Читать книгу Precious You - Helen Monks Takhar - Страница 16

6th March – Time for a Drink?

Down with the brown. Down. With. The. Brown. Seriously? This woman gets more and more clueless. She’s talking about ‘coded language’ when we know this is code for, ‘I’m not being racist but …’ or worse, that jokey kind of racism people her age are prone to, which they think is funny and ironic but everyone with half a soul knows is just good old-fashioned racism.

But I can’t stop looking at her, into those bright blue eyes. She can tell. She likes how it feels.

I ask her to come for a drink with me and, my god, she can unload: on The Partner, on her career, her depression, the lot. This crazy monologue she has to get out with only the smallest little nudge from me to keep it coming. Gotta admit, it’s pretty fascinating, being this close to those eyes as they dance round her memories while she sweeps her fingers through that extreme black wave of hair over and over. She doesn’t know she’s still beautiful.

I liked listening to her, even with all the appalling things she said, the most disgustingly least self-aware ideas she thinks are absolutely fine: ‘a rolling buffet of interns to keep the lights on and sponsored content to pay me.’ She thinks she’s doing us some kind of favour. Offensive in the extreme but because she’s so completely othered young adults, in her eyes it doesn’t matter what she does or takes from us.

But still, sometimes her words fall out of her studded with tiny gems of something that feels like truth, like little pomegranate pips in a bowl of bitter leaves.

I needed to keep my usual guard up, but it was hard. I haven’t found it this difficult since Ruth. That was the first, and until now, the last time I let myself open up. I wanted to be honest with Ruth about what Mum and Gem did to me and what I’ve done to other people. Ruth wanted to hear me and I wanted to tell her about everything that’s inside me.

With KR, I feel like I want to tell her things about me too. Real things. And I find myself wanting to learn more about her. That’s when I pour her another drink.

It was the plan to see her inebriated, get a view of what’s behind the leather armour. I make sure she’s fully drunk, so much so that when we leave the pub, she’s all over the show. I actually have to stop her from hitting the deck. I grab her before she drops to the cobbles. I could have let her fall, I should have let her fall, but I can’t believe it was actually my first instinct to save her.

I rescue her, despite all the times I’ve been allowed to fall and break into pieces by people like her, despite how many injustices and abuses people like me suffer at the hands of people on her level, casually using young people in their workplaces and their beds. Her bed. But even after she admits that’s exactly what she thinks is her right, to have sex with unpaid graduates in a clear abuse of power that she can’t see, I still want to help her. It’s weird.

Eventually, she’s off home, but not before she’s tried to extend the night. Way too soon for that. She’s stomping off to the bus stop in that way that’s so her. I wait and watch and I’m thinking how KR always strides or stomps everywhere when she should be treading carefully.