. She walked right up to me and smiled, holding me paralysed.

“Are you leaving Tom?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked. What was I thinking?

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt,” she said, with mock offence, “I thought perhaps you might like to see me in my other job tonight.” She handed over two tickets to me.

“Thanks… Sharona,” I said, uncertainly. She nodded slightly, smiled, and departed.

Once was she was safely away Ed came striding over. “Mate, you’re a fucking idiot. This girl clearly likes you but you’re acting like a prick. I know it’s like asking the Pope to turn Jewish, but do you think you could try to be cool?”

Well in truth I was simply flabbergasted. Eventually I pulled myself a little together and agreed at least to go watch Sharona. It’s bound to be a hell of a night…

PMA

“A man has free choice to the extent that he is rational.”

 – St. Thomas Aquinas

 

          This morning I walked into the kitchen. Ed was sitting eating a bowl of cereal. He looked up at me, impish as ever.

            “Ed, I have a small confession.”

            “What’s that then Tom? You really are a girl?”

            “I accidentally shagged Scheherazade.”

            Ed splurted cereal all over the table and started laughing uncontrollably.

            “Ed, this is serious.”

            Ed carried on laughing.

            “Ed… honestly. We’ve spoken about you taking things more seriously.”

            “Yeah, but Tom, you’re telling me you fucking slipped over on a banana skin and landed, stiff dick first, in PMA.”

            “What’s PMA, Ed?

            “Poor-Man’s-Annabell. And you know what PMA sounds like…”

            “Don’t fucking call her that Ed.”

            “Why the hell not? It’s true.”

            “Because it’s disrespectful, Ed, and because she’s in the room behind me.”

            “But you don’t say it’s not true. Don’t blame me when you call it an accident!” Scheherazade walked into the room wearing one of my shirts.

            “What accident?” She asked.

            “Tom very nearly slipped over and landed in a mess,” observed Ed.

            Scheherazade, oblivious, looked at me and said, “Be more careful sweetie.”

            I very nearly punched them both.

 

*

 

            Later, as I packed for the trip, I thought about it all. The sad thing was that I actually genuinely quite liked Scheherazade. I just couldn’t go out with a girl seen by others as PMA.

Cumulative Loss

 

“The gift of freedom of choice, though, does not mean absolute freedom. It does not free us from the physical and moral laws that God made for the stability and peace of the universe. These laws were set up for our good, and any violation of them could lead to serious consequences…” - Jehovah’s Witness flyer.

 

          Today was a quiet lazy Sunday.

            I watched TV, surfed the net and felt a little miserable.

            Sunday nights can be terrible. There’s so often such a sense of loss. Tonight, the loss is cumulative.

 

Melancholy Ed

          “How was your day today Tom?” Ed asked as I walked in this evening. I paused and gaped at him. “Seriously?” he added.

            “Er… it was fine thanks.”

            “Great! Why don’t you sit down and I’ll grab us a beer.”

            “Sure.” I was concerned. Ed wasn’t being cheeky, as usual, sneakily being friendly for some ulterior purpose. Rather, there was something a little melancholy in him. I felt rather uncomfortable.

            “What’s it like?” he asked when we’d sat down, “what’s it like knowing where you stand every day? Having respect from those around you and doing a good, solid job?”

            I frowned at him, suspicious. Yet he was serious. “It’s satisfying,” I answered. “It feels good to build a secure future and know that one day I’ll be able to buy a house and support a family in a decent manner.”

            “You’re doing pretty well, aren’t you mate?”

            I didn’t know what to say.

            “I just… thought I should say it,” he said, “I know I haven’t done, but there it is: I’m impressed, you’re really making it in life.”

            “What’s the matter Ed?”

            “Nothing, honestly. I’m just feeling a little stagnated or something right now. Maybe I’ll move to Canada.”

            I frowned again. Again I saw he was serious. I could see him processing the idea in his mind. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’d certainly miss him, and I’d have to find a place of my own, but at least his crazy distractions would be gone from my life and I’d be able to make progress in earnest.

            Overall, though, I don’t want him to go. I’m glad, even a little flattered, that he’s finally recognised my achievements. This is only reasonable, it’s what I deserve, yet I find it a little unsettling coming from Ed.

Unrequited

          For a barrister I really dislike personal conflict.

            Don’t you sometimes just wish everyone could get along? I was forced to do a divorce case today. I hate these. I’ve actually told my clerks to refuse them for me but after recent behaviour I think they’ve decided to punish me.

            My client is a man in his late forties. His wife had been unfaithful to him in the final throes of a malingering vacuous twenty year marriage. He had been devastated but had begged her to stay with him anyway.

            He is a businessman and she is a housewife. They have a son, now just 20. It seems plain that she hates him, though it is unclear why. He, on the other hand, still loves her.

            She had instructed lawyers to file for divorce and was claiming a spectacularly large amount of money from him as well as a yearly ‘pension’ for her ‘services’. Her claims were outrageous, especially given her conduct.

            “I can’t believe it’s come to this,” he said to me, outside court. “I know she’s fallen out of love with me but do we have to keep twisting the knife?”

            “It’s important for you to stand up for yourself,” I replied, “she can’t be allowed to take advantage of you.”

            “But who cares? I loved her and slept by her side for twenty years. That’s as deeply ingrained in my heart as ever it was. None of this matters. What’s mine… is hers.”

            “But what’s hers is not yours,” I said.

            “Is this the way it has to be?”

            “I’m afraid so.”

            “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. Here’s how it’s going to be: you will agree to her every demand. She may never love me again, but I will always love her. There’s no future for me without her, so I may as well continue only for her, and provide for her though she looks not to me.”

            I understood him perfectly at that moment, but I couldn’t in all conscience obey him. I spoke in private with my opponent and negotiated a deal, favourable to her client but not such as to obliterate my own.

Scheherazade

            “So, how’s single life treating you then?” asked Scheherazade.

            I met her in Chambers this evening and we agreed to have a drink. Scheherazade is a couple of years older than me, aiming for 30, but looking good nonetheless. She’s a society girl who’s just below the critical wealth line: not quite enough money to live without working. Nonetheless, she doesn’t have to work too hard, and often takes days off to watch the polo or attend the weddings of minor foreign royalties on yachts in the Mediterranean.

            In response to her question, all I could think of was Evelyn and Maya. “It’s okay.” I said.

            “Any exciting dates lined up?”

            “Nothing really.” In truth, I knew her question to be one of those asked in the hope of a return play. “You?”

            “There is this one guy… he’s good looking and sweet, but ever so young.”

            “How young?”

            “Twenty-five.”

            “That’s barely younger than me!”

            She blinked and looked at me, as though noticing my shape and form for the first time. “That’s true. I hadn’t really thought of that before.” She paused and her expression changed. “But it’s too young. He won’t be ready to marry for years!”

            Internally I spat out my pint and laughed. Externally I asked, “Is that really a problem? Don’t you just want to enjoy being young and let time tell who the right person is?”

            “Oh! Do you think that would work? Wouldn’t it be ever so lovely?” She seemed pleased by my idea, as though it were ever so novel.

            “Haven’t we all got the freedom and time to make the choices that are right for us? Marriage isn’t so important is it?”

            “No! You’re so absolutely right Tommy!” Her blue eyes sparkled and she flicked back her hair. “Yes. Love is the only thing worth all this isn’t it?” She was getting quite into it now. “In fact, I think I’ll call him right this minute. I’ve left him nearly two and a half days since his last message to me; the timing is perfect! Must obey the rules of dating mustn’t we?” She smiled broadly and dialled a number on her phone.

            Shortly she ended the call and squealed with delight. “I’m going to meet him right now. Oh, Tom, you’re ever so lovely! I do hope everything works out for you. You’re just bound to meet such a sweet girl soon!”

            I was left alone to finish my pint and ponder the rules.

English Rose; Asian Melons

          “What’s your choice of fuck then? Blonde, brunette or red head?”

            I’d woken up split seconds earlier to an early morning inconsiderate brutish whirlwind called Ed, who’d thrown open my curtains and ripped off my duvet. I cowered in the foetal position as he delivered his opening question to me. A hell of a way to awaken.

            My phone rang before I marshalled my thoughts into any kind of response. I snatched it up and foolishly answered without checking the caller ID first. It was my mum.

            “Hello darling!” Another appalling morning person; it’s like they’re a different breed of animal altogether.

            “Hold on a second mum.” I replied. I put my hand over the handset and turned to Ed. “Fuck off,” I told him. Amazingly, after a disparaging head shake, he did.

            “What was that dear? I didn’t quite catch what you said?”

            “Nothing, Mother. How are you this morning?”

            “Oh never mind me. I want to know about that fine young girl of yours!”

            “I told you, we broke up.”

            “But you don’t mean that! You couldn’t. The two of you were so well suited! You’d hardly throw a thing like that away, not when it meant so much to your old Mother!”

            “As I explained, I didn’t have a choice. It was her decision.”

            “What’s the matter with you, boy? Don’t you have any spirit in you? She clearly doesn’t mean it, she just wants you to show a bit of passion: fight for her!”

            “I… that’s not how it is. It’s not up to me. She’s serious.”

            “Well! I don’t believe you. I won’t accept it. Now you go out there and get her back. You’ll never do as well as her again, I tell you! She was out of your league already, a top class girl that one. Beautiful, polite… a respectable job, decent family… what more could you want?”

            “Indeed.”

            I made some excuses and escaped her. I didn’t much fancy moving from that to Ed so I simply went back to sleep, content to fade out into oblivion.

 

*

 

            I eventually got up just after midday and wandered into the living room. Ed was on the computer. As I approached him it became quite apparent that he was looking up escort girls on the net.

            “Ed! Stop that! Someone will trace your IP address!”

            “So?”

            “Well… this can’t be legal, advertising this stuff online… or partaking of it. They’ll track us down and then we’ll have to face all sorts of embarrassing questions. If it got out somehow I’d be ruined!”

            “Don’t be such a bloody fool. Sit down and have a look. Here: which of these two would you rather do? Personally I’m a fan of these jugs here but the face ain’t much, and that matters. Maybe not to you though, eh?”

            I frowned, but I did sit down.

            “Here.” Ed said, offering me a beer.

            “It’s only midday!”

            “Sod that. Today’s no ordinary day and if you continue in your current guise as a mammoth pussy you’ll need it.”

            I reluctantly took the beer.

            Ed had found a rather incredible site. It was incredible not just because it contained countless pictures of stunning semi-clad women, but also because it was so damn brazen!

            “I can’t believe they can get away with this. They’re so obviously selling sex!”

            Ed had a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “You’re such a goddamned fool sometimes. Everyone sells sex!”

            “Fine,” I replied, unamused, “but not like this.”

            “Read the disclaimer then.” He said, and scrolled down to the bottom of the site. It read as follows:

 

Money exchanged for legal UK adult services is for time and companionship. Anything implied or inferred on this web site is not to be taken as inducement for services other than this.

 

            “So these are genuine escorts then? No sex involved?” I asked.

            He laughed. “There you go again! Have you only just been released from the sacrosanct nunnery of your virgin mother? You’re like a woolly lamb sidling up to a carving knife out of friendly curiosity.”

            “Very funny.”

            “Alright, alright, let’s get down to business.”

            “I don’t think so, I’m going to go make lunch.”

            “I’ll have a bacon sarnie. Cheers mate.” He replied, without looking away from the screen.

            I sighed and went off to make us lunch. On my return Ed handed me another beer and we watched some random trash he’d recorded on his TV box. Once done eating we switched on his PS3 and wasted a few hours and a few more beers. Towards late afternoon I felt a little light headed and we gave up on the games. Ed went back over to surf the net.

            “Okay,” he said, “let’s just play a game. If you had to choose one of these girls to fuck, which would she be?”

            I looked through the options.

            “Why are some of them £200 and some £250? In fact, why are they so cheap at all?”

            “In response to the first question, it’s basic economics, right? Supply and demand. The pricier ones are probably dirty as hell. As to the second question, I think you’ll find that’s only the starting price. The rest is negotiated later, if you know what I mean.”

            “I see.” I looked through some more of the girls and noticed a particularly gorgeous looking dark haired girl. She had a classically English appeal with blushing cheeks and deep brown eyes. “I suppose she’d be the one, if I had to.”

            “I knew it! You’re so predictable. She’s dull. I’d go for this one.” Ed pointed out an Asian girl with massive breasts. His English-girl-phobia remained fully intact.

            It was my turn to laugh. “I’m not half so predictable as you!”

            “Maybe in your mind, but I’m genetically unpredictable, which is worth so much more.”

            “Whatever.” I replied, a little tired from drinking throughout the afternoon. “I’m going to lie down for a little while.”

I went back to my room and fell briefly asleep.

           

*

 

            “Time to get up you lazy bastard.” A second shocking awakening of the day.

            “Urgh.”

            “Come on you fucker. I’ve paid for her now so you can’t wuss out. Get in the shower. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

            Ed marched out of my room and I checked my watch. It was seven; I’d been asleep for an hour or so. I felt an appalling mixture of dehydration, tiredness and weak fading drunkenness. I dragged myself out of bed and staggered into the lounge.

            “What do you mean?” I asked. “Who have you paid for?” I was still half asleep and too slow to put two and two together.

            “The English Rose and The Asian Melons.” He replied. “We’re meeting them in an hour.” He stared at me defiantly and grinned, almost sociopathically.

            I was defeated, swept along by Ed’s sheer energy and forcefulness. Besides, as consciousness began to seep back into my brain, it seemed alluring. The danger; the unknown; the exotic, erotic intoxicating lunacy of it made it irresistible.

            I went nervously away to shower.

 

*

 

            “So…” I started, trying to frame my next question. We were on the way to the bar. “…isn’t this sort of thing normally done by men on their own?”

            “Your point?”

            “Well… don’t you think it’s a bit weird your being here too?”

            Ed’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “What are you worried about Tom?” I frowned. I couldn’t think of a response. “Fancy some double-teaming later?” He added.

            That, I thought, is exactly what I’m worried about.

 

*

 

            We got to the bar before the girls and ordered drinks. We were both dressed in two of my suits. Ed insisted that suits were the only option, and his certainly weren’t up to it. I’ll admit he did look good wearing proper clothes.

            After around twenty minutes they walked in and went to the bar. The English Rose briefly glanced about. They didn’t order any drinks.

            “Right,” said Ed, “let’s go.” He walked off ahead. I followed, my heart in my mouth. I looked about and felt as though every person in the room were staring at me, in full knowledge of my lascivious intentions. Ed looked confident, as though he were meeting them by right. Indeed he did have a right. He’d paid. I envied that poise.

            “Good evening ladies.” Ed said, extending his hand to Asian Melons. She took it and then pulled in closer for brief embrace, as though they were long lost friends.

            I raised one hand awkwardly, almost waved (I cringe to think of it), looked at English Rose and said hello.

            “Hi there. I’m Evelyn.” She smiled serenely and held my gaze without the slightest hint of shyness of embarrassment over the circumstances. After a further awkward tongue-tied moment by me she pointedly glanced across at the bar. Thoughts began to arise in my befuddled head and all at once I understood.

            “C-c-can I get you a drink?” I was all too enthusiastic. The whole thing was excruciating. The second I faced away from them I pulled all kinds of insane faces, trying to work the madness out of my system. Why was I there?!

            I returned with drinks for everybody and found the girls sitting on either side of Ed at a nearby table. He was laughing and massaging Asian Melon’s thigh who didn’t appear in the least put out by it. She was laughing too.

            Evelyn managed the conversation with me, leading me from one thing to another. She was actually from Estonia though she spoke perfect English. She had come over to study. I somehow didn’t ask what. She ran through so many classic seduction moves, flicking her hair back, leaning in towards me, occasionally brushing my skin with her fingers. I could smell her alluring perfume and could almost feel the softness of her cheek so close to mine. I fell so far into the fantasy as I sat there by her side that I almost forgot how it could be so.

            After a time I left for the bathroom and upon my return discovered that Ed had invited them back to ours for a drink of ‘the nectar of the Gods’ - cue: giggling by Maya (Asian Melons).

           

*

 

            On the way back to our flat, in a taxi, I leant across to Ed. “Ed… I haven’t sorted out my room; it’s a total state.” I said, under my breath.

            “That’s okay Tom,” he replied, out loud, “we can just as easily fuck ’em in the lounge.”

 

*

 

            Once inside the front door Ed wasted no time. He thrust Maya back against the corridor wall and started kissing her, running his hands over her body.

            Evelyn walked calmly past them into the lounge, sultry in her acceptance of the situation. She opened her handbag and pulled out two pills of some type. She beckoned me over. I sat anxiously by her side, neither too close to her nor properly sat back into the sofa. She placed one of the tablets on the end of her tongue and sat up, leaning into me. I realised all too suddenly that she intended to kiss me and pass whatever that pill was into my mouth. With all the will power in the world I managed to stop her.

            “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I can’t. It’ll mess with my medication.” It was the first thing that came into my head.

            “Suit yourself.” She shrugged, swallowing it down. She leant back on the sofa and gazed at me, smiling. “You don’t want me?” She asked, with all the confidence of a girl who knows she’s being rhetorical.

            At that moment Ed and Maya came crashing through and landed on the sofa by our side. Ed’s hands were all over her breasts and had worked one free over her top. She moaned. I looked over at Evelyn who winked at me. She leaned over towards Maya and ran her fingers along the inside of Maya’s thighs. She quivered. Ed noticed and grinned, before returning his attention to Maya’s breasts. Evelyn pulled up Maya’s dress and exposed her panties. She reached a hand inside and Maya jerked her body in response.

            The sight was too much for me. Lust overcame me utterly and I lost all ability to think rationally. I grabbed Evelyn and threw her back onto the sofa.

            “That’s more like it,” she purred.

            I grabbed her hard by the breast and dragged her dress off her mindlessly. I fucked her hard. Right there. Without delay. Nothing could hold me back.

            By my side Ed started taking Maya from behind. He positioned her across the sofa so she could libidinously mingle tongues with Maya, right before me. I glanced across at Ed and he winked at me with arrogant joy. He was master, right then, and nothing else mattered.

 

*

 

            It’s over now. They’re gone. It’s two o’clock in the morning and Ed just went to bed. Before he did I asked him if he’d ever done this before. He didn’t reply, but simply got up to leave. As he walked out of the room he simply said, “Does life get any better than this, Tom?”

            I don’t feel dirty. Not really. Somehow it doesn’t even seem sordid in my head. Shouldn’t it? It bothers me that Ed was there. It bothers me that it doesn’t bother him. I feel a little dizzy, like I’m on the brink of an abyss and I’m losing my balance. If you move out of the realms of the life you’ve always known, how will you ever know where the limits are? How will you know what’s real?

            The worst part is that now, at the end of it all, I realise that the only thought that never left my head all night was that I’d have given up every part of that incredible sex for one moment spent with Annabell in certainty of her commitment to me.

            As I fucked that girl, Evelyn, I saw only Annabell…

Intimate Fires

          Today burnt the uncertain fires of lust and car bombs.

I was representing a man accused of arson. When I say ‘car bomb’ I mean an attempt by my client (allegedly) to set fire to the petrol tanks of the car belonging to his arch enemy next door neighbour. Stupid? You bet.

Sadly for him, the neighbour in question, fearing such an attack from this man, had set up a home video camera in the window of his house that caught the whole thing. Admittedly the video was poor quality and blurred, but the Magistrates had little difficulty in determining my client’s guilt once they heard about his previous record for similar attacks. He’ll be sent to the Crown Court for sentencing now, far too serious for mere Magistrates!

Towards the end of the case, when the Magistrates were busy deliberating, I noticed a quiet and deceptively anonymous looking girl sitting in the public gallery. There were a few others about whom I recognised as connected to someone in the case but she didn’t immediately fit in. I strolled over towards her out of curiosity. She wore black square rimmed glasses and had allowed her plain brown hair to tumble naturally about in an un-styled fashion. She had on a tight trouser suit that revealed a thin frame: no fat, but no curves. I sat down by her side and she looked up at me. I decided that there was beauty, though perhaps too much humility, behind those glasses.

“Mind if I inquire as to your connection to this case?”

“I’m a reporter from the [Local] News Weekly.” She smiled shyly.

“I thought reporters were meant to be aggressive and demanding of attention.” Clearly this was a foreign concept to the girl.

“Not always.” She demurred, without expanding further.

“Well… it’s a pleasure to meet the alternative.” I put on my best grin and held out my hand. She took it and shook prettily, finally glancing away timidly.

I stood and returned to my seat in time for the return of the Magistrates with their pronouncement of Guilt. My client was remanded in custody, considered a danger to society. Everyone began to pack up and leave and eventually I found myself outside, on my way home.

The reporter came rushing out of the building behind me and tagged to my side.

“I wonder… Might I get a quote from you? Can I ask a question or two?” She sounded apologetic, as though I had every right to crush her beneath my feet for the intrusion. Something about her appealed to me. I thought about the barmaid from last night. I’d been such a coward; Ed was right in that respect, though his offensive words didn’t quite express it so precisely.

“Actually, I have a question for you. Would you let me take you to dinner?” The words came from nowhere. Suddenly I was embarrassed. “That is,” I added, “if you’re not busy.”

Delighted but bashful she agreed and suddenly I found myself in her car driving to dinner. On the way I texted Ed to let him know. He swiftly replied with round congratulations. I smiled. It wasn’t so hard, this single life.

We started with a drink and I enquired after her proposed questions on the case. I answered a few and then paused to look at her.

“So what will you write about me?” I asked.

“That depends.” She replied, and winked. Immediately she was ashamed of this display of intimacy and blushed, taking her drink to her lips for something to do. On another day the moment might have enchanted me but something in it freaked me out in a way I can’t quite explain. It was as if the shame of intimacy was itself so intimate to me. I felt great empathy for her at that moment but saw in her some element I had long despised in myself.

The evening never quite recovered. The storm of hope I suppose I whipped up in her quiet inhibited heart was met with equal and opposite disinterest from my own. Eventually I made my excuses and caught the train back to London, somehow unsettled by the whole thing.

I left with her number, my only memento. I doubt I’ll see her again.

Not the Point

          I woke up to an empty house this morning. Annabell had already gone to work. My clerks never called last night which means I still have no work for today.

            After following the usual morning procedures I sat down in the living room and tried to decide what to do. Annabell had been on my computer again and that got me thinking about that bastard. Mark was his name. I started to wonder if she was going to see him for lunch today, or any time this week. He had suggested it. I tried to hack into her account using first the browser history and then random passwords I thought might work. I failed.

            It occurred to me that she would have other records lying around. I might find evidence somewhere else. I opened all her drawers and examined her bank statements and phone records. There were numbers that I didn’t recognise, and even a few withdrawals that I couldn’t logically place. What did it all add up to though? I had no idea. I tried to place it all back as it had been before I messed with it.

 

*

 

            Ed called around midday.

            “Where the hell are you Evans?”

            “Er… I’m at home.”

            “Fuck that. Is this the way you repay me? I just left my girlfriend for you.”

            “I asked you not to do that.”

            “Not the point, Evans, not the point at all. You owe me, and I expect to see you back here later.” He hung up.

 

*

 

            I spent the afternoon thinking about Annabell. It seemed things were getting better: we slept together! It was a sure sign.

            Except that it wasn’t. I don’t know how much longer I can take this. Tonight was almost a carbon copy of yesterday. She arrived home, talked about her day, made dinner and then went to bed. This time there was no sex, only increasing anger.

            “Won’t you please just get it into your head that we’re done? Look, your being here just isn’t working. Either you move out or I will.”

            “Annabell! Please!”

            “No, Tom. I’m not talking about it any longer. I’m going to bed. Alone.”

            I have to admit it, she does seem serious. There’s got to be some way to get through to her though. I can’t give up. My colleagues, my mum, they’ll never let me forget it if I let a girl like this get away.

Platitudes

            Barristers are self-employed. To some degree we can take time off whenever we want to. Equally, if there’s no work to do on a given day then there’s no need to go to an office and pretend to do something while watching the clock. Today was such a day.

            I decided that I had to go back to our flat. Annabell would be out. I needed some things: clothes and the like.

            As I walked through the door I held my breath. I knew she’d be out but I dashed about from room to room looking for signs of something. A note? Empty ice cream tubs? Tear stained tissues?

Infidelity?

She’d left nothing.

I gathered my things together quickly and considered leaving, going back to Ed’s. I paused. Perhaps I should write her a note? Just let her know where I am so she doesn’t worry. I started to scrawl something down but couldn’t get the wording right. No! She needs to worry. I decided to just go.

I couldn’t. I sat down and started watching mindless television. In the end I didn’t move all day. I didn’t really think about what I was doing, I just sat there. In the back of my mind I knew she’d get home sometime, and I supposed I needed to see her, but as long as I didn’t directly think about it then I couldn’t be blamed.

 

*

 

She arrived home at the usual time and saw me straight away. I jumped up from the sofa and stood across from her, paralysed. She glanced at me and then walked into the bedroom to change out of her suit. I watched her go and expected something more. There was no emotion there, not even surprise to see me or curiosity as to where I’d been. Nothing.

I followed her in and tried to speak.

“How was your day?” I asked, figuring that I would start with civilities, platitudes I suppose.

“Fine, thanks…” And she took my question all too literally, answering in full and telling me all the details of her office politics. I can’t stand this kind of talk; it’s so soulless.

We began to cook an evening meal as though nothing were wrong. Slowly hope began to grow within me. We ate in front of the television and then spoke a little more on pointless topics, the health of our families, that sort of thing. Suddenly I could stand it no longer.

“Annabell!”

“What?” She reacted immediately to my change of mood. She was defensive, barbed.

“I just think we should talk.”

“We are.”

“I mean, really talk.”

She sighed and stood up. She walked away, back into the bedroom. I followed her. She lay down on the bed and looked up at me.

“Tom, I’m tired. Let’s not do this again.”

I lay down next to her and rested my hand on her thigh. She’d changed into a casual skirt.

“Annabell, perhaps if you just let me…” I smiled at her and moved my hand under her skirt. She exhaled breathily.

“Tom. We shouldn’t do this.” I moved my hand further and she gasped. “I don’t love you.” A sigh. “Alright, but I’m telling you: this is meaningless. You can’t build up your hope just because I let you do this.”

She submitted to me but something was wrong. We made love, had sex, woodenly and without emotion. Once it was over she rolled out of bed and left the room. I waited but she never returned. I thought perhaps that I should follow her but something held me back and eventually I fell asleep.