Forever Yours by Daniel Glattauer, Jamie Bulloch Page B

job. “Yes,” Judith said. Her throat was dry and no sound came out. Ali: “Hannes doesn’t just listen, he does something about it. One day I’m going to return the favour – that’s a promise.” Judith: “Yes.” Ali: “And you orchestrated the whole thing. Thanks, lovely sister.”
    She bit her lip. Should she put the brakes on his enthusiasm? Should she talk him out of the job? What arguments could she use? Her gut feeling? “I’m really pleased for you, Ali,” she said. “And next time we get the chance I’d love to have a proper chat. I need to tell you something, something important. I hope you’ll understand what I’ve got to say. I can’t do it over the phone.”
5
    The following day he surprised her with his restraint, which was a good thing. Judith wasn’t up to spending an evening in his company, at least not yet. She had an array of elaborate excuses at the ready to avoid having to meet up. But she might also have blurted out the truth, which would have gone something like: “I’m sorry, Hannes, I’m just not in the mood to see you. Your desire does my head in. I find the constant pressure from you too much. And the way you ambushed me. This picture I have of a man crouching by my door at midnight, a man who’s been waiting for me, pursuing me, stalking me; I’m finding it hard to get this man out of my head. And he doesn’t have a place in my bed, no way.”
    Such words of explanation remained unsaid, for astonishingly he made no move to see her that evening, not even a hint. Three times he waved at the shop window. The telephone conversations were short and cordial. He did his best to be funny, even succeeding on occasion without too much effort.
    At any rate – and this was the pleasant, newly discovered side of him – at any rate he seemed to have cast off his stifling melancholy. He talked in a casual, chatty tone, avoided the melodramatic “Love of my life” topic, rummaged around in his box of courtesies, and contented himself with neat little quotations from his arcane encyclopaedia of the thousand loveliest compliments.
    After a week of well-regulated proximity and sustained distance, she had built up sufficient confidence to talk to him about the Ali business. “Why did you do it?” she asked. Hannes: “Why do you think?” Judith: “Why do
I
think? I don’t want it to be what
I
think.” Hannes: “Now I’m even keener to find out what you think the answer is.”
    Judith: “I think you did it because of me.” He let out a hearty laugh. If this was an act, he was doing it very well. Hannes: “Darling, this time you’re mistaken. I need the photographs, I have to put together a catalogue. Ali needs money, he has a family to support. And Ali can take photographs. I wish every deal were this easy.” Judith: “Why didn’t you discuss it with me beforehand?” Hannes: “I’ll admit I wanted to give you a surprise, Darling. I knew you’d be happy for your brother.” Judith: “Hannes, your surprises are too frequent and too extraordinary.” Hannes: “Darling, it’s a habit of mine you won’t be able to break. It’s my favourite hobby, it’s practically my raison d’être.” He laughed. She liked him best of all when he was trying to be ironic about himself.
6
    His current surprise was the persistent absence of the question of whether she’d like to spend another evening with him. Two weeks had now passed since their encounter in the hallway. Had he suddenly lost interest in her? Didn’t he want to be close to her anymore? Was there another woman? (A thought which was both liberating and disturbing.) Or after four months’ acquaintance or relationship, or whatever you wanted to call it, was it simply Judith’s turn – for the first time – to take the next step?
    It was half-past ten at night, she was lying on her ochre sofa in the warm glow of her laburnum lamp. As an event-free summer’s weekday seemed to be expiring into a yawn, encouraged by the