Gabriel's Angel Page 9

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Julie, but she felt herself blush slightly and wondered momentarily if James did actually notice things going on around him after all, before rejecting the idea as absurd.

  ‘Is it another man?’ he asked.

  ‘No, her name is Brenda,’ sighed Julie. She was getting bored. She looked at her watch, then out the window. ‘Let’s not make a fuss, eh? We both know this has gone on longer than it should have.’

  ‘But …’ said James.

  ‘But what, James? You love me and you want us to be together for always?’

  ‘No, but …’ He was fingering a buttonhole on his cardigan and wincing. He looked as though he wanted to go to the toilet.

  ‘Because at no point has there been any love between us. Some sex yes, but that wasn’t anything to write home about was it?‘

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, you hardly know I’m here, and now you’ve got this band thing to be getting on with, and I wish you well with that, I really do. It’s nice that you have something to be concentrating on, but it’s time for me to be moving on.’ And she looked at his redder-than-it-should-be skin and the slope between his bottom lip and his throat, the space where other people have chins, and thought, He is the least attractive man I have ever slept with. Which made her feel sad.

  ‘Well, you don’t need to move out, Jules. I mean, we’ve been living more like friends than anything else, and we don’t really bother each other.’ James let go of his cardigan and looked at her evenly. And Julie looked as though she might cry, but she knew that was not because of James.

  ‘I know, James, and that’s sweet of you, but I think it’s best.’

  A car pulled up outside. ‘Look that’s my cab, I’ll give you a call sometime, when I’m settled in,’ she lied, slinging her bag over her shoulder and dropping her house keys on the kitchen table. ‘I’m going down to London tomorrow, visiting a friend for a few days, but I’ll be back for the start of term. Take it easy, let me know how the reunion goes.’ And before James could say anything else, such as to clarify how long she was prepared to wait for her deposit, she was gone.

  James wandered from room to room trying to remember the good times. By the time he got to Julie’s bedroom, he’d realised that he couldn’t actually remember any, so he had a quick wank and decided to advertise the room when he got back, resolving first to see if Michael had any friends—Lipstick Girl for example—looking for somewhere to live. Within forty-five minutes of Julie leaving the house, James was in his car and heading for the A11. There’ll be other women, he thought, especially if Dog in a Tuba get to tour the Far East.

  About an hour later, a happier Julie arrived at Brenda’s house to a warm and comfortingly matter-of-fact welcome. Brenda was lovely, she didn’t make any kind of fuss, simply showed Julie to her room, told her to make herself at home and to come down if and when she wanted a cup of tea.

  The room was exactly what one would expect of a spare room in a nice house in the middle of Norwich. It smelled of potpourri and the wallpaper was embossed—lilac and cream carnations on a white background. She rubbed her hands across it: it felt like the walls she had had at home as a child. She remembered drawing round the flowers with a pen, and her mother being furious with her.

  Julie put her bags on the floor, sat on the bed and phoned Lynne, her oldest friend. They didn’t speak regularly, but whenever anything happened in their lives they were used to telling each other first.

  ‘Hello, we still OK for tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got wine, and I’ve moved again.’

  ‘Why? Man trouble?’

  ‘Not an important man.’

  ‘They never are. Why you staying up there at all?’

  ‘I like the work, got some friends.’

  ‘Name four.’

  ‘Can’t, just got two.’

  ‘Names?’

  ‘Michael.’

  ‘Friend friend or friend?’

  ‘Friend … at the moment … and Brenda. Look, I’ll tell you about it when I see you. How’s work?’

  ‘I love it, I really do.’ Lynne was a training to be a nurse. She’d been a nun, an exotic dancer, and a traveller. What else was she going to try, she’d said to Julie—telesales?

  ‘Is around 10 p.m. too late?’

  ‘Perfect. If you get lost, call me from Brick Lane and I’ll guide you in. Oh, by the way, what happened to that singer bloke?’

  ‘Coming to a bingo hall near you soon.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Nothing, see you tomorrow night.’

  The next day Julie was early, it was a habit of hers, but Michael was earlier. He was sitting on a bench under the clock tower, trying not to watch a couple of drunks on the other side of the cobbled road, knocking back sherry and working themselves up into a lather about who had the funniest shoes or something. Michael was wearing a slightly absurd black Hawaiian print shirt with yellow and orange dahlias on it. Julie approved. She sat next to him, stared at the cool blue sky, and said, ‘What a beautiful day.’

  ‘Hello, how you doin’?

  ‘I’m well, how about you?’

  ‘Good, thanks, but then I haven’t just split up from my live-in lover.’ Michael hadn’t planned to bring that up quite so soon, but he did think he ought to find out what kind of mood he should be in with her. Sad, comforting, reassuring her that she would not end up living with lots of cats in a bedsit in Cromer? Or pretty much the same as usual? All the signs were that usual was the order of the day.

  ‘Oh, did I tell you I was doing that? I forgot. Anyway stop it. Do you want to get coffee or do you want to sit here and admire the wildlife?’

  ‘Coffee. I know just the place.’

  He led her through the market square and down behind the high street to a small, secluded square with an art shop, a shop selling stamps, and what appeared to be a very exclusive retail outlet specialising in gloves. There was also a nice, quiet coffee shop with imitation leather seats and homemade cake. Once they were sitting down with their skinny lattes and shortbread biscuits, Michael asked how the ‘leaving’ had been.

  ‘It was fine. James is worried about money and preoccupied with this band thing. He was more worried about the rent than he was about me.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure that isn’t true,’ said Michael without thinking.

  ‘It’s all right, Michael, this was no big romance; it was mostly about convenience—a lot of relationships are. I would have thought you knew that.’

  Michael laughed. ‘Well I don’t tend to have relationships. Dates sometimes, phone calls occasionally, a browse through the personal ads. But relationships?’

  ‘Now what is that supposed to make me think, I wonder? That you are the archetypal commitmentphobe? “Wherever you lay your hat that’s your head” kind of man? Or that you are the slightly vulnerable, sensitive type on the lookout for love but tragically destined instead to sleep with lots of attractive young woman who are never quite... enough?’ Julie was smiling, and managing to eat shortbread without getting crumbs stuck to her lips at the same time. That didn’t mean it didn’t sound a little cruel though.

  ‘I’ve been married, you know,’ said Michael, slightly more defensively than he meant to.

  ‘So have I,’ said Julie. ‘A long time ago.’ And as she said it she closed her eyes for a moment so as not to let the memory in. They drank coffee, quietly, comfortably. Michael glanced out of the window as his drunks marched by, walking with a pace and determination reserved only for an adequately resourced trip to the off licence.

  ‘How old are you?’ asked Julie.

  ‘Forty-three.’

  ‘Christ,’ she hissed.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Do you feel forty-three?’

  ‘Dunno. I don’t feel I have the life a forty-three-year-old should have.’

  ‘What life is that?’

  ‘Wife, couple of kids, a hobby. I’m not sure.’

  ‘Do
you actually want any of those things?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Yes you are.’

  ‘No, I’m not really. I mean I think I’d like those things; well, maybe not a hobby. I can’t quite see myself in a garden shed carving mermaids out of driftwood. But if I wanted it bad enough, I suppose I’d have made it happen. Anyhow, I may be quite set in my ways.’

  ‘Oh that’s bollocks, Michael. People can do what they want, change if they want, live differently if they want. You just like getting laid a lot. No harm in that.’ As she spoke she looked away from him, dismissive but not cold.

  Michael felt momentarily embarrassed. He wasn’t used to anyone providing a commentary on his lifestyle. He didn’t know if he should be offended or touched that she was paying attention. ‘Well it keeps me off the streets. Sort of,’ he shrugged. ‘So what do you want? Where do you go from here?’

  ‘Two different questions, I think. From here I go home, throw some stuff in a bag, go and pick up my hire car and head south. I’m going to visit a friend in London: I’ll stay down there over the weekend and be back for work on Tuesday. As for what I want? Something different to what I’ve had before, I suppose.’

  ‘What have you had before?’

  ‘Freedom, or what you call freedom when you are young. I don’t know, I’ve never been very good at plans.’

  ‘So how do you know you won’t get to London and decide to stay down there?’

  ‘I don’t like London.’

  They paused again, this time less comfortably, both aware they were not speaking and both frustrated by the complete lack of drunks to pretend to look at.

  ‘I think we need more coffee,’ said Michael, hoping that Julie would not say she had to go and unpack.

  ‘OK, my turn.’ Julie wondered if maybe Michael simply didn’t fancy her. She found herself wondering about Lipstick Girl and for the first time wondered what she must have thought of Julie. Living in the cottage. With James.

  Michael watched her as she walked to the counter. He watched as she chatted with the girl making the coffee and as she laughed naturally at a joke about Danish pastries. And he looked at the shape of her arse and the long black skirt that clung to it and the slightly faded, golden skin of her arms and smiled to himself as he wondered what he was doing looking at her arse—which felt, frankly, a bit tacky, and acknowledged the fact that he was quite interested in the colour and texture of her skin and that he did—no big surprise, so why does he feel a bit surprised—fancy her quite a bit. Bugger.

  ‘So how’s Lipstick Girl?’ Julie asked, sitting down and handing him a blueberry muffin.

  ‘We’re not seeing each other or anything …’

  ‘Just sleeping together?’

  ‘No. Well yes, but no. I mean …’

  ‘Oh come on, Michael,’ Julie was looking him in the eye. ‘If it’s a delicate subject, we can talk about the weather or something …’

  ‘No, it’s not. We have, but we’re not. Really. I don’t imagine we’ll see each other again.’

  ‘Sorry, it’s not really any of my business.’

  ‘No, but I think I wish it was,’ which was not the sort of thing Michael had remembered saying for a very long time. It occurred to him that the whole black-skirted arse thing may have gone to his head—or the other bit of him that did the thinking where women were concerned—but then he thought, oh what the hell.

  Julie smiled and thought to herself, I knew that. I’ve known that for ages, and said: ‘You think you wish it was.’ Teasing, feeling as if she were ten years younger.

  Michael grinned. ‘Yes, I think I do … if that’s not too much trouble … thank you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘That’s OK.’

  ‘I mean the James thing …’

  ‘Oh shut up and eat your muffin.’

  Michael bit into the top of his cake, chewed quickly and said, ‘Fancy a drink then, when you get back?’

  ‘Yeah, course. I’ll be bloody thirsty by then.’

  ‘Ha ha. When suits you?’

  ‘I don’t believe I have too much planned socially for the next six years or so, and I imagine you have a slightly busier diary, so you tell me.’

  ‘When you planning to get back?’

  ‘Monday evening or Tuesday morning.’

  ‘Tuesday evening OK?’

  ‘Yeah, where?’

  ‘Clock tower. Eight p.m.?

  ‘Fine. Do you know anywhere else in the city by the way?’

  ‘Don’t knock it, I’m coming to think of it as my lucky clock tower.’

  12

  The group began with silence. Christopher didn’t like silence, and so had an announcement ready should it go on for too long. As it was, to his surprise, Clemitius beat him to it.

  ‘We, and by we, I mean the therapists, have what you might call a supervisor here. His name is Peter. When I say supervisor, I don’t mean in the clinical sense.’ He paused and looked around, perhaps realising that nobody in the room had the faintest idea what he meant. ‘Anyway, Peter wants us all, clients and therapists, to meet outside in the compound at

  5 p.m. I’m sure Christopher will come and get you all, won’t you, Christopher?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Christopher, who was hearing about this gathering for the first time, although he tried not to show it.

  ‘What are we meeting for?’ asked Kevin.

  ‘It would be hard and probably pointless to try and explain,’ Clemitius answered. ‘Needless to say, everything will become clear. Now I suggest we press ahead … unless there is anything else?’

  ‘Well yes, actually, there is,’ Christopher said. ‘I wanted to invite you all to dinner this evening. I, I mean we, realise it is a very difficult transition. I thought a relaxing informal dinner, maybe a little wine …’

  ‘Wine, you say?’ Yvonne said.

  ‘Yes, and a little conversation.’

  There was silence. Gabriel stared out of the window, Julie played with the hem of her blouse. ‘Or no conversation, just some decent food and the aforementioned wine? It’s that or reruns of “Last of the Summer Wine” again.’ Christopher knew that both Julie and Gabriel had half-heartedly watched TV the night before. He looked at Julie, who looked straight back and tried to smile.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Anything is better than “UK Gold.” ’

  ‘I look forward to a nice glass of Rioja,’ said Yvonne.

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ added Kevin in what was presumably his telephone voice.

  They all looked at Gabriel. ‘I’m a vegetarian,’ he said.

  ‘I think we can cater for that,’ Christopher answered, smiling.

  He shrugged, which was as close to a yes as Christopher was going to get.

  ‘Will you be joining us?’ Kevin asked Clemitius.

  ‘No,’ said Clemitius. ‘I don’t think it would be appropriate. There are therapeutic boundaries to consider.’

  ‘What about his therapeutic boundaries?’ Julie pointed at Christopher, who tried to concentrate on not blushing.

  Clemitius smirked. ‘Christopher has a vital role in this group, at least equal to mine but slightly different. Christopher has, I would suggest, designed for himself a role as part facilitator, part befriender. He attends to needs, he helps you settle. In choosing that role he helps design my own role. I cannot be a friend and a therapist. It simply doesn’t work like that. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Gabriel ‘I think we can cope without you.’ And he turned to Christopher. ‘Actually I am a bit surprised, I thought people who shared therapy groups weren’t supposed to socialise together?’

  ‘I didn’t know you had had therapy before, Gabriel,’ said Clemitius.

  ‘I haven’t,’ Gabriel said. ‘But my girlfriend, Ellie, she used to run groups and I remember her telling me once about some problems because two people started sleeping together and it made things a bit difficult or something.’

  ‘Not much chance of that happening here,’ sa
id Kevin.

  ‘You must miss Ellie very much,’ said Clemitius.

  Gabriel stared at him. Clemitius took that as a cue to continue. ‘You’ve mentioned her before, and you clearly love her very much. In fact, it almost feels to me as if she were in the room.’

  Kevin looked around him.

  ‘I don’t mean literally,’ Clemitius said.

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Kevin. ‘It’s just that … well, I imagine you could do stuff like that if you wanted.’

  And Christopher watched and thought, Clemitius is right, I do create a different role for myself, I am more befriender, facilitator: I try to soften the blows, which he thinks is pointless and cowardly. But I can’t help myself.

  Now, looking at Gabriel, Christopher wondered if he was right. Being here felt almost cruel, watching that confused silent scream. He felt uncomfortable. He thought Gabriel might cry, and he had a sense that the others were uncomfortable, too. ‘This is what these groups are for,’ he told himself, although deep down he wasn’t certain. But Gabriel didn’t cry: instead he looked around, shrugged, and said, ‘It wouldn’t be much of a love if I wished her here would it?’

  Nobody said anything else. There wasn’t, Christopher thought, anything else to say.

  13

  After the group had finished, Christopher led them all quietly outside. The light was somehow bracing and the air fresh; Gabriel thought it smelt of lilac and cut mint. As they stepped from the dark, the sun welcomed them in what was essentially a misleading way. It looked like a beautiful summer’s day, with all the promise such a day brings. But it wasn’t.

  They were not the last to arrive. Dozens of other equally surprised-looking people were emerging from the semicircle of two-storey, whitewashed buildings onto the pale yellow stone path. And there they all stood, facing across a round patch of grass a little larger than half a football pitch, about eighty near-dead people and twenty angels.

  ‘Please stand still and be quiet,’ Christopher said nervously.

  ‘Quite a crowd,’ said Gabriel. ‘Are we going to do the hokey cokey?’

  ‘Ahhh of course, Gabriel, you use humour—of sorts—to cope with anxiety-provoking situations. I do wonder how helpful that really is.’ Clemitius had arrived behind them, his arms folded, his hands resting inside the wide cuffs of his robe. He nodded at everyone and stood beside Christopher.