Nocturnes_ Five Stories of Music and Nightfall - Kazuo Ishiguro [14]
What Charlie called their flat was in fact the top two floors of a four-storey terrace in a well-to-do but busy street. We came out of the front door straight into a throng of people and traffic. I followed Charlie past shops and offices to a smart little Italian restaurant. We didn’t have a reservation, but the waiters greeted Charlie like a friend and led us to a table. Looking around I saw the place was full of business types in suits and ties, and I was glad Charlie looked as scruffy as I did. He must have guessed my thoughts, because as we sat down he said:
“Oh, you’re so home counties, Ray. Anyway, it’s all changed now. You’ve been out of the country too long.” Then in an alarmingly loud voice: “We look like the ones who’ve made it. Everyone else here looks like middle management.” Then he leant towards me and said more quietly: “Look, we’ve got to talk. I need you to do me a favour.”
I couldn’t remember the last time Charlie had asked my help for anything, but I managed a casual nod and waited. He played with his menu for a few seconds, then put it down.
“The truth is, Emily and I have been going through a bit of a sticky patch. In fact, just recently, we’ve been avoiding one another altogether. That’s why she wasn’t there just now to welcome you. Right now, I’m afraid, you get a choice of one or the other of us. A bit like those plays when the same actor’s playing two parts. You can’t get both me and Emily in the same room at the same time. Rather childish, isn’t it?”
“This is obviously a bad time for me to have come. I’ll go away, straight after lunch. I’ll stay with my Auntie Katie in Finchley.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not listening. I just told you. I want you to do me a favour.”
“I thought that was your way of saying …”
“No, you idiot, I’m the one who has to clear out. I’ve got to go to a meeting in Frankfurt, I’m flying out this afternoon. I’ll be back in two days, Thursday at the latest. Meanwhile, you stay here. You bring things round, make everything okay again. Then I come back, say a cheerful hello, kiss my darling wife like the last two months haven’t happened, and we pick up again.”
At this point the waitress came to take our order, and after she’d gone Charlie seemed reluctant to take up the subject again. Instead, he fired questions at me about my life in Spain, and each time I told him anything, good or bad, he’d do this sour little smile and shake his head, like I was confirming his worst fears. At one point I was trying to tell him how much I’d improved as a cook—how I’d prepared the Christmas buffet for over forty students and teachers virtually single-handed—but he just cut me off in mid-sentence.
“Listen to me,” he said. “Your situation’s hopeless. You’ve got to hand in your notice. But first, you have to get your new job lined up. This Portuguese depressive, use him as a go-between. Secure the Madrid post, then ditch the apartment. Okay, here’s what you do. One.”
He held up his hand and began counting off each instruction as he made it. Our food arrived when he still had a couple of fingers to go, but he ignored it and carried on till he’d finished. Then as we began to eat, he said:
“I can tell you won’t do any of this.”
“No, no, everything you say is very sound.”
“You’ll go back and carry on just the same. Then we’ll be here again in a year’s time and you’ll be moaning about exactly the same things.”
“I wasn’t moaning …”
“You know, Ray, there’s only so much other people can suggest to you. After a certain point, you’ve got to take charge of your life.”
“Okay, I will, I promise. But you were saying earlier, something about a favour.”
“Ah yes.” He chewed his food thoughtfully. “To be honest, this was my real motive in inviting you over. Of course, it’s great to see you and all of that. But for me, the main thing, I wanted you to do something for me. After all you’re my oldest friend, a life-long friend …”
Suddenly he began eating again, and I realised with astonishment he was sobbing quietly. I