How to Fall in Love with a Man Who Lives in a Bush. Nichola Smalley
Ben sticks out his thumb. ‘I hitch,’ he says. ‘Of course, sometimes you just end up walking through industrial estate after industrial estate, or some seedy residential district, and it’s hot as fuck and not a single car passes. And then I earn money by singing badly or telling jokes on the street.’
‘Can you really make money that way?’ I ask.
‘Of course I can,’ he smiles. ‘The English and I had this whole routine we used to do that people loved. But one time this guy put some money in our box when we were just sitting there resting, so I ran after him and gave it back. I’m no beggar.’
‘But do you like sleeping in a bush?’ I ask, because I still can’t get over his homelessness.
‘My bush is totally cool!’ he says. ‘There’s space for two and you can’t see in from the outside.’
‘But a bush? Wouldn’t you rather sleep in a room? On a mattress?’
Ben scratches his beard. I take a last glug from the wine bottle before throwing it in a bin.
‘Sure … sometimes …’ he begins. ‘Especially now it’s started getting colder again in the evenings. That’s why I gotta find a house soon.’
Suddenly he takes my hand and we walk on. His hand is so large it almost swallows mine and I notice that my heart is beating faster and faster. Under all the dirt, Ben really is one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever met, with an astounding – and surprising – sense of self-confidence, pride and joyfulness. Being so close to him sends hot pulses through my body and suddenly I realise I want to kiss him. In fact, I want to have sex with him. My only dilemma is that the stench of him almost makes me retch.
‘Why don’t you have any shoes?’ I ask. ‘Doesn’t it hurt to walk barefoot all the time?’
‘When I was in Spain I realised I had holes in my shoes,’ Ben says. ‘First I wound a load of gaffer tape round them but it was impossible to fix them so I threw them in the sea. Unfortunately I realised too late that you can’t buy size 47 in Spain because all the Spaniards are like five foot tall. So I had to go barefoot. And in France they’re not much taller, and by the time I got to Switzerland I was used to going barefoot. But you should see the calluses under my feet. They’re crazy. Want to check them out?’
‘No, thank you,’ I say.
‘What do you do then?’ Ben asks.
‘I teach English at Berlitz,’ I reply. ‘Actually I want to be a writer, but sadly it seems all the stories I come up with have already been written. My subconscious memory for plot-lines seems to be a lot better than my imagination. Yesterday I had a really good idea for a story about an enormous great white shark that terrorises a little coastal town. I was so excited about it until I realised that’s the plot of Jaws.’
‘You’ll be an author one day,’ he says. ‘Sometimes things just take a little time.’
‘I wish I could be so sure of that,’ I say.
‘Maybe you should write something about your own life?’ he suggests.
‘The life of an English teacher isn’t that exciting, unfortunately,’ I say. ‘Although I once had a student who only ate things that were white, like rice and yoghurt. That was quite weird. And once she asked why we needed the past progressive tense, which is almost an existential question. And another student refused to have me as a teacher because I’d said that every time he said “informations” a puppy died, and every time he said “peoples” a kitten died. He turned out to be a real animal lover.’
‘How did you end up in Vienna?’ he asks.
‘Ah, it was … a guy,’ I mumble. ‘Matthias. He’s from round here.’
‘I hate him already,’ Ben says.
‘When we split up I just stayed here. I’ve lived in Vienna for almost five years, and now I share my life with Optimus.’
On our right we pass the Hofburg for the second, or maybe third, time. From the big clock I see that Ben and I have been walking for almost three hours. Ben seems to be brooding on something.
‘So how long have you been with this Optimus?’ he asks in the end.
‘Just a few weeks, but I’ve got a feeling he wants to break it off. He’s started clawing the sofa pretty passive-aggressively.’
Ben looks relieved.
‘He’s a cat!’ he cries. ‘When you said Optimus I thought you might be living with some Hells Angels guy. They have weird names like that sometimes. Like The Axe. Or Apache. I could already see myself being forced to give him a good beating.’
He grips my hand even harder.
‘Nah,’ I reply. ‘My Hells Angels boyfriend won’t be out until 2028. You know, they’re pretty harsh on triple murderers.’
Suddenly Ben stops short. He stands in front of me and takes my face in his hands. Even though I’m not short myself, I have to stand on tiptoe to be able to kiss him. But the second before we kiss each other I’m forced to turn my head away and take a step back because the stench surrounding him is quite simply unbearable.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.