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Dr. Andrews this morning she was thinking of letting you
go. I ve seen all your crap, and I d still& I d still have you.
Who else will? Nicky fucking Harris?
I sat staring into the filmy disc of my last margarita the
one Lou had bought and poured for me. Lou was very
generous. I returned the favour as often as I could, but seven
times out of ten it was Lou who got the round. Made sure I
was topped off.
I didn t have to drink them, though, did I? I knotted my
fingers together. I heard myself say, quiet and polite as if we
had been strangers,  Okay. I m gonna go now, all right?
You stay here.
 Oh Christ. You stay, you fucking loser. You ll be lucky
if you can still walk.
Was he gone? I supposed so. The lights from the dance
floor were no longer beating out his shadow on the table.
Just at the moment, I did not want to lift my head and look.
I did not want to lift my head. The stone in my throat
had become a boulder, a scald. I thought about what Lou
had said. Rationally, I knew he d been sitting on
something jealousy, resentment, whatever and for
whatever reasons, it had all just come clawing out. I was
astonished Lou, for God s sake! but I shouldn t give his
outburst too much mind.
But I had started thinking about Joe. I d never been that
much to write home about, had I? I d thought so once not
in any particularly arrogant way, just aware that I was
reasonably intelligent, decent looking, capable of loving. Oh
yeah, certainly capable of that. And I d always assumed
Joe s defection had been just for the reasons he d given me.
He wanted a girl, and no matter how lovely a bloke I might
be, I couldn t answer that. Now I began to wonder.  You
Harper Fox / 35
fucking loser&  I hadn t been a loser or a drunk back then,
but maybe I was lacking things other than tits and a womb
that Joe couldn t live without. Maybe I d been bristling with
things he couldn t live with, and he d never been able to tell
me.
I jerked up one hand to my mouth, pressed my palm
tight. For a second I thought I was going to be sick. Then
my vision blurred, and I knew it was worse. God no, I
prayed silently to whatever deity might look after feckless
drunks in nightclubs. I couldn t cry here&
The air changed. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, and all
I could see was a retinal jump, red to black, as the pulsating
lights swept the room. I didn t really care, but little hairs all
down one side of my neck gave a prickle and lifted;
olfactory cells fired. Sunlight. No, because that had no
smell, but something I associated with sun, as if someone
had picked up the Powerhouse from its city-dregs location,
dropped it on sand dunes and lifted its roof. Salt. Warm
grass. A breath of life from a different bloody world. And
weirdest of all, I recognised it. Last time Aaron had stood
close to me, I d been too busy hitting on him to notice the
way he smelled&
It must have registered, though. I opened my eyes, and
he was there, holding out a hand to me. In the shifting lights,
the air which still managed to be smoky, despite the ban, he
looked utterly solid and real. His eyes were unfathomable as
ever, but their expression was somehow so kind it loosened
my joints. He said, smiling faintly,  Do you want to dance?
Of course I didn t bloody want to dance. If he wanted to
talk to me, he could take the seat Lou had just vacated. I
looked at his hand. Its palm was broad, the fingers long,
eloquent of power. I could see them manipulating steel, vast
machineries, hauling up oil from its ancient hiding places
under the North Sea. I could see him drawing me to my feet
against my will if I put out my hand in return to touch him. I
36 / Life After Joe
did. I hadn t realised I was cold. When his grip closed round
mine, its warmth seemed to shoot up my arm and into my
chest. He exerted a gentle tug.  I d have come over sooner,
he said,  but you gave me a good demo the other night of
what happens around here to men who move on other
blokes boyfriends.
 Lou s not my boyfriend, I said unsteadily. I didn t
want to move. I wanted to hide in this corner until this latest
humiliation public tears, worse to me than public sex
was over. The tugging sensation increased, and I got up,
only half voluntarily. He looked into my face.  Come on,
he said softly.  It ll be better. Come on.
I didn t believe him, but the sheer technicalities of
making my doped body walk with him onto the dance floor
distracted me, restored to me some kind of control. I tried to
recognise the track. Not  Riverside, thank Christ
something older, from about six years ago.  Pray by
Syntax. Rippling, insistent bass line under a bone-melting
vocal. The floor was heaving. I couldn t imagine Aaron
leaping about with this bunch of kids, and for me, it would
be a physical impossibility. I tried to break away from him.
He put an arm around my waist and, without the least
effort or hint of force, reeled me in. I didn t even know what
was happening until I was pressed close against him,
breathing that sun-and-earth scent. There was no leaping
involved. He moved with an unhurried power, picking up
the strong first beat in the bar, drawing me in with him,
instant sweet synch. His hand went to the small of my back.
I clutched at him reflexively, first just in order to stay on my
feet, and then because I never wanted to let go.
We were the last men standing that night in the House.
Midnight came and went, then small hours, and the club
emptied out of all but its hard core. The dance floor
population thinned down. I saw them go, saw space appear [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]