phone Sheba to tell her it was over she was already gone. She’d moved in with some diabetic skateboarder who didn’t mind her sleeping disorder, her compulsive masturbatory spasms and her filthy fucking bras flung all over the floor of his Clapham squat. Fine.
Here’s a funny thing: Shakespeare stands in the middle of Leicester Square, flanked by four ugly fish spouting dirty water. He’s resting his chin on his fist and gawping at a little statue of Charlie Chaplin. One night I was staggering through the Square, and someone had pushed a custard pie into Chaplin’s bronze gob. There are some real artists out there. Real ones. Just pissing their lives away.
Eleni has my head in her lap and she’s calling me things like ‘baby’ and ‘angel’ and kissing my hands and stroking the hair out of my eyes, which are crimson, I’m sure, and sore and glassy with tears. It took me three months to paint that ugly green face, God knows how many hours staring into the mirror looking like that shot in The Shining where Jack Nicholson’s finally lost it – the one that goes on for about a minute and nothing’s moving, not one hair, and you’re thinking, ‘Fuck, he’s finally lost it.’
Eleni’s kissing my hands, stroking the hair out of my eyes and calling me things like ‘baby’ and ‘angel’.
For the second time in a week I’m in tears over a painting.
I saw Bianca earlier. I’ve seen Bianca every Monday for the past three months, since July. Ever since Lenny was shortlisted. Ever since Lenny accepted his shortlisting. Ever since they shortlisted Lenny and Lenny couldn’t rouse himself to decline, that’s how long I’ve been seeing Bianca. Not that there’s a connection. Oh no, there’s no connection. So what if I started seeing Bianca the day after he broke the news? So what if Bianca knows his middle name and the name of his mother’s dog? There’s no connection. So what if Bianca’s scabby parrot squawks ‘Lenny!’ every time he sees me?
Anyway, like I say, I saw her earlier. She asked me if I wanted a herbal tea or a proper tea, and I said, ‘All proper tea is theft,’ and we got into a conversation about Communism, wit, Freud and beards. She told me that pogonophobia is a fear of beards and I told her about how Cuban intelligence once foiled a CIA plot to devise a powder to be smuggled into Castro’s boots that would make his beard fall off. She smiled. It was the first time I’d seen her smile. She’s quite pretty when she smiles.
THE PILLARS OF HERCULES, SOHO, LONDON
‘So then she scrambles off into the bathroom and comes out with a broken bottle.’
‘Shampoo bottle?’ says Kirk.
‘No!’ says Lenny. ‘A glass bottle,’ and lifts his hand up into a claw, which me and Kirk take to represent glass. ‘A broken fucking glass bottle,’ says Lenny, ‘and she’s brandishing it in my face.’
I’m sitting in the Pillars of Hercules with Lenny Snook and Kirk Church.
‘And she’s screaming and screaming, “Kill me, Kill me,” over and over.’
‘With the bottle?’ says Kirk.
‘Eh?’
‘Did she mean with the bottle?’
‘Eh?’
‘Kill her with the bottle?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Lenny, ‘I suppose so. It’s not the point.’
‘So,’ I say, ‘she’s coming at you with this bottle . . . Carry on.’
‘So I get down on my knees and I put my hands together.’
Like you’re praying?’ says Kirk.
‘Yeah, like I’m on my knees praying. Like I’m trying, like I’m really fucking, you know, trying to neuter the situation. I mean . . . fucking hell.’
‘And?’ I say.
‘She says we should go to relationship counselling.’
‘Brenda says that?’
‘That’s what she says, bottle in hand, me on my knees, making out that I’m praying.’
‘So are you?’
‘What?’
‘Will you?’
‘Will I fuck. I want out of it. It’s over.’ He runs his hand across his scalp. ‘There’s nothing to say. You can’t make shit not shit by talking
Here’s a funny thing: Shakespeare stands in the middle of Leicester Square, flanked by four ugly fish spouting dirty water. He’s resting his chin on his fist and gawping at a little statue of Charlie Chaplin. One night I was staggering through the Square, and someone had pushed a custard pie into Chaplin’s bronze gob. There are some real artists out there. Real ones. Just pissing their lives away.
Eleni has my head in her lap and she’s calling me things like ‘baby’ and ‘angel’ and kissing my hands and stroking the hair out of my eyes, which are crimson, I’m sure, and sore and glassy with tears. It took me three months to paint that ugly green face, God knows how many hours staring into the mirror looking like that shot in The Shining where Jack Nicholson’s finally lost it – the one that goes on for about a minute and nothing’s moving, not one hair, and you’re thinking, ‘Fuck, he’s finally lost it.’
Eleni’s kissing my hands, stroking the hair out of my eyes and calling me things like ‘baby’ and ‘angel’.
For the second time in a week I’m in tears over a painting.
I saw Bianca earlier. I’ve seen Bianca every Monday for the past three months, since July. Ever since Lenny was shortlisted. Ever since Lenny accepted his shortlisting. Ever since they shortlisted Lenny and Lenny couldn’t rouse himself to decline, that’s how long I’ve been seeing Bianca. Not that there’s a connection. Oh no, there’s no connection. So what if I started seeing Bianca the day after he broke the news? So what if Bianca knows his middle name and the name of his mother’s dog? There’s no connection. So what if Bianca’s scabby parrot squawks ‘Lenny!’ every time he sees me?
Anyway, like I say, I saw her earlier. She asked me if I wanted a herbal tea or a proper tea, and I said, ‘All proper tea is theft,’ and we got into a conversation about Communism, wit, Freud and beards. She told me that pogonophobia is a fear of beards and I told her about how Cuban intelligence once foiled a CIA plot to devise a powder to be smuggled into Castro’s boots that would make his beard fall off. She smiled. It was the first time I’d seen her smile. She’s quite pretty when she smiles.
THE PILLARS OF HERCULES, SOHO, LONDON
‘So then she scrambles off into the bathroom and comes out with a broken bottle.’
‘Shampoo bottle?’ says Kirk.
‘No!’ says Lenny. ‘A glass bottle,’ and lifts his hand up into a claw, which me and Kirk take to represent glass. ‘A broken fucking glass bottle,’ says Lenny, ‘and she’s brandishing it in my face.’
I’m sitting in the Pillars of Hercules with Lenny Snook and Kirk Church.
‘And she’s screaming and screaming, “Kill me, Kill me,” over and over.’
‘With the bottle?’ says Kirk.
‘Eh?’
‘Did she mean with the bottle?’
‘Eh?’
‘Kill her with the bottle?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Lenny, ‘I suppose so. It’s not the point.’
‘So,’ I say, ‘she’s coming at you with this bottle . . . Carry on.’
‘So I get down on my knees and I put my hands together.’
Like you’re praying?’ says Kirk.
‘Yeah, like I’m on my knees praying. Like I’m trying, like I’m really fucking, you know, trying to neuter the situation. I mean . . . fucking hell.’
‘And?’ I say.
‘She says we should go to relationship counselling.’
‘Brenda says that?’
‘That’s what she says, bottle in hand, me on my knees, making out that I’m praying.’
‘So are you?’
‘What?’
‘Will you?’
‘Will I fuck. I want out of it. It’s over.’ He runs his hand across his scalp. ‘There’s nothing to say. You can’t make shit not shit by talking
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