The State of Me. Nasim Jafry Marie
the brolly by the time I got there.
I went straight to the medical section and looked up brucellosis. You got it from unpasteurised milk and dairy products. Symptoms were backache, fever and fatigue. I could easily have it, God knows what I’d eaten in France. I looked up brain tumours too and had worried myself sick before heading round to the French section.
I crouched down to look at the dictionaries. I knelt on the floor and looked up some words I’d written down from Germinal. As I scribbled down the meanings in the back of my chequebook, rain from my umbrella dripped onto a page of the dictionary. I snapped it shut, hoping no one had seen. When I stood up I felt dizzy and my face was going numb.
I wanted something easier to read than Zola. I quickly chose Paroles by Prévert. His poems were simple and quite easy to understand and it was a bargain for £1.50.
I had to get back to Ivan’s flat.
It had finally stopped raining. I bumped into Gail coming up University Avenue, with her wide brown eyes, walking with her feet turned in because she thought it looked sexy. She looked like a knock-kneed foal.
Hi, she said in her fakey voice. I heard you’d come home. I heard you were ill.
I was just up seeing the Head of Department, I said. I’m on my way to Ivan’s now.
What do you think of Ivan’s earring? He really suits it, doesn’t he? It was such a laugh when we did it! Rez was standing by with the cotton wool and TCP for emergencies. He wouldn’t let me do his though.
She could feel me wither – she’d pierced Ivan’s ear, the bitch.
Yeah, he really suits it, I said. He should have got it done properly though. It’s stupid to risk infection.
She gave me her foal eyes and laughed.
I better go, I said. I’m not feeling great.
I better go too. I’m going up to the Stevie building to sign up for an aerobics class. Say hello to Ivan from me.
I will, I said.
I walked to Lawrence Street wishing in spite of my numb head that I’d had eye-liner on when I met her.
Ivan was living in the same flat as last year above Jana’s and my old place. The paint was still peeling off our front door. The Cocteau Twins were playing inside. I could hear laughing. It could’ve been me and Jana a year ago. I climbed one more flight up to Ivan’s.
It was freezing in his flat. I chucked my umbrella in the bath and put the gas fire on in his bedroom. I moved his guitar off the bed (it seemed so bulky) and got under his black and white checked quilt, still dressed. I could smell him on the pillow.
My feet wouldn’t heat up and I felt like I had a brick in my neck. I got up and looked for a pair of Ivan’s socks to put over my own. His room was a tip. There were two driedup oranges on his desk with half the peel bitten off. There would be others he’d forgotten, hidden under his books and clothes. He always ate orange peel when he was studying. I found some socks and put them on and went through to the bathroom to look for Anadin. I put the toilet seat down and looked in the medicine cabinet: one medical rubber glove, a bottle of sandalwood oil and a bottle of pink nail polish. I dabbed some of Ivan’s oil on my wrists then soaked a facecloth in cold water and wrung it out.
I went back to the bed and put the facecloth on my head. I wondered who the nail polish belonged to. I tried conjugating subjunctives and somehow fell asleep.
Ivan woke me when he came home. (When you shut the front door the whole flat shook.) I could hear him taking off his jacket in the hall. He was singing. There was a damp patch on the bed where the facecloth had been.
He came into the bedroom and sat on the bed. You fell asleep with the fire on, he said, ruffling my hair. God, you’ll never guess what the guy who sits next to me in Nucleic Acids’ girlfriend did?
What? I mumbled.
She found out he’d slept with someone else and she threw all his notes in the bath!
The bastard must’ve deserved it.
You sound blocked up? Have you been crying?
My head feels weird. I met Gail. You didn’t tell me she’d pierced your ear.
I know I didn’t. I knew you’d get the wrong end of the stick. That’s why.
Did you shag her when I was ill in France?
Of course not! Please not the third degree about Gail again. D’you want some tea?
Why does she walk like a foal?
What?
Why does Gail walk like a foal? I’m just wondering.
I don’t know what you mean. D’you want some tea or not?
Yeah. I’m getting up. I need a drink of water. My head’s killing me. Have you got any painkillers? I couldn’t find any.
Maybe in the kitchen drawer. I’ll go and look.
He came back through with a faded strip of Disprin and a glass of water. Will these do? he asked.
They look really old. Have they passed their expiry date?
They’ll be fine, just take them.
I sat up and he put his arms round me. His face was cold and he smelled of rain.
I loved being held by this boy in his chunky white fisherman’s sweater. He was forgiven for Gail. I decided not to mention the nail polish.
Someone’s been dabbing my sandalwood, he said.
I love the smell of it, I said. It smells of you.
What d’you want for tea? he asked.
I don’t care. I’m not really hungry.
We could get a takeaway.
He went through to the kitchen and I dissolved the Disprin, stirring it round the glass with my finger. The dregs stuck to the side of the glass when I drank it.
I trudged through after Ivan, utterly happy that he was back from his lecture even though the foal had pierced his ear.
I can’t believe that girl throwing his notes in the bath, he said, shaking his head and dunking a tea bag in a mug.
Sounds like he deserved it, I said. Can I have a mug that’s not chipped, please?
They’re all chipped, he said, spooning the tea bag into the pedal-bin, leaving a trail of brown drips.
Maybe I should throw your notes in the bath.
What, because Gail pierced my ear?!
Yup.
You wouldn’t dare! he said, laughing. He pulled a bright blue menu out of the kitchen drawer. What d’you fancy? Prawn bhuna? Chicken korma? Lamb patia?
I don’t mind. Please don’t read out the whole menu. Can we go back through? It’s freezing in here.
We went back to his bedroom and he put Aztec Camera on. I’ll keep the volume low for your head, he said.
I lay under the quilt, he lay on top. I was cocooned and safe.
So how are you, green eyes? he said.
They’re not green, I said. They’re more grey.
He smiled.
Ivan, you do believe me, don’t you?
What that your eyes are really grey?
No. You believe that I’m ill, don’t you?
Yup.
Are you sure? You don’t think it’s in my head, do you?
Nope.
You did at first though when you were being horrible.
I