Two Sketches of Disjointed Happiness by Simon Kinch

Author:Simon Kinch
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Salt Publishing Limited
Published: 2017-11-21T11:46:04+00:00

Taking a handful of cash from the bookshelf, I went to the Alameda. I could only think of seeing Clara again. The promenade was nearly empty. A few people sat outside restaurants; a man walked his dog past the columns. Crossing the Alameda, I found the bar with the hatched trellis we’d eaten at the week before. Inside, I ordered a caña, taking it out to a table and lighting a cigarette.

Over the afternoon, I stretched out another caña and a tapa of carrilladas. Instead of tucking in ravenously as I had before, this time I carefully poked at the meat in its broth, making it fall into its separate strands. Several times, the barman came out to see if I’d finished what was in front of me, but had to return empty-handed each time.

Shortly after 5pm, Clara passed. She was as surprised to see me as I was to see her – for all my waiting, I’d never really expected she’d walk past. The hovering barman took her order and she joined me.

She began by complaining about the heat and then her shift. I analysed every hand gesture, every facial expression as she spoke. All I could think about was that I’d left that club too hastily the other night and she would still be resentful because of this, but there was nothing in her body language to say she was. She instead seemed to pick up exactly where we’d left off, eating these same carrilladas at this very table. Eventually, I accepted it hadn’t been a big deal to her at all. I asked if I could buy her a whiskey and Coke and she said yes.

I returned with two lowball glasses. ‘How perfect that you were out in this street, Granville,’ she smiled cheekily. She span the ice round in her glass with the straw. ‘There’s a film on tonight and I need someone to go with.’ I tried making out I might have something on, but she said I had nothing of the sort. I made another protest that I may well have something to do, but she just giggled at this. ‘Something more important than accompanying me?’

She was hungry, and only for pizza, so we finished our drinks and went to a small pizza parlour at the end of the Alameda. As she ate, I told her about my new studio. She listened and nodded, glancing up as she picked slices of fried eggplant off the pizza topping, eating these separately.

The temperature had dropped and there was a light breeze. As we walked to the film, I felt us sharing a fleeting contentment with life. Clara mentioned how good the pizza had been. I felt a lightness from the beers and whiskey I’d drunk. We got to a small, winding cobbled street, devoid of people. At this point she looped her arm through mine, not saying anything, just smiling.

The screening was in a large courtyard, a part of the university. We took two chairs near the back.

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