SATURDAY 260211

WANTED

Coming out of Ashley News taking a couple of drinks form a small bottle of water I’d bought because I knew I’d need to wash down a couple of solpadeine in town, I saw a young woman and young man crossing at the end of City Road on their way down Stokes Croft.
She looked at me, I looked away, and when we were about passing she said, ‘Excuse me,’ and stepped in front of me.
‘Yes,’ I said, thinking, ‘Clear complexion, a line of blue eye shadow above blue eyes…beautiful…’
‘Do you know if there’s a greasy spoon nearby?’ she said.
‘You’ve been up there? I said with a slight nod of my head.
‘Yes.’
Turning towards North Road I said, ‘There’s…no, that’s gone…oh, yes, er…if you go down the subway through the roundabout and come up opposite, straight over?’
‘Ok,’ she said.
I spoke to him as well as her even though it was she had asked me.
‘Ok,’ I said, ‘there’s a café, “The Flipper” I think it’s called, that might be a greasy…’
‘Thanks,’ she said smiling.
I watched them walk off then turned, made my way down Moon Street.
‘I could have said, “You mean double egg and chips greasy?” to clarify what she and they wanted.

In Broadmead, sitting on a bench in the Hub.
‘It’s something,’ he said, ‘a sermon while you’re shopping.’
He’d sat down the other end of the bench being careful of the small pool of rain water was there.
‘Do you mind?’ I said.
‘No, no,’ he said turning to me, white hair, hands resting on the top of a walking stick.
In the middle of the Hub a man holding a bible, raised voice proclaiming…’Jesus…there is no religion but Jesus…know Him…’ Two men walking round him offering leaflets to passersby, most of whom declined unlike me…
‘There used to a man down there,’ he said, pointing the direction of Tesco.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But he’s more animated…’
‘And louder,’ he said. ‘But I still didn’t understand a word.’

On the way home I made to check the menu in the café I’d directed the young couple to wondering if it was a greasy spoon. But I didn’t get that far because before close enough I saw them sitting there in a window seat heads close, talking, and to avoid being seen by them I went back the way I’d come.

STANDING

Mrs Throat was standing, with two other women, on the white line runs down the middle of Stokes Croft. Traffic passed in front and behind them and they appeared unaffected by its proximity…
…three women…
Mrs Throat on the left. On the right the oldest of the three, her hands in the pockets of a thigh length camel coloured coat open, flapping in the breeze. Between these two, can of White Ace in one hand, shoulder length hair blowing gently into her red face, the woman who looked in charge…talking.
‘She stands in the middle of the road,’ I thought of Mrs Throat from behind the glass where I sat watching. ‘She with women. She stands for things that make her shout.’

FAIR EXCHANGE

The writer came to my flat. We stood on the balcony. He smoked a cigarette.
‘Wow,’ he said, ‘this is incredible. I’ve never seen Bristol like this. Everything looks different from up here, what an amazing view.’
‘It is isn’t it,’ I said and pointed. ‘That’s the back of Cromwell Road, you wouldn’t think it’d be there.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘you get the sweep of Gloucester Road,’ he said, ‘how it curves,’ he said. ‘And there’s Stokes Croft and Rhadika,’ he said, ‘I like that.’
We stood on the balcony.
After a short while I said, ‘What is it you want?’
He told me what he’d done the last few years, a potted history, how it led to what he was doing and what he planned the next few years.
As I watched and listened, ‘This is a performance,’ I thought, ‘just for me, between the two of us.’


CREEPY

‘The usual?’ she said when I arrived at the counter.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
Sit down. Take out notebook. Start writing.
Outside the Arts House I’d taken a leaflet said, ‘DEFEND PUBLIC SERVICES,’ from a young man walked in after she’d brought me my coffee and had a brief chat about the night before.
The young man walked up to the counter, ‘You have expensive cakes here,’ he said. ‘Have I got enough for a cake and coffee?’
Stop writing. Get up. Walk to counter.
‘I’ll buy you a cake,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen you outside talking to people, giving out leaflets.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Which one do you want?’
‘What have you got?’
‘We have these just in,’ she said, the woman serving, bringing form under the counter into view a clingfilm covered sponge cake.
‘I’ll have a piece of that,’ he said.
‘How much is it?’ I said.
‘Two pounds,’ she said.
Pay her. Walk back to table. Sit down.
Later, ‘That was nice of you,’ she said, ‘buying him the cake.’
‘Felt a bit creepy,’ I said.

THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN

Double take.

Take One.
It’s him. He’s back. In town. Been over twenty years since the last time I saw him when he was walking out the saying, ‘If you don’t want it here,’ he said, ‘I’ll take it somewhere wants it.’
Now he was standing outside the further of the two charity shops at the top of the subway exit comes out opposite the Flipper fish bar the Broadmead side of James Barton.
Flat cap; shades; grey beard. I’d know that chin and nose anywhere.
What’s he doing back in town?

Take Two: THINK OF ME
Walking to the flats from direction Ninetree, close to one of the flowerbeds near the entrance coming toward me three neighbours: Throat/Throat’s girlfriend/Throat’s brother.
I wondered if she’d look at me, say hello, or at least nod, after our few and significant exchanges the three months Throat’s been away in hospital. More than nothing she turns and bows her head away from me as we pass.
Later reading I heard coming from outside the flat:
‘…slash me. Rape me. Make me cut my hair. Then tell me you don’t want me…’ – his low rumblings punctuate the fluctuating volume and intensity of her voice – ‘so what? So fucking what you cunt? You sleep with me and then your off to score because you’re using again, you cunt…oh yes you are, we know what’s your first love, don’t we?..don’t you fucking lie…’ – responsibility – ‘…you don’t know what it is, you cunt…so what, so I slept with a few people I went out drinking with, you weren’t around, not like you…oh yes you did, just because I’m not the fifteen anymore…’ – rumbling muttering – ‘…fuck off, beating me even when I had a child in my arms…’ – ‘…yes you did, go on, you know you want to, go on, twist it, go on, tighter, you know you want to…’ – muttering – ‘…yeh, that is you, you cunt, you want to do something but you’re too frightened…fuck off, look at me, fucking look at me: scarred, short haired, raped up bitch. That’s what you think of me…’

FOLK CLUB

Folk Club at BD’s last night. Four of us throughout the evening including the D who wanted to hang with me before her girlfriend arrived on their way back to Denmark. She’s gone to the bus stop to meet her and I’m feeling irritated, my space about to be invaded.
The D sits. The D reads. The D talks.
We have discussions. We go for coffee.
They’re back, I hear them come in. I’ll be careful what I say and do so I don’t give my game away…
Mentalizing is inferring a person’s mental state from their behaviour. Mentalizing is an imaginative, intuitive, and rapid emotional reaction to the mass of information each of us is subject to at any one time.
But not everyone can mentalize. Without this ability emotional regulation is impaired leading to relationships characterised by impulsive and unpredictable behaviour lacking in empathy – the state of mind this indicates? You work it out…

GAVE 090211

She spent two hours painting me as I sat for two hours in mostly the same position but reading the first hour writing the second.
She painted with oils on a canvas had, what was meant to be money-making erotic art which had failed to sell and that she’d bought on the cheap.
‘You should have a camera filming you,’ she said, when she found out what I did for a living during a discussion on the importance of arriving on time.
I told her what had happened…
‘What time’s it open?’ said the woman closest me of the two with children in pushchairs.
‘Eleven,’ I said.
‘It’s eleven now,’ she said, ‘and there’s no one in there.’
‘They should be along in a minute,’ with little faith it being true.
‘We’ll come back later,’ said her friend. ‘Shall we?’
They left toward town.
‘Wonder if they’ll be back?’ I said.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But that’s what happens when you say you’ll be somewhere at a certain time and then you’re not.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘you get given what you gave.’

MORNING

Lift floor wet. Mopped.
Out at the fifth floor. Fifth floor, from lift to laundry, wet. Mopped.
No caretaker. No one in the laundry. Except me.
It’s quiet. A note on my right hand machine: SORRY - OUT OF ORDER.
One machine is enough.
Wash done, extractor for all, dryer for all but trousers for which I want no shrinkage.
Folding my dried clothes standing at the folding table where the bench used to be overlooks the city. The sound of washers on spin. Sunlight through the four south facing windows of the laundry. Hot air rising from vents on rooftops.
The D texts: I’ll be in between half 3 and 4. My train leaves at 12.12 from leeds. You around or am I busing it?
Reply: You’re bussing it. You want me to meet you somewhere?
Reply: Bus stop in town? So you can carry a bag? Bout 4ish? You not got a car?
Reply: yes got car, rather not drive. See you at bus stop 4ish
Reply: Cool, ok

CLEANING

The D’s back on Tuesday so I’ve been cleaning.
Cleaning all the china in the bathroom.
Cleaning the kitchen.
Cleaning her room. Putting clean sheets on her bed and a clean cover on her duvet.
When she get’s back, as we walk from the bus stop, where I’ll meet her, to the flat, I’ll apologise, say, ‘Sorry, I didn’t have time to do any cleaning.’

PHONE CALL

Her phone rang. She answered her phone.
‘Oh, hi Kate, yes,’ she said. ‘Look,’ soon after, ‘my phone’s fucked…yeh…just saying in case it cuts out…yeh…doesn’t hold a charge and cuts out without warning…yeh…I spoke to her yesterday and apparently Olive’s she’s not being buried til Friday…no, not this Friday, next Friday…I know, but that’s…yeh…yeh, I know but that’s what happens…I visited her every week…yes…now they…yes, every week, and now they say I only did it for what I’d get…I know…I know, but that’s not why...no, no...Kate...yes, but now they all want a piece…yeh, exactly, that’s what I think…it’s all about them…look, Kate, I’m gong to go now because my phone…yes…I don’t have much charge and I want to save what I’ve got and I should be there about half hour…yes, is that okay?...good, I’ll see you then…yes, ok…bye…yes, ok…yes, bye…bye.’

SHE’S COMING THIS WAY

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Crossing.
Crossing the road.
Crossing the road to get to the Here shop.
Halfway across.
Halfway across the road on the respite island from where I see her coming towards me.
She is wearing a coat with the hood pulled up frames her face, our eyes meet…
…our eyes meet, a faint smile from her, tentative, exploratory, what with our history, a flickered smile back, I barely felt it, I hope she got it
- since we talked I’ve seen more of her -
…drop off, then down Stokes Croft, Moon Street, Brunswick, bottom of the M32, Wade Street, Great George through the estate, Cabot toilets, the post office, Pret for coffee and a read, Portland, Brunswick, Moon Street…
…top of Moon Street, she’s coming this way

IN OR OUT

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘There’s so many to choose from and I’ve never had a cake from here, I walk past everyday and see them and I’ve thought, “Hmm, yum,” but never come in and bought one but I saw the offer and had to come in I couldn’t resist it. Is it still on?’
‘Which one?’ said the man’d been listening from behind the counter.
‘The two-ninety for a regular coffee and any cake,’ she said.
The offer stood.
I was waiting as my coffee was made. ‘Triple shot?’ she’d said when I’d said, ‘Black coffee to take away, thanks.’ I hadn’t planned a triple but seeing she asked showing she remembered which made me noticed and feel warm, said, ‘Yes.’
‘Tell me what they all are?’ she said and peered round the front of the display case giving me a clear view of her profile reminded me of H.
Well,’ he said, and starting from the middle shelf and at the end furthest from the door, pointing at each one in turn.
‘There’s coffee and cream; chocolate…’
- like the woman, I’d admired the cakes in Café Excellence and now was enjoying the tour by proxy -
‘…double chocolate; caramel…’ down to the bottom shelf…
…then…
‘What’s that one?’ she said pointing to the top shelf.
‘That’s an almond tart,’ he said.
She asked for a couple of reminders.
‘You’re making so difficult,’ she said. ‘They all look so good…what about the coffee, what can I have?’
- respite -
‘Any regular,’ he said. ‘Black. With milk. Cappuccino. In or out.'
‘Oo,’ she said. ‘I’ll have a cappuccino and the cake I'll have, er…a double chocolate.’
'In or out?'

THE MYSTERY OF THE LAUNDRY BENCH IS SOLVED

I saw her jump when I opened the door to go in to the laundry. She was sitting on the bench folding a pair of large white knickers. Her laundry trolley was next to her.
‘Morning,’ I said.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said.
‘I made you jump,’ I said, ‘when I came in.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
I loaded the machines and we didn’t speak. I thought of saying something about the weather, it getting colder, but didn’t.
Then I said, ‘You don’t use the folding tables, then?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t stand for more than two minutes. It’s my hip,’ she said, ‘if I stand for too long I have to sit down which is why I’m over here.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
I closed the washer doors, put the powder in the top and selected the programme with the dial: half load for one, full the other, and pressed the on button on both. i hung my bag off the two door handles as if to protect or assert ownership.
‘Well, bye,’ I said. ‘See you later.’
‘Bye,’ she said, folding a pair of the dark blue trousers she wears.

When I went down to take my laundry out the washers and put it through the extractor then into the dryer the caretaker was mopping the floor and the walls.
‘Morning,’ I said.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Alright?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
I watched him work as I leaned against the extractor.
‘They’ll be in to finish the tiles tomorrow,’ he said, ‘level them, smooth the grout.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘Oh, yes, I can see…like there?’ I said pointing.
‘I’m surprised they did that one,’ he said, ‘I didn’t put it on the sheet and if you don’t put it on the sheet they don’t usually do it.’
‘That’s good of them,’ I said.
I watched him a bit more.
‘Do you know why they moved the bench over there?’ I said. ‘I was talking to O earlier, who’s in here a bit earlier and she said she couldn’t use the folding tables anymore because she can’t stand long enough so she sits on the bench and I made her jump when I came in this morning and she’s said she feels a bit exposed sat there which is why I don’t sit there anymore, not that I sat there much but, you know...’
‘Someone asked them to do it,’ he said.
‘Is one person all it took?’
‘Depends who it is,’ he said.
‘Who was it?’ I said.
‘It’s the woman from India,’ he said but I said I thought she spoke Spanish and was from South America, Colombia maybe, she told me in the lift, or something…anyway, he maintained India but wherever we new who we meant.
‘What happened for her to say something?’
‘She said she’d been verbally abused when the bench was over there and she’d feel safer if it was by the door, not so hemmed in.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘She’s got a voice, you know, so people listen…’
‘Ah,’ I said.
‘That’s what you want though, isn’t it?’ he said, ‘people to have a voice?’
‘True,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think the move was a good one.’
‘I haven’t had anyone come up to me and say they think it was a good idea,’ he said.
And with that, he put the mop in the bucket and left the laundry without a word further.