Part 1-4

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    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.

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