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《A Long Way Down》


 Preface

    New Years Eve at Toppers House, North Londons most popular suicide spot. And four strangers are about to discover that doing away with yourself isnt quite the private act theyd each expected.

    Perma-tanned Martin Sharps a disg<figure>99lib.</figure>raced breakfast TV presenter who had it all - the family, the pad, the great career - and wasted it away. Killing himself is Martins logical respoo an unlivable life.

    Maureen has to do it tonight, because of Matty be<code></code>ing in the home. He was never able to do any of the normal things kids do - like walk or talk - and his loving mum t cope any more.

    Half-crazed with heartbreak, loneliness, adolest angst, seven Bacardi Breezers and two Special Brews, Jesss ready to jump, to fly off the roof.

    Finally, theres JJ - tall, cool, Ameri, looks like a rock-star -whos weighed down with a heap<code>九九藏书</code> of problems, and pizza.

    Four strangers, who moments before were vihat they were alone and going to end it all that way, share out the pizza and begin to talk… only to find that they have even less in on than first suspected.

    Funny, sad and deeply moving, <bdo>９9lib?</bdo>Nick Hornbys A Long Way Down is a hat asks some of the big questions: about life ah, strangers and friendship, love and pain, and whether a group of losers, and pizza,  really see you through <figure></figure>a long, dark night of the soul.

 Part 1-1

    MARTIN

    I explain why I wao jump off the top of a tower-block? Of course I  explain why I wao jump off the top of a tower-block. Im not a bloody idiot. I  explain it because it wasnt inexplicable: it was a logical decision, the product of proper thought. It wasnt even a very serious thought, either. I dont mean it was whimsical - I just meant that it wasnt terribly plicated, onized. Put it this way: say you were, I dont know, an assist<mark></mark>ant bank manager, in Guildford. And youd been thinking of emigrating, and then you were offered the job of managing a bank in Sydney. Well, even though its a pretty straightforward decision, youd still have to think for a bit, wouldnt you? Youd at least have to work out whether you could bear to move, whether you could leave your friends and colleagues behind, whether you could uproot your wife and kids. You might sit down with a bit of paper and draw up a list of pros and s. You know: S - aged parents, friends, golf club.

    PROS - more money, better quality of life (house with pool, barbecue, etc.), sea, sunshine, -wing cils banning Baa-Baa Black Sheep, no EEC directives banning British sausages, etc.

    Its no test, is it? The golf club! Give me a break. Obviously yed parents give you pause for thought, but thats all it is - a pause, and a brief ooo. Youd be on the phoo the travel agents within ten minutes.

    Well, that was me. There simply werent enough regrets, and lots and   lots of reasons to jump. The only things in my s list were the kids, but I couldnt imagine dy letting me see them again anyway. I havent got any aged parents, and I dont play golf. Suicide was my Sydney. And I say that with no offeo the good people of Sydney intended.

    <strong>MAUREEN</strong>

    I told him I was going to a New Years Eve party. I told him in October.

    I dont know whether people send out invitations to New Years Eve parties in October or not. Probably not. (How would I know? I haveo one since . June and Brian across the road had one, just before they moved.

    And even then I only nipped in for an hour or so, after hed goo sleep.) But I couldnt wait any longer. Id been thinking about it since May or June, and I was itg to tell him. Stupid, really. He doesnt uand, Im sure he doesnt. They tell me to keep talking to him, but you  see that nothing goes in. And what a thing to be itg about anyway! It just goes to show what I had to look forward to, doesnt it?

    The moment I told him, I wao ght to fession. Well, Id lied, hadnt I? Id lied to my own son. Oh, it was only a tiny, silly lie: Id told him months in advahat I was going to a party, a party Id made up.

    Id made it up properly, too. I told him whose party it was, and why Id been invited, and why I wao go, and who else would be there. (It was Bridgids party, Bridgid from the church. And Id been invited because her sister was ing over from Cork, and her sister had asked after me in a couple of letters. And I wao go because Bridgids sister had taken her mother-in-law to Lourdes, and I wao find out all about it, with a view to taking Matty one day.) But fession wasnt possible, because I knew I would have to repeat the sin, the lie, over and over as the year came to an end. Not only to Matty, but to the people at the nursing home, and… Well, there isnt anyone else, really. Maybe someo the church, or someone in a shop. Its almost ical, when you think about it. If you spend day and night looking after a sick child, theres very little room for sin, and I hadnt done anything worth fessing for donkeys years. And I went from that, to sinning so terribly that I couldnt even talk to the priest, because I was going to go on sinning and sinning until the day I died, when I would it the biggest sin of all. (And why is it the biggest sin of all? All your life youre told that youll be going to this marvellous place when you pass on. And the ohing you  do to get you there a bit quicker is something that stops you getting there at all. Oh, I  see that its a kind of queue-jumping. But if someone jumps the queue at the Post Office, people tut. Or sometimes they say, Excuse me, I was here first. They dont say, You will be ed by hellfire for all eternity. That would be a bit strong.) It didnt stop me from going to the church. But I only kept going because   people would think there was something wrong if I stopped.

    As we got closer and closer to the date, I kept passing on little tidbits of information that I told him Id picked up. Every Sunday I pretended as though Id learned something new, because Sundays were when I saw Bridgid. Bridgid says therell be dang. Bridgids worried that not everyone likes wine and beer, so shell be providing spirits. Bridgid doesnt know hoeople will have eaten already. If Matty had been able to uand anything, hed have decided that this Bridgid woman was a lunatic, w like that about a little get-together. I blushed every time I saw her at the church. And of course I wao know what she actually was doing on New Years Eve, but I never asked. If she lanning to have a party, she mightve felt that she had to invite me.

    Im ashamed, thinking baot about the lies - Im used to lying now.

    No, Im ashamed of how pathetic it all was. One Sunday I found myself telling Matty about where Bridgid was going to buy the ham for the sandwiches. But it was on my mind, New Years Eve, of course it was, and it was a way of talking about it, without actually saying anything. And I suppose I came to believe in the party a little bit myself, in the way that you e to believe the story in a book. Every now and again I imagined what Id wear, how much Id drink, what time Id leave. Whether Id e home in a taxi. That sort of thing. In the end it was as if Id actually been. Even in my imagination, though, I couldnt see myself talking to a the party. I was always quite happy to leave it.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    I was at a party downstairs in the squat. It was a shit party, full of all these a crusties sitting on the floor drinking cider and smoking huge spliffs and listening to weirdo space-ae. At midnight, one of them clapped sarcastically, and a couple of others laughed, and that was it - Happy New Year to you too. You could have turned up to that party as the happiest person in London, and youd still have wanted up to jump off the roof by five past twelve. And I wasnt the happiest person in London anyway. Obviously.

    I only went because someo college told me Chas would be there, but he wasnt. I tried his mobile for the one zillionth time, but it wasnt on.

    When we first split up, he called me a stalker, but thats like aive word, stalker, isnt it? I dont think you  call it stalking when its just phone calls aers and emails and knog on the door. And I only turned up at his work twice. Three times, if you t his Christmas party, which I dont, because he said he was going to take me to that anyway.

    Stalking is when you follow them to the shops and on holiday and all that,   isnt it? Well, I never went near any shops. And anyway, I didnt think it was stalking when someone owed you an explanation. Being owed an explanation is like being owed money, and not just a fiver, either. Five or six hundred quid minimum, more like. If you were owed five or six hundred quid minimum and the person who owed it to you was avoiding you, then youre bound to kno his door late at night, when you know hes going to be in. People get serious about that sort of mohey call i collectors, and break peoples legs, but I never went that far. I showed some restraint.

    So even though I could see straight away that he wasnt at this party, I stayed for a while. Where else was I going to go? I was feeling sorry for myself. How  you be eighteen and not have ao go on New Years Eve, apart from some shit party in some shit squat where you dont know anybody? Well, I ma. I seem to ma every year. I make friends easily enough, but then I piss them off, I know that much,<q></q> even if Im not sure why or how. And so people and parties disappear.

    I pissed Jen off, Im sure of that. She disappeared, like everyone else.

    MARTIN  Id spent the previous couple of months looking up suicide is oer, just out of curiosity. And nearly every siime, the er says the same thing: He took his own life while the balance of his mind was disturbed. And then you read the story about the poor bastard: his wife was sleeping with his best friend, hed lost his job, his daughter had been killed in a road act some months before… Hello, Mr er?

    A home? Im sorry, but theres no disturbed mental balance here, my friend. Id say he got it just right. Bad thing upon bad thing upon bad thing until you t take any more, and then its off to the  multi-storey car park in the family hatchback with a length of rubber tubing.

    Surely thats fair enough? Surely the ers i should read, He took his own life after sober and careful plation of the fug shambles it had bee?

    Not once did I read a neer report which vinced me that the deceased was off the old trolley. You know: The Maer United forward, who was eo the current Miss Sweden, had retly achieved a unique Double: he is the only mao have won the FA Cup and an Oscar for Best Actor in the same year. The rights to his first novel had just been bought for an undisclosed sum by Steven Spielberg. He was found hanging from a beam in his stables by a member of his staff. Now, Ive never seen a ers report like that, but if there were cases in which happy, successful, talented people took their own lives, one could safely   e to the clusion that the old balance was indeed wonky. And Im not saying that being eo Miss Sweden, playing for Maer United and winning Oscars inoculates you against depression - Im sure it doesnt. Im just saying that these things help. Look at the statistics. Youre more likely to top yourself if youve just gohrough a divorce. Or if youre anorexic. Or if youre unemployed. Or if youre a prostitute. Or if youve fought in a war, or if youve been raped, or if youve lost somebody… There are lots and lots of factors that push people over the edge; none of these factors are likely to make you feel anything but fug miserable.

    Two years ago Martin Sharp would not have found himself sitting on a tiny crete ledge in the middle of the night, looking a hundred feet down at a crete walkway and w whether hed hear the hat his bones made when they shattered into tiny pieces. But two years ago Martin Sharp was a different person. I still had my job. I still had a wife. I hadnt slept with a fifteen-year-old. I hado prison. I hadnt had to talk to my young daughters about a front-page tabloid neer article, an article headlined with the word SLEAZEBAG! and illustrated with a picture of me lying on the pavement outside a well-known London nightspot. (What would the headline have been if I had gone over? SLEAZY DOES IT! perhaps. Or maybe SHARP END!) There was, it is fair to say, less reason for ledge-sitting before all that happened. So dont tell me that the balany mind was disturbed, because it really didhat way. (What does it mean, anyway, that stuff about the balance of the mind? Is it strictly stific? Does the mind really wobble up and down in the head like some sort of fish-scale, acc to how loopy you are?) Wanting to kill myself propriate and reasonable respoo a whole series of unfortunate events that had rendered life unlivable. Oh, yes, I know the shrinks would say that they could have helped, but thats half the trouble with this bloody try, isnt it? No ones willing to face their responsibilities. Its always someone elses fault. Boo-hoo-hoo. Well, I happen to be one of those rare individuals who believe that what went on with Mummy and Daddy had nothing to do with me screwing a fifteen-year-old. I happen to believe that I would have slept with her regardless of whether Id bee-fed or not, and it was time to face up to what Id done.

    And what Id done is, Id pissed my life away. Literally. Well, OK, not literally literally. I hadnt, you know, turned my life into urine and stored it in my bladder and so on and so forth. But I felt as if Id pissed my life away in the same way that you  piss money away. Id had a life, full of kids and wives and jobs and all the usual stuff, and Id somehow mao mislay it. No, you see, thats nht. I knew where my life was, just as you know where money goes when you piss it away. I hadnt mislaid it at all. Id spent it. Id spent my kids and my job and my wife on teenage girls and nightclubs: these things all e at a price, and Id happily paid it, and   suddenly my life wasnt there any more. What would I be leaving behind? On New Years Eve, it felt as though Id be saying goodbye to a dim form of sciousness and a semi-funing digestive system - all the indications of a life, certainly, but none of the tent. I didnt even feel sad, particularly. I just felt very stupid, and very angry.

    Im not sitting here now because I suddenly saw sehe reason Im sitting here now is because that night turned into as much of a mess as everything else. I couldnt even jump off a fug tower-block without fug it up.

    <strong>MAUREEN</strong>

    On New Years Eve the nursing home sent their ambulance round for him. You had to pay extra for that, but I didnt mind. How could I? In the end, Matty was going to cost them a lot more than they were costing me. I was only paying for a night, and they were going to pay for the rest of his life.

    I thought about hiding some of Mattys stuff, in case they thought it was odd, but no one had to know it was his. I could have had loads of kids, as far as they knew, so I left it there. They came around six, and these two young fellas wheeled him out. I couldnt cry when he went, because then the young fellas would know something was wrong; as far as they knew, I was ing to fetch him at eleven the  m. I just kissed him oop of his head and told him to be good at the home, and I held it all in until Id seen them leave. Then I wept a, for about an hour. Hed ruined my life, but he was still my son, and I was never going to see him again, and I couldnt even say goodbye properly. I watched the television for a while, and I did have one or two glasses of sherry, because I k would be cold out.

    I waited at the bus stop for ten minutes, but then I decided to walk.

    Knowing that you want to die makes you less scared. I wouldnt have dreamed of walking all that way late at night, especially whereets are full of drunks, but what did it matter now? Although then, of course, I found myself w about being attacked but not murdered - left for dead without actually d..ying. Because then Id be taken to hospital, and theyd find out who I was, and theyd find out about Matty, and all those months of planning would have been a plete waste of time, and Id e out of hospital owing the home thousands of pounds, and where was I going to find that? But no oacked me. A couple of people wished me a Happy New Year, but that was about all. There isnt so much to be afraid of out there. I  remember thinking it was a funny time to find that out, on the last night of my life; Id spent the rest of it being afraid of   everything.

    Id never been to Toppers House before. Id just been past it on the bus once or twice. I didnt even know for sure that you could get on to the roof any more, but the door en, and I just walked up the stairs until I couldnt walk any further. I dont know why it didnt occur to me that you couldnt just jump off whenever you felt like it, but the moment I saw it I realized that they would you do that. Theyd put this wire up,  high, and there were curved railings with spikes oop… well, thats when I began to panic. Im not tall, and Im not very strong, and Im not as young as I was. I couldnt see how I was going to get over the top of it all, and it had to be that night, because of Matty being in the home and everything. And I started to gh all the other options, but none of them were any good. I didnt want to do it in my own front room, where someone I knew would find me. I wao be found by a stranger. And I didnt want to jump in front of a train, because Id seen a programme oelevision about the poor drivers and how suicides upset them. And I didnt have a car, so I couldnt drive off to a quiet spot and breathe in the exhaust fumes… And then I saw Martin, right over the other side of the roof. I hid in the shadows and watched him. I could see hed dohings properly: hed brought a little stepladder, and some wire-cutters, and hed mao climb over the top like that. And he was just sitting on the ledge, dangling his feet, looking down, taking nips out of a little hip flask, smoking, thinking, while I waited. And he smoked and he smoked and I waited and waited until in the end I couldnt wait any more. I know it was his stepladder, but I . It wasnt going to be much use to him.

    I ried to push him. Im not beefy enough to push a grown man off a ledge. And I wouldnt have tried anyway. It wouldnt have been right; it  to him whether he jumped or not. I just went up to him and put my hand through the wire and tapped him on the shoulder. I only wao ask him if he was going to be long.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    Before I got to the squat, I never had any iion of going on to the roof. Holy. Id fotten about the whole Toppers House thing until I started speaking to this guy. I think he fancied me, which isnt really saying much, seeing as I was about the only female uhirty who could still stand up. He gave me a fag, aold me his name was Bong, and when I asked him why he was called Bong he said it was because he always smoked his weed out of a bong. And I went, Does that mean everyone else here is called Spliff ? But he was just, like, No, that bloke over there is   called Mental Mike. And that one over there is called Puddle. And that one over there is Nicky Turd. And so on, until hed been through everyone in the room he knew.

    But the ten minutes I spent talking to Bong made history. Well, not history like  bc or . Not historical history, unless one of us goes on to i a time mae or stops Britain from being invaded by Al-Qaida or something. But who knows what would have happeo us if Bong hadnt fancied me? Because before he started chatting me up I was just about to go home, and Maureen and Martin would be dead now, probably, and… well, everything would have been different.

    When Bong had finished going through his list, he looked at me and he went, Youre not thinking of going up on the roof, are you? And I thought, Not with you, stoner-brain. And he went, Because I  see the pain and desperation in your eyes. I was well pissed by that time, so looking ba it, Im pretty sure that what he could see in my eyes were seven Bacardi Breezers and two s of Special Brew. I just went, Oh, really? And he went, Yeah, see, Ive been put on suicide watch, to look out for people whove only e here because they want to go upstairs. And I was like, What happens upstairs? And he laughed, a, Youre joking, arent you? This is Toppers House, man. This is where people kill themselves.

    And I would never have thought of it if he hadnt said that. Everything suddenly made sense. Because even though Id been about to go home, I couldnt imagine what Id do when I got there, and I couldnt imagine waking up in the m. I wanted Chas, and he didnt want me, and I suddenly realized that easily the best thing to do was make my life as short as I possibly could. I almost laughed, it was so : I wao make my life short, and I was at a party in Toppers House, and the ce was too much. It was like a message from God. OK, it was disappointing that all God had to say to me was, like, Jump off a roof, but I didnt blame him.

    What else was he supposed to tell me?

    I could feel the weight of everything then - the weight of loneliness, of everything that had gone wrong. I felt heroic, going up those last few flights to the top of the building, dragging that weight along with me.

    Jumpi like the only way to get rid of it, the only way to make it work for me instead of against me; I felt so heavy that I knew Id hit the street in no time. Id beat the world record for falling off a tower-block.

    MARTIN  If she hadnt tried to kill me, Id be dead, no question. But weve all got a preservation instinct, havent we? Even if were trying to kill ourselves when it kicks in. All I know is that I felt this thump on my back, and I   turned round and grabbed the railings behind me, and I started yelling. I was drunk by then. Id been taking nips out of the old hip-flask for a while, and Id had a skinful before I came out, as well. (I know, I know, I shouldnt have driven. But I wasnt going to take the fug stepladder on the bus.) So, yes, I probably did let rip with a bit of vocabulary. If Id known it was Maureen, if Id known what Maureen was like, then I would have to down a bit, probably, but I didnt; I think I might even have used the c- word, for which Ive apologized. But youd have to admit it was a uuation.

    I stood up and turned round carefully, because I didnt want to fall off until I chose to, and I started yelling at her, and she just stared.

    I know you, she said.

    How? I was being slow. People e up to me iaurants and shops and theatres and garages and urinals all over Britain and say, I know you, and they invariably mean precisely the opposite; they mean, I dont know you. But Ive seen you oelly. And they want an autograph, or a chat about enny Chambers is really like, in real life. But that night, I just wasnt expeg it. It all seemed a bit beside the point, that side of life.

    From the television.

    Oh, for Christs sake. I was about to kill myself, but never mind, theres always time for an autograph. Have you got a pen? Or a bit of paper? And before you ask, shes a right bitch who will snort anything and fuybody. What are you doing up here anyway? I was… I was going to jump too. I wao borrow your ladder.

    Thats what everything es down to: ladders. Well, not ladders literally; the Middle East peace process doesnt e down to ladders, and nor do the money markets. But ohing I know from interviewing people on the show is that you  reduce the most enormous topics down to the ti parts, as if life were an Airfix model. Ive heard a religious leader attribute his faith to a faulty cat a garden shed (he got locked in for a night when he was a kid, and God guided him through the darkness); Ive heard a hostage describe how he survived because one of his captors was fasated by the London Zoo family dist card he kept in his wallet.

    You want to talk about big things, but its the catches on the garden sheds and the London Zoo cards that give you the footholds; without them you wouldnt know where to start. Not if youre hosting Rise and Shih Penny and Martin you dont, anyway. Maureen and I couldnt talk about ere so unhappy that we wanted our brains to spill out onto the crete like a Malds milk shake, so we talked about the ladder instead. Be my guest.

    Ill wait until… Well, Ill wait.

    So youre just going to stand there and watch?  No. Of course not. Youll be wanting to do it on your own, Id imagine.

    Youd imagine right.

    Ill go over there. She gestured to the other side of the roof.  Ill give you a shout on the way down. I laughed, but she didnt.

    e on. That wasnt a bad gag. In the circumstances.

    I suppose Im not in the mood, Mr Sharp.

    I dont think she was trying to be funny, but what she said made me laugh even more. Maureeo the other side of the roof, and sat down with her back against the far wall. I turned around and lowered myself ba to the ledge. But I couldnt trate. The moment had gone. Youre probably thinking, How much tration does a mao throw himself off the top of a high building? Well, youd be surprised. Before Maureen arrived Id been in the zone; I was in a place where it would have been easy to push myself off. I was entirely focused on all the reasons I  there in the first place; I uood with a horrible clarity the impossibility of attempting to resume life down on the ground.

    But the versation with her had distracted me, pulled me back out into the world, into the cold and the wind and the noise of the thumping bass seven floors below. I couldhe mood back; it was as if one of the kids had woken up just as dy and I were starting to make love. I hadnt ged my mind, and I still khat Id have to do it some time.

    Its just that I knew I wasnt going to be able to do it in the  five minutes.  I shouted at Maureen.

    Oi! Do you want to slaces? See how you get on? And I laughed again. I was, I felt, on a edy roll, drunk enough - and, I suppose, deranged enough - to feel that just about anything I said would be hilarious.

    Maureen came out of the shadows and approached the brea the wire fence cautiously.

    I want to be on my own, too, she said.

    You will be. Youve got twenty mihen I want my spot back.

    How are you going to get back over this side? I hadnt thought of that.

    The stepladder really only worked one way: there wasnt enough room on my side of the railings to open it out.

    Youll have to hold it. What do you mean? You hand it over the top to me. Ill put it flush against the railings. You hold it steady from that side.

    Id never be able to keep it in place. Youre too heavy.

    And she was too light. She was small, but she carried  at all; I wondered whether she wao kill herself because she didnt want to die a long and painful death from some disease or other.

    So youll have to put up with me being here.

    I wasnt sure that I wao climb over to the other side anyway. The railings marked out a boundary now: you could get to the stairs from the roof, and the street from the stairs, and from the street you could get to dy, and the kids, and Danielle, and her dad, and everything else that had blown me up here as if I were a crisp packet in a gale. The ledge felt safe.

    There was no humiliation and shame there - beyond the humiliation and shame youd expect to feel if you were sitting on a ledge, on your own, on New Years Eve.

    Why t you shuffle round to the other side of the roof? Why t you? Its my ladder.

    Youre not much of a gentleman.

    No, Im fug not. Thats one of the reasons Im up here, in fact. Dont you read the papers? I look at the local one sometimes.

    So what do you know about me? You used to be oV.

    Thats it? I think so. She thought for a moment. Were you married to someone in Abba? No.

    Or another singer? No.

    Oh. And you like mushrooms, I know that.

    Mushrooms? You said. I remember. There was one of those chef fellas iudio, and he gave you something to taste, and you said, &quot;Mmmm, I love mushrooms. I could eat them all day.&quot; Was that you? It might have been. But thats all you  dredge up? Yes.

    So why do you think I want to kill myself? Ive no idea.

    Youre pissing me around.

    Would you mind watg your language? I find it offensive.

    Im sorry.

    But I couldnt believe it. I couldnt believe Id found someone who didnt know. Before I went to prison, I used to wake up in the m and the tabloid scum were waiting outside the front door. I had crisis meetings with agents and managers and TV executives. It seemed impossible that there was anyone in Britain ued in what I had done, mostly because I lived in a world where it was the only thing that seemed to matter. Maybe Maureen lived on the roof, I thought. It would be easy to lose touch up there.

    What about your belt? She  my waist. As far as Maureen was ed, these were her last few moments oh. She didnt want to spend them talking about my passion for mushrooms (a passion which, I fear, may have been manufactured for the camera anyway). She wao get on with things.

    What about it? Take your belt off and put it round the ladder. Buckle it your side of the railings.

    I saw what she meant, and saw that it would work, and for the    couple of minutes we worked in a panionable silence; she passed the ladder over the fence, and I took my belt off, passed it around both ladder and railings, pulled it tight, buckled it up, gave it a shake to check it would hold. I really didnt want to die falling backwards. I climbed back over, we unbuckled the belt, placed the ladder in its inal position.

    And I was just about to let Maureen jump in peace when this fug lunatic came r at us.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    I shouldnt have made the hat was my mistake. I mean, that was my mistake if the idea was to kill myself. I could have just walked, quickly and quietly and calmly, to the place where Martin had cut through the wire, climbed the ladder and then jumped. But I didnt. I yelled something like, Out of the way, losers! and made this Red Indian war-whoop noise, as if it were all a game - which it was, at that point, to me, anyway - and Martin rugby-tackled me before I got halfway there. And then he sort of kneeled on me and ground my fato that sort of gritty fake-Tarmac stuff they put oops of buildings. Then I really did want to be dead.

    I didnt know it was Martin. I never saw anything, really, until he was rubbing my nose in the dirt, and then I just saw dirt. But I knew what the two of them were doing up there the moment I got to the roof. You didnt have to be like a genius to work that out. So when he was sitting on me I went, So how e you two are allowed to kill yourselves and Im not?

    And he goes, Youre too young. Weve fucked our lives up. You havent, yet. And I said, How do you know that? And he goes, No ones fucked their lives up at ye. And I was like, What if Ive murdered ten people?

    Including my parents and, I dont know, my baby twins? And he went, Well have you? And I said, Yeah, I have. (Even though I hadnt. I just wao see what hed say.) And he went, Well, if youre up here, youve got away with it, havent you? Id get on a plao Brazil if I were you. And I said, What if I want to pay for what Ive doh my life? And he said, Shut up.

    MARTIN  My first thought, after Id brought Jess crashing to the ground, was that I didnt want Maureen sneaking off on her own. It was nothing to do with trying to save her life; it would simply have pissed me off if shed taken advantage of my distra and jumped. Oh, none of it makes much sewo minutes before, Id been practically ushering her over. But I didnt see   why Jess should be my responsibility and not hers, and I didnt see why she should be the oo use the ladder when Id carted it all the  there. So my motives were essentially selfish; nothihere, as dy would tell you.

    After Jess and I had had our idiotiversation about how shed killed lots of people, I shouted at Maureen to e and help me. She looked frightened, and then dawdled her way over to us.

    Get a bloody move on.

    What do you wao do? Sit on her.

    Maureen sat on Jesss arse, and I k on her arms.

    Just let me go, you old bastard pervert. Yetting a thrill out of this, arent you? Well, obviously that stung a bit, give events. I thought for a moment Jess might have known who I was, but even Im not that paranoid.

 Part 1-2

    If you were rugby-tackled in the middle of the night just as you were about to hurl yourself off the top of a tower-block, you probably wouldhinking about breakfast televisioers.

    (This would e as a shock to breakfast televisioers, of course, most of whom firmly believe that people think about nothing else but breakfast, lund dinner.) I was mature enough to rise above Jesss taunts, even though I felt like breaking her arms.

    If we let go, are you going to behave? Yes.

    So Maureen stood up, and with wearying predictability Jess scrambled for the ladder, and I had t her crashing down again.

    Now what? said Maureen, as if I were a veteran of tless similar situations, and would therefore know the ropes.

    I dont bloody know.

    Why it didnt occur to any of us that a well-known suicide spot would be like Piccadilly Circus on New Years Eve. I have no idea, but at that point in the proceedings I had accepted the reality of our situation: we were in the process of turning a solemn and private moment into a farce with a   cast of thousands.

    And at that precise moment of acceptance, we three became four. There olite cough, and wheurned round to look, we saw a tall, good-looking, long-haired man, maybe ten years youhan me, holding a crash helmet under one arm and one of those big insulated bags iher.

    Any of you guys order a pizza? he said.

    MAUREEN  I d never met an Ameri before, I dont think. I wasnt at all sure he was oher, until the others said something. You dont expect Ameris to be delivering pizzas, do you? Well, I dont, but perhaps Im just out of touch. I dont order pizzas very often, but every time I have, theyve been delivered by someone who doesnt  speak English. Ameris dont deliver things, do they? Or serve you in shops, or take your money on the bus. I suppose they must do in America, but they dont here. Indians a Indians, lots of Australians in the hospital where they see Matty, but no Ameris. So we probably thought he was a bit mad at first. That was the only explanation for him. He looked a bit mad, with that hair. Ahought that wed ordered pizzas while we were standing on the roof of Toppers House.

    How would we have ordered pizzas? Jess asked him. We were still sitting on her, so her voice sounded funny.

    On a cell, he said.

    Whats a cell? Jess asked.

    OK, a mobile, whatever.

    Fair play to him, we could have dohat.

    Are you Ameri? Jess asked him.

    Yeah.

    What are you doing delivering pizzas? What are you guys doing sitting on her head? Theyre sitting on my head because this isnt a free try, Jess said.

    You t do what you want to.

    What did you wanna do? She didnt say anything.

    She was going to jump, Martin said.

    So were you! He ignored her.

    You were all gonna jump? the pizza man asked us.

    We didnt say anything.

    The f—? he said.

    The f—? said Jess. The f— what? Its an Ameri abbreviation, said Martin.  &quot;The f—?&quot; means &quot;What the f—?&quot; In America, theyre so busy that they dont have time to say the &quot;what&quot;.

    Would you watch your language, please? I said to them. We werent all brought up in a pigsty.

    The pizza man just sat down on the roof and shook his head. I thought he was feeling sorry for us, but later he told us it wasnt that at all.

    OK, he said after a while. Let her go.

    We didnt move.

    Hey, you. You f— listening to me? Am I gonna have to e over and make you listeood up and walked towards us.

    I think shes OK, now, Maureen, Martin said, as if he was deg to stand up of his own accord, and not because the Ameri man might punch him. He stood up, and I stood up, and Jess stood up and brushed herself down and swore a lot. Theared at Martin.

    Youre that bloke, she said. The breakfast TV bloke. The one who slept with the fifteen-year-old. Martin Sharp. F—! Martin Sharp was sitting on my head. You old pervert.

    Well, of course I didnt have a clue about any fifteen-year-old. I d藏书网ont look at that sort of neer, unless Im in the hairdressers, or someones   left one on the bus.

    You kidding me? said the pizza man. The guy who went to prison? I read about him.

    Martin made a groaning noise. Does everyone in Ameriow, too? he said.

    Sure, the pizza man said. I read about it in the New York Times.

    Oh, God, said Martin, but you could tell he leased.

    I was just kidding, said the pizza man. You used to present a breakfast TV show in England. No one in the US has ever heard of you. Get real.

    Give us some pizza, then, said Jess. What flavours have you got? I dont know, said the pizza man.

    Let me have a look, then, said Jess.

    No, I mean… Theyre not my pizzas, you know? Oh, dont be such a pussy, said Jess. (Really. Thats what she said. I dont know why.) She leaned rabbed his bag and took out the pizza boxes. Then she opehe boxes and started poking the pizzas.

    This ones pepperoni. I dont know what that is though. Vegetables.

    Vegetarian, said the pizza man.  Whatever, said Jess. Who wants what? I ask<dfn></dfn>ed fetarian. The pepperoni sounded like something that wouldnt agree with me.

    JJ  I told a couple people about that night, and the weird thing is that they get the suicide part, but they dohe pizza part. Most people get suicide, I guess; most people, even if its hidden deep down inside somewhere,  remember a time in their lives whehought about whether they really wao wake up the  day. Wanting to die seems like it might be a part of being alive. So anyway, I tell people the story of that New Years Eve, and none of them are like, Whaaaaat? You were gonna kill yourself? Its more, you know, Oh, OK, your band was fucked   up, you were at the end of the lih your music, which was all you wao do your whole life, PLUS you broke up with yirl, who was the only reason you were in this fu try in the first place… Sure, I  see why you were up there. But then like the very  sed, they want to know what a guy like me was doing delivering fug pizzas.

    OK, you dont know me, so youll have to take my word for it that Im not stupid. I read the fuck out of every book I  get my hands on. I like Faulkner and Dis and Vo and Brendan Behan and Dylan Thomas. Earlier that week - Christmas Day, to be precise - Id finished Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates, which is a totally awesome novel. I was actually going to jump with a copy - not only because it would have been kinda cool, and wouldve added a little mystique to my death, but because it might have been a good way of getting more people to read it.

    But the way things worked out, I didnt have any preparation time, and I left it at home. I have to say, though, that I wouldnt reend finishing it on Christmas Day, in like a cold-water bedsit, in a city where you dont really know anybody. It probably didnt help my general sense of well-being, if you know what I mean, because the ending is a real downer.

    Anyway, the point is, people jump to the clusion that anyone driving around North London on a shitty little moped on New Years Eve for the minimum wage is clearly a loser, and almost certainly oagione short of the full Quattro. Well, OK, we are losers by definition, because delivering pizzas is a job for losers. But were not all dumb assholes. In fact, even with the Faulkner and Dis, I robably the dumbest out of all the guys at work, or at least the worst educated. We got Afri doctors, Albanian lawyers, Iraqi chemists… I was the only one who didnt have a college degree. (I dont uand how there isnt more pizza-related violen our society. Just imagine: youre like the top whatever in Zimbabwe, brain surgeon or whatever, and then you have to e to England because the fascist regime wants to nail your ass to a tree, and you end up being patro three in the m by some stoeeherfucker with the munchies… I mean, shouldnt you be legally entitled to break his fug jaw?) Anyway. Theres more than one way to be a loser. Theres sure more than one way of losing.

    So I could say that I was delivering pizzas because England sucks, and, more specifically, English girls suck, and I couldnt work legit because Im not an English guy. Or an Italian guy, or a Spanish guy, or even like a fug Finnish guy or whatever. So I was doing the only work I could find; Ivan, the Lithuanian proprietor of Casa Luigi on Holloway Road, didnt care that I was from Chicago, not Helsinki. And another way of explaining it is to say that shit happens, and theres no spaall, too dark and airless and fug hopeless, for people to crawl into.

    The trouble with my geion is that we all think were fug geniuses. Making something isnt good enough for us, aher is selling something, or teag something, or even just doing something; we have to be something. Its our inalienable right, as citizens of the twenty-first tury. If Christina Aguilera or Britney or some Ameri Idol jerk  be something, then why t I? Wheres mine, huh? OK, so my band, we put on the best live shows you could ever see in a bar, and we made two albums, which a lot of critid not many real people liked. But having talent is never enough to make us happy, is it? I mean, it should be, because a talent is a gift, and you should thank God for it, but I didnt. It just pissed me off because I wasnt being paid for it, and it did me on the cover of Rolling Stone.

    Oscar Wilde once said that ones real life is often the life one does not lead. Well, fug right on, Oscar. My real life was full of headlining shows at Wembley and Madison Square Garden and platinum records, and Grammies, and that wasnt the life I was leading, which is maybe why it felt like I could throw it away. The life I was leading did me be, I dont know… be who I thought I was. It didnt eve me stand up properly. It felt like Id been walking down a tuhat was getting narrower and narrower, and darker and darker, and had started to ship water, and I was all hunched up, and there was a wall of ro front of me and the only tools I had were my fingernails. And maybe everyone feels that way, but thats no reason to stick with it. Anyway, that New Years Eve, Id gotten sick of it, finally. My fingernails were all worn away, and the tips of my fingers were shredded up. I couldnt dig any more. With the band gohe only room I had left for self-expression was in cheg out of my unreal life: I was going to fly off that fug roof like Superman. Except, of course, it didnt work out like that.

    Some dead people, people who were too sensitive to live: Sylvia Plath, Van Gogh, Virginia Woolf, Ja Pollock, Primo Levi, Kurt Cobain, of course. Some alive people: Gee W. Bush, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Osama Bin Laden. Put a cross o the people you might want to have a drink with, and then see whether theyre on the dead side or the alive side.

    And, yeah, you could point out that I have stacked the deck, that there are a couple of people missing from my alive list who might fuck up my argument, a few poets and musis and so on. And you could also point out that Stalin and Hitler werent so great, and theyre no longer with us.

    But indulge me anyway: you know what Im talking about. Sensitive people find it harder to stick around.

    So it was real shog to discover that Maureen, Jess and Martin Sharp were about to take the Vi Van Gogh route out of this world. (And yeah, thank you, I know Vi didnt jump off the top of a North London   apartment building.) A middle-aged woman who looked like someones ing lady, a shrieking adolest lunatid a talk-show host with an e face… It didnt add up. Suicide wasnt ied for people like this.

    It was ied for people like Virginia Woolf and Nick Drake. And me.

    Suicide was supposed to be cool.

    New Years Eve was a night for seal losers. It was my own stupid fault. Of course thered be a low-rent crowd up there. I should have picked a classier date - like March th, when Virginia Woolf took her walk into the river, or Nick Drake November th. If anybody had been on the roof oher of those nights, the ces are they would have been like-minded souls, rather than hopeless fuck-ups who had somehow persuaded themselves that the end of a dar year is in any way signifit. It was just that when I got the order to deliver the pizzas to the squat in Toppers House, the opportunity seemed too good to turn down.

    My plan was to wao the top, take a look around to get my bearings, go back down to deliver the pizzas and then Do It.

    And suddenly there I was with three potential suicides mung the pizzas I was supposed to deliver and staring at me. They were apparently expeg some kind of Gettysburg address about why their damaged and pointless lives were worth living. It was ironic, really, seeing as I didnt give a fuck whether they jumped or not. I didnt know them from Adam, and none of them looked like they were going to add much to the sum total of human achievement.

    So, I said. Great. Pizza. A small, good thing on a night like this.

    Raymond Carver, as you probably know, but it was wasted on these guys.

    Now what? said Jess.

    We eat our pizza.

    Then? Just give it half an hour, OK? Then well see where were at. I dont know where that came from. Why half an hour? And what was supposed to happen then?

    Everyone needs a little time out. Looks to me like things were getting undignified up here. Thirty minutes? Is that agreed? One by ohey shrugged and then nodded, and we went back to chewing our pizzas in silehis was the first time I had tried one of Ivans. It was inedible, maybe even poisonous.

    Im not fug sitting here for half an hour looking at your fug   miserable faces, said Jess.

    Thats what youve just this minute agreed to do, Martin reminded her.

    So what? Whats the point of agreeing to do something and then not doing it? No point. Jess arently untroubled by the cession.

    sistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative, I said. Wilde again.

    I could.

    Jess glared at me.

    Hes being o you, said Martin.

    Theres no point in anything, though, is there? Jess said. Thats why were up here.

    See, now this retty iing philosophical argument. Jess was saying that as long as we were on the rooftop, we were all anarchists. No agreements were binding, no rules applied. We could rape and murder each other and no one would pay any attention.

    To live outside the law you must be ho, I said.

    What the fug hell does that mean? said Jess.

    You know, Ive never really known what the fuck it means, to tell you the truth. Bob Dylan said it, not me, and Id always thought it sounded good. But this was the first situation Id ever been in where I was able to put the idea to the test, and I could see that it didnt work. We were living outside the law, and we could lie through our teeth any time we wanted, and I wasnt sure why we shouldnt.

    Nothing, I said.

    Shut up, then, Yankee boy.

    And I did. There were approximately twe minutes of our time out remaining.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    A long time ago, when I was eight or nine, I saw this programme on   telly about the history of the Beatles. Jen liked the Beatles, so she was the one who made me watch it, but I didnt mind. (I probably told her I did mind, though. I probably made a fuss and pissed her off.) Anyway, when Ringo joined, you sort of felt this little shiver, because that was it, then, that was the four of them, and they were ready to go off ahe most famous group in history. Well, thats how I felt when JJ turned up on the roof with his pizzas. I know youll think, Oh, shes just saying that because it sounds good, but Im not. I knew, holy. It helped that he looked like a rock star, with his hair and his leather jacket and all that, but my feeling wasnt anything to do with music; I just mean that I could tell we needed JJ, and so when he appeared it felt right. He wasnt Ringo, though. He was more like Paul. Maureen was Ringo, except she wasnt very funny. I was Gee, except I wasnt shy, or spiritual. Martin was John, except he wasnt talented or cool. Thinking about it, maybe we were more like anroup with four people in it.

    Anyway, it just felt like something might happen, something iing, and so I couldnt uand ere just sitting there eating pizza slices. So I was like, Maybe we should talk, and Martin goes, What, share our pain? And then he made a face, like Id said something stupid, so I called him a wanker, and then Maureen tutted and asked me whether I said things like that at home (which I do), so I called her a bag lady, and Martin called me a stupid, mean little girl, so I spat at him, which I shouldnt have done and which also by the way I dont do anywhere near as muowadays, and so he made out like he was going to throttle me, and so JJ jumped iween us, which was just as well for Martin, because I dont think he would have hit me, whereas I most definitely would have hit and bitten and scratched him. And after that little fluffle of activity we sat there puffing and blowing and hating each other for a bit.

    And then when we were all calming down, JJ said something like, Im not sure what harm would be done by sharing our experiences, except he said it more Ameri even than that. And Martin was like, Well, whos ied in your experiences? Your experiences are delivering pizzas.

    And JJ goes, Well, your experiehen, not mine. But it was too late, and I could tell from what hed said about sharing our experiehat he  here for the same reasons we were. So I went, You came up here to jump, didnt you? And he didnt say anything, and Martin and Maureen looked at him. And Martin just goes, Were you going to jump with the pizzas? Because someone ordered those. Even though Martin was joking, it was like JJs professional pride had beeed, because he told us that he was only here on a recce, and he was going downstairs to deliver before ing back up again. And I said, Well, weve eaten them now. And Martin goes, Gosh, you didnt seem like the jumping type, and JJ said, If you guys are the jumping type then I t say Im sorry. There was, as you  tell, a lot of, like, badness in the air.

    So I tried again. Oh, go oalk, I said. No need for pain-sharing.

    Just, you know, our names and why were up here. Because it might be iing. We might learn something. We might see a way out, kind of thing. And I have to admit I had a sort of plan. My plan was that theyd help me find Chas, and Chas and I would get back together, and Id feel better.

    But they made me wait, because they wanted Maureen to go first.

    <strong>MAUREEN</strong>

    I think they picked me because I hadnt really said anything, and I hadnt rubbed anyone up the wrong way yet. And also, maybe, because I was more mysterious thahers. Martin everyone seemed to know about from the neers. And Jess, God love her… Wed only known her for half an hour, but you could tell that this was a girl who had problems. My own feeling about JJ, without knowing anything about him, was that he might have been a gay person, because he had long hair and spoke Ameri. A lot of Ameris are gay people, arent they? I know they didnt i gayness, because they say that was the Greeks. But they helped bring it bato fashion. Being gay was a bit like the Olympics: it disappeared in aimes, and then they brought it ba the tweh tury. Anyway, I didnt know anything about gays, so I just presumed they were all unhappy and wao kill themselves. But me… You couldnt really tell anything about me from looking at me, so I think they were curious.

    I didnt mind talking, because I knew I dido say very much.

    None of these people would have wanted my life. I doubted whether theyd uand how Id put up with it for as long as I had. Its always the toilet bit that upsets people. Whenever Ive had to moan before - when I need another prescription for my anti-depressants, for example - I always mentiooilet bit, the ing up that needs doing most days. Its funny, because its the bit Ive got used to. I t get used to the idea that my life is finished, pointless, too hard, pletely without hope or colour; but the mopping up doesnt really worry me any more. Thats always what gets the doctor reag for his pen, though.

    Oh, yeah, Jess said when Id fihats a no-brainer. Dont ge your mind. Youd only regret it.

    Some people cope, said Martin.

    Who? said Jess.

    We had a woman on the show whose husband had been in a a for twenty-five years.

    And that was her reward, was it? Going on a breakfast TV show? No. Im just saying.

    What are you just saying? Im just saying it  be done.

    Youre not saying why, though, are you? Maybe she loved him.

    They spoke quickly, Martin and Jess and JJ. Like people in a soap opera, bang bang bang. Like people who know what to say. I could never have spoken that quickly, not then, anyway; it made me realize that Id hardly spoken at all for twenty-odd years. And the person I spoke to most couldnt speak back.

    What was there to love? Jess was saying. He was a vegetable. Not even an awake vegetable. A vegetable in a a.

    He wouldnt be a vegetable if he wasnt in a a, would he? said Martin.

    I love my son, I said. I didnt want them to think I didnt.

    Yes, said Martin. Of course you do. We dido imply otherwise.

    Do you want us to kill him for you? said Jess. Ill go dowonight if you want. Before I kill myself. I dont mind. No skin off my nose.

    And its not like hes got much to live for, is it? If he could speak, hed probably thank me for it, poor sod.

    My eyes filled with tears, and JJ noticed.

    What are you, a f— idiot? he said to Jess. Look what youve done.

    So-rry, said Jess. Just an idea.

    But that wasnt why I was g. I was g because all I wanted in the world, the only thing that would make me want to live, was for Matty to die. And knowing why I was g just made me cry more.

    MARTIN  Everyone bloody knew everything about me, so I didhe point of this lark, and I told them that.

    Oh, e on, man, said JJ, in his irritating Ameri way. It doesnt take long, I find, to be irritated by Yanks. I know theyre our friends and everything, and they respect success over there, uhe ungrateful natives of this bloody chippy dump, but all that cool-daddio stuff gets on my wick. I mean, you should have seen him. Youd have thought he was on the roof to promote his latest movie. You certainly wouldnt think hed been puttering around Archway delivering pizzas.

    We just want to hear your side of it, said Jess.

    There isnt a &quot;my side&quot;. I was a bloody idiot and Im paying the price.

    So you dont want to defend yourself? Because youre among friends here, said JJ.

    She just spat at me, I pointed out. What kind of a friend is that? Oh, dont be such a baby, said Jess. My friends are always spitting at me. I ake it personally.

    Maybe you should. Perhaps thats how your friends intend it to be taken.

    Jess snorted. If I took it personally, I wouldnt have any friends left.

    We let that one hang in the air.

    So what do you want to know, that you dont know already? There are two sides to every story, said Jess. We only know the bad side.

    I didnt know she was fifteen, I said. She told me she was eighteen.

    She looked eighteen. That was it. That was the good side of the story.

    So if shed been, like, six months older you wouldnt be up here? I dont suppose I would, no. Because I wouldnt have broken the law.

    Wouldnt have goo prison. Wouldnt have lost my job, my wife wouldnt have found out…   So youre saying it was just bad luck.

    Id say there was a certain degree of culpability involved. This was, I need hardly tell you, an attempt at dry uatement; I didnt know then that Jess is at her happiest wallowing in the marshland of the bleeding obvious.

    Just because youve swallowed a fug diary, it doesnt mean youve dohing wrong, said Jess.

    Thats what &quot;culpability&quot;… Because some married men wouldnt have shagged her no matter how old she was. And youve got kids and all, havent you? I have indeed.

    So bad lucks got nothing to do with it.

    Oh, for fucks sake. Why dyou think Ive been dangling my feet over the ledge, you moron? I screwed up. Im n to make excuses for myself. I feel so wretched I want to die.

    I should hope so.

    Thanks. And thanks for introdug this exercise, too. Very helpful.

    Very… curative.

    Another polysyllabic word, another dirty look.

    Im ied in something, said J?J.

    Go on.

    Why is it easier to like leap into the void than to face up to what youve dohis is fag up to what Ive done.

    People are always fug young girls and leaving their wives and kids.

    They dont all jump off of buildings, man.

    No. But like Jess says, maybe they should.

    Really? You think anyone who makes a mistake of this kind should die? Woah. Thats some heavy shit, said JJ.

    Did I really think that? Maybe I did. Or maybe I had done. As some of you might know, Id written things in neers which said exactly that, more or less. This was before my fall from graaturally. Id called for the restoration of the death penalty, for example. Id called fnations and chemical castrations and prisoences and public humiliations and penances of every kind. And maybe I had meant it when Id said that men who couldheir things irousers should be… Actually, I t remember what I thought the appropriate punishment was now for philanderers and serial adulterers. I shall have to look up the n iion. But the point is that I ractising what I preached. I hadnt been able to keep my thing in my trousers, so now I had to jump. I was a slave to my own logic. That was the price you had to pay if you were a tabloid nist who crossed the line youd drawn.

    Not every mistake, no. But maybe this one.

    Jesus, said JJ. Youre real tough on yourself.

    Its not just that, anyway. Its the public thing. The humiliation. The enjoyment of the humiliation. The TV show on cable thats watched by three people. Everything. Ive… Ive run out of room. I t see any way forward or back.

    There was a thoughtful silence, for about ten seds.

    Right, said Jess. My turn.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    I launched in. I just went, My names Jess and Im eighteen years old and, see, Im here because I had some family problems that I doo go into. And then I split up with this guy. Chas. And he owes me an explanation. Because he didnt say anything. He just went. But if he gave me an explanation Id feel better, I think, because he broke my heart.

    Except I t find him. I was at the party downstairs looking for him, and he wasnt there. So I came up here.

    And Martin goes, all sarcastic, Yoing to kill yourself because Chas didnt turn up at a party? Jesus.

    Well, I never said that, and I told him. So then he was like, OK, youre up here because youre owed an explanation, then. Is that it?

    He was trying to make me sound stupid, and that wasnt fair, because   we could all do that to each other. Like, for example, say, Oh, boo hoo hoo, they wo me be on breakfast television any more. Oh, boo hoo hoo, my sons a vegetable and I dont talk to anyone and I have to  up his… Well, OK, you couldnt make Maureen sound stupid. But it seemed to me that taking the piss wasnt on. You could have taken the piss out of all four of us; you  take the piss out of anyone whos unhappy, if youre cruel enough.

    So I go, That wasnt what I said either. I said an explanation might stop me. I didnt say it was why I  here in the first place, did I? See, we could handcuff you to those railings, and that would stop you. But youre not up here because no ones handcuffed you to railings, are you?

    That shut him up. I leased with that.

    JJ was nicer. He could see that I wao find Chas, so I was like, Duh, yeah, except I wished I hadnt dohe Duh bit because he was being sympathetid Duh is taking the piss, really, isnt it? But he ighe Duh and he asked me where Chas was and I said I didnt know, some party or another, and he said, Well, why dont you go looking for him instead of fug around up here and I said Id run out of energy and hope and when I said that I k was true.

    I dont know you. The only thing I know about you is, youre reading this. I dont know whether youre happy or not; I dont know whether youre young or not. I sort of hope youre young and sad. If youre old and happy, I  imagihat youll maybe smile to yourself when you hear me going, He broke my heart. Youll remember someone who broke your heart, and youll think to yourself, Oh, yes, I  remember how that feels. But you t, you smug old git. Oh, you might remember feeling sort of pleasantly sad. You might remember listening to musid eating chocolates in your room, or walking along the Emba on your own, ed up in a winter coat and feeling lonely and brave. But  you remember how with every mouthful of food it felt like you were biting into your own stomach?

    you remember the taste of red wine as it came back up and into the toilet bowl?  you remember dreaming every night that you were still together, that he was talking to you gently and toug you, so that every m when you woke up you had to gh it all ain?  you remember carving his initials in your arm with a kit knife?  you remember standing too close to the edge of an Underground platform?

    No? Well, fug shut up then. Stick your smile up ygy old arse.

    JJ  I was going to just like splurge, tell em everything they o know   - Big Yellow, Lizzie, the works. There was o lie. I guess I felt a little queasy listening to the uys, because their reasons for being up there seemed pretty solid. Jesus, everyone uood why Maureens life wasnt worth living. And, sure, Martin had kind of dug his own grave, but even so, that level of humiliation and shame… If Id been him, I doubt if Id have stuck around as long as he had. And Jess was very unhappy and very nuts. So it wasnt like people were being petitive, exactly, but there was a certain amount of, I dont know what youd call it…marking out territory?

    And maybe I felt a little insecure because Martin had pissed all over my patch. I was going to be the shame and humiliation guy, but my shame and humiliation was beginning to look a little pale. Hed been locked up for sleeping with a fifteen-year-old, and fucked over iabloids; Id been dumped by a girl, and my band wasnt going anywhere. Big fug deal.

    Still, I didnt think of lying until I had the trouble with my name. Jess was so fug aggressive, and I just lost my nerve.

    So, I said. OK. Im JJ, and… Woss that stand for? People always want to know what my initials are for, and I ell them. I hate my name. What happened was, my dad was one of those self-educated guys, and he had a real, like, reverence for the BBC, so he spent too much time listening to the World Servi his big old short-wave radio in the den, and he was real hung up on this dude who was always on the radio in the sixties, John Julius Norwich, who was like a lord or something, and writes millions of books about like churches and stuff. And thats me. John fug Julius. Did I bee a lord, or a radio anchor, or even an Englishman? No. Did I drop out of school and form a band? Yep.

    Is John Julius a good name for a high-school dropout? Nope. JJ is OK, though. JJs cool enough.

    Thats my business. Anyway, Im JJ, and Im here because… Ill find out what your name is.

    How? Ill e round your house and ransack it until I find something that tells me. Your passport or bank book or something. And if I t find anything then Ill just steal something you love and I wont give it batil youve coughed up.

    Jesus Christ. What gives with this girl?

    Youd rather do that than call me by my initials?   Yeah. Course. I hate not knowing things.

    I dont know you very well, said Martin. But if youre really troubled by your own ignorance, Id have thought there should be one or two things higher up the list than JJs name.

    Whats that supposed to mean? Do<var></var> you know who the cellor of the Exchequer is? Or who wrote Moby-Dio, said Jess. Course not. As if anyone who kuff like that was a dork. But theyre not secrets, are they? I dont like not knowis. I could find that other stuff out any time I felt like it, and I dont feel like it.

    If he doesnt want to tell us, he doesnt want to tell us. Do your friends call you JJ? Yeah.

    Then thats good enough for us.

    Snot good enough for me, said Jess.

    Just belt up a him talk, said Martin.

    But for me, the moment had gohe moment of truth, anyway, ha ha.

    I could tell I wasnt going to get a fair hearing; there were waves of hostility ing off Jess and Martin, and these waves were breaking everywhere.

    I stared at them all for a minute.

    So? said Jess. You fotten why you were going to kill yourself, or what? Of course I havent fotten, I said.

    Well, fug spit it out then.

    Im dying, I said.

    See, I hought Id run into them again. I retty sure that sooner or later wed shake hands, wish each other a happy whatever, and theher trudge back dowairs or jump off the fug roof, depending on mood, character, scale of problem etcetera. It really never occurred to me that this was going to e bad repeat on me like a pickle in a Big Mac.

    Yeah, well you dont look great, said Jess. What you got? AIDS? AIDS fitted the bill. Everyone knew you could wander around with it for months; everyone k was incurable. A… Id had a couple friends who died from it, and its not the kind of thing you joke about.

    AIDS I knew I should leave the fuck alone. But then - and this all ran through my head ihirty seds after Jesss question - which fatal disease was more appropriate?

    Leukemia? The Ebola virus? None of them really says, No, go on, man, be my guest. Im only a joke killer disease. Im not serious enough to offend anyone.

    I got like this brain thing. Its called CCR. Which of course is Creedence Clearwater Revival, one of my all-time favorite bands, and a big inspiration to me. I didnt think any of them looked like big Creedence fans.

    Jess was too young, I really dido worry about Maureen, and Martin was the kind of guy whod only have smelled a rat if Id told him I was dying of incurable ABBA.

    Its like ial ething. I leased with the ial part.

    That sounded abht. The o- was weak, though, I admit.

    Is there no cure for that? Maureen asked.

    Oh, yeah, said Jess. Theres a cure. You  take a pill. Its just that he couldnt be arsed. Der.

    They figure its fr abuse. Drugs and alcohol. So its all my own fu fault.

    You must feel a bit of a berk, then, said Jess.

    I do, I said. If &quot;berk&quot; means asshole.

    Yeah. Anyway, you win.

    Which firmed to me ond for all that a petitive edge had snu.

    Really? I leased.

    Oh, yeah. Dying? Fuck. Thats, you know… Like diamonds or spades or those… Trumps! Youve got trumps, man.

    Id say that having a fatal disease was only any good in this game, said   Martin. The whos-the-most-miserable bastard game. Not much use anywhere else.

    How long have you got? Jess asked.

    I dont know.

    Roughly. Just like off the top of your head.

    Shut up, Jess, said Martin.

    What have I said now? I wao know what we were dealing with.

    Were not dealing with anything, I said. Im dealing with it.

    Not very well, Jess said.

    Oh, is that right? And this from the girl who t deal with being dumped.

    We fell into a hostile silence.

    Well, said Martin. So. Here we all are, then.

    Now what? said Jess.

    Yoing home, for a start, said Martin.

    Like fuck I am. Why should I? Because were going to march you there.

    Ill go home on one dition.

    Go on.

    You help me find Chas first.

    All of us? Yeah. Or I really will kill myself. And Im too young to do that. You said.

    Im not sure I was right about that, looking back, said Martin. Youre wise beyond your years. I  see that, now.

    So its OK if I go over? She started to walk towards the edge of the roof.

 Part 1-3

    e back here, I said.

    I dont give a fuck, you know, she said. I  jump, or we  look for Chas. Same thing, to me.

    And thats the whole thing, right there, because we believed her. Maybe other people on hts wouldnt have but the three of us, that night, we had no doubts. It wasnt that we thought she was really suicidal, either; it was just that it felt like she might do whatever she wao do, at any given moment, and if she wao jump off a building to see what it felt like, thery it. And once youd worked that out, then it was just a question of how much you cared.

    But you dont need our help, I said. We dont know how to start looking for Chas. Youre the only one who  find him.

    Yeah, but I get weird on my own. fused. Thats sort of how I ended up here.

    What do you think? said Martin to the rest of us.

    Im not going anywhere, said Maureen. Im not leaving the roof, and I wont ge my mind.

    Fine. We wouldnt ask you to.

    Because theyll e looking for me.

    Who will? The people in the respite home.

    So what? said Jess. What are they going to do if they t find you? Theyll put Matty somewhere terrible.

    This is the Matty whos a vegetable? Does he give a shit where he goes? Maureen looked at Martin helplessly.

    Is it the money? said Martin. Is that why you have to be dead by the m? Jess snorted, but I could see why he had asked the question.

    I only paid for one night, said Maureen.

    Have you got the money for more than one night? Yes, of course. The suggestion that she might not seemed to make her a little pissed. Pissed off. Whatever.

    So phohem up ahem hell be staying two.

    Maureen looked at him helplessly again. Why? Because, said Jess. Anyway, theres fuck all to do up here, is there? Martin laughed, kind of.

    Well, is there? said Jess.

    Nothing I  think of, said Martin. Apart from the obvious.

    Oh, that, said Jess. Fet it. The moments gone. I  tell. So weve got to find something else to do.

    So even if youre right, and the moment has passed, I said, why do we have to do anything together? Why dont we go home and watch TV?  Cos I get weird on my own. I told you.

    Why should we care? We didnt know you half an ho. I dont give much of a fuck about how weird you get on your own.

    So you dont feel like a bond kind of thing because of what weve been through.

    Nope.

    You will. I  see us still being friends when were all old. There was a silehis was clearly not a vision shared by all.

    MAUREEN  I didnt like it that they were making me sound tight. It wasnt anything to do with money. I needed one night so I paid for one night. And then someone else would have to pay, but I wouldnt be around to know.

    They didnt uand, I could tell. I mean, they could uand that I was unhappy. But they couldnt uand the logic of it. The way they looked at it was this: if I died, Matty would be put in a home somewhere.

    So why didnt I just put him in a home and not die? What would the difference be? But that just goes to show that they didnt uand me, or Matty, or Father Anthony, or a the churo one I know thinks that way.

    These people, though, Martin and JJ and Jess, theyre different from anyone I know. Theyre more like the people on television, the people iEnders and the other programmes where people know what to say straightaway. Im not saying theyre bad. Im saying theyre different. They wouldnt worry so much about Matty if he was their son. They dont have the same sense of duty. They dont have the church. Theyd just say, Whats the difference? and leave it at that, and maybe theyre right, but theyre not me, and I didnt know how to tell them that.

    Theyre not me, but I wish I was them. Maybe not them, exactly, because theyre not so happy either. But I wish I was one of those people, the people who know what to say, the people who t see the difference.

    Because it seems to me that you have more ce of being able to live a life you  stand if youre like that.

    So I didnt know what to say when Martin asked me if I really wao die. The obvious answer was, Yes, yes, of course I do, you fool, thats why Ive climbed all these stairs, thats why Ive been telling a boy - dear God, a man - who t hear me all about a New Years Eve party that Id made up. But theres another aoo, isnt there? And the other answer is, No, of course I dont, you fool. Please stop me. Please help me. Please make me into the kind of person who wants to live, the kind of person who has a bit missing, maybe. The kind of person who would be able to say, I am entitled to something more than this. Not much more; just something that would have been enough, instead of not quite enough. Because thats why I  there - there wasnt quite enough to stop me.

    Well? said Martin. Are you prepared to wait until tomorrow night? What will I tell the people in the home? Have you got the phone number? Its too late to call them.

    Therell be somebody on duty. Give me the number. He pulled one of those tiny little mobile telephones out of his pocket and tur on. It started ringing, and he pressed a button and put the phoo his ear. He was listening to a message, I suppose.

    Someone loves you, said Jess, but he ignored her.

    I had the address and phone number written down on my little note. I fished it out of my pocket, but I couldnt read it in the dark.

    Give it here, said Martin.

    Well, I was embarrassed. It was my little note, my letter, and I didnt want anyone reading it while I was watg them, but I didnt know how to say that, and before I k, Martin had reached over and snatched it from me.

    Oh, Christ, he said when he saw it. I could feel myself blushing. Is this your suicide note? Cool. Read it out, said Jess. Mine are crap, but I bet hers is worse.

    Yours are crap? said JJ. Meaning, there are like, what, hundreds of them? Im always writing them, said Jess. She seemed quite cheerful about it.

    The two boys looked at her, but they didnt say anything. You could see what they were thinking, though.

    What? said Jess.

    I imagihat most of us have just written the one, said Martin.

    I keep ging my mind, Jess said. Nothing wrong with that. Its a big decision.

    One of the biggest, Martin said. Certainly iop ten. He was one of those people who sometimes seemed to be joking when he wasnt, or not joking when he was.

    Anyway. No I wont be reading this o. He was squinting at it to read the number, and theapped the number out. And a few seds later it was all done. He apologized fing so late, and then told them something had e up and Matty would be staying for another day, and that was it. The way he said it, it was like he khey werent going to be asking any more questions. If Id phoned I would have e up with this great long explanation for why I honing at four in the m, something Id have had to have thought up months ago, and then they would have seen through me and Id have fessed and ended up going to get Matty out a few hours earlier rather than a day later.

    So, said JJ. Maureens OK. That just leaves you, Martin. You wanna j<s></s>oin in?   Well, where is this Chas? Martin said.

    I dunno, said Jess. Some party somewhere. Is that what it depends on?

    Where he is? Yes. Id rather f—ing kill myself than try a a cab to go somewhere in South London at four in the m, said Martin.

    He doesnt know anyone in South London, Jess said.

    Good, said Martin. And when he said that, you could tell that, instead of killing ourselves, we were all going to e down from the roof and look for Jesss boyfriend, or whatever he was. It wasnt much of a plan, really. But it was the only plan we had, so all we could do was try and make it work.

    Give me your mobile and Ill make some calls, said Jess.

    So Martin gave her the phone, and she went to the other side of the roof where no one could hear her, and we waited to be told where we were going.

    <strong>MARTIN</strong>

    I know what youre thinking, all you clever-clever people who read the Guardian and shop in Waterstones and would no more think of watg breakfast television than you would of buying your children cigarettes.

    Youre thinking, Oh, this guy wasnt serious. He wanted a tabloid photographer to capture his quote unquote cry for help so that he could sign a My Suicide Hell exclusive for the Sun. SHARP TAKES THE SLEAZY WAY OUT. And I  uand why you might be thinking that, my friends. I climb a stairwell, have a couple of nips of Scotch from a hip-flask while dangling my feet over the edge, and then when some dippy girl asks me to help find her ex-boyfriend at some party, I shrug and wander off with her. And how suicidal is that?

    First of all, Ill have you know that I scored very highly on Aaron T.

    Becks Suicide I Scale. Ill bet you didnt even know there was such a scale, did you? Well, there is, and I re I got something like twenty-o of thirty points, which I retty pleased with, as you  imagine.

    Yes, suicide had been plated for more than three hours prior to the attempt. Yes, I was certain of death even if I received medical attention: its fifteen storeys high, Toppers House, and they re that anything over ten will do it for you pretty well every time. Yes, there was active preparation   for the attempt: ladder, wire-cutters and so on. He shoots, he scores.

    The only questions where I might not have received maximum points are the first two, which deal with what Aaron T. Beck calls isolation and timing. No one near by in visual or vocal tact gets you top marks, as does Intervention highly unlikely. You might argue that as we chose the most popular suicide spot in North London on one of the most popular suicide nights of the year, intervention was almost iable; I would ter by saying that we were just being dim. Dim rotesquely self-absorbed, take your pick.

    A, of course, if it hadnt been for the teeming throng up there, I wouldnt be around today, so maybe old Beck is bang on the money. We may not have been ting on ao rescue us, but once we started bumping into each other, there was certainly a collective desire - a desire born more than anything out of embarrassment - to shelve the whole idea, at least for the night. Not one of us desded those stairs having e to the clusion that life was a beautiful and precious thing; if anything, we were slightly more miserable on the way down than on the , because the only solution we had found for our various predits was not available to us, at least for the moment. And there had been a sort of weird nervous excitement up on the roof; for a couple of hours we had been living in a sort of indepe state, where street-level laws no longer applied.

    Even though our problems had driven us up there, it was as if they had somehow, like Daleks, been uo climb the stairs. And now we had to go back down and face them again. But it didnt feel like we had any choice. Even though we had nothing in on beyond that ohing, the ohing was enough to make us feel that there wasnt anything else - not money, or class, or education, e, or cultural is - that was worth a damn; wed formed a nation, suddenly, in that couple of hours, and for the time being we wanted only to be with our new patriots. I had hardly exged a word with Maureen, and I didnt even know her surname; but she uood more about me than my wife had done in the last five years of our marriage. Maureehat I was unhappy, because of where shed met me, and that meant she khe most important thing about me; dy alrofessed herself baffled by everything I did or said.

    It would have bee if Id fallen in love with Maureen, wouldnt it? I  evehe neer headline: SHARP TURNED! And then thered be some story about how Old Sleazebag had seen the error of his ways and decided to settle down with niely older woman, rather than chase around after schoolgirls and C-list actresses with breast enlargements.

    Yeah, right. Dream on.

    JJWhile Jess called everyone she ko find out where this guy Chas was at, I was leaning on the wall, looking through the wire at the city, and trying to figure out what Id listen to at that exaent, if I owned an iPod or a Dis. The first thing that came to mind was Jonathan Ris Abominable Snowman in the Market, maybe because it was sweet and silly, and reminded me of a time in life when I could afford to be that way. And then I started humming the Cures Iween Days, which made a little more se wasnt today and it wasnt tomorrow, and it wasnt last year and it was year, and anyway the whole roof thing was an iween kind of a limbo, seeing as we had made up our minds where our immortal souls were headed.

    Jess spent ten mialking to sources close to Chas and came back with a best guess that he was at a party in Shoreditch. We walked down fifteen flights of stairs, through the thud of dub and the stink of piss, and then emerged ba to the street, where we stood shivering in the cold while waiting for a black cab to show. Nobody said much, besides Jess, who talked enough for all of us. She told us whose party it was, and who would probably be there.

    It will be all Tessa and that lot.

    Ah, said Martin. That lot.

    And Alfie and Tabitha and the posse who go down O on Saturdays. And Acid-Head Pete and the rest of the whole graphic design crew.

    Martin groaned; Maureen looked seasick.

    A young Afri guy driving a shitty old Ford pulled up alongside us.

    He wound down the passenger window and leaned over.

    Where you wanna go? Shoreditch.

    Thirty pounds.

    Fuck off, said Jess.

    Shut up, said Martin, and got in the fro. My treat, he said.

    The rest of us got in the back.

    Happy New Year, said the driver.

    None of us said anything.

    Party? said the driver.

    Do you know Acid-Head Pete at all? Martin asked him. Well, were hoping to run into him. Should be jolly.

    &quot;Jolly&quot;, Jess snorted. Why are you such a tosser? If you were going to joke around with Jess, and use words ironically, then youd have to give her plenty of advance warning.

    It was maybe four-thirty in the m by now, but there were tons of people around, in cars and cabs and on foot. Everyone seemed to be in a group. Sometimes people waved to us; Jess always waved back.

    How about you? Jess said to the driver. You w all night? Or are you gonna go and have a few somewhere? Work toute la nuit, said the driver. All the night.

    Bad luck, said Jess.

    The driver laughed mirthlessly.

    Yes. Bad luck.

    Does your missus mind? Sorry? Your missus. La femme. Does she care? About you w all night? No, she dont care. Not now. Not in the place where is she.

    Ah aional antenna could have felt the mood in the cab turn real dark. Ah any life experience could have figured out that this was a man with a story, and that this story, whatever it was, was uo get us into the party mood. Ah any sense would have stopped right there.

    Oh, said Jess. Bad woman, eh? I winced, and Im sure the others did, too. Bigmouth strikes again.

    Not bad. Dead. He said this flat, like he was just correg her on a point of fact - as if in his line of work, bad and dead were two addresses that people got fused.

    Oh.

    Yes. Bad men kill her. Kill her, kill her mother, kill her father.

    Oh.

    Yes. In my try.

    Right.

    And right there was the place Jess chose to stop: exactly at the point where her silence would show her up. So we drove on, thinking our thoughts. And I would bet a million bucks that our thoughts all tained, somewhere iangle and swirl, a version of the same questions: Why hadnt we seen him up there? Or had he been up and e down, like us?

    Would he sneer, if we told him our troubles? How e he turned out to be so fug… dogged?

    Whe to where we were going, Martin gave him a very large tip, and he leased and grateful, and called us his friends. We would have liked to be his friends, but he probably wouldnt have cared for us much if he got to know us.

    Maureen didnt want to e in with us, but we led her through the door and up the stairs into a room that was the closest thing Ive seen to a New York loft since Ive been here. It would have cost a fortune in NYC, which means it would have cost a fortune plus ahirty per t in London. It was still packed, even at four in the m, and it was full of my least favorite people: fug art students. I mean, Jess had already warned us, but it still came as a shock. All those woolly hats, and moustaches with parts of them missing, all those attoos and plastic shoes… I mean, Im a liberal guy, and I didnt want Bush to bomb Iraq, and I like a toke as much as the  guy, but these people still fill my heart with fear and loathing, mostly because I know they wouldnt have liked my band. When we played a college town, and we walked out in front of a crowd like this, I kneere going to have a hard time. They dont like real music, these people. They dont like the Ramones or the Temptations or the Mats; they like D J Bleepy and his stupid fug bleeps. Or else they all pretend that theyre fug gangstas, and listen to hip-hop about hos and guns.

    So I was in a bad mood from the get-go. I was worried that I was going to get into a fight, and Id even decided what that fight would be about: Id be defendiher Martin or Maureen from the sneers of some motherfucker with a goatee, or some woman with a moustache. But it never happehe weird thing was that Martin in his suit and his fake tan, and   Maureen in her raincoat and sensible shoes, they somehow blended right in. They looked sht that they looked, you know, out there.

    Martin and his TV hair could have been in Kraftwerk, and Maureen could have been like a real weird version of Mo Tucker from the Velvet Underground. Me, I was wearing a pair of faded black pants, a leather jacket and an old Gita-shirt, and I felt like a fug freak.

    There was only one ihat made me think I might have to break someones nose. Martin was standing there drinking wiraight out of a bottle, and these two guys started staring at him.

    Martin Sharp! You know, off of breakfast telly! I winced. I have never really hung out with a celebrity, and it hadnt occurred to me that walking into a party with Martins face is like walking into a party naked: even arts students tend to take notice. But this was more plicated than straightforward reition.

    Oh, yeah! Good call! his buddy said.

    Oi, Sharpy! Martin smiled at them pleasantly.

    People must say that to you all the time, one of them said.

    What? You know. Oi, Sharpy and all that.

    Well, yes, said Martin. They do.

    Bad luck, though. Of all the people on TV, you end up looking like that t.

    Martin gave them a cheerful, what--you-d and turned bae.

    You OK? Thats life, he said, and looked at me. Hed somehow mao give an old cliew depth.

    Maureen, meanwhile, lainly petrified. She jumped every time anyone laughed, or swore, or broke something; she stared at the party-goers as if she were looking at Diane Arbus photos projected fifty feet wide on an Imax s.

    You want a drink? Wheres Jess? Looking for Chas.

    And then  we go? Sure.

    Good. Im not enjoying myself here.

    Me her.

    Where do you think well go ? I dont know.

    But well all go together, do you think? I guess. Thats the deal, right? Until we find this guy.

    I hope we dont find him, said Maureen. Not for a while. Id like a sherry, please, if you  find one.

    You know what? Im not sure theres going to be too much sherry around. These guys dont look like sherry-drio me.

    White wine? Would they have that? I found a couple paper cups, and a bottle with somethi in it.

    Cheers.

    Cheers.

    Every New Years the same, huh? How do you mean? You know. Warm white wine, a bad party full of jerks. And this year Id promised myself things would be different.

    Where were you this time last year? I was at a party at home. With Lizzie, my ex.

    was OK, yeah. You? I was at home. With Matty.

    Right. And did you think, a year ago...

    Yes, she said quickly. Oh, yes.

    Right. And I didnt really know how to follow up, so we sipped our drinks and watched the jerks.

    <strong>MAUREEN  </strong>

    It t be hygienic, living in a place without rooms. Even people who live is usually have access to a proper bathroom, with doors and walls and a window. This place, the place where the party was being held, didnt even have that. It was like a railway station toilet, except there wasnt even a separate gents. There was just a little wall separating the bath and toilet from the rest of it, so even though I o go, I couldnt; anyone might have walked around the wall and seen what I was doing. And I doo spell out how uhy it all was. Mother used to say that a bad smell is just a germ gas; well, whoever owhis flat must have had germs everywhere. Not that anyone could use the toilet anyway. When I went to find it, someone was kneeling on the floor and sniffing the lid. I have no idea why anyone would want to smell the lid of a toilet (while someone else watched!  you imagine!). But I suppose people are perverted in all sorts of different ways. It was sort of what I expected when I walked into that party and heard the noise and saw what kind of people they were; if someone had asked me what I thought people like that would do in a toilet, I might have said that theyd sniff the lid.

    When I came back, Jess wa<dfn></dfn>s standing there in tears, and the rest of the party had cleared a little space around us. Some boy had told her that Chas had been and gone, and hed goh somebody he met at the party, some girl. Jess wanted us all to go round to this girls house, and JJ was trying to persuade her that it wasnt a good idea.

    Its OK, Jess said. I know her. Theres probably been some sort of misuanding. She probably just didnt know about me and Chas.

    What if she did know? said JJ.

    Well, said Jess. In that case I could go, could I? What does that mean? I wouldnt kill her. Im not that mad. But I would have to hurt her.

    Maybe cut her <mark></mark>a little.

    When Frank broke off agement I didnt think Id ever get over it.

    I felt almost as sorry for him as I did for myself, because I didnt make it easy for him. We were in the Ambler Arms, except its not called that any more, over in the er by the fruit mae, and the landlord came over to our table and asked Frank to take me home, because nobody wao put any money in the mae while I was there howling and bawling my eyes out, and they used to make a fair bit of money from the fruit mae on quiet nights.

    I nearly did away with my<samp>..</samp>self then - I certainly sidered it. But I thought I could ride it out, I thought things might get better. Imagihe trouble I could have saved if I had done! I would have killed the both of us, me and Matty, but of course I didnt know that then.

    I didnt take any notice of the silly things Jess said about cutting people.

    I came up with a lot of utter nonsense when Frank and I broke up; I told people that Frank had been forced to move away, that he was si the head, that he was a drunk and hed hit me. None of it was true. Frank was a sweet man whose crime was that he didnt love me quite enough, and because this wasnt much of a crime I had to make up some bigger ones.

    Were you engaged? I asked Jess, and then wished I hadnt.

    Engaged? Jess said. Engaged? What is this? Pride and f—ing Prejudice? &quot;Oooh, Mr Arsey Darcy. May I plight my truth?&quot; &quot;Oh yes, Miss Snooty Knobhead, Id be charmed Im sure.&quot;  She said this last part in a silly voice, but you could probably have guessed that.

    People do still get engaged, Martin said. Its not a stupid question.

    Which people get engaged? I did, I said. But I said it too quietly, because I was scared of her, and so she made me say it again.

    You did? Really? OK, but what living people get engaged? Im not ied in people out of the Ark. Im not ied in people with, with like shoes and raincoats and whatever. I wao ask what she thought we should wear instead of shoes, but I was learning my lesson.

    Anyway, who the f— did you get eo? I didnt want any of this. It didnt seem fair that this is what happened when you tried to help.

    Did you shag him? Ill bet you did. How did he like it? Doggy style? So he didnt have to look at you? And then Martin grabbed her and dragged her into the street.

    JESS  When Martin pulled me outside, I did that thing where you decide to bee a different person. Its something I could do whenever I felt like it.

    Doesnt everybody, when they feel themselves getting out of trol? You know: you say to yourself, OK, Im a booky person, so then you go a some books from the library and carry them around for a while. Or, OK, Im a druggy person, and smoke a lot of weed. Whatever. And it makes you feel different. If you borrow someone elses clothes or their is or their words, what they say, then it  give you a bit of a rest from yourself, I find.

    It was time to feel different. I dont know why I said that stuff to Maureen; I dont know why I say half the things I say. I knew Id overstepped the mark, but I couldnt stop myself. I get angry, and when it starts its like being sick. I puke and puke over someone and I t stop until Im empty. Im glad Martin pulled me outside. I opping. I opping a lot. So I told myself that from that point on I was going to be more a person out of the olden days kind of thing. I swore not to swear, ha ha, or to spit; I swore not to ask harmless old ladies who are clearly more or less virgins whether they shagged doggy style.

    Marti spare at me, told me I was a bitch, and an idiot, and asked me what Maureen had ever doo me. And I just said, Yes, sir, and, No, sir, and, Very sorry, sir, and I looked at the pavement, not at him, just to show him I really was sorry. And then I curtsied, which I thought was a ouch. And he said, What the fucks this, now? Whats the yes sir no sir business? So I told him that I was going to stop being me, and that no one would ever see the old me again, and he didnt know what to say to that. I didnt want them to get sie. People do get sie, Ive noticed.

    Chas got sie, for example. And I really hat not to happen any more, otherwise Ill be left with nobody. With Chas, I think everything was just too much; I came on to too quickly, a scared. Like that thing ie Modern? That was definitely a mistake. Because the   vibe in there… OK, some of the stuff is all weird and intense and so on, but just because the stuff is all weird and intehat shouldnt have meant that I went all weird and intehat was inappropriate behaviour, as Jen would have said. I should have waited until wed got outside and finished looking at the pictures and installations before I went off on one. I think Jen got sie, too.

    Also, the business in the ema, which looking ba it might have been the final straw. That was inappropriate behaviour, too. Or maybe the behaviour wasnt inappropriate, because we had to have that versation some time, but the place (the Holloway Odeon) wasnt right, and nor was the time (halfway through the film) or the volume (loud). One of the points Chas made that night was that I wasnt really mature enough to be a mother, and I  see now that by yelling my head off about having a baby halfway through Moulin Rouge I sort of proved it for him.

    So anyway. Marti mental at me for a while, and then he just seemed to shrink, as if he was a balloon and hed been punctured. Whats wrong, kind sir? I said, but he just shook his head, and I could uand enough from that. What I uood was that it was the middle of the night and he was standing outside a party full of people he didnt know, shouting at someone else he didnt know, a couple of hours after sitting on a roof thinking about killing himself. Oh yeah, and his wife and children hated him. In any other situation I would have said that hed suddenly lost the will to live. I went over and put my hand on his shoulder, and he looked at me as if I were a person rather than an irritation and we almost had a Moment of some description - not a romantic Ross-and-Rachel-type moment (as if), but a Moment of Shared Uanding. But then we were interrupted, and the Moment passed.

    JJ  I want to tell you about my old band - I guess because Id started to think about these guys as my new ohere were four of us, and we were called Big Yellow. We started out being called Big Pink, as a tribute to the Band album, but then everyohought we were a gay band, so we ged colors. Me and Eddie started the band in high school, and we wrote together, and we were like brothers, right up until the day that we werent like that any more. And Billy was the drummer, and Jesse was the bassist, and… shit, you could care less, right? All you o know is this: we had something that no one else ever had. Maybe some people used to have it, before my time - the Stohe Clash, the Who. But no one Ive ever seen had it. I wish youd e to one of our shows, because then youd know that Im not bullshitting you, but youll have to take my word for it: on ood nights we could suck people up and spit em out twenty miles away. I still like our albums, but it was the shows that people remember; some bands just go out and play their songs a little louder and faster, but we found a way of doing something else; we used to speed em up and slow em down, and we used to play covers of things we loved, and that we khe people who came to hear us would love too, and our shows came to mean something to people, in a way that shows dont any more. When Big Yellow played live, it was like some kind of Peal service; instead of applause and whistles and hoots, thered be tears ah-grinding and speaking in tongues. We saved souls. If you love roroll, all of it, from, I dont know, Elvis right through James Brown and up to the White Stripes, then youd have wao quit your job and e and live inside our amps until your ears fell off. Those shows were my reason for living, and I now know that this is not a figure of speech.

    I wish I was deluding myself. Really. It would help. But we used to have these message boards up on our website, and Id read them every now and again, and I could tell that people felt the same way we did; and I looked at other peoples boards, too, and they didnt have the same kind of fans. I mean, everyone has fans who love what they do, otherwise they wouldnt be fans, right? But I could tell from reading the other boards that uys walked out of our shows feeling something special. We could feel it, and they could feel it. Its just that there werent enough of them, I guess.

    Anyway.

    Mauree faint after Jess cut loose on her, and who could blame her?

    Jesus. I would have o sit down too if Jess ever cut loose on me, and Ive been around the block a few times. I took her outside on to a little roof terrace that looked like it never got the sun at any time of the day or year, but there iic table and a grill out there anyway. Those little grills are everywhere in England, right? To me theyve e to represent the triumph of hope over circumstance, seeing as all you  do is peer at them out the window through the pissing rain. There were a couple of people sitting at the piic table, but when they saw that Maureen wasnt feeling too good they got up a baside, a down. I offered to get her a glass of water, but she didnt want anything, so we just sat there for a while. And theh heard like this hissing noise, ing from the shadows o the grill in the far er, aually we figured out that there was a guy back there. He was young, with long hair and a sorry-ass moustache, hunkered down in the dark, trying to attract our attention.

    Excuse me, he whispered as loudly as he dared.

    You wanna talk to us, you e here.

    I t e into the light.

    What would happen to you if you did? A nutter might try to kill me.

    Theres only Maureen a here.

    This nutters everywhere.

    Like God, I said.

    I walked over to the other side of the terrad crouched dowo him.

    How  I help you? You Ameri? Yes.

    Oh. Howdy, pardner. If I tell you that this amused him, youll know all you o know about this guy. Listen,  you check the party and see if the nutters gone? What does he look like? She. I know, I know, but shes really scary. A mate saw her first and told me to hide out here until shed gone. I went out with her onot like &quot;once upon a time&quot;. Just once. But I stopped because shes off her head, and… This erfect.

    Youre Chas, arent you? How did you know that? Im a friend of Jesss.

    Oh, man, I wish you could have seen the look on his face. He scrambled to his feet and started looking for ways to escape over the back wall. At one point I thought he was going to try running up it, like a squirrel.

    Shit, he said. Fuck. Im sorry. Shit. Will you help me climb over? No. I want you to e and talk to her. Shes had, shes had like a rough evening, and maybe a little chat would help calm her down.

    Chas laughed. It was the hollow, desperate laugh of a man who khat, when it came to calming Jess down, several elephant tranquilizers would be much more useful than a little chat.

    You know I havent had sex sihat night we went out, dont you? I didnt know that, Chas, no. How would I know? Where would I have read that? Ive been too scared. I t make that mistake again. I t have another woman shouting at me in the ema. I dont mind, you know, never having sex again. Its better that way. Im twenty-two. I mean, by the time youre sixty, you dont feel like it anyway, right? So were only talking forty years. Less. I  live with that. Women are fug maniacs, man.

    You dont want to think shit like that, man. Youve just had some bad luck.

    I said this because I k was the right thing to say, not because my experieold me anything different. It wasnt true that women were fug maniacs, of course it wasnt - just the ohat I had slept with and Chas had slept with.

    Listen. If you came outside and had a little chat, whats the worst that could happen? Shes tried to kill me twid she got me arrested once. Plus, Im banned from three pubs, two galleries and a ema. Plus, Ive had an official warning from...

    OK, OK. So youre saying the worst that could happen is, you die a painful and violeh. And I say to you, my friend, that its better to die like a man than hide underh grills like a mouse.

    Maureen had stood up and e to join us in our dark barbecue er.

    Id try to kill you, if I were Jess, she said quietly - so quietly that it was hard to square the violence of the words with the timidity in the voice.

    There you go. Youre in trouble wherever you look.

    Who the fucks this now? Im Maureen, said Maureen. Why should you get away with it? Get away with what? I didnt do anything.

    I thought you said you had sex with her, Maureen said. Or maybe you didnt say that in so many words. But you said you hadnt had sex since. So Im thinking that you slept with her.

    Well, we had sex that once. But I didnt know she was a fug maniac then.

    So once you find out that the pirl is fused and vulnerable, thats when you run away.

    I had to run away. She was chasing me. With a knife, half the time.

    And why was she chasing you? What is this? Why is it your business? I dont like to see people upset.

    What about me? Im upset. My life is a shambles.

    Now, see, Chas couldnt know, but that wasnt such a good line ument to use with any of our crowd, the Toppers House Four. We were, by definition, the Kings and Queens of Shambles.

    Chas had given up on sex, whereas we were trying to decide whether to give up on fug life.

    You have to talk to her. said Maureen.

    Fuck off, said Chas. And then, womp! Maureen popped him as hard as she could.

    I t tell you how many times Id watched Eddie pop someo a party or after a show. And hed probably say the same thing about me, although in my memory I was the Man of Peace, with only the occasional lapse into violence, and he was the Man of War, with only the occasional moment of calm and clarity. And OK, Maureen was like this little old lady, but watg her take a swing really brought it all bae.

 Part 1-4

    Heres the thing about Maureen: she had a lot muts than I had.

    Shed stuck around to find out what it would feel like, o live the life she had planned for herself. I didnt know what those plans were, but she had them, same as everybody, and when Matty came along, shed waited around for twenty years to see what shed be offered as a replat, and she was offered nothing at all. There was a lot of feeling in that slap, and I could imagiting someone pretty hard when I was her age, too. That   was one of the reasons I didnt intend ever to be her age.

    <strong>MAUREEN</strong>

    Frank is Mattys father. Its funny to think that might not be immediately obvious to someone, because its so obvious to me. I only ever had intercourse with one man, and I only had intercourse with that one man once, and the oime in my entire life I had intercourse produced Matty.

    What are the ces, eh? One in a million? One in ten million? I dont know. But of course even one in ten million means that there are a lot of women like me in the world. Thats not what you think of, when you think of one in ten million. You dont think, Thats a lot of people.

    What Ive e to realize, over the years, is that were less protected from bad luck than you could possibly imagine. Because though it doesnt seem fair, having intercourse only the ond ending up with a child who t walk or talk or even reize me… Well, fairness doesnt really have much to do with it, does it? You only have to have intercourse the oo produce a child, any child. There are no laws that say, You  only have a child like Matty if youre married, or if you have lots of other children, or if you sleep with lots of differehere are no laws like that, even though you and I might think there should be. And once you have a child like Matty, you t help but feel, Thats it! Thats all my bad luck, a whole lifetimes worth, in one bundle. But Im not sure luck works like that. Matty wouldnt stop me from getting breast cer, or from being mugged. Youd think he should, but he t. In a way, Im glad I never had another child, a normal one. Id have needed muarantees from God than He could have provided.

    And anyway, Im Catholic, so I dont believe in luck as much as I believe in punishment. Were good at believing in punishment; were the best in the world. I sinned against the Church, and the price you pay for that is Matty. It might seem like a high price to pay, but then, these sins are supposed to mean something, arent they? So in one way its hardly surprising that this is what I got. For a long time I was even grateful, because it felt to me as though I were going to be able to redeem myself here oh, and thered be no reing to be made afterwards. But now Im not so sure. If the price you have to pay for a sin is so high that you end up wanting to kill yourself and itting an even worse sin, then Someones done his sums wrong. Someones overcharging.

    I had never hit anyone before, not in the whole of my life, although Id often wao. But that night was different. I was in limbo, somewhere between living and dying, and it felt as if it didnt matter what I did until I went back to the top of Toppers House again. And that was the first time I   realized that I was on a sort of holiday from myself. It made me want to slap him again, just because I could, but I didnt. The once was enough: Chas fell over - more from the shock, I think, than from the force, because Im not s - and the on all fours c his head with his hands.

    Im sorry, Chas said.

    For what? JJ asked him.

    Im not sure, he said. Whatever.

    I had a boyfriend like you once, I told him.

    Im sorry, he said again.

    It hurts. Its a horrible thing to do, to have intercourse with someone and then disappear.

    I  see that now.

    you? I think so.

    You t see anything from down there, said JJ. Why dont you get up? I dont really want to be slapped again.

    Is it fair to say that youre not the bravest man in the world? JJ asked him.

    There are lots of different ways of showing ce, said Chas. If what youre saying is that I do much store by physical bravery… thehats fair. Its overrated, I think.

    Well, you know, Chas, I think thats kinda brave of you, to show youre so afraid of a small lady like Maureen. I respect your hoy, man. You wont slap him again, will you, Maureen? I promised I wouldnt, and Chas got to his feet. It was a strange feeling, watg a man do something because of me.

    Not much of a life, hiding underh peoples grills, is it? said JJ.

    No. But I dont really see the alternatives.

    Howsabout talking to Jess? Oh, no. Id rather live out here all the time. Seriously. Im already thinking of relog, you know, What, to someone elses back yard? Maybe somewhere with a bit of grass? No, Chas said. To Maer.

    Listen, JJ said. I know shes scary. Thats why you should talk to her now. With us around. We , you know. Mediate. Wouldnt you rather do that than move cities? But what is there to say? Maybe we could work something out. Together. Something that might get her off your back.

    Like what? I know for a fact shed marry you if you asked her.

    Ah, no, you see thats just… I was just kidding around, Chas. Lighten up, man.

    These arent, like, lightening-up times. These are dark times.

    Dark times indeed. What with Jess, and going to Maer, and living under a grill and the Twin Towers and everything.

    Yeah.

    JJ shook his head.

    OK. So what  you tell her thats going to get you out of this f— mess? And JJ gave him some things to say, as if he were an actor and we were in a soap.

    <strong>MARTIN </strong>

    Im not averse to having a go at DIY every now and again. I decorated   the girls bedrooms myself, with stencils and everything. (Ahere were TV cameras there, and the produ pany paid for every last drop of Day-Glo paint, but that doesnt make it any less of an achievement.) Anyway, if youre a fellow enthusiast then youll know that sometimes you e across holes that are too big for filler, especially ihroom. And when that happens, the sloppy way to do it is to bung the holes up with anything you  find - broken matches, bits of sponge, whatever is to hand. Well, that was Chass fun that night: he was a bit of spohat plugged a gap. The whole Jess and Chas thing was ludicrous, of course, a waste of time and energy, a banal little sideshow; but it absorbed us, got us down off the roof and even as I was listening to his preposterous speech I could see its value. I could also see that we were going to need a lot more bits of sponge over the ing weeks and months.

    Maybe thats what we all need, whether were suicidal or not. Maybe life is just too big a gap to be plugged by filler, so we need anything we  get our hands on - sanders and planers, fifteen-year-olds, whatever -to fill it up.

    Hi, Jess, said Chas when he was shoved out of the party and on to the street. He was trying to sound cheery and friendly and casual, as if hed been hoping to bump into Jess at some point during the evening, but his general lack of volition undid him; cheeriness is hard to vey when you are too scared to make eye tact. He reminded me of a petty gangster caught thieving from the local godfather in a movie, out of his depth and desperately trying to suck up in order to save his skin.

    Why wouldnt you talk to me? Yeah. Right. I knew youd want to know that. And Ive been thinking about it. Ive been thinking about it very hard, actually, because, you know, its… Im not happy about it. Its weak. Its a weakness in me.

    Dont overdo it, man, said JJ. There seemed no attempt on anyones part to pretend that this was going to bear any resemblao a real versation.

    Nht. So. First of all I should say sorry, and it wont happen again.

    And sed of all: I find you very attractive, and stimulating pany, and… This time JJ just coughed ostentatiously.

    … And, well. Its not me, its you. He winced. Sorry. Sorry. Its not you, its me.

    At that point, just as he was trying to remember his lines, he caught my eye.

    Hey. You look like that wanker off the telly. Martin Thing.

    It is him, said Jess.

    How the fuck do you know him? Its a long story, I said.

    We were both just up on the roof of Toppers House. We was going to throw ourselves off, Jess said, thus making the long story siderably shorter, and, to be fair, leaving out very few of the salient points.

    Chas swallowed this information almost visibly, like snakes swallow eggs: you could see the slow march to the brain. Chas, Im sure, had many attractive aspects to his personality, but quiess of intelligence was not one of them. Because of that girl you shagged? And your wife and kids throwing you out and everything? he asked finally.

    Why dont you ask Jess why she was going to jump? Isnt that more relevant? Shut up, said Jess. Thats private.

    Oh, and my stuff isnt? No, she said. Not any more. Everyone knows about it.

    enny Chambers like? In real life? Is that what we came out here to talk about, Chas? JJ said quietly.

    Nht. Sorry. Its just a bit distrag, having someone off the telly standing there.

    Do you wao leave? No, said Jess quickly. I want you here.

    I wouldnt have thought youd be his type, said Chas. Too old. Plus, hes a t. He chuckled, and then looked around for someoo share the chuckle with, but none of us - none of them, I should say, because even Chas didnt expect me to laugh at my own age or thood - was eveely amused.

    ht. Its like that, is it? And suddenly, yes, it was exactly like that: we were more serious than   him, in every way.

    And even Jess saw it.

    Youre the tosser, she said. None of this is anything to do with you.

    Fuck off out of my sight. And then she kicked him - an old-fashioned, straight-legged toe into the meatiest part of the arse, as if the two of them were cartoon characters.

    And that was the end of Chas.

    JESS  When youre sad - like, really sad, Toppers House sad - you only want to be with other people who are sad. I didnt know this until that night, but I suddenly realized it just by looking at Chass face.

    There was nothing in it. It was just the face of a twenty-two-year-old boy whod never done anything, apart from dropped a few Es, or thought anything, apart from where to get the  E from, or felt anything, apart from off his face. It was the eyes that gave him away: when he made that stupid joke about Martin and expected us to laugh, the eyes were pletely lost in the joke, and there was nothing else left of them. They were just laughing eyes, nhtened eyes or troubled eyes - they were the eyes a baby has when you tickle it. Id noticed with the others that when they made jokes, if they did (Maureen wasnt a big edian), you could still see why theyd been up on the roof even while they were laughing - there was something else in there, something that stopped them giving themselves over to the moment. And you  say that we shouldnt have been up there, because wanting to kill yourself is a cowards way out, and you  say that none of us had enough reason to want to do it. But you t say that we didnt feel it, because we all did, and that was more important than anything. Chas would never know what that was like unless he crossed the lioo.

    Because thats what the four of us had done - crossed a line. I dont mean wed done anything bad. I just mean that something had happeo us which separated us from lots of other people. We had nothing in on apart from where wed ended up, on that square of crete high up in the air, and that was the biggest thing you could possibly have in on with ao say that Maureen and I had nothing in on because she wore raincoats and listeo brass bands or whatever was like saying, I dont know, the only thing Ive got in on with that girl is that we have the same parents. And I didnt know any of that until Chas said that thing about Martin being a t.

    The other thing I worked out was that Chas could have told me anything - that he loved me, he hated me, hed been possessed by aliens and the Chas I knew was now on a different pla - and it wouldnt have made any difference. I was still owed an explanation, I thought, but so what?

    What good was it going to do me? It wouldnt have made me any happier. It was like scratg when you have chipox. You think its going to help, but the itch moves over, and then moves ain. My itch suddenly felt miles away, and I couldnt have reached it with the lo arms in the world. Realizing that made me scared that I was going to be itchy for ever, and I didnt want that. I knew all the things that Martin had done, but when Chas had gone I still wanted him to hug me. I wouldnt even have cared if hed tried anything on, but he didnt. He sort of did the opposite; he held me all funny, as if I was covered in barbed wire.

    Im sorry, I went. Im sorry that little shitbag called you names. And he said it wasnt my fault, but I told him that of course it was, because if he had me he wouldnt have had to experiehe trauma of being called a t on New Years Eve. And he said he got called a t a lot.

    (This is actually true. Ive known him for a while now, and Id say Ive heard people, plete strangers, call him a t about fifteen times, a prick about ten times, a wanker maybe about the same, and an arsehole approximately half a dozen times. Also: tosser, berk, wally, git, shithead and pillock.) Nobody likes him, which is weird, because hes famous. How  you be famous if nobody likes you?

    Martin says its nothing to do with the fifteen-year-old thing; he res that if anything it got slightly better after that, because the people who called him a t were exactly the sort of people who didnt see anything wrong with underage sex. So instead of shouting out hey shouted out things like, Go on, my so in there, , etcetera. In terms of personal abuse, although not in terms of his marriage or his relationship with his children, or his career, or his sanity, going to prison actually did him some good. But all sorts of people seem to be famous even though they have no fans. Tony Blair is a good example. And all the other people who present breakfast TV programmes and quiz shows. The reason theyre paid a lot of money, it seems to me, is because strangers yell terrible words at them ireet. Even a traffic warde get called a t when hes out shopping with his family. So the only real advao being Martin is the money, and also the invitations to film premieres and dodgy nightclubs.

    And thats where you get yourself into trouble.

    These were just some thoughts I had when Martin and I hugged. But they did us anywhere. Outside my head it was five oclo the m and we were all unhappy and we didnt have ao go.

    I was like, So now what? And I rubbed my hands together, as if we   were all enjoying ourselves too much to let the night end - as if wed been giving it large in O, and we were all off fels and coffee ihnal Green, or baeones flat for spliffs and a chill. So I went, Whose gaff? Ill bet yours is tasty, Martin. Ill bet youve got Jacuzzis and all sorts. Thatll do. And Martin said, No, we t go there. And, by the way, my Jacuzzi days are long gone. Which I thi that he was broke, not that he was too fat to go in one or anything. Because hes not fat, Martioo vain to be fat.

    So I said, Well, never mind, as long as youve got a kettle and some  Flakes. And he went, I havent, so I was like, What have you got to hide? And he said, Nothing, but he said it in a funny way, an embarrassed, hiding sort of a way. And then I remembered something from before which I thought might be relevant and I said, Who was leaving messages for you on your mobile? And he went, Nobody. And I said, Is that Mr Nobody or maybe Miss Nobody? And he said, Just nobody. So I wao know why he didnt want to invite us back, and he went, Because I dont know you.

    And I said, Yeah, like you didnt know that fifteen-year-old. And then he said, as if he was angry, OK. Yeah. Lets go to mine. Why not?

    And so we did.

    JJ  I know Id had that bonding moment with Maureen when shed smacked Chas, but to tell you the truth I was w on the assumption that if we all made it through to breakfast time, then my new band would split up due to musical differences. Breakfast time would mean that wed made it through to a new dawn, new hope, a new year, tra la la. And no offense meant, but I really didnt want to be seen in daylight with these people, if you know what I mean - especially with… some of em. But breakfast and daylight were still a couple of hours away, so it felt to me like I had no real choice but to go with them baartins place. To do anything else would have been mean and unfriendly, and I still didnt trust myself to spend too much time on my own.

    Martin lived in a little villagey part of Islingtht around the er from Tony Blairs old house, and really not the kind of hood youd choose if youd fallen on hard times, as Martin was supposed to have done. He paid the cab fare, and we followed him up the front steps to his house. I could see three or four front-door bells, so I could tell it wasnt all his, but I couldnt have afforded to live there.

    Before he put his key in the lock, he paused and turned around.

    Listen, he said, and then he didnt say anything, so we listened.

    I dont hear anything, said Jess.

    No, I didhat sort of listen. I meant, Listen, Im going to tell you something.

    Go on, then, said Jess. Spit it out.

    Its very late. So just… be respectful of the neighbours.

    Thats it? No. He took a deep breath. Therell probably be someone in there.

    In your ></a>flat? Yes.

    Who? I dont know what youd call her. My date. Whatever.

    You had a date for the evening? I tried to keep my voi ral, but, you know, Jesus… What kind of evening had she had? One moment youre sitting in a club or whatever, the  hes disappeared because he wants to jump off a building.

    Yes. What of it? Nothing. Just… There was o say any more. We could leave the rest to the imagination.

    Fug hell, said Jess. What kind of date ends up with you sitting on the fug ledge of a tower-block? An unsuccessful one, said Martin.

    I should think it was fug unsuccessful, said Jess.

    Yes, said Martin. Thats why I described it as such.

    He opehe door to his flat and ushered us in ahead of him; so we saw the girl sitting on the sofa a moment before he did. She was maybe ten or fifteen years youhan him, and pretty, in a kind of bimbo TV weather-girl way; she was wearing an expensive-looking black dress, and shed been g a whole lot. She stared at us, and then at him.

    Where have you been? She was trying to keep it light, but she couldnt quite pull it off.

    Just out. Met some… He gestured at us.

    Met some who? You know. People.

    And thats why you left in the middle of the evening? No. I didnt know I was going to run into this crowd when I left.

    And which crowd are they? said the girl.

    I wao hear Martin ahe question, because it might have been funny, but Jess interrupted.

    Youre Penny Chambers, said Jess.

    She didnt say anything, probably because she khat already. We stared at her.

    Penny Chambers, said Maureen. She was gaping like a fug fish.

    Penny Chambers still didnt say anything, for the same reasons as before.

    Rise and Shih Penny and Martin, said Maureen.

    No response for a third time. I dont know much about English television stars, but I got it. If Martin was Regis, then Penny was Kathy Lee. The English Regis had been nailing the English Kathy Lee, and then disappeared to kill himself. That retty fug hilarious, you have to admit.

    Are you two going out? Jess asked her.

    Youd better ask him, said Penny. Hes the one who vanished in the middle of a dinner party.

    Are you two going out? Jess asked him.

    Im sorry, said Martin.

    Ahe question, said Penny. Im ied.

    This isnt really the time to talk about it, said Martin.

    So theres clearly some doubt, Penny said. Which is o me.

    Its plicated, said Martin. You khat.

    Nope.

    You knew I wasnt happy.

    Yes, I knew you werent happy. But I didnt know you were unhappy about me.

    I wasnt… Its not…  we talk later? In private? He stopped, aured around the room again at the three staring faces. I think I  speak for everyone when I say that, as a rule, potential suicides tend to be pretty self-absorbed: those last few weeks, its pretty much all me me me. So we were gulping this shit down a) because it was not about us and b) because it was not a versation likely to depress the hell out of us. It was, for the moment, just a fight between a boyfriend and a girlfriend, and it was taking us out of ourselves.

    And when will we be in private? Soon. But probably not immediately.

    Right. And what do we talk about in the meantime? With your three friends here? No one knew what to say to that. Martin was the host, so it  to him to find the on ground. And good lu.

    I think you should call Tom and Christine, said Penny.

    Yeah, I will. Tomorrow.

    They must think youre so rude.

    Who are Tom and Christihe people you were having dinner with? Yes.

    What did you tell them? He told them he was going to the toilet, said Penny.

    Jess burst out laughing. Martin gla her, replayed in his head the lame excuse hed used, and then smirked, very briefly, at his shoes. It was a weirdly familiar moment. You know when youre being torn a new asshole by your dad for some crime youve itted, while a pal watches and tries not to laugh? And you try not to catch his eye, because then youll laugh too? Well, thats what it was like. Anyenny spotted the little-boy smirk and flew across the room at the little boy iion. He grabbed her wrists to prevent her from hitting him.

    How dare you find it funny.

    Im sorry. Really. I know its not funny in any way. He tried to hug her, but she pushed herself away from him and sat down again.

    We need a drink, said Martin. Would you mind if they stayed for one? Ill take a drink off just about anybody in any situation, but even I wasnt sure whether to take this one. In the end, though, I was just too thirsty.

    <strong>MARTIN</strong>

    It was only whe back to the flat that I had any recolle of describing Penny as a right bitch who would fuybody and snort anything. But when had I said that? I spent the hirty minutes or so praying that it had been before Jesss arrival, when Maureen and I were on our own; if Jess had heard, then I had no doubt that my opinion of Penny would be passed on.

    And, needless to say, it was hardly a sidered opinion anyenny and I dont live together, but wed been seeing each other for a few months, more or less ever since I got out of prison, and as you  imagine she had to endure a fair amount of difficulty in that time. We didnt want the press to know that wed been seeing each other, so we never went out anywhere, and we wore hats and sunglasses more often than was strictly necessary. I had - still have, will always have - an ex-wife and children. I was only partially employed, on a dismal cable el. And as I may have mentioned before, I wasnt terribly cheerful.

    And we had a history. There was a brie<u>藏书网</u>f affair when we were co-presenting, but we were both married to other people, and so the affair ended, painfully and sadly. And then, finally, after much bad timing and many recriminations, we got together, but wed missed the moment. I had bee soiled goods. I was broken, finished, a wreck, scraping the bottom   of my own barrel; she was still at the top of her game, beautiful and young and famous, broadcasting to millions every m. I couldnt believe that she wao be with me for any reason other than nostalgia and pity, and she couldnt persuade me otherwise. A few years ago, dy joined one of those dreadful reading groups, where unhappy, repressed middle-class lesbians talk for five minutes about some hey dont uand, and thehe rest of the evening moaning about how dreadful men are. Anyway, she read a book about this couple who were in love but couldogether for donkeys years and then finally ma, aged about one hundred. She adored it and made me read it, and it took me about as long to get through as it took the characters to pair off. Well, our relationship felt like that, except the old biddies in the book had a better time than Penny and I were having. A few weeks before Christmas, in a fit of self-disgust and despair, I told her to bugger off, and so she went out that night with some guest on the show, a TV chef, and he gave her her first-ever line of coke, and they ended up in bed, and she came round to see me the  m in floods of tears. Thats why I told Maureen she was a right bitch who would snort anything and fuybody. I  see now that this was a bit on the harsh side.

    So that, give or take a few hundred heart-to-hearts and tantrums, a couple of dozen other split-ups, and the odd punch thrown - by her, I hasten to add - is how Penny came to be sitting on my sofa waiting up for me. She would have been waiting a long time if it hadnt been for our impromptu roof party. I hadnt even bothered writing her a note, an omission whily now is beginning to cause me any remorse. Why did we persist ihetic delusion that this relationship was in any way viable? Im not sure.

    When I asked Penny what the big idea was, she said merely that she loved me, which struck me as an answer more likely to fuse and obscure than to illuminate. As for me… Well, I associated Penny, perhaps uandably, with a time before things had started to go awry: before dy, before fifteen-year-olds, before prison. I had mao vince myself that if I could make things work with Penny, then I could make them work elsewhere - I could somehow haul myself back, as if ones youth were a place you could visit whenever you felt like it. I bring you momentous news: its not. Whod have thought?

    My immediate problem wa.s how to explain my e with Maureen, JJ and Jess. She would find the truth hurtful and upsetting, and it was hard to think of a lie that would eve off the ground. What could we possibly be to one another? We didnt look like colleagues, or poetry enthusiasts, or clubbers, or substance-abusers; the problem, it has to be said, was Maureen, on more or less every t, if failing to look like a substance-abuser could ever be described as a problem. And even if they were colleagues or substance-abusers, I would still find it hard to explain the apparent desperation of my desire to see them. I had told Penny and   mine hosts that I was going to the toilet; why would I then shoot out the front door half an hour before midnight on New Years Eve, in order to attend the AGM of some nameless society?

    So I decided simply to carry on as if there was nothing to explain.

    Sorry. Penny, this is JJ, Maureen, Jess, JJ, Maureen, Jess, this is Penny.

    Penny seemed unvinced even by the introdus, as if I had started lying already.

    But you still havent told me who they are.

    As in… ? As in, how do you know them and where did you meet them? Its a long story.

    Good.

    Maureen I know from… Where did we meet, Maureen? First of all? Maureen stared at me.

    Its a long time ago now, isnt it? Well remember in a minute. And JJ used to be part of the old el  crowd, and Jess is his girlfriend.

    Jess put her arm around JJ, with a touch more satire than I might have wished.

    And where were they all tonight? Theyre not deaf, you know. Or idiots. Theyre not… deaf idiots.

    Where were you all tonight? At… like… a party, said JJ tentatively.

    Where? In Shoreditch.

    Whose? Whose was it, Jess?   Jess shrugged carelessly, as if it had been that sort of crazy night.

    And why did you want to go? At eleven-thirty? In the middle of a dinner party? Without me? That I t explain. And I attempted to look simultaneously helpless and apologetic. We had, I hoped, crossed the border into the land of psychological plexity and uability, a try where ignorand bafflement were permitted.

    Youre seeing someone else, arent you? Seeing someone else? How oh could that explain any of this?

    Why would seeing someone else ate bringing home a middle-aged woman, a teenaged punk and an Ameri with a leather jacket and a Rod Stewart haircut? What would the story have been? But then, after refle, I realized that Penny had probably been here before, and therefore khat iy  usually provide the ao any domestic mystery. If I had walked in with Sheeon and Donald Rumsfeld, Penny would probably have scratched her head for a few seds before sayily the same thing.

    In other circumstances, on other evenings, it would have been the right clusion, too; I used to be pretty resourceful when I was being unfaithful to dy, even if I do say so myself. I once drove a new BMW into a wall, simply because I o explain a four-hour delay iing home from work. dy came out into the street to ihe crumpled bo, looked at me, and said, Youre seeing someone else, arent you? I de, of course.

    But then, anything - smashing up a neersuading Donald Rumsfeld to e to an Islington flat in the early hours of New Years Day - is easier than actually telling the truth. That look you get, the look which lets you see right through the eyes and down into the place where she keeps all the hurt and the rage and the loathing… Who wouldnt go that extra yard to avoid it?

    Well? My delay in replying was a result of some pretty plicated mental arithmetic; I was trying to work out which of the two different sums gave me the smallest minus number. But, iably, the delay was interpreted as an admission of guilt.

    You fug bastard.

    I was briefly tempted to point out that I was owed one, after the unfortunate i with the line of coke and the TV chef, but that would only have served to delay her departure; more than anything I wao get drunk in my own home with my new friends. So I said nothing. Everyone else jumped when she slammed the door on the way out, but I k was ing.

    <strong>MAUREEN</strong>

    I was si the carpet outside the bathroom. Well, I say carpet - I was actually sick where the carpet should have been, but he didnt have one.

    Which was just as well, because it was much easier to  up afterwards.

    Ive seen lots of those programmes where they decorate your house for you, and Ive never uood why they always make you throw your carpets away, even good ones which still have a hick pile. But now Im w whether they first of all decide whether the people who live in the house are sicker-uppers or not. A lot of younger people have the bare floorboards, Ive noticed, and of course they tend to be si the floor more than older people, what with all the beer they drink and so on. And the drugs they take, too, nowadays, I suppose. (Ds make you sick?

    Id think so, wouldnt you?) And some of the young families in Islington doo go in for the carpets much, either. But you see that might be because babies are always being sick all over the place as well. So maybe Martin is a sicker-upper. Or maybe he just has a lot of friends who are sicker-uppers. Like me. I was sick because Im not used to drinking, and also because I hadnt had a thing to eat for more than a day. I was too nervous on New Years Eve to eat anything, and there dido be an awful lot of point anyway. I didnt even have any of Mattys mush. Whats food for? Its fuel, isnt it? It keeps you going. And I didnt really want to be kept going. Jumping off Toppers House with a full stomach would have seemed wasteful, like selling a car with a full tank of petrol. So I was dizzy even before we started drinking the whisky, because of the white wi the party, and after Id had a couple the room started spinning round and round.

    We were quiet for a little while after Penny had gone. We didnt know whether we were supposed to be sad or not. Jess offered to chase after her and tell her that Martin hadnt been with anyone else, but Martin asked her how she was going to explain what we were doing there, and Jess said she thought that the truth wasnt so bad, and Martin said that hed rather Penny thought badly of him thaold that hed been thinking of killing himself.

    Youre mad, said Jess. Shed feel all sorry for you if she found out how wed met. Youd probably get a sympathy shag.

    Martin laughed. I dont think thats how it works, Jess, he said.

    Why not? Because if she found out how we met, it would really upset her. Shed think she was responsible in some way. Its a terrible thing, finding out that your lover is so unhappy he wants to die. Its a time for self-refle.

    Yeah. And? And Id have to spend hours holding her hand. I dont feel like holding her hand.

    Youd still end up with a sympathy shag. I didnt say it would be easy.

    Sometimes it was hard to remember that Jess was unhappy too. The rest of us, we were still shell-shocked. I didnt know how Id ended up drinking whisky in the lounge of a well-known TV personality when Id actually left the house to kill myself, and you could tell that JJ and Martin were fused about the evening too. But with Jess, it was like the whole hows-your-father on the roof was like a minor act, the sort of thing where you rub your head and sit down and have a cup of sweet tea, and then you get on with the rest of your day. When she was talking about sympathy intercourse and whatever other nonsense came into her head, you couldnt see what could possibly have made her want to climb those stairs up to the roof - her eyes were twinkling, and she was full of energy, and you could tell that she was having fun. We werent having fun. We werent killing ourselves, but we werent having fuher. Wed e too close to jumping. A Jess had e the closest of all of us to going over. JJ had only just e out of the stairwell. Martin had sat with his feet dangling over the edge but hadnt actually nerved himself to do it. Id never even got as far as the other side of the fence. But if Martin hadnt sat on Jesss head, shed have do, Im sure of that.

    Lets play a game, said Jess.

    F— off, said Martin.

    It was impossible to go on being shocked by the bad language. I didnt want to get to the stage where I was swearing myself, so I was quite glad that the night was drawing to an end. But the getting used to it made me realize something. It made me realize that nothing had ever ged for me. In Martins flat, I could look bayself - the me from only a few hours before - and think, Ooh, I was different then. Fancy being upset by a little bit of bad language! Id got older even during the night. You get used to that, the feeling that youre suddenly different, when youre younger. You   wake up in the m and you t believe that you had a crush on this person, or used to like that sort of music, even if it was only a few weeks ago. But when I had Matty, everything stopped, and nothing ever moved on. Its the one sihing that makes you die inside, aually wants to make you die oside too. People have children for all sorts of reasons, I know, but one of those reasons must be that children growing up make you feel that life has a sense of momentum - kids send you on a journey. Matty and I got stuck at the bus stop, though.

    He didnt learn to walk or talk, let alone read or write: he stayed the same every single day, and life stayed the same every single day, and I stayed the same too. I know its not much, but hearing the word f— hundreds of times in an evening, well, even that was something different for me, something new. When I first met Martin on the roof, I physically flinched from the words he used, and now they just boune, as if I had a helmet on. Well, they would, wouldnt they? Youd be a proper eejit if you flihree huimes in an evening. It made me wonder what else would ge if I lived like this for just a few more days. Already Id slapped someone, and now there I was drinking whisky and Coca-Cola.

    You know when people oV say You should get out more? Now I saw what they meant.

    Miserable bastard, said Jess.

    Well, yes, said Martily. Der, as you would say.

    What have I said now? You accused me of being a miserable bastard. I was merely pointing out that, at this particular stage of my life, and indeed on this particular night, &quot;miserable&quot; is a very appropriate adjective. I am a very miserable bastard indeed, as I thought you would have worked out by now.

    What, still? Martin laughed. Yes. Still. Even after all the fun weve had tonight.

    What would you say has ged in the last few hours? Have I still been to prison? I believe I still have. Did I sleep with a fifteen-year-old?

    Regrettably, nothing much seems to have ged on that score. Is my career still in pieces, and am I still estranged from my children? Unhappily, yes and yes. Despite attending a party with your amusing friends in Shoreditd being called a c—? What kind of maltent must I be, eh? I thought wed cheered each other up.

    Really? Is that really and truly what you thought? Yeah.

    I see. A trouble shared is a trouble halved, and because there are four of us, its actually been quartered? That sort of thing? Well, youve all made me feel better.

    Yes. Well, Whats that supposed to mean? Nothing. Im glad weve made you feel better. Your depression was clearly more… amehan ours. Less intractable. Youre very lucky.

    Unfortunately, JJ is still going to die, Maureen still has a profoundly disabled son and my life is still a plete and utter f—ing shambles. To be ho with you, Jess, I dont see how a couple of drinks and a game of Monopoly are going to help. Fancy a game of Monopoly, JJ? Will that help the old CCR? Or not, really? I was shocked, but JJ dido mind. He just smiled, and said, I guess not.

    I wasnt thinking of Monopoly, said Jess. Monopoly takes too long.

    And then Martin shouted something at her, but I didnt hear what it was because I was starting to retch, so I put my handover my mouth and ran for the bathroom. But as I said, I didnt make it.

    Jesus f—ing Christ, Martin said when he saw the mess Id made. I could used to that sort of swearing, though, the sort that involves Him. I dont think that will ever seem right.

    JJ  I was beginning tret the whole CCR scam, so I wasnt sorry when Maureen puked her whisky and Coke all over Martins ash-blond wooden floor. Id been experieng an impulse to own up, and owning up would have got my year off to a pretty bad start. Thats on top of the bad start it had already got off to, what with thinking of jumping off a high building, and lying about having C the first place. Anyway, I was glad that suddenly we all crowded round Maureen and patting her on the bad  her glasses of water, because the owning-up moment passed.

    The truth was that I didnt feel like a dying man; I felt like a man who every now and again wao die, and theres a difference. A man who wants to die feels angry and full of life and desperate and bored and   exhausted, all at the same time; he wants to fight everyone, and he wants to curl up in a ball and hide in a cupboard somewhere. He wants to say sorry to everyone, and he wants everyoo know just how badly theyve all let him down. I t believe that dying people feel that way, unless dying is worse than Id thought. (And why shouldnt it be? Every other fug thing is worse than I tho>9９liｂ?</a>ught, so why should dying be any different?) Id like one of my Polo mints, she said. Ive got one in my handbag.

    Wheres your handbag? She didnt say anything for a little while, and then she groaned softly.

    If yoing to be sick again, would you do me a favour and crawl the last couple of yards to the bog? Martin said.

    Its not that, said Maureen. Its my handbag. Its on the roof. In the er, right by the hole Martin made in the fes only got my keys and the Polos and a couple of pound s in it.

    We  find you a mint, if thats what youre worried about.

    Ive got some chewing gum, said Jess.

    Im not much of a one for chewing gum, said Maureen. Anyway, Ive got a bridge thats a bit loose. And I didnt betting it fixed because...

    She didnt finish the sentence. She dido. I think we all had a few things we hadnt got around to fixing, for obvious reasons.

    So well find you a mint, said Martin. Or you   your teeth if you want. You  use Pennys toothbrush.

    Thank you.

    She got to her feet and then sat down again on the floor.

    What am I going to do? About the bag? It was a question for all of us, but Martin and I looked at Jess for the answer. Or rather, we khe answer, but the answer would have to e in the form of another question, and we had both learned, over the course of the night, that Jess would be the one who was tactless enough to ask it.

    The thing is, said Jess, right on cue, do you ? Oh, said Maureen, as the bag implications started to pee.

    Do you see what I mean? Yes. Yes, I do.

    If you dont know whether yonna , just say so. Cos, you know. Its a big question, and we wouldnt want to rush you. But if you know for sure you wont be needing it, then probably best say so now.

    Thatd save us all a trip, see.

    I wouldnt ask you to e with me.

    Wed want to, said Jess. Wouldnt we? And if you know you dont want your keys, you  stay here for the day, said Martin.

    Dont worry about them.

    I see, Maureen said. Right. I hadnt really… I thought, I dont know. I was going to put off thinking about it for a few hours.

    OK, Martin said. Fair enough. So lets go back.

    Do you mind? Not at all. It would be silly to kill yourself just because you didnt have your handbag.

    Whe to Toppers House, I realized that Id left Ivans moped there the night before. It wasnt there any more, and I felt bad, because hes not such a bad guy, Ivan, and its not like hes some fug Rolls-Royce-drivin, cigar-smokin capitalist. Hes too poor. In fact, he drives one of his own mopeds around. Anyway, now I ever face him again, although one of the beauties of a minimum-wage, cash-in-hand job is that you   windshields at traffic lights and make pretty much the same money.

    I left my car here, too, said Martin.

    And thats gone as well? The door was unlocked and the keys were in the ignition. It was supposed to be an act of charity. There wont be any more of those.

    The bag was where Maureen had left it, though, right in the er of the roof. It wasnt until we got up there that we could see wed made it through to dawn, just about. It roper dawn, too, with a sun and a   blue sky. We walked around the roof to see what we could see, and the ave me an Ameri-in-London sightseeing tour: St Pauls, the Ferris wheel down by <s></s>the river, Jesss house.

    Its not scary any more, said Martin.

    You re? said Jess. Have you looked over the edge? Fug hell.

    Its a fuck sight better in the dark, if you ask me.

    I didhe drop, said Martin. I meant London. It looks all right.

    It looks beautiful, said Maureen. I t remember the last time I could see so much.

    I didhat either. I meant… I dont know. There were all those fireworks, and people walking around, and we were squeezed up here because there was nowhere else for us to go.

    Yeah. Unless youd been io a dinner party, I said. Like you had.

    I didnt know ahere. Id been invited out of pity. I didnt belong.

    And you feel included now? Theres nothing dowo feel excluded from. Its just a big city again. Look. Hes on his own. And shes on her own.

    Shes a fug traffic warden, said Jess.

    Yes, and shes on her own, and today shes got fewer friends than me even. But last night she robably dang on a table somewhere.

    With other traffic wardens, probably, said Jess.

    And I wasnt with other TV presenters.

    Or perverts, said Jess.

    No. Agreed. I was on my own.

    Apart from the other people at the dinner party, I said. But yeah. We hear where youre ing from. Thats why New Years Eve is such a popular night for suicides.

    Whens the  one? Jess asked.

    December st, said Martin.

    Yeah, yeah. Ha, ha. The  popular night? That would be Valentines Day, said Martin.

    Whats that? Six weeks? said Jess. So lets give it another six weeks, then. What about that? Well probably all feel terrible on Valentines Day.

    We all stared thoughtfully at the view. Six weeks seemed all right. Six weeks didoo long. Life could ge in six weeks - unless you had a severely disabled child to care for. Or your career had gone up in fug smoke. Or unless you were a national laughing stock.

    Dyou know how youll be feeling in six weeks? Maureen asked me.

    Oh, yes - and unless you had a terminal disease. Life wouldnt ge much theher. I shrugged. How the fuck did I know how Id be feeling?

    This disease was brand new. No one was able to predict its course - not even me, and I ied it.

    So are we going to meet again before the six weeks is up? Im sorry, but… When did we bee &quot;we&quot;? said Martin. Why do we even have to meet in six weeks? Why t we just kill ourselves wherever and whenever we want? No oopping you, said Jess.

    Surely the whole purpose of this exercise is that someone is stopping me. Were all stopping each other.

    Until the six weeks is up, yeah.

    So when you said, &quot;No oopping you,&quot; then you meant the opposite.

    Listen, said Jess. If you go home nout your head in the gas oven, what am I going to do about it? Exactly. So the purpose of the exercise is? Im asking, arent I? Because if were a gang, then well all try and live by the rules. And theres only one, anyway. Rule : We dont kill ourselves for six weeks. And if were not a gang, then, you know. Whatever. So are we a gang, or not a gang? Not a gang, said Martin.

    Why arent we? No offence, but… Martin clearly hoped these three words, and a wave of the hand in eneral dire, would save him from having to explain himself. I wasnt going to let him off the hook, though.

    I had like I was in this gaher, until that moment. And now I beloo the gang that Martin didnt like much, and I felt real itted to it.

    But what? I said.

    Well. Youre not, you know. My Kind Of People. He said it like that, I swear. I heard the capitals as clearly as I heard the lower case.  Fuck you, I said. Like I usually hang out with assholes like you.

    Well, there we are, then. We should all shake hands, thank one another for a most instructive evening and then go our separate ways.

    And die, said Jess.

    Possibly, said Martin.

    And thats what you want? I said.

    Well, its not a long-held ambition, I grant you. But Im not giving away as when I say its e to look more attractive retly. Im flicted, as you people say. Anyway, why do you care? he said to Jess.

    Id got the impression that you didnt care for anyone or anything. I thought that was your thing.

    Jess thought for a moment. You know those films where people fight up the top of the Empire State Building or up a mountain or whatever? And theres always that bit when the baddie slips off, and the hero tries to save him, but like the sleeve of his jacket tears off and he goes over and you hear him all the way down. Aaaaaaaagh. Thats what I want to do.

    You want to watch me pluo my doom.

    Id like to know that Ive made the effort. I want to show people the torn sleeve.

    I didnt know you were a fully trained Samaritan, said Martin.

    Im not. This is just my own personal philosophy.

    Id find it easier if we saw each other on a regular basis, said Maureen quietly. All of us. No one really knows how I feel about anything, apart from you three. And Matty. I tell Matty.

    Oh, for Christs sake, said Martin. He was using profanity because he khen he was beaten: telling Maureen to go fuck herself required more moral ce than any of us possessed.

    Its only six weeks, said Jess. Well throw you off the top ourselves on Valentines, if it helps.

    Martin shook his head, but it was to indicate defeat rather than refusal.

    Well all live tret it, he said.

    Good, said Jess. So is everyone all right with that? I shrugged. It wasnt like I had a better plan.

    Im not going on beyond six weeks, said Maureen.

    No one will make you, said Martin.

    As long as we know that from the start, said Maureen.

    Noted, said Martin.

    Excellent, said Jess. So its a deal.

    We shook hands, Maureen picked up her handbag, and we all went out for breakfast. We couldnt think of anything to say to each other, but we dido mind much.

 Part 2-1

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    It didnt take long for the papers to find out. A couple of days, maybe. I was in my room, and Dad called me downstairs and asked me what Id been up to on New Years Eve. And I went, Nothing much, and he went, Well, that isnt what the neers seem to think. And I was like, Neers?

    And he said, Yeah, theres apparently going to be a story about you and   Martin Sharp. Do you know Martin Sharp? And I was, you know, Yeah, sort of, only met him that night at a party, dont know him very well.

    And so Dad goes, What the hell kind of party is it where you meet someone like Martin Sharp? And I couldnt think what kind of party that would be, so I didnt say anything. And then Dad was like, And was there… Did anything… All tenterhooks or whatever, kind of thing, so I just dived in.

    Did I fuck him? No I did not! Thanks a bunch! Bloody hell! Martin Sharp! Eeeeuch! And so on <tt>..t>and so on until he got the idea.

    It was fug Chas, of course, who phoned up the neers. Hed probably tried before, the little shit, but he never had much to go on then, when it was just me. The Jess Criartin Sharp bo, though… uable. How much do you think you get for something like that? A couple of hundred quid? More? To be ho, Id have do if I were him.

    Hes always skint. And Im always skint. If hed been anyone worth selling up the river, hed be halfway out to sea by now.

    Dad pulled back the curtain to sneak a look, and there was someo there. I wao go out and have a go at him, but Dad would me; he said that theyd take a mad picture of me, and Id look stupid a it.

    And he said it was undigo do that, and in our position we had to rise above it all and ighem. And I was like, In whose position? Im not in a position. And he went, Well, you are, whether you like it or not you are in a position, and I go, Youre in a position not me, and he said, Youre in a position too, and we went on like that for a while. But of coing on about it never ges anything, and I know hes right, really. If I wasnt in a positiohe papers woulderested. In fact, the more I act as though Im not in a position, then the more Im in a position, if you see what I mean. If I just sat in my room and read, ot a steady boyfriend, thered be no i. But if I went to bed with Martin Sharp, or threw myself off a roof, then there would be the opposite of no i. Thered be i.

    When I was in the papers a couple of years ago, just after the Jen thing, I think the feeling was I was Troubled rather than Bad. Anyway, shoplifting isnt murder, is it? Everyone goes through a shoplifting phase, dont they?

    By which I mean proper shoplifting, boosting Winona-style, bags and clothes and shit, not pens and sweets. It es just after ponies and boy bands, and right before spliff and sex. But I could tell that it was different this time, and that was when I started to think things through. Yeah, yeah, I know. But better late than never, eh? What I thought was this: if it was going to be all over the papers, it was better for Mum and Dad to think that Id slept with Martin than to know the real reason we were together. The real reason would kill them. Maybe literally. Which would make me the only family member left alive, possibly, and even Im making up my mind which way to go. So if the papers had got hold of the wrong end of the stick, it wouldnt be such a bad thing. Obviously it would be pretty   humiliating at college, everyohinking Id fucked the sleaziest man in Britain, but it would be for the greater good, i.e. two alive parents.

    The thing was, even though Id started to think things through, I didnt think them through properly. I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if Id just given it awo minutes before Id opened my mouth, but I didnt. I just went, Da-ad. And he was like, Oh, no. And I just looked at him and he goes, Youd better tell me everything, and I said, Well, there isnt much to tell really. I just went to this party and he was there and I had too much to drink and we went back to his plad thats it. And he was like, Thats it, as in end of story? And I went, Well, no, thats it as in dot dot dot you doo know the details. So he went, Jesus Christ, a down in a chair.

    But heres the thing: I dido say Id slept with him, did I? I could have said wed snogged, or he tried it on, or anything at all like that, but I wasnt quiough. I was like, Well if its a choice between suicide and sex, better go sex, but those didnt have to be the choices. Sex was only a serving suggestion sort of thing, but you dont have to do exactly what it says on the packet, do you? You  miss the garnish out, if you want, and thats what I should have done. (Garnish - thats a weird word, isnt it? I dont think Ive ever used it before.) But I didnt, did I? And the other thing I should have do didnt: before I told him anything, I should have got Dad to find out what the story in the neer was. I just thought, Tabloids, sex… I dont know what I thought, to tell you the truth. Not much, as usual.

    So Dad got straight on the phone and talked to his offid told them what Id told him, and then when hed finished, he said he was going out and I wasnt to ahe phone o anywhere or do anything. So I watched TV for a few minutes, and then I looked out the window to see if I could see that bloke, and I could, and he wasnt on his own any more.

    And then Dad came back with a neer - hed been out to get an early edition. He looked about ten years older than he had before he left.

    And he held up the paper for me to see, and the headline said, MARTIN SHARP AND JUNIOR MINISTERS DAUGHTER IN SUICIDE PACT.

    So the whole sex fession bit had been a plete and utter fug waste of time.

    JJ  That was the first time we knew anything about Jesss background, and I have to say that my first rea was that it retty fug hilarious. I   was in my local store, buying some smokes, and Jess and Martin were staring at me from the ter, and I read the headline and whooped.

    Which, seeing as the headline was about their supposed suicide pact, got me some strange looks. An Eduinister! Holy shit! Youve got to uand, this girl talked like shed been brought up by a penniless, junkie welfare mother who was youhan her. And she acted like education was a form of prostitution, something that only the weird or the desperate would resort to.

    But then when I read the story, it wasnt quite so funny. I didnt kno?9９ｌｉｂ?w anything about Jesss older sister Jennifer. None of us did. She disappeared a few years ago, when Jess was fifteen and she was eighteen; shed borrowed her mothers car and they found it abandoned near a well-known suicide spot down on the coast. Jennifer had passed her test three days before, as if that had been the point of learning to drive. They never found a body. I dont know what that would have doo Jess - nothing good, I guess. And her old man… Jesus. Parents who only beget suicidal daughters are likely to end up feeling pretty dark about the whole child-raising se.

    And then, the  day, it became a whole lot less funny. There was another headline, and it read THERE WERE FOUR OF THEM!, and iicle underh it there was a description of these two freaks that I eventually realized were supposed to be Maureen and me. And at the end of the article, there peal for further information and a phone number.

    There was even like a cash reward. Maureen and I had prices on our heads, man! The information had clearly e from that asshole Chas; you could hear the whine in his voice right through the weird British tabloid prose.

    You had to give the guy a little credit, though, I guess. To me, the evening had sisted of four miserable people, failing dismally to do something they had set out to do - something that is not, lets be ho, real hard to achieve. But Chas had seen something else: hed seen that it was a story, something he might make a few bucks off of. OK, he must have known about Jesss dad, but, you know, props to the guy. He still o put it together.

    Ill tell you the horuth here: I got off oory a little. It was kind of gratifying, in an ironic way, reading about myself, and that makes sense if you think about it. See, one of the things that had brought me down was my inability to leave my mark on the world through my music - which is another way of saying that I was suicidal because I wasnt famous.

    Maybe Im being hard on myself, because I know there was a little more to it than that, but that was sure a part of it. Anyway, reizing that I was all washed up had got me on to the front page of the neer, and maybe theres a lesson there somewhere.

    So I was sort of enjoying myself, sitting in my flat, drinking coffee and smoking, taking pleasure from knowing that I was sort of famous and pletely anonymous, all at the same time. And then the fug buzzer went, and I jumped out of my skin.

    Who is it? Is that JJ? A young womans voice.

    Who is it? I wondered if I could have a few words with you? About the ht? How did you get this address? I uand you were one of the people with Jess Cri and Martin Sharp on New Years Eve? Wheried to kill themselves? You uand wrong, maam. This was the first sentence from either of us that didnt have a question mark at the end. The low  the end of mine was a relief, like a sneeze.

    Which bit have I g? All of it. You pressed the wrong buzzer.

    I dont think I did.

    How do you know? Because you didnt deny you were JJ. And you asked how Id got this address.

    Good point. They were professional, these people.

    I didnt say it was my address, though, did I? There ause, while we both allowed the plete stupidity of this observation to float around.

    She didnt say anything. I imagined her standing out there ireet, shaking her head sadly at my pathetic attempts. I vowed not to say another word until she went away.

    Listen, she said. Was there a reason you came down?   What kind of reason? I dont know. Something that might cheer our readers up. Maybe, I dont know, you gave each other the will to go on.

    I dont know about that.

    The four of you looked down over London and saw the beauty of the world. Anything like that? Anything that might inspire our readers? Was there anything inspirational in our quest to find Chas? If there was, I could.

    Did Martin Sharp say anything that gave you a reason to live, for example? People would want to know, if he did.

    I tried to think if Martin had offered us any words of fort she could use. Hed called Jess a fug idiot, but that was more of a spirit-lifting rather than life-saving moment. Aold us that a guest on his show had been married to someone whod been in a a for twenty-five years, but that hadnt helped us out much, either.

    I t think of anything, no.

    Im going to leave a card with my numbers on it,  me when you feel ready to talk about this.

    I nearly ran out after her - I was, as we say, missing her already. I liked being the temporary ter of her world. Shit, I liked being the temporary ter of my own, because there hadoo much there retly, and there wasnt much there after shed goher.

    <strong>MAUREEN</strong>

    So I went home, and I put the television on, and made a cup of tea, and I phohe tre, and the two young fellas delivered Matty to the house, and I put him in front of the TV, and it all started again. It was hard to see how Id last another six weeks. I know we had an agreement, but I hought Id see any of them again anyway. Oh, we exged telephone numbers and addresses and so forth. (Martin had to explain to me that if I didnt have a puter, then I wouldnt have an email address. I wasnt sure whether Id have one or not. I thought it might have e in one of those envelopes you throw away.) But I didnt think wed actually be using them.

    Ill tell you Gods horuth, even though itll make me sound as if I was   feeling sorry for myself: I thought they might see each other, but theyd keep me out of it. I was too old for them, and too old-fashioned, with my shoes and all. Id had an iing time going to parties and seeing all the strange people there, but it hadnt ged anything. I was still going back to pick Matty up, and I still had no life to live beyond the life I was already sid tired of. You might be thinking, well, why isnt she angry? But of course I am angry. I dont know why <q></q>I ever pretend Im not. The church had something to do with it, I suppose. And maybe my age, because we were taught not to grumble, werent we? But some days - most days - I want to scream and shout and break things and kill people. Oh, theres anger, right enough. You t be stuck with a life like this one and not get angry.

    Anyway. A couple of days later the ph, and this woman with a posh voice said, Is that Maureen? It is.

    This is the Metropolitan Police.

    Oh, hello, I said.

    Hello. Weve had reports that your son was causing trouble in the shoppire on New Years Eve. Shoplifting and sniffing glue and mugging people and so on.

    Im afraid it couldnt have been my son, I said, like a. He has a disability.

    And youre sure hes not putting the disability on? I even thought about this for half a sed. Well, you do, dont you, when its the police? You want to make absolutely sure that youre telling the absolute truth, just in case you get into trouble later on.

    Hed be a very good actor if he was.

    And youre sure hes not a very good actor? Oh, positive. You see, hes too disabled to act.

    But how about if thats an act? Only, the er, the wosss his description. The suspect.

    Whats the description? I dont know why I said that. To be helpful, I suppose.

    Well e to that, madam.  you at for his whereabouts on New Years Eve? Were you with him?   I felt a chill run through me then. The date hadered at first.

    Theyd got me. I didnt know whether to lie or not. Supposing someone from the home had taken him out and used him as a cover, sort of thing?

    One of those young fellas, say? They looked niough, but you dont know, do you? Supposing they had gone shoplifting, and hidden something under Mattys bla? Supposing they all went out drinking, and they took Matty with them, and they got into a fight, and they pushed the wheelchair hard towards someohey were fighting with? And the police saw him careering into someone, and they didnt know that he couldnt have pushed himself, so they thought he was joining in? And afterwards he was just playing dumb because he didnt want to get into trouble? Well, you could hurt someone, crashing into them with a wheelchair. You could break someones leg. And supposing… Actually, even in the middle of my little panic I couldnt really see how hed mahe glue sniffing. But even so! These were all the things that went through my mind. It was all guilt, I suppose. I hadnt been with him, and I should have been, and the reason I hadnt been with him was because I wao leave him for ever.

    I wasnt with him, no. He was being looked after.

    Ah. I see.

    He erfectly safe.

    Im sure he was, madam. But were not talking about his safety, are we?

    Were talking about the safety of people in the Wood Green shoppire.

    Wood Green! He was all the  in Wood Green! No. Yes. Sorry.

    Are you really sorry? Are you really really really f— sorry? I couldnt believe my ears. I khe police used bad language, of course. But I thought it would e out more when they were uress, with terrorists and such like, not on the phoo members of the publi the course of a routine inquiry. Unless, of course, she really was uress. Could Matty, or whoever pushed him, have actually killed someone?

    A child, maybe?

    Maureen.

    Yes, Im still here.

    Maureen, Im not really a polian. Im Jess.

    Oh. I could feel myself blushing at my own stupidity.

    You believed me, didnt you, you silly old bag.

    Yes, I believed you.

    She could hear in my voice that shed upset me, so she didnt try to make any more of it.

    Have you seen the papers? No. I dont look at them.

    Were in them.

    Whos in them? We are. Well, Martin and I are in them by name. What a laugh, eh? What does it say? It says that me and Martin and two other mystery, you know, people had a suicide pact.

    Thats not true.

    Der. And it says Im the Junior Minister for Educations daughter.

    Why does it say that? Because I am.

    Oh.

    Im just telling you so you know whats in the papers. Are you surprised? Well, you do swear a lot, for a politis daughter.

    And a womaer came round to JJs flat and asked him whether we came down for an inspirational reason.

    What does that mean? We dont know. Anyway. Were going to have a crisis meeting.

    Who is?   The four of us. Big reunion. Maybe in the place where we had breakfast.

    I t go anywhere.

    Why not? Because of Matty. Thats one of the reasons I  on the roof.

    Because I ever go anywhere.

    We could e to you.

    I began to flush again. I didnt want them here.

    No, no. Ill think of something. When are you thinking of meeting up? Later on today.

    Oh, I wont be able to sort anything out for today.

    So well e to you.

    Please dont. I havent tidied up.

    So tidy up.

    Ive never had anyone from the television in my house. Or a politis daughter.

    I wont put on any airs races. Well see you at five.

    And that gave me three hours to sort everything out, put everything away. It does drive you a little bit mad, a life like mine, I think. You have to be a little mad to want to jump off the top of a building. You have to be a little mad to e down again. You have to be more than a little mad to put up with Matty, and the staying in all the time, and the loneliness. But I do think Im only a litt<s></s>le mad. If I were really mad, I wouldnt have worried about the tidying up. And if I were really, properly mad, I wouldnt have minded what they found.

    MARTIN  I suppose it crossed my mind that my visit to Toppers House might be of io our friends iabloid press. I was on the front page of the paper for falling down drunk ireet, for Christs sake, and some   would argue that attempting to fall off a high building is even more iing than that. Wheold Chas where wed met, I did wonder whether hed have the wit to sell the knowledge on, but as Chas seemed to me a particularly witless individual, I dismissed the fear as paranoia. If Id known that Jess was newsworthy in her ht, then I could have prepared myself.

    My agent called first thing, ahe story out to me - I only bother with the Telegraph at home now.

    Is any of this true? he said.

    Between you and me? If you want.

    I was going to jump from the top of a tower-block.

    Gosh.

    My agent is young, posh and green. I came out of prison to find that there had been a quote unquanization at the agency, and Theo, who used to m<mark>..</mark>ake the coffee for my previous agent, is now all that stands between me and professional oblivion. It was Theo who found me my current job at FeetUpTV!, the worlds worst cable el. He has a degree in parative Religion, and hes a published poet. I suspect that he plays his football for Allboys United, if you get my drift, although thats her here nor there. Hes at the chocolate teapot end of the petency scale.

    I met her up there. Her and a couple of others. We came back down again. And here I am, in the land of the living.

    Why were you going to jump off the top of a tower-block? It urely whimsical.

    Im sure you must have had a reason.

    I did. I was joking. Read my file. Acquaint yourself with ret events.

    We thought wed turned a er. Its always very toug, his insisten the first person plural. Ive heard them all: Since we came out of prison…, Since we had that spot of bother with the teenage girl…&quot; If there was one cause fret after a successful suicide attempt, it would be that Id never get to hear Theo say, Since we killed ourselves… Or, Since our funeral...

    We thought wrong.

 Part 2-2

    There was a ruminative silence.

    Well. Gosh. Now what? Youre the agent. Id have thought this gave you no end of creative opportunities.

    Ill have a little think and call you back. By the way, Jesss father has been trying to get hold of you. He called here, and I said we didnt give out personal numbers. Did I do the right thing? You did the right thing. But give him my mobile number anyway. I suppose theres no avoiding him.

    Do you want to call him? He left his number.

    Go on, then.

    While I was on the phoo Theo, both my ex-wife and my ex-girlfrie messages. I had thought of her of them when Theo was reading out that story; now I felt sick. I was beginning to realize an important truth about suicide: failure is as hurtful as success, and is likely to provoke even more anger, because theres no grief with which to water it down. I was, I could hear from the tone of the messages, in very deep shit.  I called dy first.  You fug selfish idiot, she said.

    You dont know anything, apart from what you read in the paper.

    You seem to be the only person in the world that the papers get bang thts. If they say youve slept with a fifteen-year-old, you have. If they say youve fallen over drunk ireet, you have. They doo i stuff for you.

    This was actually quite an acute observation. She was right: not once have I been the victim of misrepresentation or distortion. If you think about it, that was one of the most humiliating aspects of the last few years. The papers have been full of shit about me, and every word of the shit was true.

    So Im presuming, she went on, that theyve got it right again. You were up the top of a tower-block with the iion of hurling yourself off.

    And instead you came back down again with a girl.

    Thats about the long and the short of it.

    And what about your daughters?  Do they know? Not yet. But someo school will tell them. They always do. What do you wao say to them? Maybe I should talk to them.

    dy barked ohe bark was, I suspected, inteo be a satirical laugh.

    Tell them what you want, I said. Tell them Daddy was sad, but then he cheered up again.

    Brilliant. If we had a pair of two-year-olds, that would be perfect.

    I dont know, dy. I mean, if I t see them, then its not really my problem, is it? Its something youve got to deal with.

    You bastard.

    And that was the end of the first phone call. Pointing out that her refusal to let me participate in my daughters upbringi me out in the cold struck me as a restatement of the bleeding obvious, but never mind. It got her off the phone.

    I dont know what I owe my daughters any more. I gave up smoking, years ago, because I khen that I owed them that much. But when you make the sort of mess Ive made, smoking seems like the least of your worries - which is why I started again. Now theres a journey: from giving up smoking - giving up smoking because you want to protect your kids from loss for as long as possible - tuing with their mother about the best way t proud father. I had fotten that Jess felt about long words the way that racists feel about black people: she hated them, and wao send them back where they came from. She threw him a filthy look.

    Firstly, shes eighteen. And sedly, I sat on her head in order to stop   her from jumping. Which might not have been parental, but it was at least practical. Im sorry I didnt write you a full report at the end of the evening.

    Did you sleep with her? Why is that your business, Dad? I wasnt having that. I wasnt going to get involved in an argument about Jesss rights to a private sex life.

    Absolutely not.

    Oi, said Jess. You dont have to say it like that.

    Like what? Like youre relieved or something. You should be so lucky.

    I value our friendship too muplicate it.

    Ha ha.

    Are you going to maintain a relationship with Jess? Define your terms.

    I think you should define yours first.

    Listen, pal. I came here because I kneorried you must be. But if yoing to talk to me like that, Ill fuck off home. The word-racist brightened a little: the Anglo-Saxon was striking back against the Roman invader.

    Im sorry. But you know the family history now. It doesnt make things easy for me.

    Ha! Like it makes things easy for me, said Jess.

    Its hard for all of us. Cri had clearly decided to make an effort.

    Yeah, I  see that.

    So what  we do? Please? If youve got any ideas… The thing is, I said, Ive got problems of my own.

    Der, said Jess. We were w why you were up there.

    I appreciate that, Martin. He had clearly been media-traio use first names wherever possible, like the rest of Blairs robots, to show that he was my mate. I have a hunch about you. I  see youve made some, some wrong turns in your life… Jess snorted.

    But I dont think youre a bad man.

    Thank you.

    Were in a gang, said Jess. Arent we, Martin? We are, Jess, I said, with what I hoped her father would reize as a weary lack of enthusiasm. Were friends for ever.

    What sort of gang? said Cri.

    Were going to watch out for each other. Arent we, Martin? We are, Jess. If my words became any wearier, they would no longer have the energy to crawl up my throat and out of my mouth. I could imagihem slithering back down to where theyd e from.

    So you will be in loco parentis after all? Im not sure its that sort of gang, I said.  &quot;The Loco Parentis gang&quot;… Doesnt souough, does it? What are we going to do? Beat up the Paterfamiliases? You fug shut up and you fug shut up, Jess said, to Cri and me respectively.

    My point is, said Cri, that yoing to be around.

    Hes promised, Jess said.

    And Im supposed to feel reassured by that.

    You  feel what you like, I said. But Im not reassuring anyone about anything.

    You have children of your own, I uand? Sort of, said Jess.

    I doo spell out how worried Ive been about Jess, and what a   differe would make to know that there was a sensible adult looking out for her.

    Jess sniggered unhelpfully.

    I know you wouldnt be… Youre ly… Some of the tabloids would...

    Hes worried about you sleeping with fifteen-year-olds, said Jess.

    Im not being interviewed for this job, I said. I dont want it, and if you choose to give it to me, thats your lookout.

    All I want you to say is that if you see Jess getting herself into serious trouble, then youll either try to prevent it, or youll tell me about it.

    Hed love to, said Jess. But hes flat broke.

    Why is money relevant? Because say he had to keep an eye on me and Id goo some club or something, and they would him in because hes skint… Well Well what? I could go in there and OD on smack. Id be dead, just because you were too mean to stump up.

    I suddenly saw Jesss point: a weekly wage of ￡ from Britains lowest-rated cable TV station not only focuses the mind but stimulates empathy and imagination. Jess slumped lifeless in a toilet, all for the sake of twenty quid… It was too ghastly to plate, if you plated in the right spirit.

    How much do you want? Cri let out a sigh, as if everything - the versation we were having, New Years Eve, my prisoence - had been carefully plotted to lead to this moment.

    I dont want anything, I said.

    Yes, you do, said Jess. Yes he does.

    How much does it cost to get into a club, these days? Cri asked.

    You  get through a hundred quid, easy, said Jess.

    A hundred quid? We were humiliating ourselves for the price of a det dinner for two?

    I dont doubt you  &quot;get through&quot; a hundred quid without trying. But he wouldo &quot;get through&quot; anything, would he? Hed only he price of admission, if youd overdosed s. Im presuming that he wouldopping at the bar, if you were h between life ah ioilet.

    So what youre saying is, my life isnt worth a hundred quid to you.

    Thats nice, after what happeo Jen. I wouldnt have thought you had enough daughters to spare.

    Jess, thats not fair.

    The front door slammed somewhere betwee and the fair, and Cri and I were left staring at each other.

    I hahat badly, he said, didnt I? I shrugged. She was ext money with menaces. Either you give her as much as she wants every time she asks for it, or she storms out. And I  see that might be a little… you know. Discerting. Given the family history.

    Ill give her as much as she wants, every time she asks for it, he said.

    Please go and find her.

    I left the house two hundred and fifty pounds richer; Jess was waiting for me at the end of the drive.

    Ill bet you got double what we were asking for, she said. Always works, when you mention Jen.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    You wont believe this - I dont think I do now - but in my head, what happeo Jen had fuck all to do with New Years Eve. I could tell, from talking to the others and reading the papers, that no one else saw it that way, though. They were like, Ooooh, I get it: your sister disappeared, so you want to jump off a building. But it isnt like that. Im sure it must have been an ingredient, sort of thing, but it wasnt the whole recipe. Say Im a spaghetti Bolognese, well I re Jen is the tomatoes. Maybe the onions.

    Or even just the garlic. But shes not the meat or the pasta.

    Everyos to something like that in different ways, dont they?

    Some people would start supproups and all that; I know they would,   because Mum and Dad are always trying to introduce me to some fug group or another, mostly because the group was set up by someone who ended up getting a CSE or whatever off of the Queen. And some people would sit down, turV on and watch for the wenty years.

    Me, I just started messing around. Or rather, messing around became more like a full-time job, whereas previously it had been a hobby: some messing around had already been done before Je. Ill be ho about that.

    Before I go on, Ill ahe questions that everyone always asks, just sos you dont sit there w and not trating on what Im saying.

    No, I dont know where she is. Yes, I think shes alive. Why I think shes alive: because that whole thing with the car in the car park looked phony to me. What does it feel like, having a missing sister? I  tell you. You know how if you lose something valuable, a wallet or a piece of jewellery, you t trate on anything else? Well, it feels like that all the time, every day.

    Theres something else people ask: Where do you think she is? Which is different from: Do I know where she is? At first I didnt uand that the two questions were different. And then when I did uand, I thought that the Where do you think she is? question was stupid. Like, well if I khat Id go and look for her. But now I uand it as being a more poetic question. Cos, really, its a way of asking what she was like. Do I think shes in Africa, helping people? Or do I think shes on one long perma rave, or writing poems on a Scottish island, or travelling through the bush in Australia? So heres what I think. I think she has a baby, maybe in America, and shes in a little town somewhere sunny, Texas, say, or California, and shes living with a man who works hard with his hands and looks after her and loves her. So thats what I tell people, except of course I dont know whether Im telling them about Jen or about me.

    Oh, and one more thing - especially if youre reading this iure, when everyones fotten about us and how things turned out for us: dont sit around hoping for her to pop up later on, to rescue me. She doesnt e back, OK? And we dont find out shes dead, either. Nothing happens, set about it. Well, dont fet about her, because shes important. But fet about that sort of ending. Its not that sort of story.

    Maureen lives halfway between Toppers House aish Town, in one of those little poky streets full of old ladies and teachers. I dont know for sure theyre teachers, but there are an awful lot of bikes around - bikes and recyg bins. Its shit, recyg, isnt it? I said to Martin, and he was like, If you say so. He sounded a bit tired. And I asked him if he wao know why it was shit, but he didnt. Just like he hadnt wao know why France was shit, either. He wasnt in a chatty mood, I suppose.

    It was just me and Martin in the car because JJ didnt want a lift with us,   even though we nearly went past his flat. JJ probably would have helped smooth the versation along a bit, I think. I wao talk because I was nervous, and that probably made me say stupid things. Or maybe stupid is the wrong word, because its not stupid to say France is shit. Its just a bit abrupt or whatever. JJ could have put a sort of ramp up to my senteo help people skateboard down from them.

    I was nervous because I khat we were going to meet Matty, and Im sort of not good with disabled people. Its nothing personal, and I dont think Im disablist, because I know theyve ghts to an education and bus passes and that; its just that they turn my stomach a bit. Its all that having to pretend theyre just like you and me when theyre not, really, are they? Im not talking disabled like people who have only got one leg, say.

    Theyre all right. Im talking about the ones who arent right up top, and shout, and make funny faces. How  you say theyre like you and me?

    OK, I shout and make funny faces, but I know when Im doing it. Most of the time I do, anyway. With them theres no predig, is there? Theyre all over the place.

    To be fair to him, though, Mattys pretty quiet. Hes sort of so disabled that its OK, if you know what I mean. He just sits there. From my point of view, thats probably better, although I  see that from his, its probably not much good. Except who knows whether hes got a point of view? And if he hasnt got ohen its got to be mihat ts, hasnt it? Hes quite tall, and hes in a wheelchair, and hes got cushions and what have you stuffed up behind his o stop his head lolling about. He doesnt look at you or anything, so you dooo freaked out. You fet hes there after a while, so I coped better than I thought I would. Fug hell, though.

    Poor old Maureen. Ill tell you, you wouldnt have persuaded me down from that roof. No way.

    JJ was already there when we arrived, so when we walked in it was like a family reunion, except no one looked like each other, and no one preteo be pleased to see each other. Maureen made us a cup of tea, and Martin and JJ asked her some polite questions about Matty. I just looked around a bit, because I didnt want to listen. She really had tidied up, like she said she was going to. There was almost nothing in the place, apart from the telly and things to sit on. It was like shed just moved in. In fact, I got the impression that shed moved things out and taken things down, because you could just make out marks on the wall. But then Martin was going, What do you think, Jess?, so I had to stop looking around and start joining in. lans to make.

    JJI didnt want to go to Maureens place with Martin and Jess because I ime to think. Id done a couple interviews with music journalists in the past, but they were fans of the band, sweet guys who went away totally psyched if you gave them a demo d let them buy you a drink. But these people, people like the kno-the-door inspirational lady… Man, I didnt know anything about them. All I knew was that theyd somehow found out my address iy-four hours, and if they could do that, then what couldnt they do? It was like they had the names and addresses of every single person living in Britain, just in case one day any of them did anything that might be iing.

    Anyway, she made me totally paranoid. If she wao, she could find out about the band in five minutes. And then shed get a hold of Eddie, and Lizzie, and then shed find out that I wasnt dying of anything - or if I was, Id kept the o myself. Plus, shed find out that the disease I wasnt dying of was ent.

    In other words, I was freaked out enough to think I was in trouble. I took a bus up to Maureens, and on the way I decided I was going to e , tell them all about everything, and if they didnt like it, fuck em. But I didnt want them reading about it in the papers.

    It took us a while to get used to the sound of poor Mattys breathing, which was loud and sounded as if it took a lot of effort. We were all thinking the same thing, I guess: we were all w whether we could have coped, if we were Maureen; we were all trying to figure out whether anything could have persuaded us to e back down off that roof.

    Jess, said Martin. You wanted us to meet. Why dont you call us to order? OK, she said, and she cleared her throat. We are gathered here today...

    Martin laughed.

    Fug hell, she said. Ive only done half a sentence. Whats funny about that? Martin shook his head.

    No, e on. If Im so fug funny, I want to know why.

    Its perhaps because its something more usually said in church.

    There was a long pause.

    Yeah. I khat. That was the vibe I was after.

    Why? Martin asked.

    Maureen, you go to church, dont you? Jess said.

    I used to, said Maureen.

    Yeah, see. I was trying to make Maureen feel fortable.

    Very thoughtful of you.

    Why do you have to fuck up everything I do? Gosh, said Martin. I  almost smell the inse.

    Right, you  start it off then, you fug...

    Thats enough, said Maureen. In my house. In front of my son.

    Martin and I looked at each other, screwed up our faces, held our breaths, crossed our fingers, but it was no use. Jess was going to point out the obvious anyway.

    In front of your son? But hes...

    I havent got CCR, I said. It was the only thing I could think of. I mean, obviously it needed saying, but I had inteo give myself a little more preparation time.

    There was a silence. I was waiting for them to dump on me.

    Oh, JJ! Jess said. Thats fantastic! It took me a mio realize that in the weird world of Jess, they had not only found a cure for CCR during the Christmas <dfn>..</dfn>holidays, but delivered it to my front door in the Angel some time between New Years Eve and January nd.

    Im not sure thats quite what JJ is saying, said Martin.

    No, I said. The thing is, I never had it.

    No! Bastards.

    Who?   The fuck-bloody doctors. At Maureens house, fuck-bloody became Jesss curse of choice. You should sue them. Supposing youd jumped?

    And theyd got it wrong? Motherfucker. Did it really have to be this hard?

    Im not sure hes quite saying that, either, said Martin.

    No, I said. Ill try and be as clear as possible: there aint no such thing as CCR, and<bdo>?９9ｌib?</bdo> even if there was, Im not dying of it. I made it up, cos… I dont know. Partly cos I wanted your sympathy, and partly because I didnt think youd uand what was really wrong with me. Im sorry.

    You tosser, said Jess.

    Thats awful, said Maureen.

    You arsehole, said Jess.

    Martin smiled. Telling people you have an incurable disease when you dont is probably right up there with sedug a fifteen-year-old, so he was enjoying my embarrassment. Plus, he was maybe eveled to a little moral superiority, because hed dohe det thing whe humiliated: hed walked to the top of Toppers House and dangled his feet over the edge. OK, he didnt go over, but, you know, hed shown he was taking things seriously. Me, Id thought about offing myself first and then disgraced myself afterwards. Id bee an even bigger asshole sinew Years Eve, which was kind of depressing.

    So why did you say it? Jess asked.

    Yes, said Martin. What were you attempting to simplify? It just… I dont know. Everything seemed shtforward with you guys. Martin and the, you know. And Maureen and… I nodded over to Matty.

    Wasnt straightforward with me, said Jess. I was crapping on about Chas and explanations.

    Yeah, but… No offense, but you were nutso. Didnt really matter what you said.

    So what was wrong with you? Maureen asked.  I dont know. Depression, I suppose youd call it.

    Oh, we uand depression, said Martin. Were all depressed.

    Yeah, I know. But mine seemed too… too fug vague. Sorry, Maureen.

    How do people, like, not curse? How is it possible? There are all these gaps in speech where you just have to put a fuck. Ill tell you who the most admirable people in the world are: newscasters. If that was me, Id be like, And the motherfuckers flew the fug plane right into the Twin Towers.

    How could you not, if youre a human being? Maybe theyre not so admirable. Maybe theyre robot zombies.

    Try us out, said Martin. Were uanding people.

    OK. So the short version is, all I ever wao do was be in a roroll band.

    Roroll? Like Bill Haley and the ets? said Martin.

    No, man. Thats not… Like, I dont know. The Stones. Or… Theyre not roroll, said Jess. Are they? Theyre rock.

    OK, OK, all I wao do was be in a rock band. Like the Stones, or, or… Crusty music, said Jess. She wasnt being rude. She was just clarifying my terms.

 Part 2-3

    Whatever. Jeez. And a few weeks before Christmas my band finally split up food. And soon after we split, I lost my girl. She was English.

    Thats why I was here.

    There was a silence.

    Thats it? said Jess.

    Thats it.

    Thats pathetic. I see why you came out with all that crap about the disease now. Youd rather die than not be in a band that sounds like the Rolling Stones? Id be the opposite. Id rather die if I was. Do people still like them in Amerio one does here.

    Thats Mick Jagger, isnt it, the Rolling Stones? Maureen asked. They were quite good, werent they? They did well for themselves. Mick Jaggers not sitting here eating stale Custard Creams like JJ, is he?   They were new right before Christmas, said Maureen. Maybe I didnt put the lid ba the biscuit tin properly.

    I was starting to think we were losing foy issues.

    The Stohing… Thats kind of not important. That was just like an illustration. I just meant… songs, guitars, energy.

    Hes about eighty, said Jess. He hasnt got any energy.

    I saw them in , said Martin. The night England lost to Germany in the World Cup oies. A chap from Guiook a whole crowd of us, and everyone spent most of the evening listening to the radio. Anyway, he had a lot of energy then.

    He was only seventy then, said Jess.

    Will you shut the fuck up? Sorry, Maureen. (From now on, just presume that every time I speak I say fuck, fug or motherfucker and Sorry, Maureen, OK?) Im trying to tell you about my whole life.

    No oopping you, said Jess. But youve got to make it more iing. Thats why we drift off and talk about biscuits.

    OK, all right. Look, theres nothing else for me. Im qualified for nothing. I didnt graduate from high school. I just had the band, and now its gone, and I didnt make a t out of it, and Im looking at a life of flipping burgers.

    Jess snorted.

    Now what? Just sounds funny, hearing a Yank say &quot;flipping&quot; instead of… you know what.

    I dont think he meant &quot;flipping&quot; like &quot;flipping heck&quot;, said Martin. I think he meant flipping as in turning them over. Thats what they call it.

    Oh, said Jess.

    And Im worried it will kill me.

    Hard work never killed anyone, said Maureen.  I dont mind hard work, you know? But when we were t and rec… That was me, that was who I was, and, and I just feel empty   and frustrated and, and… See, when you know yood, you think that will be enough, thatll get you there, and when it doesnt… What are you supposed to do with it all? Where do you put it, huh? Theres nowhere for it to go, and, and it was… Man, it used to eat me up evehings were going OK, because evehings were going OK, I wasnt on stage or rec like every minute of the day, and sometimes it felt like I o be, otherwise Id explode, you know? So now, now theres nowhere for it to go. We used to have this song… I have no idea why I started up on this. We used to have this song, this little like Motowny thing called &quot;I Got Your Back&quot;, which me and Eddie wrote together, really together, which we didnt usually do, and it was like, you know, a tribute to our friendship and how far back we went and blah blah. Anyhow, it was on our first album and it was like two minutes and thirty seds long and no one really noticed it, I mean, people who actually bought the album didnt even notice it. But we started playing it live, and it kind of got longer, and Eddie worked out this sweet solo. It wasnt like a rock guitar solo; it was more like something maybe, I dont know, Curtis Mayfield or Ernie Isley might have played. And sometimes, when we played around Chicago and wed jam with friends on stage, wed have maybe a sax solo or a piano solo or maybe even like a pedal steel or something, and after like a year or two it got to be this like ten-, twelve-minute showstopper. And wed open with it or close with it or stick it in the middle somewhere if we were playing a lo, and to me it became the sound of pure fug joy, sorry Maureen, you know? Pure joy. It felt like surfing, or, or whatever, a natural high. You could ride those chords like waves. I had that feeling maybe a huimes a year, and not many people get it even on their lives. And thats what I had to give up, man<cite>..</cite>, the ability to create that routinely, whenever I felt like it, as part of my w day, and… You know, now that I think about it, I  see why I made up that bullshit, sorry Maureen, about dying of some fug disease, sain. Because thats what it feels like. Im dying of some disease that dries up all the blood in your veins and all your sap and, and everything that makes you feel alive, and… Yeah, and? said Martin. You seem to have omitted the part about why you want to kill yourself.

    Thats it, I said. This disease that dries up all the blood in your veins.

    Thats just what happens to everyone, said Martin. Its called &quot;getting older&quot;. I felt like that even before Id been to prison. Even before I slept with that girl. Its probably why I slept with her, e to think of it.

    No, I get it, said Jess.

    Yeah? Course I do. Youre fucked. She waved an apologetid in   Maureens dire, like a tennis player aowledging a luet cord. You thought you were going to be someone, but now its obvious youre nobody. You havent got as much talent as you thought you had, and there was no plan B, and you got no skills and no education, and now youre looking at forty or fifty years of nothing. Less than nothing, probably. Thats pretty heavy. Thats worse than having the brain thing, because what you got now will take a lot loo kill you. Youve got the choice of a slow painful death, or a quick merciful one.

    She shrugged.

    She was right. She got it.

    <strong>MAUREEN</strong>

    I would have got away with it if Jess hadnt goo the toilet. But you t stop people going to the toilet,  you? I was green. It never occurred to me that shed be nosing around where she had no business.

    She was gone a while, and she came back grinning all over her stupid face, holding a couple of the posters.

    In one hand she had the poster of the girl, and iher the poster of the black fella, the footballer.

    So whose are these then? she said.

    I stood up and shouted at her. Put those back! Theyre not yours! Id never have thought it of you, she said. So lets work this out. Youre a dyke who has a bit of a thing for black guys with big thighs. Kinky.

    Hiddehs.

    It was typical of Jess, I thought. She only has a filthy imagination, which is to say, no imagination at all.

    Do you even know who these people are? she said.

    Theyre Mattys, the posters, not mine. He doesnt know theyre his, of course, but they are; I chose them for him. I khat the girl was called Buffy, because thats what it said on the poster, but I didnt really know who Buffy was; I just thought it would be niatty to have an attractive young woman around the place, because hes that age now. And I khat the black fella played for Arsenal, but I only caught his first name, Paddy. I took advice from John at the church, who goes along to Highbury every   week, and he said everyone loved Paddy, so I asked him if hed bring me back a picture for my lad ime he went to a game. Hes a nice man, John, and he bought a great big picture of Paddy celebrating a goal, and he didnt even aying for it, but things got a little awkward afterwards.

    For some reason he decided my lad was a little lad, ten or twelve, and he promised to take him to a game. And sometimes on Sunday ms, when Arsenal had lost ourday, he asked how Matty was taking it, and sometimes when theyd won a big game hed say, Ill bet your lads happy, and so on. And then one Friday m when I was wheeling Matty back from the shops, we bumped into him. And I could have said nothing, but sometimes you have to admit to yourself and to everyone else, This is Matty. This is my lad. So I did, and John never mentioned Arsenal again after that. I dont miss that on a Sunday m. There are lots of good reasons to lose your faith.

    I chose the posters the same as I chose all the other things that Jess had probably been rummaging through, the tapes and the books and the football boots and the puter games and the videos. The diaries and the trendy address books. (Address books! Dear God! Of all the things that spell it out.

    I  put a tape on for him, and hope he was listening to it, but what am I going to fill an address book with? I havent even got one of my own.) The jazzy pens, the camera and the Walkman. Lots of watches. Theres a whole ueenage life in there.

    This all began years ago, when I decided to decorate his bedroom.

    He was eight, aill slept in a nursery - s on the curtains, bunny rabbits on the frieze round the wall, all the things Id chosen when I was waiting for him and I didnt know what he was. And it eeling away, and it looked terrible, and I hadnt done anything about it because it made me think too much about what wasnt happening to him, all the ways he wasnt growing up. What was I going to replace the bunny rabbits with?

    He was eight, so perhaps trains and rocket ships and maybe even footballers were the right sort of thing for him - but of course he didnt know what any of those things were, what they meant, what they did. But there again, he didnt know what the rabbits were either, or the s. So what was I supposed to do? Everything retending, wasnt it? The only thing I could do that wasnt make-believe aint the walls white, get a plain pair of curtains. That would be a way of telling him and me and anyone else who came in that I knew he was a vegetable, a cabbage, and I wasnt trying to hide it. But then, where does it stop? Does that mean you ever buy him a T-shirt with a word on it, or a picture, because hell never read, and he t make any sense of pictures? And who knows whether he eves anything out of colours, or patterns? And it goes without saying that talking to him is ridiculous, and smiling at him, and kissing him on the head. Everything I do is pretending, so why not pretend   properly?

    In the end, I went for trains on the curtains, and your man from Star Wars on the lampshade. And soon after that I started buying ics every now and again, just to see what a lad of his age might be reading and thinking about. Ached the Saturday m television together, so I learned a little bit about pop singers he might like, and sometimes about the TV programmes hed be watg. I said before that one of the worst things was never moving on, and pretending to move o ge anything. But it helps. Without it, what is there left? And anyway, thinking about these things helped me to see Matty, in a strange sort of a way. I suppose it must be what they do whehink of a new character for EastEnders: they must say to themselves, well, what does this person like? What does he listen to, who are his friends, what football team does he support? Thats what I did - I made up a son. He supports Arsenal, he likes fishing, although he doesnt have a rod yet. He likes pop music, but not the sort of pop music where people sing half-naked and use a lot of swear words. Very occasionally, people ask what he wants for his birthday or Christmas, and I tell them, and they know better than to act surprised.

    Most distant family members have never met him, and never asked to. All they know about him is just that hes not all there, or theres something nht with him. They dont want to know any more, so they never say, Oh, he  fish? Or, in the case of my Uncle Michael, Oh, he  swim uer and then look at his watch while hes down there? Theyre just grateful to be told what to do. Matty took over the whole flat, in the end.

    You know how kids do. Stuff everywhere.

    It doesnt matter whether I know who they are or not, I said. They belong to Matty.

    Oh, hes a big fan of… Just do as youre told and put them back, said Martin. Put them back et out. How much of a bitch do you really want to be? One day, I thought, Ill learn to say that for myself.

    MARTIN  Mattys posters wereioned again that day. We were all curious, of course, but Jess had ehat JJ and I couldnt express this curiosity: Jess set things up so that you were either for her ainst her, and in this matter, as in so many others, we were against her - which meant staying quiet on this issue. But because we resented being made to stay quiet, we became aggressive and noisy on any other issue we could bring to mind.

    You t stand your dad,  you? I asked her.

    No, course not. Hes a tosser.

    But you live with him? So? How  you stick it, man? JJ asked her.

    t afford to move out. Plus theyve got a er and cable and broadband and all that.

    Ah, to be young and idealistid principled! I said. Anti-globalization, pro-er, eh? Yeah, Im really going to be lectured by you two jerks. Plus theres the other thing. The Jen thing. They worry.

    Ah, yes. The Jen thing. JJ and I were momentarily chastened. Looked at in a certain light, the previous versation could be summarized as follows: a maly imprisoned for having sex with a minor, and another who had fabricated a fatal disease because to do so saved him some time, trouble and face had ridiculed a grieving teenager for wanting to be at home with her grieving parents. I made a o put aside some time later so that I could synopsize it differently.

    We were sorry to hear about your sister, said Maureen.

    Yeah, well, it didnt happeerday, did it? We were sorry anyway, said JJ wearily. g the moral high ground to Jess simply meant that she could piss all over everyoil she got thrown off again.

    Got used to it now.

    Have you? I asked.

    Sort of...

    Must be a strahing to have to get used to.

    Bit.

    Dont you think about it all the time? JJ asked her.

    t we talk about what were supposed to be talking about? Which is what, exactly? About what were going to do. About the papers and all that.

    Do we have to do anything? I think so, said JJ.

    Theyll fet about us soon, you know, I said. Its only because fuck all happens, sorry, Maureen, at the beginning of the year.

    What if we dont want them tet about us? said Jess.

    Why the hell would we want them to remember? I asked her.

    We could make some dosh. And itd be something to do.

    What would be something to do? I dunno. I just… I get the feeling that were different. That people would like us, aerested in us.

    Youre mad.

    Yeah. Exactly. Thats why theyd be ied in me. I could even play it up a bit, if you like.

    Im sure that wont be necessary, I said quickly, on behalf of the three of us, and indeed on behalf of the entire population of Britain. Youre fine as you are.

    Jess smiled sweetly, surprised by the unsought pliment. Thanks, Martin. So are you. And you - theyd want to know how you fucked up your life with the girl. And you, JJ, theyd want to know about pizzas and all that. And Maureen could tell everyone about how shit it is living with Matty. See, wed be like superheroes, the X-Men or whatever. Weve all got some secret superpower.

    Yeah, said JJ. Right on. I have the superpower of delivering pizzas.

    And Maureen has the superpower of a disabled son.

    Well, all right, superpower is the wrong word. But, you know. Some thing.

    Ah, yes. &quot;Thing&quot;. Le mot juste, as ever.

    Jess scowled, but was too besotted by her theme to hit me with the insult my knowledge of a fn phrase demanded and deserved. And we could say that we still havent decided whether were going to actually top ourselves - theyd like that.

    And if we like actually sold the TV rights to Valentines Night… Maybe they could turn it into a Big Brother kinda thing. You could root for the person you wao go over, said JJ.

    Jess looked dubious. I dont know about that, she said. But you know about papers and that, Martin. We could make some money, couldnt we? Has it occurred to you that Ive had enough trouble with the papers? Oh, its always about you, isnt it? said Jess. What about if theres a few quid in it for us? But whats the story? said JJ. Theres no story. We went up, we came down, thats it. People must do that all the time.

    Ive been thinking about this. How about if we saw something? said Jess.

    Like what? What are we supposed to have seen? OK. How about if we saw an angel?  An angel, said JJ flatly.  Yeah.

    I didnt see an angel, said Maureen. When did you see an angel? No one saw an angel, I explained. Jess is proposing that we i a spiritual experience for financial gain.

    Thats terrible, said Maureen, if only because it was so clearly expected of her.

    Its not really iing, is it? said Jess.  No? In what sense did we actually see an angel?  What do you call it in poems?  Im sorry?   You know, in poems. And in English Literature. Sometimes you say something is like something and sometimes you say something is something. You know, my love is like a fuck-bloody rose or whatever.

    Similes aaphors.

    Yeah. Exactly. Shakespeare ied them, didhats why he was a genius.

    No.

    Who was it, then?  Never mind.

    So why was Shakespeare a genius? What did he do?  Aime.

    OK. Anyway. So which is the one where you say something is something, like &quot;You are a prick&quot; even if youre not actually a prick. As in a penis. Obviously.

    Maureen looked close to tears.  Oh, fods sake, Jess, I said.

    Sorry. Sorry. I didnt know if we had the same swearing rules if it was only for discussion about grammar and that.

    We do.

    Right. Sorry, Maureen. OK, &quot;You are a pig&quot; when youre not a pig.

    Metaphor.

    Exactly. We didnt literally see an angel. But we sort of did metaphorically.

    We sort of metaphorically saw an angel, repeated JJ. He had the flat disbelief thing off pat now.

    Yeah. Yeah. I mean, something turned us back. Something saved our lives. Why not an angel? Because there wasnt one.

    OK, we didnt see one. But you could say that anything was an angel.

    Any girl, anyway. Me, or even Maureen.

    Any girl could be an angel. JJ again.

    Yeah. Because of angels. Girls.

    Have you ever heard of the Angel Gabriel, for example? No.

    Well, he - he - was an angel.

    Yeah? For some reason I suddenly lost patience.

    What is this nonsense?  you hear yourself, Jess? What have I said now? We didnt see an angel, literally or metaphorically. And, ially, seeing somethiaphorically, whatever that means, is not the same as seeing something. With your eyes. Which, as I uand it, is what youre proposing we say. Thats not embellishing. Thats talking bullshit, sorry, Maureen. To be ho, Id keep this to yourself. I wouldnt tell anyone about the angel. Not eveional press.

    But say if we get on telly a a ce to, you know, spread our message? We all stared at her.

    What the hell is our message? Well. Thats sort of up to us, isnt it? How was one supposed tue with a mind like this? The three of us never mao find a way, so we tented ourselves with ridicule and sarcasm, and the afternoon ended with an unspoken agreement that as three-quarters of us hadnt really enjoyed our brief moment of media exposure, we would allow the current i in our mental health to dwindle away to nothing. And then, a couple of hours after I got home, there hone call from Theo, asking me why I hadnt told him that Id seen an angel.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    They werent happy. Martin was the worst: he went up the fug wall.

    He called me at home a off on one for about ten minutes. But I knew he was going to be all right about it, because Dad answered the phone, and Martin never said anything to him. If hed said anything to Dad, theory would have e apart. It he four of us to stick tuns, and as long as we did that, we could say wed seen whatever we wao have seen. The thing is, it was too good ao waste, wasnt it? And they khat, which is why I thought theyd e round to it in the end - which they did, sort of. And for me, it was our first big test as a group. They all had a straightforward choiake: were they on my side or not? And to be ho, if theyd decided that they werent, I doubt whether Id have had anything more to do with them. It would have said a lot about them as people, none of it good.

    I admit I was a bit sneaky. First of all I asked JJ the name of the woman whod e round to see him that m, aold me her name and the paper she worked for, which was a bonus. He thought I was just making versation, but I thought it might e in handy at some stage. And then when I got home, I called the paper. I said Id only speak to her, and when I told them my hey gave me her mobile number.

    She was called Linda, and she was really friendly. I thought she might think it was all a bit weird, but she was very ied and encing, really. If she had a fault as a journalist, Id say it was that she was too encing, if anything. Too believing and trusting. Youd expect a good journalist to be all, you know, How do I know youre telling the truth, but I could have told her anything and shed have written it down. She was slightly unprofessional, between you and me.

    So she was all, What did this angel look like, Jess? She said Jess a lot, to show that we were friends.

    Id thought about this. The stupid thing to say would have been that he - Id decided he was a he, because of Gabriel - looked like a churgel, with wings and all that. That would give off the wrong signals, I thought.

    Not what youd expect, I said. And Linda went, What, no wings or haloes, Jess? And she laughed - like, What kind of berk would say theyd seen an angel with wings and a halo? So I knew Id made the right decision.

    I laughed as well, and I went, No, he looked all modern, and she was like, Really?

    (I always do this, when Im talking about what someone said. Im always, like, So I was like, and, She went, and all like that. But when a   versation goes on a bit, its a drag, isnt it? Like, went, like, went. So Im going to do it like a play from now on, OK? Im not so good on speech marks or whatever, but I  remember plays from reading them at school.) ME: Yeah. He was dressed modern. He looked like he could have been in a band or something.

    LINDA: A band? Which band?

    ME: I dont know. Radiohead or someone like that.

    LINDA: Why Radiohead?

    (You couldnt say anything without her asking a question. I said Radiohead because they dont look like anything much. Theyre just blokes, arent they?) ME: I dont know. Or Blur. Or… Whos that guy? In that film? Hes not the one whos not married to Jennifer Lopez, hes the other one, and they won an Oscar, because he was good at maths even though he was only a er… The blond one. Matt.

    LINDA: The angel looked like Matt Damon?

    ME: Yeah, I suppose. A bit.

    LINDA: So. A handsome angel who looked like Matt Damon.

    ME: Hes not all that, Matt Damon. But, yeah.

    LINDA: And when did he appear, this angel?

    ME: When?

    LINDA: Yes, when. I mean, how close to… to jumping were you?

    ME: Oh, really close, man. He came in at the last minute.

    LINDA: Wow. So you were standing on the ledge? All of you?

    ME: Yeah. Wed decided we were going to go ether. For pany, sort of thing. So we were standing there saying oodbyes to each other and that. And we were going to do Owo, Three, Jump and we heard this voice behind us.

    LINDA: You must have been frightened out of your wits.

    ME: Yeah…   LINDA: It was a wonder you didnt fall off.

    ME: Yeah.

    LINDA: So you all turned around… ME: Yeah. We all turned around, and he said… LINDA: Sorry. What was he wearing?

    ME: Just a sort of… Like a baggy suit, sort of thing. A baggy white suit. Quite fashionable, really. Looked like it had set him back a few quid.

    LINDA: A designer suit?

    ME: Yeah.

    LINDA: Tie?

    ME: No. No tie.

    LINDA: An informal angel.

    ME: Yeah. Smart-casual, anyway.

    LINDA: And did you know immediately he wasnt a human man?

    ME: Oh, yeah.

    LINDA: How?

    ME: He was all… fuzzy. Like he wasnt tuned in properly. And you could see right through him. You couldnt see his liver or anything like that.

    You could just see like the buildings oher side of him. Oh, yeah - plus, he was h above the roof.

    LINDA: How high?

    ME: High, man. When I first saw him, I was like, that guy is five metres tall. But when I looked down at his feet, they were a metre above the ground.

    LINDA: So he was about twelve feet tall?

    ME: Two metres above the ground, then.

    LINDA: So he was niall.

    ME: Three metres. Whatever.

    LINDA: So his feet were above your heads.

    ME: (Being fucked off with her going on about metres, but trying not to show it) To begin with. But then he sort of worked out that hed overdo, and he, you know. Came down a bit. I got the impression that he hadnt done any h for a while. He was a bit rusty.

    (I was just making this stuff up as I went along. I mean, you know already I was making it up. But seeing as how Id called her without thinking any of it through, I thought I was doing really well. She seemed to like it, anyway.)  LINDA: Amazing.  ME: Yeah. It really was.  LINDA: So what did he say?

    ME: He said, you know, Dont jump. But he said it very peacefully.

    Calmly. He had this like inner wisdom. You could tell he was a messenger from God.  LINDA: Did he say that?

    ME: Not in so many words. But you could work it out.  LINDA: Because of the inner wisdom.

    ME: Yeah. He had that sort of air about him, like hed met God personally. It was wicked.  LINDA: Thats all he said?

    ME: He was like, Your time hasnt e yet. Go back down and send people this message of fort and joy. Ahem that war is stupid.

    Which is something I personally believe.

    (That last bit, the Which I personally believe bit, wasnt part of the play.

    Im just giving you extra information, so you  get a better picture of the kind of person I am.) LINDA: And do you io spread that message?  ME: Yeah. Course. Thats one of the reasons we want to do this interview. And if any of your readers are like world leaders enerals or   terrorists or whatever, then they should know that God is not a happy bunny at the moment. Hes well pissed off with that side of things.

    LINDA: Im sure our readers will find that very thought-provoking.

    And you all saw it?

    ME: Oh, yeah. You couldnt miss him.

    LINDA: Martin Sharp saw it?

    ME: Oh, yeah. Course. He saw it… he saw it more than any of us.

    (I didnt quite know what that meant, but I could tell it was important to her that Martin was involved.) LINDA: So now what?

    ME: Well. Weve got to work out what were going to do.

    LINDA: Of course. Will you be talking to any other neers?

    ME: Oh, yeah. Definitely.

    I leased with that. I got her up to five grand in the end. I had to promise that shed have a ce to speak to everybody, though.

    JJ  It didnt seem like it was going to be too difficult, at first. OK, none of us was thrilled that Jess had got us into this ahing, but it didnt seem worth falling out over. Wed grit our teeth, say wed seen an aake the money and try and fet it ever happened. But then the  day youre sitting in front of a journalist, and youre all agreeing with a straight face that this fug angel looked like Matt Damon, and loyalty seemed like the dumbest of all the virtues. It wasnt like you could just gh the motioher, when youre supposed to have seen an angel. You t just say, Yeah, blah, angel, whatever. Seeing an angel is clearly a big deal, so youve got to act like its a big deal, with excitement and open-mouthed awe, and its hard to do open-mouthed awe through gritted teeth. Maureen was maybe the one person who could have been ving, because she believed in that stuff, kind of. But because she believed in it, she was the one who had the most trouble with the lies. Maureen, said Jess patiently and slowly, as if Maureen were simply being dumb, rather than fearing for her immortal soul, Its for five thousand pounds.

    The paper arranged for someone from the care home to sit for Matty, a Linda in the cafe where wed had breakfast on New Years m. We had our photos taken - mostly group shots, but theook one or two more outside, with us pointing at the sky and our jaws unhinged with wohey didnt end up using those, probably because one or two of us overdid it a little, and one of us wouldnt do it at all. And then, after the shoot, Linda asked us questions.

    It was Martin she was after - he was the prize. If she could get Martin Sharp to say that an angel had kept him from killing himself - i.e., if she could get Martin Sharp to say, I AM A WACKO -OFFICIAL - she had a front-page story. Marti, too, so his performance was heroic, or as close to heroism as you  e if youre a sleazy talk-show host who is never likely to do anything involving actual heroism. Martin telling Linda that hed seen an angel reminded me of that Sidney Carton guy in A Tale of Two Cities going to the guillotine so that his buddy could live: Martin wore the expression of a man about to have his head sliced off for the greater good. That Sidney guy, though, hed discovered his inner nobility, so he probably looked noble, but Martin just looked pissed off.

    Jess did all the talking to begin with, and then Linda got tired of her, and started to ask Martiions directly.

    So when this figure began h… H? Is that right? H, firmed Jess. Like I said, he hovered too high at first, because of being out of practice, but then he found the right level.

    Martin winced, like the angels refusal to put his feet on the ground somehow made things more embarrassing for him.

    So when the angel was h in front of you, Martin, what did you think? Think? Martied.

    We didnt think much, did we? said Jess. We were too stunned.

    Thats right, said Martin.

    But you must have thought something, Linda said. Even if it was only, Bloody hell, I wonder if I could get him on to Rise and Shih Penny and Martin. She chuckled encingly.

    Well, said Martin. I havent beeing the show for a while now, remember. So it would have been a waste of time asking him.

    Youve got your cable show, though.

    Yes.

    So maybe he would have gone on that. She chuckled encingly again.

    We tend to book mainly showbiz stuff. Stand-up edians, soap stars… The odd sportsman.

    So youre saying you wouldnt have had him on. Once shed started this line of questioning, Linda seemed kind of relut to let it drop.

    I dont know.

    You dont know? she snorted. I mean, its not David Letterman, your show, is it? Its not like people are swarming all over you to get on it.

    We do all right.

    I couldnt help feeling that she was missing the point of the story. An angel - possibly like an emissary from the Lord Himself, who knows? - had visited a tower-blo Archway to stop us all from killing ourselves, and she wao know why he hadnt been booked on a talk show. I dont know, man. Youd have thought that would be one of the questions he end of the interview.

    Hed have been the first person on that wed ever heard of, anyway.

    Youd heard of him before, had you? said Martin. This particular ahe one who looked like Matt Damon? Ive heard of angels, she said.

    Well, Im sure youve heard of actresses, said Martin. Weve had them on, too.

    Where are we going with this? I said. You really wanna write a piece about why the Angel Matt wasnt a guest on Martins show? Is that what you call him? she said. The Angel Matt? Usually we just call him &quot;The Angel&quot;, said Jess. But… Would you mind if Martin answered a couple of questions? Youve somewhere other than here. In a pub, say. asked him loads already, said Jess. Maureen hasnt said   anything. JJ hasnt said very much.

 Part 2-4

    Martins the ohat most people will have heard of, said Linda.

    Martin? Is that what you call him? Just &quot;The Angel&quot;, said Martin. He looked happier than this on the night he tried to kill himself.

    I just cheething? said Linda. You did see him, Martin, didnt you? Martin shifted in his seat. You could tell he was scouting around the inside of his head, just to make sure that there were no escape routes hed overlooked.

    Oh, yes, said Martin. I saw him, all right. He was… He was awesome.

    And with that, he finally walked into the cage that Linda had opened for him. The public at large were now free to poke sticks at him and call him names, and he just had to sit there and take it, like an exhibit in a freak show.

    But then, we were all freaks now. When friends and family and ex-lovers opeheir neers the  m, they could e to one of only two possible clusions: ) wed all looped the loop, or ) we were scam artists. OK, strictly speaking, there was a third clusion - we were telling the truth. We saw an ahat looked like Matt Damon, who for reaso known to himself told us to get down off the roof. But I got to say, I dont know anyone whod believe that. Maybe my great-aunt Ida, who lives in Alabama and handles snakes every Sunday m in her church, but then, shes nuts too.

    And I dont know, man, but to me it seemed a long way back from there. If you were gonna dra, youd say that mes aionships and jobs and all that stuff, all the things that stitute a regular life, were in like New Orleans, and by ing out with all this horseshit wed just put ourselves somewhere north of Alaska. Whos going to give a job to a guy who sees angels? And whos going to give a job to a guy who says he sees angels because he might make a few bucks for himself? No, we were finished as serious people. We had sold our seriosity for twelve hundred and fifty of ylish pounds, and as far as I could tell that money was going to have to last us for the rest of our lives, unless we saw God, or Elvis, or Princess Di. Aime wed have to see them for real, and take photos.

    Just over two years ago, REMs manager came to see Big Yellow, and asked whether we were ied in his pany representing us, and we   said we were happy with what we had. REM! Twenty-six months ago! We were sitting around in this fancy office, and this guy, he was trying to persuade us, you know? And now I was sitting around with people like Maureen and Jess, taking part in a pathetic attempt to squeeze a few bucks out of someone who was desperate to give it to us, so long as we were prepared to totally embarrass ourselves. Ohing the last couple of years has taught me is that theres nothing you t fuck up if you try hard enough.

    My only solation was that I didnt have any friends and family here; no one knew who I was, except for a few fans of the band, maybe, and I like to think that they werent the type to read Lindas paper. And some of the guys at the pizza place might see a copy lying around somewhere, but theyd have smelled the cash, and the desperation, and they could have cared less about the humiliation.

    So that just left Lizzie, and if she saicture of me looking ihen so be it. You know why she dumped me? She dumped me because I wasnt going to be a roroll star after all.  you fug believe that?

    No you t, because its beyond belief, and therefore unbelievable.

    Shittiness, thy name is Woman. That was my thinking, at that point in time, you know, that it wouldnt hurt her to see how shed messed me up. In fact, if I could be temporarily invisible, then one of the first things Id do, after robbing a bank and going into the womens showers at the gym and all the usual stuff, is put the paper down in front of her and watch her read it.

    See, I didnt know anything about anything then. I thought I khings, but I didnt.

    <strong>MAUREEN</strong>

    I didnt think Id ever be able to go back to the church again after the interview with Linda. Id been thinking about it a bit, the day before; I missed it terribly, and I wondered whether God would really mind if I just sat at the bad didnt go to fession - sneaked out somehow before union. But once Id told Linda that Id seen an angel, I khat Id have to keep away, that I wouldnt be able to go back before I died. I didnt kly what sin Id itted, but I was sure that sins involving making up angels were mortal.

    I still thought I was going to kill myself when the six weeks were up; what would have ged my mind? I was busier than Id ever been, what with the press interviews and the meetings, and I suppose that took my mind off things. But all the running around just felt like last-miivity, as if I had some things to get done before I went on holiday. That   was who I was, then: a person who was going to kill herself soon, the moment I could get round to it.

    I was going to say that I saw the first little glimmer of light that day, the day of the interview with Linda, but it wasnt really like that. It was more as if Id already chosen what I was<u>99liｂ?</u> going to wat TV; and I was beginning to look forward to it, and then noticed that there was something else on that might be more iing. I dont know about you, but choice isnt always what I want. You  end up flig between one el and another, and not watg either programme properly. I dont know how people with the cable television cope.

    What happened was that after the interview, I found myself talking to JJ. He was going back to his flat, and I was heading towards the bus stop, and we ended up walking along together. Im not sure he wao, really, because weve hardly spoken since I slapped that man on New Years Eve, but it was one of those awkward situations where I was walking five paces behind him, so he stopped for me.

    That was kind of hard, wasnt it? he said, and I was surprised, because I thought I was the only one whod found it difficult.

    I hate lies, I said.

    He looked at me and laughed, and then I remembered about his lie.

    No offence, I said. I lied too. I lied about the angel. And I lied to Matty, as well. About going to a party on New Years Eve. And to the people in the respite home.

    Godll five you for those, I think. We walked along a little bit more, and then he said, for no reason that I could tell, What would it take to ge your mind? About what? About… you know. Wanting To End It All.

    I didnt know what to say.

    If you could make a deal with God, kind of thing. Hes sitting there, the Big Guy, across the table from you. And hes saying, OK, Maureen, we like you, but we really want you to stay put, oh. What  we do to persuade you? What  we offer you? Gods asking me personally?   Yeah.

    If He was asking me personally, He wouldnt have to offer me anything.

    Really? If God in His infinite wisdom wanted me to stay oh, then how could I ask for anything? JJ laughed. OK, then. Not God.

    Who, then? A sort of… I dont know. A sort of ic, you know, President. Or Prime Miony Blair. Someone who  get things done. You dont have to do what Tony Blair says without asking for something iurn.

    he cure Matty? Nope. He  only arrahings.

    Id like a holiday.

    God. Youre a cheap date. Youd choose to live out the rest of your natural life for a week in Florida? Id like to go abroad. Ive never been.

    Youve never been abroad? He said it as though I should be ashamed, and for a moment I was.

    When was the last time you had a holiday? Just before Matty was born.

    And hes how old? Hes een.

    OK. Well, as your manager, Im going to be asking the Big Guy for a holiday a year. Maybe two.

    You t do that! I really felt sdalized. I  see now I was taking it all too seriously, but it felt real to me, and it seemed like a holiday a year was too much.

    Trust me, said JJ. I know the market. iy wont blink an eye.

    e on, what else? Oh, I couldnt ask for anything else.

    Say he does give you two weeks holiday a year. Fifty weeks is a long time to wait for it, you know? And youre not going to get another appoi with iy. You got one shot. Everything you want, youve got to ask for in one go.

    A job.

    You want a job? Yes. Of course.

    What kind of job? Anything. W in a shop, maybe. Anything to get me out of the house.

    I used to work, before Matty was born. I had a job in an office stationers in Tufnell Park. I liked it; I liked all the different pens, and sizes of paper and envelopes. I liked my boss. I havent worked since.

    OK. e on, e on.

    Maybe a bit of a social life. The church has quizzes sometimes. Like pub quizzes, but not in the pub. Id like to have a go at one of those.

    Yep, we  allow you a quiz.

    I tried to smile, because I knew JJ was joking a bit, but I was finding the versation hard. I couldnt really think of anything very much, and that annoyed me. And it made me feel afraid, in a strange sort of a way. It was like finding a door that youd never seen before in your own house.

    Would you want to know what was behind it? Some people would, Im sure, but I wouldnt. I didnt want to carry on talking about me.

    What about you? I said to JJ. What would you say to iy? Ha. Im not sure, man. He calls everyone man, even if youre not a man. You get used to it. Maybe, I dont know. Live the last fifteen years all ain or something. Finish high school. Fet about music. Bee the kind of person whos happy to settle for what he is, rather than what he wants to be, you know?   But iy t arrahat.

    ly.

    So youre worse off than me, really. iy  do things for me, but not for you.

    No, no, shit, Im sorry, Maureen. I dido imply that. You have a… You have a really hard life, and none of its your fault, and everything thats happeo me is just y own stupidity, and… Theres no parison. Really. Im sorry I ever mentio.

    But I wasnt sorry. I liked thinking about iuch more than I liked thinking about God.

    MARTIN  The headline in Lindas paper - page one, apanied by the picture of me flat on my face outside a nightclub - read FOR HARPS - SEE SHARP.

    The story did not, as Linda had promised it would, emphasize the beauty and mystery of our experien the roof; rather, it chose to trate on anle, namely, the sudden, gratifying and amusing lunacy of a former television personality. The journalist in me suspects that she got the story abht.

    What does that mean? Jess asked me on the phohat m.

    Its an old lager ad, I said.  &quot;HARP - STAYS SHARP&quot;.

    What has lager got to do with anything? Nothing. But the name of the lager was Harp. And my names Sharp, you see.

    OK. Then what have harps got to do with anything? Angels are supposed to play them.

    Are they? Should we have said he laying a harp? To make it more ving? I told her that, in my opinion, the addition of a harp to the portrait of the Angel Matt Damon that ainted was uo have helped vince people of its authenticity.

    And anyway, how e its all about you? We hardly get a fug mention.

    I had many other phone calls that m - from Theo, who said that theres been a lot of i iory, and who thought Id finally given him something he could work with, as long as I was fortable talking to the public about what was obviously a private spiritual moment; from Penny, who wanted us to meet and talk; and from my daughters.

    I hadnt been allowed to speak to them for weeks, but dys maternal instinct had obviously told her that the day Daddy was in the papers talking about seeing messengers from God was a good day to reinstate tact.

    Did you see an angel, Daddy? No.

    Mummy said you did.

    Well, I didnt.

    Why did Mummy say you did? Youd better ask her.

    Mummy, why did you say Daddy saw an angel? I waited patiently while a brief versation took place away from the receiver.

    She says she didnt say it. She says the neer says it.

    I told a fib, sweetie. To make some money.

    Oh.

    So I  buy you a nice birthday present.

    Oh. Why do you get money for saying you saw an angel? Ill tell you aime.

    Oh.

    And then dy and I spoke, but not for very long. During our brief versation I mao refer to two different types of domesticated female animals.

    I also received a phone call from my boss at FeetUp. He was calling to tell me that I was fired. Youre joking.

    I wish I was, Sharpy. But youve left me with no alternative.

    By doing what, exactly?  Have you seen the paper this m?  Thats a problem for you? You e across as a bit of a o be ho,  What about the publicity for the el?  All ive, in my book.

    You think theres such a thing as ive publicity for FeetUp?  How do you mean? What with no one ever having heard of us. You. There was a long, long silence, during which you could hear the rusting cogs of poor Des mind turning over.

    Ah. I see. Very ing. That hadnt occurred to me.

    Im not going to beg, Dec. But it would seem a little perverse to me.

    You hire me when no one else in the world would give me the time of day.

    And then you fire me when Im hot. How many of your presenters are all over the papers today? No, no, fair point, fair point. I  see where youre ing from. What youre saying, if I read you correctly, is that theres no such thing as bad publicity for a… a fledgling cable el.

    Obviously I couldnt have put it as elegantly as that. But yes, thats the long and the short of it.

    OK. Youve turned me round, Sharpy. Whove we got on this afternoon? This afternoon? Yeah. Its Thursday.

    Ah.

    Had you fotten? I sort of had, really, yeah.

    So weve got no one? I re I could get JJ, Maureen ao e on.

    Who are they? The other three.

    The other three who? Have you read the story? I only read the one about you seeing the angel.

    They were up there with me.

    Up where? The whole ahing, De, came about because I was going to kill myself. And then I bumped into three other people oop of a tower-block who were thinking of doing the same thing. And then… Well, to cut a long story short, the aold us to e down again.

    Fuck me.

    Exactly.

    And you re you  get the other three? Almost sure of it.

    Jesus Christ. How much will they cost, dyou re? Three hundred quid for the three of them, maybe? Plus expenses. One of thems a… Well, shes a single parent, and her kid will need looking after.

    Go on, then. Fuck it. Fuck the expense.

    Top man, Dec I think its a good idea. Im pleased with that. Old Des still got it, eh?   Tht. Youre a newshound. Youre the Newshound of the Baskervilles.

    What youve got to tell yourself, I told them, is that no one will be watg.

    Thats one of your old pro tricks, right? said JJ knowingly.

    No, I said. Believe me. Literally no one will be watg. I have never met anyone who has ever seen my show.

    The world headquarters of FeetUpTV! - known, iably, to its staff as Tibbr></abbr>tsUpTV! - is in a sort of shed in Hoxton. The shed tains a small receptiowo dressing rooms and a studio, where all four of our homegrown programmes are made. Every m, a woman called dy-Ann sells etics; I split Thursday afternoon with a man called D J Goodnews, who speaks to the dead, usually on behalf of the receptionist, the window er, the minicab driver booked to take him home, or anyone else who happens to be passing through: Does the letter A mean anything to you, Asif ? and so on. The other afternoons are taken up by tapes of old dog races from the US - once upon a time the iion was to offer viewers the ce to bet, but nothing ever came of it, and in my opinion, if you t bet, then dog rag, especially old dog rag, loses some of its appeal. During the evening, two women sit talking to each other, in and usually about their underwear, while viewers text them lewd messages, which they ignore. And thats more or less it. De runs the station on behalf of a mysterious Asian businessman, and those of us who work for FeetUpTV!  only presume that somehow, in ways too obtuse and sophisticated for us to decipher, we are involved iraffig of class A drugs and child praphy. Oheory is that the dogs in the races are sending out encoded messages to the traffickers: if, say, the dog iside lane wins, then that is a message to the Thai tact that he should send a couple of kilos of heroin and four thirteen-year-olds first thing in the m. Something like that, anyway.

    My guests on Sharp Words tend to be old friends who want to do something to help, or former celebrities in a boat not dissimilar to my own - holed uhe waterline and sinking fast. Some weeks I get has-beens, and everyos wildly over-excited, but most weeks its had-beens.

    dy-Ann, D J GoodNews and the two semi-clothed ladies have appeared on my show not just once, but several times, in order to give viewers a ce to get to know them a little better. (Sharp Words is two hours long, and though the advertisiment, namely Karen oion, does its best, we are rarely interrupted by messages from our sponsors. The theoretical viewer is highly uo feel as though we have barely scratched the versational surface.) Attrag people of the calibre of   Maureen and Jess, then, stituted something of a coup: only rarely have my guests appeared on the show during the same decade that they have appeared in the neers.

    I took pride in my interviewing. I mean, I still do, but at a time when I seemed to be able to do nothing else properly, I hung on to my peten a studio as I would to a tree root on the side of a cliff. I have, in my time, interviewed drunken, maudlin actors at eight in the m and drunken, aggressive footballers at eight in the evening. I have forced lying politis to tell something like the truth, and I have had to cope with mothers whose grief has made them unfortably verbose, and not once have I let things bee sloppy. My studio sofa was my classroom, and I didnt tolerate any waywardness. Even in those desperate FeetUpTV! months spent talking to nobodies and never-weres, people with nothing to say and no ability to say it, it was f to think that there was some area of my life in which I was petent. So when Jess and JJ decided that my programme was a joke and acted accly, I suffered something of a sense of humour failure. I wish, of course<bdi>?9９ｌib.</bdi>, that I hadnt; I wish that I could have found it io be a little less pompous, a little more relaxed. True, I was encing them to talk about an unfettable experiehat they hadnt had, and which I khey hadnt had. And grahat imaginary unfettable experience reposterous. A, despite these impediments, I had somehow expected a higher level of professionalism.

    I dont wish to overstate my case; its not bloody rocket sce, doing a TV interview. You chat to yuests beforehand, agree on a rough versational course, remind them of their hilarious aes and, in this case, of the known facts about the fis we were about to discuss, as provided by Jess in her inal interview - namely, that the angel looked like Matt Damon, he floated above the roof, and he was wearing a baggy white suit. Dont fuck about with those bits, I told them, or well get into a mess. So what happens? Almost immediately? I ask JJ what the angel was wearing, aells me that the angel was wearing a promotional T-shirt for the Sandra Bullock film While You Were Sleeping - a film which, as luck would have it, Jess had seen on TV, and was thus able to synopsize at siderable length.

    If we  just stick to the subject, I said. Lots of people have seen While You Were Sleeping. Very few people have seen an angel.

    Fuck off. No ones watg. You said.

    That was just one of my old pros tricks.

    Well be in trouble now, then. Because I just said &quot;Fuck off&quot;. Youll get loads of plaints for that.

    I think that our viewers are sophisticated enough to know that extreme experiences sometimes produce extreme language.

    Good. Fuckofffuckofffuckoff. She made her apologetic wave at Maureen, and then into the camera, at the ed people of Britain.

    Anyway, watg rubbish Sandra Bullock films isnt a very extreme experience.

    We were talking about the angel, not Sandra Bullock.

    What angel? And so on, and on, until De walked in with the etics lady and ushered us off the air, into the street and, in my case, out of a job.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    Someone should write a song or something called They fuck you up, your mum and dad. Something like, They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

    They make you feel fug bad. Because they do. Especially your dad.

    Thats why he gets the rhyme. He<big>?</big> wouldnt like me saying this, but if it wasnt for me and Jen, no one would ever have heard of him. Hes not like the boss of Education - thats the Secretary of State. There are loads of ministers, and hes only one of them, so hes what they call a junior minister, which is a laugh and a half because hes not very junior at all. So hes sort of a loser politi, really. You wouldnt mind if he was a loser because he shot his mouth off and said what he thought about Iraq or whatever, but he doesnt; he says what hes told to say, and it still doesnt do him much good.

    Most people have a rope that ties them to someone, and that rope  be short or it  be long. (Be long. Belong. Get it?) You dont know how long, though. Its not your choice. Maureens rope ties her to Matty and its about six inches long and its killing her. Martins rope ties him to his daughters, and, like a stupid dog, he thinks it isnt there. He goes running off somewhere - into a nightclub after a girl, up a building, whatever - and then suddenly it brings him up short and chokes him as surprised, and then he does the same thing again the  day. I think JJ is tied to this bloke Eddie he keeps talking about, the one he used to be in the band with.

    And Im learning that Im tied to Jen, and not to my mum and dad - not to home, which is where the rope should be. Jen thought she was tied to them too, Im sure of it. She felt safe, just because she was a kid with parents, so she kept walking and walking and walking until she walked off   a cliff or into the desert or off to Texas with her meic. She thought shed get jerked back by the rope, but there wasnt one. She learhat the hard way. So Im tied to Jen now, but Jen isnt solid, like a house. Shes floating, blowing around, no one knows where she is; shes sort of fug useless, really, isnt she?

    Anyway, I dont owe Mum and Dad anything. Mum uands that.

    She gave up expeg anything ages ago. Shes still a mess because of Jen, and she hates Dad, and shes given up on me, so everythings all above.. board there. But Dad really thinks that hes entitled to something, which is a joke. For example: he kept showihese articles that people were writing about him, saying he should resign because his daughter was in such a fug state, as if it was any of my business. And I was like, So?

    Resign. Or dont. Whatever. He o talk to a career adviser, not a daughter.

    It wasnt as if we were in the papers for long, anyway. We made one more k of money, from a new el  chat shoere going to really try and do it straight that time, but the woman who interviewed us really got on my tits, so I told her wed made it all up to earn a few bob, and she told us off, and all these stupid brain-dead old bags in the audience booed us. And that was it, no one wao speak to us any more. We were left to eain ourselves. It wasnt too hard. I had loads of ideas.

    For example: it was my idea that we met for a coffee regularly -either at Maureens or somewhere in Islington, if we could find someoo sit with Matty. We didnt mind spending bits of the money on babysitters or whatever you want to call them; we pretended we were up for it because we wanted Maureen to have a break, but really it was because we didnt want to go round hers all the time. No offence, but Matty put like a real downer ohing.

    Martin didnt like my idea, of course. First he wao know what regularly meant, because he didnt want to it himself. And I was like, Yeah, well, what with no kids and no wife and no girlfriend and no job, it must be hard to find the time, and he said it wasnt a question of time actually it was a question of choice, so I had to remind him that he had agreed to be part of a gang. And he was like, So what, so I went, Well, whats the point of agreeing? And he said, No point. Which he thought was funny, because it was more or less what Id said on the roof on New Years Eve. And I was like, Well, youre a lot older than me, and my young mind isnt fully formed yet, and he went, You  say that again.

    And then we couldnt agree on where wed meet. I wao go to Starbucks, because I like frappuos and all that, but JJ said he wasnt into global franchises, and Martin had read in some posey magazine about a snooty little coffee bar iween Essex Road and Upper Street where they   grow their own beans while you waited or something. So to keep him happy, we met up there.

    Anyway, this place had just ged its name and its vibe. The snootiness hadnt worked out, so it wasnt snooty any more. It used to be called Tres Marias, which is the name of a dam in Brazil, but the guy who ran it thought the name fused people, because what did one Mary have to do with coffee, let alohree? And he didnt even have one Mary. So now it was called Captain Coffee, and everyone knew what it sold, but it dido make much differe was still empty.

    We walked in, and the guy that ran it was wearing this old army uniform, and he saluted us, and said, Captain Coffee at your service. I thought he was funny, but Martin was like, Jesus Christ, aried to leave, but Captain Coffee would us, he was that desperate. He told us we could have our coffee for free on our first visit, and a cake, if we wanted. So we didnt walk out, but the  problem was that the place was tiny. There were like three tables, and each table was six inches away from the ter, which meant that Captain Coffee was leaning on the ter listening to everything we said.

 Part 2-5

    And because of ere and what had happeo us, we wao talk about personal things, so it was embarrassing him standing there.

    Martin was like, Lets drink up and go, aood up. But Captain Coffee went, Whats the matter now? So I said, The thing is, we o have a private versation, and he said he uood pletely, and hed go outside until wed finished. And I said, But really, everything we say is private, for reasons I t go intbbr>?9９lib.</abbr>o. And he said it didnt matter, hed still wait outside unless anyone else came. And thats what he did, and thats why we ended up going to Starbucks for our coffee meetings. It was hard to trate on how miserable we were, with this berk in an army uniform leaning against the window outside cheg that we werent stealing his biscuits, or biscotties as he called them. People go on about places like Starbucks being unpersonal and all that, but what if thats what you want?

    Id be lost, if JJ and people like that got their way, and there was nothing unpersonal in the world. I like to know that there are big places without windows where no one gives a shit. You need fideo go into small places with regular ers, small bookshops and small music shops and small restaurants and cafes. Im happiest in the Virgiore and Borders and Starbucks and Pizza Express, where no one gives a shit, and no one knows who you are. My mum and dad are always going on about how soulless those places are, and Im like, Der. Thats the point.

    The book group thing was JJs idea. He said people do it a lot in America, read books and talk about them; Martin reed it was being fashionable here, too, but Id never heard of it, so it t be that   fashionable, or Id bbr></abbr>have read about it in Dazed and fused. The point of it was to talk about Something Else, sort of thing, and not get into rows about who was a berk and who rat, which was how the afternoons in Starbucks usually ended up. And what we decided was, we were going to read books by people whod killed themselves. They were, like, our people, and so we thought we ought to find out what was going on in their heads.

    Martin said he thought we might learn more from people who hadnt killed themselves - we should be reading up on what was so great about staying alive, not what was so great about topping yourself. But it turned out there were like a billion writers who hadnt killed themselves, and three or four who had, so we took the easy option, a for the smaller pile. We voted on using funds from our media appearao buy ourselves the books.

    Anyway, it turned out not to be the easy option at all. Fug hell! You should try ahe stuff by people whove killed themselves! We started with Virginia Woolf, and I only read like two pages of this book about a lighthouse, but I read enough to know why she killed herself: she killed herself because she couldnt make herself uood. You only have to read oeo see that. I sort of identify with her a bit, because I suffer from that sometimes, but her mistake was to go public with it. I mean, it was lucky in a way, because she left a sort of souvenir behind so that people like us could learn from her difficulties and that, but it was bad luck for her. And she had some bad luck, too, if you think about it, because in the olden days anyone could get a book published because there wasnt so mupetition. So you could marto a publishers offid go, you know, I want this published, and theyd go, Oh, OK then. Whereas now theyd go, No, dear, go away, no one will uand you. Try pilates or salsa dang instead.

    JJ was the only one who thought it was brilliant, so I had a go at him, and he had a go back because I didnt like it. He was all, Is it because your daddy reads books? Is that why you e on like such a dork? Which was an easy oo answer, because Daddy doesnt read books, bad luck, and I told him so. And then I said, Is it because you didnt go to school? Is that why you think all books are great eveheyre shit? Because some people are like that, arent they? Youre not allowed to say anything about books because theyre books, and books are, you know, God. Anyway, he didnt like that much, which means I got him right where it hurts. He said that he could see that what was going to happen to our reading group was that I would wreck it, and how had he been so stupid as to expeything else? And I was like, Im not going to wreything. If a books shit, Ill say so. And he went, Yeah, but yonna say theyre all shit, arent you, because youre so fug trary, sorry Maureen. And I said, Yeah, and yonna say theyre all great, because youre such a creep. And he said, They are all great, and he went through all these people we were supposed   to be talking about in the club - Sylvia Plath, Primo Levi, Hemingway.

    So I said, Well whats the point of doing the reading club if you know in advaheyre all great? Whats fun about that? And he said, Its not Pop Idol, man. You dont vote for the best oheyre all good, and t that, aalk about their ideas. And I was like, well if shes anything to go by, I dont accept theyre all great. In fact I not the opposite. And JJ got really worked up about that, and there was some unpleasahen, and Martin stepped in and we decided not to do any more books for a while, in other words ever. That was when we decided to have a go at musical suicide instead. Maureen had never heard of Kurt Cobain,  you believe it?

    I do think. I know no one believes it, but I do. Its just that my way of thinking is different from everyone elses. Before I think, I have to get angry and maybe a bit violent, which I  see is sort of annoying for everyone else, but tough shit. Anyway, that night, in bed, I thought about JJ, and what hed said about how I hated books because Daddy read them.

    And its true what I said, that he doesnt, not really, although because of his job he has to pretend that he does.

    Jen was a reader, though. She loved her books, but they scared me.

    They scared me when she was around, and they scare me even more now.

    What was in them? What did they say to her, when she was unhappy and listening only to them and to no one else - not her friends, not her sister, no one? I got out of bed a into her room, which has bee exactly as it was on the day she left. (People are always doing that in films, and you think, Yeah, right, like you dont want a guest bedroom, or somewhere to put all your crap. But yoing in there and fug everything up.) And there they all are: The Secret History, Catch-, To Kill a Mogbird, The Catcher in the Rye, No Logo, The Bell Jar (which is a aybe not, because that was one of the books JJ wanted us to read), Crime and Punishment, , Good Places to Go When You Want To Disappear… That was just a joke, that last one.

    I dont think I was ever going to be a big reader, because she was the brainy one, not me, but Im sure I would have beeer at it if she hadnt put me off by disappearing. It wasnt the first time Id been in her room, and it wouldhe last, I knew, and the books all sit there and look at me, and what I hate most is knowing that one of them might help me to uand. I dohat Ill find some sentence shes underlihat will give me a clue about where she is, although I looked, a while ago. I flicked through, just in case shed put like an exclamation mark by the word Wales, or a ring around Texas. I just mean that if I read everything she loved, and everything that took her attention in those last few months, then Id get some picture of where her head was at. I dont even know whether these books are serious or sad or scary. And youd think Id want to find   out, wouldnt you, sidering as how much I loved her and everything.

    But I dont. I t. I t because Im too lazy, too stupid, and I t even make the effort because something stops me. They just sit there looking at me, day after day, and one day I know Ill put them all in a big pile and burn them.

    So, no, Im not a big reader.

    JJ Our cultural program was all on my shoulders, because none of the others knew anything about anything. Maureen got books out of the library every couple weeks, but she didnt read stuff we could talk about, if you know what Im saying, unless we wao talk about whether the nurse should marry the bad rich guy or the good puy. And Martin wasnt a big fan of Literature. He said he read a lot of books in prison, but mostly biographies of people who had overe great adversities, like Nelson Mandela and those guys. My guess is Nelson Mandela wouldnt have thought of Martin Sharp as a soul brother. When you looked at their lives closely, youd see that theyd wound up in jail for different reasons. And, believe me, you dont want to know what Jess thought of books. Youd find it offensive.

    She was right about me, though, kind of. How could she not be? Ive spent my entire life with people who dont read - my folks, my sister, most of the band, especially the rhythm se - and it makes you really defensive, after a while. How many times  you be called a fag before you snap? Not that I mind being called a fag blah blah blah, and some of my best friends blah blah, but to me, being a fag is about whether you like guys, not whether you like Don DeLillo - who is a guy, admittedly, but its his books I like, not his ass. Why does reading freak people out so much?

    Sure, I could be pretty anti-social when we were on the road, but if I laying a Gameboy hour after hour, no one would be on my case. In my social circle, blowing up fug space monsters is socially acceptable in a way that Ameri Pastoral isnt.

    Eddie was the worst. It was like we were married, and pig up a book was my way of telling him that I had a headache every night. And like a marriage, the longer we were together, the worse it got; but now that I think about it, the longer we were together, the worse everything got. We kneerent going to make it, as a band and maybe even as friends, and so we were both panig. And me reading just made Eddie panic more, because I think he had some bullshit idea that reading was going to help me find some sort of new career. Yeah, like thats what happens in life.

    Hey, you like Updike? You must be a cool guy. Heres a $, job in   our advertising agency. We spent all those years talking about the stuff we had in on, and the last few months notig all the ways we were different, and it broke both of our hearts.

    And all that is a long-ass way of explaining why I freaked out at Jess.

    Id left one band full of aggressive illiterates, and I sure as hell wasnt going to join another one. When youre unhappy, I guess everything in the world - readiing, sleeping - has something buried somewhere i that just makes you unhappier.

    And for some reason, I thought music was going to be easier, which, sidering Im a musi, wasnt real smart. I only have a lot ied in books, but I got my whole life ied in music. I thought I couldnt g with Nick Drake, especially in a room full of people whove got the blues. If you havent heard him… Man, its like he boiled down all the melancholy in the world, all the bruises and all the fucked-up dreams youve let go, and poured the esseo a little tiny bottle and corked it up. And whearts to play and sing, he takes the cork out, and you  smell it. Youre pinned into your seat, as if its a wall of noise, but its not - its still, and quiet, and you dont want to breathe in case yhten it away. And we were listening to him over at Maureens, because we couldnt play our own music at Starbucks, and at Maureens youve got the sound of Matty breathing, which was like this whole extra freaky instrument. So I was sitting there thinking, man, this is going to ge these peoples lives for ever.

    At the end of the first song, Jess started putting her fingers dowhroat and making faces.

    But hes such a drip, she said. Hes like, I dunno, a poet or something.

    This was meant to be an insult: I ending my days with someone who thought that poets were creatures you might find living in your lower iine.

    I dont mind it, said Martin. I wouldnt walk out, if he laying in a wine bar.

    I would, said Jess.

    I wondered whether it would be possible to punch both of them out simultaneously, but rejected the idea on the grounds that it would all be over too quickly, and there wouldnt be enough pain involved. Id want to keep on pummeling them after they were down, which would mean doing them o a time. Its music rage, which is like re, only mhteous. When you get re, a tiny part of you knows youre being a jerk, but when you get music rage, youre carrying out the will of God, and God wants these people dead.

    And then this weird thing happened, if you  call a deep respoo Five Leaves Left weird.

    Have you not got ears? Maureen said suddenly. t you hear how unhappy he is, and how beautiful his songs are? We looked at her, and then Jess looked at me.

    Ha ha, said Jess. You like something Maureen likes. She sang this last part, like a little kid, nah-nah, nah-nah-nah.

    Dont pretend to be more foolish than you are, Jess, said Maureen.

    Because youre foolish enough as it is. She was steamed. She had the music rage too. Just listen to him for a moment, and stop blathering.

    And Jess could see that she meant it, and she shut up, and we listeo the whole rest of t<bdi></bdi>he album in silence, and if you looked at Maureen closely you could see her eyes were glistening a little.

    When did he die? eey-four. He was twenty-six.

    Twenty-six. She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, and I was really hoping that she was feeling sorry for him and his family. The alternative was that she was envying him for having spared himself all those unnecessary extra years. You eople to respond, but sometimes they  overdo it, you know?

    People dont want to hear it, do they? she said.

    No one said anything, because we werent sure where she was at.

    This is how I feel, every day, and people dont want to know that. They want to know that Im feeling what Tom Jones makes you feel. Or that Australian girl who used to be in Neighbours. But I feel like this, and they wont play what I feel on the radio, because people that are sad dont fit in.

    Wed never heard Maureen talk like this, didnt even know she could, and even Jess didnt want to stop her.

    Its funny, because people think its Matty that stops me fitting in. But Mattys not so bad. Hard work, but… Its the way Matty makes me feel that stops me fitting in. You get the weight of everything wrong. You have to guess all the time whether things are heavy ht, especially the things inside you, and you get it wrong, and it puts people off. Im tired of it.

    And so suddenly Maureen was like my girl, because she got it, and because she felt the music rage too, and I wao say the right thing to her. You need a holiday.

    I said it because I wao be sympathetic, but then I remembered iy, and I realized that now iy had the money.

    Hey. What about that? Why not? I said. Lets all take Maureen on holiday somewhere. Martin burst out laughing.

    Yeah, right, said Jess. What are we? Volunteers for like an old folks home or something? Maureens not old, I said. How old are you, Maureen?  Im fifty-one, she said.

    OK, not an old folks home. A b folks home.

    And what makes you the most fasating person on the pla? Martin said.

    I dont look like that, for a start. Anyways, I thought you were on my side? And almost unnoticed, amid all the laughter and the general s, Maureen had started to cry.

    Im sorry, Maureen, said Martin. I wasnt being ungallant. I just couldnt imagihe four of us sitting around a swimming pool on our sun loungers.

    No, no, said Maureen. I took no offense. Not much, anyway. And I know nobody wants to go on holiday with me, and thats fine. I just got a bit weepy because JJ suggested it. Its been a long… Nobodys… I havent… It was just nice of him, thats all.

    Oh, fug hell, said Martin quietly. Now, Oh, fug hell  mean a lot of different things, as you know, but there was no ambiguity here; we all uood. What Marti by Oh, fug hell in this text, if I  explain an obsity with an obsity, is that he was fucked. Because what kind of asshole was going to say to Maureen, you know, Yeah, well, its the thought that ts. Hope thats enough for you.

    And like five days later we were on a plao Tenerife.

    <strong>MAUREEN</strong>

    It was their decision, not mine. I didhat I had the right to decide, not really, even though a quarter of the money did belong to me. I was the one whod suggested the holiday in the first place, to JJ, when we were talking about iy, so I didnt think it was right that I should join ihey took a vote on it. I think what I did is, I abstained.

    It wasnt as if there was a big argument, though. Everyone was all for it.

    The only debate was about whether to go now or in the summer, because of the weather, but there was a general feeling that, what with ohing and another, it was better to go now, before Valentines Day. For a moment they thought we could afford the Caribbean, Barbados or somewhere, until Martin pointed out that the money we had would have to cover Mattys time in the care tre as well.

    Lets go without Maureen, then, said Jess, and I was hurt, for a moment, until it turned out she was joking.

    I t remember the last time I wept because I was happy. Im not saying that because I eople to feel sorry for me; its just that it was a strange feeling. When JJ said he had an idea, and then explained what it was, I didnt even allow myself to <q></q>think for a moment that it would ever e to anything.

    It was funny, but up to that point, we hadnt really ever been o each other. Youd think that would have been a part of the story, sidering how wed met. Youd think this would be the story of four people who met because they were unhappy, and wao help each other.

    But it hadnt been up until then, not at all, nothing like, unless you t me and Martin sitting on Jesss head. And even that was being cruel to be kind, rather than kind plain and simple. Up until then it had beeory of four people who met because they were unhappy and then swore at each other.

    Three of them swore, anyway.

    I was making little sobbing hat embarrassed everyone, myself included.

    F— hell, said Jess. Its only a week in the poxy ary Isles. Ive been there. Its just beaches and clubs and that.

    I wao tell Jess that I hadnt even seen an English beach sity left school; they used to take them thton every year, and I went with them once or twice. I didnt say anything, though. I may not know the   weight of many things, but I could feel the weight of that one, so I kept it to myself. You know that things arent going well for you when you t even tell people the simplest fact about your life, just because theyll presume youre asking them to feel sorry for you. I suppose its why you feel so far away from everyone, in the end; anything you  think of to tell them just ends up making them feel terrible.

    I want to describe every moment of the journey, because it seemed so exg, but that would probably be a mistake, too. If youre like everybody else then youll already know what an airport looks like, what it sounds and smells like, and if I tell you about it, then it would be just another way of saying that I havehe sea for ten years. Id got a one-year passport from the post office, and even that caused too much excitement, because I saw one or two people from the chur the queue, and they know Im not a big traveler. One of the people I saw was Bridgid, the woman who didnt invite me to the New Years Eve party I didnt go to; one day, I thought, Ill tell her how she helped me to take my first trip abroad. Id really have to know how much things weighed before I tried that, though.

    You probably know that you sit in a row of three. They let me sit in the window seat, because theyd all been on planes before. Martin sat in the middle and JJ sat o him on the aisle for the first few minutes. After a little while, Jess had to slaces with JJ, because she had an argument with the woman sittio her about the wee bag of nuts they give you, and there was some shouting and carrying on. Ahing you probably know is that theres a terrible noise when you take off, and sometimes the plane shakes in the air. Well of course I didnt know any of those things, and my stomach turo water, and Martin had to hold my hand and talk to me.

    And you probably also know that when you look out of an aeroplane window ahe world shrink like that, you t help but think about the whole of your life, from the beginnin<var>藏书网</var>g until where you are now, and everyone youve ever known. And youll know that thinking about those things makes you feel grateful to God for providing them, and angry with Him for not helping you to uand them better, and so you end up in a terrible muddle and needing to talk to a priest. I decided I wouldnt sit in the window seat on the way back. I dont know how these jet-set people who have to fly once or twice a year cope, I really dont.

    Not having Matty with me was like missing a leg. It felt that strange.

    But I also ehe lightness of it, so it probably wasnt at all like missing a leg, because I dont suppose people whove had a leg taken off do enjoy the lightness of it very much. And I was going to say that it was much easier to move around without Matty, but its much harder to move around with only one leg, isnt it? So maybe it would be more truthful to   say that being on the plahout Matty was like being without a third leg, because a third leg would feel heavy, I expect, and it would get in the way, and you would be relieved if it was taken off. I missed him most when the plane was doing its shaking; I thought I was going to die, and I hadnt said goodbye to him. I pahen.

    We didnt fall out on the first night. Everyone was happy then, even Jess. The hotel was nice, and , and we all had our own toilets and bathrooms, which I hadnt been expeg. And when I opehe shutters, the light poured into the room like a torrent of water through a burst dam, and it nearly knocked me over. My knees buckled for a moment, and I had to lean against the wall. The sea was there too, but it wasnt fierd strong, like the light; it just sat quiet and blue, and made tiny little murmuring noises.

    Some people  see this whehey want to, I thought, but then I had to stop thinking that because it would have got in the way of the things I wao think about. It was a time to be feeling grateful, not to be coveting my neighbours wife, or his sea views.

    We ate in a seafroaurant not far from the hotel. I had a nice piece of fish, and the men ate squid and lobster, and Jess had a hamburger, and I drank two or three glasses of wine. I wont tell you when Id last eaten out in a restaurant, or had wih a meal, because Im learning not to do that.

    I didnt even try to tell the others, because I could feel the weight for myself, and k was more than they would want to carry. Anyway, they knew by this time that it was donkeys years since Id done anything at all, apart from the things I do every day of my life. They took it franted.

    I would like to say this, though, and I dont care how it sounds: it was the  meal Ive ever had in my life, and perhaps the  evening Ive ever had in my life. Is that so terrible, to be so positive about something?

 Part 2-6

    <strong>MARTIN</strong>

    The first evening wasnt too bad, I suppose. I was reized once or twice, and ended up wearing JJs baseball cap pulled down over my eyes, which depressed me. I am not a baseball-cap sort of a chap, and I abhor people who wear any sort of headgear during dinner. We ate so-so seafood in a tourist trap on the seafront, and the only reason I didnt plain about just about everything was because of the look on Maureens face: she was transported by her microwaved plaid her warm white wine, and it seemed churlish to spoil it.

    Maureen had never been anywhere, and Id had a holiday just a few   months before. Penny and I went away for a few days after Id e out of prison, to Majorca. We stayed in a private villa outside Deya, and I thought it was going to be the best few days of my life, because the worst three months were over. But of course it wasnt like that at all; to describe prison as the worst three months of ones life is like describing a horrible car crash as the worst ten seds. It sounds logical, a; it sounds truthful. But its not, because the worst time is afterwards, when you wake up in hospital and learn that your wife is dead, or youve had ys amputated, and that therefore the worst has just begun. I appreciate that this is a gloomy way of talking about a mini-break on a perfectly pleasaerranean island, but it was on Majorca that I realized that the worst was nowhere near over, and might never be over. Prison was humiliating and terrifying, mind-numbing, savagely destructive of the soul in a way that the expression soul-destroying o longer vey. Do you know what quizzies are? her did I, until my first night. Quizzies are when drugged-up psychos hurl questions at each other across the blocks, all of them tred around what the partits would like to see doo unpopular and /or celebrated newers. I was the subject of a quizzie on my first night; I wont bother to list even the more imaginative suggestions, but suffice to say that I didnt sleep very well that night, and that for the first time in my life I had intensely violent fantasies of revenge. I focused everything on the day of my release, and though that day brought with it an overwhelming relief, it didnt last very long.

    Criminals serve their time, but with all due respey friends in B Wing, I was not a criminal, not really; I was a televisioer who had made a mistake, and paradoxically, this meant that I would never serve my time. It was a class issue, and Im sorry, but theres no point iending it wasnt. You see, the other inmates would eventually return to their lives of thieving and drug-dealing and possibly even roofing or whatever the hell it was they did before their careers were interrupted; prison would prove to be no impedimeher socially or professionally. Ihey may even find their prospects and social standing enhanced.

    But you dourn to the middle class when youve been banged up.

    Its over, and youre out. You dont go ahe Head of Daytime TV and tell her youre ready to reclaim your seat behind the Rise a<bdi></bdi>nd Shine desk.

    You dont kno your friends doors ahem that youre once again available for dinner parties. You  even bother telling your ex-wife you want to see your kids again. I doubt whether Mrs Big Joe would have attempted to deny him access to his children, and I doubt whether many of his mates in the pub would have stood in the er muttering their disapproval. Ill bet they bought him a drink and got him laid, in fact. I have thought long and hard about this, and have turned into something of a radical on the subject of penal reform: I have e to the clusion that no one who earns more than, say, seventy-five thousand pounds a year   should ever be sent to jail, because the punishment will always be more severe than the crime. You should just have to see a therapist, ive some moo charity, or something.

    That holiday with Penny was the first time I fully apprehehe trouble I was in, and the trouble I would always be in. The villa at the end of the road was owned by people we both knew, a couple who ran their own produ pany and had, in happier times, offered us both work.

    We ran into them one night in a local bar, and they pretehey didnt know us. Later, the woman took Penny aside in the supermarket and explaihat they were worried about their teenage daughter, a particularly unprepossessing fourteen-year-old who, to be perfectly frank, is uo lose her virginity food many years to e, aainly not to me. It was all nonsense, of course, and she was no more worried about my proximity to her daughter than she was about my proximity to her purse. It was her way of telling me, as so many others have done sihat Ive been cast out of the Garden of Islington, doomed to roam the offices of crap cable panies for evermore.

    So the dihat first night in Tenerife just made me gloomy. These werent my people. They were just people who would talk to me because I was in their boat, but it was a bad boat to be in - an unseaworthy, shabby little boat, and I could suddenly see that it was going to break up and sink.

    It was a boat made for pootling around the lake is Park, and we were attempting to sail to fug Tenerife in it. Youd have to be an idiot to think it was going to stay afloat for much longer.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    I dont think everything the  day was my fault. I take some of the blame, but when things g, you just make them worse if you overreact, dont you? And I think some people overreacted. Because my dad is New Labour and all that, hes always goi<q>9９ｌｉｂ?</q>ng on about tolerance for people of different cultures, and I think what happened was that some people, in other words Martin, were not tolerant of my culture, which is more of a drinking and drug-taking and shagging sort of a culture than his culture. I like to think that Im respectful of his. I dont tell him that he should get pissed up and fucked up s and pick up mirls. So he should be more respectful of mine. He wouldnt tell me to eat pork if I was Jewish, so why should he tell me not to do the other stuff?

    There were only seven years between the first and last Beatles albums.

    Thats nothing, seven years, when you think of how their hairstyles ged and their music ged. Some bands now go seven years without hardly b to do anything. Anyway, at the end of their seven years, theyd   probably got sick of the sight of each other, and you  see that they wanted different things. John wao be in a bag or whatever, and Paul wao be on his farm or whatever, and its hard to see how you  keep a relationship going when youre so different, and one of you is in a bag.

    OK, we hadnt even been going for seven weeks, but we were different in the first place, where?as John and Paul liked the same musid went to the same schools and so on. We didnt have any of that to go on. We werent all even from the same try. So in a way, its no wohat our seven years got densed into about three weeks.

    What happened was, we had breakfast together, and we agreed that wed go our separate ways until the evening, when we were all going to meet up iel bar, have a cocktail and find somewhere to eat. And then JJ and I went for a swim iel pool while Maureen sat and watched us, and then I decided to go out on my own.

    We were staying on the north of the island, in this place called Puerto de la Cruz, which was OK. When I came before we were in the south, which is really mental, but probably too mental for Maureen, and as it was supposed to be her holiday, I didnt mind too much. I did want to buy some blow, though, and it was harder to find up here than it would have been down there, and thats how e I ended up getting myself into the trouble that Martin was in my opinion disrespectful of.

    I went into a couple of bars looking for the kinds of people who might sell spliff, and in the sed bar I saw a girl who looked exactly like Jen.

    Im not exaggerating; when she looked at me and didnt reize me, I thought she was messing about, until I noticed that her eyes werent quite big enough, and her hair was bleached; Jen would never have bleached her hair, however much she wao disguise herself. Anyway, this girl didnt like me staring at her, so I had to have a few words, and she was English and unfortunately uood those words, so she gave me a mouthful back, and I sort of took it on from there. And after wed been at it for a while, we were both asked to leave. Ill be truthful and say that Id already had a couple of Bacardi Breezers, even though it was still quite early, and I think they made me aggressive, although she didnt take up my offer of a fight.

    And then the usual stuff happened: Notjens brother, this bar, this guy, money, dope and a couple of Es, wasnt going to do any of it until later, ended up doing most of it straightaway, some people from a place called Nantwich, this guy, freaked, left to freak on my own. Puke, sleep on the beach, woken up, freaked, driven back to the hotel in a police car. I dont think Id ever met anyone from Nantwich before, and this all happened during the day, but other than that it retty typiight out. I told the police that Maureen and Martin were my parents, and Martin wasnt happy.

    I dont think there was any need for him to check out of our hotel, though. It would have all blown over.

    I felt terrible the  m, mostly because Id goo bed without anything to eat, although Im sure the Es and the Breezers and the blow didnt help. I felt low, too. I had that terrible feeling you get when you realize that youre stuck with who you are, and theres nothing you  do about it. I mean, you  make characters up, like I did when I became like a Jane Austeny person on New Years Eve, and that gives you some time off. But its impossible to keep it going for long, and then youre back to being sick outside some dodgy club and  to fight people. My dad wonders why I choose to be like this, but the truth is, you have no choice, and thats what makes you feel like killing yourself. When I try to think of a life that doesnt involve being sick outside a dodgy club, I t ma; I picture nothing at all. This is I; this is my voice, this is my body, this is my life. Jess Cri, this is your life, and here are some people from Nantwich to talk about you.

    I once asked Dad what hed do if he wasnt w in politics, and he said hed be w in politics, and what he meant, I think, is that wherever he was in the world, whatever job he was doing, hed still find a way back, in the way that cats are supposed to be able to find a way back when they move house. Hed be on the local cil, or hed give out pamphlets, or something. Anything that art of that world, hed do.

    He was a little sad when he said it; he told me it was, in the end, a failure of imagination.

    And thats me: I suffer from a failure of imagination. I could do what I wanted, every day of my life, and what I want to do, apparently, is to get ed out of my head and pick fights. Telling me I  do anything I want is like pulling the plug out of the bath and then telling the water it  go anywhere it wants. Try it, and see what happens.

    JJ   I had a good day, that first day. In the m I read The Sportswriter by the pool, and thats one fug cool book. And then I ordered a sandwich, and then… Well, the truth of the matter is, I thought it was about time to jump-start my libido, which had been on life-support and demonstrating no outward signs of life for like four or five months. You ever read that book some dude wrote with like his eyelid? He had to flicker it every time whoever was helping him got to the right letter of the alphabet. True story. Anyway, my fug libido couldnt even have written that book. But sitting by the pool in my shorts, with the sun warming parts of me that had been frozen for a long time, in all the ways there are to be frozen, there were dim but unmistakable signs of life.

    It wasnt like I went out with the express purpose of doing anything about it. I just thought Id go for a walk and look around, maybe get ba touch with that side of life. I went back to the room to get dr<mark></mark>essed first, though. Im not a bare-chested kind of guy. Im like a hundred and thirty pounds, skinny as fuck, white as a ghost, and you t walk arouo guys with a tan and six-pack when you look like that. Even if you found a chick who dug the skinny ghost look, she wouldnt remember she dug it in this text, right? If you were into Dolly Parton and they played a blast of her album during a hip-hop show, she just wouldnt sound good. In fact, you wouldnt even be able to fug hear her. So putting on my faded black jeans and my old Drive-By Truckers T-shirt was my way of being heard by the right people.

    Ahis: not only did I get heard, if I may use a euphemism, but I got heard by someone whod seen the band and liked us. I mean, what are the ces? OK, she couldnt remember us real clearly, and I kind of had to tell her shed liked us, but, you know. Still. What happened was, I found this cool salt-water pool iown, designed by some local artist, and I stopped for a beer and a sandwich right across from there. And this English chick was sitting by herself on the able, and she was reading this book called Bel to, so I told her Id read it too, aarted to talk about it, and I scooted over to her table. And thearted talking about music, because Bel to is kind of about music - opera, anyway, whie people think is music - and she said she was more into roroll than opera, so I was like, which bands? And she listed a whole bunch, and one of them, this band called the Clockers, wed doour with a few years back. And shed seen them on that tour, in Maer, where she lives, and she thought she might have gotten there early enough to see the opener, and I said, Well, that was us. And she said, ht, I remember, you were cool. I know, I know, but I was at a period in my life where I took what I could get.

    We ended up spending the afternoon together, and then I blew off the family dinner and we spent the evening together, and then, finally, we spent the night together at my hotel, because she had a room-mate at hers. And that was the first time Id gotten any sihe last night with Lizzie, which was more like necrophilia anyway.

    Kathy and I had breakfast together in the dining room the  m, and not only because the hotel didnt have enough stars for room service: I was kind of looking forward to bumping into the others. For some reason I thought Id get some props - OK, maybe not from Maureen, but from Martiainly, because hes got an eye for a pretty girl. I even somehow got it into my head that Jess would be kind of impressed. I could see the three of them oher side of the room, and two of them whispering   dirty jokes, and Id feel cool again.

    Maureen was first down. I waved to her as she came in, to be friendly, but the wave was somehow misinterpreted as an invitation, and she came and sat down at our table. She looked at Kathy suspiciously.

    Is someo ing down for breakfast? She wasnt being rude.

    She was just fused.

    No, see… But then I didnt know what to say.

    Im Kathy, said Kathy, who was also fused. Im a friend of JJs.

    The trouble is, there isnt really room for five oable, said Maureen.

    If everyone else shows, Kathy and I will move, I said.

    Whos &quot;everyone else&quot;? Kathy asked, I guess reasonably.

    Martin and Jess, said Maureen. But Jess ght home in a police car last night. So she might be having a lie-in.

    Oh, I said. I mean, I wao know why Jess had been brought home in a police car and everything. But I didnt want to knht then.

    What had she done? asked Kathy.

    What hadnt she done? said Maureen. The waitress came over and poured us some coffee, and Maureeo the buffet table for her croissants.

    Kathy looked at me. She had some questions, I could tell.

    Maureen is… But then I couldnt think of a way to finish the sentence.

    I didnt have to find a way, either, because then Jess walked in and sat down.

    Fuck me, she said. That was by way of an introdu. I feel so shit.

    Normally Id think a good puke might make me feel better. But I puked my whole insides up last night. Theres nothi.

    Im Kathy, said Kathy.

    Hello, said Jess. Im in such a state I didnt even realize I dont know you.

    Im a friend of JJs, said Kathy, and Jesss eyes lit up ominously.

    What sort of friend? We just met yesterday.

    And youre having breakfast together? Shut up, Jess.

    What have I said? Its what yoing to say.

    What am I going to say? I have no idea.

    Have you met our mum and dad yet, Kathy? Kathys eyes flickered nervously over to Maureen.

    Youre braver than me, JJ, said Jess. I wouldnt bring a one-night stand down to the family breakfast table. Thats fug modern, man.

    Thats your mother? said Kathy. She was trying to be real casual, but I could tell she was freaking a little.

    Of course its not my mother. Were not even the same nationality. Jess is being...

    Did he tell you he was a musi? said Jess. Ill bet he did. He always does. Thats the only way he  ever get a girlfriend. We keep telling him not to try that one, because people always find out in the end. And then theyre disappointed. Ill bet he said he was a singer, right? Kathy nodded, and looked at me.

    Thats a laugh. Sing for her, JJ. You should hear him. Fug hell.

    Kathy saw my band, I said. But as soon as Id said it, I remembered that Id told Kathy shed seen the band, which isnt quite the same thing; Kathy turo look at me, and I could tell she was remembering the same thing. Oh, man.

    Maureen and her croissants sat down at the table.

    What are we going to do if Martin es down? Theres no room.

    Oh, no, said Jess. Aaaaagh. Help. Well just panic, Ispose.

    Maybe I should make a move, said Kathy. She stood up and gulped some coffee down.

 Part 2-7

    Anna will be w whats happeo me.

    We could move to aable, I said, but I k was over, destroyed by a malevolent force beyond my trol.

    See you later, said Jess cheerily.

    And that was the last time I saw Kathy. If I were her, Id still be restrug the dialogue in my head, writing it down aing friends to act it out, looking for any kind of clue that would help me make sense of that breakfast.

    You never know with Jess whether shes being sharp or lucky. When you shoot your mouth off as fast and as frequently as she does, youre bound to hit something sometime. But for whatever reason, she was right: Kathy wouldnt have happened without music. She was supposed to be a little pick-me-up, my first sihe band broke up - my first ever as a non-practig musi, because I was already in a band when I lost my virginity, and Ive been in a band ever since. So after she left, I started to worry about how this was ever going to work, and like whether Id be in some fug old folks home in forty years telling some little old lady with h that REMs manager had wao represent my band. When was I ever going to be a person - someoh maybe a job, and a personality that people could respond to? Its no fug use, giving something up if theres nothing to take its place. Say Id just kept talking about the books we were both reading, and wed never mentioned music… Would we still have goo bed? I could. It seemed to me that wit.hout my old life, I had no life at all. My morale-booster ended up making me feel totally fug crushed and desperate.

    <strong>MAUREEN</strong>

    We didnt really think anything of Martin missing his breakfast, even though breakfast was included. I was getting used to the idea that once or twice a day, something would happen that I wouldnt uand. I didnt uand what Jess had been up to the night before, and I didnt uand why there was a strange woman - a girl, really - sitting at our breakfast table. And now I didnt uand where Martin had gone. But not uanding dido matter very much. Sometimes, when you   watch a cops and robbers film oelevision, you dont uand the beginning, but you know youre not meant to. You watyway, though, because in the end someone will explain some of the things to you if you pay close attention. I was trying to think of life with Jess and JJ and Martin as a cops and robbers film; if I did everything, I told myself not to panic. Id wait until someone gave me a clue. And anyway, I was beginning to see that it didnt really matter even if you uood almost nothing. I hadnt really uood why we had to say wed seen an angel, or how that got us on to the television. <mark>?９９ｌｉb?</mark>But that was all fotten about noarently, so why make a fuss? I must admit, I was worried about where everyone was going to sit at breakfast, but that wasnt because I was fused. I just didnt want Martin to think us rude.

    After breakfast I tried to telephohe care home, but I couldnt manage on my own. In the end I had to ask JJ to do it for me, and he explaihat there were lots of extra o dial, and some you had to leave out, and I dont know what else. I wasnt being cheeky, using the telephone, because the others told me I could call once a day whatever the expeherwise, they said, I wouldnt relax properly.

    And the telephone call… Well, it ged everything. Just those two or three minutes. More happeo me in my head during the telephone call than during all that time up on the roof. And it wasnt as if there was any bad news, or any news at all. Matty was fine. How could he not be? He needed care, and he was getting care, and there wasnt much else they could tell me, was there? I tried to make the versation last longer, and, fair play to him, the ried to help me make it last lod love him.

    But her of us could think of anything to say. Matty doesnt do anything in the course of a day, and he hadnt done anything on that particular day.

    Hed been out in his wheelchair, aalked about that, but mostly we were talking about the weather, and the garden.

    And I thanked him and put the phone down and thought for a moment, and tried not to feel sorry for myself. Love and  and the rest of it, the things that only a mother  provide… For the first time in his life I could finally see that those things were no use to him anyway. The point of me was exactly the same as the point of the people in the care home. I robably still better at it than they were, because of the practice Id had. But I could have taught them all theyd o know in a couple of weeks.

    What that meant was that when I died, Matty would be fine. And what that meant was the thing Id been most afraid of, ever since he was born, wasnt frightening in the least. And I didnt know whether I wao kill myself more or less, knowing that. I didnt know whether my whole life had been a waste of time or not.

    I went downstairs, and I saw Jess in the lobby.

    Martins checked out of the hotel,bbr>?</abbr> she said.

    And I smiled at her politely, but I didnt stop, and I kept walking. I didnt care that Martin had checked out of the hotel. If I hadnt made the telephone call I would have cared, because he was in charge of our money.

    But if hed gone off with the money, it wouldnt matter much, would it? Id stay there, or not, and Id eat, or not, and Id drink, or not, and go home, or not, and what I did or didnt do wouldnt matter to a all. And I walked for most of the day. Do people get sad on holiday sometimes? I  imagihey do, having all that time to think.

    For the rest of the week, I tried to keep out of everybodys way. Martin was gone anyway, and JJ dido mind. Jess didnt like it much, and once or twice she tried to make me eat with her, or sit on the beach with her. But I just smiled and said, No thank you. I didnt say, But youre always so rude to me! Why do you want to talk to me now?

    I borrowed a book from the little bookcase iion, a silly oh a bright pink cover called Paws for Beth about a single girl whose cat turns into a handsome young fella. And the young fella wants to marry her, but shes not sure because hes a cat, so she takes a while to decide. And sometimes I read that, and sometimes I slept. Ive always been fine on my own.

    And the day before we flew home I went to Mass, for the first time in a month or so. There was a lovely old chur the town - muicer than ours at home, which is modern and square. (Ive often wondered whether God would even have found ours, but I suppose He must have done by now.) It was easier than I thought it would be to walk in and sit down, but thats mostly because I didnt know anybody there. But after that everything seemed a little harder, because the people seemed sn, and I didnt know where we were very often because of the language.

    I got used to it, though. It was like walking into a dark room - and it was dark in there, much darker than ours. After a little while, I started to be able to see things, and what I could see were people from home. Not the actual people, of course, but the Tenerife versions. There was a woman like Bri<q></q>dgid, who knew everyone a looking down the pews and smiling and nodding. And there was a fella who was a little unsteady on his feet, even at that time of day, and that at.

    And then I saw me. She was my age, on her own, and she had a grown-up son in a wheelchair who didnt know what day it was, and for a little while I stared at them, and the woman caught me staring and she obviously thought I was being rude. But it seemed se, such a ce, until I thought about it. And what I thought was, you could probably go   into any churywhere in the world and see a middle-aged woman, no husband in sight, pushing a young lad in a wheelchair. It was one of the reasons churches were ied, probably.

    MARTIN  I have never been a particularly introspective man, and I say this unapologetically. One could argue that most of the trouble in the world is caused by introspe. Im not thinking of things like war, famine, disease or violent crime - not that sort of trouble. Im thinking more of things like annoying neer ns, tearful chat-show guests and so on. I ow see, however, that its hard to prevent introspe when one has nothing to do but sit around and think about oneself. You could try thinking about other people, I suppose, but the other people I tried to think about teo be people I knew, and thinking about people I knew just brought me right back to where I didnt want to be.

    So in some ways it was a mistake, cheg out of the hotel and going off on my own, because even though Jess irritated the hell out of me, and Maureen depressed me, they occupied a part of me that should never be left ued and unfurnished. It wasnt just that, either: they also made me feel relatively aplished. Id dohings, and because Id dohings, there ossibility that I might do other things. Theyd dohing at all, and it was not difficult to imagihat they would tio do nothing at all, and they made me look and feel like a world leader who runs a multinational pany in the evenings and a scout troop at weekends.

    I moved into a room that was more or less identical to the one Id been staying in, except I treated myself to a sea view and a baly. And I sat on the baly for two solid days, staring at the sea view and being introspective. I t say that I articularly iive in my introspe; the clusions I drew on the first day were that Id made a pigs ear of just about everything, and that Id be better off dead, and if I died no one would miss me or feel bad about my death. And then I got drunk.

    The sed day was only very slightly more structive; having reached the clusion the previous evening that no one would miss me if I died, I realized belatedly that most of my woes were someone elses fault: I was estranged from my children because of dy, and dy was also responsible for the end of my marriage. I made one mistake! OK, nine mistakes. Nine mistakes out of say a hundred opportunities! I got  per t and I still failed the test! I was imprisoned a) due to entrapment, and b) because societys attitudes to teenage sexuality are outmoded. I lost my job because of the hypocrisy and disloyalty of my bosses. So at the end of the   sed day, I wao kill other people, rather than kill myself, and thats got to be healthier, surely?

    Jess found me ohird day. I was sitting in a cafe reading a two-day-old Daily Express and drinking cafe  leche, and she sat down opposite me.

    Anything about us in there? she said.

    I expect so, I said. But Ive only read the sport and the horoscopes so far. Havent looked at the front page yet.

    Fun-nee.  I sit with you? No.

    She sat down anyway.

    Whats all this about, then? All what? This… big sulk.

    You think Im sulking? What would you call it, then? Im sick to death of you.

    What have we done? Not you plural. You singular. Toi, not vous.

    Because of the ht? Yes, because of the ht.

    You just didnt like me saying you were my dad, did you? Youre old enough to be.

    Im aware of that.

    Yeah. So get over it. Take a chill pill.

    Im over it. Ive taken one.

    Looks like it.

    Jess, Im not sulking. You think I moved out of a hotel because you said I was your father? I would.

    Because you hate him? Or because youd be ashamed of your daughter? Both.

    This is what happens with Jess. Whehinks youre withdrawing, she pretends to be thoughtful (and by thoughtful, I mean self-loathing, whie is the only possible oute of any prolohought on her part). I decided I wasnt going to be taken in.

    Im not going to be taken i lost.

    What have I done now? Fug hell.

    Youre pretending to be a remorseful human being.

    What does &quot;remorseful&quot; mean? It means youre sorry.

    For what? Go away.

    For what? Jess, I want a holiday. Most of all, I want a holiday from you.

    So you wao get pissed up and take drugs.

    Yes. I want that very much.

    Yeah, right. And if I do Ill get a bollog.

    Nope. No bollog. Just go away.

    Im bored.

    So go and find JJ or Maureen.

    Theyre b.

    And Im not? Which celebrities have you met? Have you met Eminem? No.

    You have, but you wont tell me.

    Oh, for Christs sake.

    I left some money oable, got up and walked out. Jess followed me dowreet. What about a game of pool? No.

    Sex? No.

    You dont fancy me? No, Some men do.

    Have sex with them, then. Jess, Im sorry to say it, but I think our relationship is over.

    Not if I just follow you around all day it isnt.

    And you think that would work in the long term? I dont care about the long term. What about what my dad said about looking out for me? And Id have thought youd want to. I could replace the daughters youve lost. And that way you could find inner peace, see? There are loads of films like that.

    She offered this last observation matter-of-factly, as if it were somehow indicative of the truth of the sario shed imagined, rather than the opposite.

    What about the sex you were ? How would that fit in with you replag the daughters Ive lost? This would be a different, you know, thing. Route. A different way to go.

    We passed a ghastly looking bar called New York City.

    Thats where I g<s>藏书网</s>ot thrown out fhting, said Jess proudly. Theyll kill me if I try to go in again.

    As if to illustrate the point, a grizzled-looking owner was standing in the doorway with a murderous look on his face.

    I need a pee. Dont go anywhere.

    I walked into New York City, found a lavatory somewhere in the Lower East Side, put the TV pages of the Express over the seat, sat down and bolted the door. For the  hour or two I could hear her yelling at me through the wall, but eventually the yelling stopped; I presumed shed gone, but I stayed in there anyway, just in case. It was eleven in the m when I bolted the door, and three iernoon when I came out. I did the time. It was that sort of holiday.

    JJ  The last band I was in broke up after a show at the Hope and Anchor in Islington, just a few blocks from where my apartment is now. We kneere breaking up before we went on stage, but we hadnt talked about it.

    Wed played in Maer the night before, to a very small crowd, and on the way down to London wed all been a little snappy, but mostly just morose and quiet. It felt exactly the same as when you break up with a woman you love - the sick feeling iomach, the knowledge that nothing you  say will make any fug difference - or, if it does, it wont make any difference for any lohan like five minutes. Its weirder with a band, because you kind of know that you wont lose touch with the people the way you lose touch with a girlfriend. I could have sat in a bar with all three of them the  night without arguing, but the band would still have ceased to exist. It was more than the four of us; it was a house, and we were the people in it, and wed sold it, so it wasnt ours any more. Im talkiaphorically here, obviously, because no one would have given us a fug dime for it.

    Anyway, after the show at the Hope and Anchor - and the show had an unhappy iy to it, like a desperate break-up fuck - we walked into this shitty little dressing room, and sat down in a line, and then Eddie said, That feels like it. And he did this thing that was so unlike him, so not just like Eddie: he reached out either side, and took my hand and Jesses hand, and squeezed. And Jesse took Billys hand, just so that wed all be joined for one last time, and Billy said, Fuck you, queer boy, and stood up real quick,   which kind of tells you all you o know about drummers.

    I had only known my holiday panions for a few weeks, but there was the same kind of sick feeling on the way from the hotel to the airport.

    There was a break-up ing, you could smell it, and no one was saying anything. And it was for the same reason, which was that wed taken things as far as we could, and there was nowhere for us to go. Thats why everyone breaks up, I guess, bands, friends, marriages, whatever. Parties, weddings, anything.

    Its funny, but when the band split, one of the reasons I felt sick was because I was worried about the uys. What the fuck were they going to do, you know? None of us were over-qualified. Billy wasnt real big on reading and writing, if you hear what Im saying, and Eddie was too, like, pugilistic to hold down a job for long, and Jesse liked his spliff… The one person I had no real s about was me. I was going to be OK. I was smart, and stable, and I had a girlfriend, even though I knew Id miss making music every fug day of my life, I could still be something and someohout it. So what happens? A few weeks later, Billy and Jesse get a gig with a band bae whose rhythm se had walked out on them, Eddie goes to work for his dad, and Im delivering pizzas and nearly jumping off a fug roof.

    So this time around, I was determined not to fret about my fellow band members. Theyd be OK, I told myself. It didnt look that way, maybe, but theyd survived so far, just about, and it wasnt my problem anyway.

    Iaxi to the airport we talked some about what wed done, and what wed read, and the first thing we were going to do whe home, and shit like that, and on the plane we all dozed, because it was an early flight. And the the tube from Heathrow to Kings Cross, and took a bus from there. It was on the bus that we started that maybe we wouldnt be hanging out so much.

    Why not? said Jess.

    Because we have nothing in on, said Martin. The holiday proved that.

    I thought it went OK.

    Martin snorted. We didnt speak to each other.

    You were hiding in a toilet most of the time, said Jess.

    And why was that, do you think? Because were soul mates? Or because ours is not one of my most fulfilliionships?   Yeah, and what is your most fulfilliionship? Whats yours? Jess thought for a moment, and then shrugged.

    With you lot, she said.

    There was a silehat was long enough for us to see the truth of Jesss observation as it applied to her. And luckily for us, Martin spoke up just as we were starting to see how it might possibly apply to us too.

    Yes. Well. It shouldnt be, shouldnt it? Are you givihe push? If you want to put it like that. Jess, we got through the holiday. And now its time to go our separate ways.

    What about Valentines Day? We  meet on Valentines Day, if you want. We said wed do that.

    Up on the roof? Do you still think you might throw yourself off ? I dunno. It ges day by day.

    Id like to meet up, said Maureen.

    I suppose Valentines must be a pretty important day for you, Maureen, said Jess. She said it as if she were making versation, but Maureen reized the disguised nastiness and didnt bother to respond. Just about everything Jess said could be bounced right back at her, but none of us had the energy any more. We looked out the window at the traffi the rain, and at Angel I said goodbye and got off. As I watched the bus drive away, I could see Maureen offer the others, even Jess, her packet of Polo mints, and the gesture seemed kind of heartbreaking.

    For the  week I did nothing, pretty much. I read a lot, and wandered around Islington to see if there was any sign of a bad job for me. One night I blew ten pounds on a ticket for a band called Fat ce, who were playing in the Union Chapel. They started up around the same time as us, and now they had a det deal, and there was a buzz about them, but they were lame, in my opinion. They stood there and played their songs, and   people clapped, and there was an encore, and then we left, and I wouldnt say any of us was richer for the experience.

    I was reized on the way out, by a guy who must have been in his forties.

    All right, JJ? he said.  Do I know you? I saw you at the Hope and Anchor last year. I heard the band had split.

    You living here?  Yeah, for now.

    What you doing? You gone solo?  Yeah, thats right.

    Cool  We met at eight in the evening on Valentines Day, and everyone was on time. Jess wao meet later, like at midnight or something, for full tragic effect, but no one else thought it was such a good idea, and Maureen didnt want to travel home so late. I ran into her oairs on the , and told her I was glad to hear she was thinking about travelling home afterwards.

    Where else would I go? No, I just meant… Last time you werent gonna go home, you know?

    Not, like, on the bus, anyway.

    On the bus? Last time, you were going to get off the roof the quick way. I walked my fihrough the air and then pluhem downwards, as if they were jumping off the roof. But tonight, it sounds as though youll be taking the long way down.

    Oh. Yes. Well. Ive e on a bit, she said. In my head, I mean.

    Thats great.

    Im still feeling the be of the holiday, I think.

    Right on.

    And then she didnt want to talk any more, because it was a long , and she was short of breath.

    Martin and Jess arrived a couple of minutes later, and we said hello, and then we all stood there.

    What was the point of this, actually? said Martin.

    We were going to meet up and see hoere all feeling and all that, said Jess.

    Ah. We shuffled our feet. And how are we all feeling? Maureens doing good, I said. Arent you, Maureen? I am. I was saying to JJ, I think Im still feeling the be of the holiday.

    Which holiday? The holiday we just had? He looked at her and then shook his head, with a mixture of amazement and admiration.

    How about you, Mart? I said. How you doing? But I could kind of tell what the ao that question was going to be.

    Oh, you know. e e ca, Tosser, said Jess.

    We shuffled our feet some more.

    I read something I thought might i you all, Martin said.

    Yeah? I was w… Maybe it would be good to talk about it

    Sounds good to me, I said. I mean, maybe we should celebrate anyway, you know? Celebrate? said Martin, like I was nuts.

    Yeah. I mean, were alive, and, and… The list kind of ran out after that. But being alive seemed worth the price of a round of drinks. Being alive seemed worth celebrating. Unless, of course, it wasnt what you wanted, in which case… Oh, fuck it. I wanted a   drink anyway. If we couldnt think of anything else, then me wanting a drink was worth celebrating. An ordinary human desire had emerged through the fog of depression and indecision.

    Maureen? Yes, I dont mind.

    It doesnt look to me like anyones going to jump, I said. Not tonight.

    Is that right? Jess? She wasnt listening.

    Fuck me, she said. Jesus Christ.

    She was staring at the er of the roof, the spot where Martin had she wire on New Years Eve. There was a guy sitting there, exactly where Martin had sat, and he was watg us. He was maybe a few years older than me, and he looked real frightened.

    Hey, man, I said quietly. Hey. Just stay there.

    I started to walk slowly over to him.

    Please dont e any closer, he said. He anicky, ears, dragging furiously on a smoke.

    Weve all been there, I said. e on back over and you  join ang. This is our reunion. I tried another couple of steps. He didnt say anything.

    Yeah, said Jess. Look at us. Were OK. You think youre never going to get through the evening, but you do.

    I dont want to, said the guy.

    Tell us what the problem is, I said. I walked a little closer. I mean, were all fug experts in the field. Maureen here...

    But I never got any further. He flipped the cigarette over the edge, and then with a little moan he pushed himself off. And there was silence, and then there was the noise of his body hitting the crete all those floors below. And those two he moan and the thud, Ive heard every single day since, and I still dont know which is scarier.

 Part 3-1

    <strong>MARTIN</strong>

    The guy who jumped had two profound and apparently tradictory effects on us all. Firstly, he made us realize that we werent capable of killing ourselves. And sedly, this information made us suicidal again.

    That isnt a paradox, if you know anything about the perversity of human nature. A long time ago, I worked with an alcoholieone who must remain nameless because you will almost certainly have heard of him.

    Aold me that the first time he failed on an attempt to quit the booze was the most terrifying day of his life. Hed always thought that he could stop drinking, if he ever got round to it, so he had a choice stashed away in a sock drawer somewhere at the back of his head. But when he found out that he had to drink, that the choice had never really been there… Well, he wao do away with himself, if I may temporarily fuse our issues.

    I didnt properly uand what he meant until I saw that guy jump off the roof. Up until then, jumping had always been an option, a way out, money in the bank for a rainy day. And then suddenly the money was gone - or rather, it had never been ours in the first place. It beloo the guy who jumped, and people like him, because dangling ys over the precipice is nothing unless youre prepared to go that extra two inches, and none of us had been. We could tell each other and ourselves so.hing different - oh, I would have do if she hadhere or he hadhere or if someone hadnt sat on my head - but the fact of the matter was that we were all still around, and wed all had ample opportunity not to be. Why had we e down that night? Wed e down because we thought we should go and look for some twit called Chas, who turned out not to be terribly germao our story. Im not sure we could have persuaded old matey, the jumper, to go and look for Chas. He had other things on his mind. I wonder how he would have scored on Aaron T. Becks Suicide I Scale? Pretty high, I should think, unless Aaron T. Beck has been barking up the wrong tree. No one could say the i wasnt there.

    We got off that roof sharpish once hed gone over. We decided it was best not to hang around and explain our role, or lack of it, in the poor chaps demise. We had a little Toppers previous, after all, and by owning up, wed only be fusing the issue. If people knew wed been up there, then the clarity of the story - unhappy man jumps off of building - would be diminished, and people would uand less of it, rather than more. We wouldnt want that.

    So we charged dowairs as fast as damaged lungs and varicosed legs would let us, a our separate ways. We were too nervous to go for a drink in the immediate viity, and too nervous to travel in a taxi together, so we scattered the moment we reached the pavement. (What, I wondered on the way home, was the  pub to Toppers House like of an evening? Was it full of unhappy people on their , or half-fused, half-relieved people whod just e down? Or an awkward mix of the two? Does the landlhe uniqueness of his tele?

    Does he exploit their mood for financial gain - by  a Miserable Hour, for example? Does he ever try to get the Uppers - in this text the very unhappy people - to mix with the Downers? Or the Uppers to mix with each other? Has there ever been a relationship born there? Could the pub even have been responsible for a wedding, and thus maybe a child?)  We met again the following afternoon in Starbucks, and everyone had the blues. A fereviously, in the immediate aftermath of the holiday, it had been perfectly clear that we no longer had much use for each other; now, it was hard to imagine who else would be suitable pany. I looked around the cafe at the other ers: young mothers with prams, young men and women in suits with mobile phones and pieces of paper, fn students… I tried to imagialking to any of them, but it was impossible. They wouldnt want to hear about people jumping off tower-blocks. No one would, apart from the people I was sitting with.

    I  all fug night thinking about that guy, said JJ. Man. What was going on there? He robably just, you know. A drama queen. A male drama queen.

    A drama king, said Jess. He looked the sort.

    Thats very shrewd, Jess, I said. In the brief glimpse we got of him before he pluo his death, he didnt strike me as someoh serious problems. Nothing on your scale, anyway.

    Itll be in the local paper, said Maureen. They usually are. I used to read the reports. Especially when it was ing up to New Years Eve. I used to pare myself with them.

    And? How did you get on? Oh, said Maureen. I did OK. Some of them I couldnt uand.

    What sort of things? Money.

    I owe loads of people money, said Jess proudly.

    Perhaps you should think of killing yourself, I said.

    Its not much, said Jess. Only twenty quid here and twenty quid there.

    Even so. A debts a debt. And if you t pay… Maybe you should take the honourable way out.

    Hey. Guys, JJ said. Lets keep some focus, huh? On what? Isnt that the problem? Nothing to focus os focus on that guy.

    We dont know anything about him.

    No, but, I dont know. He seems kind of important to me. That was what we were gonna do.

    Were we? I was, said Jess.

    But you didnt.

    You sat on my head.

    But you havent done anything about it since.

    Well. We went to that party. And we went on holiday. And, you know.

    Theres beehing after another.

    Terrible, isnt it, how that happens? Youll have to block out some time in your diary. Otherwise life will keep getting in the way.

    Shut up.

    Guys, guys… I had, once again, allowed myself to be drawn into an undignified spat with Jess. I decided to a a more statesmanlike manner.

    Like JJ, I have spent a long night cogitating, I said.

    Tosser.

    And my clusion is that we are not serious people. We were never serious. We got closer than some, but nowhere near as close as others. And that puts us in something of a bind.

    I agree. Were fucked, said JJ. Sorry, Maureen.

    Im missing something, said Jess.

    This is it, I said. This is us.

    What is? This. I gestured vaguely at our surroundings, the pany we were keeping, the rain outside, all of which seemed to speak eloquently of our current dition. This is it. Theres no way out. Not even the way out is the way out. Not for us.

    Fuck that, said Jess. And Im not sorry, Maureen.

    The ht, I was going to tell you about something Id read in a magazine. About suicide. Do you remember? Anyway, this guy reed that the crisis period lasts y days.

    What guy? JJ asked.

    This suicidologist guy.

    Thats a job? Everythings a job.

    So what? said Jess.

    So weve had forty-six of the y days.

    And what happens after the y days? Nothing happens, I said. Just… things are different. Things ge.

    The exact arra of stuff that made you think your life was unbearable… Its got shifted around somehow. Its like a sort of real-life version of astrology.

    Nothings going to ge for you, said Jess. Youre still going to be the geezer off the telly who slept with the fifteen-year-old ao prison. No one will ever fet that.

    Yes. Well. Im sure the y days thing wont apply in my case, I   said. If that makes you happier.

    Wont help Maureeher, said Jess. Or JJ. I might ge, though. I do, quite a lot.

    My point, anyway, is that we extend our deadline again. Because… Well, I dont know about you lot. But I realized this m that Im not, you know, ready to go solo just yet. Its funny, because I dont actually like any of you very much. But you seem to be, I dont know… What I need.

    You know how sometimes you know you should be eating more cabbage?

    Or drinking more water? Its like that.

    There was a general shuffling of feet, which I interpreted as a declaration of relut solidarity.

    Thanks, man, said JJ. Very toug. Whens the y days up? March st.

    Thats a bit of a ce, isnt it? said Jess. Exactly three months.

    Whats your point? Well. Its not stific, is it? What, ay-eight days would be? More stific, yeah.

    No, I get it, said JJ. Three months sounds abht. Three months is like a season.

    Very much like, I agreed. Given there are four seasons, and twelve months in a year.

    So were seeing the wihrough together. Thats cool. Winter is when you<bdi></bdi> get the blues, JJ said.

    So it would appear, I said.

    But we gotta do something, said JJ. We t just sit around waiting for three months to be up.

    Typical Ameri, said Jess. What do you want to do? Bomb some poor little try somewhere? Sure. It would take my mind off things, some bombing.

    What should we do? I asked him.

    I dont know, man. I just know that if we spend six weeks pissing and moaning, then were not helping ourselves.

    Jess is right, I said. Typical bloody Ameri. &quot;Helping ourselves.&quot; Self-help. You  do anything if you put your mind to it, right? You could be President.

    What is it with you assholes? Im not talking about being President.

    Im talking about, like, finding a job waiting tables.

    Great, said Jess. Lets all not kill ourselves because someone gave us a fifty peip.

    No fug ce of that in this fug try, said JJ. Sorry, Maureen.

    You could always just go back where you came from, said Jess. That would ge something. Also, your buildings are higher, arent they? So, I said. Forty-four days to go.

    There was something else iicle I read: an interview with a man whod survived after jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.

    He said that two seds after jumping, he realized that there was nothing in his life he couldnt deal with, no problem he couldnt solve - apart from the problem hed just given himself by jumping off the bridge. I dont know why I didhe others about that; youd think it might be relevant information. I wao keep it to myself for the time being, though. It seemed like something that might be more appropriate later, wheory was over. If it ever was.

    MAUREEN  It was in the local paper, the following week. I cut the story out, a it, and I read it every so often, just to try to uand the poor maer. I couldnt keep him out of my head. He was called David Fawley, and hed jumped because of problems with his wife and children. Shed met someone else, and moved away to be with him, and taken the kiddies with her. He only lived two streets away, which seemed very strao me, a ce, until I realized that people in my local paper always lived locally, unless someone had visited to open a school or something. Glenda Ja came to Mattys school once, for example.

    <strong>Martin</strong>

    was right. When I saw David Fawley jump, it made me see that I hadnt been ready on New Years Eve. Id been ready to make the preparations, because it gave me something to do - New Years Eve was something to look forward to, in a strange sort of way. And when Id met some people to talk to, then I was happy to talk, instead of jump. Theyd have let me jump, I think, once Id told them why I  there. They wouldnt have got in my way, or sat on my head. But even so, Id gone dowairs and on to the party. This poor David hadnt wao talk to us, that was the thing Id noticed. Hed e to jump, not to natter. I thought Id goo jump, but I ended up nattering anyway.

    If you thought about it, this David fella and me, we were opposites.

    Hed killed himself because his children were gone, and Id thought about it because my son was still around. There must be a lot of that goes on. There must be people who kill themselves because their marriage is over, and others who kill themselves because they t see a way out of the oheyre in. I wondered whether you could do that with everyone, whether every unhappy situation had an unhappy opposite situation. I could with the people who had debts, though. No one ever killed himself because he had too much mohose sheikhs with the oil doo it suicide very often. Or if they do, no one ever talks about it. Anyerhaps there was something in this opposites idea. I had someone, and David had no one, and hed jumped and I hadnt. When it es to itting suicide, nobody beats somebody, if you see what I mean.

    Theres no rope holding you back.

    I prayed for Davids soul, even though I k wouldnt do him any good, because he had itted the sin of despair, and my prayers would fall on deaf ears. And then after Matty had goo sleep, I left him alone for five minutes and walked down the road to see where David had lived. I dont know why I did that, or what I hoped to see, but there was nothing there, of course. It was one of these streets full of big houses that have been turned into flats, so thats what I found out, that he lived in a flat. And then it was time to turn around and go home.

    That evening, I watched a programme oelevision about a Scottish detective who does on with his ex-wife very well, so I thought about David some more, because I dont suppose he got on very well with his ex-wife either. And Im not sure this was the point of the programme, but there wasnt mu in it for lots uments between the Scottish detective and his ex-wife, because most of the time he had to find out whod killed this woman a her body outside her ex-husbands house to make it look as though hed killed her. (This was a different ex-husband.) So in an hour-long programme, there were probably only ten minutes of him arguing with his ex-wife, and his children, and fifty minutes of him trying to find   whod put the womans body in the dustbin. Forty minutes, I suppose, if you took out the advertisements. I noticed because I was a bit more ied in the arguments than I was in the body, and the arguments dido e around very often.

    And that seemed abht to me, ten minutes an hour. It robably abht for the programme, because he was a detective, and it was more important for him and for the viewers that he spent the biggest k of his time on solving the murders. But I think even if youre not in a TV programme, then ten minutes an hour is abht for your problems.

    This David Fawley was unemployed, so there was a fair old ce that he spent sixty minutes an hour thinking about his ex-wife, and his children, and when you do that, youre bound to end up on the roof of Toppers House.

    I should know. I dont have arguments, but there have been lots of times in my life when I couldnt stop Matty being sixty minutes an hour.

    There was nothing else to think about. Id had more on my mily, because of the others, and the things that have happened in their lives. But most of the time, on most days, it was just me and my son, and that meant trouble.

    Anyway, that evening there was a whole jumble of thoughts. I lay in bed half-asleep, thinking about David, and the Scottish detective, and ing down off the roof to find Chas aually I got these thoughts unknotted, and when I woke up in the m I decided it would be a good idea to find out where Martins wife and children lived, and then go and talk to them all and see if there was any ce of getting the family back together. Because if that worked, then Martin would so eaten up about some things, and hed have somebody rather than nobody, and Id have something to do for forty or fifty minutes an hour, and it would help everybody.

    But I eless detective. I knew Martins wifes name was dy, so I looked dy Sharp up in the phone book, and she wasnt there, and I ran out of ideas after that. So I asked Jess, because I didnt think JJ would approve of my plan, and she found all the information we needed in about five minutes, on a puter. But then she wao e with me to see dy, and I said she could. I know, I know. But you try telling her she t have something she wants.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    I got on Dads puter, and put dy Sharp into Google, and I found an interview shed given to some womans magazine when Martin had goo prison. dy Sharp talks for the first time about her heartbreak and all that. You could even cli a picture of her awo girls. dy looked like Penny, except older and a bit fatter, because of having had kids and that. And whats the betting that Penny looked like the fifteen-year-old, except that the fifteen-year-old was even slimmer than Penny, and had bigger tits or whatever? Theyre tossers, arent they, men like Martin? They think women are like fug laptops or whatever, like, My old ones knackered and anyway, you  get ohat are slimmer and do more stuff now.

    So I read the interview, and it said she lived in this village called Torley Heath, about forty miles outside London. And if she was trying to stop people like us from knog on the door to tell her to get back with her husband, then she made a big mistake, because the interviewer described exactly where her house is in the village - opposite an old-fashioned er shop,  door but oo the village school. She told us all this because she wanted us to know how idealistic or whatever dys life is. Apart from her ex-husband being in prison for sleeping with a fifteen-year-old.

    We decided not to tell JJ. We were pretty sure hed stop us for some bullshit reason or another. Hed say, Its none of your business, or, Youll fuck up the last ce hes got. But we thought we had a strong argument, Maureen and I. ument was this. Maybe dy did hate Martin because he was a real playa who went anywhere with anyone. But now he was suicidal, and he probably wouldnt go anywhere with anyone, or at least not for a while. So basically, if she wouldnt take him back, she had to hate him enough to want him to die. And thats a lot of hate. True, he hadnt ever said he wao get back with her, but he o be in a secure domestiviro, in a place like Torley Heath. It was better to do nothing in a place where there was nothing to do than in London, where there was trouble - teenage girls and nightclubs and tower-blocks. Thats what we felt.

    So we had a day out. Maureen made horrible like old-fashioned sandwiches with egg and stuff in them, which I could. A the tube to Paddington, therain to Newbury, and then a bus to Torley Heath. Id been worried that Maureen and I wouldnt have much to say to each other, and wed get really bored, and Id end up doing something stupid, because of the boredom. But it really wasnt like that, mostly because of me, and the effort I put in. I decided that I was going to be like an interviewer type-person, and Id spend the journey finding out about Maureens life, no matter how b or depressing it was. The only trouble was that it was actually to and depressing to listen to, so I sort of switched off when she was talking, and thought up the  question. A couple of times she looked at me funny, so Im guessing that quite often she had just told me something and then I asked her about it again. Like once, I   tuned ba to hear her go, something something somethi Frank. So I went, When did you meet Frank, but I think what shed just said was, That was when I met Frank. So Id have to work on that, if I was ever to be an interviewer. But lets face it, I woulderviewing people who did nothing and had a disabled son, would I? So it would be easier to trate, because theyd be talking about their new films and other stuff youd actually want to know about.

    Anyway, the point was that we went through a whole jouro the middle of fug nowhere without me asking her whether she had sex doggy style or anything like that. And what I realized then was that Id e a long way sinew Years Eve. Id grown as a person. And that made me think that our story was sort of ing to an end, and it was going to be a happy ending. Because Id grown as a person, and also we were in this period where we were s out each others problems. We werent just sitting around moping. Thats when stories end, isnt it? When people show theyve learhings, and problems get solved. Ive seen loads of films like that. Wed sort out Martin today, and then turn our minds to JJ, and then me, and then Maureen. And wed meet on the roof after y days, and smile, and hug, and know that we had moved on.

    The bus stop was right outside the village shop that the article in the magazine had gone on about. So we got off the bus and stood outside the shop and looked across the road to see what we could see. What we saw was this little cottagey sort of place with a low wall, and you could look into the garden, and in the garden there were two little girls all ed up in hats and scarves and they were playing with a dog. So I went to Maureen, Do you know the names of Martins kids? And she was like, Yes, theyre called Polly and Maisie - which seemed abht, I thought. I could imagine Martin and dy having kids called Polly and Maisie, which are sort of old-fashioned posh names, so everyone could pretend that Mr Darcy or whatever lived  door. So I shouted, Oo-o, Polly! Maisie! And they looked at us and came towards us, and that was my detective work over.

    We knocked on the door and dy answered, and she looked at me as if she half-reized me, and I was like, Im Jess. Im one of the Toppers House Four, and I was, you know, lio your husband or whatever in the neers. Which was a lie, by the way. (That was me telli was a lie, not me telling you. I really wish I knew where speech marks or whatever went. I  see the point of them now.) And she said, Ex-husband, which was sort of an unfriendly and unhelpful start.

    And I went, Well, thats the thing, isnt it?

    And she went, Is it?

    And I went, Yes, it is. Because he doesnt have to be your ex-husband.

    And she went, Oh, yes he does.

    And we hadnt even gohrough the front door.

    At that point Maureen goes, Do you think we could e in and talk to you? Im Maureen. Im also a friend of Martins. Weve e down from London orain.

    And the bus, I said. I just wanted her to know wed made an effort.

    And dy said, Im sorry, e in. Not Im sorry, fuck off home, which is what I thought she was going to say. She ologizing for her bad manners in making us stand out on the doorstep. So I was like, Oh, this is going to be easy. In ten minutes Ill have bullied her into taking him back.

    So we walk into the cottage, and its cosy in there, but not all like out of a magazine, which I thought it would be. The furniture didnt really match, and it was old, and it smelled of the dog a bit. She showed us through to the sitting room and there was this geezer in there sitting by the fire. He was nice-looking, youhan her, and I thought, Oh-oh, hes got his feet uhe table. Because he was listening to a Walkman with his shoes off, and you dont listen to a Walkman with your shoes off in someones house if youre just visiting, do you?

    dy went up to him and tapped him on the shoulder and said, Weve got visitors, and he was like, Oh, Im sorry. I was listening to Stephen Fry reading Harry Potter. The children love it, so I thought I should give it a whirl. Have you heard it? So I was like, Yeah, do I look nine years old to you? And he didnt know what to say to that. He took the headphones off and pressed a button on the mae.

    And dy said, Its Pauls dog that the girls are playing with. And I was like, Yeah, so? But I didnt say that.

    dy told him that we were friends of Martins, and he asked whether she wanted him to leave, and she said, No, of course not, whatever theyve e to say I want you to hear. So I said, Well, weve e to tell dy she should get back with Martin, so you might not want to hear that. And he didnt know what to say to that either.

    Maureen looked at me, and then she goes, Were worried about him.

    And dy said, Yes, well, I t say Im surprised. And Maureen tells her   about the bloke who topped himself, and how it was because of how his wife and kids had left him, and dy said, You know Marti us? We didnt leave him? And I was like, Yeah, thats why weve e. Because if youd left him, this whole trip would have been a waste of time. But, you know. Weve e dowo tell you hes ged his mind, sort of thing. And Maureen said, I think he knows that was a mistake. And dy goes, I had no doubt hed realize it in the long term, and I also had no doubt that by the time he did it would be too late. And I went, Its oo late to learn. And she went, It is for him. And I said I thought she owed him another ce, and she sort of smiled and said she disagreed and I said I disagreed with her disagreeing and she said we must agree to disagree. And I was like, So you want him to die, then?

    And then she went a bit quiet, and I thought Id got her. But then she goes, I thought about killing myself too, when things were really bad, a while ago. But I didnt have the option, because of the girls. And its indicative of the way things are that he does have the option. Hes not part of a family. He hated being part of a family.

    And thats when I decided it was his business. If he had the freedom to fuck around, then he had the freedom to kill himself, tobbr>..</abbr>o. Dont you think?

    And I went, Well I  see why you say that. Which was a mistake, because it didnt help my argument.

    dy said, Did he tell you I would him see the girls?

    And Maureen said, Yes, he did mention that. And dy went, Well, thats not true. I just wo him see them here. He could take them for weekends in London, but he wont. Or he says he will, but then he makes excuses. He doesnt want to be that sort of dad, you see. Its too much effort. He wants to e home from work, read them a story some nights but not every night, and go to see them in the Christmas play. He doesnt want all the other stuff. And then she was like, I dont know why Im telling you this. And I went, Hes a bit of a tosser, really, isnt he? And she laughed. Hes made a lot of mistakes, she said. And he tio make them.

    And that Paul bloke goes, If he were a puter, youd have to say that theres a programming fault, so I was like, Whats it got to do with you?

    And dy said, Listen, Ive been very patient with you up until now. Twers knoy door and tell me to get back together with my ex-husband, a man who nearly destroyed me, and I ihem in and actually listen to them. But Paul is my partner, and part of my family, and a wonderful stepfather to the girls. And thats what its got to do with him.

    And then Paul stood up and said, I think Ill take Harry Potter upstairs,   and he nearly tripped over my feet, and dy dived over and was like, Careful, darling, and then I worked out he was blind. Blind! Fug hell! Thats why he had a dog. Thats why she was trying to tell me he had a dog (because I was giving it all that stuff, like, Do I look nine years old oh God oh God). So wed gone all the way dowo tell dy she had to leave a blind man a back together with a man who shagged fifteen-year-olds and treated he<u>..</u>r like shit. It shouldnt really have made any differehough, should it? Theyre always going on about how they want to be treated the same as everyone else. So Ill leave the blind thing out of it. Ill just say that we went all the way dowo tell dy she had to leave an OK bloke who was good to her and her kids, a back with an arsehole. And that still didnt sound great.

 Part 3-2

    Ill tell you what really got me, though. The only proof that Martin had ever had anything to do with dy was us turning up in her house. Us and his kids, anyway, but they would only be proof if you took them for a D and that. Anyway, what I mean is, as far as dy was ed, he might as well have never existed. Theyd all moved on. dy had a whole new life now. On the way down, Id been thinking about how Id moved on, but all Id done was gone orain ride and one bus journey without asking Maureen about sexual positions. After Id seen dy, that didnt seem like such a long journey. dy had got rid of Martin, moved a someone else. Her past was in the past, but our past, I dont know… Our past was still all over the place. We could see it every day when we woke up. It was like dy lived in a modern place like Tokyo and we lived in an old place like Rome or somewhere. Except it couldnt be exactly like that, because Rome is probably a cool place to live, what with the clothes and the ice cream and the lush boys and that - just as cool as Tokyo. And where we lived wasnt cool. So maybe it was more like, she lived in a moderhouse, and we lived in some old shithole that should have been pulled down years ago. We lived in a place where there were holes in the walls, and anyone could stick their head through them if they wao, and make faces at us. And Maureen and I had been trying to persuade dy to move out of her cool penthouse and move into our dump with us. It wasnt much of an offer, I could see that now.

    As we were leaving, dy was like, Id have more respect for him if he asked me himself. And I went, Ask you what? And she said, If I  help him, I will. But I dont know what he wants help with.

    And when she said that, I could see wed dohe afternoon all wrong, and there was a much better way.

    JJThe only trouble was, the Ameri self-help guy didnt have the first fug idea of how to help himself. And to be ho with you, the more I thought about the y-day theory, the less I could see how it applied to me. As far as I could tell, I was fucked for a lot lohan y days. I was giving up being a musi for ever, man, and giving u<big></big>p music wasnt going to be like giving up cigarettes. It was going to get worse and worse, harder and harder, every day I went without. My first day w at Burger King wouldnt be so bad, because Id tell myself, you know… Actually, I dont know what the fuck Id tell myself, but Id think of something. But by the fifth day Id be miserable, and by the thirtieth year… Man. Dont try talking to me on my thirtieth anniversary of burger-flipping.

    Ill be real grouchy that day. And Ill be sixty-one years old.

    And then, when this stuff had gone around and around in my head for a while, Id kind of stand up, mentally speaking, and say, OK, fuck it, Im going to kill myself. And then Id remember the guy we saw do exactly that, and Id sit down again feeling truly terrible, worse than when Id stood up in the first place. Self-help was a crock of shit. I couldnt help myself to a free drink.

    The ime we met up, Jess told us all that she and Maureen had goo see dy out in the tryside.

    My ex-wife was called dy, said Martin. He was sipping a latte and reading the Telegraph, and not really listening to anything Jess had to say.

    Yeah, thats a ce, said Jess.

    Martin tio sip his coffee.

    Der, said Jess.

    Martin put the Telegraph down and looked at her.

    What? It was your dy, you doughnut.

    Martin looked at her.

    Youve never met my dy. Ex-my dy. My ex.

    Thats what were saying to you. Maureen and I went down wherever it was to talk to her.

    Torley Heath, said Maureen.

    Thats where she lives! said Martin, sdalized.

    Jess sighed.

    You went to see dy? Jess picked up his Telegraph, and started leafing through it, kind of a spoof on his previous lack of i. Martin snatched the paper away from her.

    What the hell did you do that for? We thought it might help.

    Hoent down to ask her whether shed take you back. But she wouldnt. Shes shacked up with this blind geezer. Shes well sorted. Isnt she, Maureen? Maureen had the good seo stare at her own shoes.

    Martin stared at Jess.

    Are you insane? he said. On whose authority did you do that? On whose authority? On my authority. Free try.

    And what would you have done if shed burst into tears and said, you know, &quot;Id love him to e back&quot;? I would have helped you pack. And youd have fug well done what wed told you.

    But… He made some spluttering noises, and then stopped. Jesus Christ.

    Anyway, theres no ce of that. She thinks youre a right bastard.

    If youd ever listeo anything Id ever said about my ex-wife, you could have saved yourself a trip. You thought shed take me back? You thought Id go back? Jess shrugged. It was worth a try.

    You, said Martin. Maureen. Theres nothing on the floor. Look at me.

    You went with her?   It was her idea, said Jess.

    So youre an even bigger fool than she is.

    We all need help, said Maureen. We dont all know what we want.

    Youve all helped me. I wao help you. And I thought that was the best way.

    How would it work now when it didnt work before? Maureen didnt say anything, so I did.

    So which of us wouldnt try to make something work now that didnt work before? Now that weve seen what the alternative is. A big fat fug nothing.

    So what would you want back, JJ? Jess asked.

    Everything, man. The band. Lizzie.

    Thats stupid. The band was rubbish. Well, she said quickly when she saw my faot rubbish. But not… you know.

    I nodded. I knew.

    And Lizzie packed you in.

    I khat, too. What I didnt say, because it souoo fug lame, was that if it were possible to rewind, Id rewind back to the last few weeks of the band, and the last few weeks of Lizzie, even though everything was fucked up. I was still playing music, I was still seeing her - there wasnt anything to plain about, right? OK, everything was dying.

    But it wasnt dead.

    I dont know why, but it was kind of liberating, saying what you really wanted, even if you couldnt have it. When Id ied that iy guy for Maureen, Id put limits on his superpowers because I thought we might see what kind of practical assistance Maureen needed. And as it turned out, she needed a vacation, and we could help, so iy turned out to be a guy worth knowing. But if theres 藏书网no superpower limit, then you get to find out all kinds of other shit, like, I dont know, the thing thats wrong with you in the first place. We all spend so much time not saying what we want, because we know we t have it. And because it sounds ungracious, rateful, or disloyal, or childish, or banal. Or because were so desperate to pretend that things are OK, really, that fessing to ourselves theyre not looks like a bad move. Go on, say what   you want. Maybe not out loud, if its going to get you into trouble. I wish Id never married him. I wish she was still alive. I wish Id never had kids with her. I wish I had a whole shitload of money. I wish all the Albanians would go back to fug Albania. Whatever it is, say it to yourself. The truth will set you free. Either that or itll get you a pun the nose. Surviving in whatever life youre living means lying, and lying corrodes the soul, so take a break from the lies just for one minute.

    I want my band back, I said. And my girl. I want my band bad my girl back.

    Jess looked at me. You just said that.

    I havent said it often enough. I want my band bad my girl back. I WANT MY BAND BAD MY GIRL BACK. What do you want, Martiood up. I want another cappuo, he said. Anyone else? Dont be such a pussy. What do you want? And what good will it do me if I tell you? I dont know. Say it, and well see what we see.

    He shrugged and sat down.

    You got three wishes, I said.

    OK. I wish Id been able to make my marriage work.

    Yeah, well that was never going to happen, said Jess. Because you couldnt keep your pri your trousers. Sorry, Maureen.

    Martin ignored her.

    And of course I wish Id never slept with that girl.

    Yeah, well… said Jess.

    Shut up, I said.

    I dont know, said Martin. Maybe I just wish that I wasnt su arsehole.

    There, now. That wasnt so hard, was it? I was joking, kind of, but no one laughed.

    Why dont you just wish that youd slept with the girl and got away with it? said Jess. Thats what Id wish, if I were you. I think youre still lying. Youre wishing for stuff that makes you look good.

    That wish wouldnt really solve the problem, though, would it? Id still be an arsehole. Id still get caught for something else.

    Well, why not just wish that you never got caught for anything ever?

    Why not wish that you… Whats that oh the cake? What are you talking about? Something about eating a cake? Having it aing it? Jess looked kind of doubtful. Are you sure thats it? How  you eat a cake without having it in the first place? The idea, said Martin, is that you get it both ways. You eat the cake, but it somehow remains untouched. So &quot;have&quot; here means &quot;keep&quot;.

    Thats mental.

    Indeed.

    How could you do that? You t. Hehe expression.

    And whats the point of the fug cake? If youre not going to eat it? Were kind of getting off the subject here, I said. The point is to wish for something that would make us happier. And I  see why Martin wants to be, you know, a different person.

    I wish Jen would e back, said Jess.

    Yeah, well. I  see that. What else?  Nothing. Thats it.

    Martin snorted. You dont wish you were less of an arsehole? If Jen came back, I wouldnt be.

    Or less mad?   Im not mad. Just, you know. fused.

    There was a thoughtful silence. You could tell that not everyone around the table was vinced.

    So youre just gonna waste two wishes? I said.

    No. I  use them up. Ummm… An everlasting supply of blow, maybe? And, I dunno… Oooh. I wouldnt mind being able to play the piano, I suppose.

    Martin sighed. Jesus Christ. Thats the only problem youve got? You t play the piano? If I was less fused, Id have the time to play the piano.

    We left it there.

    How bout you, Maureen? I told you before. When you said iy could only arrahings.

    Tell everyone else.

    I wish they could find a way to help Matty.

    You  do better than that, t you? said Jess.

    We winced.

    How? No, well, see, I was w what youd say. Cos you could have wished that hed been born normal. And then you could have saved yourself all those years of clearing up shit.

    Maureen was quiet for a minute.

    Who would I be then? Eh? I dont know who Id be.

    Youd still be Maureen, you stupid old trout.

    Thats not what she means, I said. She means, like, we are whats happeo us. So if you take away whats happeo us, then, you know...

    No, I dont fug know, said Jess.

    If Jen hadnt happeo you, and, and all the other things… Like Chas and that? Exactly. Events of that magnitude. Well, who would you be? Id be someone different.

    Exactly.

    Thatd be fug excellent.

    We stopped playing the wishing game then.

    <strong>MARTIN</strong>

    It was inteo be this enormous gesture, I think, a way of ing the whole thing up, as if the whole thing could or would ever be ed up. Thats the thing with the young these days, isnt it? They watany happy endings. Everything has to be ed up, with a smile and a tear and a wave. Everyone has learned, found love, seen the error of their ways, discovered the joys of monogamy, or fatherhood, or filial duty, or life itself. In my day, people got shot at the end of films, after learning only that life is hollow, dismal, brutish and short.

    It was about two or three weeks after the I wish versation in Starbucks. Somehow Jess had mao keep her trap shut - an impressive achievement for someone whose usual versation teique is to describe everything as, or even before, it happens, using as many words as possible, like a radio sports entator. Looking ba it, it is true that she had occasionally given the game away - or would have done, if any of us had known there was a game.

    Oernoon, when Maureen said that she had to get back to see Matty, Jess stifled a giggle and observed enigmatically that shed see him soon enough.

    Maureen looked at her.

    Ill be seeing him iy minutes if Im lucky with the bus, she said.

    Yeah, but after that, said Jess.

    Soon enough but after that? I said.

    Yeah.

    I see him most minutes of every day, said Maureen.

    And we fot all about it, just as we fot all about so much that Jess said.

    Perhaps a week later, she started to show a hitherto cealed i in Lizzie, JJs ex-girlfriend.

    Where does Lizzie live? she asked JJ.

    Kings Cross. And before you say anything, no, she isnt a hooker.

    What is she, a hooker? Ha ha. Just messing around.

    Yeah. Totally excellent jo..ke.

    So where is there to live in Kings Cross, then? If youre not a hooker? JJ rolled his eyes. Im not telling you where she lives, Jess. You think Im some kinda sucker? I dont want to talk to her. Stupid old slapper.

    Why is she a slapper, precisely? I asked her. As far as we are aware, she has slept with only one man in her entire life.

    Whats that wain? The prie? Sorry, Maureen.

    &quot;Metaphorically&quot;, I said. When someone uses the phrase the prie, and you know immediately that this is a synonym for the word metaphorically, you are entitled to wonder whether you know the speaker too well. You are eveled to wonder whether you should know her at all.

    Exactly. Shes a metaphorical slapper. She dumped JJ and probably went out with someone else.

    Yeah, I dunno, said JJ. Im not sure that dumping me ns a person to eternal celibacy.

    And thus we moved on, to a discussion about the appropriate punishment for our exes, whether death was too good for them and so on, and the Lizzie moment passed, like so many moments in those days, without us notig. But it was in there, if wed wao rootle around in the rubbish-strewn teenage bedroom of Jesss mind.

    On the big day itself, I had lunch with Theo - although of course while I was having lunch with Theo, I had no idea that it was going to be a big day.

    Having lunch with Theo was momentous enough. I hadnt spoken to him face-to-face since Id e out of prison.

    He wao talk to me because hed had, he said, a substantial offer from a reputable publisher for an autobiography.

    How much? Theyre not talking money yet.

    May I ask, then, in what way it could be described as substantial? Well. You know. It has substance.

    What does that mean? Its real, not imaginary.

    And what does &quot;real&quot; mean, ierms? Really? Youre being very difficult, Martin. If you dont mind me saying so. Youre not my easiest t at the best of times, what with ohing and another. And Ive actually been w quite hard on this project.

    I was momentarily distracted by the realization that there was straw underh my feet. We were eating in a restaurant called Farm, and everything we were eating came from a farm. Brilliant, eh? Meat! Potatoes! Green salad! What a cept! I suppose they he straw, without which their theme would have begun to look a little short on inspiration. I would like to report that the waitresses were all jolly and large and red-cheeked and wearing aprons, but of course they were surly, thin, pale and dressed in black.

    But what did you have to do, Theo? If, as you say, someone phoned up and offered for my autobiography, in some kind of indescribably substantial way? Well. I phohem up and suggested they might want it.

    Right. And they seemed ied? They phoned back.

    With a substantial offer.

    Theo smiled desdingly.

    You dont really know much about the publishing world, do you? Not really. Only what youve told me over this lunch. Which is that people have been phoning up with substantial offers. Thats why were here, apparently.

    We mustnt run before we  walk.

    Theo was beginning to annoy me.

    OK. Agreed. Just tell me the walking part.

    No, you see… Even the walking part is running. Its more, you know, tactical than that.

    Asking you to tell me about walking is running? Softly softly catchee monkey.

    Jesus Christ, Theo.

    And that sort of rea isnt softly softly, if I may say so. Thats noisy noisy. Tetchy tetchy, even.

    I never heard any more about the offer, and I have never been able to work out the point of the lunch.

    Jess had called araordinary meeting for four oclock, in the vast and invariably empty basement of the Starbucks in U<tt>藏书网</tt>pper Street, one of those rooms with a lot of sofas and tables that would feel exactly like your living room, if your living room had no windows, and you only ever drank out of paper cups that you hrew away.

    Why in the basement? I asked her when she phoned me.

    Because Ive got private things to talk about.

    What sort of private things?   Sexual things.

    Oh, God. The others are going to be there, arent they? You think Ive got private sexual things I only want to tell you? I was hoping not.

    Yeah, like I have fantasies about you all the time.

    Ill see you later, OK? I got a number  bus from the West End to Upper Street, because the money had finally run out. Wed got through the bits and pieoney wed picked up from chat-shoearances and junior ministers, and I had no job. So even though Jess once explaihat cabs are the cheapest form of transport, because they will take you wherever you want to go for free, and its not until you get there that money is needed, I decided that inflig my poverty on a cabbie was not such a good idea. In any case, the cabbie and I would almost certainly spend the jouralking about the unfairness of my incarceration, perfectly normal thing to want to do, her fault foing out looking like that and so on. I have preferred minicab drivers for some time now, because they are as ignorant of Londons inhabitants as they are of its geography. I gwi the bus, once by someone who wao read me a relevant and apparently redemptive passage in the Bible.

    As I approached Starbucks, a youngish couple walked in just ahead of me, and immediately went downstairs. Initially I leased, of course, because it meant that Jesss sexual revelations would have to be ducted sotto voce, if at all; but then as I was queuing for my chai tea latte, I realized that this meant no such thing, given Jesss immunity to embarrassment; and my stomach started to do what it has done ever siurned forty. It doesnt , thats for sure. Old stomachs dont . Its more as if one side of the stomach wall is a tongue, and the other side a battery. And at moments of tensiowo sides touch, with disastrous sequences.

    The first person I saw at the bottom of the stairs was Matty, in his wheelchair. He was flanked by two burly male nurses, who I presumed must have carried him down, one of whom was talking to Maureen. And as I was trying to work out what had brought Matty to Starbucks, two small blonde girls came belting towards me shouting Daddy! Daddy!, and even then I did not instantaneously realize that they were my daughters. I picked them up, held them, tried not to weep and looked around the room. Penny was there, smiling at me, and dy was at a table in the far er, not   smiling at me. JJ had his arms around the couple whod walked in ahead of me, and Jess was standing with her father and a woman whom I presumed to be her mother - she was unmistakably the wife of a Labour junior minister. She was tall, expensively dressed and disfigured by a hideous smile that clearly bore ion to anything she might be feeling, a real ele night of a smile. Round her wrist there was one of those bits of red string that Madonna wears, so despite all appearao the trary, she was obviously a deeply spiritual woman. Given Jesss flair for the melodramatic, I wouldnt have been altogether surprised to see her sister, but I checked carefully, and she wasnt there. Jess was wearing a skirt and a jacket, and for once you had to get up quite close to bee scared by her eye make-up.

    I put the girls down ahem over to their mother. I waved to Penny on the way, though, just so that she wouldnt feel left out.

    Hello. I leaned down to kiss dy on the cheek, and she moved smartly out of the way.

    What brings you here, then? I said.

    The mad girl there seemed to think it might help in some way.

    Oh. Did she explain how? dy snorted. I got the feeling that she was going to snort whatever I said, that sn was going to be her preferred method of unication, so I k down to talk to the children.

    Jess clapped her hands together and stepped into the tre of the room.

    I read about this oer, she said. Its called an intervention.

    They do it all the time in America.

    All the time, JJ shouted. Its all we do.

    See, if someone is fucked… messed up s or drink or whatever, then the like friends and family, and whatever, all gather together and front him and go, you know, Fug pack it in. Sorry Maureen. Sorry Mum and Dad, sorry little girls. This ones sort of different. In America, they have a skilled… Oh shit, Ive fotten the name. On the website I was on he was called Steve.

    She fumbled in the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a piece of paper.

    A facilitator. Youre supposed to have a ski<u>.</u>lled facilitator, and we havent got one. I didnt know who to ask, really. I dont know ah   skills. Also, this intervention is sort of the other way round. Because were asking you to interves us ing to you, rather than you ing to us. Were saying to you, we need your help.

    The two nurses whod e with Matty started to look a little unfortable at this point, and Jess noticed.

    Not you guys, she said. You dont have to do anything. To tell you the truth, youre only really here to bump up Maureens numbers, cos, well, I mean, she hasnt really got anybody, has she? And I thought you two and Matty would be better than nobody, see? It would have been a bit grim for you, Maureen, seeing all these reunions and standing there on your own.

    You had to hand it to Jess. Once she got a theme betweeeeth, she was unwilling to let it go. Maureen attempted a grateful smile.

    Anyway. Just sos you know whos who. In the JJ er we have his ex, Lizzie, and his mate Ed, who used to be in his crappy band with him.

    Eds flown over from America special. Ive got my mum and dad, and its not often youll catch them in the same room together, ha ha. Martins got his ex-wife, his daughters, and his ex-girlfriend. Or maybe not ex, who knows? By the end of this he might have his wife bad his girlfriend back.

    Everyone laughed, looked at dy, and then stopped laughing when they realized that laughing would have sequences.

    And Maureens got her son Matty there, and the two guys from the care home. So heres my idea. We spend some time talking to our people, have a little catch-up. And then we s round, and go and talk to some other persons people. So its a cross between the Ameri thing and a school parents evening, cos the friends and family sort of sit in a er, waiting for people to visit them.

    Why? I said. What for? I dont know. Whatever. Just for a laugh. And well learn things, wont we? About each other? And about ourselves? There she went again, with her happy endings. It was true that I had learhings about the others, but I had learned absolutely nothing that wasnt factual. So I could tell Ed the name of the band that he used to play in, and I could tell the Cris the name of their missing daughter; it seemed to me uhat they would find this in any way useful or even f, however.

    And anyway, what does or  one ever learn, apart from times tables,   and the name of the Spanish prime minister? I hope that Ive learned not to sleep with fifteen-year-olds, but I learhat a long time ago - decades before I actually slept with a fifteen-year-old. The problem there was simply that she told me she was sixteen. So, have I learned not to sleep with sixteen-year-olds, or attractive young women? No. A just about everyone Ive ever interviewed has told me that by doing something or other - rec from cer, climbing a mountain, playing the part of a serial killer in a movie - they have learned something about themselves.

    And I always nod and smile thoughtfully, when really I want to pin them down. What did you learn from the cer, actually? That you dont like being sick? That you dont want to die? That wigs make your scalp itch?

    e on, be specific I suspect its something they tell themselves in order to turn the experieo something that might appear valuable, rather than a plete and utter waste of time.

    In the last few months, I have been to prison, lost every last molecule of self-respect, bee estranged from my children and thought very seriously about killing myself. I mean, that little lot has got to be the psychological equivalent of cer, right? And its certainly a bigger deal than ag in a bloody film. So how e Ive learned absolutely bugger all? What was I supposed to learn? True, I have discovered that I was quite attached to my self-esteem, a its passing. Also, Ive found out that prison and poverty arent really me. But, you know, I could have had a wild stab in the dark about both of those things beforehand. Call me literal-minded, but I suspect people might learn more about themselves if they did cer. Theyd have more time, and a lot more energy.

    So, Jess went on. Whos going to go where? At that moment, several French teenage punks appeared in our midst, carrying coffee mugs. They headed for ay table o Mattys wheelchair.

    Oi, said Jess. Where do you think yoing? Upstairs, all of you.

    They stared at her.

    e on, we havent got all day. Hup hup hup. Sell. Plus vitement.

    She shooed them towards the stairs, and away they went, unplainingly; Jess was just another inprehensible and aggressive native of an inprehensible and aggressive try. I sat down at my ex-wifes table, and waved towards Penny again. It was a sort of all-purpose crowded-party gesture, some kind of cross between Im just getting a drink and Ill give you a ring, with maybe a little bit of  we have the bill, please? thrown in. Penny nodded, as if she uood. And then, equally inappropriately, I rubbed my hands together, as if I were relishing the prospect of all the delicious and nutritious self-knowledge I was about to tuto.

    MAUREEN  I didnt think there was going to be very mue to say. I mean, there wasnt really anything I could say to Matty. But I didnt think Id find anything to say to the two lads from the respite home, either. I asked them if they wanted a cup of tea, but they didnt; and then I asked whether it had been hard getting Matty dowairs, and they said it wasnt, with the two of them there. And I said I couldnt have got him down there if there were ten of me, and they laughed, and theood there looking at each other. And then the short ohe one who came from Australia and was shaped like the toy robot that Matty used to have, with a square head and a square body, asked what the little gathering was all about. It hadnt occurred to me that they wouldnt know.

    Ive been trying to work it out, but Im clueless.

    Yes, I said. Well. It must be very fusing.

    So e on, then. Put us out of our misery. Steve here res youve all got moroubles.

    Some of us have. I havent.

    Ive never had to worry about money, really. I get my carers allowance, and I live in my mothers house, and she left me a little bit anyway. And if you never go anywhere or do anything, life is cheap.

    But youve got troubles, said the square one.

    Yes, weve got troubles, I said. But theyre all different troubles.

    Yeah, well I know hes got troubles, said the other oephen. The guy off of the TV.

    Yes, hes got troubles, I said.

    So how do you know him? I t imagine you go to the same nightclubs.

    And I ended up telling them everything. I dido. It just sort of came out. And once Id started, it dido matter much what Id told them. And then, when I got to the end of the story, I realized I shouldnt have said anything, even though they were nice about it, and said how sorry they were, and that kind of thing.

    You wohem back at the tre, will you? I said.

    Why would we tell them? Because if they found out that Id been planning to leave Matty with them for ever, they might refuse to take him again. They might think that whenever I called for you to take him, I was thinking of jumping off a roof somewhere.

    So we made a deal. They gave me the name of another tre in the area, a private ohat they said was han theirs, and I promised that if I was going to do away with myself, Id call that one.

    Its not that we dont want to know, said the square one, Sean. And its not that we dont want our tre to be stuck with Matty. Its just that we dont want to feel that every time you call us up, youre in trouble.

    I dont know why, but this made me feel happy. Two men I didnt really know had told me not to call them if I was feeling suicidal, and I felt like hugging them. I didnt eople feeling sorry for me, you see. I wahem to help, even if helpi saying that they wouldnt help, if that doesnt sound too Irish. And the funny thing was that this was what Jess was after when she arrahe get-together. And she didnt expect me to get anywhere, and shed only asked the two young fellas along because Matty couldnt have got here without them, and in five miheyd made me feel better about something.

    Stephen and Sean and I watched the others for a few moments, to see how they were getting on. JJ was doing the best, because he and his friends hadnt really started fighti. Martin and his ex-wife were watg in silence as their daughters dreicture, and Jess and her parents were shouting. Which might have been a good sign, if they were shouting about the right things, but every now and again you could hear Jess yelling the loudest about something or other, and it never seemed to be anything that would help. For example, I ouched any stupid bloody earrings.

    Everyone in the room heard that, and Martin and JJ and I looked at each other. None of us khe situation with these earrings, so we didnt want to judge, but it was hard to imagihat earrings were the root of Jesss problem.

    I felt sorry for Penny, who was still sitting on her own, so I asked her if she wao e to my er.

    Im sure youve got plenty to talk about over there, she said.

    No, I said. Were done, really.

    Well, youve got the best-looking chap in the place, she said. She was talking about Stephen, the tall nurse, and when I looked at him from the other side of the room, I could see what she meant. He was blond, with long, thick hair and bright blue eyes, and he had a smile that warmed the room. It was sad that I hadnt noticed, but I dont really think about things like that any more.

    So e on over and talk to him. Hed be pleased to meet you, I said. I didnt know for sure that he would be, but if youve got nothing to do but stand beside a boy in a wheelchair, then Id have thought youd be happy enough to meet a pretty woman ears oelevision. And I t take much credit for it, because I didnt really do anything, apart from say what I said; but it was funny that so much happened because Penny walked across a coffee-bar to talk to Stephen.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    Everyone seemed to be having an OK time except for me. I had a shit time. And that wasnt fair, because Id spent ages anizing that intervention parents evening thing. Id gone oer and got hold of the email address of the bloke who used to manage JJs band. And he gave me Eds phone number, and I stayed up until like three in the m so I could ring him whe home from work. And when I told him how messed up JJ was, he said hed e over, and then he phoned Lizzie and told her, and she  for it too. And there was all sorts with dy and her kids, and it was like a fug full-time job for a week, and what did I get out of it? Fuck all. Why did I think that talking to my fug father and my fug mother would be any fug use at all? I talk to them every fug day, and nothing ever ges. So what did I think would make a difference? Having Matty and Penny and all them around? Being in Starbucks? I suppose Id hoped that they might listen, especially when Id annouhat wed all got together because we heir help; but when Mum brought up that thing about the earrings, I knew I might as well have dragged someone in off of the street and asked them to adopt me or whatever.

    Were never going tet about the earrings. Well be talking about them on her deathbed. Theyre almost like her way of swearing. When Im angry with her, I say fuck a lot, and when shes angry with me she says earrings a lot. They werent her earrings anyway; they were Jens, and like I told her, I ouched them. She has this thing that all through those horrible first few weeks, when all we did was sit by the phone and wait for the police to tell us theyd found her body, the earrings were on Jens bedside table. Mum res she went and sat on the bed every night, and   that she has like this photographic memory of the things she saw every night, and she  still see the earrings now, o ay coffee cup and some paperback or other. And then, whearted to sort of drift back to work and school and a normal life, or as close to a normal life as weve ever had sihe earrings disappeared. So of course I must have taken them, because Im always thieving. And I am, I admit it. But what I thieve mostly is money, off of them. Those earrings were Jens, not theirs, and anyway she bought them at Camden Market for like five quid.

    I dont know this for sure, and Im not being all self-pitiful or whatever.

    But parents must have favourite kids, right? How could they not? How could like Mr and Mrs Mi prefer Kylie to the other one? Jen hieved off of them; she read books all the time, did well at school, talked to Dad about shuffling and all those political things, never puked on the floor in front of the Treasure Minister or whatever. Take the puking, just for insta was a bad falafel, right? Id bunked off of school, and wed had maybe two spliffs and a couple of Breezers, so it wasnt what youd call a mental afternoon. I really hadnt been giving it large. And then I ate this falafel just before I went home. Well, I could feel the falafel ing up again as I was turning the key in the front door, so I khat was what had made me sick. And I had no ce of getting to the toilet, right? And Dad was i with the Treasure bloke, and I tried to make the sink, and I didnt. Falafel and Breezers everywhere. Would I have thrown up without the falafel? No. Did he believe it was anything to do with the falafel? No. Would they have believed Jen? Yes, just because she didnt drink or smoke blow. I dont know. This is what happens - falafels and earrings. Everyone knows how to talk, and no one knows what to say.

    After wed gone over the earring thing again, my mum goes, What do you want? So I was like, Dont you listen to anything, and she went, Which bit was I supposed to be listening to? And I was like, In my speech or whatever I said we needed your help, and she goes, Well, what does that mean? What are we supposed to do that we dont do?

 Part 3-3

    And I didnt know. They feed me and clothe me and give me booze money and educate me and all that. When I talk they listen. I just thought that if I told them they had to help me, theyd help me. I never realized there was nothing I could say, and nothing they could say, and nothing they could do.

    So that moment, when Mum asked me how they could help, it was sort of like the moment the guy jumped off the roof. I mean, it wasnt as horrible or as scary and no one died and we were indoors et cetera. But you know how you keep things tucked up in the back of your head in a sort of rainy day box? For example, you think, one day, if I t ha any more, then Ill top myself. One day, if Im really fug up badly, then Ill just   give up and ask Mum and Dad to bail me out. Anyway, the mental rainy day box was empty now, and the joke was that there had never been anything in it all the time.

    So, I did what I normally do in these situations. I told my mum to fuck off and I told my dad to fuck off and then I left, even though I was supposed to be talking to someone elses friends and family afterwards.

    And then when I got up to the top of the stairs, I felt stupid, but it was too late to go back down again, so I just walked straight out the door and down Upper Street and into the Angel underground and I got on the first train that came. No one chased after me.

    JJ  The minute I saw Ed and Lizzie down in that basement, I felt this untrollable little flicker of hope. Like, this is it! Theyve e to rescue me! The rest of the band are setting up fig tonight, and then afterwards Lizzie and I are going back to this cute apartment that shes rented for the two of us! Thats what shes been doing all this time! Apartment hunting and decorating! And… Whos that old guy talking to Jess? Could he be a record-pany executive? Has Ed fixed us up with a new deal? No, he hasnt. The old guy is Jesss dad, and later I found out that Lizzie had a new boyfriend, someoh a house in Hampstead and his own graphic design pany.

    I snapped out of it pretty quick. There was ement in their faces, or their voices, so I khat they didnt have any news for me, any grand annou about my future. I could see love there, and , and it made me feel a little teary, to tell you the truth; I hugged them for a long time so that they couldnt see me being a wuss. But theyd e to a Starbucks basement because theyd been told to e to a Starbucks basement, aher of them had any idea why.

    Whats up, man? said Ed. I heard you werent doing so good.

    Yeah, well, I said. Something will turn up. I wao say something about that Micawber dude in Dis, but I didnt wao get on my case even before wed talked.

    Nothings gonna turn up here, he said. You gotta e home.

    I didnt want to have to go into the whole y-day thing, so I ged the subject.

    Look at you, I said. He was wearing like a suede jacket, which looked   like it had cost a lot of money, and a pair of white corduroys, and though his hair was still long, it looked kind of healthy and glossy. He looked like one of those assholes that date the girls in Sex and the City.

    I never really wao look like I used to look. I looked like that because I was broke. And we ayed anywhere with a det shower.

    Lizzie smiled politely. It was hard, with the two of them there - like your first and your sed wives ing to see you in the hospital.

    I never pegged you for a quitter, Ed said.

    Hey, be careful what you say. This is the Quitters Club HQ.

    Yeah. But from what I hear, the rest of them had good reasons. What have you got? You got nothing, man.

    Yup. Thats pretty much how it feels.

    That wasnt what I meant.

    Anyone want a coffee? said Lizzie.

    I didnt wao go.

    Ill e with you, I said.

    Well all go, said Ed. So we all went, and Lizzie and I kept not talking, and Ed kept talking, and it felt like the last couple years of my life, densed into a line for a latte.

    For people like us, roroll is like college, said Ed after wed ordered. Were w-class guys. We doo fuck around like frat boys unless we join a band. We get a few years then the band starts to suck, and the road starts to suck, and having no money really starts to suck. So you get a job. Thats life, man.

    So, the point whehing starts to suck… Thats like our college degree. raduation.

    Exactly.

    So whens it all going to start sug for Dylan? Or Springsteen? Probably when theyre staying in a motel that doesnt allow them to use hot water until six p.m.

    It was true that on our last tour, we stayed in a motel like that in South   Carolina. But I remember the show, which smoked; Ed remembers the showers, which didnt.

    Anyway, I knew Springsteen. Or at least, I saw him live on the E Street reunion tour. And, Senator JJ, youre nsteen.

    Thanks, pal.

    Shit, JJ. What do you wao say? OK, you are Springsteen. Youre one of the most successful performers in music business history. You were on the cover of Time and Newsweek in the same week. You fill stadiums night after fug night. There. You feel better now? Jeez. Grow up, man.

    Oh, what, and youre all grown up because your old man took pity on you and gave you a job hooking people up with illegal cable TV? Eds ears get red when hes about to start throwing punches.

    This information is probably of no use to anyone in the world apart from me, because, for obvious reasons, he doeso form real deep attats to people hes punched, so they never learn the ear thing - they doo stick around long enough. Im probably the only one who knows when to duck.

    Your ears are getting red, I said.

    Fuck you.

    You flew all this way to tell me that? Fuck you.

    Stop it, the pair of you, said Lizzie. I couldnt say for sure, but I seem to remember that last time the three of us were together, she said the same thing.

    The guy making our coffee was watg us carefully. I knew him, to say hello to, and he was OK; he was a student, aalked about music a couple times. He liked the White Stripes a lot, and Id been trying to get him to listen to Muddy Waters and the Wolf. We were freaking him out a little.

    Listen, I said to Ed. I e here a lot. You wanna kick my ass, thes go outside.

    Thanks, said the White Stripes guy. I mean, you know. Youd be wele if there wasnt anyone else here, because youre a regular, and we   like to look after ulars. But… He gestured at the line behind us.

    No, no, I uand, man, I said. Thanks.

    Shall I leave your coffees on the ter here? Sure. It wont take long. He usually calms down after hes landed a good one.

    Fuck you.

    So we all went out on to the street. It was cold and dark a, but Eds ears were like two little torches in the gloom.

    <strong>MARTIN</strong>

    I hadnt seen or spoken to Penny sihe m our brush with the angel had been in the papers. I had thought fondly of her, but I hadnt really missed her, either sexually or socially. My libido was on leave of absence (and one had to be prepared for the possibility that it might opt for early retirement and never return to its place of work); my social life sisted of JJ, Maureen and Jess, which might suggest that it was as sickly as my sex drive, not least because they seemed to suffice for the time being. A when I saw Penny flirt with one of Mattys nurses, I felt untrollably angry.

    This isnt a paradox, if you know anything about the perversity of human nature. (I believe I have used that line before, and as a seque is probably beginning to seem a little less authoritative and psychologically astute. ime, I shall just own up to the perversity and the insistency, and leave human nature out ?99ｌｉb?of it.) Jealousy is likely to seize a man at any time, and in any case the blond nurse was tall, and young, and tanned, and blond. There is every ce that he would have made me untrollably angry if he had been standing on his own in the basement of Starbucks, or indeed anywhere in London.

    I was, irospect, almost certainly looking for an excuse to leave the bosom of my family. As suspected, I had learned very little about myself in the previous few minutes. her my ex-wifes s nor my daughters crayons had been as instructive as Jess might have wished.

    Thanks, I said to Penny.

    Oh, thats OK. I wasnt doing anything, and Jess seemed to think it might help.

    No, I said, immediately at something of a moral disadvantage. Not thanks for that. Thanks for standing here flirting in front of me. Thanks for nothing, in other words.

    This is Stephen, Penny said. Hes looking after Matty, and he didnt have ao talk to, so I came over to say hello.

    Hi, said Stephen. I glared at him.

    I suppose you think youre pretty great, I said.

    Im sorry? he said.

    Martin! said Penny.

    You heard me, I said. Smug git.

    I had the feeling that over in the er, where the girls were c their picture, there was another Martin - a kinder, gentler Martin - watg in appalled fasation, and I wondered briefly whether it ossible to rejoin him.

    Go away, before you make an idiot of yourself, said Penny. It says a lot for Pennys generosity of spirit that she still saw idioing towards me from off in the distance, and that I still had a ce of getting out of the way; less partial observers would have argued that idiocy had already squashed me flat. It didnt matter, though, because I wasnt moving.

    Its easy, being a male nurse, isnt it? Not very, said Stephen. He had made the elementary mistake of answering my question as if it had been delivered straight, without bile. I mean, its rewarding, sure, but… Long hours, poor pay, night shifts. Some of the patients are difficult. He shrugged.

    Some of the patients are difficult, I said, in a stupid whiny voice. Poor pay. Night shifts. Diddums.

    Sean, Stephen said to his partner. Im going to wait upstairs. This guys throwing the rattle out of the pram.

    You just wait and listen to what I have to say. I did you the courtesy of listening to you banging on about what a national hero you are. Now you listen to me.

    I dont think he miaying where he was for a couple of minutes.

    This kind of sensationally bad behaviour elicited a great deal of fasation, I could see that, and I hope I dont seem immodest when I say that my celebrity, or what remained of it, was crucial to the success of the spectacle: usually, television personalities only behave badly in nightclubs, when surrounded by other television personalities, so my decision to cut loose when sober to a male nurse, in a Starbucks basement, was bold - possibly even groundbreaking. And it wasnt as if Stephen could really take it personally, just as he couldnt have taken it personally if Id decided to crap on his shoes. The outward maions of an inner bustion are never very directed.

    I hate people like you, I said. You wheel a disabled kid around for a bit and you want a medal. And how hard is it, really? At this point, I regret to say, I took the handles of Mattys wheelchair and pushed him up and down. And it suddenly seemed like an excellent idea to put my hand on my hip while I was doing it, in order to suggest that pushing disabled people around in their wheelchairs was an effemiivity.

    Look at Daddy, Mummy, one of my daughters (and Im sorry to say that I dont know whie) yelled with delight. Hes funny, ishere, I said to Penny. Hows that? Do I look more attractive to you again now? Penny was staring at me as if I were indeed crapping on Stephens shoe, a look that answered the question.

    Hey, everybody, I yelled, although I had already attracted all the attention I could possibly wish for. Arent I great? Arent I great? You think this is hard, Blondie? Ill tell you whats hard, Sunny Jim. Hard is… But here I dried up. As it turned out, there were no examples of difficulty in my professional life readily to hand. And the difficulties I had experienced retly all stemmed from sleeping with an underage girl, which meant that they werent much good for elig sympathy.

    Hard is when… I just needed something with which to finish the sentence. Anything would do, even something I hadnt experienced directly.

    Childbirth? Tour-level chess? But nothing came.

    Have you finished, mate? Stephen asked.

    I rying somehow to vey in the gesture that I was too angry and disgusted to tinue. And then I took the only option apparently available to me, and followed Jess and JJ out of the door.

    MAUREEN  Jess was always walking out of everywhere, so I didnt mind her going too much. But when JJ walked out, and then Martin… Well, I started to feel a bit ao tell you the horuth. It seemed rude, when everyone had goo all that trouble to turn up. And Martin was so peculiar, pushing Matty up and down and asking everyone if he looked attractive. Why would ahink he looked attractive? He didnt look attractive at all. He looked mad. To be fair to JJ, hed taken his guests with him when he went - he hadhem behind in the coffee bar, the way Jess and Martin had done. But later on I found out that hed taken them all outside to have a fight with them, so it was difficult to decide whether he was being rude or not. On the one hand, he was with them, but oher hand, he was with them because he wao beat them up. I think thats probably still rude, but not as rude as the others.

    The people left behind stood around for a little while, the nurses and Jesss parents and Martins friends and family, and then when we all began to realize that no one was ing baot even JJ and his friends, no one was quite sure what to do.

    Is that it, do you think? said Jesss father. I mean, I dont want to… I dont wish to appear unsympathetid I know Jess took a lot of trouble anizing this. But, well… Theres no one really left, is there? Would you like us to stay, Maureen? Is there anything we  usefully achieve as a unit? Because obviously, if there was… I mean, what do you think Jess was hoping for? Perhaps we  help her to achieve it in absentia? I knew what Jess was hoping for. She was hoping that her mum and dad would e and make everythier, in the way mums and dads are supposed to. I used to have that dream, a long time ago, when I was first on my own with Matty, and I think its a dream that everyone has. Everyone whose life has gone badly wrong, anyway.

    So I told Jesss father that I thought Jess just wanted people to uaer, and that I was sorry if that wasnt what had happened.

    Its those bloody earrings, he said, and so I asked about the earrings, aold me the story.

    Were they special to her? I said.

    To Jen? Or to Jess?   To Jen.

    I dont really know, he said.

    They were her favourites, said Mrs Cri. She had a strange face.

    She smiled the whole time we were speaking, but it was as though shed only discovered smiling that afternoon - she didnt have the sort of face that looked as though it were very used to being cheerful. The lines she had were the sort youd get from being angry about stolen earrings, and her mouth was very thin and tight.

    She came back for them, I said. I dont know why I said it, and I dont know if it was true or not. But it felt like the right thing to say. It felt true in that way.

    Who did? she said. Her face looked different now. It was having to do things it wasnt used to doing, because she suddenly looked so desperate to hear what I had to say. I dont think she was used to listening properly. I liked making her faething new, and that was why I went on, partly. I felt like I was in charge of a lawnmower, cutting a path into places where the grass was rown.

    Jen. If she loved her earrings, then she probably came back for them.

    You know what girls of that age are like.

    God, said Mr Cri. Id hought of that.

    Me her. But… that makes so much sense. Because, do you remember, Chris? Thats when we lost a couple of other things, too. That was when that money went missing.

    I didnt have the same feeling about the money. I could see that there might have been another explanation for that.

    And I said at the time that I thought there were a couple of books gone, do you remember? And we know Jess didnt take those.

    And they both laughed, then, as if they liked Jess, and liked it that shed rather jump off a tower-block than read a book.

    I could see and feel why it would make a differeo them, this idea that Jen had e into the house for her earrings. It would mean that she had disappeared, goo Texas or Scotland or Notting Hill Gate, rather than that shed been killed, or shed killed herself. It meant that they could think about where she was, imagine her life now. They could wonder about whether shed had a baby that theyd never seen and might never see, ot   a job that theyd never hear about. It meant that in their heads they could carry on being ordinary parents. Its what I was doing, when I bought Matty his posters and his tapes - I was being an ordinary mother in my head, just for a moment.

    You could wreck it all for them in a sed, if you chose to, rip enormous great big holes iory, because what did it add up to, really?

    Jen could have e back because she wao die wearing her earrings.

    She might not have e back at all. And she was still gone, whether she came back for five minutes or not. Oh, but I know what you o keep yourself going. That probably sounds funny, sidering ere all there in that coffee bar in the first place. But the fact is that so far I have kept myself going, even if I had to climb the stairs to the roof of Toppers House to do it. Sometimes you just o give things a tiny little jiggle.

    You just o think that perhaps someone mi<s></s>ght have helped themselves to their own earrings, and your part of the world looks like somewhere you could live in for a while.

    That was Mr and Mrs Cri, though, not Jess. Jess didnt know anything about<cite></cite> the earring theory, and Jess was the one who needed her world to look different. She was the one whod been up on the roof with me. Mr and Mrs Cri had their jobs and their friends and all the rest of it, so you could say that they didnt need any stories about earrings. You could say that stories about earrings were wasted on them.

    You could say all that, but it wouldrue. They he stories - you could see it in their faces. I only know one person in the world who doesnt ories to keep himself going, and that person is Matty. (And maybe even he does. I dont know what goes on in there. Keep talking to him, they say, so I do, and who knows whether he uses something I say?) And there are other ways of dying, without killing yourself. You  let parts of yourself die. Jesss mother had let her face die, and I watched it e to life again.

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    The first train that came along was southbound, and I got off at Londe a for a walk. If youd seen me leaning on the wall and looking down at the water, youd have gone, Oh, shes thinking, but I wasnt. I mean, there were words in my head, but just because there are words in your head it doesnt mean youre thinking, just like if youve got a pocket full of pe doesnt mean youre rich. The words in my head were like, bollocks, bastard, bitch, shit, fuck, wanker, and they were spinning round in there pretty fast, too fast even for me to make a sente of them. And thats not really thought, is it?

    So I watched the water for a little while, and then I went to a stall by the bridge and bought some tobacd papers and matches. Then I went back to where Id been standing and sat down to roll myself a few smokes, for something to do, sort of thing. I dont know why I dont smoke more, to be ho. I fet, I think. If someone like me fets to smoke, what ce has smoking got? Look at me. Youd bet any mohat I smoked like fuck, and I dont. New Years Resolution: smoke more. Its got to be better for you than jumping off of tower-blocks.

    Anyway, so there I was, sitting down with my back against the wall, rolling up roll-ups, when I saw this lecturer from college. Hes like an old bloke, one of those art-school people whove been knog around sihe sixties. He teaches typography and that, and I went to a couple of his classes until I got bored. I dont mind him, . He doesnt have a grey pony-tail and he doesnt wear a faded denim jacket. And he never wao be our friend, which must mean that he has his own friends. You couldnt say that about some of them.

    To tell this story truthfully, I should probably say that he saw me before I saw him, because when I looked up from my rolling, he was walking over to me. And to be really properly truthful, I should also say that some of the thinking I was doing, in other words the mental swearing, probably wasirely mental, if you see what I mean. It was meant to be mental, but some of it was ing out through my mouth, just because there was so much of it. It was sort of slopping out of me, as if the swearing was ing out of a tap and running into a bucket (my head), and I hadnt bothered turning the tap off evehe bucket was full.

    Thats what it looked like from my point of view. From his point of view, it looked like I was sitting on the pavement rolling up fags and swearing to myself, and thats not such a good look, is it? He kind of came up to me, and then he crouched down so he was at my height, and thearted talking to me quietly. And he was like, Jess? Do you remember me?

    Id only seen him like two months before, so of course I remembered him. And I went, No, and laughed, which was supposed to be a joke, but which couldnt have e across as a joke, because then he goes, still in this whispery voice, Im  Wearing, and I used to teach you at art college. And I go, Yeah, yeah, and he goes, No, I am, and then I see that he thought my Yeah, yeah was like Yeah, right, but it wasnt that sort of Yeah, yeah. All I was doing with the two Yeahs was trying to tell him that Id only been joking before, but I only made it worse. I made it look like I thought he retending to be  Wearing, which would be an utterly ihing to do. So the whole versation is going right off course. Its like a supermarket trolley with a wonky wheel, because all the time Im thinking, this should be easy to push along, and everything I say just takes   me in the wrong dire.

    And he goes, Why are you here, sitting oh? And I tell him that Id had a row with my fug mother about some earrings, and he was like, And now you t go home? And I said that I could if I wao. I could just get on the Northern Line back to Angel and then jump on a bus. But I didnt want to. And he went, Well, I dont think you should sit here. Is there anywhere you  go? And then I realized that he thought I had turned into like a nutter, so I stood up quickly, which made him jump, and I gave him a mouthful and walked away.

    But then I did think, as opposed to swear mentally. And the first thing I thought was that it would be very easy for me to be a nutter. Im not saying it would be a piece of piss, living that life - I dohat. I just mean that I had a lot in on with some of the people you see sitting on pavements swearing and rolling cigarettes. Some of them seemed to hate people, and I hated just about everyohey must have pissed off their friends and family, and Id pretty much dohat. And who knows whether Jens a nutter now? Maybe it runs in the genes, although with my dad being a junior Eduinister, maybe its one of those things that skips a geion.

    And I didnt know where all this thinking was leading to, but I could see suddenly that I was in more trouble than I had thought. I know that sounds stupid, sidering Id thought about killing myself, but that was all just for a laugh, and if Id jumped it would have been for a laugh, too. What if I had a future on this plahough? What then? Hoeople could I piss off, and holaces could I run away from, before I found myself sitting by the river and sweariernally  real? Not many more, was the answer.

    So the thing to do was to go back - to Starbucks, or home, to somewhere - ahat wasnt forward. If youre walking somewhere, and you e up against a brick wall, then you have to retrace your steps.

    But then I sort of found a way of climbing over the wall. Or I found a little hole in the wall I could crawl through, or whatever. I met this geezer with a really nice dog, and I went and slept with him instead.

    JJ  So I just stood there on the sidewalk and told Ed to take a swing at me if it would make him feel aer.

    I dont want to hit you unless you hit me, he said.

    There was a guy selling that homeless magazianding watg us.

    Hit him, he said to me.

    You shut the fuck up, said Ed.

    I was only trying to get things started, said the homeless guy.

    You flew across the bloody Atlantic because JJ was in trouble, Lizzie said to Ed. And now look at you. One versation and you want to punch him.

    Things have to go the way they have to go, said Ed.

    Is that like &quot;A mans gotta do what a mans gotta do&quot;? Because it sounds utterly meanio us, Im afraid, said Lizzie. She was leaning against the window of a thrift shop, making out like she was bored, but I knew she wasnt. She was angry too, but she didnt want to show it.

    Hes on my side, said Ed. So it doesnt matter what it sounds like to you. He uands.

    No I dont, I said. Lizzies right. Why would you e all this way to punch me? Its a Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid thing, surely? said Lizzie.

    You want to sleep with each other, but you t, because youre both sht.

    This really tickled the homeless guy. He laughed like a hyena. Did you ever read Pauline Kael on Butch Cassidy! God, she hated it, he said.

    her Lizzie nor Ed would have had a fug clue who Pauline Kael was, but I got two or three of her colles. I used to keep them by the toilet, because theyre great for dipping into when youre on the .

    Anyway, hers wasnt a name I was necessarily expeg to hear from that particular guy at that particular moment. I looked at him.

    Oh, I know who Pauline Kael is, he said. I wasnt born homeless, you know.

    I really, really dont want to sleep with him, said Ed. I really want to punch him. But he has to punch me first.

    You see? said Lizzie. Homo-erotic, with a bit of sado-masochism thrown in. Just kiss him, and be doh it.

    Kiss him, the homeless guy said to Ed. Kiss him or punch him. But lets get something going, fods sake.

    Eds ears couldnt have gotten any redder, so I was w whether they might just burst into flame and then turn black. At least then I could say that Id seen something new.

    Y to get me killed? I said to her.

    Why dont you just get back together? said Lizzie. At least youve got all that mike-sharing and those great big electriis substitutes.

    Oh, so thats why you didnt want him to be in a band, said Ed. You were jealous.

    Who said I didnt want him to be in a band? Lizzie asked him.

    Yeah, you got that dead wrong, Ed, I said. She wasnt that deep. She dumped me precisely because I wasnt in a band. She wasnt ied in being with me unless I became a rock star and made a shitload of money.

    Is that what you think I meant? said Lizzie.

    I could suddenly see my life being put back together before my eyes. It had all been a terrible misuanding, which was now about to be cleared up, with much laughter and many tears. Lizzie never wao break up with me. Ed never wao break up with me. Id e out on to the sidewalk to get my ass kicked, and instead, I was going to get everything I ever wanted.

    There isnt going to be a fight, is there? said the homeless guy sadly.

    Unless we all beat the shit out of you, said Ed.

    Just let me hear the end of this, said the homeless guy. Dont go baside. I never get the fug ending of a story, stuck out here.

    It was going to be a happy ending, I could feel it ing. And it was going to involve all four of us. The first show we played whe back together, we could dedicate a song to Homeless Guy. Hey - he could maybe even be our road manager. Plus, he could make one of the toasts at the wedding. Everyone should get back with everyone, I said, and I meant it.

    This was my big closing speech. Every band that has ever e apart, every couple . . Theres too muhappiness in the world as it is, without people splitting up every ten seds.

    Ed looked at me as if I had gos.

    Youre not serious, said Lizzie.

    Maybe Id misjudged the mood and the moment. The world wasnt ready for my big closing speech.

    Naaah, I said. Well. You know. Its just… an idea I had. A theory I was w on. I hadnt ironed out all the kinks in it, yet.

    Look at his face, said Homeless Guy. Oh, hes serious, all right.

    How does that work with bands that grew out of other bands? said Ed.

    Like, I dont know. If Nirvana got back together. That would mean the Foo Fighters had to split up. Then theyd be unhappy.

    Not all of em, I pointed out.

    And what about searriages? There are loads of happy searriages.

    Thered have been no Clash. Cos Joe Strummer would have had to stay in his first band.

    And who was your first girlfriend? Kathy Gorecki! said Ed. Ha! Youd still be with her, said Lizzie.

    Yeah, well I shrugged. She was hat wouldnt have been a bad life.

    But she never gave no thin up! said Ed. You never even got a hand under a bra! Im sure Id have managed by now. Wed have been together fifteen years.

    Oh, man, said Ed, ione of voice that we usually used when Maureen had said somethibreaking. I t punch you.

    We walked down the road a little ways ao a pub, and Ed bought me a Guinness, and Lizzie bought a paokes from the mae and put it down oable for us to share, and we just sat there, with Ed and Lizzie looking at me as if they were waiting for me to catch my breath.

    I didnt realize you felt that bad, Ed said after a while.

    The suicide thing - that wasnt a clue? Yeah. I knew you wao kill yourself. But I didnt know you felt so bad that you wao patch things up with Lizzie and the band. T<cite>９９lib.</cite>hats this whole different level of misery, way beyond suicide.

    Lizzie tried not to laugh, and the effort produced a weird sn noise, and I took a long pull on my Guinness.

    And suddenly, just for a moment, I felt good. It helped that I really love cold Guinness;<bdi>藏书网</bdi> it helped that I really love Ed and Lizzie. Or I used to love them, or kind of love them, or loved and hated them, or whatever. And maybe for the first time in the last few months, I aowledged something properly, something I knew had been hiding right down in my guts, or at the bay head - somewhere I could ig, anyway. And what I owned up to was this: I had wao kill myself not because I hated living, but because I loved it. And the truth of the matter is, I think, that a lot of people who think about killing themselves feel the same way - I think thats how Maureen and Jess and Martihey love life, but its all fucked up for them, and thats why I met them, and thats why were all still around. We were up on the roof because we couldnt find a way bato life, and being shut out of it like that… It just fug destroys you, man.

    So its like an act of despair, not an act of nihilism. Its a mercy killing, not a murder. I dont know why it suddenly got to me. Maybe because I was in a pub with people I loved, drinking a Guinness, and I know I said this before, but I fug love Guinness, like I love pretty much all alcohol - love it as it should be loved, as one of the glories of Gods creation. And wed had this stupid se oreet, and even that was kind of cool, because sometimes its moments like that, real plicated moments, abs moments, that make you realize that even hard times have things ihat make you feel alive. And then theres musid girls, and drugs, and homeless people whove read Pauline Kael, and wah-edals, and English potato chip flavours, and I havent even read Martin Chuzzlewit yet, and… Theres plenty out there.

    And I dont know what differe made, this sudden flash.

 Part 3-4

    It wasnt like I wao, you know, grab life in a passionate embrad vow o let it go until it let go of me. In a way, it makes things worse, not better. Once you stop pretending that everythings shitty and you t wait to get out of it, which is the story Id been telling myself for a while, then it gets more painful, not less. Telling yourself life is shit is like ahetid when you stop taking the Advil, then you really  tell how much it hurts, and where, and its not like that kind of pain does   anyone a whole lot of good.

    And it was kind of appropriate that I was with my ex-lover and my ex-brother at the precise moment I realized, because it was the same kind of thing. I loved them, and would always love them. But there was no place where they could fit any more, so I had o put all the things I felt. I didnt know what to do with them, and they didnt know what to do with me, and isnt that just like life?

    I never said anything about finishing with you because you werent going to be a rock star, said Lizzie after a while. You know that really, dont you? I shook my head. I didnt know, did I? You guys  back me up on that. Not on this story have I ever owned up to any kind of misuanding, deliberate or otherwise. So far as I was ed, she was dumping me because I was a musical loser.

    So what did you say, then? Try again. And Ill listen real hard this time.

    Its not going to make any differenow, because weve all moved ht? Kind of. I wasnt going to admit to standing still, oing backwards.

    OK. What I said was, I couldh you if you werent a musi.

    It wasnt such a big deal to you at the time. You dont even like music that much.

    Youre not hearing me, JJ. Youre a musi. Its not just what you did.

    Its who you are. And Im not saying yoing to be a successful musi. I dont even know if youre a good o was just that I could see youd be no use to anyone if you stopped. And look what happened. You break the band up, and five minutes later youre standing oop of a tower-block. Youre stuck with it. And without it youre dead. Or you might as well be.

    So… OK. Nothing to do with being unsuccessful.

    God, what do you take me for? But I wasnt talking about her; I was talking about me. I never looked at it that way before. I thought this whole thing had been about my failure, but that wasnt it. And at that moment I felt like g my fug heart out, really. I felt like g because I knew she was right, and sometimes the   truth gets you like that. I felt like g because I was going to make music again, and Id missed it so much. And I felt like g because I khat making music was never going to make me successful, so Lizzie had just ned me to ahirty-five years of poverty, rootlessness, despair, h plan, cold-water motels and bad hamburgers. Its just that Id be eating the burgers, not flipping them.

    <strong>MARTIN</strong>

    I walked home, turhe phone off and spent the  forty-eight hours with the curtains drawn, drinking, sleeping and watg as many programmes about antiques as I could find. During those forty-eight hours, I would say that I was in grave danger of turning into Marie Prevost, the Hollywood actress who was discovered some time after her death in a state of disrepair, due to her corpse having been partially eaten by her dachshund. That I had no dachshund, or indeed any domestic pet, I  remember being a source of some solation in those couple of days. I would certainly die alone, and my corpse would certainly be in a state of advanced decay by the time anyone found me, but I would be plete, apart from the bits that had dropped off through natural causes. So that was all right.

    Heres the thing. The cause of my problems is located in my head, if my head is where my personality is located. (dy and others would argue that both my personality and the soury troubles were located below rather than above my waist, but hear me out.) I had been given many opportunities in life, and I had thrown each of them away, one by ohrough a series of catastrophically bad decisions, eae of which seemed like a good idea to me - to me and my head - at the time. Ahe only tool I had at my disposal to correct the disastrous course my life seemed to be taking was the very same head that had caused me to fuck up in the first place. What ce did I have?

    A couple of weeks after Jesss Jerry Springer show, I read some notes Id made during that teriod. It wouldrue to say that Id been so drunk Id fotten Id ever made them, and in any case theyd been lying around the flat in plain view. But it was a fht before I possessed enough ce to read them, and once Id done so, I was almost pelled to draw the curtains and reach for the Glenmie once again.

    The object of the exercise was to analyse, with the only head I have available to me, why I had behaved so absurdly that afternoon, and to list all possible respoo that behaviour. To give my head its due - to be fair to the lad, as sports pundits would say - it was at least capable nizing that the behaviour had been absurd. It just wasnt capable of   doing very much about it. Are all heads like this, or is it just mine?

    Anyway, on the backs of several unopened envelopes, mostly bills, there was depressingly clusive evidence of the circularity of human behaviour. WHY HORRIBLE TO NURSE? I had written. And then, underh: ) ARSEHOLE? HIM? ME?

    ) HITTING ON PENNY?

    ) GOOD-LOOKING AND YOUNG-PISSED ME OFF?

    ) ANNOYED BY PEOPLE.

    This last explanation, which may have meant something brilliantly precise when I hit on it, now seemed startlingly did in its vagueness.

    On another envelope, I had scrawled COURSES OF A (and please note, by the way, the switch from o letters, a switch presumably meant to indicate the stifiature of the work): a) KILL MYSELF?

    b) ASK MAUREEN NOT TO USE THAT NURSE ANY MORE c) DONT And C stopped there, either because I fell into a stupor at that point, or because Dont was a cise way of expressing a profound solution to all my problems. Think about it: how much better things would be for me if I didnt, wouldnt and never had.

    her envelope inspired much fiden my powers of cogitation.

    I could see that they had both been written by the man who had retly wao tell a select group of people - a group that included his own young daughters - that all male nurses were effeminate and self-righteous: the word ARSEHOLE would surely provide a forensic psychologist with all the evidence required for that dedu. And similarly, the man who had spent some of New Years Eve trying to work out whether to jump from the roof of a tower-block was exactly the sort of man who might jot down KILL MYSELF? in a Things To Do list. If thinking ihe box were an Olympic sport, I would have won mold medals than Carl Lewis.

    Quite clearly, I wo heads, two heads beier than one and   all that. One would have to be the old one, just because the old one knows peoples names and phone numbers, and which breakfast cereal I prefer, and so on; the sed one would be able to observe and interpret the behaviour of the first, in the manner of a television wildlife expert. Asking the head I have now to explain its own thinking is as pointless as dilling your own telephone number on your own telephoher way, you get an engaged signal. Or your own answer message, if you have that kind of phone system.

    It took me an embarrassing amount of time to realize that other people have heads, and that any one of these heads would do a better job of explaining what the purpose of my explosion might have been. This, I supposed, was why people persisted with the whole notion of friends. I seemed to have lost all mine around the time I went to prison, but I knew plenty of people whod be prepared to tell me what they thought of me. In fact, it seemed that my propensity for letting people down and alienating them would actually serve me in good stead here. Friends and lovers might try to throw a kindly light on the episode, but because I had only ex-friends and ex-lovers, I was ideally placed. I only really knew people who would give it to me with both barrels.

    I knew where to start, too. Indeed, so successful was my first phone call that I didnt really o speak to anyone else. My ex-wife erfect - direct, articulate and clear-sighted - and I actually ended up feeling sorry for people living with someone who loved them, when not living with someone who loathed you was so obviously the way to go. When you have a dy in your life, there arent even any pleasao wade through: there are only unpleasantries, and unpleasantries are an essential part of the learning process.

    Where have you been? At home. Drunk.

    Have you listeo your messages? No. Why? Oh, I just left you a few thoughts about the other afternoon.

    Ah, now, you see thats exactly what I wao talk about. What do you think it was all about? Well, youre unbalanced, arent you? Unbalanced and poisonous. An unbalanced, poisonous tosser.

    This was a good start, I felt, but it lacked focus.

    Listen, I appreciate what youre saying, and I dont want to appear rude, but the unbalaosser part I find less iing than the poisonous part.

    Could you talk more about that? Maybe you should pay someoo do this, said dy.

    You mean a therapist? She snorted. A therapist? No, I was thinking more of one of those women who will pee all over you if you pay her enough. Isnt that what you want? I thought about this. I didnt want to dismiss anything out of hand.

    I dont think so, I said. Its never appealed before.

    I eakiaphorically.

    Im sorry. I dont really uand.

    You clearly feel so awful about yourself that you dont mind being abused. Isnt that their problem? Whose problem? These men who need women to… Never mind.

    I was dimly beginning to perceive what she was driving at. It was true that being called names felt good. Or rather, it felt appropriate.

    You know why you turned on that puy, dont you? No! You see, thats precisely why I called you.

    If dy had known how much damage she could have done by stopping right there, the temptation would have been too much for her.

    Luckily, though, dy was determio go all the way.

    I mean, he was fifteen years youhan you, and much better-looking. But it wasnt that. Hed done more with his life that afternoon than youve ever doh yours.

    Yes! Yes! You ponce around on television and screw schoolgirls, and he pushes disabled kids around in a wheelchair, probably for the minimum wage. Its no wonder Penny wao chat him up. For her, it was the moral   equivalent of going from Fraeins moo Brad Pitt.

    Thank you. Thats great.

    Dont you dare put the phone down on me. Ive only just started. Ive got twelve years worth of this stuff.

    Oh, Ill be baore, I promise. But thats plenty to be going on with.

    You see? Ex-wives: really, everybody should have at least one.

    MAUREEN  I feel a bit daft explaining what happe the end of the intervention day, because it all sounds like too much of a ce. But I think it probably only sounds like a e. I know I said before that Im learning to feel the weight of things, which means learning what to say and what not to say in case you make people feel badly for you. So if I say that nothing happened in my life before I met the others, I dont want to make it sound as though Im grumbling. It was just how things were. If you spend all your time in a very quiet room and someone es up behind you and says Boo!, you jump. If you spend all your time with short people, and you see a six-foot-tall poli, he looks like a giant. And if nothing happens and then something happens, then the something seems to be peculiar, almost like an Act of God. The nothingness stretches the something, the happening, out of shape.

    Heres what happened. Stephen and Sean helped me get Matty home; we hailed a black cab, and the four of us just about squashed in, although the two nurses and I were pressed up against each other in the seat. And even that seemed like something. A few months ago, Id have gone home and told Matty about that, if he hadhere with me. But of course if he hadhere with me, thered have been nothing to tell. I wouldnt have ephen and Sean, and we wouldnt have been there in a taxi.

    Id have been on a bus, on my own, even supposing Id gone anywhere. You see what I mean about something and nothing?

    Once we were all settled, Stephen said to Sean, Have you got anyone else yet? And Sean said, No, and I dont think Im going to be able to. And Stephen said, Its just the three of us, then? Well get slaughtered. And Sean just shrugged, and we all sat looking out of the window for a little while. I didnt know what theyd been talking about.

    And then Sean said, Any good at quizzes, Maureen? Fancy joining our   team? It doesnt matter if you dont know anything. Were desperate.

    Now, thats not the most amazing story youve ever heard, is it?

    I listen to Jess and JJ and Martin, and that sort of thing happens to them all the time. They meet someone in a lift or a bar, and that someone says, Would you like a drink?, or even, Would you like intercourse? And perhaps theyd been thinking that theyd like intercourse, so it could seem to them that being offered intercourse, just when theyd been thinking they might like it, is the most amazing ce. But my impression is that this isnt how they think, or hoeople think. Its just life. One person bumps into another person, and that person wants something, or knows someone else who wants something, and as a result, things happen.

    Or, to put it another way, if you dont go out, and never meet ahen nothing happens. How could it? But for a moment, I could hardly talk. Id wao take part in a quiz, and these people needed someone for their quiz team, and I felt a shiver go down my spine.

    So instead of going home, we took Matty to the respite home. Sean and Stephe w, but they were friends with all the people who were, so they just told their friends that Matty was staying there for the evening, and no ourned a hair. We arrao meet in the pub where they do their quizzing, and I went home to get ged.

    I dont know which part of the story to tell you about . Theres another volved, so I dont know whether to put it here, in the ces se, or later on, after Ive told you about the quiz. Maybe if I separate the ces out, push them further apart, you might believe them more. Oher hand, I dont care whether you believe them, because theyre true. And in any case, I still t decide whether they are ces or not, these things: perhaps getting something you want is never a ce. If you want a cheese sandwid you get a cheese sandwich, that t be a ce,  it? And by the same token, if you want a job and you get a job, that t be a ce either. These things  only be tal if you think you have no power over your life at all. So Ill tell you here: the other person oeam was an older man called Jack, who has a newsagents just off Archway, and he offered me a job.

    Its not much of a job - three ms a week. And it doesnt pay very well - ￡. an hour. Aold me Id be on probation at first. But hes getting on a bit, and he wants to go back to bed at nine, after hes opehe shop and sorted the papers a with the early-m rush. He offered me the job in the same way that Stephen and Sean had asked me whether I wao join the quiz team - as a joke, out of desperation. IweeV round and the sport round, he asked me what I did, and I told him I didnt do anything much apart from look after Matty, and then he   said, You dont want a job, do you? And a shiver went back up my spine.

    We didnt win the quiz. We came fourth out of eleven teams, but the boys were quite pleased with that. And I knew some things that they didnt know. I khat the name of Mary Tyler Moores boss was Lou Grant, for example. I khat John Majors son married Emma Noble, and I khat Catherine Cookson had written about Tilly Trotter and Mary Ann Shaughnessy. So there were three points they wouldnt have ght there, which might be why they said I could e again. The fourth chap is unreliable, apparently, because hes just got a girlfriend. I told them I was the most reliable person they could possibly hope to meet.

    A couple of months ago, I read a library book about a girl who found herself falling in love with her long-lost brother. But of course it turned out he wasnt her long-lost brother after all, and hed only told her that because he liked the look of her. Also it turned out that he wasnt poor. He was very rich. And on top of that, they found out that the bone marrow of his dog matched the bone marrow of her dog, who had leukemia, so his dog saved the life of her dog.

    It wasnt as good as Im making it sound, to tell you the truth. It was a bit soppy. But the point Im trying to make is that Im worried Im starting to sound like that book, what with the job, and the quiz team. And if Im starting to sound like that to you, then Id like to point out two things.

    Firstly Id like to point out that getting care for Matty costs more than ￡. an hour, so Im not even as well off as I was, and a story that ends with you not as well off as you were isnt really a fairy-story, is it? Sedly Id like to point out that the fourth chap in the quiz team will turn up sometimes, so I wont be in every week.

    I was drinking gin and bitter lemons in the pub, and the others wouldnt eve me buy a round; they said I was a ringer, and had to be paid for.

    Maybe it was the drink that left me feeling so positive, but at the end of the evening, I khat whe again on March st, I wouldnt be wanting to throw myself off the roof, not for a while. And that feeling, the feeling that I could cope for now… I wao hang on to that for as long as possible. Its going all right so far.

    The m after the quiz, I went back to the church. I hado any church since we were on holiday, and I hado mine for weeks and weeks, ever since Id met the others on the roof. But I could go baow because I didnt think Id be itting the sin of despair for a while, so I could go bad ask fods fiveness. He  only help you if youve stopped despairing, which if you think about it… Well, its not my busio think about it. It was a quiet Friday m, and there was hardly anybody in. The old Italian woman who never misses a Mass was   there, and there were a couple of Afri ladies Id never seen before.

    There were no men, and there were no young people. I was nervous before I went to the fessional, but it was fine, really. I told the truth about how long it had been since my last fession, and I fessed to the sin of despair, and I was given fifteen Decades of the Rosary, which I thought seemed oeep side, even for the sin of despair, but I wont plain.

    Sometimes you  fet that God is infinite in His mercy. He wouldnt have been infinite if Id jumped, mind you, but I hadnt.

    And then Father Anthony said,  we help you with anything?  we ease your burden in any way? Because you must remember that youre part of a unity here at the church, Maureen.

    And I said, Thank you, Father, but I have friends who are helping. I didnt tell him what sort of unity these friends beloo, though. I didnt tell him that they were all despairing sinners.

    Do you remember Psalm ? Call upon Me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify Me. I went to Toppers House because I had called and called and called, and there was no delivery, and my days of trouble seemed to have lasted too long, and showed no signs of ending. But He did hear me, in the end, and He sent me Martin and JJ and Jess, and then He seephen and Sean and the quiz, and then He sent me Jad the newsagents. In other words, He proved to me that He was listening.

    How could I have carried on doubting Him, with all that evidence? So Id better glorify Him, as best I .

    <strong>JESS</strong>

    So this bloke with the dog didnt have a name. I mean, he must have had o some stage, but he told me he didnt use it any more, because he didnt agree with names. He reed they stopped you from being whoever you wao be, and once hed explai to me, I could sort of see what he meant. Say youre Tony, or Joanna. Well, you were Tony or Joanerday, and youll be Tony or Joanna tomorrow. So youre fucked, really. People will always be able to say things like, Oh, thats so typical of Joanna. But this geezer, he could be like a hundred different people all in one day. He told me to call him whatever came into my head, so at first he was Dog, because of the dog, and then he was Nodog, because we went for a drink in a pub and he left the dog outside. So hed had two pletely different personalities in the first hour we spent together, because Dog and Nodog are sort of opposite types, arent they? Bloke with dog is different from bloke with no dog. Bloke with dog has a different image from bloke in pub. And you t say, Oh,.９9liｂ?hats so typical of Nodog   to let his dog shit in someones garden. It wouldnt make sense, would it? How odog have a dog that shits in someones garden, or any dog at all, e to that? And his point is, we  all be Dogs and Nodogs in a single day. Dad, for example, could be Notdad whe work, because whe work hes not Dad. I know this is all pretty deep, but if you think about it hard, it makes sense.

    And in that same day he was Flower, because he picked me a flower when we were walking through the little park down near Southwark Bridge, and then Ashtray, because he tasted like one, and Flower is the opposite of Ashtray, too. You see how it works? Human beings are millions of things in one day, and his method uands that much better than like the Western way of thinking about it. I only called him one more er that, and it was dirty, so that one will have to be a secret. When I say it was dirty, I mean it will sound dirty to you out of text sort of thing. Its only really dirty if you dont respect the male body, and that in my opinion would make you dirty, not us.

    So this bloke… Actually, I  see one advao the Western way of thinking, which is that if someone has a name, you know what to call them, dont you? Its only one small advantage, and there are millions of big disadvantages, including the biggest one of all, which is that names are really fascist and dont allow us to express ourselves as human beings, and turn us into ohing. But as Im talking about him a lot here, I think Ill call him just one name. Nodog will do, because its more unusual, and youll know who Im talking about, and its better than Dog, because you might think Im talking about a fug dog, which Im not.

    So Nodog took me back to his place after wed gone for a drink. I didnt think hed have a place, to be ho, what with the dog and everything. He looked like the sort of bloke who might be iween places, but I obviously met him at a good time. It wasnt a normal sort of a place, though. He lived in a shop round the back of Rotherhithe station. It wasnt a verted shop, either - it was just a shop, although it didnt sell anything any more. It used to be like an old-fashioned er shop thingy, so there were shelves, and ters, and there was a big shop window, which he kept covered with a sheet. Nodogs dog had his own bedroom at the back, which must have been a sto once upon a time. Shops are actually quite fortable, if you  put up with a bit of disfort. You  put your clothes up on the shelves, put your telly up on the ter where the cash register would have gone, put your mattress on the floor, and youre away. And shops have toilets, and water, although they dont have baths or showers.

    Whe there, we had sex straight off, to get it out of the way. Id only had proper full-on sex with Chas before, and that wasnt any good, but   it was all right with Nodog. A lot more things worked, if you know what I mean, because with Chas, his bits didnt really work and my bits didnt really work, so it was all a bit of an effort. Anyway, this time around, Nodogs bits worked fine, and so mine did too, and it was much easier to see why anyone would want to do it again. People go on about the first time being important, but its the sed time that really matters. Or the sed person, anyway.

    Look at what a fool I was the first time, all cut up and sobbing and obsessed. See, if Id been like that a sed time, Id have known I was going to have problems. But I really didnt care if I saw Nodog again or not, so thats got to be progress, right? Thats much more the way things should be, if yoing to get on in life.

    After wed finished, he turned his little blad-white TV on, and we lay on his mattress watg whatever, and thearted to talk, and I ended up telling him about Jen, and Toppers House, and the others. And he wasnt surprised, or sympathetic, or anything like that. He just nodded, and then he goes, Oh, Im always trying to top myself. And I was like, Well, you t be much good at it, and he went, Thats not the idea, though, is it?

    And I was like, Isnt it? And he said that the idea was to like stantly offer yourself up to the gods of Life ah, who were pagan gods, so they were nothing to do with church. And if the god of Life wanted you, then you lived, and if the god of Death wanted you, you didnt. So he reed that on New Years Eve Id been chosen by the god of Life, and thats why I never jumped. And I was like, I never jumped because people sat on my head, and he explaihat the god of Life eaking through these people, and that made perfect seo me. Because why else would they have bothered, uhey were like being guided by invisible forces?

    And theold me that people who were brain-dead, like Gee Bush and Tony Blair, and the people who judged Pop Idol, never offered themselves up to the gods of Life ah at all, and therefore could never prove that they had the right to live, and we shouldnt obey their laws heir decisions (like the Pop Idol judges). So we dont have to bomb tries if they tell us to, and if they say that Fat Michelle or whoever has won Pop Idol, we dont have to listen to them. We  just say, No she didnt.

    And everything he said was so true that it sort of made me regret the last few weeks, because even though JJ and Maureen and Martin had been o me, sort of, you wouldnt really describe them as brainy, would you?

    Its not like they had any answers, in the way Nodog had answers. But the other way of looking at it is that without the others, Id never have met Nodog, because I wouldnt have bothered with the intervention, and thered have been nothing to walk out of.

    And I suppose thats the god of Life talking, too, if you think about it.

    When I went home, Mum and Dad wao speak to me. And at first I was like, Whatever, but they were really keen, and Mum made me a cup of tea, and sat me down at the kit table, and then she said that she wao apologize to me about the earrings, and that she knew whod pihem. So I went, Who? And she goes, Jen. And I stared at her. And she was like, Yeah, really. Jen. So I said, So how does that work? And she went off on one about how Maureen had pointed out something that was actually blindingly obvious, if you thought about it. They were Je<q>?99ｌib.</q>ns favourite earrings, and if theyd gone and nothing else had, then that couldnt be a ce. And at first I couldnt see what differe made, because Jen still wasnt around. But when I saw what differe made to her, how much calmer it made her, I didnt care why. The main thing was, she wao be o me.

    And I was even mrateful to Nodog then. Because he had taught me this deep, clear way of thinking, the way that allowed me to see things as they really were. So even though Mum wasnt seeing things the way they really were, and she didnt know that for example the Pop Idol judges couldnt prove they had the right to live, she was seeing something that could work for her, and stop her from being such a bitch.

    And now because of Nodogs teags, I had like the wiseo accept it, and not tell her it was stupid or pointless.

    <strong>MARTIN</strong>

    Who, you might want to ask, would call their child Pao? Paos parents, Harry and Marcia Cox, thats who.

    May I ask how you got your name? I asked Pao when I first made his acquaintance.

    He looked at me, baffled, although I should point out that just about any question baffled Pao. He was large and buck-toothed, and he had a squint, so his lack of intelligence articularly unfortunate. If anyone ever he pensation of charisma and good looks, it ao.

    Howjer mean? Where did your name e from? Where did it e from?   The idea that names came from anywhere was clearly a new oo him; I might as well have asked him where his toes came from.

    Theres a famous film actor called Pao.

    He looked at me.

    Is there? You hadnt heard of him? Nope.

    So you dont think you were named after him? Dunno.

    You never asked? Nope. I dont ask about no ones name.

    Right.

    Where e e from? Martin? Yeah.

    Where did it e from? Yeah.

    I gaped at him for a moment. I was at a loss. Apart from the obvious answer - that it had e from my parents, just as Pao had e from his (although even this piece of information might have amazed him) - I could only have told him that mine was Fren in - just as his was Italian. As a sequence, I would have found it hard to articulate why his name was ical and mine was not.

    See? Its a hard question. Dont mean Im thick, just because I t a.

    No. Of course not.

    Otherwise youre thick, too.

    This was not a possibility that I felt I could rule out altogether. I was beginning to feel thick, for all sorts of reasons.

    Pao was a year-eight pupil at a prehensive school in my neighbourhood, and I was supposed to be helping him with his reading. I had volunteered to do so after my versation with dy, and after seeing a small advertisement in the loeer: Pao was my first stop on the road towards self-respect. Its a long road, I accept that, but I had somehow hoped that Paight have been positioned a little further along it. If we agree that self-respect is in, say, Sydney, and Id begun the jour Holloway Road tube station, then Id imagihat Pao would be my ht stopover, the place where my plane could refuel. I was realistiough to see that he wasnt going to get me all the way there, but volunteering to sit down with a stupid and unattractive child for an hour represented several thousand air-miles, surely? During our first session, however, as we stumbled over even the simplest words, I realized that he was more like Caledonian Road than Singapore, and it would be awenty-odd tube stops before I even got to bloody Heathrow.

    We began with an appalling book he wao read about football, the large-print story of how a girl with one leg overcame her handicap aeam-mates sexism to bee the captain of the school team. To be fair to Pao, once he saw which way the wind was blowing, he was suitably ptuous.

    Shes going to score the winning goal in a big match, innit? he asked with some disgust.

    I fear that might be the case, yes.

    But shes only got one leg.

    Indeed.

    Plus shes a girl.

    She is, yes.

    What school is this, then? You may well ask.

    Im asking.

    You want to know the name of the school?   Yeah. I want to go up there with my mates and laugh at them for having a girl with one leg ieam.

    Im not sure its a real school.

    So its not even a true story? No.

    Im not fug b with this, then.

    Good. Go and choose something else.

    He snuffled his way back to the library shelves, but could find nothing that might i him.

    What are you ied in, actually? Nuffink, really.

    Nothing at all? I quite like fruit. My mum says Im a champion fruit-eater.

    Right. That gives us something to work on.

    There were forty-five minutes of our hour remaining.

    So what would you do? How does one begin to like oneself enough to want to live a little longer? And why didnt my hour with Pao do the trick? I blamed him, partly. He didnt want to learn. And he wasnt the sort of child Id had in miher. Id hoped for someone who was remarkably intelligent, but disadvantaged by home circumstance, someone who only needed an hours extra tuition a week to bee some kind of w-class prodigy. I wanted my hour a week to make the differeween a future addicted to heroin and a future studying English at Oxford. That was the sort of kid I wanted, and iheyd given me someone whose chief i was iing fruit. I mean, what did he o read for? Theres an iional symbol for the gents toilets, and he could always get his mother to tell him what was on television.

    Perhaps that was the point, the sheer grinding uselessness of it. Perhaps if you knew you were doing something so obviously withbbr>藏书网</abbr>out value, you liked yourself more than someone who was indisputably helping people.

    Perhaps Id end up feelier than the blond nurse, and I could taunt him again, but this time I would have righteousness on my side. Its a currency   like any other, self-worth. You spend years saving up, and you  blow it all in an evening if you so choose. Id done forty-odd years worth in the space of a few months, and now I had to save up again. I reed that Pao was worth about ten pence a week, so it would be a while before I could afford anht oown.

    There you are. I  finish that sentenow: Hard is teag Pao to read. Or even, Hard is trying to rebuild yourself, piece by piece, with no instru book, and no clue as to where all the important bits are supposed to go.

    JJ  Lizzie and Ed bought me a guitar and a harp and a neck rack from one of those cool shops in Denmark Street; and when Ed and I were on the way to Heathrow, Ed told me he wao buy me a plaicket home.

    I t go home yet, man.

    I was going along to say goodbye, but the tube journey was so fug long that we ended up talking about something other than which crappy magazine he was going to buy from the bookstall.

    Theres nothing here for you. Go home, get a band together.

    I got one here.

    Where? You know. The guys.

    You think of them as a band? Those losers and fug perverts we met in Starbucks? I been in a band with losers and perverts before.

    Werent ever no perverts in my band.

    What about Dollar Bill? Dollar Bill was our first bass-player. He was older than the rest of us, and wed had to unload him after an i with the high school janitors son.

    At least Dollar Bill could fug play. What  your buddies do?   Its not that kind of band.

    Its no kind of band. So, what, this is for ever? You got to hang out with those guys until they die? No, man. Just until everyones OK.

    Until everyones OK? That girl is derahe guy ever hold his head up in public again. And the old woman has a kid who  hardly fug breathe. So whehey gonna be OK? Youd be better off hoping they all get worse. Then they  jump off the fug building, and you  e home. Thats the only happy ending for you.

    What about you? What the fucks any of this got to do with me? Whats your happy ending going to be? What are you talking about? I want to know what kind of happy ending is available to the rest of the population. Tell me what the gap is. artin and Maureen and Jess are all fucked, but you… You got a job hooking people up with cable TV.

    Where you going with that? Im going where Im going.

    Yeah. Tell me where that is.

    Fuan.

    Im just trying to make a point.

    Yeah. I get it. I got as good a shot at a happy ending as your friends.

    Thanks. Do you mind if I wait until I get home before I shoot myself? Or you wao do it here? Hey, I didhat.

    But I did, I guess. When you get yourself in that place, the place I was in on New Years>.</a> Eve, you think people who arent up on the roof are a million miles away, all the way across the o, but theyre not. There is no sea. Pretty much all of them are on dry land, in toug distance. Im n to say thats how close happiness is, if we could only see it, or some bullshit like that. Im not telling you that suicidal people arent so far away from people who  get by; Im telling you that people who get by   arent so far away from being suicidal. Maybe I shouldnt find that as f as I do.

    We were ing up to the end of our y days, and I guess Martins suicidologist guy knew what he was talking about. Things had ged.

    They hadnt ged very quickly, and they hadnt ged very dramatically, and maybe we hadnt even done muake them ge.

    And in my case anyway, they hadnt even ged for the better. I could holy say that my circumstances and prospects would be even less enviable on March st than they had been on New Years Eve.

    You really going through with this? Ed asked me whe to the airport.

    Through with what? I dont know. Life.

    I dont see why not.

    Really? Shit, man. You must be the only one who doesnt. I mean, wed all uand if you jumped. Seriously. No one would think, you know, What a waste. He threw it all away. Cos what are you throwing away?

    Nothing at all. Theres no waste involved.

    Thanks, man.

    Youre wele. I just tell it like I see it.

    He was smiling and I was smiling, and we were just talking to each other the way weve always talked to each other about anything thats gone wrong in our lives; it just sounded a little meahan usual, I guess. Ba the day hed be tellihat the girl whod just broken my heart preferred him anyway, or Id be telling him that the song hed just spent months w on iece of shit, but the stakes were higher now. He was right, though, probably mht than hed ever been. There would be no waste involved. The trick is to see that youre still entitled to your three-score years and ten anyway.

    Busking isnt so bad. OK, its bad, but its not terrible. Well, OK, its terrible, but its not… Ill e bad finish that senteh something both life-affirming and true aime. First day out it felt fug great, because I hadnt held a guitar in so long, and sed day out retty good, too, because the rustiness had gone a little, and I could feel stuff ing back, chords and songs and fidence. After that, I guess it felt like busking, and buski better than delivering pizzas.

    And people do put money on the bla. I got about ten pounds for playing Losing My Religion to a whole crowd of Spanish kids outside Madame Tussauds, and only a little less from a bunch of Swedes or whatever the  day (William, It Was Really Nothing, Tate Modern). If I could only kill this one guy, then busking would be the best job I could hope to find. Or at least, it would be the best job that involved playing guitar on a sidewalk, anyway. This guy calls himself Jerry Lee Pavement, and his thing is that he sets up right o you, and plays exactly the same song as you, but like two bars later. So I start playing Losing My Religion, aarts playing Losing My Religion, and I stop, because it sounds terrible, and theops, and then everyone laughs, because its so fug funny ha ha ha, and so you move to a different spot, and he moves right along with you. And it doesnt matter what song you play, which I have to admit is kind of impressive. I thought Id throw him off with Skyway by the Replats, which I worked simply to piss him off, and which maybe een people in the world know, but he had it down. Oh, and everyohrows their s at him, because hes the genius, obviously, not me. I took a pop at him once, in Leicester Square, and everyoarted booing me, because they all love him.

    But I guess everyone has someo work that they do along with. And if youre short on walkiaphors for the stupidity and futility of your w life - and I appreciate that not everyone is - then you have to admit that Jerry Lee Pavement is pretty hard to beat.

    MAUREE in the pub opposite Toppers House for our h Day party. The idea was to have a couple of drinks, go up on to the roof, have a little think about everything and then go off for a curry in the Indian O on Holloway Road. I wasnt sure about the curry part, but the others said theyd choose something that would agree with me.

    I didnt want to go up on the roof, though.

    Why not? said Jess.

    Because people kill themselves up there, I said.

    Der, said Jess.

    Oh, so you e on Valentines Day, did you? Martin asked her.

    No, I didnt enjoy it, exactly. But, you know.

    No, I dont know, sa<u></u>id Martin.

    Its all part of life, isnt it? People always say that about unpleasant things. &quot;Oh, this film shows someoing his eyes pulled out with a corkscrew. But its all part of life.&quot; Ill tell you what else is all part of life: going for a crap. No one ever wants to see that, do they? No one ever puts that in a film. Lets go and watch people taking a dump this evening.

    Whod let us? said Jess. People lock the door.

    But youd watch if they didnt.

    If they didnt, it would be more a part of life, wouldnt it? So, yes, I would.

    Martin groaned and rolled his eyes. Youd have thought hed be much cleverer than Jess, but he never seemed to win an argument with her, and now shed got him again.

    But the reason people lock the door is they rivacy, said JJ. And maybe they rivacy when theyre thinking of killing themselves.

    So youre saying we should just let them get on with it? said Jess.

    Because I dont think thats right. Maybe tonight we  stop someone.

    And how does that fit in with your friends ideas? As far as I uand it, youre now of the opinion that when it es to suicide you should let the market decide, said Martin.

    Wed just been talking about a man without a name called Nodog, who told Jess that thinking about killing yourself erfectly healthy, and everyone should do it.

    I never said anything about any of thats— Im sorry. I araphrasing. I thought we werent allowed to interfere.

    No, no. We  interfere. Interfering is part of the process, see? All you have to do is think about it, and after that, whatever. If we stop someohe gods have spoken.

    And if I were a god, said Martin, youre exactly the sort of person Id use as a mouthpiece.

    Are you being dirty? No. Im being plimentary.

    Jess looked pleased.

    So shall we look for someone? she said.

    How do you look for someone? JJ asked her.

    Theres probably someone in here, for a start.

    We looked around the pub. It was just after seven, and there werent many people i. In the er by the gents, there were a couple of young fellas in suits looking at a mobile phone and laughing. At the table he bar, there were three young women, looking at photographs and laughing. At the table o us there was a young couple laughing about nothing, and sitting at the bar there was a middle-aged guy reading a neer.

    Too much laughing, said Jess.

    Anyone who thinks text messages are funny isnt going to kill himself, said JJ. There isnt enough going on internally.

    Ive seen some fun messages, said Jess.

    Yeah, well, said Martin. Im not sure that really disproves JJs point.

    Shut up, said Jess. What about the bloke reading the paper? Hes on his own. Hes probably the best we  do.

    JJ and Martin looked at each other and laughed.

    The best we  do? said Martin. So what youre saying is that we have to dissuade someone in this room from killing themselves whether they were thinking of it or not? Yeah, well, the laughing cretins arent going to go up there, are they?

    He looks more, like, deep.

    Hes reading the rag page of the f— Sun, said Martin. In a moment his mates going to turn up, and theyll have fifteen pints and a curry.

    Snob.

    Oh, and whos the one who thinks you have to be deep to kill yourself?   We all do, said JJ. Dont we? We had two drinks each. Martin drank large whiskies with water, JJ drank pints of Guinness, Jess drank Red Bull and vodka, and I drank white wine. Id probably have been dizzy three months ago, but I seem to drink a lot now, so whe up to walk across the road, I just felt warm and friendly. The clocks had gone forward on the previous Sunday, and even though it seemed dark when we were down oreet, up on the roof it felt as though there were some light left somewhere iy. We leaned on the wall, right o the place where Martin had cut through the wire, and looked south towards the river.

    So, said Jess. Anyone up foing over? No one said anything, because it wasnt a serious question any more, so we just smiled.

    Its gotta be a good thing, right? That were still around? said JJ.

    Der, said Jess.

    No, said JJ. It wasnt a rhetorical question.

    Jess swore at him and asked him what that was supposed to mean.

    I mean, I really do want to know, said JJ. I really do want to know whether its… I dont know.

    Better that were here than that were not? said Martin.

    Yeah. That. I guess.

    Its better for your kids, said Jess.

    I suppose so, said Martin. Not that I ever see them.

    Its better for Matty, said JJ, and I didnt say anything, which reminded everyone else that it wasnt really better for Matty at all.

    Weve all got loved ones, anyway, said Martin. And our loved ones would rather we were alive than dead. On balance.

    You re? said Jess.

    Are you asking me whether I think your parents want you to live? Yes, Jess, your parents want you to live.

    Jess made a face, as though she didnt believe him.

    How e we didnt think of this before? said JJ. On New Years Eve?

    I hought of my parents once.

    Because things were worse then, I suppose, said Martin. Familys like, I dont know. Gravity. Stro some times than others.

    Yup. Thats gravity for you. Thats why in the m we  like float, and in the evening we t hardly lift our feet.

    Tides, then. You dont notice the pull when its… Well, anyway. You know what I mean.

    If some guy came up here tonight, what would you tell him? said JJ.

    Id tell him about the y days, said Jess.  Cos its true, isnt it? Yeah, said JJ. Its true that none of us feel like killing ourselves tonight. But like… If he asked us why, if he said to us, So tell me what great things have happeo you since you decided not to go over the edge… what would you tell him? Id tell him about my job in the newsagents, I said. And the quiz.

    The others looked at their feet. Jess thought about saying something, but JJ caught her eye, and she ged her mind.

    Yeah, well, you, youre doing OK, said JJ after a little while. But Im f— busking, man. Sorry, Maureen.

    And Im failing to help the dimmest child in the world with his reading, said Martin.

    Dont be so hard on yourself, said Jess. Youre failing at loads of different things. Youre failing with your kids, and your relationships… Oh, yes, whereas you, Jess… Youre such a f— success. Youve got it all.

    Sorry, Maureen, said JJ.

    Yes, excuse me, Maureen.

    I didnt know Nodog y days ago, said Jess.

    Ah, yes, said Martin. Nodog. The one unqualified achievement any of   us  boast of. Maureens quiz team excepted, of course.

    I didnt remind him about the newsagents. I know its not much, but it might have seemed as though I was rubbing it in a bit.

    Lets tell our suicidal friend about Nodog. &quot;Oh, yes. Jess here has met a man who doesnt believe in names, and thinks we should all kill ourselves all the time.&quot; Thatll cheer him up.

    Thats not what he thinks. Youre just taking the p—. What did you want t all this up for, JJ? We were going to have a good night out, and now everyones all f— depressed.

    Yeah, said JJ. Im sorry. I was just w, you knoere all still here.

    Thanks, said Martin. Thanks for that.

    In the distance we could see the lights on that big wheel down by the river, the London Eye.

    We dont have to decide right now, anyway, do we? said JJ.

    Course we dont, said Martin.

    So how about we give it another six months? See how were doing? Is that thing actually going round? said Martin. I t tell. We stared at it for a long time, trying to work it out. Martin was right. It didnt look as though it was moving, but it must have been, I suppose.

    AOWLEDGMENTS  Thanks to:  Tony Lacey, Wendy Carlton, Helen Fraser, Susaersen, Joanna Prior, Zelda Turner, Eli Horowitz, Mary itch, Caroline Dawnay, Alex Elam, John Hamilton.天涯在线书库《www.tianyabook.com》