The Living. Anjali Joseph

off Tombland.

      This place is all right, I said. It was black inside, with chrome railings, and high seats at tall tables. At the bar there were groups of girls ordering pitchers of cocktails. The music was loud.

      She nodded. I do salsa here on Tuesdays, she said.

      Salsa? You do salsa now?

      I’m going to start zumba, she said. You should try it. It’s a real laugh. She eyed me. You need to do new stuff, Claire. Shake things up. It’s like life’s –

      It’s like life’s what?

      She stirred her mojito and looked at me. Oh, just a sec Claire, she said. She checked her phone and started replying to a text. I watched her strong, toned arms, and the way she sat.

      She put down the phone. What was I saying? she asked. Her eyes were vague.

      It’s like life – I said.

      She focused on me. It’s good to shake things up, Claire, she said. Change things.

      Oh yeah, I said. You know me. Change, I love it.

      I’d made an effort. I was wearing a dress, boots, eyeliner. I’d done my hair. I still felt invisible. The way she held herself, and her clothes, it was like she expected attention. And she got it. We were at a table near the door and all the men who passed looked at us quickly, a rush of cold air as the door opened, and then back at her as it closed.

      She’s always been this way. Not just with men, but always changing, on the move, rushing from one thing to another. She talked fast, ate fast, gulped her words down. Never had to wear a coat because she ran everywhere. That Katie’s a hasty one, Nan used to say. Is she on her way to the moon?

      So what’s your news? I asked.

      She’d met a man, at the accountancy firm. Maybe that’s when she changed, I was thinking as she talked, after she did that course, and got her job in reception. New clothes, work, men. This one’s name is Graham.

      He’s older, she said. He has his own house. Near Angel Road. He’s got a son, Sean, he’s seventeen. Graham’s divorced. He’s nice, she said. He takes me out for dinner, or we go bowling. It’s nice to actually do stuff. For someone to make an effort, you know?

      It sounds great, I said. I felt sad, as though things were leaving me behind. Oh, I like your hair, by the way, I said. It suits you.

      Thanks! I think I might go blonde again, though, soon. She shook it out, dark brown strands. The last time I saw her it was red. When we were young her hair was light brown, mousy Nan called it. Katie started dyeing it when we were fourteen or fifteen.

      Do you fancy going for a bit of a dance? she asked.

      Maybe in a bit. Hey, I said, Jason said Mum called.

      Oh, really? she said. Hang on, just a minute. Sorry, Claire. She stopped to check her phone. Graham wants to go away for the weekend, she said. Up to the coast.

      That’s nice, I said. I wish Mum would leave me alone.

      Katie made a face. Maybe it’s time to put water under the bridge, Claire, do you think? It’s been a while.

      Seventeen years, I said.

      Katie changed. Her mouth became tight and angry, and her voice went nagging. Well, you always had to be special, didn’t you, she said. You think you’re better than other people.

      Jesus, I said, don’t.

      She shrugged. Well, she said. You had your Nan. I ran into your mum the other day, by the way.

      What? You didn’t tell me. When?

      Um, I can’t remember. It was near Anglia Square. I was walking through on my way to Graham’s. Evening time. She said hello to me, Hello Katie. I said hello, how are you, and all that stuff.

      How did she look?

      Kind of the same, a bit smaller, her hair was whiter. I see her now and again, I bump into her. Once a year, something like that. It’s not a big place, is it?

      No, I said. I’m always surprised I don’t run into them more. Maybe it’s meant to be.

      Katie rolled her eyes. Claire, she said. She leaned forward on her elbows. Why don’t you do something different? Leave that job. Do something new.

      Like what? I don’t have any experience.

      You could train. You could get some.

      Doing what?

      It’d be better paid.

      This is a good job, I said. I mean, it’s solid.

      She shook her head. Then she told me more about Graham, and Sean. Sean was getting to like her, she said. He lived with his mum, but Graham was hoping when Sean went to university he’d spend more of the holidays with Graham and Katie.

      When we said goodnight I was properly drunk. On the way home off the main road I found myself running, only because I could. I was light, and fast. The drink. I went to bed too late and in the morning everything hurt: my head, my arms and legs. It was only a half-day. I couldn’t think because I was so tired. I kept drinking water, and felt a bit sick, but nothing happened. In a way I liked it, not being able to think. There was a sweetness to being hungover. Life was simple.

       6

       The day and what it wanted

      I woke up aching, with a sore throat. My back hurt. That doesn’t normally happen. I was having a dream. Brad Pitt came to start at the factory. I had to show him around. We ended up in bed. But people kept breaking into the room to talk to him. They wouldn’t behave normally. Brad and I sat in bed discussing it, how people couldn’t just be normal, couldn’t be human. I got up thinking, Who’d have thought Brad would be so sensible? And, it’s a pity it wasn’t Johnny. And, my back hurts. My legs hurt. My shoulders hurt. I went to bed at eleven, lights out at midnight. Friday: you know you can do what you want, assuming you can remember what that is.

      I made coffee, and sat on the sofa. Then lay down. My head was full of the people I knew, little aches, like insects buzzing. Katie, Helen, Sandra, who’s Jason’s friend Steve’s mum, my older brother, haven’t seen him for years, Dad. I didn’t want to see any of them, but feeling them there made me more lonely. It was amazing how tired I was. I lay on my front and closed my eyes. I tried to ask myself what could be wrong. What should I do today? What’s wrong? Go into town. Look at some shops. Have a coffee. Behave like a person. I couldn’t even imagine the noise and press in the city on a Saturday coming up to summer. I didn’t feel sick in an obvious way. Should I have a cigarette? I asked the quiet part of me, right inside. Should I have a cigarette? It said it really didn’t matter, and that put me off more than the voice in my head saying, stop smoking, which always made me want to.

      Mum, Jason said. He came in talking loudly. I can’t find my shirt. My strip. I can’t find it.

      He wasn’t upset yet. He was just raising the issue.

      I said still face down, Have you looked in the laundry basket the airing cupboard under your bed your chest of drawers your kit bag?

      I’ve looked everywhere, he said. He went to look in the places I’d said or some of them. The conversation would be continued. He came back in. Are you ill? he said. What are you doing?

      Maybe I’m coming down with something, I said.

      What does it feel like?

      My back was heavy. It feels I wanted to say like thirty-five years came into my body and forgot to leave. There’s too much time in here. I’m done for.

      Aching muscles, I said.