Pip. Freya North

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СКАЧАТЬ interesting. How did you get into clowning?’

      ‘Oh,’ said Pip breezily, ‘I think I was possibly born one. No,’ she corrected, ‘necessity dictated I become one very early on – family traumas and all that, so creating laughter and distractions became my responsibility and, soon enough, my forte.’

      There wasn’t a lot Caleb could say to that, so he nodded in what he hoped, by virtue of his bedside-manner physiognomy, was an understanding way.

      ‘Plus,’ Pip continued, quite proud of her c.v., ‘when I was little, a retired clown lived nearby and he used to paint my face for me. I’ve barely modified it since then.’

      They were suddenly aware that Pip was still in her slap and that the other drinkers were casting inquisitive glances in her direction. Pip didn’t mind that she was the centre of some quiet attention; for once, she quite liked it. ‘I have my own egg, you know,’ she announced proudly. ‘Clowns register their clown faces by painting the design on an egg shell,’ she explained, ‘so if you want to check whether I’m kosher, you can visit the Clowns Gallery in Hackney where my egg is displayed alongside hundreds of others.’

      ‘So there’s a whole clown community?’ Caleb asked.

      ‘There’s even a clowns’ church,’ Pip informed him, ‘with a service of thanksgiving for the gift of laughter and the life of Joseph Grimaldi on the first Sunday of February. If I was more God-fearing, I’d go,’ she added almost apologetically.

      ‘I had no idea,’ Caleb mused. ‘I guess I just thought of clowns nowadays as being slightly dodgy entertainers – perhaps comics who aren’t funny enough or acrobats who aren’t accomplished enough or actors who aren’t skilled enough. I imagined you all worked in isolation, leading odd lives, generally hiding behind your masks.’

      ‘I’m a very capable acrobat,’ Pip proclaimed, ‘and I turned down drama college for circus school. I trained under a brilliant French clown called Manouche. I’m also pretty good at trapeze. Clowning is an art, you know,’ she continued earnestly. ‘It requires physical skill, dramatic ability, imagination with a sense of the comic and, perhaps most importantly, an understanding of human nature.’

      ‘Did you run away to the circus?’ Caleb asked.

      ‘No.’

      ‘Have you seen Cirque du Soleil?’

      ‘A billion times.’

      ‘Do you smoke?’ Caleb asked, offering her a cigarette and lighting one for himself.

      ‘Not if I’m sober,’ Pip replied, feeling on the way to woozy but thankfully still at the stage of refusing cigarettes. ‘Look at you, Doctor!’ she remarked. ‘Don’t you know fags’ll kill you?’

      ‘Totally,’ Caleb said darkly, ‘that’s why I do it.’

      Pip took a sip of her drink and thought that she really shouldn’t think he looked sexy the way he drew on the cigarette.

      ‘Ever eaten fire?’ Caleb asked, taking a deep drag.

      ‘No,’ said Pip, ‘but I’ve played with it.’ She was rather pleased with that answer.

      ‘So have I,’ Caleb said somewhat gravely. ‘Do you juggle?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘So do I,’ said Caleb, rather darkly. Pip decided swiftly not to read into this so she suggested they go for food.

      ‘What do you like?’ Caleb wondered.

      ‘I don’t know,’ Pip said. ‘What do you fancy?’

      He drew on his cigarette and regarded her levelly. ‘I fancy you,’ he said, with intense eye contact. Pip giggled though she cursed herself immediately for doing so. She felt nervous – and it irked her.

      ‘I want to get out of these clothes,’ she said, not intending innuendo but quite enjoying Caleb’s raised eyebrow and sly smile.

      Back at St Bea’s, Pip changed and then they had sushi in a place off Liverpool Street. It probably wasn’t a good idea to mix sake with the Sea Breezes she’d had earlier. Certainly not a good idea for it to lead to her happily accepting cigarettes from her date. Though the second made her feel quite queasy, being in the company of a doctor put her at ease. So she had a few puffs of a third but politely declined the suggestion of a nightcap.

      ‘I’m doing face painting in Brent Cross shopping centre tomorrow – I’ll need a steady hand,’ she justified, ‘and then I have a birthday party to do in Hampstead Garden Suburb at tea-time – and I’ll need a clear head if I’m going to do a handstand and God knows what else.’

      ‘Another time?’ Dr Simmons proposed.

      ‘Sure,’ Pip heard herself saying with no pause for thought, ‘why not?’

      What a gent – hailing a black cab and escorting her halfway across London, telling the cabby to wait, please, as he took Pip to her front door.

      ‘Great evening,’ Pip thanked him, wondering in her somewhat boozy and brazen state if he might kiss her; hoping that he would, thinking she really ought to maintain eye contact to encourage this to happen. She looked up from her bag, from pretending to fumble for keys. Lovely eyes, she thought, hers darting away from his; at first shyly, soon enough coquettishly.

      ‘Good-night, then,’ he said, luring her eyes back to his as his face came close to hers. He kissed her gently on the cheek, his lips lightly brushing the corner of her mouth.

      ‘Night,’ Pip all but whispered, keys in her hand, her eyes locked on to his. She lifted her chin and parted her lips and immediately, Caleb’s mouth was on hers and swiftly, his tongue was flickering at her lips. And suddenly, her tongue was in his mouth. The kiss slowed and intensified. He tasted of soy sauce and lager. He tasted of being a man, a doctor called Caleb Simmons. When their mouths separated, suddenly the sound of the taxi’s chuntering diesel engine seemed very loud, very near, somewhat impatient.

      ‘Shall I send the cab away?’ Caleb murmured, using his little finger to lift a lick of hair from the corner of her mouth, using his thumb to smooth it behind her ear. ‘Shall I come in?’

      Pip wanted more kissing. In fact, she wanted a lot more. All of him. All over her. Rude sex would be very nice, thank you very much. They could begin in the cramped porch, start ripping at each other’s clothing in the sitting-room, be down to underwear, dry humping against the wall of the corridor, then arrive at her bed buck naked and raring, even roaring, to go. She had the desire. She had the imagination. Thanks to the Sea Breezes and sake, she had the confidence. And in her bedside drawer, she even had the condoms. The sex would be tantalizingly urgent and over quickly. A fuck. But they’d rest up a little and then do it again, more languid, lasting longer, going further, going deeper, coming to the same conclusion (simultaneously, if they could synchronize).

      Caleb was fondling her breasts through her clothing and Pip, with his thigh between hers, was rubbing herself rhythmically against his leg as they continued to kiss. The cab’s engine was clicketing, the meter running. Sex was an imminent possibility. A pricey one, thought Caleb, estimating the cab fare whilst continuing to tongue Pip. Perhaps too costly, thought Pip, pulling away though it took some strength, mental and physical.

      Pip СКАЧАТЬ