Being Emily Page 10

The door opened and Jas struggled in with a bag spilling over with aubergines and peppers, so full that he was hugging it like a baby. He gied a big grin, dumped the bag on the flair and put his airm round me.

  I cannae think back to that day without shame that floods me, makes me close my eyes and put ma haunds over ma ears. Sounds stupid to say it, as if I’m making it up in retrospect, but when Jas put his airm round me and I stood looking at Amrik I felt as though I’d already been unfaithful with him, even though we’d done nothing but sit in fronty the fire thegether, drinking tea in silence. There’s a phrase in the bible about how you can commit adultery in your heart; I know what that means. Even if Amrik and me had never ever done anything, I was guilty as soon as I looked at him. When I was wee my granny tellt me about sins of intention, how if you really really wanted to murder somebody and felt all they feelings in your heart it was a mortal sin anyway, even though you never laid a finger on them. And I thought that was daft, how could thinking about something be wrang? You cannae help your thoughts, can you? Thoughts are just things that come and go, they don’t harm anyone unless you act on them.

  I don’t believe that noo. Thoughts are dangerous, and no just because they make it that bit mair likely that you will do something bad. The thought itsel is bad. I mentally detached mysel fae Jas the second his ma introduced me as his girlfriend; there was something, that cauld splinter, an ice crystal the size of a pinheid, that crept in my heart and stayed there.

  Looking back on it, I find it hard tae believe I even liked Amrik, let alone loved him. Mibbe it wasnae love, but obsession, whatever that is. I was constantly aware of Amrik’s presence, as if static electricity had set up hame inside me, wee tremors prickling under my skin. It wasnae a pleasant feeling, no the warm comfort I’d always felt with Jas. I was hyper, couldnae sit still, kept leppin up fae my seat tae make cups of tea or help wi the dishes. And of course Jas’s ma thought I was being helpful which made me feel even worse.

  That night Amrik was playing in a local café which had live music. Jas and me had been there quite often – he didnae drink so we never went tae pubs. Usually there were local bands, boys posing and playing thinly disguised ripoffs of their heroes. Everyone talked over them except for their pals, who crowded round the tiny platform, applauding enthusiastically after every number. Tonight Jas led me tae a table near the front.

  Amrik’s amazing – I cannae wait till you hear him.

  I’ve never heard sitar music afore.

  It’s a dead haunting sound, no really like anything else, draws you right inside it. I used to listen while I done my homework at the kitchen table. Then when I heard my da coming in I’d rush up and bang on Amrik’s door to warn him to stop.

  Why did your da no want him to play?

  Sitar is not a traditional Sikh instrument. Amrik was always musical but he’d learned the tabla – the drums – at the Gurdwara. My da seen it as rebellion when Amrik wanted to learn sitar. He wanted him to play sacred music – of course to Amrik his music is sacred but no the way my da meant.

  A few minutes after eight, Amrik strolled in and made his way to the wee platform in the corner. There was a stool and a mic on a stand. Amrik lowered the mic till it was a few feet fae the flair, dumped his jacket in a corner and sat cross-legged. He placed his sitar carefully across his legs, and, eyes closed, paying nae attention to anyone or anything in the room, began to play.

  Discordant and harmonious at the same time, the notes flew and trembled like nervous birds. Amrik appeared to be in a trance, swaying slightly, his fingers coalescing with the keys and strings, as though he were tuned intae something larger, which played through him.

  At first the folk in the café continued their conversations, sipped their coffees, ate their tapas and muffins. But gradually, a hush descended on the place, people crept fae their seats tae be closer to Amrik, till everyone was huddled round this one corner. Amrik continued to play without stopping, one tune merging intae another, different moods intermingling; sadness and joy, playfulness and melancholy, but above all a sweetness you could almost taste. When he finished, after what could of been hours or minutes, there was silence. He opened his eyes and I saw the eyes of an angel.

  Of course then came the applause and the chaos of a fawning crowd round him. Jas went up tae talk to him, put his airm round him, but I held back, no wanting to be like everyone else. I sat alone at the table in the hauf-dark, staring at cauld foam in my coffee cup.

  Two days later, Amrik and me were lovers.

  Three days later, Jas and me were finished.

  I think that’s what I feel worst about now, though at the time I was too swept away tae notice what was gaun on. I wish I’d been honourable enough to finish with Jas, leave, get right out of his life afore I took up with Amrik. I know it’s an odd word, old-fashioned, but that’s the only one that fits. Folk are always talking about respect nooadays but we’ve nae idea what it means, the word means nothing.

  Honourable.

  Tell him it’s over.

  Simple. I should of done it that night after the gig, walking hame with Jas under the full moon that shone on us as if we were real lovers; it was like blasphemy to walk haund in haund with Jas under that moon. But how do you break up with your best friend?

  Answer: You don’t. You betray him.

  I will never forget that Monday afternoon; the wee room high in the attic, the single bed opposite the windae that looked out at the grey sky. Monday afternoon was the only time when you could be sure their ma was out – she never missed meeting her friends for their Scrabble game – and Jas was on a trip with his Chemistry class. As I walked up the road I kept telling mysel that I had a reason to go round to Jas’s; I needed a special set of pens I’d left there on Friday, even kidded mysel I was gonnae return tae school once I’d got them, but when I went up the close and heard the sound of Amrik’s sitar drifting fae the flat, I knew fine well I wouldnae.

  The first time. There was me assuming it would be with Jas, the man who loved me. Sometimes, lying in bed at night, I’d think about what it’d be like, what he’d say, how we’d be thegether.

  I don’t remember much about that first time with Amrik, what we done or how it happened, just the afterwards, lying cooried like spoons in the narrow bed, watching the grey sky turn a darker shade of grey. I mind other times, when the lovemaking became a kind of dance with a familiar rhythm. It’s a cliché that musicians make good lovers but Amrik played my body like an instrument, his fingers caressing me till every nerve quivered and I screamed and squealed scales. That was after he moved intae the bedsit, when I didnae care who heard us. The first time was silent.

  I never told Jas about that first time – couldnae even be honest about that. Just said it was over.

  Over? What d’you mean, over?

  I’m sorry, Jas.

  Fiona …

  I’m really sorry.

  The gulls swooping and diving over a grey sky as we walked along by the brown, murky river. My haunds that cold they hurt. And his eyes that I didnae dare look intae.

  Mrs Kaur was kind, phoned and told me to keep in touch. I mean it, dear. You are always welcome in our home. I wonder how much she knew then. She was a wise woman who knew her sons. It must of been obvious fae the way I looked at Amrik that there was something up. But if she had known, could she really have been so kind to me?

  But then everyone was kind to me, too kind. Janice gied me the probably best not to get tied down at your age speech, and Jemma said, These things happen. Only Monica blurted out, Oh that’s a shame, Jas is so nice when I tellt her, then she went scarlet and said, Of course I’m sure Amrik is nice too but …

  But?

  Oh what do I know? I just hope he looks after you as well as Jas.

  Jemma laughed. Boyfriends don’t look after you, they’re for having fun with.

  I guess, said Monica. But in the long run you want someone you can rely on.

  AMRIK HAD A chipped front tooth, no obvious, ju
st a tiny diagonal space which contrasted with his perfectly even white smile. He smiled often but not often directly at anyone. Over the time we were thegether I watched him smile to hissel as he made a cup of coffee, or stared out the windae, or played the sitar. And he played almost all the time.

  I’d of understood if he’d sat and practised, or played specific pieces but it wasnae that; he was always tinkering, footering up and doon the scales, could never leave it alane for a moment. Even after we’d just made love, he’d lie still only for a few seconds afore rolling over and reaching for the instrument, pulling it across tae the mattress on the flair where he’d sit beside me, sheet wrapped round him, playing. The first time I thought it was romantic, lying in bed close by, listening to these beautiful sounds created by his elegant fingers, but I soon realised that it was the sitar he was making love to; he’d turned fae me to something he loved mair.

  Only once did I show how I felt, stroking his thigh and saying, D’you have to play just now? Can we lie thegether for a while?

  He looked at me as if I’d asked him to stop breathing.

  I wished I could be as single-minded about my art; I always had tae get in the right frame of mind, think mysel intae what I was daeing. Was it because visual art wasnae as straightforward as picking up an instrument? For a fresco painter aye, but surely lifting a camera was no more difficult than a sitar. Picasso would of reached for a sketchpad and pencil to draw his lover after sex if she happened to be in an interesting light – he’d probably of stopped in mid-flow if he got a good composition. Mibbe I wasnae a real artist.

  It was not just Amrik either – the other guys who turned up at the flat were just as obsessive. In the middle of a conversation one would pick up a guitar, apparently idly, another would join in and next minute they’d all be at it. It’d last for a few minutes mibbe, or hours, till someone noticed it was getting dark or they were hungry.

  In the beginning I hung around while they were playing, respectful, following the wandering progress of fragmented melodies, till I realised I was invisible, something that came with the flat – no one, not even Amrik, knew I was there unless they wanted a beer oot the fridge or a cup of coffee. I wasnae used tae guys expecting me to wait on them; my brother and Jas werenae like that and I never thought young men in the twenty-first century would be either, but they were engrossed in their music, oblivious to everything else. Once I made tea, tiptoed round with mugs and chocolate biscuits, but Amrik barely looked at me as I placed his on the flair beside him. If he’d gied me that smile I’d of stayed, it’d of been worth it, but I couldnae bear him blanking me out. Next time the guys arrived at the door I lifted my books and heided for the library.

  I spent maist of my time at Amrik’s though I was now officially living with my da and the twins. After a few weeks at Janice’s, I’d come tae my senses, knew it wasnae fair on them.

  You know you can stay as long as you like, Fiona.

  Naa, you need your space; you and Angie and Evie and the new baby, when it comes – you’re a family.

  As I said it I could feel tears starting. A family. Who was my family?

  You could always go and stay with your da and the twins.

  I don’t know, Janice.

  Your daddy is trying, Fiona. He really is. He went and asked the guys for his job back and they’ve taken him on for a trial. He’s got a real incentive to keep off the drink. And it would be good for you all to be thegether again.

  I sat looking at the fire. It was one of they living flame ones but it was turned aff cause it was July; deid grey lumps of fake coal.

  When you start at Art School you can get a place in the residences, or share a flat if you want – it’s only a few month away. Why don’t you go hame till then?

  Hame.

  A three-bedroom flat on the third flair of a council block with a rectangle of red chips in front. A ten minute walk fae wur auld hoose but a million miles away. At the entrance to the stairwell were two tubs that had been planted with flowers, but only weeds flourished in them noo; the flowers were twisted dried-up twigs nourished wi deid fag ends. The guy on the ground flair kept a nasty wee skelly-eyed dug and you’d tae dodge its mess when you took the rubbish out to the bins, the couple across the landing wore black leather and painted a skull and crossbones on their front door. Could of been worse. At least there were nae drug dealers or folk having all-night parties. And we were the only social misfits rehoused by the council.

  You’re such a snob, said Rona, when I moaned about having a whirligig instead of proper clothes lines tae hang the washing out.

  No one could accuse Rona and Mona of being snobs.

  Fae July tae September I drifted in hauf-lives, between my da’s house and Amrik’s bedsit, between school and college – I guess you’d of said between childhood and being an adult except I felt as if I’d never been a child yet never would be an adult.

  Amrik never came to the house and Da never mentioned him, just asked me to let him know when I was staying over.

  Just tell me when you’ll no be hame, hen. That’s all.

  Hame. The box. At least I wasnae sharing with the twins, but the third bedroom was toty, just big enough for a single bed.

  Like Emily’s, I tellt Amrik.

  Cool, he said. Maybe it’ll inspire your poetry.

  I don’t write poetry any mair though.

  Why not?

  Dunno, somehow since I’ve got mair intae the visual stuff I don’t dae any writing.

  A lie. I hadnae written a poem since Mammy died.

  He leaned on one elbow. Already his attention was wandering towards the sitar propped up near the bed. He reached for the instrument and pulled it across. The round wooden base pushed itsel against the curve of my hip. Hard, cauld. A shower of golden notes and Amrik was lost to me.

  I turned my back, pulled the covers over my heid and closed my eyes. Why did I stay with him? If he was obsessed with the music and I hated him playing it, why be thegether? But it didnae seem like that then – it was as if I had somehow captured this wonderful being, like a selkie, and naturally you couldnae expect them to behave like a human, to be normal like anyone else. So you had tae put up with them. I guess I thought this was the price I had to pay for choosing the fallen angel.

  And I didnae have anyone tae tell about it. Only Jas would have understood, and he was the one I could never talk to. I went out of my way to avoid anywhere he was likely to be and I guess he done the same. By now of course he’d know me and Amrik were thegether, but I hoped Jas believed that I’d waited till after we’d split up afore starting anything. Nae doubt he’d make excuses for Amrik too; he was different, special.

  And the moments when it worked were special. Looking intae those eyes when we were alone in the quiet of his room, the rare moments when he’d take my haund loosely in his long fingers as we walked alang the street. The even rarer occasions when we’d talk. Amrik barely talked at all. He seemed tae have nae interest in the past, his or mine. The usual ways lovers find out about themselves, the sharing of histories, meant nothing to him, and the future appeared equally uninteresting. He never made plans, drifted, so there was nae point in discussing what we would do, even the next day.

  He occasionally commented on things around us, like a bird on the windae sill, a poly bag coiled in a tree, the film we’d seen. Mainly he was silent, not a companionable silence, but a silence that suggested something was going on in his heid which needed his full attention. Later I realised it was – he was working out his music, composing.

  One of the few times we had what could of been described as a discussion about anything was when Baz came to the flat. He was one of the musicians who used tae hang round Amrik, a shambling lump of a guy, terminally uncool, with a straggly beard and Jesus sandals.

  How are you, Amrik man?

  Cool. You?

  Aye, me too.

  So what’s new?

  Baz and his band had just signed with a record company.

&n
bsp; It’s pure wicked, man. Money up front and everything. So, like, we want you to join. Play with us.

  Amrik shook his heid.

  Aw c’mon, Amrik. Just for this one recording. You can play anything you like – you know like the stuff we were doing at the club last week. You’d be totally, like, free. And you’d get a cut of the profits and all.

  I don’t do recordings.

  After the guy had left I asked Amrik about it. I thought he was holding out for a contract of his ain.

  It’s not that. I’ve had offers, said no. I just don’t believe in recording music.

  How d’you mean?

  Music is something that happens. In that moment. It’s alive. As soon as you start to record it, it dies.

  But you listen to recorded music, on the radio, on CDs …

  I know – and sometimes it’s the only way of experiencing music I might never get to hear otherwise. But it’s still second-hand. He picked up the sitar. I want my music to remain pure.

  I left the flat and walked doon Great Western Road, eyes on the dusty pavements. Folk were sitting outside a bar; the view was of the back of a graffitied wall but hey, they were outside and that’s the only place folk in Glasgow want tae be any day it isnae chuckin it doon or minus fifteen degrees.

  Pure.

  I felt ashamed. A strange emotion in the circumstances since I hadnae done anything wrang, but I felt as if I had. All those hours Amrik spent, as I’d thought, footering with the sitar, avoiding other things – like me – when truly it was the only important thing in his life. His art was so important to him that he turned doon all kinds of recording deals to keep playing in grotty wee clubs and cafés. I could understand what he meant though I’d never thought of it like that. The notes, emerging from the instrument at that precise moment, echoing in that space, whether it was a concert hall with brilliant acoustics or a dusty bedsit. That was the moment – that note was in the moment and, nae matter how often you played it, it would never be that note ever again. Recording appeared to catch the moment, capture it, but it wasnae the same; it was the recording of the moment, the recording of the sound, distorted by the electronic means of recording, sealed in it, killed by it. It was like the difference between looking at the face of your loved one and looking at a photograph.