In the room where he lives

After a short tube journey, then a short walk, Michael and Julia were outside the front door of a large house. Michael rented a bed-sitting room on the top floor. After ascending the stairs Julia finally dropped her sports’ bag and her portable stereo. She sat back on the edge of the double bed and let her shoulders drop. She watched Michael walking around a screen to where she knew there was a sink. Julia lay back at the sound of a glass filling with water.

Julia had not been intending to have sex with Michael at this time. Not in the cinema when he put his hand on her leg. Not in the underground either. Certainly not as she climbed all the stairs to his room. But somehow being here in his room on his bed she wanted to. Also she wanted to talk to him. But the one did not preclude the other she thought, as she closed her eyes.

“Do you want a glass of water Julia?” Michael called from behind the screen.

“Yes please.” she sang, thinking “No. I want your cock in my cunt.”

Michael came around the screen with a glass in his right hand and stood over her. Julia knew he was there but just lay still hoping he would get on the bed to give her the glass. He did not. She opened her eyes, raised herself on her left elbow and took the glass. Julia looked into Michael’s eyes, and kept her eyes locked on his whilst she took a draught of the water. She kept staring as she let her head fall back and lowered the arm holding the glass so it rested on her body. Julia was acutely aware that she was lounging sexily, Michael was having that effect on her again.

“I’ll have to get changed for Club Venice.” Michael turned away from her, went to the open wardrobe.

Julia took a sip of her water, thinking “Now he’s going to get undressed right in front of me. How am I supposed to control myself?”.

Michael shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across a chair with a little care. He stood with his back to Julia and unbuttoned and removed his shirt, then pulled his T-shirt off over his head. Julia watched the muscles of his back move as he leaned one hand against the wardrobe and undid a shoe with the other. He shifted to do the other shoe, after pulling the sock off and dropping it on the floor. Julia looked at the very slight overflow of Michael’s middle over the waistband of his jeans, as he removed his second shoe and sock. Michael reached into the wardrobe and stopped. His head dropped slightly, his left hand moved to his waist and he swore.

“Shit.” Then he raised his head, his expression blank as he looked sideways. “You’ll have to change too.”

As Michael turned to look at her it occurred to Julia that he had thought of what she was wearing whilst he had not been looking at her.

Julia looked down at her clothes. Comfortable trainers, jeans, shirt over a T-shirt, casual jacket. “I didn’t know there was a dress code.”

“Not for the ground floor, but I go upstairs. It’s not a code as such but you just don’t go up there dressed like that.” Michael turned away from her, rubbing his chin and frowning to help him think.

Julia got up and went to the wardrobe, she had had an idea. “What will you wear?” she asked, standing to his left.

Michael pushed a hanger aside to reveal a silky, loose fitting black suit. “It’s nothing special. It’s just not ordinary.” He frowned at the suit, which was Italian.

“Why don’t I wear some of your clothes?” Julia suggested.

Michael straightened, Julia watched his eyes moving up, then left, then down, mirroring some analytical process. He stuck his lower lip out, then withdrew it, then nodded. “Yeah.” he agreed.

Julia stroked her right hand down Michael’s back, which made him twitch slightly, only stopping when her fingers were inside his underpants, feeling his left buttock. Michael froze, deciding whether he wanted to have sex then. Julia had chosen her moment.

“Why did you touch me today?” she asked quietly.

Michael’s arms dropped to his side, he looked up and took a breath. “I don’t know.”

Julia moved closer, putting her left arm around his abdomen. She rested her chin on his arm, kissed his shoulder lightly, then leaned her head back to say “Was it because of talking to that man?”

Michael stood still and answered “Robert. I guess I don’t talk to people I don’t know very often.”

Julia kissed his shoulder again then moved her body against his, shifting her right hand so that her little finger was pressed in the cleft between his buttocks. “Why don’t you touch me more often?”

“In public you mean?” Michael raised his right hand and scratched his head nervously, then rubbed his neck as he answered “It just seems like a really possessive gesture. Like I’m saying you’re my property.”

Julia turned him to face her, put her arms around his neck and smiled at him. Michael did not smile back, and she felt she had to speak. “It’s okay. It’s not the inquisition. It’s not a test. I just want to know.”

Michael put his hands on her hips and looked down, making a slight snort. Julia reassured him further “You haven’t failed.” She kissed his lips. Then again. The third time he kissed back. After the kiss finished Julia began kissing Michael’s neck and chest. Her arms lowered as his rose. He touched her hair and neck, whilst she pushed her hands under the waistband of his jeans to feel his buttocks again.

After a minute or two Julia stopped kissing Michael’s chest to say “We can’t do too much with me fully clothed.”

Michael took this as a signal, released her, and went to sit on the bed. Julia stood in front of him and took off her jacket. She reached for the top button of her shirt, then stopped. Looking into his eyes she leaned forwards until her hands were on Michael’s knees, then said to him “You never undress me.”

Michael shrugged “You’re not my doll.” He was holding her hands in his hands, lightly.

Julia smiled the same smile again “Good reasons. All good reasons.” Without warning she lurched forward, carrying Michael onto his back and making the bed squeak. She grinned at him mischievously “C’mon let’s just play.”

In the pub

Julia was finding Michael’s clothing an experience. As usual, as they walked the short walk to the Three Vikings from where he lived, Michael was quiet, giving Julia a chance to analyse the ways Michael’s office clothes felt alien to her.

Michael’s suit jacket hung its weight from her shoulders with a different emphasis to her own jackets. His shirt, done all the way up, and with a tie, had pulled across her chest so she had substituted her aerobics top for her usual bra. The suit trousers had had their fastenings adjusted, but still required a belt to stay up.

Julia felt restricted in some places she was used to being free, but not in a bad way. Some places, usually untouched by clothing were constantly being brushed. Even the unaccustomed absence of stimulation across certain areas of her skin made her tingle a little as her body told her those parts must be exposed, even though her mind knew them to be covered.

Even when she had stood still in front of the mirror in the bathroom Julia had felt different. Walking, Julia felt as though she was being stroked at every step. Two minutes out the walking had to stop and the running had to begin - it started to rain heavily.

Julia had to follow Michael, or she would have arrived at least a minute before him. As it was she could only pull away when the pub was in sight. However, rounding the final corner Julia missed the entrance and Michael got in first. His first words, once inside, were a breathless “What’ll you have?”.

“Pint of lager please.” Julia always had lager. “I’ll find a place to sit.”

Michael went to the bar, on the other side of the room. Julia noted large oblong tables and small circular tables, none unoccupied. She selected one end of a large table, gave a small smile to the people at the other end and sat on a settee built against the wall.

Julia had adapted to re-evaluating common actions: walking, running, ascending steps and now sitting down. She noted that each had a small amount of novelty, something that was easier in Michael’s clothes, something that was more difficult. Although she had a feeling of overall activation, Julia found it quite easy to tell herself that the whole room was not staring at her. Julia stretched her legs out beside the table and looked down at her shoes.

Julia was wearing her own shoes; the only part of the ensemble that did not fit the overall look. Michael was wearing his good shoes himself so Julia had had to wear her trainers.

Julia looked up from her shoes and took in the medium sized pub. The furniture was more durable than comfortable. The light fittings were more sturdy than decorative. The floor was bare boards. There were shelves on most of the walls, populated according to their altitude: From the valuable and/or breakable objects on the shelves closest to the ceiling (Julia noted large glass jars, elaborate china mugs, intricate wood carvings and an antique sewing machine), down to rows of bought-by-the-yard Old Books on the shelves a person might actually reach. Julia could see the next room had a pool table and Casuals, but the bar did not extend there. This meant that, when a round was due, the Casual whose turn it was had to come into the main bar area to buy. As Julia was surveying she noticed one carrying four pint glasses looking around with distaste at the young relaxed people in this room. Julia liked the atmosphere, here and there was the occasional fashion head, there might have been one or students in the room but overall it was pleasant. And there was a jukebox.

Michael brought a packet of peanuts and two lagers to the table, then sat down said “cheers” and took a sip of his. Julia followed. Michael opened up the packet along its whole length and placed it on the table so that both of them could pick peanuts from it.

“It just occurred to me that I haven’t eaten much today.” He said. He put a handful of nuts in his mouth and chewed.

At the other end of their table people were talking about umbrellas. Julia could hear their conversation.

“You can tell a lot about a person by their umbrella. Like a golfing umbrella says big and bold. He doesn’t mind if people notice him.”

“The people shall quake at my passing.”

“Exactly. But this - ” he paused to make some gesture Julia could not see. “This says the opposite. It’s a timid umbrella.”

“Unassuming. Modest.”

“It’s the umbrella of a person with no friends. There’s no way you get more than one person under there.”

“Not at all, I’ve had another person under this, and it was very cosy I might tell you.”

“It sure was if you had them.”

“Oo-err misses.”

They all laughed and took pulls at their drinks. Julia smiled too. Michael caught her eye. He was also listening to their conversation, and smiling and drinking.

“I agree with you, but only for cheap small umbrellas.” The word cheap was emphasised. “This is a Knurps umbrella, from Germany. They’re so popular there that small men are sometimes called Knurps. Also it’s small enough that I never forget it.”

“What do you mean? If it’s smaller you’re more likely to forget it.”

“Not at all. If you have a large umbrella you have to put it down somewhere. On the luggage rack, on the floor or wedged behind your seat. That’s how you forget it. As soon as I come in I can fold it up and put it in my case. Also because it’s expensive I make sure not to lose it.”

“Well there I’ve got to disagree. Expense has no bearing on losability.”

“That’s even more clear than the smallness-”

“I’ve done experiments, well a trial anyway. I decided I was sick of losing umbrellas. So I made a rule that whenever I lost one I had to buy a more expensive one.”

“When did you stop?”

“A hundred and twenty-three pounds. And then I found one. I’d lost the hundred and twenty-three pound one, guy in the shop didn’t have anything which cost more, and I found one on a train. I’ve had it for two years now.” There was a pause as the umbrella in question was reached for and held up. “There you go.” Julia risked a look, but not Michael. A logo was partially visible on the wet surface of the folded umbrella.

“What’s that logo?”

“CDD corporate. Never heard of them.”

“I had a pretty nice umbrella once. It fell over and I couldn’t pick it up.”

“Why not? Where did it fall?”

“It’s not a question of where but what. And the answer is a big pile of dog shit.” They were groaning and laughing, as were Michael and Julia. “The handle went right splat in the middle. And I looked at it and I could smell it and it was ... I think that dog must have been seriously sick you know? From the smell.” The groans and cries of “No” overcame the speaker who shut up and took a drink like the others. And like Michael and Julia.

“They’re good aren’t they?” said Michael, quietly so they would not hear him. He sipped his drink, then added “They pay these people you know, it’s a floor show.” before putting down his lager.

“Oh really? Maybe they could give you some work.” As she said it Julia realised it had come out sounding nasty.

“Well you’re on the attack today.” Michael mumbled, abruptly looking down into his lager. He turned the glass with his right hand, then shifted his head to rest the left temple in his left palm and looked obliquely at the tiny bubbles fizzing up through the liquid.

Julia had been sitting back when she spoke. She watched Michael’s right hand as it continued to rotate the glass clockwise. After a few seconds she leaned forward ready to speak. Then she decided not to. Julia stayed leaned forward and looked at Michael’s fringe. She was finding out about Michael. Julia reached out her right hand and touched the back of Michael’s left with her fingertips. Only his eyes made any response, a reflexive twitch to look at her hand then turned back to the bubbles.

Julia had been ready for Michael to pull away from her or leave the table even. Perhaps he would have made an excuse like putting money in the jukebox. That would have shown him incapable of something, Julia felt. Another possibility which Julia considered was for Michael to have taken her gesture for an apology. Apologising either because she had not intended to attack, or because she regretted her attack. Julia was pleased he had not made these responses.

“Don’t accuse me of attacking, Michael.” She said quietly.

“I’m undemonstrative, I’m something else ...” Michael waved his right hand towards the people to whom they had been listening as he grasped for words. “A floor show, I don’t talk to people, I’m unfeeling ...” Michael came to a halt, finally looking at Julia’s eyes.

“So what?” Said Julia. She had realised what was giving Michael pain. “I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m not trying to teach you. You don’t have to change. -” Julia realised she had been about to say that she loved him as he was and had stopped herself. She had no time to ask herself why. “And don’t tell me I’m right.”

Michael made a small laughing snort then grinned because he had been about to tell her just that. Instead he grabbed her right hand, which had remained on his left hand since Julia had reached out to him, and kissed the palm quickly. “You’re a good person Julia.” He smiled again and Julia smiled back, “stubble” she said, scratching his with her finger. He released her hand and they both finished their drinks. Julia got up to buy her round.

Julia headed towards a gap in the people at the bar, only for it to be filled by a man as she approached it. His friend, who was standing at the bar, started speaking to him immediately. Julia turned sideways to fit by them and place her order at the bar and could hear their conversation.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Was the jukebox music playing in the bogs?”

“No.”

The other man tutted. “Oh well never mind. I just put some Debbie Harry on, I fancied having a wank to it.” They both laughed. One and then the other started singing along to the jukebox.

“Feeding ducks in the park and wishing you were far away. That’s entertainment, that’s entertainme - hent.”

Meanwhile Michael was listening to the other end of the table again.

“I’m doing pretty well at the moment, I just picked up some catalogue work. Funny job actually.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s a camera catalogue. I can’t use my own gear because every shot in there has to be taken with that model of camera. The EOS 400 has to be taken with an EOS 400, the 100 has to be taken with a 100 and so on.”

“Lucky they don’t do it with filters. How can you take a photo of a red filter through a red filter. It’d come out blank.”

“Would it? Or would it come out clear?”

“Err ... good point. Don’t know.”

“Lucky they don’t do it with lenses. Like with a telephoto lens you’d have to leave the studio just so you could shoot it.” The speaker’s arms were spread wide. “With a wide angle you’d get the lens like that” the speaker held the forefinger and thumb of his right hand out “in the middle of the page” the fingers spread out. “And with a macro you’d get, like, an extremely detailed view of the manual focus knob or something.”

The others in the group were laughing only a little. Michael concluded they were not photographers. He turned his attention to the next table.

“Working in a restaurant gives you that too. First of all, every person who asks for coffee gets asked by us ‘with milk?’ right? We can’t say ‘black or white?’ because there are too many tourists who don’t understand.”

“What is this white coffee of which you speak?”

“And to nobody does it occur to say ‘coffee with milk’ instead of just ‘coffee’. OK apart from that once this guy asks for coffee and I say ‘with milk?’ and he says ‘No. Just coffee.’ in this really indignant tone of voice, like I’ve asked him such a stupid question.”

There was a small pause for drink and another person took up the thread.

“We used to close at five. So after five we tidy all the food away and start cleaning the surfaces. One day, at quarter past five, this guy comes up and asks for another coffee and this girl tells him ‘Sorry we close at five.’ at which point he looks at the clock on the wall and says, angrily ‘But it’s quarter past five!’”

They laughed at that.

“It’s like the Marx Brothers isn’t it? ‘It’s quarter past five!’”

“Are you sure she didn’t say to him ‘We’re closed at five.’ Maybe he took it literally. You know, at the moment of five o’clock we are closed, not before or after, but at that moment.”

“Sorry we’re closed now. Why don’t you come back in one second when we’re open again?”

“One nanosecond.”

Julia returned, put one pint on the table, said “I’m going to the jukebox” and left Michael alone again. Michael shifted attention back to his own table.

“ - it’s to do with the way the microwave heats things. The water in the cup is all at different energy levels. When you put the spoon in they have to equalise all of a sudden.”

“That happened to me but with a sugar cube. I dropped it in and it exploded. And the tea was frothing out over the table too. It was like that bit in Sleeper.”

Julia crossed the room to the jukebox. She put a pound coin in the slot and started flicking through the albums by pressing a large red button on the machine. Julia could hear two people talking at a nearby table.

“He’s all right, but he’s a bit of a tea mates.”

“A what?”

Infected, The the.

“Tea mates.”

“What’s one of those?”

Anarchy in the UK, The sex pistols.

“Tea mates. T M A I T S. Too Much Acid In The Seventies.”

At another table was another conversation.

“I did some portraits over there, rich people mostly. Some couples, some kids. The strangest one was this bloke who wanted me to paint his mistress.”

“What with no clothes on or something?”

Life in the fast lane, Eagles.

“Not just that. He wanted one nude, for his living room you know where all his visitors could see it. And-”

Hanky panky, Madonna.

“That’s so macho and territorial. Here’s my woman, one of my women. It’s like a hunting trophy.”

Dear Jessie, Madonna.

“I was at one of their parties and she liked it, used to point it out to people. She was into astrology and shit, thought the painting gave her power. Anyway the point is he wanted another painting of her too. But not all of her, if you catch my drift.”

There was a pause and somebody said, in a hushed voice “You mean her cunt?”

“’S right. I don’t know where he hung that one.”

Michael Caine, Madness. Julia’s last selection made she turned to cross the room. On the way back she encountered a little congestion and had to stop.

“Not in my room. One of those bastards comes in, I pick up a magazine. Whap! Spider food.”

Julia found, as she approached Michael, that she could now discern to which of the surrounding conversations he was listening, just by looking at him from the back. He was ignoring the people at the other end of the same table.

“No no no. I don’t want to go there. I’ve got a severe case of indie-gestion.”

“You’ve been reading music papers again haven’t you? I’ve told you about that.”

“All the bands which are just another band with a pretty girl in front spend so much time saying they’re not. The interviewers play up to it, going on about how intelligent they are. They’re not intelligent, people just pay attention to them because they’re attractive and they want to sleep with them. I bet if you tried to argue with them they’d be all over the place. ‘Oh you’re talking back to me. People don’t usually do that, they just agree with me to flatter me.’ That’s all it is.”

Instead he was back with the catering worker on the next table.

“We did some catering in the city once. It’s a completely different world. Traders man, they earn so much money, but you can’t talk to them. Like where we were, they would be coming in to this room in the breaks for coffee and so on. I thought we’d stand there with pots and milk jugs and so on, but the supervisor says no. The first time he’d tried that. Asks this trader if he wants milk, what does he reply? Fuck off.”

There were sharp intakes of breath.

“What do you do then, let them pour it themselves?”

“They would riot. No. Just make four areas for milk, no milk and sugar, no sugar. Can’t pour out too many or they get cold before somebody picks them up. And they’ll still complain and swear. They think they’re so important. But, in a way, they are; they make millions for their companies, a year.”

Julia sat down opposite Michael. Michael smiled at her, his head bobbing in a small, continuous nodding motion. Julia felt as though she was being evaluated. She looked back at Michael and mimicked his head movement, with exaggeration, then opened her eyes a little wider. Michael made a small, light laugh, stopped his head movement, took a drink and sat back in his chair, still smiling, his eyelids relaxed slightly. Julia could tell he was still calculating, and felt a little uncomfortable. She wondered what he was working out.

“What are you thinking?” Julia asked.

“Oh nothing.” Michael replied. His eyes refocussed, past Julia. “I think it’s stopped raining. We ought to get going.”

“But it’s only half ten.” Julia wanted to stay in the pub until she found out what Michael had been thinking about.

“They don’t have a drinks license so we’ll have to go by the offy.” Michael countered. “Now’s a good time to get there, the queue’ll be quite short, and we’ll be able to find a table.”

“But I’ve got this to finish.” Julia indicated her half full glass.

Michael’s response was to drain his own glass and offer her a hand with hers. Julia declined. By the time she had finished it Michael had stood up to leave.

When they got outside they discovered that it was still raining a little.

In the off-license

Michael held the door for Julia, after entering the shop himself. She stopped just inside the door, but he walked straight in. Julia noticed Michael relax the hunch he had adopted walking through the rain, as she relaxed also.

Beers, wines and spirits covered the shelves of the off-license. The ubiquitous rack of sweets was somehow missing. The only compromise to intoxication was a row of dusty bottles containing mixers. No crisps even. There were three staff, all behind the counter, one standing watching a film on a quiet black-and-white television set, one sitting in a chair reading Nineteen Eighty-four, one sitting on a cushion reading an Alpha Flight comic of which there was a pile next to him. There were three other people in the shop, customers, two girls and one man.

By Julia’s reckoning the two girls were only over drinking age by virtue of their make-up. They had obviously just got in from the rain and were shivering in their sparse clothing. One of them had just emptied her purse into the hands of the other. Julia watched as she took back a five-pound note, put her purse away and moved to the nearest shelf to scrutinise the prices. The other girl shifted all the money to the palm of her left hand and began counting it with her right.

The man at first appeared to be pacing the floor restlessly, but without purpose. When Julia looked closer she could see that he had something in his hand which held his attention. He would take a few paces, pause looking at the object, then move in a different direction. It was a mobile ’phone. Eventually satisfied the man pressed two buttons and held the ’phone to his ear.

“Hello it’s me.”

“Yes I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“I’m in our favourite off-license.” He stole a glance at the totally oblivious staff, foolishly hoping they had heard what he thought of as a compliment.

“What can I bring you? How about some of that port you like? Warre’s is it?” The man called to the counter with the ’phone still to his ear, “Excuse me.” There was no response. “Excuse me, do you have Warre’s? Warre’s port?” The book reader looked up, blankly, but in the right direction. He blinked and pointed.

“Wine’s over there.”

“Can you tell me if you have Warre’s port? I can’t go over there or I’ll lose my signal. Can you tell me please?”

The man returned to his book.

“Excuse me.” The man now spoke to Michael. “The staff aren’t very helpful are they. Perhaps you could look at the wine shelf for me. I’ll lose my signal if I move. Warre’s port I’m looking for. It’s a light green label. Sorry what was that darling? Sorry it’s a white label with black writing on it. Plain looking my wife says.”

“Sorry mate I’m just here buying lagers.” Michael was affecting stupidity.

“Yes but could you just look over there.” The man pointed awkwardly, not wanting to change his position. “At the wine section.”

“No not wine, lager. Yeah?” Michael held up the four-pack he had selected. “You don’t get wine in cans, not big cans, only small cans, and bottles. This is lager.”

The man’s eyes searched left and right. The girls were out of his view, there was only this thick, and possibly drunk young man in front of him, except then he noticed Julia. The man looked at Julia, Michael followed his eyes. Julia could see his dilemma, the possibility that the idiot in front could actually help him would probably lost if he spoke to the transvestite by the door. Which would he choose? Clearly prejudice was at work, Julia decided that if he could overcome it and ask her she would help him. The man allowed his roving gaze to settle back on Michael.

“I can see that that is lager, but I want wine.”

“Well it’s just there behind you.” Michael feigned perplexity.

“Yes but I can’t go over there because I’ll lose my signal. So would you please look for me?”

“Five quid.” Michael held out his hand, stepped within reach of the man.

“What!?”

“Come on, you’ve got a mobile ’phone you must be rolling in it. Besides your wife’s going to rip your nuts off if you go home empty handed. Fiver please.” Michael smiled horribly.

“I haven’t got a fiver.”

“How are you going to buy port then? They don’t take credit cards here you know.” Michael turned and walked to the counter, Julia joined him there as he put the four-pack on the counter. The book reader put it down to take their money - they paid half each, and to make an announcement.

“We’re closing.”

The girls came to a hurried decision, brought three different cans to the counter and deposited a pile of change. The man with the ’phone was in distress.

“Excuse me, sorry. You do take credit cards? Barclaycard? I mean Visa?”

“No, sorry. No credit cards.” said the member of staff, deliberately loudly, so that it would be audible over the ’phone. The man started talking frantically.

“Darling I’m doing the best I can. The staff won’t do anything and none of these people will help me. They’re all so self-”

“But it isn’t my fault. There’s-”

“Threatening to rip my balls off isn’t going to - Hello? Hello?”

Michael and Julia left the shop as the man began to remonstrate with the staff about licensing hours, and the equivalence of switch and cash.

In the street

Michael led the way to the club.

“It’s about twenty minutes. I like to keep the things I need within easy reach - The Three Vikings, Club Venice, a choice of cinemas.” He looked at Julia quickly “And of course an off-license where one can bait the middle class.”

Julia concentrated on avoiding the puddles left by the rain, which was now a light drizzle. She was worried about Michael’s change of character in the pub. From depressed and quiet when accusing her of attacking him to lively and playful in the off license. She glanced at him sideways. Michael was trying to restrain a smile the way that city people did when walking in public. As she returned her attention to the pavement Michael laughed quietly and muttered.

“Not wine, lager yeah?” He laughed again then repeated the phrase louder and with a slightly different emphasis and added “See? It’s lagers yeah?”. His voice changed “I said something about big cans too. Can you remember it? It was very funny.” Julia looked to see if Michael was really asking her. He was not, he had already moved on. Now he was experimenting with posture also. He held the four-pack up in front of himself with his right hand. As he walked he adjusted his arm and pulled his face into different expressions intended to convey a certain character. Julia smiled as she realised he was not practising as such, but playing to himself.

Michael’s last presentation of the character, which he did three times before resuming normal walking, was to hold the four-pack with his arm straight and twist it from side to side whilst saying “La-gers...Yeah?” Finally he lowered his arm and laughed again.

“So Julia.” Michael said as soon as his laughter faded. “You didn’t help the guy find his port.”

“What?” Julia had been caught by surprise. She had thought Michael completely wrapped up in his routine.

“He wanted Warre’s port? But couldn’t look because he’d lose his signal in the wine section?” Michael prompted her. “You didn’t help him.”

“No. But, well...” Feelings and half arguments crowded in on Julia. Michael laughed at her sudden inarticulateness. She looked at him crossly. “I don’t have to justify myself to you Michael.”

“Of course not, I didn’t say you did.” Michael smiled to annoy Julia. “I just said you didn’t help him. Why should you? You don’t know him do you?” Michael paused, then added, non-rhetorically, “Well do you?”

“No. But-” Julia stuttered, falling into Michael’s rhythm almost without volition and allowing him to continue.

“No.” Michael echoed her. “Might as well ask by what right he could request your help.” Michael remembered that the man had not actually asked Julia and hastily added “Or anyone else’s for that matter.”

Julia felt herself carried along, yet somehow wanting to disagree.

“Would he give anyone help? I doubt it.”

“You don’t know that.” Julia tried to stand against the tide. “You’re making assumptions about a person-”

“Oh for God’s sake.” Michael interrupted, adopting an impatient tone “We’re all over eighteen aren’t we? I think that’s a fair assumption about him, don’t you?”

“Yes but-” Julia started, too tentatively and Michael cut her off again.

“Well then.” Michael started speaking a little slower “Look, you did one on him, I did one on him. It was a con, a game, a routine, like a sketch on TV. Only it’s more enjoyable to do it live than to watch isn’t it.”

Julia was confused. Michael’s speech made her ask herself why she had chosen not to help, and enjoyed watching and not helping. Julia felt that she would have helped if asked. This did not answer Michael’s point which was that she had not offered. Or was this Michael’s point? He had said that she did not have to justify herself to him. There was something challenging in Michael’s tone, rather than his words, to which Julia felt she had to respond.

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“I’m not getting at anything. Can’t I say anything without you thinking I’m getting at you?”

“Is this about me being on the attack?”

“You said you weren’t on the attack, and I agreed. Well...” Michael paused for thought, but could think of nothing.

“Do you think we’re competing here?” Julia stopped walking. “Michael?”

Michael stopped and turned to face her. “I made a few remarks.” He spread his arms, turning the palms of his hands towards her (causing the cans in the four-pack to clonk against each other). “It’s just a bit of discussion. Sparring. There’s no need to get heavy.” Their eyes met. Julia’s probing expression contrasted with Michael’s open protestation of his innocence.

Julia broke the moment by dropping her gaze and resuming walking the way they had been going. Michael watched her and fell into step as she passed him. They walked for thirty seconds in tense silence before Julia stopped and grabbed Michael’s arm. As soon as he stopped walking and turned to look at her, Julia put her arms around Michael’s neck. Pulling herself close she kissed him on the lips. Then she parted her lips slightly and pulled at his upper lip, then his lower. Michael got over his initial surprise and opened his mouth, tilting his head so they could kiss fully. Julia responded similarly and presented the underside of her tongue which Michael tasted with the tip of his for a moment before they were lost entwining and roving. They kissed for a long few seconds before Julia pulled back slightly and opened her eyes into Michael’s.

“Did it really feel like I was attacking you?” She asked quietly.

Michael mumbled a don’t know almost incoherently, his eyes flicking downwards.

“I didn’t mean it to. I just wanted to know ... something. To know you, and not just your routines and games.”

A huge distance showed behind Michael’s eyes as he said “Did you find anything?” He seemed close to tears and Julia hugged him more closely. Her head dropped forward to rest on his shoulder. She felt a light kiss on the back of her neck.

“Oh Michael.” Julia had no other reply. It was too much for her to find Michael’s concerns about himself the same as hers.

“Still want to go to the club?” Michael said it very quietly, almost straight in Julia’s ear.

Julia leaned her head back, releasing her hug slightly. “Yeah.” She said, her voice up-beat. “Club Venice!” Julia’s voice became louder as she released him completely. “Let’s go!” She grabbed his hand, turned and pulled him into a run.

They ran along the dark street splashing and laughing, Michael struggling to keep up.