Waiting for Wednesday

you names, Chloë, but
he’s got to want to –’
    ‘I don’t need names, Frieda.
I’ve got you.’
    ‘Oh no you don’t.’
    ‘You have to help.’
    ‘I don’t. This is not the way to
do it.’
    ‘Please. You don’t understand. I
really like him and he’s so messed up.’ She grabbed Frieda’s hand.
‘Oh, fuck, he’s here already. He’s just come in.’
    ‘You haven’t done what I think
you’ve done?’
    ‘I had to,’ hissed Chloë,
leaning forward. ‘You wouldn’t have come if I’d told you and neither
would Ted.’
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘You can make him better.’
    ‘His mother’s been killed,
Chloë. How can I make him better?’
    Frieda stood up, and as she did, Ted
stumbled past the bar and saw them both. He stopped and stared. He was in the same
dishevelled, undone state as before – clothes flapping, trousers slipping down, laces
trailing, hair falling over his pale face, the hectic blotches on his cheeks. He stared
from Chloë to Frieda, then back again.
    ‘You?’ he said.
‘What’s going on?’
    Chloë scrambled to her feet and went over to
him. ‘Ted,’ she said. ‘Listen.’
    ‘What’s she doing here? You
tricked
me.’
    ‘I wanted to help you,’ said
Chloë, desperately. For a moment Frieda felt very sorry for her niece. ‘I thought
if you two could just talk a bit …’
    ‘I don’t need help. You should
see my sisters. They’re the ones who need help. I’m not a little kid any
more.’ He looked at Chloë. ‘I thought you were my friend.’
    ‘That’s not fair,’ said
Frieda, sharply. He turned his wretched, sneering face towards her. ‘I agree Chloë
acted wrongly. But she did it because she
is
your friend and she cares.
Don’t lash out at her. You need your friends.’
    ‘I’m not going to lie on your
fucking couch.’
    ‘Of course you’re
not.’
    ‘And I’m not going to cry and
say my life is over now Idon’t have a mother.’ But his
voice rose dangerously high as he stared at her defiantly.
    ‘No. And it isn’t. Maybe we can
just get out of here, the three of us, and have some tea or a mug of hot chocolate or
something in the little place across the road, which is quiet and doesn’t have
dreadful paintings on the wall, and then we can all go back to our separate homes, and
no real harm done.’
    Chloë sniffed and gazed pleadingly at
him.
    ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I
haven’t had hot chocolate for years. Not since I was a kid.’ As if he was a
middle-aged man.
    ‘Sorry.’ Chloë’s voice was
small.
    ‘It’s all right, I
guess.’
    ‘Good,’ said Frieda. ‘Now
can we get out of here?’
    Chloë and Ted had a mug of hot chocolate
each and Frieda had a glass of water.
    ‘I don’t think it makes things
better,’ said Ted, ‘just because you talk about them.’
    ‘It depends,’ said Frieda.
    ‘I think it makes things worse, like
jabbing a wound to keep it bleeding.
Wanting
it to bleed.’
    ‘I’m not here to make you see
someone you don’t want to see. I just think you should drink your hot
chocolate.’
    ‘Don’t you get sick of spending
your days with rich, narcissistic wankers going on about childhood traumas, endlessly
fascinated by all their noble, manufactured suffering?’
    ‘Your suffering isn’t
manufactured, though, is it?’
    Ted glared at her. His face had a peeled
look, as if even the air would sting him. ‘It’ll pass,’ he said.
‘That’s what my mum would have said. One fucking day at a time.’
    ‘That’s one of the sad things
about people dying,’ said Frieda. ‘We talk about them in the past tense. We
say whatthey would have done. But if that’s what she would have
said, it’s not stupid. Time does pass. Things change.’ She stood up.
‘And now I think we’re done,’ she said.
    Chloë drained her mug. ‘We’re
finished as well,’ she said.
    When they were outside, Frieda was ready to
say goodbye but Chloë seemed reluctant to let her go. ‘Which way are you
going?’
    ‘I’ll walk back through the
park.’
    ‘You’re going in the same
direction as us. Past Ted’s house. Except he’s not staying there.
They’re staying with neighbours.’
    ‘I can speak for myself,’ said
Ted.
    ‘All right,’ said Frieda, and
they started walking, an uneasy trio, with Chloë in the middle.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Chloë said.
‘This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have done this. I’ve embarrassed
you both.’
    ‘You can’t force help on
people,’ said Frieda. ‘But that’s all