At the far back of the pub made from the old wine cellars, with Trina. The cosy copper-clad lamps of the Merchants, a party of Dutch people steaming an evaporating drench. "I would too Trina. I'm not holding back, honest. I mean, you're probably wondering why I never invite you up to my house. It's just that there's a bit of a problem. I haven't got a double bed."
"Could be cosy?"
"Hmm. Thing is, I haven't got a bed at all. I use this sort of cushion thing."
"There's a three-quarter bed on the boat."
What a delight--on a canal boat, the perfume of oil lamps and diesel, birdsong; a night black dark, like her hair. She sent me an email worrying about her body and how it would go. "Oh no, don't talk like that, don't let's make it anything off a continuum of what there already is," I didn't reply. I didn't reply at all. It's always awkward learning sex with someone new, but certain things are best left undiscussed.
New Business Colleague sends me an angry text. I jump with alarm. "I'm really sorry NBC, I'd never fuck you about. It's just robbing Peter to pay Paul. It's OK I've got it. No prob I'll take it round to Christine's this aft."
He's away doing manly things with perilous sheets of glass, so I have to go round to their flat. Me and Christine, alone.
This is potentially a dangerous situation. I was at school with Christine, and when we're together, without him, the air is stuttered with sex. ("I'm going to have to go now looby, because otherwise I'm going to end up sleeping with you.") She's a hairdresser, and she looks after herself; red painted nails I momentarily think I want to feel scraping hard against my neck. I love being scraped by fingernails, very hard. If New Business Colleague thought that I was mucking about with Christine, I'd be lucky to escape without a coma. Of course, this adds to its excitement and her attractiveness.
In her flat she gives me a bottle of terrible beer and we chat volubly. It's a swish canalside flat, empty of anything most people consider life. She's proud of what he does for a living and I'm interested in it. A man's supposed to be good at something. What am I good at? She talks about her hairdressing, how when she showers, she washes off several other people's hair from her body.
I like that me and Trina don't share everything. "I don't believe in coming clean," said Bruce Chatwin. "Honesty", "authenticity": roads to confessional ruin.
