Better Than Easy by Nick Alexander

Author:Nick Alexander
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atlantic Books
Published: 2011-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

Selfish Contrition

At midnight when I get back, I close the shutters and sit in the darkened flat. Lit only by the bars of orange light from the streetlamps outside, the place looks strange and alien, yet at the same time, the difference is refreshing. It feels for some reason like it’s been ages since I really saw the place and the unusual darkness enables me to do that. It’s my flat, and I love it. And of course if the gîte works out I will have to leave it. I have barely thought about that.

The street outside is silent, and with the exception of Paloma purring – she has jumped on my lap immediately – and the humming of the fridge, the world is silent. It feels almost as if everyone on the planet, with the exception of myself, is asleep.

I’m feeling a little sick, so I sit and wait for it to pass. Initially I think the cause is Jenny’s cheap wine, but slowly it dawns on me that the cause is more psychological. What I’m feeling is guilt. The sickening stomach churn of a guy who has spent the evening lying to his oldest friend. I think about this, and then about the fact that pretty soon I will no doubt be actively lying to Tom as well, even if only to make sure that the stories I have told Jenny tie up. I think about the twenty years I have known her, about all the things we have been through together from failed attempts at sex to shared traffic accidents. I remember suddenly that I am Sarah’s godfather and imagine Jenny explaining to her why they suddenly stopped seeing uncle Mark all those years ago.

I notice a strange taste in my mouth, and then an unusual quantity of saliva, and finally a burst of acid reflux forces me to stand and run through to the bathroom. I kneel and wait, but nothing comes; so after a few minutes I return to the lounge. I wish I had someone to talk to about it all. A sort of gay tribal chief who would dispel wise advice. It’s the kind of thing I would usually discuss with Tom or Jenny, and this makes me realise anew how truly fucked-up the whole situation is. And then I think of Isabelle, once a close friend, now living in Canada. Three a.m. in France makes, I calculate, ten p.m. in Canada. A little shocked at how quickly we forget people once they’re out of sight and living in a different time zone – I reach for the phone.

A man’s voice answers, presumably her Dutch boyfriend. While I wait for him to fetch Isabelle, I think about the fact that I’m an English guy dating another English guy in France, and having an affair with a Colombian, and that I’m in the process of phoning a French friend who lives in Canada with a Dutchman and I wonder when the world got so complicated.

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