| Bernard had
never actually needed all that much to keep him going.
Supplied with a steady flow of wine, cigarettes and the
occasional breakfast, he’d go on relatively contentedly.
It had never seemed to Fran that he’d be happy sharing
that with anyone. And it was easy to see why, she thought
– most people would do it recreationally, but to Bernard
it was simply how he lived. It had been one of the main reasons behind Fran’s puzzlement at how quickly Bernard had adapted to Manny’s presence. It hadn’t taken long for the two of them to develop a bizarre, almost symbiotic relationship. Not that it struck her as anything anyone should strive for; symbiotic or not, it hardly seemed harmonious. Fran was further mystified by Manny’s resilience when it came to Bernard’s behaviour. He could take anything that was thrown at him, even if it did lead to him resigning every other week. And Bernard, for all his surly contempt regarding all things not directly related to his sphere of interest, actually seemed to… not necessarily enjoy, much less appreciate, but… tolerate the things Manny had brought with him to that miserable, dingy shop. Cinema. Washing. Standard lamps. And to Fran it looked like Manny was one of those things Bernard just needed. Neither of them had known it would be like that; she hadn’t intended for any of this to happen in the first place. Offering Bernard’s spare room to Manny had been something of a joke to her, even if she had quite enjoyed the idea of this lovely man living next door to her shop. She’d known it would rile Bernard up, but then – everything did. She’d given them a week, at most. But there they were, months later, sitting together by Bernard’s desk. Full in the knowledge that no-one was going to come by the shop this close to closing time, they sat with wine in their glasses, snug as bugs, and oblivious to everything that went on around them. Even to her, it seemed, and she was right there with them. It was fascinating. Fran sat back and watched them with the keen interest of a deranged gardener. They really were always together, the two of them, weren’t they? Working hours and free time. Every day. And what was that thing Bernard had told her when Manny had first left? Something about seeing Manny all day and all night every day. And then there was the touching. All that… unnecessary pawing. She couldn’t help but consider the possibilities. “What are you grinning at?” Fran blinked at the familiar bark and put out her cigarette. She hadn’t been aware of the smile on her face, but she was aware of the laughter in her voice as she spoke. “Oh, nothing… why?“ “Why?” Bernard snapped. “Because you’ve had that stupid, fatuous, insipid smile on your face for hours. I thought you said it’ll give you wrinkles. And you look like a fool!” Manny piped in. “Has something nice happened, Fran?” Why don’t you tell me. A fresh scheme was quickly taking form in her mind. “It might have, actually.” Two faces looked at her in blank bewilderment as she toyed with the nearest empty bottle. “Have you ever played Truth, Manny?” “Well, I – ye –“ Bernard interrupted. “We are not playing Truth. Socializing games do not survive in this house. You want to know something, just ask.” He shifted in his chair. Fran thought she caught a look of alarm on Manny’s face. “You do realise I could make you play Truth,” she said matter-of-factly and glared menacingly at Bernard’s guilty-looking hair. “But fine. There is something I want to know, actually.” Manny blushed and noisily drained the dregs of his wine. Bernard turned a page. “Ready? I’m going to ask,” Fran teased. “I’m going to ask you one thing.” Silence. “Ready?” The book slammed shut. “Right, get out.” She had no time to put up a decent struggle while a curiously warm hand guided her insistently towards the door, accompanied by an all too familiar, indignant slur of Bernard’s. “You and your probing! Is there no privacy? My house!” It was more or less exactly the answer she’d been hoping for. Satisfied, Fran shot a radiant smile at the grubby door, turned on her heel, and decided she’d let them be - for a while, at least. |