What Rhymes with Bastard?. Linda Robertson

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       2: Them and Us

      ‘There are a lot of idiots in this world.’

       Mum

      ‘Hi, Linda …’s Jack! ’S OK… I’ve prob’ly godda place …’s OK, m’Bun. Carn talkboudit now …’s OK, luv you!’

      Jack had been in San Francisco for three months when he found a place. It was a depressing shit-hole full of annoying clowns, but it was his. That filthy den was to be the perfect backdrop to our decaying love.

      When, after a long and increasingly desperate search, he got a job, I was legally able to join him. I had to have three vaccinations, an AIDS test and a TB X-ray; I got the all-clear. I got on the plane, off the plane, on another plane, and seventeen hours later, stumbled into San Francisco airport, laden with musical instruments and ready for my new life in the sun.

      As I rolled my luggage cart through the double doors, I saw my long-lost husband leaning against a pillar, wearing a familiar brown shirt and a gentle smile. ‘Hello!’ he said. We shared a hug and lots of little kisses, and he steered us to the taxi rank, one arm round me, the other on my luggage mountain.

      I’d played out this moment endlessly in my mind, complete with trumpet fanfare and fireworks, but now that it was real, it felt strangely normal to see him. I checked, and he felt the same way. How could it be so prosaic? I plumped for an answer that felt good: ‘I think we’re back where we belong, Chief, so why should it be exciting to come home?’

      He tightened his grip on my shoulders. ‘That’s right, Bun.’

      I was in our bedroom, unpacking my accordion. ‘Listen to this!’ I launched into a halting rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’.

      ‘That’s great, Bun! Can we have sex now?’

      ‘Don’t you want to hear “Over the Waves”? I can almost do it without stopping.’

      ‘I’ve got vodka in the freezer!’ He ran off to get me a shot, then proffered it across my heaving bellows. I stopped playing, unstrapped myself and drank up. It felt good to be held again. Oh, yes! I thought. Sex is nice, isn’t it? Why did I always forget?

      ‘Oh, my Bun,’ sighed Jack afterwards, drifting into a sleepy miasma. ‘It’s so great to have you back. I can’t wait to show you off to everyone tomorrow.’

      I lay beside him in the dark, wide awake. Fuck. I was here. I’d made it all happen. The car engine had stopped, but this time the melancholy of arrival was tinged with wicked relief, as if I’d avoided cleaning up after a wild party by running away at dawn. Now I couldn’t look after Mum.

      The next morning I began to meet my new housemates. Let’s start at the front of the house and work our way back.

       Main bedroom

       In the bed

      Name: Kyle

      Age: 25

      Appearance: pulled-up knee socks with shorts

      Philosophy: evangelical Christian

      Source: Texas

      Occupation: art student

      Manner: silent but creepy

      Liked:

       On the floor

      Name: Mike

      Age: 42

      Appearance: short, fat and hairy

      Philosophy: evangelical Christian (same church)

      Source: Texas (same town)

      Occupation: sound engineer for touring production of Les Misérables

      Manner: jovial

      Liked:

      Back bedroom (back half of the double parlour. In auditory terms, the same room)

      Name: Jack

      Age: 25

      Appearance: tall, handsome, etc.

      Philosophy: BA/it rains for a reason

      Source: Wales and America

      Occupation: copywriter/misanthropic poet

      Manner: plodding, well-intentioned

      Liked: