being mostly paved with concrete slabs or covered in slippery decking. Dusk was falling, but the sky felt small here, and I felt penned in by a high fence which ran on all three sides. I breathed in, deeply, hoping for cool night air. Instead, my nasal passages were assaulted by tar, nicotine and other poisons.
“Nice night, eh?” said Raymond, loitering unnoticed in the shadows and, just for a change, puffing on a cigarette. I nodded.
“I came out for some fresh air,” he said, without a hint of irony. “I shouldn’t drink fizz, it knocks me for six.” I realized that I was somewhat discombobulated myself.
“I think I’m ready to go home now,” I said, a little unsteady on my feet. It was, however, a lovely feeling.
“Come and sit down for a minute,” Raymond said, steering me toward a pair of wooden armchairs. I was glad to do so, as my new boots rendered my balance somewhat precarious at the best of times. Raymond lit another cigarette—he seemed to be becoming a chain smoker.
“They’re a nice family, aren’t they?” he said.
“Laura is going to cut my hair,” I blurted out. I’ve no idea why.
“Is she now?” He smiled.
“You like her,” I stated, nodding sagely. I was a woman of the world, after all.
He laughed.
“She’s gorgeous, Eleanor, but she’s really not my type.” His cigarette end glowed red in the semidarkness.
“What is your type?” I asked, finding to my surprise that I was actually interested.
“I don’t know. Someone less . . . high maintenance, I guess. Someone . . . wait a minute.”
I was more than content to sit still while he walked off, returning minutes later with a bottle of wine and two garishly decorated paper cups sporting cartoon rodents on skateboards.
“Rastamouse,” I read aloud, slowly. “What on earth is this?”
“Give it here,” Raymond said, and poured us both a . . . cup. We tapped our vessels together. There was no clink.
“I thought I’d found the perfect person for me,” he said, staring at the back of the garden. “Didn’t work out, though.”
“Why not?” I said, although I could, in fact, think of many reasons why someone might not want to be with Raymond.
“Thing is, I’m still not entirely sure. I wish I did know—it would make things easier . . .”
I nodded—it seemed like the appropriate thing to do.
“Helen said it wasn’t me, it was her.” He laughed, not an amused laugh, though. “I can’t believe she came out with that old chestnut. After three years . . . you’d think she’d have known before then that it wasn’t working for her. I don’t know what changed. I didn’t change . . . I don’t think I did, anyway . . .”
“People can be . . . unfathomable,” I said, stumbling slightly over the word. “I often find that I don’t understand why they do and say things.”
He nodded.
“We had a lovely wee flat, went on some great holidays. I was . . . I was actually thinking about asking her to marry me. Christ . . .” He stared at the paving stones and I tried and failed to picture Raymond in a morning suit, top hat and cravat, let alone a kilt.
“It’s fine,” he said, after a while. “It’s quite a laugh, sharing with the guys, and I’ve got this new job. Things are OK. It’s just . . . I dunno. She said I was too nice. What exactly am I meant to do with that? I mean . . . become more of a bastard? Should I have hit her, or cheated on her?”
I realized he wasn’t really talking to me; it was like in a play, when a character just talks out loud for no apparent reason. I knew the answer to his question, however.
“No, Raymond,” I said. “You would never have done either of those things.” I finished my cup of wine and poured some more. “I lived with a man called Declan for a couple of years. He used to punch me in the kidneys, slap me—he fractured twelve bones, all in all. He stayed out some nights and then came home and told me about the women he’d been with. It was my fault, all my fault. But still, I know he shouldn’t have done that. I know it now, anyway.”
Raymond stared at me. “Jesus, Eleanor. When was this?”
“Several years ago,” I said. “While I was still at university. He saw me in the Botanic Gardens one day, just came