‘Are we allowed to take photos?’
‘No,’ says the security guard.
‘Righto,’ says Joyce.
‘You’re not going to stand for that Joyce, surely?’ says Elizabeth.
‘I’m certainly not,’ says Joyce, taking a photo. ‘This is going straight on Instagram.’
‘Makes me wonder why you asked,’ says Elizabeth. ‘In a way.’
‘It’s just polite, isn’t it,’ says Joyce, taking another photograph. ‘Did you know Fiona Clemence has three million followers on Instagram? Can you imagine?’
‘Barely,’ says Elizabeth.
As Joyce puts her phone away, she finally gets a reply from Donna.
She hopes Ron and Viktor are having a nice day too; she waved them off, with Bogdan driving, this morning. Jack Mason has a snooker table, and apparently that means they’ll be gone for the day. Joyce can see the appeal of snooker. The waistcoats and so on. She thinks she would marry Stephen Hendry were the opportunity to arise.
The music being played into the studio fades now, and the crowd applauds as Fiona Clemence walks onto the set.
‘Flawless skin,’ says Joyce to Elizabeth. ‘Flawless, isn’t it?’
‘How long is all this going to take?’ asks Elizabeth. ‘I’m really only here to ask questions.’
‘Not long,’ says Joyce. ‘Three hours or so.’
The famous theme tune starts up.
They are fighting out a hard-earned draw. Bogdan with his bishop and his pawns, Stephen with his rook. They have played each other enough to know exactly where it is heading, but each is having fun regardless. Stephen is looking thin. He forgets to eat when no one is in the flat with him, and Elizabeth has been busy lately. He wolfed down the sandwiches Bogdan made for him. There is a shepherd’s pie on the kitchen worktop, and Bogdan will put that on in an hour or so.
‘Can I ask you something, as a pal?’ says Stephen, eyes not leaving the chessboard.
‘Whatever you need,’ says Bogdan.
‘It’s a ridiculous one,’ says Stephen. ‘Just to warn you.’
‘I am used to this already,’ says Bogdan. ‘You’re a ridiculous man.’
Stephen is nodding, and looking between his pieces and Bogdan’s, looking for avenues that aren’t there. He speaks without looking up. ‘Am I all right, do you suppose?’
Bogdan waits a beat. They have had this conversation before. Variations of it at least. ‘No one is all right. You’re OK.’
‘If you say so,’ says Stephen, eyes still avoiding contact. ‘But something is muddled somewhere. Something isn’t straight. You know the feeling?’
‘Sure, I know the feeling,’ says Bogdan.
‘Here’s a for instance,’ says Stephen, and then waits a moment. ‘I don’t know where Elizabeth is today.’
‘She’s gone to a TV show,’ says Bogdan. ‘With Joyce.’
‘Ah, I met Joyce,’ says Stephen. ‘The other day. Where does she know Elizabeth from?’
‘She’s a neighbour,’ says Bogdan. ‘She’s very nice.’
‘That came across,’ agrees Stephen. ‘But even so. Queer that I didn’t know where Elizabeth was? Unusual?’
Bogdan shrugs. ‘Maybe she didn’t tell you? She likes her secrets.’
‘Bogdan.’ Stephen finally looks up. ‘I’m not a fool. Well, no more than any of us. I miss things from time to time, people don’t quite make the sense they did.’
Bogdan nods.
‘My father, God rest him, lost himself towards the end. In those days they said he went doolally – probably that’s not what we say these days.’
‘I don’t think we do,’ agrees Bogdan.
‘“Where’s your mother?” he would ask me sometimes.’ Stephen moves a piece on the board. A holding move, nothing risked, nothing gained. ‘Only, my mother had died, many years previously.’
Bogdan is looking down at the board now. Let Stephen talk. Only answer a question if one is asked.
‘So, you see,’ says Stephen, ‘why it might worry me that I don’t know where Elizabeth is today?’
OK, that sounds like a question. Bogdan looks up. ‘Some things we remember, Stephen, and some things we forget.’
‘Hmm,’ says Stephen.
‘The first time I ever thought I was in love,’ says Bogdan. He has been thinking about this recently. ‘You know, when it makes you sick …’
‘Don’t I just,’ says Stephen.
‘It was a girl from school, we were nine, in Mr Nowak’s class. She sat in front of me and to the left, and she would arrange her pencils so neatly. When she wrote, the tip of her tongue poked between her lips. She lived on the next street from mine, and sometimes we would walk home together, when I could make it happen, and she had silver buckles on her shoes, so she didn’t like to go in puddles. I liked to go in puddles, but when I walked with her I would pretend I didn’t. I was sick, Stephen, sick. Her father was in the air force, and they sent him overseas, so she left school, didn’t even say goodbye, because she didn’t know we were in love – why would she? But I still remember how I felt, still remember how she smelled, her laugh, all these tiny details. I remember them all.’
Stephen smiles. ‘You old romantic, Bogdan. What was her name?’
Bogdan raises his eyes from the board, and raises his hands in a slow shrug. ‘We all forget things, Stephen.’
