Idiopathy

Time both passed and lingered. It was empty; fleeting. People stubbornly existed and were absent. He wondered if he should make calls. He’d been told that effort was important.
    His mother was a self-described fount of wisdom. A well-planned meal could see you through several days. You could be inventive with leftovers and it never really felt like you were eating the same thing. Home-baked bread was both economical and reassuring in that one had far more control over the ingredients. Laundry was best done on a ‘little and often’ basis, as were other household tasks, particularly cleaning. Financially, economically, emotionally and nutritionally, staying on top of things was infinitely preferable to allowing them to mount up. The idea seemed to be that you filled time with the simple act of existence. The quotidian was profoundly demanding. Saving time seemed to take a lot of time. He kept checking his phone but nothing ever happened. He lay awake late into the night and sometimes got up and opened the window for a winter rush. He wondered if he’d ever claimed not to like winter, just for convenience or conversation, because people always said they didn’t like winter. He felt strongly that he did like winter and was going to say so from now on.

    O f course
, Nathan’s mother wrote in her book,
there will always be those dissenting yet misinformed voices who say: But, Helen, this is your fault, you didn’t do enough, you could have done more. And to those people I say: What more could I possibly have done?

    H is mother said he should set a budget. He told her he had no income. She said that she and his father were going to help until Nathan got back on his feet, which was something she seemed to delight in saying. They were going to give him fifty pounds a week but out of that he had to give them twenty in upkeep. This was to help him develop independence. She handed him fifty quid in clean notes. He folded twenty and handed it back. He walked to the shop and spent ten on tobacco and then went to the pub because there was nothing really worth saving for at this point. The light had that oddly vivid, vibratory quality that seems to arrive at the greying of a winter’s day – dimmer than full sunlight, but tuned to a higher contrast, the land looming out in buzzing relief. He could see his breath in front of his face and stepped through the little clouds as he walked. There was no noise aside from the occasional bird. The ground was tough and iced underfoot. Existence seemed very clear, very simple. He felt quite calm, he noticed, when he looked at his feelings as if they were objects.
    The pub was called The Rover. Nathan had been in there maybe twice in his life. The barman didn’t seem overly friendly.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said, distracted by Nathan’s hands. ‘Are those burns?’
    ‘No, just scars.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Pint of Guinness, please.’
    ‘Right.’
    He stuck a pint glass under the tap and let it fill, no pause, no time to settle. Nathan paid and sat at a little round table on a little round stool in the corner, near the door. He looked around for a newspaper. There wasn’t one. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself in the absence of a newspaper and so watched the brown breath of his Guinness as it sought its level. He thought about taking off his coat but he had his shirtsleeves rolled up underneath and he didn’t want to upset anyone. Noting that he didn’t want to upset anyone made him feel pleased. He thought about phoning Katherine again. She hadn’t called, but she would call. If she didn’t call there would be a good reason, and that reason wouldn’t necessarily have much to do with him.
    The door opened, and amidst his usual muted applause of synthetic jacketing, Nathan’s father strolled into the pub. When he saw Nathan he looked briefly guilty, then came and stood beside his table.
    ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I was um …’
    Nathan looked at him, smiled.
    ‘Don’t come in here often,’ said his father, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets and looking around. ‘Not a bad place, is it?’
    ‘It’s nice enough,’ said Nathan.
    ‘Hello Roger,’ called the barman. ‘Usual, is it?’
    Nathan’s father did a little double-take, then looked down at Nathan’s pint, which was over half full.
    ‘Well, I suppose now I’m here …’
    ‘Go ahead,’ said Nathan. ‘I’m drinking slowly.’
    ‘Righto.’
    He ambled off to the bar and returned a minute later with a