– 18 –

The Gentleman Caller

All Saturday Cody waits at home for prospective flatmates to call around. It rains, and she plays patience and looks at the dead telephone. No one comes.

On Sunday she wakes up in the afternoon with a hangover. She thinks, fuck this. She leaves a note on the door and goes to the market. Coming back up her path as dark is falling, she sees someone standing in her doorway trying to read the note. She calls out, —Hi. She runs up the steps to the door. It’s Francis.

She feels her tongue dry in her mouth. She can’t swallow. She doesn’t trust herself to speak. He looks terrified. He speaks.

—I’m sorry I didn’t call you.

—I didn’t give you my phone number.

—Um.

—Uh

—Cody can’t find her key. She considers running back down the path, leaving Francis on the doorstep in the dark.

—Should I come in?

—Uh. Sure, I’ll just—here it is—uh —

She follows him inside, turning on the lights. They stand stuck in the narrow hallway. Cody doesn’t want to squeeze past Francis and he’s not going anywhere on his own.

—Have you had many people through? he asks, and she realises he is here for the flat, there’s no mistake, he hasn’t tracked her down, sought her out, found her. He’s looking for somewhere to live.

—No, she says. —None, I mean, so far. You’re the first.

—Oh. Really?

—Yeah, well, it’s been raining, so—

—Right. Um, it seems really nice. Is this, um, the room here?

He gestures to the sunroom door on his right.

—Yeah that’s it, Cody says, not opening the door. —I’ve been here on my own, you know, I much prefer it. But um, I need the money, I’m trying to save.

—Oh yeah? How much is the room again?

—Fifty a week.

—That’s really good for so central. I mean, I haven’t got a lot of money, fifty’s really good.

– 19 –

—Do you work? asks Cody.

—Yeah, at a second-hand bookshop in town.

—Oh.

—You’re a waitress, right?

—Yeah. Uh, so this is the bathroom—

Cody shows Francis around her flat, surreptitiously checking herself in every reflective surface. How can this be happening? A second-hand bookshop? Jesus Christ almighty. Jesus Christ alfuckingmighty.

—Oh and that’s my room, she says, flicking her hand in the direction of her closed bedroom door. —And this is the kitchen.

—Gas oven, great. Oh, Kundera. You like him?

—Mm.

—Can I see the room that’s going?

—Oh sure, sorry, here—

They stand in the empty sunroom, looking out at the night. Cody is struggling to find an etiquette for this situation. Why is he still here? Why hasn’t she just said, Look I’m sorry what a silly mistake, I don’t need a flatmate anymore, I’m moving in with my boyfriend, we’re in love you know, he’s asked me to marry him . . . Shit. Shit fuck.

—Well look, says Francis, —I really like this place. So, um—

—Right.

—Do you need someone in a hurry.

—Yeah I do really, the phone’s been cut off, and—

—Oh.

Well that was clever, Cody tells herself. Bang goes your escape route. And now you look like an idiot who can’t manage money. You are an idiot who can’t manage money. Gross financial mismanagement, that’s what got you into this mess.

—Um, well I need somewhere straight away, Francis is saying. —My brother’s fed up with me sleeping on his couch.

—So that wasn’t your —Cody immediately regrets the reference to that night.

—Um no, it was my brother’s um room.

—Oh right.

The image Cody has been carrying around with her of Francis’s girlfriend putting on mascara while Francis watches from the bed vanishes.

—Look, she says, —Do you think—

– 20 –

—I guess it does look like a fairly foolish idea.

—Foolish. Mm.

—Well, says Francis, —you’re desperate for a flatmate—

I’m not desperate for anything thanks very much, thinks Cody.

—And, he continues, —I really need somewhere cheap and central—

That’s me, thinks Cody, cheap and central.

—Also, he says, —I am the only person who’s come to look.

—Well, says Cody, —I’m working nights at the moment.

—And I work days, so we wouldn’t even need to see each other.

—Yeah . . . says Cody.

—Oh, says Francis, —do you smoke?

—I’ve just given up, says Cody. —I can’t really afford it.

—Well I’m asthmatic.

—Oh right, says Cody, trying not to smirk.

—Well I’m willing to forget what happened between us, says Francis.

—I think we could be mature about this, don’t you?

—Oh of course, says Cody. —Absolutely. No, it wouldn’t be an issue.

—So what do you think?

Cody hates being asked this question.

—Um, she says, —sure. I mean, if you like the room—sure.

—I could move my stuff in tomorrow while you’re at work.

—OK, fine.

—Could you leave a key in the letterbox?

—OK, sure.

—Great, says Francis, heading for the door. —Great, I’ll see you tomorrow then, probably.

—OK, says Cody, —uh, see you.

She closes the door behind him, feeling dazed and a bit giddy. She waits to make sure he’s got down the road and gets her coat and some money and goes to a phone box to call Thea.

—Code, says Thea, —are you sure you know what you’re doing? You sound dangerously excited. Are you smiling?

—No, says Cody, —I’m not, I’m quite rational about this, it’ll be fine.

—You are smiling, says Thea. —I can hear it. And you’re smoking. I thought you gave up.

—Just one, says Cody. —I bludged it off the guy at the bottle store. Do you think I’m crazy?

– 21 –

—Yes, says Thea, —I think you’re an idiot.

—I am, aren’t I? says Cody. —But I don’t care.

—Just don’t have sex with him again, says Thea.

—Of course not, says Cody. —Of course not. I’m not that stupid.

—Oh Jesus, says Thea, —would you just stop smiling?

*

Cutting Francis’s hair. We sat on the steps out the front of the house. It was the first sunny weekend in a couple of weeks. I had a comb, a bowl of water, and the kitchen snips. Francis had a towel around his neck. There was music playing and the front door was open and I thought, This is it. This is it. Francis’s skull was warm under my hands. He was telling some funny story about the bookshop and I was laughing and I snorted and I didn’t care. He leant back against my knees and I must have lost concentration because I cut his ear. He kind of yelped and there was a lot of blood, more than seemed natural, and I couldn’t stop laughing. This was the wrong thing to do. He jumped up and knocked over the bowl of water and it ran down the steps looking dark and red in the sun. He ran into the house to get a sticking plaster and tripped over because the dark inside was such a contrast to the winter brightness and he couldn’t see. I stayed on the steps, squinting, feeling guilty for not feeling guilty. Francis came blinking back outside and I apologised. He wouldn’t let me near him again with the scissors. I didn’t point out that I’d only finished cutting one side.

*