G

G

Pheasant, rabbit and pigeon are contained within the pie I am carrying in a translucent plastic bag, on my way to visit Paul the carpenter, previously Paul the mental health worker, and before that, Paul the volunteer at a Fijian NGO.

A

He is slowly texting me the individual letters of the words GAME PIE because he knows I am bringing it, carefully, keeping it upright at all times. He knows it comes from T. Glyn Davies Butchers.

I am assuming he is sending the words GAME PIE from the G and the A. I think I know Paul well. We remain a little boyish in each other’s company. I find something reassuring in watching him cartwheel, in hearing him whistle, in his demanding a high-five. I hope he gains something from the faces I make, my excessive laughter and the funny accents I put on: Scottish and Jamaican particularly.

M

The M has arrived. I thought that Paul might have sent me a Y, just for fun. It might have been GAY PIE. But, today, Paul is above that.

I am hoping to ask Paul if he will help me replace some of the floorboards in my new apartment, which I have purchased, partly with an adjustable rate mortgage.

Also, I expect, we will replace the words of pop songs with silly, sometimes crude, comparable words. Sometimes we will have a rap battle.

E

Paul has closed off his possibilities now. GAME ON, perhaps.

When, I describe Paul to my new friends, I say he is vertiginously handsome. He is so handsome that you might shatter with the force of it, I say. Your eyes can not grip on to a face that good, I tell them.

I first saw Paul across a well-lit bar and, despite his striking looks, I imagined that he and I would become friends. I went across, in-between the pool tables, and introduced myself formally, like a guy to a girl in the fifties.

P

Maybe: GAME PIE MATCH.

Probably not.

Today, Paul is making a window-frame from old railway sleepers. It’s his parents’ new house. They’ve got solar panels on the roof. During the summer months they expect to sell electricity back to the national grid. Paul’s father teaches environmental law. He has written books.

My Dad also writes books. On Dutch history. Our Dads are on Amazon.

Now I think about it, our Mums are also on Amazon. They have written books. I do not know why this is less interesting.

I

We are modern men. I think my female friends should marry Paul. He occasionally gets depressed, particularly as the days get shorter, but that just means he’s thoughtful.

Back when we were at college, we used to say that – when he got really wrecked and his eyelids lowered – that he had an alter ego, Bruno Sandbank, who was highly charismatic but treated women badly: forget their names mid-coitus, always played for threesomes, committed whatever the word is – like adultery – but when you are just boyfriend and girlfriend.

I haven’t seen Bruno for years.

Paul is muscly and sometimes wears vests but, at the same time, he is going to Uganda to help build safe, affordable, low-tech housing. And not in the way where he keeps mentioning he’s going to Uganda. He’s just really interested. He says simple stuff like, It’s a good idea. I like his straight-forwardness.

I would not marry Paul, before you say it. He would not marry me.

We are both virile and a bit womanising. We are both in to fractals, Mandelbrot in particular. We can bring these things together. The infinite detail of the bar maid’s eyes. I am waiting for the ‘E’. It is not coming.

My reception is sketchy as we move north through Cwmbran.

There’s no way that he is worried about the cost of all these texts. He is on a monthly-plan.

E

The text message joke is funnier because he didn’t mess around. I think, the timing of the final E is brilliant.

I am making a chuckling noise, as I look at my phone. I put my hand on the bag with the pie in it, to make sure it’s okay.

Paul said that, tomorrow morning, we’re going to visit Cwm Yoy – a small parish church that, because it was built on subsiding land, has become warped and misshapen.

Paul has told me: Honestly, it’s mental; you’ll think you’re on drugs.

It is a small parish church on a bit of a tilt. Paul and I know this.