G/ The Ticket Collector

19. DINING IN

Canary Wharf is a lonely place at the weekends.

I walk along the pathway by the Thames.

Rose and Frank live in Dundee Wharf.

The night porter is comfortable in his chair, eating sandwiches. I
press the buzzer and he looks at me, visible in the security light that
was triggered by sensors as I neared the intercom.

He taps the glass. 'What do you want?' he says.

I say I've come to visit a friend.

'It's very late,' he says.

I press the intercom and call Rose's name.

There is a click. Rose says, 'Frank, is that you. Frank? Who is it?
Who's there?'

She's slurring.

I tell her that it's me.

'Who?' she says.

'Jane's boyfriend, Barry.'

'Jane? Is Jane there?'

She presses the button and releases the lock.

I enter the foyer.

'Evening,' says the porter.

'Evening,' I reply, wiping my hair with a hand to scoop off some of the
rainwater.

'You don't,' he says, 'have an umbrella.'

'No.'

'You should buy one.'

'I know. I keep meaning to.'

'They're not expensive.'

'I know.'

'Who is it you're going to visit?'

'Rose Davey.'

'Oh, flat sixteen,' he says.

'That's the one.'

I go to the lift. It ascends. All chrome panels, polished mirrors. I
step out and the hallway is bright, there are plants, the air is
scented. The door to flat sixteen is ajar. I enter. This was the place
Jane always wanted for her own. She adores Rose's sense of style?I
mean, she adored?.

The hard wood floors. White sofa. Armchairs. Above everything else, she
was infatuated with the wide window and the view of the bending
river.

She said you could happily lose yourself in that view.

Rose is sitting in an armchair, the stereo on.

Four bottles of vodka are on the low glass table and two are empty.
Rose sways her head from side to side, sipping from her glass,
listening to the song.

I go to the kitchen, find a glass, then pour myself a measure.

Rose uses a remote control to lower the music volume.

'Where's Jane?' she says.

'You tell me?' I say.

'You said she was with you?'

'No I never.'

'Yes you did.'

'I did no such thing.'

'Liar. Typical lying wanker of a man.'

'I want Jane's phone number.'

'I don't have it.'

'She's your friend.'

'She's no friend of mine.'

'I need to speak to her.'

'Are you deaf?'

'Pardon?'

'Smart.'

'I must speak to her.'

Rose starts to sing. She turns up the volume.

I drain the vodka and watch her. I try and resist the craving but fail
and refill my glass.

She lowers the volume and shouts: 'WHO SAID?'

'Pardon?'

'Did I say you can drink my drink? Don't you possess the manners to ask
before your help yourself?'

'Do you mind if I have a glass of vodka?'

'That's more like it.'

'Do you?'

'Please do.'

'Thank you,' I say, filling my glass.

She touches her hair. She stands and smoothes the creases on the
tee-shirt she's wearing. 'Do you think,' she says, her palms cradling
either side of her face, as if she's positioning herself for a pose,
'that I'm, pretty? Do you think I'm attractive?'

I nod.

'Do you think I look too old? What about my tum? I've put on weight,
haven't I? Do you think I look attractive? Would you go out with me, be
truthful?'

'You look nice?' I say.

'Is that the truth?'

'Yes, you're a good looking woman.'

'Do you think so? I don't know. Maybe you're just saying that.'

She drops her arms to her side. She sits in the chair. Picks up her
glass. 'I want,' she says, ' to have babies, do you know that? I would
like to have babies.'

I nod. Smile.

She begins to cry. The tears roll. 'I want a family,' she cries.

Regaining her composure, wiping her tears, she says, 'Do you remember
Frank?'

'Yes.'

'He ran off with some girl. Can you believe it?'

'When,' I ask, 'did he leave?'

'He was seeing her while he was with me. Two timing me. I can't believe
he lied like that. Didn't you think we were happy together? People
called us a dream couple. I thought we were. Made for each other. I
never though we'd be apart. I thought the two of us would be together
for the rest of our lives. If you looked at Frank and myself, you'd
say: Those two were meant for one another. Isn't that what you'd say to
yourself if you saw us together?'

'Yep,' I say.

'Don't lie.'

'I'm not lying.'

'You are. You're saying what's appropriate and I know you're doing it.
That's the whole problem. The lying. Deceiving. Trying to do two things
at one and the same time. Nobody wants to be caught out, do they?
You're afraid that if you tell me that Frank was too in love with
himself to commit to marriage, to having a family, that I'll be upset.
Tell me truthfully now, did you think Frank and I would last
forever?'

'No, I didn't.'

'Really?'

'Yes.'

'I agree. You're right. You're so right but I only realise that now
he's gone. I can't believe he left me.'

She drinks. She coughs and notices me quivering. 'You're soaked,' she
says. 'You have to change those clothes.'

'I'm fine as I am,' I say.

'You're not. My God, you'll catch pneumonia. Step out of those clothes,
you must be freezing sitting in the wet like that.'

She fetches a dressing gown. 'This was Frank's,' she says, handing it
to me.

I take the gown and go the bathroom and undress. I dry myself with a
towel and put on the dressing gown. I look at my reflection in the
mirror and see an F for Frank sewn onto the left breast. I drape my
clothes over a radiator and leave the bathroom.

In the lounge, sitting in a chair, Rose asks if she can sit on my lap.
I tell her yes. She fills both our glasses and sits across my
legs.

'Did Jane ever tell you about my suspicion that Frank was having an
affair?'

'No.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

'He started staying out late. That's when I wondered. If I'd been
determined, I could've found out. But I didn't want to know. It was
like I'd found a lump on my body but was too scared to go to the
doctor's in case my worse fear was confirmed. That's what it was
like.'

'When,' I say, 'did you last speak to Jane?'

'Oh, I can't remember. Ages ago. Stop going on about her, will
you?'

'But - but you're best friends.'

'Who? Jane and me? You are joking, aren't you? I haven't seen her since
she left London. Wouldn't want to, either.'

'I have to get in contact.'

'Is that all you're here for?'

'Yes, it is.'

'So you can leave now, can't you? Now you've found your answer you can
piss off again.'

'I can if you want me too.'

'Desperate,' she says, amused. 'You must be desperate to come all the
way here in the rain to get her number.'

'I want to speak to her.'

'How quaint.'

'I think I should go.'

'No, it's fine. It's sweet that you want to speak to her. I guess
you're a less bitter person than me, more forgiving. Stay the night,'
she says, looking at me, her face very near to mine.

I don't respond.

She says, 'Did you love Jane?'

'I'm not sure,' I say. 'I think I should've treated her better if I
did. So probably not, no.'

'Why do you want to speak to her then?'

'I don't know, just because I want to, that's all.'

'Can I ask you a question?'

'Yes.'

'If you love her why did you treat her like shit when you were with
her?'

'I know, that's what I said myself. I know it doesn't make
sense.'

'You must have an idea.'

I drink the vodka.

'Are you still working for London Underground?'

I ignore her. Thinking about her question.

She giggles and says, 'Jane once showed me the uniform you had to wear.
The hat as well. She showed me your ID pass with you wearing the hat.
It was so funny because she held it next to your graduation photograph
from university. We laughed so much. It was hilarious.'

She's nearly killing herself. I think she's going to have a heart
attack.

'I'm still wearing it,' I say.

She tries to compose herself. 'Oh, I didn't realise,' she says. 'I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to?'

'It's okay.'

'If I'd known, I mean that?'

'Forget about it.'

'I didn't know you were there still.'

'I am.'

'You always told Frank and I that you were on the verge of
leaving.'

'Everyone who works there says that. It's a defence mechanism. You
start to believe it and then the monotony and drudgery isn't as
crushing.'

'Oh.'

I ask her to get off me.

'Did I upset you? she says. 'I didn't intend to hurt your feelings. I'm
sorry.'

'You haven't hurt my feelings.'

'Are you sure?'

She stands and staggers. Then she tousles her brown, curly hair and
pouts her lips at me.

'Where's the ashtray?' I say.

She cocks her head to the side, wagging a finger, saying, 'No smoking
in here, that's the rule.'

I fetch my light and cigarettes form my jacket.

She switches on the music.

I inhale, exhale. I go to the phone book. Rose uses the remote control
to turn up the volume. She says, 'I love Elvis Costello.' She twirls
her body and stretches her arms outwards, a glass in one hand, a remote
control in the other, spinning.

I flick the pages. I don't understand. They're friends. They're always
in touch, speaking, talking, confiding, gossiping.

Rose drops to the floor. I hear glass break. I go and see Rose on her
side, skirt hitched up.

'Shit,' she's saying. 'Shit.'

I grab the remote and lower the volume.

She's watching the spilt vodka trickling along
the varnished wooden floor.

'What a stinking mess,' she says as I pull her to her feet.

She sits on a chair.

I go and switch the music off altogether.

'Leave it on,' she says.

I can't abide music. It's something I've never liked.

'ON,' she shouts.

I press play.

'Can I have a cigarette?'

'You don't smoke.'

'I do.'

'But you don't smoke Rose.'

'I want a cigarette. It's my flat and I can do as I please.'

I fetch the pack.

'My home,' she says. 'Not that bastard Frank's. It's mine. The stereo
cost four thousand pounds. It's mine. The television cost two thousand
pounds: mine. The bed in the bedroom cost five thousand pounds and
guess, guess how much the armchairs and sofa cost?'

I light a cigarette for her and say, 'I don't know.'

'Guess.'

'I don't know.' I pass her the cigarette. She takes
it?inhales?coughs?chokes until she almost pukes.

I hand her my glass and she drinks the vodka.

I sit in a chair.

After several painful attempts, Rose succeeds in sucking smoke into her
lungs and exhaling.

Hoarsely, she says, 'Guess how much?'

'A thousand pounds,' I say.

'Oh, sweetie, you must be in dreamland. A three piece suite of this
quality? Please, guess again.'

'Three thousand.'

'Nope.'

'Four K.'

'No.'

'Five.'

'Double that,' she says. 'We paid five for the
sofa and two and a half each for the chairs. What do you think of
that?'

'I think you spent shit loads of money on a sofa and two chairs.'

'Ten thousand pounds,' she says.

'So you told me.'

She sits there and I watch as she dozes off and then jerks awake. Her
eyeballs roam lazily in their sockets, unfocussed, glazed, reddened. I
watch her hand slacken its grip on the glass she's holding. She swears.
Straightens herself. Looks at me and says, 'Frank.'

I shake my head.

She looks twice and I register her disappointment.

'Go to bed,' I say.

She doesn't answer.

'Go to bed, Rose.'

'NO. NO,' she bawls. 'I DON'T WANT TO GO TO BED. I DON'T WANT
TO.'

Unscrewing the lid on an unopened bottle of vodka, she proceeds to pour
herself a measure and then presses play on the remote control.

It's ABBA.

I've never understood what people get from music.

She presses a button and now it's Elvis Costello. She advances towards
me and tries to tug me out of the chair.

If there's one pastime I despise more than music, it's dancing.

'Don't be a dullard,' she says. 'Let's have a dance.'

She tugs until she stretches my arm. I stand, she takes my cigarette,
has a drag and then drops the butt into a finished bottle of vodka, and
then she takes my glass and puts it on the table.

She holds my hands, sways her hips and says, 'Dance with me. Let's do
some dancing.'

Closing her eyes, she attempts to move closer.

I step backwards, keeping her at arms length. She raises my arm and
steps underneath. I swivel round and we're facing one another once
more. We're moving slowly. Shuffling a foot forward, a foot back, then
side to side. Rose doesn't realise that her bare feet are nearing the
shards of broken glass. I steer her away from the shards. She raises my
arm and ducks underneath and pulls me around so we're facing. Then she
steps nearer and I allow my elbows to bend so we're close. Her eyes are
closed. She dances slowly to a shuffling rhythm in her brain that isn't
in synch to the music from the stereo.

I stay with her for another track: We're the kids in America.

It goes:

We're the kids in America

Yeah, we're the kids in America?

We're the kids in America?

I let go of her hands when the song - it seems to last for an eternity
- ends and I sit in the chair, smoke a cigarette, have a drink.

She dances. Spinning round and under my arm as if I'm still with
her.

When the CD finishes, she looks at me and
again she struggles to recall exactly who I am.

Back in the chair, she says, 'You dance like Frank. Did you know that?
You dance just like Frank, badly.'

'If you say so.'

'I do. Two left feet. Both of you have two left feet.'

'Do we?'

'Would you like to see a disc of our wedding? I can show you how he
dances.'

'Not now.'

'Oh, go on. You can watch us dancing at the reception with our families
watching.'

'I remember it, Rose. I was there.'

'You were not.'

'Jane was bridesmaid.'

'Yes, but you didn't join us because you and Jane had a row.'

'I was there.'

'If I put the disc on you'll see Jane. Would you like to see
her?'

'Show me tomorrow.'

'My wedding dress was beautiful. My mum said I looked like a fairy tale
princess. Did you know that? And my father, he wept when he saw me and
I'd never seen my father cry. The only time, that's how proud he was of
me.'

'I'm sure he was.'

'He was proud, wasn't he?'

'Yes.'

'He was.'

'Of course he was.'

'It was a wonderful day. Dancing with Frank under that huge marquee
with the cake on the table and our families watching us. I'll never
forget that day.'

'I'm sure you won't.'

'I won't.'

'A memory to treasure.'

'It is. That's exactly what it is. Do you want me to play the
disc?'

'Tomorrow, Rose. I'll enjoy it better tomorrow.'

'If you're positive.'

'I am. Certain, in fact.'

'It won't take long to watch.'

'Do you mind if I sleep on your sofa tonight?'

'The sofa? Why there?'

'I don't fancy the walk home, that's all.'

'You're more than welcome to stay.'

'Cheers.'

'It's funny seeing you in that dressing gown.'

'Thanks for letting me wear it.'

'You dance the same as him, you know that? Just the same. Don't you
think that's a funny coincidence, two men dancing the same as one
another?'

'What, shittily?'

'Oh, don't say that. I like how you dance, it's cute.'

'That's kind of you.'

'Do you like me?'

'You're nice, yes.'

'Can you understand why Frank left me?'

'Not really, no.'

'You must really still love Jane to come here for her number. Did you
love her a lot?'

'I think I did, once. I did love her a lot.'

'Do you still love her, though? That's what I'm asking?'

'I miss her. I'd like to see her, know what she's up to.'

'That's not a reply.'

'Isn't it?'

'I don't love Frank. Not after what he did to me. I don't think he
deserves me. That's how I feel. I really believed in him, you know, and
what he told me. Why would he say I was all he ever wanted and then go
and have an affair? It doesn't make sense. It isn't rational. He said
he loved me. He did love me. I know he did, he said so.'

'I have to go to sleep.'

'I want to talk. It's my flat and I want to talk. I'm not going to
bed.'

'I mean me, not you. I'm tired and I need to sleep.'

'Aren't you enjoying talking? Am I being too intense? Sorry. Perhaps I
am. Do you mind if I ask you a question? I have to ask it.'

'What is it?'

'I feel slightly silly asking it. I suppose it is, well, juvenile. I
was wondering, though, what was the happiest moment of your
life?'

She asks me this and I'm feeling pleased as I instantly know the
answer. Or I think I do. 'Okay then.' I say to Rose, 'the happiest
moment was when?.'

She interrupts.

I can't stand it when I'm interrupted.

She says, 'Oh let me go first, let me, please.'

'But you asked me.'

'I know, I know but please. Let me say mine first.'

'Okay.'

It's the wedding day. The dress. The cake. Dancing with Frank and the
friends and families gathered and watching.

Her father, crying with pride.

And her mother, saying she was a fairy tale princess.

I drink vodka. Light cigarette.

'I've never,' she says, 'been happier.'

Tears on her cheeks.

'My happiest moment,' I say.

But she does it again.

She cuts in.

We're back to square one.

'Why,' she says, 'did Frank leave me?'

I tell her that I genuinely don't know the reason.