CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The days and nights that followed fitted into one another like a pattern of crazy paving. The worst part was not being able to admit to anyone, even myself, that I was HIV positive.
One evening I heard two young guys talking about it at the bar. “It’s no big deal these days.” one was saying. “You can live with HIV as long, even longer than if you’re healthy. You’ve more chance of getting killed crossing the road than dying of AIDS. Besides, you’ve got to be damn unlucky to catch it. If she’s worth the risk, fuck her, that’s what I say!” Both men burst out laughing. A young woman in a very short skirt passed by, swinging her hips and pausing a fraction to toss them a cheeky wink before moving on. Two pairs of eyes followed her hemline until it disappeared in a crowd. More bawdy laughter ensued.
I wanted to go over and bang their thick heads together. As it was, I considered calling Ed to throw them out. But what excuse did I have? They were just a pair of ignorant Jack the Lads. Besides, they were paying customers and would be parting with a lot more of their hard earned cash as the evening wore on. They would probably get drunk, pull a couple of birds, have sex somewhere and would neither remember nor care if they had used a condom or not.
In the restaurant, I spotted a gay couple, regulars. One waved. I waved back, inwardly raging at them for looking good, being happy, smiling as if they hadn’t a care in the world. In that instant I hated them even more than those chauvinist pigs in the bar. But I kept smiling, stayed cool, went through the motions of doing my job while a beastie in me clawed at my insides, determined to break out. Nor did it have to wait long.
I had reached screaming point when Maggie lurched into me carrying a tray of wine glasses, sending tray, wine and glasses in all directions.
“You clumsy cow,” I yelled, “Now see what you’ve done!” I glanced hastily around. “Sorry everyone, it’s been one of those days…”
Eyes eager to devour us looked away and whiter-than-white tablecloths soaked up a muted laughter that kicked me in the balls. I dimly saw Shaun approaching though a clammy mist, and turned back to confront Maggie whose face was crimson with what I took to be embarrassment.
But I was wrong. Maggie was furious.
“Give Shaun the order and tell him it’s on the house. Then clean this mess up,” I snapped. Another member of staff appeared with a bucket and broom in each hand. ”Thank you Jenny, but Maggie will see to things here, won’t you Maggie?” I glared into the grey-green eyes and they glared back. I recoiled slightly, having expected some sign of apology at the very least.
Maggie found her voice and promptly reeled off the names of assorted wines, cocktails and fruit juices to Shaun. I attempted and failed to catch his eye and he departed without a word. “Be a treasure and clear this little lot up for us, will you Jen? Thanks. I owe you one. Our dear manager and I have a few choice words to say to each other.” She grabbed my wrist and all but dragged me into a nearby stock room, kicking the door firmly shut behind us.
“What the devil do you think you’re playing at?” I demanded.
“What am I playing at? What are you playing at, mister high and mighty? You’ve been insufferable lately, picking on people for no reason, finding fault with everything and nothing. What happened back there was an accident, an accident, Rob, pure and simple. Not sabotage, nothing personal, just an accident. But if you have to blame someone, try asking yourself who it was couldn’t be bothered to look where he was going!” She paused for breath. ‘We’ve had enough, Rob, all of us, Shaun included. So you’re not leaving this room until you tell me what the hell has got into you.” I tried to push past her but Maggie was having none of it and stood her ground, eyes blazing and red hair sending off sparks.
“You’re fired!” I yelled.
“That suits me fine,” she fumed, “but I think I’m entitled to know why, don’t you? And don’t give me any bullshit about falling down on the job. I pull my weight around here and well you know it.”
“There’s such a thing as being insubordinate,” I shouted and saw my mistake immediately.
Maggie threw back her head and laughed. “Insubordinate, am I? Well, I’ve been called a few names in my time but insubordinate has to be a first. I bet you can’t even spell it, you pompous git!” She was grinning now, with an infuriating absence of malice.
Suddenly, I felt too exhausted to argue. My knees gave way and I had to perch on a conveniently placed box of potato crisps. I closed my eyes for longer than I intended and completely forgot about Maggie, patiently waiting, hands on hips. When I opened them again she was regarding me curiously and not without sympathy.
“What is it Rob, what’s wrong?”
I told her. God knows I needed to tell someone. That it should happen to be Maggie Dillon, of all people, struck me as ironic but disturbed me less as I poured out my heart to the girl, often tripping over my words and not making much sense in a blind anxiety to share the awful burden laid upon me. “I don’t know what to do,” I sobbed and kept repeating, “I don’t know what to do.”
Maggie said nothing for a while but came and sat beside me, flung an arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug. At the same time, she put a hand in mine and left it there, squeezing gently from time to time. “You need to see a counsellor,” she said at last, “someone who can give you the help and support you need.”
“I’ve got an appointment to see one,” I mumbled, “but…”
“You’re scared, right?” I nodded dumbly. “So would I be. But it has to be done. This thing’s too big for one person, Rob. You need all the help and support you can get. Why not take some time off to think things through?”
“I need to keep busy,” I protested.
“Keeping busy is one thing, running away is something else.” My hackles soared and I tried to get up but she pushed me down. “You can’t run away from this Rob, no one can.” She paused then, “Have you told Matthew?” I shook my head. “Don’t you think he deserves to know?”
“Deserves to know?” I broke free and leapt to me feet, “Deserves to know?” I repeated incredulously. “He deserves damn all. He’s the one responsible. He gave me this, this…disease. How could he do this to me? Don’t I deserve better? Doesn’t anyone? He said he loved me and now he’s…Killed me. He’s killed me,” I repeated and the words hovered like a pair of buzzards over our heads. “I’m going to die.” I burst into tears and sank to my knees. Maggie remained sitting. I wanted her to hold me again but was too distressed (or too proud?) to ask.
“You have to tell him, Rob. You have to tell Matthew. The two of you need to talk this through together.”
“Huh, fat chance!” I spat on the floor.
“That’s not very hygienic,” she retorted dryly.
“Nor is HIV,” I muttered scathingly.
“No,” she conceded quietly, “but at least it isn’t AIDS and…”
“Where there’s life there’s hope? Spare me the clichés, please! I’m not a kid, Maggie.”
“Then stop acting like one! You’re hurt, angry, and scared. Anyone would be in your shoes. But you have friends and people who love you. Let them help you. Don’t shut them out.”
“Love...?” I snarled, “What’s that when it’s at home?”
“Now you’re being stupid. I suppose your family don’t love you. I suppose Mathew doesn’t love you….”
“Matthew?” I raged.
“Yes, Matthew. I’ve seen the pair of you together. You were made for each other.”
“Like you and Billy?” I countered and was shocked at the change in her expression. Her eyes grew brighter but with no trace of the sadness or sympathy she had been showing me. Maggie was livid.
“How dare you? Billy was my friend, my best friend, and that was all. That was all, damn you, that was all!” She was on her feet now, running both hands through her hair almost frenziedly. “For once in your life, Rob Young, try to stop thinking about yourself and spare a thought for the rest of us poor devils trying to beat the odds! You’re not the only one who’s hurting. Try caring once in a while. Who knows, mister know-it-all fucking robot, it might even turn you into a human being?” She stormed out, slamming the door with the determined air of someone who badly needed to get something off their chest and has just succeeded.
I stood quite still, seething, grappling with the injustice of it all. How dare she call me a robot?
The door opened again and closed. Maggie was unrepentant. Careful to keep one hand on the handle, she said quietly, “If you want someone to come with you to see the counsellor, you know where to find me.” Seeing my expression of wary surprise, she added, “Don’t worry, I won’t come in with you. It’s your ball game and down to you how you play it, no one else. But sometimes it helps to have some moral support on hand.”
“You won’t say anything?”
“Just what kind of low life do you take me for Rob? On second thoughts, don’t answer that.” She hesitated before adding, “By the way, do I still work here?” I nodded sheepishly. Maggie grinned, in such a way that cut me to the quick if only because it so reminded me of Billy Mack. Without another word, she turned lightly on her heels and walked away, leaving the door ajar. Responsive to the call of familiar sounds, I followed seconds later.
I followed Maggie’s advice and took the rest of the week off although I couldn’t resist dropping by from time to time to reassure myself that all was well. I needn’t have worried. Shaun had everything under control. I also took up Maggie’s offer to come with me to see the counsellor. He was very kind and imparted a wealth of information as well as advising on medication. Even so, it was like something out of surreal novel. Much of what passed between us only began to make sense when I talked things over with Maggie afterwards. I was surprised to discover she was a very good listener. She never interrupted unless to clarify something I had said. She asked intelligent questions too. I was grateful. Not only did it help clear my mind but it was good to be able to talk to someone. I hadn’t told anyone else yet although, deep down, I knew I would have to tell my mother sooner or later. Later, I kept telling myself…
One afternoon, I took a long walk by the canal. The sky hung low and dropped a fine drizzle from its grimy cumulus. I enjoyed the wetness on my face and in my hair. It hardly mattered that my jacket and jeans were getting soaked.
As I approached a bridge, its cavernous darkness struck a chill in me and I felt suddenly afraid to pass beneath. Instead, I sat on a muddy bank, hypnotised by pinpricks of rain making ripples on the grey water. I thought I heard someone call my name but did not look up. There was something about the ripples that struck a chord in me. Feeling less content than compelled to observe their ever-widening circles, I imagined being sucked in by them to some dream-like epicentre, envious of a pair of ducks paddling by because they were a part of it all and I was not. Only then did I admit to myself that I was lonely.
Again, I heard my name called, louder this time. The voice, although distant, had a familiar ring.
“Over here, young Rob, under the bridge!”
I peered into the gloom that had stopped me in my tracks. A shadowy figure stirred from a sitting to a standing position and waved. A dog I could not make out at all barked twice. Now I knew her. It was Marge, the local bag lady. For no reason other than I was so relieved to see a friendly face, I scrambled to my feet, ran forward and gave her a big hug. The dachshund yapped excitedly at my heels.
“It’s alright, Clancy,” the old girl cackled delightedly, “Rob doesn’t mean us any harm. You’d do well to put me down, though, young Rob or Clancy might get the wrong idea!” She cackled again.
I put her down, embarrassed by my affectionate behaviour.
Marge had spread an old greatcoat on the ground and invited me to share a portion with herself and the dog. “We like it her, Clancy and me,” she offered by way of an explanation of sorts, “The water’s so peaceful, the rain too. So long as you’re not trudging about in it and trying to cadge a few coppers for a cup of tea,” she added with another cackle.
“Yes, it’s peaceful,” I agreed.
We fell silent for a while then, “I hear you’re doing well,” said Marge.
“Not so badly,” I lied easily.
“So what’s so good it brings you to the canal looking like a drowned rat that’s lost its tail, eh?” But I had no reply and she made no attempt to prompt one. Another comfortable silence followed before a chuckle rose in my throat. To any passer-by we’d have appeared an unlikely trio. “And how’s that friend of yours? Mark would it be, or Martin? Such a nice young man he is, too, always has a cheerful word and the price of a cup of tea to spare.”
“Matthew,” I muttered, my too-brief peace shattered, His name is Matthew.”
“Is it now?” she roared with laughter, “No wonder I couldn’t remember, I never knew it!”
“We don’t see each other any more.” I clenched my teeth, drew up my knees and clasped my hands together tightly. Marge eyed me shrewdly. Clancy snorted in his sleep. “He’s dreaming,” she murmured fondly, “Because he’s old, that’s why. When you’re old, dreams are all you have…dreams and memories. What we wouldn’t give to be young again, eh Clancy? Such times you have, when you’re young!” Clancy snorted again, without opening an eye, as if to endorse the sentiment. “Make the most of your time, young Rob.” She gave a fruity chuckle. “Play your cards right and it will make getting old almost worth it. By all the saints, it will!”
“Depending on the cards you’re dealt,” I commented acidly.
“Poppycock, it’s how you play ’em what counts. Oh, you win some and you lose some. That’s life. But even losing doesn’t have to be a disaster, so long as you don’t lose your head of course.”
Her matter-of-factness made me angry. What does she know about anything? I leapt to my feet. “I have to go. Take care of yourself Marge.”
She caught hold of my sleeve. “Whatever’s hurting you, be sure to take it by the scruff of the neck and dump it. Don’t wait too long either. Life’s too short to waste time brooding on what’s said and done. Look at poor Billy Mack…”
Something in me snapped. “You know damn all!” I rounded on her. Clancy woke at once. Instantly alert to my change of mood the little dachshund, began yapping furiously. “You’re nothing but a stupid old bag lady!” I shouted hoarsely over the din and fled.
I hated myself for saying that. I hated Marge too. I hated her just for being old. Grimly, I reflected that I would never grow old myself.
Suddenly, I hated everything and everyone. The canal looked drab, even ugly. The rain was horrible.
I ran all the way to the nearest pub and got drunk.
It was with a nasty hangover the next morning that I propped myself up on one elbow in bed and groped in the direction of an ungodly ringing sound to silence my mobile. I could make neither head nor tail of what the voice in my ear was saying and it was a while before I even placed its owner. “Maggie?”
“Can I come round?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” I groaned.
“Rob, we need to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone, okay?”
“Too bad, because I do. I’ll be round in about half an hour.”
She hung up before I could protest. I considered going for a long walk, but my head was throbbing madly and I couldn’t face it. Besides, where would I go? Not the canal. No, definitely not the canal! Marge’s voice easily infiltrated my fragile brain tissues. “Such a nice young man,” she had said of Matthew. A fat lot she knew! He’s given me a disease, for crying out loud. Yet, in my heart I knew she was right. Dump it, she had said. Oh, but if only…
I threw off the duvet and headed for the bathroom by way of a distraction rather than any desire to make myself look presentable for Maggie Dillon. Later, fully dressed, I sat on the stairs, head in hands, waiting for Maggie and felt like crying, but didn’t.
Maggie was visibly on edge when she arrived. I showed her into the kitchen and made us each cup of tea with raspberry flavoured tea bags, courtesy of Peter Short, to which I recently had taken a fancy. Maggie took one sip and grimaced. “Haven’t you got any decent tea?” I duly obliged with a regular brand.
We sat in silence for a while, pretending to listen to a robin singing its heart out on the windowsill.
“I still can’t get my head around it,” I muttered at last, relived there was no need to elaborate. She knew instinctively what I meant.
“It can’t be easy,” she murmured.
I got angry and leapt to my feet. “Easy?” I raged, “Too right it isn’t easy! I feel like some damn pariah!”
“It happens,” she said quietly, “No one’s blaming you. It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, well, we both know who’s to blame,” I said savagely, but sat down again.
“Have you talked it through with your GP yet?” I shook my head. “You must, Rob, and soon. It mightn’t be a bad idea to see that counsellor again too.”
“Oh, mightn’t it?” I responded with heavy sarcasm.
“There’s no shame in getting help.”
“Help, did you say? What’s the point? There’s no cure for AIDS you know.”
“Now you’re being stupid. And you haven’t got AIDS.”
“Yet,” I retorted.
But Maggie stayed calm. If I had hoped to provoke her, I was failing miserably. It began to dawn on me that she probably realized it wasn’t her I was hitting out at but myself. Even so, I wasn’t finished yet.
“HIV, AIDS...What’s the difference when all’s said and done?”
“Come off it, Rob. Don’t be such a baby, it really doesn’t suit you,” she said with the ghost of a laugh, “There’s a whole world of difference. But if you need me to tell me that, maybe you’re right and there’s isn’t any point. After all, what’s another five, ten or twenty years of life worth? As for anyone finding a cure, well, fat chance!” The grey-green eyes blazed at me across the table and I felt peculiarly humbled.
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” I conceded. “What makes you such an expert on the subject anyway?” I put the question half jokingly.
“I’ve been reading up on it.”
“I’m flattered,” I sneered without meaning to.
“Don’t be,” she said and dropped her voice so I had to strain to hear, “I wanted to know because…” She took several deep breaths, ran a pink tongue along her lower lip and then, “I needed to take a test myself.”
I could only stare, gobsmacked, “You’re HIV positive?”
