scene, Gere’s girlfriend – played magnificently by Valerie Kaprisky – reads aloud a passage from a book and then drops it as she kisses him. Simon and I spent five minutes advancing that scene frame by frame to find out what the book was, because the passage made such a lasting impression on the both of us.
‘That’s from The Wild Palms ,’ I said excitedly, as if Kate was in a position to award ten house points and a gold star. ‘William Faulkner.’
‘Is it?’ said Kate. ‘I didn’t know. That heartless bastard wrote it in a letter he sent after he finished with me.’
‘Oh,’ I said awkwardly.
‘Well, what’s your answer?’ she asked.
I told her my answer would be nothing. She didn’t believe me. But it was true. If I had to do it all again I wouldn’t have gone out with Aggi. I would have walked straight out of Oxfam that day, albeit without my Elvis mirror, but thankful in the knowledge that at least my sanity and self-respect would be intact in years to come.
‘But what about the good times?’ probed Kate. ‘You must’ve had some good times, surely?’
‘Yeah, we had some good times,’ I said, quickly flicking through some of them in my head. ‘But at the end of the day what have I got? Nothing but memories. I’m twenty-six and I constantly live in the past. I’ve been without Aggi longer than I was with her and I still can’t get over her. Ignorance, compared to this, would be bliss.’
Kate was beginning to tire of me. I could feel it. I wanted to tell her my whole life story. I wanted to tell her everything that was inside me. But I was convinced I was boring her.
‘Am I boring you?’ I asked, trying to make the question sound casual.
‘No, why should I be bored?’ Kate asked.
‘No, well, maybe just a little bit,’ I confessed. ‘It’s appalling that you have to listen to me droning on like this. Sometimes I’m so boring even I stop listening.’
She laughed. It still sounded like summertime.
‘Kate, tell me about you,’ I said, lighting up a cigarette. ‘Tell me something I don’t know about you.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, anything you want.’
‘I can’t think what to tell you,’ said Kate. She paused. I took a deep drag on my cigarette. ‘Okay, I’ve got it. Ask me three questions that you want answers to and I’ll ask you three.’
I agreed. My mind was racing, trying to think of questions that would be intriguing, sexy and yet devastatingly witty.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Good question,’ said Kate. I tried to detect the irony in her voice. There was none. ‘Let’s sort the geography out.’
Kate lived in a flat in Brighton with her best friend Paula. Paula was out with her mates from work, which pleased me immensely because I liked the idea of the two of us being alone, talking conspiratorially late at night. Kate had stayed in because she had no money. She’d dropped out of her first year at the University of North London, where she’d been reading East European Studies (‘We were known as the “Euro Studs”’).
‘So why did you leave?’
‘Because I was going to get kicked out anyway,’ said Kate, sighing. ‘I hardly went to any lectures. I was in love. It seemed more important to be with my ex than learn about the history of the European trade agreements or have a social life. He was always having to go away and then I’d miss him so much that . . .’ Her voice began to falter. She took a deep breath and the tone of her voice changed, as if she’d made a conscious decision to try and never think about him again. ‘He’s history.’
‘Do you miss London?’ I asked, adding: ‘This is my second “official” question, by the way.’
She laughed and said: ‘I don’t miss London at all. It’s too expensive, it’s grimy, it’s dirty and it’s unfriendly. It reminds me of him. I like Brighton. My flat’s only five minutes from the sea. And I love the sea.’
I thought long and hard about my third
‘That’s from The Wild Palms ,’ I said excitedly, as if Kate was in a position to award ten house points and a gold star. ‘William Faulkner.’
‘Is it?’ said Kate. ‘I didn’t know. That heartless bastard wrote it in a letter he sent after he finished with me.’
‘Oh,’ I said awkwardly.
‘Well, what’s your answer?’ she asked.
I told her my answer would be nothing. She didn’t believe me. But it was true. If I had to do it all again I wouldn’t have gone out with Aggi. I would have walked straight out of Oxfam that day, albeit without my Elvis mirror, but thankful in the knowledge that at least my sanity and self-respect would be intact in years to come.
‘But what about the good times?’ probed Kate. ‘You must’ve had some good times, surely?’
‘Yeah, we had some good times,’ I said, quickly flicking through some of them in my head. ‘But at the end of the day what have I got? Nothing but memories. I’m twenty-six and I constantly live in the past. I’ve been without Aggi longer than I was with her and I still can’t get over her. Ignorance, compared to this, would be bliss.’
Kate was beginning to tire of me. I could feel it. I wanted to tell her my whole life story. I wanted to tell her everything that was inside me. But I was convinced I was boring her.
‘Am I boring you?’ I asked, trying to make the question sound casual.
‘No, why should I be bored?’ Kate asked.
‘No, well, maybe just a little bit,’ I confessed. ‘It’s appalling that you have to listen to me droning on like this. Sometimes I’m so boring even I stop listening.’
She laughed. It still sounded like summertime.
‘Kate, tell me about you,’ I said, lighting up a cigarette. ‘Tell me something I don’t know about you.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, anything you want.’
‘I can’t think what to tell you,’ said Kate. She paused. I took a deep drag on my cigarette. ‘Okay, I’ve got it. Ask me three questions that you want answers to and I’ll ask you three.’
I agreed. My mind was racing, trying to think of questions that would be intriguing, sexy and yet devastatingly witty.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Good question,’ said Kate. I tried to detect the irony in her voice. There was none. ‘Let’s sort the geography out.’
Kate lived in a flat in Brighton with her best friend Paula. Paula was out with her mates from work, which pleased me immensely because I liked the idea of the two of us being alone, talking conspiratorially late at night. Kate had stayed in because she had no money. She’d dropped out of her first year at the University of North London, where she’d been reading East European Studies (‘We were known as the “Euro Studs”’).
‘So why did you leave?’
‘Because I was going to get kicked out anyway,’ said Kate, sighing. ‘I hardly went to any lectures. I was in love. It seemed more important to be with my ex than learn about the history of the European trade agreements or have a social life. He was always having to go away and then I’d miss him so much that . . .’ Her voice began to falter. She took a deep breath and the tone of her voice changed, as if she’d made a conscious decision to try and never think about him again. ‘He’s history.’
‘Do you miss London?’ I asked, adding: ‘This is my second “official” question, by the way.’
She laughed and said: ‘I don’t miss London at all. It’s too expensive, it’s grimy, it’s dirty and it’s unfriendly. It reminds me of him. I like Brighton. My flat’s only five minutes from the sea. And I love the sea.’
I thought long and hard about my third
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