The Leaping Part 4

'I need to think of one first,' she says. 'I had this dream a while ago. It was strange. Haven't been able to think of much else since.'

'Write about that, then,' I say.

'No,' she says. 'I didn't like it. It was about a giant. I can't. I don't know why, but I can't.'

'Make something up on the spot,' I say.

'Well,' she says. 'It won't be very good. OK. I'll just tell you something that happened. A few little things that happened.'

'OK,' I say.

'One day I went to the dentist after work. This was out of town. He was playing some Dire Straits alb.u.m quietly in his room. I listened to 'Sultans of Swing' and he gave me a scale and a polish. Then, on the way to the train station, I saw an ex-boyfriend's mother and sister walking along. His sister nodded as if to say h.e.l.lo, but thankfully his mother didn't see me. At the train station, the guy in the ticket office was listening to Joy Division. 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' was the particular song. I bought my ticket and sat on a platform near the back of a nearby supermarket. I could smell baking bread and n.o.body else was around and I couldn't hear any music.'

She falls silent and frowns.

'Go on,' I say.

'It was wonderful,' she says.

'Is that the end?' I ask.

'Yeah.'

'I didn't know people could listen to music in the ticket offices at Piccadilly,' I say.

'I don't think they can,' she says. 'I made that bit up.'

The table is dark and s.h.i.+ny with varnish. Various chips in the surface reveal the bare, pale wood beneath. People fill the room up. The walls are red brick with tall, thin, black radiators plumbed in. Lights hang on long wires. Sandbar. This is Sandbar. My head is in my hands. There comes a point in every night like this. When you realize that understanding has just slipped out of reach. People around me are saying things but I can't put them together. in the surface reveal the bare, pale wood beneath. People fill the room up. The walls are red brick with tall, thin, black radiators plumbed in. Lights hang on long wires. Sandbar. This is Sandbar. My head is in my hands. There comes a point in every night like this. When you realize that understanding has just slipped out of reach. People around me are saying things but I can't put them together.

I get up and go to the toilet. I push open the door marked TOILETS and am confronted with a small, confusing s.p.a.ce. All the walls are covered with pages of magazines. There are two doors, one on the right and one on the left. I don't know which to go through at first. It takes me an age to find the symbol for 'men'. It's hidden amongst the pictures and words that surround it. I push the door open. Behind it is a long, dented urinal that looks like it's full of thick p.i.s.s. There's a cubicle at the end. That's where I go.

I push open the cubicle door and lift the seat. The toilet water is red and there's something opaque at the bottom of it. Probably s.h.i.+t. But I can't be certain because of the red water. Rusty-brown gobbets of something are splattered all over the bowl. Looks b.l.o.o.d.y. I leave the cubicle and use the urinal. Somebody has something wrong inside of them. Some part of their body is the wrong shape.

Back at the table, I can hear 'Jailhouse Rock' playing. Graham is arm-wrestling with Jack and winning. c.r.a.p photos adorn the red brick walls, printed on canvas. A girl in a woolly hat is dancing outside the window. Amongst the reflections and the streetlamps. A song by Nina Simone starts up: 'Feeling Good'. Amongst the reflections and the streetlamps. A song by Nina Simone starts up: 'Feeling Good'.

Dad loves Steven Spielberg films, especially Close Encounters of the Third Kind Close Encounters of the Third Kind. He loves the Blue Oyster Cult and Ozric Tentacles and Joni Mitch.e.l.l. And he sits in the car to listen to them. Because Mum isn't so keen, apart from the Joni Mitch.e.l.l. Sometimes the car fills with smoke from his rolled-up cigarettes. I think sometimes he smokes cannabis. Judging by the smell of the car. He goes out on clear nights looking for UFOs. Looking for a sign of some other world. He is scared that we won't make contact with extraterrestrials in his lifetime. He is more scared terrified that we won't ever make contact at all. The idea of a lifeless universe stops him from sleeping, Mum told me. And it makes him deeply unhappy for days if he really thinks about it. He is also scared of his boss at the warehouse-sized computer shop that he works in. He works at the branch on the industrial estate up on the edge of town. He looks like Tony Robinson, with thicker gla.s.ses maybe. And slightly longer, whiter hair. And maybe a little bit taller. Wears a lot of open-necked s.h.i.+rts and beads. He looks basically like an old hippy. His name is Eric. I want to tell Jennifer about him. But not here, not in front of everybody else. I pick up my bottle. Dad is nostalgic for the sixties, like Jennifer. But he was really there.

'Francis,' Taylor says. 'Come on. We're leaving.'

Now we're at Trof. In the Northern Quarter. The seedier, more fas.h.i.+onable district of the city. We're outside in the smoking area because it's so full and hot indoors. Although I don't actually smoke. For fear of the damage. It must be a weekend, I think. Otherwise this place would be closed. Graham is taking something in the toilet. It's raining. There is a tarpaulin ceiling, but it's only half-rolled out. We huddle beneath it, but the rain drips off it and it drips down the drainpipes and it drips on to the low wooden stools and it spreads out towards us, making our bottoms wet. Graham comes back.

On the other side of the balcony, red brick walls and huge air-vents and dull metal chutes plunge downwards into darkness. There is a gap between two of the walls through which the bright, white horizontal bars of a multistorey car park can be seen. Behind the car park, the squareish bulk of some giant shopping centre rears up into the sky. Bright red neon letters adorn the top. Light falls down it. It's a cathedral. We sit here for hours, drinking, talking.

Later. Taylor and Erin sit next to me. 'I didn't tell you the real ending to my story before,' Erin whispers.

'What really happened?' I say.

'That's not what I mean. I told you what happened, more or less. But there was an ending that came to me that I didn't tell you.'

'What was it?'

'Well I was sitting on the platform at the train station. My train was late. There were no announcements and n.o.body around to ask about it. By the time the train finally arrived, it had gone dark. It pulled up, but the doors didn't open. I stood by one of them, waiting. Nothing moved for ages. And then the doors opened, and a tall man in a long black coat got off, and he had hooves.' n.o.body around to ask about it. By the time the train finally arrived, it had gone dark. It pulled up, but the doors didn't open. I stood by one of them, waiting. Nothing moved for ages. And then the doors opened, and a tall man in a long black coat got off, and he had hooves.'

'Ha,' I say. 'I like that ending.'

'I don't,' she says.

'But you made it up,' I say.

'I don't know,' she says. She looks confused. 'I don't think I did, not really. But at least I can say for certain that it didn't really happen.'

'It's that dream you had,' Taylor says. 'Resurfacing. At times of great communal anxiety more and more people report visions of strange creatures. People were seeing angels everywhere in 1999.'

'Are we in a state of great communal anxiety?' Erin says.

'I think maybe it has become constant,' Taylor says.

'I don't know,' I say. 'Maybe it's getting worse.'

Later. I'm staring at Jennifer. I drink her in. Absorb her. Like she is liquid. And I am soft, blank paper.

The six of us get back to the house. We are standing in the road. It is a quiet road: a cul-de-sac. The rain is heavier now. The sky is throwing it down like it doesn't want it any more. Go on, the sky is saying. Get down. Get out of me. Go. The sky is black.

'Come on, Graham!' Erin says. She is wearing Taylor's long coat. s.h.i.+vering.

'Yeah, hang on,' Graham says. He is looking in his shoulder bag. 'It's just in here. Can't see it because of all these receipts. This whole bag is just full of f.u.c.king receipts. So many f.u.c.king receipts. Who'd think there are so many f.u.c.king receipts in the world? It's somewhere under all these receipts. Just a minute. So many f.u.c.king receipts. Hang on. Here it is.' He holds up the key. 'We're in.'

JACK.

We woke to the sound of the alarm clock on Jennifer's phone, and it was wonderful, some sort of slow violin music that seemed to rise gently, lifting us out of sleep along with it.

The room was still dark, but that kind of darkness through which you can still see things, a darkness alleviated by dim light filtering in through the curtains. I sat up on the edge of the bed and looked for the gla.s.s of water that I had put on the floor the night before. Finding it seemed to take me an age. I took a drink to wake my mouth up.

My room was quite large and the walls were painted blue and the bed was low, snuggled into a corner, with a plain orange bedspread thrown over it. Against the opposite wall was a desk, above which I had a framed The Lord of the Rings The Lord of the Rings poster from the sixties, which had been a present from an uncle. The wall to either side of the desk was given over to bookshelves, and I also had books stacked up against the wall all the way around the room. poster from the sixties, which had been a present from an uncle. The wall to either side of the desk was given over to bookshelves, and I also had books stacked up against the wall all the way around the room.

'What day is it?' I asked.

'Sunday,' murmured Jennifer. She was lying on her front, the bedcovers gathered down around her waist. 'f.u.c.king Sunday.' She pushed herself up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and stood and groaned and sat back down. She was wearing plain white knickers and a small white vest. I battled the urge to reach over and touch her; bring her back into bed with me. She might have let me, but I wanted to save it save the first experience of her nakedness for when we had time to enjoy it fully.

'I'll get up now as well,' I said.

'Why? You're not working, are you?'

'No. Just thought I'd make you something to eat. Give you a lift to work. Do some reading.'

'You just wait until you stand up and the hangover hits you. Won't be considering such gentlemanly behaviour then, I bet.'

I stood up and it was like something popped inside me. Suddenly I was weak and I wanted to be sick. My head was aching, and felt like a huge raw egg. The thought of raw egg worsened my nausea and I sat back down.

'You're right, of course,' I said, but the words came out thick and m.u.f.fled.

'Yep,' she said. 'Sleep it off. Don't worry about me, I can just get some toast or something.' She got up again and moved over to the radiator with a grace that was remarkable considering the hangover she must have had, and picked up a towel and turned to me, the towel in one hand, and a strip of early morning light from in between the curtains fell across her body, warping over her glorious curves and colouring her skin in such a way as to make me think of pale blue milk. She smiled. between the curtains fell across her body, warping over her glorious curves and colouring her skin in such a way as to make me think of pale blue milk. She smiled.

'Come to my house tonight,' she said. 'It's my turn to host.'

'Will do.' I brought my knees up in order to hide my burgeoning erection. 'Will do. But no alcohol.'

'Have you got an erection?' she asked, still smiling.

'What? No! I mean, oh, not that you don't look nice. You do. But I haven't. Haven't got one. Nope.'

'I know you have,' she said. 'It's OK, you know. I want you to have one. I like that you haven't tried it on while I've been staying, though. Most men would have.'

I looked down at my hands and saw that I'd knotted them together while she'd been talking. 'I wanted to,' I said, still looking down. 'When we were kissing on the first night. Well, every time really. Every time we've been in here. All the time, Jennifer.' I laughed, nervously. 'All the time.'

'Good,' she said. 'I want you to want to.'

'You wear such tiny things at night,' I said.

'It's all part of the fun,' she said and stretched, extending her legs so that she was standing on her toes and lifting her arms up above her head. She leaned backwards and her little top rode up to reveal the undersides of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and I saw, through the fabric, that her nipples were erect.

I realised that she was regarding me from the corner of her eyes as I was staring at her body. Immediately I looked away, at the wall, the curtains, the floor, my hands, and she laughed, her teeth flas.h.i.+ng. looked away, at the wall, the curtains, the floor, my hands, and she laughed, her teeth flas.h.i.+ng.

'It's OK,' she said. 'It's better than OK. It's a turn-on. Knowing that you're holding back. I like it.'

'I'm sorry,' I said, but I didn't know why.

'Don't you say sorry,' she said. 'Don't you say sorry at all. Just don't get carried away with that c.o.c.k of yours. Wait for me.'

'I will,' I said. My face felt red. My whole body felt hot.

'Good,' she said. 'I'll see you tonight, then.'

'See you tonight,' I said.

She picked up the bag that contained her work clothes and slowly walked from the room, looking back over her shoulder, smiling that wonderful incendiary smile.

After she had gone I breathed out. How did I end up with a girl like her? But no. I had to remember, she didn't do monogamy. I was seeing her but she was not mine, even though she now owned and controlled every last drop of me, every last sweat-gland, synapse and skin cell, every bodily part of me that was physically real and every soulish part of me that was only hypothetical, owned and controlled them completely and utterly and eternally she would never be mine.

I heard the shower start up in the bathroom, which was adjacent to my bedroom, and I imagined her rolling that vest up over her head and the steam from the hot water dampening her lips and every other part of her. But I wouldn't let myself get carried away, as she put it, so I gingerly rolled out of bed, the hangover still ugly inside me, and started to get dressed so that I could walk her to the bus stop. Better not drive in that state. me, and started to get dressed so that I could walk her to the bus stop. Better not drive in that state.

I enjoyed the walk back to the house after the bus had taken Jennifer away. The air was crisp, and my breath misted, but the sun was bright, and I felt my hangover shrinking, and the sky made me think of the Enid Blyton books I used to read when I was little. There was a simile she used in lots of her stories something like 'the sky looked like the rain had washed it clean'. I couldn't see a clear sky without thinking of Enid Blyton, which would have bothered some people I guess, what with all the racist accusations.

I walked a short distance down a quiet street lined with big terraces they were like our house, but they felt like they were owned by real adults, real people, and lived in by families, people with mortgages, and long-term plans, and gardens. The houses were well maintained and well defined and livened up with newly painted window-frames and greenery, whereas ours looked a little dilapidated in a minor, roguish sort of way.

I turned off this street on to another with similar houses lining one side of it, but a long fence of spiked, black railings on the other cast iron and beyond the fence was a huge expanse of neatly trimmed gra.s.s, punctured by the giant crossbars of a rugby pitch. And then beyond the playing field was the school that owned it a long, low, old building that looked like it was a long way away. I remember one warm night a couple of summers ago when we had walked back from some club in town and stopped there. we had walked back from some club in town and stopped there.

'Ten pounds to the naked person who touches the school first,' Taylor had said.

Graham hadn't needed any encouragement, of course, and he'd stripped off drunkenly, left his clothes and shoes here on the pavement, struggled over the fence in such a way as to hang above us all with his legs wide open Francis, Taylor, Erin and myself all laughing and not knowing where to look fell down the other side, narrowly missing leaving his s.c.r.o.t.u.m behind on a spike, and then dashed clumsily across the gra.s.s towards the shadowy building in the distance. Too shadowy to really even see. It seemed to take forever before we could discern him coming back to us, but I remember our conversation stopping as the pale shape of his body materialised from the darkness. With his long, messy hair, and his big wild beard, and his nakedness, there was some primal aspect to his appearance, something a little intimidating. We fell silent and watched his approach.

'Ten quid, then,' he had said, panting, after dropping back to the ground on our side of the railings.

'Sorry,' Taylor said. 'We can just about see the building, but it's too far away for us to be able to tell if you really touched it or not. In fact, we couldn't even tell if you ran all the way there. For all we know, you stopped somewhere in the middle and lay down to rest.'

'What b.o.l.l.o.c.ks!' Graham shouted. 'What absolute b.o.l.l.o.c.ks! I can't believe you bunch of f.u.c.king a.r.s.eholes! You lot are like a bunch of grapes, but made out of a.r.s.eholes instead of grapes!' You lot are like a bunch of grapes, but made out of a.r.s.eholes instead of grapes!'

'Will you put your f.u.c.king clothes on, Graham?' Erin said, laughing.

'Also,' Francis said, quite seriously, 'a hole isn't a physical thing that you can join to another hole. It's just the absence of something else.'

'Oh, f.u.c.k off,' Graham said, and tripped over his jeans as he tried to put them on.

It was all quite funny at the time, but it felt like things had changed. Even though Taylor and Erin had only been together a few days, I doubted Taylor would be suggesting any naked games with the rest of us, and likewise, I didn't think I'd want Graham exposing his frankly ma.s.sive manhood in front of Jennifer. Even though she was not all mine. I had to remember that.

I had never been a jealous person. I had never really had a proper relations.h.i.+p to get jealous about, but I thought I could feel it there now, inside me, even though I'd only been seeing Jennifer for a couple of days. I wanted her all it was that simple. I wanted all her attention, all her mind, all her beauty, all her body.

Tonight, maybe, and I smiled again, and felt a lightness in my chest.

I never wanted to let Jennifer out of my sight and that was the truth. As soon as I realised it I knew it was wrong to want to possess another person so completely, but it was still the truth.

I turned away from the school. As I did so I saw a figure dart behind a tree at the end of the street and I paused, momentarily, then walked briskly towards it. I turned off on to another side street before I got there. Then I picked up my pace and started to feel hot despite the cold air. I looked behind me and sure enough there was somebody there, a misshapen figure, wrapped up in a thick grey winter coat, loping after me, no longer trying to hide. My first thought was that it was Kenny, but they were a little too tall, and also, I realised, slightly hunchbacked. I started to run properly, trying to ignore the grotesque moaning that the person was making, like a man with no tongue trying to shout. When I got to the next corner, I risked another look behind me and saw that they seemed to be struggling to try and take their coat off, which made no sense to me in the cold. Maybe they were ill in some way, and maybe they weren't dangerous, but all the same I ran full pelt down the next couple of streets, stopping only when I reached our house and threw myself through the front door. dart behind a tree at the end of the street and I paused, momentarily, then walked briskly towards it. I turned off on to another side street before I got there. Then I picked up my pace and started to feel hot despite the cold air. I looked behind me and sure enough there was somebody there, a misshapen figure, wrapped up in a thick grey winter coat, loping after me, no longer trying to hide. My first thought was that it was Kenny, but they were a little too tall, and also, I realised, slightly hunchbacked. I started to run properly, trying to ignore the grotesque moaning that the person was making, like a man with no tongue trying to shout. When I got to the next corner, I risked another look behind me and saw that they seemed to be struggling to try and take their coat off, which made no sense to me in the cold. Maybe they were ill in some way, and maybe they weren't dangerous, but all the same I ran full pelt down the next couple of streets, stopping only when I reached our house and threw myself through the front door.

I hated living in this blasted city.

FRANCIS.

When I look up, the sun is bright beyond the bay window. The outside world is washed-out and white, with nothing but vague patches of shadow to give shape to things. On this side of the gla.s.s the room is big and empty. Two brown sofas, and a gla.s.s coffee table. And a brown footrest. And a small TV, and shelves full of books and DVDs and games and even some old videos. There is an empty fireplace and various empty candleholders on the hearth. Used once but never refilled. Erin is sitting next to me and Jack is standing in the doorway. Erin smells like limes. Jack is red-faced and out of breath. He leans on the doorframe. 'You OK, Jack?' I say.

'Yeah,' he says. 'Well, kind of. I walked Jennifer to the bus stop and then, on my way back, I thought someone was following me. Well, they were were following me. Chased me home.' following me. Chased me home.'

'Jesus, Jack,' Erin says. 'Do you know them? Do you need to call the police?'

'No,' he says. 'No. Just some weirdo.'

'You're not the type to make enemies, I guess,' I say.

'Not usually,' he says. 'I think I may have made one in Kenny Hicks, though.'

'Why's that?' I ask.

'Oh, erm, he seems to have a bit of a thing for Jennifer,' Jack says.

'Right,' I say, nodding. 'You don't want that.'