Bright Air - Barry Maitland [22]
We sat around a table together, Owen, Anna, Luce and I, with Damien and Curtis returning from the counter with beer, and they were friendly enough, but I still felt uncomfortable, the outsider, their conversation and humour full of references I didn’t know and which they didn’t bother to explain. I remembered Luce saying that six of them had gone climbing in Yosemite together, and I wondered who the other one had been. Then Curtis raised his arm and waved to someone at the door, and I turned and saw a tall lean man wearing a black shirt and jeans. He had shoulder-length black hair swept back from his face, and as he made his way towards us I saw that he was limping heavily, putting his weight on a stick in his left hand.
Curtis jumped to his feet and pulled another chair into the circle, and the man sank into it with a grunt, handing Curtis a fifty-dollar note which he took up to the bar.
Luce said, ‘Marcus, this is Josh. Josh Ambler, Marcus Fenn.’
I got up and stretched my hand out to shake his. His face was deeply lined and tanned, his hair touched in places with grey, and I saw that he was much older than us, maybe mid-forties. He regarded me impassively.
‘Josh has been climbing with us this evening, Marcus.’
‘Really?’ His voice was soft. Curtis returned and placed a large Scotch by his hand, and laid the change beside it. ‘What do you do, Josh?’
‘I’ve just started an MBA.’
His expression registered an involuntary wince and he took a quick gulp of whisky as if to clear a bad taste. ‘Merchant banker, eh?’ This caused general merriment.
‘That sort of thing. How about you? What do you do, Marcus?’
‘Oh, I work for this godforsaken institution, I’m sorry to say, and occasionally try to squeeze a little understanding into these guys’ heads. Fairly unsuccessfully, I’d have to admit.’
I couldn’t pin down his accent—Australian, certainly, but with what might have been an American flavour. His attention turned to Owen. ‘How’s Pop bearing up?’
Owen shook his head wearily. ‘Bushed. If you have some dope for crying babies, please can I have some.’ This was the first time I’d heard that Owen was a father. Apparently he was also married. ‘Suzi’s going spare.’
‘If she needs a break,’ Luce said, ‘I don’t mind doing the odd babysit.’
Owen seized on the offer. ‘We’d really appreciate that, Luce.’
Marcus was observing this domestic exchange with a sardonic smile, as if he found the whole idea vaguely pitiful.
There was karaoke in the adjoining room, and everyone looked up and listened as the next song began. It was an INXS track, and they all joined loudly in the refrain, Falling down the mountain, all that is except Marcus, who leaned forward, shaking his head as if some kind of joke was on him.
They were all big INXS fans, apparently, still grieving for Michael Hutchence who’d died just over a year before. Trying to get more of a handle on each of them, I asked what else they liked. Curtis was toying with heavy metal, Owen nominated Silverchair, Damien Shania Twain, Anna U2 and Luce Savage Garden (possibly for the name). Marcus said nothing, but I’d have put him down for Leonard Cohen. Seeing my lip curl at this selection, Luce said, ‘Well, what about you?’
‘How about The Fall?’
They looked blank, then sceptical, as if I’d made it up following on the INXS number.
‘Never heard of it,’ Owen said.
‘But you’ve heard their music. Remember that last scene in The Silence of the Lambs, when Clarice Starling stalks the Buffalo Bill/Jame Gumb character through the dark house? The background music was The Fall, from their album Hex Enduction Hour. The track was called …’ I hesitated as if pondering, then looked straight at Marcus, ‘… “Hip Priest”.’
He stared right back at me, and there was a moment’s silence. They still thought I was making all this up, and probably taking a poke at their crippled guru.
Then Marcus suddenly tossed his head back with a short bark of a laugh. ‘You know, I believe he’s right.’ He slid the cash lying beside his whisky across the table towards me and