Read Online Come Not When I Am Dead by R.A. England - Free Book Online Page B

fishing in a bit” I say, lying back in my chair with my feet up
on the table
“who with?”
“no one” and a multitude of insects buzz furiously past our ears
“could I come with you?”
“no, not today, one day though, I have to do other things on the way”
“Is there something you’re not telling me Gussie?” and a cloud briefly hides
the sun
“something like what?   And you’re a
fine one to talk.   Jodie” and I
squash breadcrumbs into the table with my finger, and pour coke cola on them to
make a paste
“stop that!   Well, why are you, who
is so very popular and love sex, single for a start?   Or do you have a secret lover?”
“Of course I don’t” it comes out far too quickly, it trips and falls on the
step and I look at the dandelions by my feet.   I would like to tell her, but I
can’t.   My nose wrinkles up and I
feel a bit sorry for myself, a bit angry with Charlie, a bit like a skinhead,
I’m making myself tough.   And I know
that if you love someone you are vulnerable and I don’t want any more pain.   There is something elemental though that
I love about Charlie, I feel that the untamed animal in me is matched to him,
to himself that no one but me sees.   It’s as if there’s a thick, thick rope between both our bellies and he
is essential to me, as if he’s part of me.
    I am lying on the grass now and Jo is
reading a dreadful looking book at the table, there are stones in my flesh, on
my back, I am watching a buzzard flying over the garden, floating and darting,
it is a juvenile calling, calling out for reassurance, it is unsure of the
world but is being brave.   Coningsby
snuffles up to me, she rubs her forehead against my shoulder and quacks to me,
I open my arm and take her to my body, wrap her under my wing with dark muffled
love, I will look after everyone and everything and everything is safe with
me.   “I love you Coningsby, I love,
love, love you Coningsby” I say close in to her flank.
“You know the vet, the good looking one?”   Jo is looking at me over her book and I feel sick “Yes”
“you went to school with him didn’t you?”
come on, come on, come on, out with it I think, “primary school”
“do you know his wife?” and I feel a bit easier
“not really, I don’t think she’s very nice though” the buzzard has seen
something and is swooping, scything down to the ground, he jumps the last bit,
and I see him up and down, hopping, then he hups up on to a fence post, eyes peeled
“well, I was in the pub last night and I saw her”
“yes?… go on”
“she was with this bloke, one of those twatty looking posh blokes with a pink
check shirt on and too much of a hairstyle” and I knew exactly what she meant,
I even saw him propped up against the bar, holding his beer in his hand at a
funny angle “so?”
“Well, she looked pretty cosy, and I’ve never seen her even smile before, but
she was all over this bloke” the buzzard has it, he has a mouse or a shrew, he
has caught his breakfast “I’m sure it was all legitimate, she doesn’t look the
sort to slag it up really does she?   Did anyone else see them?”
“Nah, they were in a dark corner by the door” and I wonder, I think there
probably is something in it, it is exciting, and I wonder whether I’ll tell
Charlie.   There is potential power
and potential pain in that story, but I will not manipulate him, I will always
be open with him.   I spread my hands
before him and show him what is there for him to make of it what he will.   I feel sick about it too though.
    After we breakfasted I went to my
studio to try and paint.   But it is
too hot today.   I am a shuffling,
fidgeting bugger that can’t settle and I push back my chair and I hear it move
through the dust on the floor I note how warped the floorboards are, I see it
all without looking.   I push back my
messy pile of papers and they settle in to place.   I stand up and stretch up and see some
butterfly wings in a cobweb