Читать книгу This is the Life - Alex Shearer - Страница 9

Terri has two stories – or, rather, she has one story, but there are two versions of it, with contradictory endings, and this is permutation number one.

The first time I heard about Terri was when Louis rang me one morning. It was always morning when he rang – morning my time, late evening his. He’d have got back home from whatever particularly crummy job he was doing that day. Louis had a good brain and he had a degree and a masters and an engineering diploma, but for all that he worked in low-skilled, low-paid employment, for, like the character of Biff Loman in Arthur Miller’s play Death of a Salesman, it was as though he couldn’t ‘get a hold on life’.

He told me once that he didn’t work in the field he was qualified for as he ‘didn’t like the politics’. The problem with that, as far as I was concerned, is that there are politics everywhere. You could have the dirtiest, least-respected, lowest-paid job going, but there’s still politics in it; there’s still a boss, still co-workers. You can’t get away from politics any more than you can get away from other people. It can be done, but it’s not easy. You’d need to be a hermit.

But, in common with many people who don’t fit into the world as it is, Louis just had to do things right. No slacking, idling or cutting corners. The bummest job had to be done just so, and he was always complaining about bad management and employees who didn’t care, even when he was working as a maintenance man on the minimum wage, or in a factory somewhere, on the assembly line. Louis always appeared to know what needed to be done to run a business properly, he just couldn’t seem to do it for himself. He tried setting up on his own a couple of times, but lost money on both occasions. Yet, for all that he was so well qualified and educated, he believed that working with your hands was superior to working with your mind for some reason. Maybe he thought it was more genuine, more authentic. And the irony of that was that all our parents had ever wanted for both of us was an education and an escape from the drudgery of factory labour and manual toil.

Anyway, he called up and I answered the phone. There had been a time when calls were rare, just Christmas and birthdays and emergency measures. But the cost of international calls had come down and we spoke frequently, maybe once a week or a fortnight.

‘Hey!’ he said.

‘Hi, Louis,’ I said, a little annoyed at being interrupted at what I was doing but trying to conceal it. You can’t blame people for ringing at inconvenient times. When you call them it’s probably the same. ‘How’s it going?’

‘You won’t believe what happened,’ he said. And then, as usual, having said that, he fell silent, like he wanted me to extract the information, like he was the winkle and I had a pin.

‘What happened, Louis?’

‘I went round to see Terri this afternoon,’ he said.

I felt I ought to know who Terri was, but I’d forgotten.

‘Terri? Who’s she again?’

‘Terri, you know, who was married to Frank.’

‘Ah, Frank. Right.’

I should have known who Frank was too.

‘That I used to work with. The roofing.’

‘Right, yeah.’

I recollected now. Louis had been in business a while with Frank and they fixed roofs together. It all went wrong when Frank acquired a dog and brought it along with him to the sites. It was a traumatised rescue dog and it barked incessantly. The barking drove Louis mad and he threw a spanner at the dog one day, which got Frank mad, and the working partnership didn’t last much longer after that.

Terri had had enough of Frank too, as his drinking had moved from heavy to alcoholic levels. So she divorced him and she bought a small bungalow in a retirement village. She wasn’t so young any more, but who was? And she was still attractive and had the proverbial heart of gold.

‘So why’d you go round to see Terri? Just visiting?’

‘No, she called me about her guttering, asked me if I could fix it. It had come loose. There’s supposed to be some maintenance guy round there for all that, but he’s up to his eyeballs. So I took a ladder and went over with the ute after work.’

Louis had a ute – a utility vehicle, a battered old Nissan van with a flat-bed trailer and a silver aluminium box screwed to the flat-bed, in which you could keep tools, and which you could secure with a padlock.

‘So was that okay?’

Long pause.

‘Yeah. I fixed the gutter and she asked if I’d like to have a cup of tea, so we had some tea and we were sitting there talking, you know, about Frank and what have you—’

‘How is Frank?’

‘He’s in hospital. He’s got diabetes now and something wrong with his liver. He kept coming round and wanting me to go drinking. I’d just have a couple of beers, but that wasn’t enough for him. He’d bring Scotch as well, and when I refused to drink any more, the last time he came round, he lost his temper and we had a row. And I haven’t seen him since.’

‘Ah.’

‘Anyway, I was sitting there with Terri, and I don’t know what got into me or what came over me, but right out of the blue I suddenly said and I don’t know why, I said, Terri, would you like to go to bed with me?’

Silence then, like Louis wanted me to ask a question or needed some prompt to continue. I wanted to sound politely curious but not pruriently nosy.

‘Wow, well, that’s pretty direct, Louis. No kind of preamble then? Just straight out with the main question.’

‘Well, I don’t know what came over me. It just came out.’

It had to have been about seven years since he’d split up with Kirstin. I wondered if he’d been celibate all that time, but that’s not the kind of question you ask your brother.

‘So how did she react? What did she say?’

‘Well—’

I heard a faint but colourful chuckle.

‘Well – she said okay.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Just like that!’

‘Yeah. Just like that!’

‘Were you surprised?’

‘I was shocked at myself for saying it!’

‘Well – well done.’

That was pretty inappropriate, but I didn’t know what else to say right then.

‘Yeah,’ Louis agreed, then went silent again, as if maybe fishing for further queries or compliments.

‘So – eh – how did that go?’

‘Great. And then she asked me to stay to dinner.’

‘Least she could do,’ I said.

‘I mean, I’ve known Terri for years,’ Louis said. ‘And always liked her. But not, you know—’

‘In that way?’

‘No. But just sitting there, well, I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Lust?’ I suggested. But Louis just laughed.

‘I’m going back to see her again next week,’ he said.

‘So it could be a regular thing.’

‘Have to see,’ he said.

I still had the feeling that he would have appreciated a few more questions but I couldn’t think of any. And he never asked me about my sex life. In fact Louis never asked me much about my own life at all. His baseline appeared to be that my life was okay and further enquiries were not necessary and would have been superfluous.

‘Well, I hope it all works out,’ I said.

‘Yeah,’ Louis said, and he was sounding a little pleased with himself now, I thought, as if he was the only man in the world to have persuaded a woman into bed, which annoyed me somewhat, as I’d done a bit of that too in my time, in a modest way, but who hasn’t?

We chatted a little while longer and then we hung up, promising to talk again soon.

It was my turn to call and I rang him a couple of weeks later.

‘How’s it going, Louis? How are things with Terri?’

‘Oh, okay. Okay.’

‘Still seeing her?’

‘Oh yes. I go round once a week and help out at the bungalow and do a little decorating or whatever, and then stay for dinner and, you know – do the business.’

‘Do the business?’

‘You know, do the business.’

‘You’ve got such a poetic way with you, Louis.’

‘Well, you know, whatever you want to call it.’

‘So it’s all going fine.’

‘Seems to be.’

‘Good.’

And I was pleased and to quite an extent relieved that Louis had someone else to unload his woes on, someone with a warm and sympathetic and absorbent shoulder on which to cry. I wondered if they’d move in together, he and Terri. But next time he called, things were under stress.

‘Hi, Louis, how’s it going?’

‘Ah – not too bad.’

‘How’s Terri?’

‘Aw, okay. I don’t see so much of her.’

‘Why’s that? I thought you were getting on.’

‘Well, I got a bit pissed off, to be honest.’

To cut a long one short, whenever Louis went round to see Terri she had some little chore waiting for him – a dripping tap to be fixed, a washer to be put on, a sash cord to be replaced. And then, one afternoon, it was a favour for a neighbour, and then another neighbour, for the street seemed to be full of women on their own, ex-wives and widows, who all had small jobs around the house needing done by somebody both handy and reliable.

According to Louis – by implication, if not outright expression – the price of sex was some initial house maintenance, and he was starting to feel resentful; he was starting to feel used.

‘She always needs something done,’ he complained. ‘Or, if not her, one of her friends. And I’ve already done a day’s work. Then I’m going round there and spending another couple of hours unblocking drains or whatever. I’m just getting a bit pissed off.’

Next time we spoke, he hadn’t seen Terri since the last time we’d talked. Intimacy was over. But they remained friendly. She even offered to have Louis to come and live with her for his last few months. But he wouldn’t go. He wanted to stay independent, and maybe he was worried about the DIY.

So that was his version. But there is another.