The bruise, she directs him, on the index finger. Circling the index finger
She points to an angry bruise on her index finger.
Its where I tried on your ring yesterday Cheiros ring. The whole area is bruised. And see here
She turns over her hand and shows him her finger pads. Three of these are also bruised.
Dont you think thats weird? she asks, glancing up.
I should probably have a quick word with you about the reading, Gene answers, plainly unnerved by how close shes standing. One of the screws came loose
As he speaks, upstairs in the furthest reaches of the house a loud crashing sound is audible.
Piano lid! Valentine clucks, turning to glance over at the sleeping child, suddenly anxious. The child shifts her position, with a gentle sigh, then settles.
I should probably head back to work, Gene mutters, losing his nerve. He glances down at his watch.
Of course, she answers, then reaches out her hand the right hand, the bruised hand and places it, softly, matter-of-factly, palm flat, fingers outstretched, over the area just below his right nipple. She rests it there for a second and then lifts it and places it at the base of his throat, just above his collar bone, then lifts it again and places it at his left shoulder, close to the armpit.
What are you doing? he asks, catching the hand, roughly, as it moves from its former position and down lower towards his stomach.
I have absolutely no idea, she answers.
So were sitting on this bench together, just me and Sinclair, both kind of dumbstruck by what its taken to get us there, basically; I mean all the crazy misunderstandings, the bad luck, the huge row with my mum, the spiked drink, the broken heel, the false alarm, the missed exam Jen bites her lip, her eyes gently misting over as she recollects. And its pretty much the most romantic moment of my entire life so far
The boy nods, obligingly. He is sitting, alone and he had somewhat naively presumed inconspicuously, at a small, corner table in the bar at the Thistle. He is enjoying a solitary glass of Coke as he reads a thick, paperback copy of David Foster Wallaces Infinite Jest (which currently lies open, but face-down, at his elbow).
I mean just try and picture how incredible this is uh what did you say your name was again?
Israel.
Jen stares at him, incredulous, for a heartbeat.
Okay. Well its like something from a romantic comedy, Israel, she continues (determined not to be thrown off her stride at this critical juncture in the story), just so absolutely perfect, so ridiculously beautiful and touching and Words fail her. Im like I swear to God Im actually tearing up even thinking about it!
Jen grabs the boys napkin, dabs the corner of her eye, then passes it straight back to him.
Dyou think Im incredibly sexy, by the way? she wonders, throwing back her shoulders and pouting, provocatively.
Sure. He nods, non-committal.
Thanks! She giggles.
By most European standards, he qualifies.
Jen stops giggling (and is about to respond, tartly), then spots a tiny, sticky deposit on the otherwise pristine table top and commences scratching it off with her nail.
So hes leaning in to kiss me, she continues, buffing the table to a shine with her cuff, and Im swooning. Im holding my breath, waiting, aching, for the first, soft sensation of his lips against mine
She glances over to her left, scowling. A customer is waiting to be served at the empty bar.
Hold that thought okay?
She dashes off to serve him. The boy returns to his book.
So anyway Jens back, in a flash, to complete her story hes moving in to kiss me. My heart is just well its just melting. Its pure liquid honey. But at the same time its beating so fast, so insanely fast, it feels like it might actually explode out of my chest. It literally is exploding ka-boom! Ka-boom! Ka-boom!
The customer returns to the counter with a quibble over the order. Jen promptly dashes off, trilling her apologies. Israel returns to his book, with a sigh.
Where were we?
Hes slower to put his book down this time, but does so, with an obliging smile, after completing his paragraph.
Uh You were sitting on a park bench with your boyfriend in several inches of snow
Exactly! So hes moving in for our first ever real kiss and its completely amazing, like this ridiculous Hallmark moment; something well be telling our grand-kids about, thirty years from now and then totally out of the blue this ludicrous, little dog comes running towards us across the park. I say its ludicrous because its a really funny-looking, little thing half pekinese, half chihuahua
A pee-huahua, he volunteers.
A chi-kinese, she suggests.
A chi-pee-huahua. He grins, checking the knot on his tie then adjusting his heavy spectacles.
The point is, she interrupts, that it dashes towards us and then stops, abruptly, directly in front of the bench were sitting on, before commencing this bizarre, little dance. Sort of crouching on its back legs and then turning in a circle, grunting. Kind of like a miniature jockey riding an invisible horse
Uh-oh! the kid says.
Its doing a poo Jen nods but its constipated. So its just pushing and pushing. Twirling around. This really intense expression on its mashed-up little face
Not a scenario especially conducive to romance, Israel sympathizes, portentously.
I mean what are the odds, eh?! Jens indignant. The parks totally whited-out! Two inches of snow! Its all but deserted, and then this evil, little dog turns up and starts its agonized pirouetting.
A stray, perhaps? Israel ruminates.
I love animals, Jen informs him, I love animals, but I really wanna jam my pointy, stiletto-ed heel up this constipated, little blighters arse and kick him straight into the Wednesday afternoon of the following week.
Wednesday afternoons are always hideous, Israel heartily concurs (back in Jamaica, from whence he hails, he enjoys extra maths tutoring after school on Wednesdays).
And its hardly like Im the only one whos noticed, Jen grumbles. Sinclairs forgotten all about the kiss and is gazing at the thing, bug-eyed, totally mesmerized
Ah, the irresistible allure of nature in the raw, Israel opines, with a sardonic smirk.
Anyhow, she continues, shooting him a dark look, were just sitting there the moment completely ruined gazing, in astonishment, at this hairy, little freak, when a woman turns up, out of breath, clutching on to its leash just some dumpy, middle-aged woman; Ive no idea who she is. But instead of grabbing the dog by the collar and hauling it off, full of apologies much as you might expect she stands a few feet away from it completely ignoring us and just observes its crazy antics in a reverential silence
What a breach! Israel exclaims almost sincerely.
So now were all just stuck there, like a bunch of idiots, waiting for this blasted dog to perform! Jens cheeks pinken at the memory. But it doesnt. So after a minute or two I begin to lose patience and say, Excuse me, might it be possible to you know
I indicate towards the dog.
Pardon? She stares at me, gormlessly. So I say, Would it be possible to maybe you know I make this sweeping gesture with my arm, i.e. your runty, constipated, little dog is single-handedly destroying my mental, spiritual and emotional equilibrium right now. But still she doesnt follow me. She goes, Im sorry, is something bothering you?
So I go, Yeah and Im pretty, bloody incensed by this point, I go, Dont you think it might be a nice idea to try and exercise some control over when and where your dog does his business?
The woman just looks at me like Im insane. She says, How can I be expected to control when he poops? Can you control when you poop?
My God! Jen gawps. The cheek of it! I mean Im in the middle of this romantic Words fail her.
Tryst, Israel fills in.
Precisely, a tryst. Im right in the middle of my first, romantic tryst with Sinclair and now I have this hare-brained, vindictive cow-bag trying to open a public forum on the intricacies of my bowel movements! I mean she doesnt even say business, she says poop! Talk about a passion killer!
Jen interrupts her narrative for a second and gazes at the boy, concerned. You do know that girls poo, dont you? Even extraordinarily beautiful ones like moi?
Sure. He nods, wearily. I read Martin Amiss Rachel Papers in my final year at primary school He pauses. Not as part of the syllabus, obviously.
Good. Because I love dogs, Jen continues (not really listening). Im training to be a vet well, Im hoping to become a vet if I can salvage my A-levels. So Im like: Duh! Im training to be a vet! Of course I know that! Meanwhile the dogs just twirling away in front of us and now theres this thin string of dog poo suspended from his rear end with tiny chunks of poo hung on it strung on it like poo beads on a poo necklace
Israel visibly recoils at the necklace image.
Yeah! Jen nods, vindicated. I know! Revolting! And naturally the dog is still squatting there, incapacitated, its arse jockeying around in the air, incapable of moving until the poo finally detaches itself.
A critical impasse, Israel primly volunteers.
Exactly. Jen chuckles, pointing. One of those. So I go to the woman: Whats wrong with the poor creature? What the hell have you been feeding him?
The owner circles her dog a couple of times, inspecting him closely. Its probably just hair, she says, finally. He picks it up off the carpet. This happens to all dogs. Its nothing unusual.
My grandmother used to weave rag-rugs out of tattered strips of old clothing, Israel volunteers; her dog would pilfer the scrap-box and then for literally weeks afterwards his back end would play host to its own, little fireworks party of crap and fabric He smiles fondly at the memory. There was rarely ever a dull moment in Grandmothers house.
You have so much life experience! Jen gushes.
Thanks he shrugs I dont have my own phone or personal computer, but I keep my eyes peeled and I read a ludicrous amount.
I like you, Jen says. Lets be Besties.
She offers him her pinkie.
Im not expecting to be in Luton for very long, Israel cautions her.
Gorgeous, attentive, sincere Jen lists some of his many virtues on her hand, and your vocabularys off the scale! Bags youre on my team for Scrabble!