whispers

James was the closest thing to a young Paul Newman I’d ever known. He possessed a sublimely masculine beauty. I got to know him in Spain, before university.

One weekend, N and I drove down from York to visit him in a corner of North London. We arrived just after lunchtime.

He had a new girlfriend who I’d never met before. When we turned up they were there with a group of her friends. It all felt a bit uncomfortable, with no one making much of an effort to talk to us. The room was an awkward kind of post-adolescent, pre-adult limbo.

I’d told N about James. I wanted her to like him. I didn’t know him all that well but he had a charm, which perhaps went with his looks, and the two of us shared an unspecific arrogance. We both suspected that in some way we were destined to inherit the earth. So it was disappointing to arrive after our long drive and find him monopolised. His girlfriend was far from welcoming.

N and I were people conscious. Both of us immediately spotted an unlikely partnership. James’ girlfriend seemed uneasy. She was far less beautiful than him. I leaned over to N and whispered under my breath: Beauty and the Beast. N nodded.

James’ girlfriend sensed we were whispering about her. She left the room. The atmosphere changed from awkwardness to animosity.

Later, James, N and myself went for a walk. The girlfriend stayed behind. James said she had a headache. As I remember it, he seemed pleased to see us. He said next to nothing about his new girlfriend. I may have been worried that we had caused her to be upset, but he didn’t think so. Unless they are saints or highwaymen, outsiders are rarely the cause of drama. Something else was going on. We were merely catalysts.

+++

We left the next day. I never saw the girlfriend again. I only have one other memory of that weekend. In the evening there was a party at James’ house, which might have been the reason we went down there. Being full of people we didn’t know, it was tiring. At one point I leant against the banisters. I suddenly felt a hand seize me by the hair. The hand pulled me round the banister and up a couple of stairs. It was N. She perched behind me, whispering in my ear, accusing me of flirting with someone. She held me there for an age. I had to smile as people made their way past us on the stairs, as though everything was fine and dandy.