They weren’t all monsters, of course. Artists are an eccentric temperamental bunch, with habits that would earn them short shrift in most labs, but that’s to be expected. Some of them were, and remain, good friends, and several of them did make an effort at social events. But as soon as conversation turned to ‘what are you working on?’ they would suddenly need to ‘go for a wee’. And so I stood there at the wedding, the human diuretic, in a puddle of malarial sweat.
‘Look at you, man! You need a salt tablet,’ said Fran, Connie’s old housemate. I was unsure of Fran’s true feelings for me, and remain so even now that she is Albie’s godmother. She has always had the particular gift of hugging and shoving away at the same time, like repelling magnets pushed together. Here she stepped back and brushed her cigarette ash off my arm. ‘Why don’t you take this off?’
‘I can’t now.’
She started tugging at the jacket buttons. ‘Come on, take it off!’
‘I can’t, my shirt’s too wet.’
‘Ah, I get it.’ She placed a finger on my sternum and leant all her weight on it. ‘You, my friend, are caught in a vicious circle.’
‘Exactly. It’s a vicious circle.’
‘Ahhhh,’ she said, rubbing my arm. ‘Connie’s lovely, lovely, funny, lovely boyfriend. You make her so happy, don’t you, Dougie? You look after her, you do, you really do. And she deserves it, after all the bullshit she’s been through!’
‘Where is she, by the way?’
‘She’s over by the DJ, talking to Angelo.’
And there he was, leaning over her, his arms braced on either side as if preventing her escape. In fairness, she didn’t seem too keen to leave, laughing as she was, touching her hair, her face. I picked up two bottles of beer and approached. In honour of this very special day, Angelo had ironed his mechanic’s overalls and shaved his head, and he ran both hands over his scalp as he followed Connie’s look and watched me approach.
‘Angelo, this is Douglas.’
‘Wotcha, Douglas.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Angelo.’ Keen to avoid awkwardness or rancour, I had decided to adopt an amiable, amused demeanour, pointedly relaxed, but he took both my hands, which were encumbered with beer bottles, and pulled me close. Angelo was my height but distinctly broader, his eyes unblinking, very blue, a little crazed — the much-vaunted ‘intensity’, I suppose, turning our conversation into a staring competition.
‘What’s up, my friend? Are you nervous?’ he said as I looked away.
‘No, not at all. Why would I be?’
‘Because you’re sweating like a bastard.’
‘Yes, I know. It’s this jacket. Bad choice, I’m afraid.’
He was holding my lapels now. ‘Corduroy. From the French, “cord du roi”, cloth of the king.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Well, I’ve taught you something. A noble fabric, very regal. And it’s always good to hear your trousers when you walk, so people know you’re coming. Means you can’t sneak up on people and BOO.’
I jumped and he laughed. ‘Angelo,’ said Connie. I was aware of being bested by this man, and of hating him with a venom that I found new and invigorating.
‘Clearly Connie’s a lucky lady,’ he continued. ‘Lucky to be shot of yours truly, at least. I presume she’s mentioned me.’
‘No. No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think so.’
Angelo grinned and reached for the knot of my tie. ‘Here, you’re coming undone.’
‘Angelo, leave it, please,’ said Connie, a hand on his arm. Angelo stepped back and laughed.
‘Well, we should hang out, yeah? The four of us. That’s my girlfriend, over there, Su-Lin,’ and he indicated a girl out on the factory floor, dancing in her bra and a deerstalker hat. ‘Here …’ and he mopped my forehead with a greasy napkin, tucked it in my top pocket and loped off, howling.
‘He’s really drunk,’ said Connie. ‘He gets a bit manic when he’s drunk.’
‘Well I liked him. I liked him a
‘Douglas …’
‘I like the way he doesn’t blink, it’s very attractive.’
‘Don’t start, please.’
‘What?’
‘The rutting-stag thing. He was a big part of my life, a long, long time ago. The important word is
‘And what do you need at this time in your life?’
‘I’m not even going to answer that.’ She took my hand. ‘Come on. Let’s go up to the roof and dry you out.’
The early days of any relationship are punctuated with a series of firsts — first sight, first words, first laugh, first kiss, first nudity, etc., with these shared landmarks becoming more widely spaced and innocuous as days turn to years, until eventually you’re left with first visit to a National Trust property or some such.
We had our first major argument that night, a significant landmark in any relationship, but upsetting nonetheless because everything up to that point had been, well, bliss. I’ve made that point, I think. Just bliss.
