ONE DAY(104)

Initially there is no reply, and he finds himself relieved, because after all what good can come of it, the phone-call to an old girlfriend? He’s about to hang up, when suddenly he hears the distinctive bellow.

‘HELLO!’

‘Hey there!’ He dusts off his presenter’s smile.

‘WHO IS THIS?’ She’s shouting over the sound of a party, a restaurant perhaps.

‘Make some noise!’

‘WHAT? WHO IS THIS?’

‘You have to guess!’

‘WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU . . .’

‘I said “guess who?” . . .’

‘I CAN’T HEAR YOU, WHO IS THIS?’

‘You have to guess!’

‘WHO?’

‘I SAID YOU HAVE TO . . .’ The game has become exhausting, so he just says ‘It’s Dexter!’

There’s a moment’s pause.

‘Dexter? Dexter Mayhew?’

‘How many Dexters do you know, Suki?’

‘No, I know which Dexter, I’m just, like . . . WAHEY, DEXTER! Hello, Dexter! Hold on . . .’ He hears the scrape of a chair and imagines eyes following her, intrigued, as she leaves the restaurant table and walks into a corridor. ‘So how are you, Dexter?’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m just, you know, phoning to say I saw you tonight on the telly, and it got me thinking about old times, and I thought I’d phone and say Hi. You looked great by the way. On TV. And I like the show. Great format.’ Great format? You clown. ‘So. How are you, Suki?’

‘Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine.’

‘You’re everywhere! You’re doing really well! Really!’

‘Thank you. Thanks.’

There’s a silence. Dexter’s thumb caresses the off button. Hang up. Pretend the line’s gone down. Hang up, hang up, hang up . . .

‘It’s been, what, five years, Dex!’

‘I know, I was thinking about you just now, because I saw you on TV. And you looked great by the way. And how are you?’ Don’t say that, you’ve said that already. Concentrate! ‘I mean, where are you? It’s very noisy . . .’

‘A restaurant. I’m having dinner, with some mates.’

‘Anyone I know?’

‘Don’t think so. They’re kind of new friends.’

New friends. Could that be hostility? ‘Right. Okay.’

‘So. Where are you, Dexter?’

‘Oh, I’m at home.’

‘Home? On a Saturday night? That’s not like you!’

‘Well, you know . . .’ and he’s about to tell her that he’s married, has a kid, lives in the suburbs, but feels that this might serve to underline the sheer futility of the phone-call, so instead stays silent. The pause goes on for some time. He notices that there’s an epaulette of snot on the cotton sweater he once wore to Pacha, and he has become aware of the new scent on his fingertips, an unholy cocktail of nappy sacks and prawn crackers.

Suki speaks. ‘So, main course has just arrived . . .’

‘Okay, well, anyway, I was just thinking about old times, and thinking it would be nice to see you! You know for lunch or a drink or something . . .’

The background music fades as if Suki has stepped into some private corner. In a hardened voice she says, ‘You know what, Dexter? I don’t think that’s such a good idea.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘I mean I haven’t seen you for five years now, and I think when that happens there’s usually a reason, don’t you?’

‘I just thought—’

‘I mean it’s not as if you were ever that nice to me, never that interested, you were off your face most of the time—’

‘Oh, that’s not true!’

‘You weren’t even faithful to me, for f*ck’s sake, you were usually off f*cking some runner or waitress or whatever so I don’t know where you get off now, phoning up like we’re old pals and getting nostalgic about “old times”, our golden six months that were, quite frankly, pretty shitty for me.’

‘Alright, Suki, you’ve made your point.’

‘And anyway I’m with another guy, a really, really nice guy, and I’m very happy. In fact he’s waiting for me right now.’

‘Fine! So go! GO!’ Upstairs, Jasmine starts to cry, with embarrassment perhaps.

‘You can’t just get pissed-up and phone out of the blue and expect me—’

‘I’m not, I only, Jesus, okay, fine, forget it!’ Jasmine’s howl is echoing down the bare wooden stairs.

‘What’s that noise?’

‘It’s a baby.’

‘Whose baby?’

‘My baby. I have a daughter. A baby daughter. Seven months old.’

There’s a silence, just long enough for Dexter to visibly wither, then Suki says:

‘Then why the hell are you asking me out?’

‘Just. You know. A friendly drink.’

‘I have friends,’ says Suki, very quietly. ‘I think you’d better go and see to your daughter, don’t you Dex?’ and she hangs up.

For a while he just sits and listens to the dead line. Eventually he lowers the phone, stares at it, then shakes his head vigorously as if he has just been slapped. He has been slapped.