Selfish People. Lucy English
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He leaned close: ‘Is he dreadful to work with?’
‘He’s shocking, he never does what he’s told.’ Across Declan’s nose were tiny freckles. Mike joined them. Bailey was at the jukebox pronouncing every record ‘mega naff’.
‘He does this every time,’ said Declan and drank nearly half his Guinness in one go. ‘Mike’s from Birmingham.’
‘Don’t tell her that!’ yelled Bailey. ‘Never say you come from Birmingham.’
‘Well, what can I say – he’s from Guildford?’
Bailey roared, ‘Never! Guildford? Never say you’re from Birmingham or Guildford!’
‘Actually … I don’t live there now,’ said Mike.
‘Where do you live?’ Bailey was on his third pint.
‘I’ve just moved to Milton Keynes …’
‘Milton Keynes?’ Bailey and Declan were almost choking. Mike might have been good looking if he hadn’t had such a hesitant manner. He had large brown eyes, which made him seem rabbit-like. He also appeared stunned as if he had been subjected to a week-long trauma.
‘He’s staying with us,’ said Declan with a cute smile.
‘You buy the next one,’ said Bailey.
‘And what do you do?’ Mike asked Leah. Bailey’s choice of music was making conversation difficult.
‘She’s my boss!’ Bailey’s voice could be heard above anything.
Several drinks later Leah had learned very little about Declan and Mike except that Mike never rode scooters, never ever and Declan taught delinquents how to be louts. Mike had become silent and only his drink was keeping him alert. Bailey and Declan had downed at least six pints. There was talk of a party.
‘So how do we get there?’ said Leah, who had no intention of going.
‘On Mike’s scooter!’ shouted Bailey.
The landlord started sweeping up and giving them threatening glances. Eventually they stumbled out. They were the last to leave. Declan and Mike untangled their bicycles. Bailey yawned.
‘Where’s this party then? William Street? Gwilliam Street?’
It occurred to Leah that Al didn’t know where she was. ‘I think I’d better go,’ she said.
‘No, don’t do that,’ said Bailey. Declan and Mike were trying to mount their bikes. ‘We’ll see you there.’ They watched them wobble up the street. Bailey and Leah stayed outside the pub. Inside the lights were being switched off one by one.
‘I don’t fancy a party,’ said Bailey, yawning again. ‘Coffee at my place?’
It’s nearly midnight. Al will be in bed. ‘Yes,’ she said.
They went up the hill to the Wells Road. Leah had to run to keep up with Bailey. This made him laugh; he was extremely fit. ‘This way!’ And he pulled her across the road and into the sloping streets of Totterdown. Terraced houses skidded down the hill off narrow uneven pavements. There were few street lights. They passed an area of bushy wilderness and on the top of it was a row of houses. ‘Up there,’ said Bailey, pointing, and they turned into a street so steep Leah gasped.
‘I run up here every morning,’ said Bailey.
When they reached his house she was only too glad to sit down. He didn’t. He tidied up magazines and emptied ashtrays. ‘Do you like this room?’
‘It’s lovely,’ she said, and it was, it was blue and peaceful apart from Bailey standing there patting his hair.
‘I’ll show you the rest. I helped Declan choose the colours. That’s the kitchen. That’s the back room, but we haven’t done that yet. Come and see my room.’ He bounded upstairs.
Perhaps I shouldn’t visit strange men’s bedrooms. He was standing in the doorway holding the door open for her.
Bailey’s room was large and blue, a sea-greeny blue. There were at least eight plants, big ones, and pictures all over the walls. Paintings of unicorns and other, winged creatures.
‘Did you do these?’ asked Leah. She didn’t think of him as an artist.
‘They’re my dreams,’ said Bailey. She wanted to look at them longer. On the floor were crystals, dried flowers in vases and an enormous double bed.
‘Tea or coffee?’ said Bailey.
They sat downstairs. Bailey slurped out of a huge cup, smoked two cigarettes in a row, put on some music, didn’t like it, went through all his tapes and eventually chose some band he knew from France, who were ‘mega brilliant and nobody has heard of them’. Fortunately he didn’t turn it up loud. He sat next to Leah. She wasn’t drunk, but she was in that odd state where she didn’t care what time it was or what was happening.
‘How long have you been married?’ said Bailey.
‘Ten years.’
He laughed. ‘I’ve never done anything for ten years! But I’ve been a cook, taught English in France and managed a band.’
‘And now you’re on to sports.’
‘But this is permanent.’ He was dead serious. She didn’t contradict him.
‘Well, you must be busy, what with your kids and all?’
‘I do far too much. Work. Husband. Children.’ She looked at him. In one ear he wore an earring with the sun and moon dangling off it. Then, she didn’t know why she asked it, she said, ‘Bailey, have you got any children?’
He went very quiet and spread out his fingers. ‘Yes, I’ve got a little girl in France.’
‘In France? Do you see her?’
He patted his hair. ‘No, not really. I lived there for a while. Things started to go wrong and I left.’
‘What, just like that?’
‘Just like that,’ said Bailey. He took a picture out of a drawer and showed it to her. A little girl of about four with Bailey’s long face and big ears. Leah almost felt like saying, poor little thing.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘She’s called Ghislaine.’
They were now sitting quite close together on the sofa and she was looking into his eyes. What a strange colour they are, a greeny greeny blue, and you smell sweet as if you rub yourself all over with aromatic oil. ‘Bailey, have you got a girlfriend?’
‘No. Have you got a boyfriend?’
‘Don’t be silly, you know I’m married.’
‘Why should that stop you –’ Then the front door crashed open. It was Declan tripping over his bike in the hall. He was completely drunk. Bailey hauled him into the sitting room. ‘Where’s Mike?’
‘God … who? I think he’s lost.’
‘I’d better make some tea then,’ said Bailey.
‘Was it a good party?’ asked Leah. Declan had collapsed on the sofa. ‘Awful.’ He grinned at the ceiling. ‘And you … enjoying yourself?’
‘I’m having the time of my life.’
‘Oh good … and what music is this?’
‘An unknown band of Bailey’s.’
‘It’s … terrible.’ He eased himself to the deck, stopped the music abruptly and began looking through the tapes. ‘This –’ he held up an Andy Sheppard tape – ‘is better … my friend gave it to me … and now –’ he was saying each word slowly as if in an elocution lesson – ‘he is dying,