Page 63 of Beautiful Losers

We head through Les Cabannes, a commune on the outskirts of Cordes, and I ask Jack to pull into a deserted lay-by on the far side of the village. He parks underneath an oak tree opposite two industrial bins overflowing with waste. Ahead of us, the sun is sinking towards the horizon.

Jack turns to me. ‘Fiadh, I’m sorry. I know how much you cared about Leonard.’

I shake my head. I can’t do this now. Can’t hear Leonard's name referenced in the past tense. Jack puts his left hand on my bare knee, caressing it absentmindedly with his thumb. I lean into him, my head on his shoulder as he kisses the top of it. We stay like this for a few moments, listening to the sound of the engine running, Jack burying himself in my hair. I raise my chin to him, studying him for a beat, and inch closer, my face against his neck, inhaling him – his sweat, the soap on his skin. I tug at his shirt and pull him into me, kissing him firmly. He reciprocates with more tenderness then pulls away, resting his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. Undoing my seatbelt, I manoeuvre myself on top of him, whacking the small of my back on the steering wheel as I wrap my thighs around his waist. He looks surprised. Are you sure? Here? I nod. I need it to be like this. A quick encounter, devoid of meaning. Everything else lately has been fraught with significance. I takeoff his seatbelt, asking if he has a condom. Yes, he says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he pulls his wallet out of the back pocket of his trousers. I unzip him, touching his erection through his boxers. He lets out a low moan. Taking his penis in my hand, I rub it with the tip of my thumb. He pushes my dress up my thighs, grabbing my ass with his hands. I pull my underwear to one side and slide on top of him, inhaling sharply as he enters me. Christ, Fiadh, he says, his hands moving up my back and clutching at my dress. I move on top of him, quietly and urgently in this litter-strewn lay-by in front of the perfect sunset.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a soiled yoghurt pot sticking out of the recycling bin and I wonder what kind of asshole you have to be to put a non-recyclable material in the yellow bin. And then I’m about to come and I forget about the things we owe each other because I’m feeling good. Fuck, Jack says again, pulling my dress tighter as I start to tremble. He’s close behind me. I keep going until he finishes.

Maybe this is the way of it. Maybe life isn’t about running from the ugliness, trying to filter the rubbish out, pretend it isn’t there. And maybe it’s not fixating on it either. Maybe it’s learning to live beside it, among it, acknowledging its presence, cleaning up where you can, and trying to find small ways to feel okay in the mess.

Afterwards, I stay on top of Jack, our foreheads touching, chests rising and falling as we wait for hearts and lungs to resume their resting rate. Return to normal. Although I’m not sure anything will be normal again.

32

Jack makes pasta when we get back while I bathe Ari. I don’t want to lie to him about Leonard. Not after the whole Tom Hanks-is-your-grandfather thing. Still, there’s a balance needed. I won’t tell him, for example, what I learnt when researching the mechanics of an overdose on the journey home. How the breath becomes dangerously slow and oxygen levels fall low enough that the heart starts having abnormal rhythms. With the lungs and heart barely working, brain cells begin to erode. Within four minutes, they’re dying.

I won’t tell him that it was Leonard’s time or that he’s in a better place now.

I tell him the only thing I know to be certain. I tell him Leonard is dead.

Ari plunges his toy pirate ship into the water.

‘But he wasn’t old,’ he says, raising the boat and watching the water cascade from the deck.

‘No, baby, but sometimes people aren’t old when they die.’

Ari furrows his brow. ‘Are you going to die?’

‘Some day. But I hope not for a very long time.’

‘Is Leonard in the sky with Simba’s daddy now? Will he talk to me from the stars like Mufasa? I think that would be a bit scary.’

‘No, love. You don’t need to worry about that.’

‘Can we bury him beside Margaret? They can look after each other and not be lonely.’

‘I think Leonard might have family back in America who’ll want him to be near them.’

‘Hey Mummy? When I see Leonard again, I’m going to tell him I miss him.’

I run my hand through my son’s wet hair.

‘I think that’s a lovely idea, Ari.’

~

After dinner with Myriam, Jack and I go to my room. Jack strips down to his underwear, me, a t-shirt, and we climb beneath the sheets. I lie my head on Jack’s chest, his arm around me.

‘I don’t understand,’ I say. ‘He was fine. He seemed so happy in his own skin, y’know? Like he’d life all figured out.’

‘I don’t think anyone has life all figured out,’ Jack says quietly, fingering a strand of my hair.

‘He could have talked to me. I know how crazy lack of sleep can make you.’

‘Did you ever talk to him about your insomnia?’

‘Well, no, I guess not,’ I say.

It’s a big club, us waking dead, but in the middle of the night when you’re staring at the shadows on the ceiling, it can feel like a membership of one.

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