Bravado

Just a few facts to begin with. Her name was Chalice and I loved
her. This was about three years ago but it seems longer. One long
winter of fun and games followed by a painful spring. Five months, in
total. I was twenty-two. She was twenty. My name is James
Spencer.

I have a good memory, or so I've been told. I remember everything about
Chalice, from the night I met her until the last time I saw her. The
memories are still clear. She's all around me. The sound of Belfast on
a Saturday night, or the look of a passing brown haired girl, there are
many small keys that open that door. I wish I could forget her, for a
while. This isn't a love song. It's just a story. It's one of many that
I seem to have been part of.

The University was an important part of my life back then. I was in the
final year of an Arts degree, preparing me to understand sophisticated
jokes. The finals came, and went and I spent the summer on the dole. I
lived in Belfast with two friends from Queens Unversity. We looked for
work that just didn't appear. We had a good time. We got drunk once a
fortnight in time with the giros. It was a life.

Then I had an interview. It was for a PA job in a small PR firm in
Holywood. I got the job. My new boss explained how the experience would
be useful. I nodded a lot, smiled too. At two hundred quid a week, I
couldn't complain. Money. The pot of gold at the end of a three-year
rainbow.

The PA job was mundane. Making tea, photocopying, taking dictation,
typing up letters and reports and so on. I learnt a lot, though, from
reading the reports and recommendations they were sending out to
clients, and I found myself after a month or so, correcting mistakes
the staff were making. Simple little things, like spelling mistakes all
the way up to toning down advertising copy they thought looked good. I
think that was the intention, of course, letting me learn by their
mistakes. I went to a night-class once a week in Communications,
Advertising and Marketing. My life really seemed to be coming
together.

My friends also got jobs. Mike moved away to Banbridge, Mark stayed. I
was closer to him, anyway, having grown up with him. He was working
part time for a local paper, and was happy enough to hang around in the
city. We could afford to rent the house between us without getting a
third person in. Unless, of course, she was really something.

I had gone out with several girls in my time. They ranged from
one-night disasters that I still can't think about to a three-year
sentence with red-haired betrayal. It had been about six months since a
girl had passed my lips and I was starting to get edgy again. With
everything else looking so good, I wanted a little more. It was a vague
feeling that I sullenly mused on now and then. Most of the time, it was
a subconscious itch.

It always seems to work out, for me anyway, that the moment you stop
looking, and I really mean you honestly don't give a shit, the most
beautiful woman you have ever seen wants to be your friend. By the time
November came around, I was at that point- genuinely happy to be
single. Mark and I went out once a week and got drunk instead of once a
fortnight. We usually went to the Elms or the Bot, the traditional
student holes. Old habits died hard. Occasionally we went to the
Manhattan, but I always preferred the Empire. Not really a singles bar.
It had atmosphere and cheap pizzas. All you could want. And it was true
to say that I found myself missing University days. The students all
seemed so young now. I was only twenty-two, but many first years were
eighteen. A long four years. Mark hated the Empire, so I usually went
alone. His ex-girlfriend went there regularly and, more importantly, so
did her new boyfriend.

This Saturday night, I waved to her as I walked in. She grinned back
and waved, her Neanderthal lover looking round to see what was going
on. I walked up the steps and made my way down to the end of the right
hand 'balcony'. The Empire was in the basement of an old church,
something I always got off on. The wooden decor was different from the
cinematic theme it used to have years back. I ordered a Guinness and a
bag of crisps and slipped off my coat, hanging it on the back of the
chair. I didn't mind coming here alone. I wouldn't stay too long, as
getting drunk alone isn't too much fun. I'd meet Mark later.

The band was setting up. I sat and watched the place and people, a
pastime of old. Marks ex-girlfriend Sally and her gorilla were sprawled
over each other in a corner, exchanging tongues and reading each other
like Braille. The waitress came back with the drink and crisps. I
looked up and smiled at her.

"Two Twenty," she said sharply, placing the Guinness on the mat in
front of me. She dumped the crisps beside the glass. I dropped three
coins on the tray- two pounds and a fifty.

"Keep the change!" I grinned. She looked at the money and raised an
eyebrow.

"I'll buy a new dress with it, will I?"

I just stared at her. I had the vague feeling I'd heard the line
before, but she said it with a contempt that didn't belong. She looked
at me through a brown fringe. It looked as if she had been crying. I
was about to speak when she turned and walked away. I watched her walk,
wondering what I had said to upset her.

The Guinness was cold and good, the crisps a bit soggy. I continued
watching her serve others in the bar. I still wondered what was the
matter. She looked like a student working part time. Her accent was
English, not very regional. She wore the white blouse and black skirt
that was the standard uniform for the bar staff, and she glided through
the crowd with some skill. She snapped at a few other customers, most
of who ignored her.

I glanced down at my watch, and gathered my coat up. I slipped it on,
already heading to the door. I walked down the three steps to the floor
and was about to leave when I noticed the waitress heading towards a
table near the door. I paused until she was finished, then I walked
past her. I suppose I was trying to attract her attention, so I bumped
into her as I walked past.

She glanced round at me, annoyed. Then she recognized me, and smiled-
it looked apologetic.
"Look, I'm... really sorry I was rude to you."

I was surprised. I hadn't expected an apology. I didn't really deserve
one.

"Look, don't be angry. I'm really grateful that you tipped me at all.
Most people don't." She smiled, more warmly this time. I noticed that
she was quite tall.

"Listen, uh," I said, a bit embarrassed. She took the pause as a
request for identification.

"Chalice." I gave her a startled look, and she blushed, glancing at her
feet for an instant, a gesture that I found very attractive.

"It's my name. Chalice."

She was embarrassed by her name. I must admit, it sounded
strange.
"Chalice," I smiled, "it's okay. Are you alright?"

She shook her head, the smiled remained but faded a little.
"No. Anyway, I'm sorry." She stood back from the door to let me out. I
paused a moment, not entirely sure what I was meant to do. Sally
squeezed past me, lingering a little too long.

"Hi, James." She looked up at me in a drunken attempt to look demure.
Her unsteady gaze met mine.

"Sally. Hi."

"Say hi to Mark for me." She disappeared into the toilets. I looked
back up at Chalice.

"Uhm." I said, for the sake of making a noise.

Chalice grinned, and waved before disappearing back inside the bar. I
stood in the threshold between outside and inside door, being shoved by
those coming out of the toilets. Sally came back out.

"Who was she?" she asked, a little more sober.

"Chalice. Apparently."

"Oh. Good night, James." Sally stood on her toes and gave me a peck on
the cheek. I barely noticed as she walked into the bar, looking for her
big friend. I climbed up the steps onto Botanic Avenue, and strolled
slowly towards Shaftesbury Square. I met Mark as I crossed the road to
the Kentucky. He looked sober. He was.

"Good night?" He stood with me in the queue. I had just ordered a
Fillet Burger.

"Yeah. You?" Mark shrugged.

"Nah, not really."

"I saw Sally." He stiffened for an instant.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

There was silence. The burger was pushed across at me. We walked down
to a seat, and whilst I ate, Mark played with the salt.

"I met a girl," I commented between bites. Mark looked up.

"Who?" he asked, eyes bright.

"A waitress."

Mark laughed loudly. I took another mouthful of chicken, and obscenely
wiped away a dribble of mayonnaise.
"James, you must be desperate. What's her name?"

"Chalice." I was curious to see his reaction now. He blinked.

"What, like a cup?"

"Presumably," I replied with a shrug.

"Interesting name."

"Uh-huh." I finished the burger, still feeling hungry. It was a
ten-minute walk down the Donegall Road to our house. I could make it,
but would certainly need a plate of toast when I arrived.

As we headed home, I explained to Mark the events of the night, leaving
out all the bits with Sally in it. They could wait until he was drunk
and couldn't handle it. He examined the situation with traditional
sensitivity.

"Two Twenty for a beer and a packet of crisps? That's
ridiculous."

"Aye, Mark. Thanks for paying attention."

He smiled.
"Chalice. Nice name. A bit... oh, I dunno, weird. Parents must have
been hippies, or something."
I nodded. Mark hummed a few bars from Cherish, Madonna's last decent
song.

"Was she pretty?"

"Yes," I said instantly, and blushed. She had been very attractive, now
I thought about it. I have to admit to preferring blondes, shallow as I
am, but Chalice was very memorable. Her smile seemed warm, at least the
second time. I could still see her face as it disappeared into the
crowd. I swallowed hard.
"I'm still hungry."

Mark nodded.
"We've got bread. And beans."

"Student days, huh?" I smiled.

We sang the chorus to Cherish loudly as we reached the top of our
street.

Two

The following morning, I lay in until my head hurt. Then I got up and
stood in the shower for ten minutes until we ran out of hot water. Then
I ate breakfast until we ran out of bread.

Mark was already out, probably at the corner shop. I opened a file from
work, and began rewriting the text for a leaflet on STD's the company
was preparing. I began editing out some of the patronizing crap that
someone there had written. They obviously had never met anyone with VD.
I had, at University. They would not have appreciated the description
of 'mild irritation' described as one of the symptoms, though I could
hardly put 'feels like it will drop off' on a leaflet. Realism versus
Subtlety. A delicate balance.

I looked up, into thin air and smiled. Chalice. I remembered the
childish feeling of excitement I had felt last night when she had
smiled at me. There was also the memory of the look of pain, when I had
given her the money. The images lingered, perhaps a little too long.
Mark returned, white plastic bag bulging with groceries.

"Alright?" he inquired rhetorically. I nodded silently back, still
feeling detached. He dumped the bag on a chair, reaching in to pull out
a paper. He took a seat by the fire, and began to read.

"Working hard?" I asked. He nodded, leafing through the pages, scanning
intently.

"There! My article!"

I moved across to look over his shoulder. It was a column, in the
middle of the paper. A photograph of a group of people at a clinic lay
beneath it. Mark had taken the picture as well.

"You wrote an article on drugs?" I must have looked incredulous. Mark
looked up, a bit hurt.

"Yeah. Why not?"

I was tempted to tell him. Instead, I just sighed.

"Looks pretty good, anyway."

"Do you like the photo?" asked Mark. I glanced at it. It was fuzzy,
probably distorted later at the paper to protect the identities of the
people at the clinic. I realized that Mark probably had to do the job
of photographer as well. He was a hard worker, whatever else he
was.

"Yeah. Good stuff."

"I wrote this all about two months ago. Took them this long to publish
it." Mark seemed very happy with himself.

I went back to my work, and there I stayed for the rest of the
day.
This is all relevant, the article and photograph. I only found that out
much later on.

Three

I returned to the Empire the following week, mostly out of curiosity.
Mark came with me for the same reason. He sat beside me, glaring at
Sally and her man. His beer was untouched and he flicked peanuts across
the room in her general direction. My Guinness was warm and
unsatisfying tonight. The crisps were okay, though. Three waitresses
moved around the packed room, but no Chalice. I didn't know how the
shift rota worked around here, but I assumed that most of the staff
would want a Saturday night off once in a while.

"Bitch," Mark growled.

"No, she isn't," I replied without thinking. Mark looked at me.

"What?"

I turned to face him.

"Oh. Sorry." He was looking towards Sally. "Ah. I see."

Mark drained half his pint and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. I
tutted in disgust.

"Ah. Who needs her?" he lied. I returned my gaze to the crowd again.
Maybe she was here drinking. I didn't know if the staff would drink at
the same place they worked.

She walked through the door a few moments later. She wore casual
clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, under a long black jacket. She looked
very different from the night I had first seen her here. I stood up and
made my way down to the bar. We arrived there at roughly the same time.
I noticed that despite the dozens of greetings she had exchanged since
entering the bar, she wasn't here with anyone.

She stood by the bar, waiting to be served. I pushed my way between her
and a tall man, who flashed me an irritated look. My heart pounding, I
turned and smiled at her.

"Oh, hello. Chalice, isn't it?" I smiled in mock surprise. She glanced
up and I caught an instant of fear in her eyes before she recognized
me.

"Ah. Hello. I met you last week, didn't I?" she asked. I nodded. The
barman asked her what she wanted to drink. She ordered a beer. I shoved
a fiver across to him and he smiled. Chalice looked at me
thankfully.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to." I looked back up to where Mark was sitting. He smiled
knowingly and got up to head over towards Sally. I probably wouldn't
see him for the rest of the night.

"Thanks," grinned Chalice as she took her glass. I ordered a Guinness,
hoping she would wait around with me until it was poured.

"So, James," she said, and I must have looked very surprised. I hadn't
remembered telling her my name.

"Your lady friend last week," explained Chalice, "that's what she
called you. It is your name, isn't it?"

I nodded.
"Pretty boring, really," I said with a shrug.

"Compared to Chalice, you mean?"

It was true. I smiled.
"Nice name. And yes, a bit unusual."

She sipped her beer and grimaced.
"Warm. Yuck."

I smiled. Not many girls said yuck. Her accent was English all right,
though I didn't really recognize it.

"Where are you from, Chalice?" I asked. I said her name just to hear
how it sounded. I enjoyed saying it. She sipped her beer again.

"Lisburn Road," she nodded vaguely towards the door of the bar, "not
too far from here."

"I mean before that. Are you English?"

She looked over my shoulder and smiled. I turned, took my pint from the
barman and paid him. I turned back round to face Chalice. She had
walked away, heading towards a table. For an instant I felt
embarrassed. The little school-kid paranoia welled to the surface. She
turned to look at me.

"Are you coming or not?"

I grinned, the fear gone, and walked after her.
We talked. She was a student at Queens, in her final year. She studied
English, and we talked about that briefly.

"I write poetry," I told her. She nodded, wearing her serious
look.

"So do I."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe I'll let you read some of it, someday."

I told her about my job, about Mark (who by this point was talking to
Sally in a darkened corner, no doubt asking her to come back to him).
Chalice said little. She mentioned her degree, chatted about working in
the Empire, and mentioned that she loved Chinese food. I wanted to ask
her if she was seeing anybody, but it never came up.

I wondered why she had come here this evening. She hadn't come to meet
anyone. She was in no hurry to head on somewhere else. She looked nice
but not in any deliberate way. She had just walked in and I had come to
her.

Chalice asked me lots of questions. She seemed to be genuinely
interested in what I did, what I thought. It was different. Sometimes
you find yourself talking about yourself, boring the other person.
Chalice pushed me. She would ask me about God, then her next question
would be about Thai cooking. The flow of the conversation was wild and
unpredictable. It was as if she had to find out as much as possible.
Concentrating months of friendship into an evening. I didn't get many
chances to ask her questions.

I did find out that her second name was Rivers. She came from Coventry
and she was twenty. Her mother was a bank clerk and her father was a
Policeman. And yes, they had been hippies. She had no brothers or
sisters. She worked here a couple of nights a week, which paid her
rent. Her grant covered food and so on. She worked an extra night once
a month to earn enough money to get her home at Christmas. I admired
her for how hard she worked, remembering the problems I had trying to
struggle through. I had only just paid off my final year
overdraft.

Chalice's body language was animated. Her hands were expressive. Her
face and mouth were always moving. Smiles and frowns, real and mock
flowed from her. I found myself watching her mouth, wondering vaguely
what it would be like to kiss. Her eyes sparkled in the low light of
the bar.

A pause came in the conversation. I decided to break it with an
innocent remark.
"You're in a better mood than last week."

Chalice glared at me.
"What does that mean?"

"You nearly bit my head off last week, remember?"

She eyed me steadily. Her eyes were gray.
"And?"

I shrugged.
"I'm just glad you feel better now, that's all."

She leaned forward.
"You have no idea how I feel, James. None." she said quietly and
firmly. The edge in her voice was sharp and seemed to come from
nowhere.

Now, I do have a knack for saying the wrong thing sometimes, or just
talking without my brain in gear, but I honestly didn't understand what
I had said to upset her. My mouth hung open, then shut again as I tried
to figure out what to say.

She stood up.

"Let's go and eat," she said, the tension gone as quickly as it had
come. I was confused but said nothing. We walked out of the Empire and
headed down into Shaftesbury Square. I was quiet, still unsure as how
to handle her.

"Where do you want to eat?" she asked as we crossed Botanic
Avenue.

"You choose."

She nodded, and took me to a Chinese take-away. As we stood in the
queue, she shivered. I silently offered her my arm, and she took it. I
began to wonder how the evening would end.
My last experience was with a girl, of indefinable age, whom I had met
at a nightclub. We danced, had a drink and ended up fumbling in the
dark in the back of a cab. She came in to the house and when I returned
from the bathroom she was asleep on the sofa. She had left by the time
I woke up in the morning and I hadn't bothered to ask her name. An
embarrassing episode.

I wasn't sure if I would ask Chalice back to my house, or if she would
invite me to her flat. Would we just say goodnight after eating or
would we spend the night together?

We got two foil containers full of meat and rice and walked up the
Lisburn Road. Chalice was taking me back to her flat, and we hadn't
mentioned it at all.

Her place was above a newsagent not too far from the City Hospital. It
was quite noisy, but once we were up the stairs, the world was left
behind. The flat was a two-room bedsit. I sat in the small living
room-kitchen, looking out at the Lisburn Road. I soon got bored of the
view and turned my attention to the decor of her flat. No posters on
the walls, but photographs. Black and white, mostly, and of people she
knew. Her family were there, and many friends. There were photographs
of Belfast, the Empire and the University as well as pictures of
Coventry and places I didn't recognize. It was like looking at a bunch
of memories pinned to a wall. I noticed in a few pictures the same
person- a man, about my age, wearing a leather jacket and a bored look.
I wondered vaguely who he was. Plants hung in baskets from the ceiling
and there were lots of small pots with colorful flowers scattered
around the room. A small coffee table sat cramped in the middle of the
floor and upon it was an open file. A well-read copy of Robinson Crusoe
sat beside the notes. I smiled briefly to myself- this was a scenario I
remembered well.

I heard sounds from the bedroom and I sat back down by the window,
probably looking a bit guilty. I always do when I m in a new place, as
if I've been doing something to be ashamed of.
Chalice came in, not wearing the slinky nightdress I had hoped, but
exactly what she had been when we got here, minus the jacket. She
opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine as I opened the brown
bag with the foil containers in it. Chalice poured a mug full of wine
and handed it to me. I took it and sniffed at it extravagantly. She
laughed, and poured herself a mug.

"How does sir find it?" she smiled as she corked the bottle. I frowned
in a parody of thought.

"Fruity," I said in a Noel Coward voice. She burst out laughing. We
clinked mugs together silently, and drank. There was a cartoon of
Garfield on mine. The wine was strong, and I winced. Chalice sat on the
floor on the other side of the table. We started into the meal. It was
okay, I suppose. A nice enough situation relaxed and unrushed. I could
still hear the traffic on the Lisburn Road, though I was quickly
getting used to it.

"I was in Coventry once," I said after we had finished the food.
Chalice sipped her wine and looked up at me.

"It was with an ex-girlfriend."

Chalice nodded, still silent.

"Nice place. Big. Good shops," I said, searching for other possible
nice things to say. Chalice laughed.

"Don't worry, I don't like the place much either. Just the people in
it."

I nodded, finishing off my mug of wine.
"Do you miss them?" I asked her. She nodded sadly.

"Yeah. A lot, sometimes. Belfast is nice, but it's not home. Not for
me, anyway."

There was silence again. I glanced at my watch.

"One-thirty," I commented, worried that the evening was over. It was
going so well. Chalice looked up again. She had been staring at the
photographs on her wall.

"Do you want to go?" she asked, and the Red Arrows began High G
maneuvers in my stomach.

"No,"

"Then don't."

Chalice moved up onto the sofa beside me. I turned to face her. She
smiled. Just for a moment there was fear in her eyes.

Then we kissed.

Four

I stayed the night with Chalice. We slept together on the sofa, mostly
clothed, without any kind of sex having taken place. Not that I hadn't
tried. She had said no, and I hadn't pushed it. She was very sensual
and I was exhausted by the time she fell asleep. I dreamt a lot that
night, probably helped by the fact that Chalice slept uneasily and kept
waking me up. My dreams were of Coventry, and Chalice. They were good
dreams.

When I woke in the morning, I was covered not with Chalice but a
sleeping bag. I looked around with a start and was greeted by a pair of
gray eyes staring at me. Chalice sat on the floor beside me, stroking
my hair. She sipped a mug of coffee.

"Good morning." I said. Her hand was cool against my forehead, the
contact reassuring.

"Morning. You snore."

I laughed, and sat up.

"You move around a lot in your sleep," I replied. She smiled
wickedly.

"And when I'm awake."

We kissed again, for a long time. After about ten minutes we were in
the same position as we had been the night before.

"No sex?" I asked her. She shook her head.

"No. I'm sorry."

"Another time?" I was ever hopeful. She smiled weakly.

"Maybe."

We kissed again for what seemed like an hour. By the time we came up
for air, I was feeling hot and bothered. I commented about this.

"Well, maybe I can do something about that," she said with a slow
sensual smile.

And she did. Twice.

Later we lay together and talked. We were in bed at this point. Her
room was much the same as her living room, with more photographs. There
were none of people here, however. Just places, black and white as
before. I asked her about that.

"Well," she said, "would you like a dozen faces watching you do the
things we've done?".
I had to agree with her. It would seem vaguely perverse. I told her
that I often covered mirrors in my own house, not liking to catch
glimpses of myself. She listened and nodded as I spoke.

"It's not always nice to see ourselves."

Chalice would often come out with something deep and meaningful like
that, but she would never elaborate. That annoyed me sometimes.

Anyway, we talked. Not about anything in particular, but a couple of
things stick in my mind about the conversations. One was about what had
happened last night.

"Do you think we've moved too quickly?" I asked. I was concerned at the
speed at which we had moved. I really liked Chalice and wanted to make
it last longer than just a night.

She lit a cigarette, the first time I had seen her smoke.

"We've moved quickly, sure. But I don't see that it matters."

"But, I mean, six hours. We only really spent six hours getting to know
each other."

I was still a little troubled.

"Long enough."

I nodded. She inhaled slowly and calmly, and let the smoke out with a
long sigh.

"Do you have a problem with it?" she asked. "Because if you're going to
back out, tell me now."
I was quite surprised by her candor. I was usually the one asking that
sort of question.

"No. I don't have a problem with any of this. And no, I don't want to
back out. I like you, Chalice."

She smiled, and stubbed the cigarette out. She turned to face me.
"Good. I like you."
We embraced.

"Cigarettes are bad for you," I whispered in her ear, "They'll kill
you."

"No," she replied, nibbling my ear, "they won't."

The rest of the day was spent fooling around like that. It was great
fun. I left about teatime, and ten minutes later I was home. Mark was
there. So was Sally. She sat in the living room wearing a T-shirt and
little else. Mark was in the kitchen, cooking what I supposed was their
first meal of the day.

"Hi, James," she smiled, covering herself with a blanket. I nodded
knowingly.

"Sally. Nice to see you back," I smiled, walking past her into the
kitchen. Mark smiled as he microwaved the beans.

"James. Well. How's Chalice?" he asked.

"Soft and firm. What the hell is she doing here?" I asked, pointing
back into the living room. Mark shrugged.

"Ah, well. See, she broke up with King Kong last night, and she need
consoling."
I shook my head.

"Aye, and I suppose you were up all night consoling her."

Mark nodded.
"I consoled her, alright - six or seven times."

"Six or seven? Why the confusion?"

"Six for me, seven for her."

"Aw, Mark, no!"
I felt vaguely sick. This conversation belonged in a school lunchroom,
not here and now.

"What about Chalice?" asked Mark. I shifted uncomfortably.

"What about her?"

"Did you? You know. Do it, with her." He asked me with an intensity
that I thought was born of perverse interest.

I know, it was a question that I shouldn't have answered. Honor and all
that. But let's face it. Everyone kisses and tells. Mark was my best
friend. Forgive me.

"No, I didn't. She wouldn't let me. But we still had a lot of
fun."

Mark looked worried. I didn't think about it.
"Well. Is this going to be a permanent arrangement?"

I honestly didn't know. Regardless of what Chalice had said, it could
go any direction from here.
"I hope so," I said, "I really do."

Five

I tried once more to find out what had been wrong with Chalice that
first night in the Empire. It had been about a month and a half since
we had met.

We were in bed one Friday night, after watching a film at the Cannon
and a big meal at an Indian restaurant. We had just spent the last ten
minutes having a pillow fight and were recovering in each other's arms.
I inquired about what had made her so grumpy that night in the bar. She
went quiet and her expression was dark.

"Don't ask me about that again, James," she had said. "Just leave it.
Please."

So I did.

Six

We had been going out for three months when things started going
astray. Chalice and I spent most evenings together, except when she
worked. She asked me not to, and I agreed. I didn't want to be a
distraction. We spent all day Saturday and most of Sunday together,
except for Sunday nights. She quietly told me that she spent Sunday
night alone and that it was going to stay like that. I was curious, but
didn't complain. We slept together Thursday, Friday and Saturday night,
at her place. She met Mark, of course, but preferred not to stay at my
house while anyone else was there. It was just like the photographs,
she kept some things private. I also had the feeling that they didn't
really like each other. It happens, I suppose. The first time they met,
they just didn't seem to mesh. Never mind.

Christmas was Chalice-less. She flew home (I bought the ticket for her
as a Christmas present) and phoned me twice a day. I went home and
spent three days with my family. Chalice was home for three weeks, and
I missed her a lot. I had gotten very used to her very quickly. I knew
in my heart that I shouldn't have, but slowly and surely I was falling
in love with her. She had never said anything remotely like that to me,
but that didn't seem important.

I went back to work after a week's holiday, and my boss handed me an
envelope. Inside was a cheque for one hundred pounds. It was a raise
and a Christmas bonus in one. I had been promoted. I still did
everything I did before, but now I was getting paid for the extra work.
I phoned Chalice and told her. She was pleased.

Mark and I were sitting at home one Saturday night. Chalice was still
in Coventry. I didn't feel like going out anywhere, and Mark had broken
up with Sally again. We were watching television, but mostly we chatted
about Sally and Chalice.

"So, you still haven't made love yet," asked Mark. I nodded. He drank
deeply from a tin of beer.

"Does it annoy you?"

"Sometimes." I replied. "She doesn't give me any reason. It's not as if
we don't do anything, but she just doesn't let it go that far..."

Mark gave this some thought.
"Could be much worse, then," he mused. I nodded.

"I wouldn't push it, James. She probably has her reasons. You wouldn't
want to lose her, would you?"

"Yeah, I suppose. I wish I knew what those reasons were, though."

Mark finished his beer, and opened another one.
"There's a lot you don't know about Chalice," he said quietly.

I missed that one. It went right past me. The statement was true, but
like so much in life, it's not the words that are important sometimes,
but how they are said. The way Mark had said those words was important,
but at the time I thought nothing of it.

"I wonder what she does on Sunday nights?" I thought out loud. Mark
didn't look away from the TV as he spoke.

"Why don't you follow her?"

"I don't know that she actually goes out anywhere."

Mark thought a moment.
"Maybe she goes to church."

This was unlikely. I was not much of a church-goer, something I often
regretted. Chalice didn't seem like the type who would go to church. It
wasn't something you would normally keep secret if you did.

"Are you suggesting that I sneak around Belfast after my girlfriend?" I
asked a little incredulously.

He looked around at me.
"If you're that curious, then yes. Otherwise let her have her
privacy."

Mark was rarely this outspoken. He had his moments of sensitivity. But
the curiosity remained.
"Getting paranoid?" he asked. I shook my head. But deep down, the
doubts began to grow.

Seven

Chalice came home, and we continued along as before. I noticed a small
change in her that I could only call homesickness. We talked about it
one night.

"How was Coventry?" I asked casually. We lay in bed, the radio singing
quietly to itself in a corner.

"Grey and cold," she sighed. After a pause she smiled sadly.

"It was great."

"Do you miss home?" I asked her. She nodded.

"Yes. I do."

She hugged me then, pulling me close. She cried softly, and I held her,
feeling a bit awkward.
"Sorry," she said quietly, wiping her eyes. I patted her back
gently.

"It's okay. Don't worry."

We lay together in silence for a while. Then I asked a question I had
waited a while to ask.

"What do you do on Sundays?"

She stiffened for an instant as if the question had hurt her.
"Why?" she replied, in that defensive tone I had become so used
to.

"I just wondered."

"Don't get upset, but it's really none of your business."

The little doubts grew suddenly in size, and I felt very angry. I
climbed out of bed. Chalice didn't follow.
"James, don't."

I pulled on my clothes and walked out, saying nothing. Chalice didn't
follow. I picked up my jacket, and while slipping it on, the
photographs of the guy in the leather jacket caught my gaze. His bored
stare out of the paper annoyed me for some reason. I turned to leave,
and Chalice was at the bedroom door. She watched me, a controlled look
of anger, or fear, in her eyes. I pointed at the picture.

"Is it him? Do you go and see him on your damn Sundays?"

She trembled.
"James, don't..."

I walked towards the door, and opened it. I paused in the doorway, and
without looking back, I spoke softly.

"Chalice. It really hurts. Not knowing you."

I walked out, and almost ran home.

Chalice didn't follow.

Eight

This little incident was in February. I went over to her flat the next
day and apologized for walking out on her. I didn't mention Sunday
again, or the accusation I had made. I felt grateful just to be back
with her, and she seemed happy that I returned. But it couldn't last.
There was just too much going through my mind, so many questions I
wanted answered. Chalice had secrets, and while she might be able to
live with them, I couldn't.

The beginning of March saw the next, and last, incident like this
between us.
It was a Saturday night, and we had been at the Empire again. I was a
little drunk, Chalice, as usual, was stone cold sober. She never let
herself get drunk. I mentioned this as we sat in her flat
afterwards.

"You never let yourself go, do you?" I smiled, still quite drunk. She
nodded, sipping coffee. I hated her right then, for her
self-control.

"Why is that? Do you ever let yourself go?" She ignored me, and put her
cup down on the table.

"James, you're drunk."

"Damn right. And you know what else annoys me?" I said, turning to fix
her with a none-too-steady gaze.

"What." She was getting irritated now.

"The fact that we never have sex. Now," I said, attempting to be
diplomatic, "I enjoy what we do get up to. But I don't see why we
shouldn't make love. I love you, Chalice."

"I love you, James," she smiled (and that was annoying), "but we can't
have sex. Trust me."

Two months of paranoia and a night of alcohol exploded out of me. I
grabbed her arms.
"Trust you? Why the hell should I? You don't tell me anything, do you?
DO YOU?" I yelled into her face. Her look of calm changed into one of
fear.

"James, don't!" It was the first time I had ever seen her look
frightened.

"Are you seeing that bloke?" I hissed, ripping down the photograph of
the bored guy. I shoved it in her face, still holding her with one
hand.

"No."

I threw the picture to one side.
"What's the deal, then? Are you screwing him? Is that it?"

She shook her head, struggling to get free.

"I suppose it's good that you're staying faithful to someone!" I
laughed.

"James, let me go! I'm not seeing anyone else! I love you!"
I stared hard at her.

"Then love me. Make love to me."

She suddenly looked really afraid. A cold icy fear in her eyes that
scared me even in my drunken anger. I shifted around so that I lay on
top of her. She struggled with a ferocity that surprised me.

"NO! James, no!"

I stared at her.
"Give me one good reason. Just one."

She did.

Nine

I sat on the floor. She still lay on the sofa. She was crying. I was
cold and stunned, my mind racing. AIDS. HIV. Two different things, I
know, but right then one meant the other.

My first thoughts were selfish, of course. Had I been at risk? No.
Chalice had made sure of that. She had never put me in a dangerous
position. I had wanted to make love to her so badly, I hadn't thought
that she might want to as well. She must have been so tempted.
How had she caught it? Did she use drugs? I didn't think so. I hoped
that I would have noticed. No needle tracks. I glanced down at the
photograph on the floor and picked it up. The bored figure stared out
at me. I stared back. Chalice was still sniffing. I held up the
picture.

"Him?" I asked simply. My voice was hoarse.

"Ex-boyfriend. He's dead."

I nodded. I understood. I smiled to myself. This was the same guy that
was in Mark's photograph of the clinic.

"You met Mark before, didn't you?" I asked. She nodded.

"I was at the clinic with him," she pointed at the photo, "and Mark
came in and took the shot. Did he tell you?"

No, he hadn't. He had hinted, of course, but he had never actually said
anything. It explained his concern over my sex life.

"He tried, I think."

We sat there in silence.

"When did you find out?" I asked. Chalice sighed.

"About a month before I met you." she said softly. "A week after he
died."

There was another moment of silence. A thought came to me.

"So you do see him on a Sunday."

"Yes."

I tried to imagine Chalice by a graveside, placing flowers on the grave
of her ex-lover. Her murderer.

"I caught it from him," she said, reading my thoughts. "He was a pretty
bad heroin addict. Something I didn't realize until it was too
late."

"Do you hate him?" I asked her. She shook her head.

"Not any more. Well," she smiled darkly, "perhaps just a bit."

"Did you love him?" I asked. I needed to know.

"No."

I climbed back up onto the sofa. Chalice looked at me, and I looked at
her. She seemed so scared, worried. I weighed up all that we had done
together, and all we had shared, at last.

"Want a hug?"

We held each other for the rest of the night, and through most of the
next day. It was the first Sunday that she hadn't been to the grave
since he died.

Ten

We didn't break up until May, when she finished her exams. I stayed
with her nearly every night until she left for home. When she did go,
we both knew it was permanent. She had finished her final year. She
didn't have any reason to stay here. Except me.

I knew that if she got ill, she would rather be at home with her family
and friends. I promised to visit, and I did that summer. I met her
parents. They were nice. She showed me around the city.

"Remember all this for me, James. Please."

I came home, and apart from Christmas cards, I never talked to her
again. Two and a half years passed, I got promoted again, Mark began
working full time for the Telegraph and Chalice began working for an
AIDS charity. I missed her.

Last week, I received a letter from her parents. Chalice had died in
the middle of November, two weeks before. They left out the details,
although they told me that it had been very quick. There were plenty of
tears after I read the letter. Mark was very supportive. I didn't go to
the funeral, since I couldn't face it. Her parents were very
understanding. They sent me a photograph of Chalice's graduation.

I made a brave face to show my friends.

Yesterday, a package arrived in the post. It was a large notebook,
hard-backed. Inside were dozens of Chalice's poems. I read through them
last night. Her view of the world was so intricate, so worked out. The
very last page contained a letter to me from Chalice-
----
Dear James,
It's a clich?, but if you're reading this, then I'm dead. Please
forgive me for that sentence. I left these poems in the care of a very
close friend. I made her promise that she would post this to you a
couple of weeks after I 'passed away'. We talked about death, James,
but right now, I am literally dying. It's not gentle, nor deep and
meaningful. I'm so afraid, I cry every moment I'm alone. The brave face
for my family and friends is a difficult one to wear. Please forgive me
for not telling you I was ill. I want you to remember me before I got
sick. These poems will help, I hope, and so will the Graduation
photograph. Thanks for all your love. Don't miss me too much. If there
is a God, then be sure I'll see you again. If not, then I'll try and
make my own arrangements to keep in touch. Know any good mediums? I'm
joking, but you know that. I love you, James. Stay you.

Chalice Rivers
----

I spent the night and the best part of today writing this. I owe it to
Chalice.

It's getting late. Saturday nights have never been the same since she
went home. I rarely go out, and, well, the television is good. Mark's
out tonight- with Sally, would you believe? Three years, and they're
still putting up with each other. I think he's going to propose to her.
Again.

Tonight is close to all those other nights. It touches them and my
memory is clearer. I can almost hear her voice. I'm afraid to turn
around in case she's sitting there, wearing that knowing smile.

I'm afraid not to.

I'm afraid.