“I do want to come! I’ve been wanting to go for ages. There are just too many reasons not to - it’s so hot, and the train will be crowded and I’m seeing my aunt next week... If it was any other day it would be fine. I wish -”
“It would be nice if you came,”
“I want to! But there are too many problems! Shit. I’ve got too many thoughts in my head!”
“I’m not going to put any pressure on,”
“You’re going to have such a nice time!”
“I have to go now. If you’re sure you don’t want to come...”
“Have a nice day!” she shrieked.
The door shut behind him.
Robbie cycled twenty minutes to the station and took his bike on the train. He hoped that Billy would make it - Billy had wanted to start an hour later but Robbie had thought they should set off in good time. And yes, at the next stop Billy was there, looking dishevelled and possibly unshowered. He lifted his bike aboard and sat down, a white mask like a pair of underpants stretched across his chin. Billy was large, and so handsome that he used to get jobs off it when he was a student, working in trendy bars, standing around in expensive shops. He found his appearance rewarding but secretly feared that the joke was on him. Once people knew him they’d think, that fool, why has he been so privileged?
He was pleased when he saw that Robbie was by himself, without Eudora. He wouldn’t have minded if she had come, but he thought it was even better that she hadn’t.
They got off at Ashford - it was still early, quiet and not too warm - and cycled past the outlet village, the brownfield sites and estates of family homes on the road out, brown walls behind frothy verges. The sun shone on the A2042. The bike lane was spacious and empty. The cars going past at intervals sounded like respiration - giant and soothing, rip and exhale and fade. The sky was blue and muggy with exhaust fumes, the leaves had a tint of sky.
When they were out in flat farmland they could cycle next to each other. The road had no camber and petered into grass on either side. The fields were studded with sheep. Hench lambs barrelled into their mothers and plundered their teats, nearly knocking them down.
“This reminds me of where I grew up,” said Robbie. “This kind of flat, agricultural landscape. But there weren’t as many sheep.”
“I grew up around sheep,” said Billy. “These ones are ready for slaughter.”
Such big boys.
“I meant to tell you - good news on the Astralopam project,” said Billy. “I’ve had an email from Megan, and she basically said it was a great idea and they’d definitely encourage an application…”
There had been a few incidents at Billy’s last couple of jobs - the time he’d decided to tell his manager what he thought of her, the time that he’d published some inaccuracies that turned out to be legally comprising, the time he trained a bot to do his work but the bot betrayed him. Now he was going freelance, trying to get funding to investigate a drug being stockpiled by the American government. Robbie had offered to help with writing a grant application, and over a few months the project had changed and extended in subtle ways till the whole thing implicitly depended on him. At times when Robbie was less involved and the project slowed, Billy would get anxious about money.
“Cool, I think your proposal’s pretty strong,” said Robbie.
“Yeah, it’s nearly there, we just need to tighten it up a bit,” said Billy. “We should firm up some dates - you can just schedule something in on google calendar - I’m totally happy to work around whatever you’ve got going on.”
For Robbie, being on his bike was a pleasure but also a torment as he couldn’t check his phone. There was work, and he had some issues with his landlord, who would only ever make contact with him and ignored Eudora. Men responded well to Robbie. They found him reassuring, and expected him to help them with things, which he did. The tire and the tarmac created the perfect resistance between them. He pushed forward with automatic movements that felt almost effortless: with the necessity of true momentum. He often felt that he was pushing people forward, with his well-developed sense of necessity. Billy, Eudora…
They came to the road that runs alongside the sea. It lay far off, past the depleted grass of the esplanade and the brown, flat beach of New Romney. They looked at its stillness that they knew was lurching with power, a grey line like a limit when really it was just getting started. Billy felt what he always felt at first sight of it: hostility. So this is the sea we’ve heard so much about. Robbie thought it looked nice in the sun.
Billy hadn’t had any breakfast and started cycling intently down the Grand Parade, towards the celebrated sandwich shack at Dungeness.
* * *
They were having a wonderful day and nothing was missing. She checked her phone. She wasn’t going to send any messages that might betray anxiety and boredom - those esteemed colleagues. There was a little drip of panic in her chest, pulse racing like a horse. She put down the cup of coffee - her third cup. It was the same every weekend, but the desire was too strong to overcome till the palpitations had already started.
She thought she should make the most of the day. It would be too hot, anyway, cycling in this weather. It would be nicer to go to the park. She imagined saying to Robbie later - “Such a chill day.” She picked up her phone and checked the sound was on. There were no new messages. Guessing at times, based on the National Rail App and google maps, they were probably there by now.
It was hot and stuffy and the windows wouldn’t open. The landlord was ignoring her messages. He didn’t respond, so she left more and more voicemails, but no result. Time dragged, it yawned out, then sometimes she sat in one place and it burned a hole in her mind and two hours had gone past. Her armpits felt sweaty.
She stood up - it was imperative she should at least stand up - and went to the fridge, opened the door, closed it. She started to eat a biscuit, then spat out the masticated lump into the bin. In the other room, her phone made a volley of pings. Billy had posted some pictures to the group: one of him and Robbie smiling at a picnic table, one of Billy looking large and naked, wearing very short shorts, in front of a lighthouse.
Everyone on the thread replied <3 and Well done, lads! They sent pictures of themselves in nature. This is me at the shack when I went to Dungeness last year! This is me when I went to Snowdonia, me when I went to Dorset. I hate you all, she posted, in her mind.
The trip to Dungeness would be something endlessly referred back to by Billy. Anything in service of the myth of his enjoyment. She opened the fridge again and took out a bottle of wine. “For the pain,” she said out loud as she poured a glass.
It hit her quickly. Her head was full of wet towels, dishwater on the brain. There wasn’t much left in the bottle so she finished it. This is hedonistic, she thought. This is almost as glamorous as having friends.
You can go any time. You can go any time and it will be just as good. The deluge of notifications had tailed off, but she muted it anyway.
You’ve been to places, she told herself. You’ve gone on trips. But her efforts to insinuate herself into the good times were still futile. “Were you there?” people would say lazily, reminiscing. Yes, I was there. Sulking in the backdrop.
“You ugly bitch, I’ll kill you,” said Eudora. “I’ll kill you every day of your life.”
* * *
A cruise-liner rested on the edge of the sea, bloated and weightless. The stress of work and London did seem far away. Despite the drugged atmosphere Robbie’s mind was clear, holding the featureless sky and not much else. Was this clarity, or was it the opposite? Moments of rest seemed like a deception - he was deceiving himself that it was a good idea to stop thinking about things, but wasn’t he at the top of his game when his mind was ticking over, meeting new problems as they came, and before they came?
They’d had lunch - Billy had extra chips. Robbie’s puritanism didn’t allow extra portions, but they both had an ice-cream after they’d seen Prospect Cottage. Standing in the garden, half aware of bright flowers at ankle height, they’d seen someone who wasn’t Derek Jarman hiding behind the blinds. They talked about which lighthouse they preferred - Robbie liked the older one that looked like a black pudding. Billy liked the newer one, with white and black stripes. They had paddled in the sea. Now they were sitting on the light-coloured shingle, warm and dry.
“Sorry to talk business,” said Billy - he wanted Robbie to put him in touch with a friend of his who might be able to help with some data for the project. Their bikes were next to them on the beach, lying on their sides looking broken and desolate, but they’d be good to go as soon as they stood up. They had a talk about lube. “Lube is great,” said Billy. “You can’t use too much lube. There’s no such thing.”
Robbie checked his phone - his landlord had texted, and asked him to tell Eudora to stop calling him. Billy waited while Robbie went through his emails and replied to them all - Robbie liked to get things done. He wished no-one would ever message him, but it was like holding back the tides. He checked his phone again. His sister wanted to know if he could help her boyfriend with finding a job - maybe in his organisation?
Billy was anxious about money - he had broken up with his girlfriend, a heartbreaking decision, but she had paid most of the rent and now things were difficult for him.
“Dude, no, it was so good,” said Billy, remembering a party he went to for Mack’s birthday. “It was this big house, they had a pool, it was so chill, all just hanging out, good people, good food...”
Billy was generous in his assessments of other people, as he wanted people to be generous with him.
“I used to love going to the beach with my parents,” said Robbie. “They had a beach hut. Actually, me and my sister were always quite bored.”
“Speaking of … dude, we should head.”
Robbie liked to remember the afternoons with his family, and the contempt he had felt for the whole ritual at the time. It felt good to be in relation to it, it felt good to be away. That was what you got from time with a friend - the understanding of coming together freely and going your different ways, a fundamental non-dependence. Perhaps the advantage of friendship was in its limits. It was good to be outdoors with someone who didn’t love you.
Billy was used to a general uneasiness, but the contentment that overlaid it that afternoon was warm and genuine. There was even satisfaction in the mistaken route and the sweat of the long cycle back. The experiences and the bonds he cultivated felt valid: it had been a nice day. They got on the train at Ashford and spread out across a four seater, with a few tins and a bag of crisps. A few more comments pinging in on the chat.
Billy felt all the relief and the achievement of having had a nice day.
