The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [27]
She paused after poem one, and Malcolm removed his fingers and looked hopeful. But it got worse. From nowhere, Emmylou produced a wooden block, which she kneeled on. She then proceeded to blow into what looked like a home-made recorder. She caught my eye and I gave her a weak smile, just as, at that moment, the door opened and Anthony Hamilton, tall, slightly shambolic, and with just the right amount of confusion I require my friends to be covered in, came into the shop. He glanced around apprehensively and, it seemed to me, the whole place lit up as he found my eyes and smiled. I instantly blushed from top to toe.
Jean, all jangling bosom and flapping jewelled hands, was advancing fast, whispering, ‘Dr Hamilton!’ and bustling to find him a seat – not cross-legged with the squaws, I noticed, but on a plastic chair at the back. He looked uncomfortable perched alone and aloft beside Jean, the two of them like a couple of proud parents at a children's assembly, particularly since a few heads swivelled, as children's heads are inclined to. I squirmed for him.
Emmylou, meanwhile, had abandoned her whistle and was back to the poetry, her voice shrill and declamatory, deep in menstruation. Why? I couldn't look at Anthony, so I concentrated instead on the carpet and getting to the end of the poem, which, at length, we did. A ripple of heart-felt applause rang out, until I realized I was the only one clapping. Ah. Right. Not at the end of each verse, perhaps. I caught Ant's eye, which was amused. Well, better than bored or livid, I decided, as the poem finally ended, and now please, please, could we have one about daffodils? Or trees?
‘This next poem,’ Emmylou informed us gravely, tossing her dark head importantly, ‘is called “Maud and Diana”.’
Well, that sounded all right. A bit like Thelma and Louise, or perhaps Hinge and Bracket? A couple of maiden aunts. Except it wasn't maiden aunts and it wasn't all right either, because Maud and Diana were a couple of little minxes who couldn't keep their hands off each other. My face got pinker with every toe-curling line. ‘Enough!’ I wanted to cry. I risked a glance at Malcolm, who, jaw slack with delight, looked highly diverted, whilst Jean patted her perm nervously, blinking rapidly, trying hard to look like a broad-minded woman who was used to poems of this nature being read in her shop, instead of a lonely, frustrated one who simply worked in a bookshop to meet men, as, I realized with a jab of horror, I did, and as I knew Malcolm did too.
Emmylou's eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, as she glanced up from her text to recite the last lines from memory.
‘Diana and Maud found their epiphany that night,’ she declared to the assembled throng. ‘Hearts sang. Minds rejoiced.’ Her eyes roamed the room and found mine. ‘Vaginas throbbed.’
In the startled silence that followed all I could think was, why is she looking at me? It was too much for Malcolm. He gave a snort of derision and legged it, body at a forty-five-degree angle, to the fire escape. I'm ashamed to say I followed hot on his heels. I bolted through Horror – appropriately enough – around the table of drinks, and out through the heavy black fire door at the back. On the wrought-iron staircase, overlooking the rooftops, in the cool night air, Malcolm and I clutched one another, hiccuping, snorting; even Anthony forgotten.
‘You pulled!’ gasped Malcolm.
‘No!’ I shrieked back. ‘D'you think?’
‘Oh, for sure, hon. She wanted you. She's hot for you.’
‘Oh, please.’
‘No, no, that's her line. Please, Evie, please. She wants her epiphany.’
We dissolved into giggles.
‘But, Malc, that's not poetry, is it?’ I said, wiping my eyes, recovering a bit. ‘Aren't you supposed to leave something beautiful behind on the page? I mean, when you've finished?’
‘Rather than something yucky, I agree.’ He lit two cigarettes and handed me one. ‘Here, hon. Suck on this.’
‘And did you see, Jean?