Exciting Times(55)

‘I wish we could tell people,’ I said in an ad break.

‘I like having a secret,’ Edith said.

‘Would you like me if it wasn’t a secret?’

‘I don’t know. We could try telling people and see if I’m still interested.’

‘Who should we tell?’

‘My family aren’t ready,’ she said. ‘I told Cyril and Tony about us. People from Cambridge know I’m a lesbian, but I don’t think anyone else does. I suspect I’d be rumbled if I introduced them to my girlfriend.’

She said things in that formal way when she was trying to be droll. It irked me sometimes, but I knew it was her way of coping with things. ‘So who else is there?’ I said.

‘Julian, I guess.’

‘But he already knows.’

‘It’s a pity,’ said Edith. ‘It would have been so good if we’d told him together. He’d have been all, I’m so happy for you guys, I’m touched you’re being open with me, isn’t it great that we’re sharing our feelings.’

‘That’s a perfect Julian impression. I thought you actually were him for a second there.’ She didn’t get that I was joking – or at any rate didn’t laugh – so I added: ‘But I mean, you can tell him. Just maybe don’t expect much of a reaction.’

She wasn’t looking at me. I couldn’t tell if this was deliberate, but I didn’t want to check her face because if I did and she didn’t look back then I’d know she was doing it on purpose.

She said: ‘Do you think we’ll ever tell people?’

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ I said.

‘Telling people or not?’

‘Either. It’s up to you.’

‘But I want it to be up to you,’ Edith said. Then she laughed slightly. I felt this had a more credible softening effect when people did it by text.

‘We don’t need to talk about it right now,’ I said.

‘That’s such a Julian thing to say.’

‘What’s he got to do with us?’ I said.

‘“We’ll talk about it later,” and then you never do.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.’

‘What,’ said Edith, ‘do you think I’ve bugged your apartment?’

‘I genuinely don’t remember telling you that.’

‘Well, you did. You can believe me or not. And not to pester you, but –’

‘I’m working on it.’

‘You’d better be.’





42

The third week of October, Edith said we should do something socially productive. Julian brought the plastic bags. We walked along the beach and picked up rubbish. Julian complained that there was no point because if we came back tomorrow, people would have dumped more packaging on the shore. Edith asked if he’d heard the parable about the man flinging starfish into the sea. Julian said yes, and that he thought it was nonsense because the man should have tried to get to the root of the starfish crisis instead of sticking plasters on it. She asked if he meant by seizing the means of production, and his face said: why is it that everyone I know is a white-collar drone, a deranged Bolshevik or in this case both.

We kept going till the shore was litter-free, then tied the bags and disposed of them. Julian said the recycling bins were just for show and it would all go to landfill, where it would probably do more damage than if we’d left it on the sand. Edith replied that if he had a better idea for how to spend the next socially productive Saturday, then he was welcome to plan our next tripartite field trip. He asked if she was quite sure there had to be a next one.

I left them to it. I had other things to think about.

They squabbled again about where to eat. Edith suggested a pizza place. Julian said London was cheaper and better for that sort of thing. Edith said we weren’t in London, so she didn’t see the relevance of that point. We wound up going for seafood at the Boathouse on Stanley Main Street, which neither of them had wanted, but which gave each the satisfaction of knowing that the other hadn’t got their choice. The terrace overlooked the bay. Edith and Julian ordered a platter of crayfish, clams and scallops. They struggled to fit it beside the fake peonies on the table. I got mushroom soup and didn’t eat it.

The Boathouse waitress brought our bill. I asked Edith if there was a Cantonese phrase meaning ‘lie of omission’. She said she couldn’t think of a direct translation off the top of her head, but that there used to be a TV thriller series called Lives of Omission about the Hong Kong Police Force. It starred Michael Tse. They cancelled it after thirty episodes.

Julian said: ‘Where do you find the time to watch so much shit TV?’

‘I did most of my watching as a student,’ Edith said. ‘And it’s actually quite good. It got loads of TVB nominations.’

‘What are they?’

‘Never mind.’

They seemed cordial, but they always did. I wondered what they were really thinking, and knew that in Edith’s case, at least, those thoughts were probably hostile. I wished she could understand that Julian wasn’t pulling me back into our old dynamic. Him needing me was strange and new. Also, his father had been ill. It seemed farcical that I even needed to explain to Edith why I couldn’t abandon him now. On another level I knew I’d abused her trust and had broken it again since my first apology by staying with Julian past the initial deadline. Under this reading of events, which I did appreciate was probably the sane one, it was not much to ask that I stop living with the man I’d lied to her about fucking. But what sort of person packed their bags when their friend’s dad was just out of hospital? This, I thought, was the trouble with being emotionally invested in two articulate people who both made their case well. (Julian hadn’t exactly, but I made it to myself with the sort of analysis he would use.)