Stockholm Syndrome 2- 17 Black and 29 Red (10 page)

Saying
I'm alright
never fools anybody, but as least they're good enough friends by now that she'll let him go without any more pushing. It's still light outside, breezy and cold and dazzlingly bright. This is the kind of mood that calls for drizzly dusk, but it's one of those good winter afternoons you never get enough of. He starts walking with his little purple wheeled suitcase, weaving around people going home from work and people already dressed up in outlandish costumes for a night out dancing. It's nearly an hour to walk home. It's darker by the time he turns up their street, and much colder. His feet hurt because he just doesn't own any shoes that are designed for walking three miles in one go. Funny how shoes never hurt when you're walking a hundred miles round shops to find the perfect pair of skinnies but when you're walking a couple of miles for no reason except a need to get somewhere it kills.

The house is dark, too. He wonders whether Olly's gone out, but he's there in the living room, sleeping with his head on the cushion he gave to Roza to cover herself up with. Bit sick, really. Pip leaves him there and goes upstairs, right to the top of the house where his old bedroom is. He uses it to work in now, just like his old bedroom in Lindsay's house in France. It's full of dress rails and mannequins, sketchbooks and canvases, boxes full of tattoo ink, his sewing machines, an old record player he found in Oxfam and all of David Bowie's albums from Space Oddity to Never Let Me Down on vinyl. Maybe he was wrong about never feeling at home - maybe
this
is home, an attic room full of his junk, lit by massive skylights in the day but too dim to work in at night because electric lightbulbs somehow don't seem enough to fill the space. There are weird shadows on everything when it's dark outside. "This is what it's like inside my head," he said to Olly one time when they got stoned up here and tried to fuck but gave it up because they started giggling too much. It wore off a bit before long and they lay there on the rumpled bed, naked and holding hands and staring up at the dark skylights, wondering how many stars each one would hold if the English weather and London lights didn't make them invisible. "Stars and art and fashion and music and creepy horrible monsters that'll eat my brain from the inside if I don't trap them on canvas before they get their gnashers in. That's what it's like living in my head, every day. It never ends."

He hears a sound and looks up - Olly's standing there in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. His hair's sticking up weirdly on one side, he's got dark lines grooved into his face where the creases from the cushion dug in. "I rang but it went straight to answerphone, thought you might've jumped off a road bridge or something."

"And you was so bothered by that idea you fell asleep, yeah?"

 

"Come on. I knew you was just off having a sulk somewhere."

"A sulk," Pip repeats under his breath. He unzips the case and takes the dress out carefully so he doesn't dislodge the pins in the waist seam. It looks strange when it's hanging on the end of his dress rail, it's gigantic compared to everything else there. Bridesmaid dresses he made for Lillian and Daisy earlier in the year, scraps of fabric he managed to form into tiny size 6 garments for college. The next rail closest to the wall holds some of his own clothes, things he made for dressing up when he was in college the first time and can't bear to get rid of, even though he's put a bit of weight on since he was a twig-thin teenager and can't fit into them any more. He starts straightening the hangers, sliding them squeakily along the rail so they're all the same distance apart because that means he won't have to look at Olly any more and feel this nothing where he should be feeling crushed. Right at the end it's his goth Alice dress he wore for the O'Flahertys' New Year party all those years ago, a huge mess of red lace petticoats and rough black silk under his fingertips.

"Pip," Olly says, very quiet.

 

He pulls the dress out a bit so he can look at it. He can hardly believe his waist was ever that narrow, it looks like it wouldn't fit a child. "What?"

 

"I'm really sorry."

 

"Alright."

 

"I didn't mean it."

 

"Okay."

 

"She come round to borrow my key, she was all over me."

 

"Fucking Poles, coming over here stealing our jobs and our men..."

 

"Something like that." Olly hesitates, then says, "Can I come in?"

 

"It's your house, mate, you can do what you want."

"Right." He doesn't move, he stays where he is. There's another long pause. Pip won't make this any easier on him, he won't speak first and he won't look at him. Finally he hears a heavy sigh and Olly mutters, "Just mate, then?"

"If you want."

 

"I
will
be your boyfriend, if that's what you want."

It's so stupid. Like he hasn't known all this time. He's supposed to be the smart one. "Don't sprain something in all your excitement. You know I stuck up for you every time some woman run off with your kids and I never even asked questions, I just stuck with you and hated them on principle? Yeah, now I feel like a dick cos how do I know you weren't just slagging round behind their backs and they found out?"

"I said I'm sorry, I can't do no more. Don't have a fit."

"Tess says if you want a girl I should put a dress on and you can lift my skirt up like some schoolgirl in a porno and fuck me over the table or something but how gay is that? If it's too bent being with me anyway you might pop a vein in your forehead having to do me when I've got a dress and stockings on."

Olly finally comes in the room and sits down just on the edge of the bed. He's biting on his thumbnail, a nervous habit he picked up from Pip years ago, and when he looks at Pip it's not quite at his face but at some vague spot over his shoulder. "Don't make it about me not wanting to be a bender cos it ain't nothing to do with that. I'm just a stupid slag who can't say no, it don't mean I don't like being with you."

"Yeah, well. I could go down town right now and pull in two seconds flat but I never would cos I thought me and you were all in love or something."

 

"How come you ain't angry?"

 

"Don't know."

"I seen you get in tempers when Darren was playing round, you remember that night you come round our flat and cried so much you was sick down my bed?"

"And Kaz freaked out cos she thought it was Lilly and she slapped you for not taking her down the hospital."

 

"Cos she thought you was upset Lilly was dying and I was comforting you instead of doing something about it."

 

"I never understood that girl's head."

 

"Yeah, me neither."

Silence, but it's not quite as strained as before. Pip takes the Alice dress off its hanger and holds it up in front of himself, pulling at the fabric to try and make it stretch across his waist. "Fucking look at that, I'm Godzilla."

"Put it away."

 

"Would you fancy me more if I was a girl?"

 

"You
are
a girl."

 

"I'm serious."

 

"Put it away. You wanna know when I fancy you most?"

 

He'd love to be able to say no and act on like he doesn't care, but the curiosity is blazing like fire now. "When?"

"When you got just your jeans on. One of your band t-shirts or them ones with the stupid slogans on and when you're cold you put your grandad's old shirt on, the blue and white checks and you've got to roll the sleeves up and up cos his arms were that much longer than yours. When you ain't got no make-up on and you need a shave, just like now. When you ain't trying to impress nobody, you're just lounging round home all scratchy face and greasy hair, wearing a crap old shirt, and... who gets to see that? You won't even go round your
mum's
without getting tarted up. It's mine. That bit's
mine
. I love it when you don't care."

"Oh." He's still waiting to feel something. Outrage about earlier, happiness about now, but there's still nothing much there, not really. Just something kind of warm. Resignation, about the bad stuff
and
the good. It's always been like that. It probably always will. That'll have to be good enough. "You gonna be my boyfriend, then? Officially?"

"Yeah. If you like."

 

"And no touching other people?"

 

"Can I look?"

 

"Spose. No touching."

 

"Alright."

 

"Shake on it?"

Pip drapes the dress over the top of the rail and goes over to the bed to offer Olly his hand, but instead of shaking it Olly holds his fingers and kisses him there between the knuckles and the wrist. "You know you'll always be my favourite princess," he says, wearing
that
smile he's got. It's the only reason he keeps getting away with all the shit he pulls, that incredible smile.

"Shut up. You
did
wash your hands, right?"

 

***

On what is officially his and Olly's one-week anniversary, Pip drives up the M6 and along the A55, past Llandudno and Conwy to that hidden little road that leads through dense trees to an empty stretch of grass at the top of a cliff. There's not even a barrier at the edge, or any visible tyre tracks turning the green to patchy mud. It's silent up here, just like he remembers it, except for the gentle crash of waves, the rustling leaves, the occasional seagull squawk. The first time Lindsay brought him up here and they spent an hour just talking and drinking wine and fooling around, he felt so strange making Lindsay do all those noises. He can remember it like it only happened an hour ago - bending over from the passenger seat, how his heart fluttered when he took Lindsay's cock in his mouth for the very first time, the way he got a fit of giggles when he kept banging his head off the bottom of the steering wheel and how Lindsay kept holding his breath then gasping it out as if he felt uncomfortable about breaking the silence as well. He only whispered some words at the very end, stuttered and jumbled: yes, yes, oh
fffuck
oh yes, oh my g-
oh
christ yes, Philip, please, please don't st- oh
oh
!

It was Gary Numan back then, and some Mint Royale. Now it's Tom Waits crooning through all those strange growling love songs and dirges on Blood Money. It's like some kind of apocalyptic carnival, swooping strings and a mad calliope as Pip turns on his laptop and starts methodically deleting ancient LiveJournal entries about being in love. It'd be so much easier to delete his journal altogether, but just forgetting isn't going to be enough. He's got to remember first, and - that is the part you throw away, Tom sings just then. He always did have the best way with words. All of your letters burned up in the fire, time is just memory mixed with desire. He turns the volume up and lets the CD play round and round on a loop while he reads about the kitten they had and deletes it, about his twenty-first birthday when Lindsay took him to see all the Picassos in Barcelona, and deletes that too. Trips to England, smiley-face emoticons about how Lindsay's being so wonderful and not whingeing too much when he runs off to go out dancing with people - all deleted. A ridiculous IM conversation he saved and posted from when he was upstairs and Lindsay was in the living room, too drunk to brave the staircase. That one makes him laugh, wet and shaky because he started crying like an idiot somewhere and didn't realise. Deleted. He finds one he forgot, a love letter he put on his journal once when Gmail was down, when Lindsay went to Cheshire to see Ty and Danny and Pip stayed in London, and he has to stop reading that one halfway through and get out of the car for some fresh air because there's a lump in his throat that feels about the size of a tennis ball.

Dear Lindsay.

i think i promised you a dirty email didnt i? :P gmails crapping out on me, you can have it here instead. i just rolled in, been out dancing all night haha, always feel the big man when i stay up all night cos i cant always manage it XD time's flying tho, felt like 2 minutes til the sun was coming up. i aint even drunk much, i drunk some but i aint wankered or nothing, i dont wanna get too wasted if your not here cos you knowwww what i get like when i been drinking haha ;) aint even like i can go off and have a dead good long slow wank cos i'm in petes and that just aint on, bit imoral i reckon

i should get some kip but im too wired still haha! i'm buzzing, why aint the clubs open all day as wel as all night?

 

i miss you x

i know i been a horible selfish brat about stayign but i dont want you to think i'm not..... i dont know, grateful sounds fucking stupid dont it? just yeah getting it all out my system, haha i'm gonna be too knackered after all this to even THINK about partying for like 3 years ;) my favourite thing in the whole world is still sharing the arm chair and tryign to crawl into your ugly old man cardi cos its cold and i dont even wanna be away from you long enough to put more coal in the fire, honest to god thats the best thing in the world i'm gonna miss that now its getting to summer. i miss what you smell like when i'm kissing you, ciggy smoke all caught in your beard. hahah that sounds well foul on screen XD it aint tho, its lovely

haha theres 2 pups trying to sit on me now XD worse than Lovecattt, double attack. i mis him too. i phoned Aurelie yesterday, i felt a bit homesick, aint that weird? what i wish most is if i could get all the people i love and we could live all together in a big castle like a weirdo commune, you and me can be king and queen. i dont care where i am long as theres people, thats why i miss you, nobody does cuddles like you. mainly cos nobody else ends there cuddles by stripping me off and ropeing me to the bed ;P aahh too knackered to be dirty. bet you'd hate me if i rang you up now, bet your sleeping. hope your dribbling. your beautiful when your sleeping, your cheeks always go red, its cos you nick all the covers and you over heat. its ok i dont mind, i get too hot anyway. compatable bed habits. that means we're meant to be i think, we're like jigsaw bits fitting togethr. ooh err that sounds like it migt be a bit dirty too if i could be bothered

hope your having a good time ___

that lines cos i dont know what to call you, i aint got a good easy sweet name for you like you got for me. Lindsays nice. everybody calls you that tho, thats your NAME. i aint got somethign i can call you all for myself. probably best anyway, there all a bit gross. darling. honey. barrrfff. Cariad i like that, even if its welsh, fucking welsh weirdo's they just get boners over consonents. CYMRU what even IS that? it aint a word, welsh is fucking stupid. dw i'n dy garu di that aint a nice thing to whisper in some ones ear its just nonsense. je t'aime is nicer. ARGH now i wanna read that book again that Julian Barnes thing, cant even go and buy a copy cos its easter now so everywheres gonna be closed today aint it? happy easter Lindsay. x haha thats a bit stupid. happy jesus's deathday and rebirthday, darling honey cariad, lets stuff ourselfs with chocolate to comemorate when a hippy got tortured to death by a load of bastard italian squares