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Friday 3rd April 1995, 11:08am
(Y/N)'s apartment,
Camden,
London
The day before.
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There are some moments in my life that make me feel as if I am living in an art house film. As I listened to His N Hers, a record I had only just persuaded myself to buy, I realised that the time I'd spent in Sheffield almost two years ago were a perfect example of this. I found myself walking over to the dog shaped biscuit barrel on my bookshelf, or, as it's current use wasn't holding biscuits, the dog shaped 'random shit' barrel. I grabbed it down and rooted through it, pulling out an envelope with an object inside. After returning the odd container I sat down at my sofa again, tipping the contents of the envelope onto the coffee table. I'd opened it already of course, I knew what was inside, but listening to the Pulp record made me want to drag it out again. It contained a note and a lighter; a clipper lighter with a smiling naked Hawaiian lady on it. I pocketed the lighter and unfolded the note to read it once again. It was scribbled in biro, the date printed neatly in the top corner as if in afterthought.
The song on the album is for you. I hope you like the present, it reminded me of our time together.
It was signed off with his initials and a single kiss. April 1994, the date read. I sighed, folding it back up and putting it into the envelope once more.
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Saturday 8th January 1994, 11:07am
A Rented Flat,
High Green,
Sheffield
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I stood above him, watching him sleep, taking a moment before waking him up. He was in the same clothes as the previous night, I was the one who'd taken his jacket and shoes off, but he was pretty much passed out on the sofa before I could sort him any better. He didn't fit. The couch was an average size and his long legs hung with his feet over the armrest.
He began to stir, his eyes flicking open as he sat up, blinking hard and holding a hand to his head, he looked at me and his surroundings in confusion. I shook my head, laughing to myself.
"Hullo," I smiled, and he glanced up, meeting my eye. He mirrored my greeting with the dreary tone of a deeply hungover man. After a silence, he spoke again.
"Why am I here?" he groaned, rubbing circles on his temples.
"You suggested we come back to mine last night, and as soon as you fell through to door you were passed out on the settee."
"Ah, I may have had a bit to much to drink, I suppose," he grinned, his deep and gentle voice growling through me. I felt the tips of my ear go slightly red, unusually, as I wasn't the person who would get flustered about such a thing.
"It's fine, although a shame," I replied, a little coyly. He raised an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?" He asked. I leant down to his ear and whispered exactly what I meant, although it wasn't something I'd like to repeat. Jarvis looked surprised, albeit only for a second. He wetted his lips, sat up properly now. I saw his eyes flicker over me, hesitating on my lips. He seemed to be calculating what to do. As he leaned in, I leaned away.
"Cup of tea?" I asked, enjoying watching him trying to wrap his head around what was happening. He nodded, moving his gaze to his hands. In the short time I'd become closely acquainted with him, I noticed Jarvis didn't tend to make eye contact. I found it quite charming about him.
I went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove. This wasn't my flat. I was renting it for my time in Sheffield. It was Jarvis who suggested we come up here, he wanted to visit his family and as I hadn't been up north since my dad had died, he suggested I come with him. Of course he was drunk when he offered and I never expect much of it, but he stuck to his idea after he'd sobered up. I decided to get a flat for the couple of weeks that we were here so as not to impose on Jarvis' parents. I had only properly met him less than a week ago. I'd been at a few parties where the enigmatic Pulp frontman had been, but our relationship had only begun very recently.
