Upperkirkgate Chapter Four: The Houses That He Makes Last Till Doomsday, Part 1

Jack stood at the back of the Pirrips bookshop, looking down from the poetry section. The weather outside was raining hard: still very cold in January. The high street sales were in full flow. He had escaped, whether from studies or other things, to his usual haven. After a week back after Christmas, his dissertation was not going well, if at all. He had other things on his mind. The shop door opened to admit Claire, her breath fogging as she shook out and folded her blue umbrella. Jack smiled, and walked down the steps, up to the entrance to meet her. She looked at him uncertainly, checking past him into the shop. He sighed. “Look, you don’t need to be afraid of her. How were the rest of your holidays?” He gave her a kiss.

“They were okay,” she said, walking over to a table near the door and sitting down.

     “It’ll be colder there,” said Jack.

     “Well. I want to be able to see.” Jack felt a frustration towards Alison, a fear for Claire. He tried not to frown.

     “You’ll be warmer over there.” He pointed further into the shop. She shook her head.

     “It’s as well to keep… a perspective.” She smiled in a watery way. Jack made an effort.

     “It was great to see you at New Year’s,” he said warmly. She had gone down to Perth for Christmas: he had spent it in Aberdeen. She smiled more brightly.

     “Yes. That was a good walk, by the River Tay.”

     “It’s good to be back as well,” he said, stroking her hand.

     “Are you going to order a coffee?” she asked, her hand dwarfed by his.

     “Of course.” He kissed her again as he left the table, and she responded more positively. He looked back at her as he went, almost tripping over a pile of books arranged as part of the sales. She put a hand to her mouth to hide a smile.

     Jack looked around the shop as he awaited the two lattes he had ordered. It had been redecorated, some sections changed. The science-fiction books were now nearer the door; the philosophy books to one side of the main shop, in a sort of short blind alley. Jack returned to Claire, and sat down. “Eccola, signorina.”

     “Grazie.”

     “I almost thought of writing my thesis on Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? You know, the book the Blade Runner film was based on.”

     “I’ve heard of it.”

     “Very philosophical… what makes humans different from androids, if anything… what makes life worth living?”

     “I have my faith,” she said quietly. He felt uncomfortable.

     “So do I… in life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” She smiled.

     “Of course you have.”

     “Do you have a favourite book?”

     “I’ve always liked Rebecca. The awkwardness of the heroine, the lingering presence of the late wife, the whole atmosphere of Cornwall…”

     He scratched his head. “A friend told me about the film. A classic Hitchcock, apparently.” She laughed. He looked put out. “I’ll borrow it this weekend.”

     “It’s alright. You don’t have to, Jack.”

     “I want to know more about you, your stuff.”

     “Well, I don’t really expect you to read the Bible.” He felt awkward again. “There’s the housekeeper, Mrs Danvers,” Claire continued. “She’s the main link between Rebecca and the nameless heroine, committed to the past in a creepy morbid way, obstructing the new wife any way she can.” Jack rolled his eyes.

     “I can think of someone like that.” Claire blushed quite suddenly. Jack tried to take his eyes off her as he drank his coffee but could not, worried he had upset her, trying to find the words. “I’m sure it’s a good book,” he said. “I just meant… I don’t need to be thinking of her all the time.”

     “Since you mentioned her,” said Claire quietly, “I really think you should apologize to her.” Jack stared.

     “What?”

     “Well, it wasn’t altogether decent to dump her like that.”

     “I said before, she came after me when I wanted you. She and I are history now. Long since. We should never have been an item in the first place.”

     “I just don’t like the thought of her being unhappy because of us. We don’t meet up like we used to.”

     Jack hesitated. “Well, we are enough for ourselves,” he said lightly. “Come May or June, she’ll be out of the University for good.”

     “So will you.”

     “I hope not… I said I want to do a Masters.”

     “How’s your dissertation?”

     “It’s doing alright, Claire. What I was saying about our friend-“

     “Who shall remain nameless?”

     “-what I’m saying is, I know her, and she has to have things her way. I don’t know why we’re even talking about her.”

     “You brought her up.”

     “Ah, this Mrs Danvers-by-proxy. Well, if it makes you happy, I will talk to her. What would you want me to say?”

     “You know.”

     “No, I don’t.”

     “Just that we want her to be happy.”

     Jack looked very doubtful. “Her idea of happiness,” he began, and stopped. “I’ll see what I can do.” Claire brightened, and he grew duller, withdrawn. He was still trying to forget his last meeting with Alison. “Are you going to come with me then?”

     “Oh no, you’ll be so much better.”

     Jack moved on. “You never mentioned you went out with my cousin Jules.”

     “Oh, that was a long time ago. You don’t mention all your exes, do you?”

     “I don’t think I ever went out with a cousin of yours.”

     She shrugged. “First year. I was pretty lonely. He was a decent guy to have around.”

     “Aye. He said something like that.” A pause while they both drank coffee, Jack finishing his. He looked at her carefully. “Would it bother you to go to one of his concerts? He’s playing in the Lemon Tree next week.”

     “Is he? Good for him. I always hoped his career would take off. He’s got talent.”

     “Would it bother you?”

     “No, of course not. I’m with you.”

     He smiled. “Okay, then.” Then he frowned. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to this meeting with Alison. Are you coming?” She shook her head emphatically. “How is that fair? If I’m speaking for both of us.”

     “You’ve known her for longer.”

     “Yes, well, that’s the trouble… Frailty, thy name is- no, better not say it. My latest variation on my thesis is seeing Hamlet as between a rock and a hard place when he’s thinking of killing his uncle and finishing the whole business… after information from his late father… he goes to kill his uncle at prayers, so he doesn’t do it. He puts it off until Laertes has the anger of his own father’s death behind him, he and Claudius scheme to get rid of Hamlet… sorry, am I boring you?”

     “Oh, no,” she yawned. “Just a late night of revision… our exams coming up.”

     “Don’t let me keep you.”

     “Don’t worry, Jack. This is a nice break… I will be heading back to the flat soon.”

     “Of course, Shakespeare was in control of the plot, it is so much more convincing than some of his earlier work… I think it’s his masterpiece. So what sort of stuff are you reading just now?”

     “Reform, reform reform…” Another yawn. “The need to reform, and to keep on doing it.”

     “Why do you think that is?”

     “Oh Jack, the more some things get better, the more some things stay the same. Or get worse. Booth and Fry were incredible, committed people, we can feel both the legacy of their good work, and the motivation to help others, not just sit and watch the world getting worse. I went on three marches last year. All about action, justice. We need to show what we’re made of, what we believe.” Claire was animated now.

     “The government ignored the last huge march on London, Does that mean protest has its limits? Is it still effective?”

     “Of course.” Her eyes were wide, focussed on him. “The Peterloo Massacre of 18 showed the authorities the need for change, the way so many working people felt.” She was impassioned. So alive. Jack reached over and kissed her mouth. “What was that about?” she asked, half smiling, half annoyed.

     “You are gorgeous,” he told her. “You have such… feeling for real people, and here I am getting concerned for people who never existed… Daft.”

     “Oh, you’re just you,” she said warmly, her eyes shining. “I know you’re coming with me to hand out leaflets on Saturday. You can make up some sort of Hamlet-type slogan to go with it.” He smiled.

     “I’ll try. Mind you don’t get a cold, in this weather.”

     “Not with you beside me. I’ll get us another coffee, then I’ll have to go. Wonderful as it is being with you.”

     “No, Claire, let me.” Jack rose and went to the counter. He could see no sign of Alison. Claire turned her head to the street. She was elegant, one leg crossed over the other, one finger curled round her mug. She had kept her blue scarf on. Jack was looking at her, weighing the benefits of being with her on her latest cause with being on his own.

     A man who had been watching Claire with varying degrees of subtlety from a nearby table drifted over and approached her. She pointed to Jack. The man seemed indecisive, then shrugged and drifted away. Jack came over with the coffee, staring hard at the man, who stared back and then resumed reading his newspaper. It was not the first time this had happened. He had never had this problem during his time with Alison.

     “Another moth,” he said sharply. He turned his back on the man at the next table. “Here you go.”

     “Thanks, Jack.” They drank in silence for a while. When she had finished, she turned from looking on the street in an abstract way attractive to him, smiled and stood up. He rose with her and kissed her rather ostentatiously. He could taste her coffee. “Jack,” she said, a little breathlessly, “we haven’t got all day.”

     “I know my love, I just live for being with you. Enjoy your work.”

     “I will. What are you going to do with your day?”

     “Carry out some more research here. There’s plenty of material…” She looked a little doubtful, then her brow cleared.

     “Yeah. You go for it.” She kissed his cheek briefly, picked up her bag, and he held the door for her. He watched her walking down the street. Then he went back inside to finish his coffee. Jack left the table, ignoring the man still at the other one, and wandered over to the science-fiction section.

     The bright covers of faraway citadels and monsters occupied his attention for the next half hour, critically examining the blurbs, flicking through a chapter or two. He walked up the stairs to the poetry section, and bought some cheap editions of Iain Crichton Smith and RS Thomas. Another hour passed before he left the shop, heading right in the direction of his flat, rather than left, to the University.

                                                           ***

Jack waited at the back of the arts centre known as the Lemon Tree, not far from Upperkirkgate, stamping his feet and blowing into his hands. He smiled as Claire eventually arrived, looking anxious. “Am 

“Am I late?” she said as he kissed her.

     “No, don’t worry. Let’s away in and see Jules.” She laughed.

     “I still can’t see it…” With a giggle, she preceded him in through the doors. The venue was not too crowded. Some other students they knew were also there. Jack got himself a beer, and Claire a large orange juice.

     “I hope that’s your last,” she said, eyeing the pint glass a little anxiously.

     He smiled as he hung his denim jacket on the back of the chair. “Don’t worry. Let’s just relax.” He waved to Crombie’s Cat and Marie, now seemingly back together. At least they were talking.

     Jules and his band were the main act. The lights dimmed, and the support act walked on, a very loud Irishman with a questionable talent. Jack grimaced, then fished in his pocket for some ear plugs he had not used since residing in halls in first year. After twenty minutes, Jack got up to get Claire another orange juice. On his return, she asked, “Have you seen her yet?”

     “Who?” he asked, removing the ear plugs as he saw the Irishman leave the stage to muted applause. “Oh, not Alison again, please.”

     “We took her happiness. Sometimes I feel guilty, just sitting here with you.”

     “She took her own happiness when she tried to dominate me,” said Jack sharply.

     “I just want to know you’re going to speak to her, that’s all. I want us all to be friends.” Jack clenched his teeth. He had been over the inherent difficulties in this operation before.

     “I’ll speak to her on Monday. Monday. Is that okay?” Claire smiled, and sipped from her glass. Jack tried to leave the issue behind. “Jules has been building up to this for a while… I remember him playing in our uncle’s house up north… stunning backdrop, those mountains on Skye.”

     The lights dimmed again as Jules’ band came on. Jack was impressed with how at home his cousin was, playing lead guitar, and sometimes backing vocals. “Let’s go to the front,” he said. Some others were already standing. They got up and went as near as they dared. Jack took Claire’s hand, then held her by the waist as they stood in the second row from the front. The show lasted about an hour. The band left, cheered more enthusiastically than the support act had been. The audience drifted back to their seats. “Just a three-piece band,” said Jack, “but their talents show… especially Jules.”

     “Like a tripod,” said Claire vaguely. “Life in camera… patterns, numbers. And we a triangle.” Jules appeared in a discreet manner clutching a pint before Jack had time to get annoyed. “I hope that’ll be your last,” said Claire, a little severely.

     “Oh, give the man a break,” said Jack. “Hi Jules, how are you doing?”

     “All the better for getting that over with,” he said calmly, sitting down beside them and sipping the foamy head of his beer.

     “You were excellent,” said Jack warmly.

     “Thanks. I wasn’t sure about the third song… we had more timer to practice the others. It was a last-minute idea of Will’s. You know, the lead singer.” He turned slightly and stared into the crowd, as if looking for the rest of the band.

     “The band-“ said Jack.

     “They’ll be around,” said Jules. “We’re done for tonight, I’m in no hurry.”

     “I enjoyed the words,” said Jack blandly. Jules smiled.

     “I fitted in one of your songs. Adapted. Maybe not the one you were hoping for.” He looked briefly at Claire.

     “What’s this about?” she said.

     “I just wanted to celebrate you in a poem,” said Jack. “I showed it to Jules, in case he might use it.” Her face lit up.

     “And did you?”

     “It seems not,” said Jules. There  was a slightly awkward silence.

     “An excellent set anyway,” said Jack firmly. “You’re on your way. Football stadiums for you in five years…”