He could not let go of the handrail, was touching over and over again the metal rail that ran horizontally one below the other, bottom, second and top, bottom, second, third, top. He was on a roll, just a bad one. He was stuck. Stuck and truly fucked, but determined.

It was his life he wanted over.

His own. Life.

Chapter Twenty-eight

He was about to ask when; when as had happened before between them – she just said.

‘Wednesday. I should, or we should, go on Wednesday.’

‘Fine. I will let them know.’

There was no mention of his disappearance or the swelling around his right eye or the gash across the top of his nose.

She was out of the picture, Lomita, she wanted no part; she thought he would change; she hadn’t realised the possibility of this persistence. Going to see the paintings would sort it out. Would it though, Lomita?

The evening meal was a replica of the previous night.

They were like the military: waiting for a mission to be called. There was an air of suspense; the night’s business took the same pattern. Two pills for him and a goodnight with no physical touch from her.

*

Friday brought a different Lomita.

She woke with a determination. Manita was in preparation mode, he could hear the sound of a hair dryer, clothes were brought out and steamed in the laundry room. Lomita took all afternoon to get ready, metamorphosing at six o’clock.

She looked to Ever the quintessence of perfection, the smell that qualified his appreciation wafted across as he was sitting at the piano, making no attempt at playing, he couldn’t – a tune anyway – she bravely walked with her sliver fist-handled cane to the door.

‘Bring the Suburban round.’

She ordered, politely. Still having made no reference to his absence and his mess of a face. He had thought that she had given up. His time was up, come in. Time up. Roll back a few weeks. You’re on your own.

Tolerance over.

*

Lomita Nairn arrived at North Crescent Drive with Ever driving the black Suburban.

Ever helped her out of the car to the front door where a member of staff, outfitted in black, was already waiting, having buzzed them in at the gate. The two iron gates had moved with the majesty of a liner across the granite-paved driveway.

Ever wanted so much to be present at the dinner, wanted to hear the conversation, grasp the attitude of this man, to be that fly. But Lomita in her role, playing it to perfection, instructed him, with a please, to stay with the car.

‘Do you see, then I won’t have to call when I am ready to leave.’

And with the support of her stick taking over from Ever’s arm she walked with confidence across the hallway, following another member of staff, into the nothing-less-than-expected grandeur of the living room, where guests were already gathered.