| For the third
time Manny took his case from
the bottom of the wardrobe and dropped it onto the bed,
and Bernard
threw it back into the wardrobe. Manny sighed, frustrated. "You don't want me around so why are you trying to keep me here?" "Who says I don't want you around?" "You do! Everyday!" He grabbed the case again and placed it higher up on the bed so that he stood between it and his insane employer. He saw Bernard slump against the damp wall out of the corner of his eye and taking that to mean surrender, he began to load the case. "I don't want you to leave." It was spoken so softly in the thick Irish drawl Manny wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "What?" "I don't want you to leave." The volume stayed the same but the words were clearer. "Why not, Bernard? Why could you possibly want me to stay around?" He threw in his Y-Fronts and socks in one semi-clean bundle. "I could give you lots of reasons." But Bernard's confidence didn't inspire the same in Manny. "I don't count cleaning, cooking and looking after the shop as valid reasons." Bernard opened his mouth but closed it again, and Manny pulled open the top drawer and grabbed an armful of shirts. "Fran misses you. Last time you left she went mad. She cried over your yo-yo." He hesitated. He hadn't even considered Fran the last time. It had been between he and Bernard. It was always between he and Bernard. "I'll call her." His jeans and suit came next, sitting on top of the rest of his clothes. "I didn't think..." glancing up, he realised Bernard was no longer standing there. Case packed, Manny took a last look around the tiny bedroom he'd been sleeping in for over two years. In the corner, the pile of Sweeney videos Bernard had bought him for his birthday last year. He remembered unwrapping his gifts - the tapes and the Espresso machine - and being blown away by how much Bernard had spent on him. He'd stared at the other man in amazement but Bernard had shrugged it off and had never brought it up. In return, he'd bought a case of very expensive red wine for Christmas, which Bernard had shown his appreciation for by ensuring he only opened a bottle at the start of the day, when he could actually taste it. But silent 'thank you's and unspoken 'please's weren't enough for him any longer. He loaded the tapes into a carrier bag and picked up his case. With a heavy heart, he took the stained wooden stairs one at a time. "You can't leave." Bernard was sitting on the kitchen table, something clutched in his hands. "It's for your good as well as mine...." "What does that mean?" he snapped. "I encourage bad habits in you! You never do anything for yourself, you sleep most of the morning because you know I'll open up, you get completely pissed every day because you know I'll stop you from doing anything completely stupid...." "That's just what you're being now!" "What?" "Completely stupid! You're being stupid. And selfish." "Selfish?" "You're leaving me." Manny dropped his case and put the carrier bag down carefully, patiently explaining, "I'm not leaving you, Bernard. I work for you, I'm quitting my job. That's all. You're making it personal." "I'm making it personal? You're the one spouting crap about it being... good for both of us." His expression and tone as he faltered made it clear that he knew there was something wrong with what he'd just said but he wasn't about to go back and correct it. "Bernard," Manny took a step forward, drawn by abject despair where he was used to seeing simple misery, "you'll find someone else to run the shop." "But not to make me toast! Not to pour my wine." He looked away. "Not to make sure I don't do anything stupid." Manny spread his hands. "Don't you see? That's exactly the problem! I'm not your employee! I'm your... your maid! Your housekeeper." "My friend?" He barely caught the muttered query, yet it echoed in his ears. "Of... of course." Suddenly he knew he couldn't win this argument. He would never convince Bernard this was for their own good. He either made the break or he stayed here, his future a never-ending string of insults and orders, living out his middle age in a kitchen that seemed to move when you weren't quite watching it, sleeping in a bedroom the size of a dog kennel. No. Not a chance. He shook his head and picked up his bags. "I cried over your yo-yo." Despite stopping him dead, half-way through the arch between the kitchen and the shop, Manny couldn't quite believe he'd heard it. He looked back, over his shoulder, and saw what Bernard was holding in his hands. The yo-yo whose string Bernard had cut, one of the reasons Manny had left the last time and ended up in the hands of the beard pervert photographer pimp. "Where did you get that?" "I kept it." "Why?" "To remind me." Turning slightly, Manny frowned. "Remind you of what?" "Of how it felt. Last time." The words sounded as if they were being wrenched out one by one. "When you left!" "You... cried?" He didn't wait for an answer to that one. "You really missed me?" Bernard fiddled with the amputated yo-yo, not looking up. "Yes, I really missed you." "You didn't say anything, when I came back." "You just... appeared. I didn't know what to say, I didn't know where you'd been or what you'd done." He glanced up just for a second. "I still don't. But it was enough you were back. I didn't need to know." Dropping his bags once again, Manny pushed his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what to do, Bernard. Sometimes you treat me like a kid, sometimes like a parent, sometimes like a..." he pulled at his hair, "..like a partner or a spouse or something." He was losing control of this conversation, of this resignation. Again. But he finally noticed Bernard wasn't denying anything he'd said. "I want respect," he said, answering a question that hadn't been asked. "I want a life outside of this place. And I want to redecorate my bedroom." "Fine." "To which part?" "All of them." "Why does it take me quitting once every six months to get you to treat me nicely for a couple of weeks?" Bernard stood up. He reached for Manny's hand and put the yo-yo into his palm, holding it there for just a moment. "You have to remind me." Sighing softly, Manny took his bags back up to his room as Bernard dropped into his usual position behind his desk, somehow simultaneously picking up a corkscrew, a fag, a glass, a bottle and a book. On his way back downstairs, Manny dropped the yo-yo onto the little table next to Bernard's bed, for when he needed reminding again. |