I dart my fingers away, almost losing grip of the pin. But I hold it firm. I have to feel Luke’s pain; I have to know how to block it out, like he does, with the rose-thorn.
Turning off the hob, I retire to the sofa. I take the pin between finger and thumb, and press it into my skin. I don’t go very deep the first time, just leaving an indentation. Blood, there needs to be blood – otherwise how can I know what it feels like, the blood dripping round the thorn? I press a little deeper. Ow! That hurts. And only a miserable little pin-prick. I need to distract myself somehow, while I do it.
I pick up the phone and dial.
She answers.
‘Hello? Who is this?’
‘Hi, Nickie’ – that’s what Luke would do, shorten his beloved’s name – ‘it’s Dan.’
I dig the pin into my leg. Blood starts to appear under the surface.
There is a sigh from Nicole.
‘Hi, Dan; I’ll get Adam.’
‘Actually, Nickie, it’s you I want to speak to.’ I dig the pin deeper. Blood breaks the skin.
‘Oh!’ says Nicole.
Silence, as I continue to remove the pin, then drive it in again. I can imagine her there, in the bedroom, darkness, semi-dressed, wondering when this will end.
‘What do you want?’ asks Nicole, her voice tight.
‘Just to thank you, for this evening.’ Pin in, pin out, more blood. Mustn’t cry out. ‘And to say I’m really sorry about the wine.’
Nicole seems to relax a bit, getting used to me. Like Helen did, before the end.
‘Oh, that’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.’
‘Well, I hope you can clean up the blood.’ Shit. ‘I mean, the wine, the risotto, I hope you can clean it up.’
There is silence on the other end of the line.
Then, ‘Dan, if you’ve something to say, just say it.’
I stay silent. Make her wait.
‘Nickie?’
‘Yes?’
‘See you soon.’
She hangs up before I do, leaving me to examine the pinboard of my leg. I’ve done quite well, considering. And it doesn’t feel so bad. Only like some little ants, making pin-prick bites at your flesh. Attracted to blood, ants are. So I’ve heard. Unfortunately the sofa has suffered for my art, covered in tiny flowering buds of red. I’ll need to wash it. I pull the once-cream throw off the sofa, and drag it to the shower with me.
There’s a scene in the book when Luke is in real need of a shower. He’s been attending to his dinner date. I haven’t quite worked out the climax of the novel yet, but I think the scene is around that point. Luke likes his showers hot, to scrub everything away. Too bad the water in my shower is like ice. I’ll have to do that research elsewhere.
I come out of the shower shrunken and cold. That’s what a numb lobster would feel like, I guess. Their legs still move a little after you make the first incision, even when you take them out of the freezer. Slowly, pedalling through the air. The lady on Google says they feel no pain then, though, that this is perfectly normal. People believe what helps them, I guess.
Still shivering, I dry myself quickly and climb into bed. I will treat myself, I decide. Leaning over the bed, I pull out my secret stash. Some people would keep porn under their bed, I suppose. Lots of women with unattractively large bosoms, like Helen had – maybe that’s what she used to force Adam away from me. I bet Nicole keeps old theatre programmes under her bed (their bed) to remind her of when she was adored. Instead, I unlock the real book three from its chest. Yes, this is perfect bedtime reading. I smooth my hands over the handwritten pages, remembering, the excitement I felt when I wrote it, of that earlier closeness. And how happy I was for Helen to have the star turn, in the end.
I always sleep with the door open, just because I can. Once you’ve slept with it closed, locked, against your own volition, I think you always will. I bet Adam does, too. Although I can imagine Nicole wanting to seal them in, into that prison of a bedroom, with her.
He always used to sleep with the door closed, before, when we were kids, when I was staying. He liked the dark, unlike some boys. His own space, cut off from other people. Adam must have been thrilled when he got the house in West Hampstead. Or rather, thrilled that he had found a wife who owned such a house. Comforted that he could still live there after her death.
My bedroom ceiling here has stars on it. Stars and little aeroplanes and space ships. Only partly because of the time when I couldn’t see them. Mostly because Adam had them, in his room. When Adam was pretending to sleep so that I wouldn’t exhaust myself from talking to him, his face turned to the wall in the bed on the opposite side of the room, I used to stare at those stars. Sometimes I’d wish on them. The main wish: that Adam and I would be together for always.
I don’t need to wish that now, though, here, tonight. You see, I know now that Adam and I will always be together. Sure, we sleep in separate beds, miles apart – 3.2 miles, to be precise. But even though I am tucked up here and he is there, doing unthinkable things with Nicole, we are together really. It was like that before, when we had separate rooms. I knew he was with me really.
Most people are not lucky enough to have a twenty-nine-year friendship like ours. I think I always knew it would be special, from the moment we started playing together, when we were eight. We had all the same interests. He joined chess club, I joined chess club. He went to the library, I went to the library. He played football, I played football. Like every good shadow, I was always there. We shared everything, then.
So I suppose I should be content. I suppose I should be happy, lying here, with my hands under my covers, preparing all of myself for sleep. But we’ve been so close, in the past. Even closer than now. True, he invites me round for dinner all the time. When Helen was there, I just had to take me chances, pop in when I could. Since she died, he’s more open to me being there. But I want to be closer. Again.
Oh! But of course! The method will give me that closeness! I sit up in the dark. Nicole is perfect for book four. I should have realised that is why I was led to her, as my woman to get close to, for Luke. It’s almost as pure and perfect as the epiphany that prompted book three. Her flesh will bring Adam and I as close as we were in that book, it will give me the closeness I’ve craved ever since.
For this is it: Adam has been there. In Nicole. If I, as Luke, have the most intimate closeness to, in, Nicole, I will be where Adam has been. And it will be like I am touching him. Our ultimate manhood brought together in Nicole.
Luke, then, will do it for me. Luke – my character, my invention – holds the key to unlocking those remaining layers that separate us. Yes, all the other goals remain the same. Through Nicole, through being with her, to understand what it is to be with a woman, I can method write that as well as the other parts of the book, and so I will get published. I’ll be able to afford a place on his street. I’ll get close to my main reader again, the one for whom I write all my work and live all my life: Adam. And when he sees the next book, and the fame that it brings me, he’ll appreciate my work. On page, and off. Yes, all that.
But now, I see, much more than this, I will achieve my prime goal: I will be as close to Adam again as I was in book three.
Ignorant of my epiphany in last night’s darkness, the guys at the car rental are on true back-slapping form. Not my back – that never gets slapped. You’d think after ten years here I might be allowed into their fraternity. But then, they have not been here the full ten years.