Upgrading (18 page)

“Why do you work in Paperchase?” Why did I ask that? She looks slightly surprised and turns back to the jukebox.

“Why not? It’s quite fun. It pays the rent. Besides, I don’t know what I want to do yet. I might go travelling next month.”

“Where to?”

“Probably South America. One of my friends from university is teaching English as a foreign language in Buenos Aires.”

“That’d be fun—the Paris of the Southern Hemisphere.”

“Sorry?”

“That’s what they call Buenos Aires—the Paris of the Southern Hemisphere.”

“Oh, right. Well, I haven’t actually done any research about it yet, like I said—I’m still thinking,” she says slightly irritably. What did I do? Did it sound like I was showing off? “Here, let’s have the Eurythmics, I love them. My sisters used to play them all the time.” She consults the chart and presses the code. “Why do you sell space?”

“Media sales?”

“Media sales, then. S’cuse me.” She pulls a face.

“Oh, fuck knows. It’s a job. I wanted to get into advertising. Once upon a time. I suppose I just fell in to it. My mum and dad think it’s a good thing.” I don’t dare tell her that it was the promised salary which caught my eye first. There is a pause as we both look through the remaining songs. I wonder again what Vinny has told her. I suggest our final track and she casually agrees. We get back to the table.

I turn to say something to Vinny but he is talking very intently to Libby. “You see most people think you start with the big things and then move up to the smaller ones, you know—your croutons, corn, grated cheese, bacon bits, whatever. I might even include kidney beans in that.” He thinks for a moment. “Yes, kidney beans too. But in fact you
start
with these because they provide you with a good solid foundation. Then you can add the larger pieces. Myself I’d go for tomatoes, cucumber, whatever. Then you can balance the really big pieces like lettuce leaves on top.” Libby looks at him the way most people look at their financial advisers after they’ve been urged to put a bit more aside for a pension.

“Vinny knows what he’s talking about,” I say to Libby. “He can pile it up a foot high at Pizza Hut.”

“I’ve been banned from the salad bar in three branches in Central London,” says Vinny proudly. Vicky looks at us both in amazement and then at Jane.

When my choice comes on the jukebox it’s not what I thought it was. It’s a muzacky soul track and I feel embarrassed about requesting it. It’s such a responsibility choosing these things.

We leave the pub at closing time—our kitty runs out quite a bit earlier so we spend the last three quarters of an hour or so smoking a couple of furtive joints courtesy of Vicky and absentmindedly tearing up beer mats while we talk—or the others talk and I watch, wondering what Vicky and Jane have been talking about. Libby, who works at the welfare office in Neasden, tells us about a man who completely lost it and leapt over the counter to attack the bloke who was talking to him.

“That’s terrible,” says Jane. “What happened?”

“Oh, well, he was suspended.”

“What? Because a claimant attacked him?” demands Vicky.

“No,” says Libby in her little girl’s voice, “he was working for the DSS. The guy he
attacked
was a claimant. He was, you know, really getting on his nerves.” Vinny and I laugh. Libby looks bemused and Vicky mutters, “Jesus.” I think she is talking about Libby.

Somehow a roundthetable quiz starts. We start with the first record everyone has bought, and then the worst record. Mine is “Eye of the Tiger.” Everyone laughs, including me. Confession must be good for the soul.

“That is bad,” says Jane.

“What was yours?” I ask.

“Probably ‘The Final Countdown.’ ” We all laugh again and I catch Jane’s eye for a moment. She looks away.

After that, the conversation is slow and full of long-running in-jokes, so I don’t say much. But when we get up I find the thick, warm atmosphere of the pub and the long evening of slow boozing has left me pleasantly mellowed.

Outside, Vinny and I wish Seth good luck with the band and then he, Vicky and Libby set off for the Tube station and the three of us walk back to ours. I am glad that our farewell consists of waves and shouts of “Cheers.” I don’t even mind Vicky winking and miming a telephone receiver at Jane. Kissing Marion’s friends goodbye is always so exhausting—even if you can remember who does single kisses, who does double kisses (usually a safe bet) and who triple kisses, it still takes forever to say goodbye and then if you have done all yours you still have to wait, an awkward spectator, while everyone else finishes their elaborate choreography of handshakes and kisses. I am sure that is why evenings with Marion’s friends seem neverending.

We walk back in silence and I notice that Jane has put her arm through Vinny’s in a sisterly sort of way. We stop for a takeaway curry. Jane has a vegetable thing, I have a chicken bhuna and Vinny has his usual, which he doesn’t even have to ask for now because they recognise him as soon as he walks in. He describes it as a Chernobyl vindaloo. Then he makes his usual joke about nuclear “phal” out and burps violently.

“Vinny!” says Jane.

“Fucking animal,” I add.

We eat them in the kitchen at Jane’s insistence, saying little as we realize how hungry we are and then we retire to the living room with mugs of tea to see if there is anything on telly. At about halfpast eleven Vinny yawns and says “night.”

“Goodnight” say Jane and I in unison. Embarrassing. It only emphasizes the fact that there are just the two of us now, sitting in a darkness broken only by the flickering light of the TV.

We stare at the box where two alternative comedians discuss jerking off and zits with a studio audience of thirty-somethings who are obviously wondering why they splashed out on a babysitter for this rubbish. Eyes fixed on the picture, slightly embarrassed, we half-laugh every now and then. If we’re not laughing why are we watching? And if we don’t watch, what else do we do? I find myself wishing Vinny was still here.

“ ’Scuse me a minute,” I say and leap up off the settee. I dash upstairs to find Vinny, who is in the bathroom brushing his teeth.

“Vinny,” I whisper urgently, half-closing the door behind me.

“Ussh?” he says, through a mouthful of toothbrush and froth.

“What have you told Jane about me?”

“Usshing,” he says, looking alarmed.

“What? Didn’t tell her about my, you know, other job?” I can’t bring myself to say “escort” even to Vinny.

“No.”

“Oh, good. Thanks. Did you tell her I was seeing someone else?”

He looks slightly apologetic and then removes the toothbrush and spits out, a procedure which seems to take about half an hour.

“She wanted to know, mate. Wondered where you were going the other evening when she was just arriving.”

“Oh, OK.”

“Sorry,” he says.

“Oh, don’t worry.” My mind is racing. Jane must be wondering what we’re talking about. I’d better get back.

“Thanks.”

Halfway down the stairs I turn and run back.

“Ow wha’?” says Vinny, his mouth full of toothpaste again.

“Did you say how serious it was?”

He spits out once more.

“No, I just said you were seeing a woman and that’s where you were off to that night, s’all.”

“OK.” I think about it. Vinny picks up the toothpaste again. “Woman? Did you say how old she was?”

“No, ’course not, I don’t know how old she is.”

“No, sure. And you didn’t say where she lived?”

Vinny looks exasperated. “No, I don’t know her bloody postcode either. For Christ’s sake, Jane obviously likes you. Just get back there and don’t come back—I’m running out of toothpaste here. Jesus! She’s a lovely girl. I’m not going to tell anyone you’re playing away from home.”

“I’m
not
playing away from home, it’s not that kind of relationship,” I say quickly.

No, it’s not that kind of relationship. It’s not going to last forever with Marion, certainly not after what Channing said. I almost shudder at the memory of our dinner. Besides, I’ve already been unfaithful to her once. In fact, thinking about it, I might just cut my losses now. To be really brutal about it, it was fun while it lasted, we had a good time together. Having the Rolex is great, assuming she doesn’t want it back, and Paris was brilliant but…well, it can’t go on for ever. I know that.

I’m pretty self-conscious about being seen in restaurants with Marion—especially when she gets the menu with the prices and I don’t. A normal relationship with a normal girl suddenly seems so attractive, so right. No more playing lap dog and no more evenings spent with a bunch of extras from
Dynasty.
Instead, someone I could relax and be myself with, someone I just have something in common with. Besides, after Helen, I’ve got some catching up to do in the snogging stakes, haven’t I?

I look at Vinny, who is smiling and holding something out at me. It’s a rather old packet of condoms. I laugh and dash back downstairs again without taking them.

“Sorry about that. Just had to talk to Vinny about the rent before tomorrow,” I find myself saying. God, I’m getting good at lying.

Jane just smiles and looks back at the telly.

So now, without looking away from the screen I begin to review the situation and the ways in which it might develop. Jane will obviously have to sleep in my bed, but will I be there too or down here on the settee? At what time should I say “I think I’ll crash?” Is that what she is waiting for? If I say that will she take the hint and make it clear that she would like to be invited? Or will she just think I want to go to bed alone. I
am
sitting quite close to her, I
could
make a move now. Very discreetly I turn my eyes towards her. She is wide-eyed at the screen. Nobody could be that interested in anything on TV. She obviously isn’t watching this crap.

God, she does look pretty, though. I love the way she sweeps her hair back behind her ear. She has a smooth, white forehead and a strong, intelligent mouth. Now that she has taken off her jacket and her thick pullover I can see her small, rounded breasts through her T-shirt. I am only two feet away from her on this old heap of a settee. I could just reach out and gently put my arm round behind her. I could do the old stretch and yawn routine. What the hell, let’s just see what happens. Besides, you can’t let a girl like Jane just slip through your fingers. The simple fact is that I do really, really like her. I’ve had a good time with Marion but nothing she could give me in the way of presents would be as good as spending some time with Jane.

I look round at her slowly and move forward a few inches. She turns to me, eyes wide with a look of calm expectation. I reach over and push her hair back slightly with my left hand while putting my right on her shoulder, then I move forward and kiss her lips.

Her mouth tastes of tea and sweet spices. I move further across and draw her into me, slowly taking my hand down towards her breast. As I touch it she gasps slightly and I feel her nipple harden under the T-shirt. We kiss for some time—gently but not shyly and I am pleased I made this move, especially when I feel her arm round my neck pulling me gently on to her. It goes on for some time and I begin to feel hard so I make a move for what I once overheard my sister and her friends describe as “inside downstairs” but she gently pulls my hand away.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

She lowers her eyes and says very softly, “I don’t want to do that right now, Andrew. I mean, I like you but it’s too soon.” She pauses for a moment. “Besides, you’re seeing someone else right now, aren’t you?” Oh fuck. How do I answer that? Why don’t I have a reply ready? I should have thought of it upstairs with Vinny. I can’t deny it and I can’t say yes, because it’ll just look like I’m looking for a onenight stand and somehow I don’t think Jane would go for that. And perhaps I don’t want to go for that with Jane.

But it’s too late now. I’ve taken too long to answer. The moment has passed. She realizes things are not as simple as she had hoped. She moves away.

“I am but it’s coming to an end. It’s, it’s not really right…”

She looks at me for a moment. “Listen, we’d better get to bed. I’ll use the settee,” she says.

“No,” I say too loudly. “I mean, I’ll stay down here, you have my bed.” I can’t think of what to add. I start to say something but it comes out as rubbish. She strokes my cheek and looks at me for a moment.

Then she does something to her hair and says, “Do you need to get anything out of your room before I go to bed?”

Jane has gone again by the time I get up the next morning. I was looking forward to having breakfast with her and saying goodbye. I didn’t sleep much last night, wondering where we stand, where we go from here, how our conversation seemed to her. I can’t ever imagine Jane wanting to have a relationship if she thought I was already in one. If I
am
in a relationship.

In some sort of perverse, misguided effort at revenge, I ring Marion on my mobile on the way to work and wake her up.

“Well, I had the evening from hell on Saturday,” I tell her as soon as she picks up the phone.

“Why? What happened?” she croaks, still not awake at eight o’clock.