2. The deedwasdone.The wordsout.Etchedirrevocably onthe lathof memoryandlike so
manybefore himGraham Cubitt understoodthatif musicwasthe foodof love incoherent
splutteringwasthe foodof woe.Andsohe spluttered.Disencumberedof reason'sstraitjackethe
issuedhispainthroughsnottysnortsandwobblywaulsandstrange,discordantyowlsthatpierced
the pouringrainlike cracks of feeble thunder.
For so longhe'dkepta tightreinon the words,corralled themsafely withinthe palisadesof
thoughtbut then hisrestraintslackenedandthe feelings galloped.Outandoutthey poured;all that
artlessnonsense,all those assiduouslycraftedclichés,theybumbledfromhisthroatindisfluent
volleysandthe longerhe wentonthe harderit became tostop because stoppingcould heraldthe
endof the worldor the birthof everything andthe feargrew greaterwithinhimas he finally raised
hisgaze to meetherface.
The lookin hereyessaiditall.
That punishingfidgetof rejection.
She smiledand tookhishandand saidhe was a good friend.He triedevasion. Hadto. Tried
to laughit off. Yeah,he said, justthedrink talking.Shouldn'thavehad thatwine,he said. You knowI
don'tmean anything,he said.
He stoodup andbackedaway fromthe table and startedto say goodbye.She askedhimto
stay butthe harshspotlightof those pityingeyes made thatimpossible.He hadto leave before
anyone noticed butwhatwithherimploringhimtostayand himflailinghisarmswildlysayingitwas
fine andhermovingtowardhim and himfeelingthe drinkfizzthroughhisbearing he failedto notice
the greasysurface beneathhisfeet andso, ina twirlingcrescendoof clumsiness,he trippedand
splattedface firstonto the grubby lino.
A horrible hushensued.
3. His cheekcame off the floorina stickykiss.Aware of the attention now levelledathimhe
endeavouredtospringbackupfluidly hopingadisplayof athleticdexteritywould somehowleaven
the shame but once againhe found poorpurchase and slappedbackdownontothe amorouslino.
Gigglesrippledaroundhim.
Musteringthe paltry remnantsof his focushe divined sure footingandmade itto a stand.
He triedtoplay itcool by forcingout a quicklaughbut the noise thatcame fromhischest was a
staccato rattle devoidof breeziness. Everyoneavoidedhisblearygaze.
Thenhe feltahand onhis shoulder.
Her hand.
He turned around.
Her eyes.
Aftera cough thatwas half surprise andhalf lament he turned awayandzigzagged hastily toward
the front doorhopingfora quickescape but the door waslockedsoafter tryingthe handle eightor
nine times Grahamhad to returnto the kitchentoseekrelease.Backtothe faces.Back to the poorly
mutedchuckles.
Whenthe door finallyswungopenitwasbucketingdownoutside. Hisemancipatoroffered
to ringa taxi butGraham wavedthe suggestionawaysaying thatitlookedlikeitwas easingoff.A
boomof thunderpealedoverheadasthe rainintensified tomonsoonproportions.
Gettingsoakedtothe bone shouldhave takenhismindoff itbut the queeradrenalinof
disrepute pulsedthroughhimashe imagined everyoneatthe partytalkingabouthim.The
discommodingswishof alcohol inhisbellydidn'thelpandashe exitedthe estate he hadto pause his
preternatural keeningand prophimself againstawall tobetterparry the stabsof queasiness.
4. How couldhe have beensowrong?
Maybe she wasjustafraidto say it,he thoughttryingto bandage hisbanjaxedego,maybe she really
didfeel the same waybutcouldn't admitit infront of everyone.Hisphone couldringanysecond
withheron the otherline beggingforgiveness.He tookitoutjustto check.Nothing.
Steadyinghimself againandfeeling he'dwonthe skirmishwithhisstomachhe resumedhis
trekhomeward.
How couldhe have beensowrong?
Had he missedsome signal, some subtext, some subtle implication?
A belchpoppedfromhisgulletfillinghismouthwith gaseoushooch.A shiverwentuphisspine and
dizziedhisbrainjustasa trulydivine delusion enveloped hiscerebrum.
The drink!
She wasn't sure that he meantitbecause he was drunk! Couldn'triskreciprocatingincase he
turnedaroundthe nextday and said itwas all gibberish.She was probablytextinghimrightnow, "if
you still feel the sameway in the morning ring me and we'll talk".Againhe fished forhisphone but
thistime excitementblinkeredhimtothe loose pavingstone juttingupfromthe path ahead.A sharp
yelpscootedfromhislungsashe fell.Hisbooze dampenednervescouldn'tquite formulate how to
pull hisrighthandfrom hispocketin time so he onlyhadold leftie (hewasnot a southpaw) torely
on.Unusedto being summoned inacrisisoldleftie provedasubstandardsaviourandGraham's
headhitthe ground withan awkward,dampthud.
Lyingthere withthe wetconcrete lickinghisface he vainlyhopedthathe mightdie.A little
prayerrose from hisdrunken,shrunken soul petitioningprovidence tomake the smackto hishead
fatal.Thenshe wouldregretnotsharinghertrue feelingswhenshe hadthe chance. Thenshe would
knowthe full delirium of dejection.
5. Realising,inCartesianfashion,thatif he wasthinkingsuchthoughtshe wasprobablynot
deceased Grahamhopedinsteadthatthere might be a possibilityof hospitalisation.He wouldawake
to findherat hisbedside all tearful andapologetic.He wouldforgive her,of course,andthenhe
wouldlie backandluxuriate inherardour.
Regrettablyhisinjurieswereneitherlife-threateningnorworthyof an ambulance.Infact,
thanksto the copiousamountof alcohol insulating hisnerves,he barelyfeltathing. He liftedhis
headup off the pavementandnoticedacar decelerating.The headlightsblinded himatfirstsohe
couldn'tsee if itwas a cab or the cops or an ambulance or some goodSamaritanpausingto check his
wellbeing.
"Heywanker,what'sit like itat the bottom?"
Thisquerywas punctuated bythe launchingof a missile inhisdirection.A half drankcanof cider
connected square withhisforeheadand painimpelled hisface backdown tothe pavementasthe
car beep-beepedmerrilyanddrove off.
Angernowtooka seatat the franticwhirligigof hisemotions andhe propelleditthroughhis
veinsandmusclesuntil hisbodyrose fromthe clammyconcrete withthe sortof vigourandpurpose
that had evadedhimall night.Eventhe sightof the can of ciderdribblingits foul smellingpayload
out onto the side of hisfavourite brogues couldnotquellhisnewfoundverve.
He marched homewardthe scissorof hisstridesrendinghimfromthe night'shumiliations.It
lastedalmosttwelve minutesbeforehe suddenlyrecalledwhatitwasthat had precipitated his
ignominiousfall inthe firstplace.He fishedouthisphone again.
There were nomissedcalls.
No newmessages.
Maybe he shouldbe the one to call her?
6. Desperate hope supplantedangerfromitschairjustas abruptly asanger had displaced
melancholy. The rainhadnoweasedtoa consistentdrizzle andasGraham dialledhernumberhe
beganwalkingagain.The phone inhis earrang and rang and rang and rang.The line clickedontoher
voicemail message,thatcasual flirty voice of herswhichpromisedeverythingbefore damningaman
to hell.Withthe beeponlysecondsawayhe triedtothinkof somethingtosay,some eloquentblitz
of diction thatwouldundo all the damage butnothingcame so he hung up.
The furtherhe walkedandthe more he thoughtaboutit Graham decidedtotake herfailure
to answeras a good sign. Afterall if she reallydidn'tlove himshe wouldhave answeredandtoldhim
so.This flawedsyllogismbroughtahopto hisstepas the candle of hisoptimismrekindled.
Fathomsof fantasy soon severed himfromreality andwithevery sequentstepthe
unmitigatedsocial disasterof earliertransmogrifiedintosomethingludicrouslyupbeat.Itwouldbe
theirnewfirstchapter,he thought,the storytheywould tell people atdinnerpartiesandcocktail
partiesandweddings.He couldtaste the tale already.
"...and she wasso scared to admit it she let me walkhome alone... IN THE PISSINGRAIN!!"
HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!!!
A sillygrintook upresidence inhisjawwhilst he picturedandre-picturedthe scenarioinhis mind.A
quake inhisbowels soonunwoundit.
Havingfailedtofindoral escape the tempestuous contentsof hisswollenbelly had
regroupedanddecidedtomake anassaulton the onlyotheravailable exit.Toofarfromhome to
holdit,he thought. He scannedthe nearbyalleysand picked one thatlooked quietanddarkenough
to do the deed.Walkingasfastas the situationwouldallow he hurriedtothe darkestrecess,
droppedtoa squatand exposedasmuchof hisrear endrequiredtogetthe jobdone.
7. Justas he was nearingcompletion adoorflungopenbeside himandthe alleywasflooded
withlight. Twowomencame outof the door chattingawayand while one of themwenttopull the
door closedthe otherlookeddownatGraham andsaw the whole sorryscene.
She nudgedherfriendwhoturnedandtheybothexplodedintolaughter.He triedto
mumble an apologybuttheycouldn'thearit throughtheirhysterics. Grahamhunghishead. This
freshdisgrace broughthisearlierhumiliationbacktomindandhe now founditimpossibletoblunt
the barbs of reality.
She didn'tanswerherphone because she'sembarrassedtoknow me,he thoughtandwith thathis
escapismcrumbledandthe eagermiserythathadbeenrallyingforsolongoverwhelmedhim.
By the time he reachedhisownestate he had succumbed whollytodespair.The worstof his
crapulence finallyabated ashishouse approached.He openedthe doorlike itwasanynormal night
but,unlike anynormal night,he failedtowipe hisfeetand - in a jarringre-runof earlier- hisfoot
foundnogrip on the imitationwoodenfloorof the hall.The lastvestigesof the booze inhisveins
conspiredforone final actof ineptitudeashisgripon the doorhandle slippedandhe plummetedfor
one lastembrace withterra firma.
The poundof hisbodyhittingthe pseudo-lumberreverberatedthroughthe house.Fora
secondeverythingwasstill andquiet.Thenhe heardthe brief whimper.Thenthe snatcheddrawsof
air seekingtofuel the whimperandevolveit toa whinge.Then the inevitableclimax. Shrill
paroxysms of anguishpunctuatedbyall toobrief inhalations.
The baby wasawake.
A dooropenedupstairsandthe lightscame on.
He knewhe shouldmove buthe couldn'tbudge.
His wife came downthe stairswiththeirbawlingsoninherarms.
8. "Graham! What the hell iswrongwithyou?!!"
Everything,he saidtohimself butdidn'twhisperaword.
"Graham!! What have youbeendoing?Lookat the state of you!!"
The door layopenagainsthislegs.Hisson lookeddownathimand continuedtowail.Ashis
heademptiedof all thoughtGraham'sbodyshiveredslightlyasabreeze swept throughthe open
door andchilledhiscalves.
Apart fromthat he was insensate.
