Malcolm had almost given up on ever finding that special someone. Joining the online dating agency was the final throw of the dice. It was a special offer: one free date with no obligation. Malcolm’s turned out to be a 37-year-old, vegetarian librarian called Georgina, a football-loving exponent of Tai-chi.
“Have you been here before?” she asked as they sat in Major Tom’s, the trendy café-bar she had suggested for the date.
“No,” he said. “Can’t say I have.”
She was an open-faced woman with long silver earrings and cropped hair that was bleached pure white.
“So, what do you think of it?” she said.
“Yes. Very nice,” said Malcolm, with a definite ‘but’ implied.
She laughed and gave him a little punch on the shoulder.
“No,” he said. “It’s just not the sort of place I’d normally patronize.”
She smiled. “So, Malcolm Madely. You’re a care-assistant, in a nursing home. You must need a lot of patience to do that.”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.” She had a small tattoo of a red rose, he noticed, on her left arm just below the shoulder. “And you, Georgina? Your details said you work in a library.”
“Yes, I love being around books, me. What about you? Do you read much?
“Not as much as I’d like.”
“Oh, I’ve always got one or two on the go. I especially like novels about what I call ‘the existential problem’.”
He maintained eye contact as he nodded.
“Your online profile,” she said, “described your main interest as music. What kind do you like?”
“Oh, opera mostly. Bizet, Verdi, Puccini, and I’m a big Mozart man.”
Tilting her head to one side, she studied his face. “How do you feel about Gangsta-rap?”
”Gangsta-rap?” he said, almost choking on his Earl Grey. “ What, vulgar rhymes about violence and loose women? I’ve never really thought. Though I did see one once, a rapper, on TV. Biggie Smalls he was called.”
An hour later, when they were in their coats and ready to leave, Georgina said, “So, Malcolm Madely, give me a call some time.”
Though, as he watched her walk away, he sensed it was a mere politeness and that she couldn’t possibly have any real interest in him. He also reminded himself that he hadn’t been brought up to throw good money away, so he decided this would be his only foray into the online dating scene, despite the agency’s tempting new “Buy two, get one free” offer.
Arriving home to his compact one-bedroom flat, he settled down in front of the TV to a Chinese take-away of sweet and sour pork with aromatic mixed vegetables on a bed of special fried rice. As he started in on the convenient yet tasty Oriental fare, his spirits rose. An episode of ‘Gimme, Gimme, Gimme’ was about to start on UKTV Gold. The riotous sit-com was a particular favourite of Malcolm’s. He loved watching the two hungry-for-a-man characters of Tom, the gay, mostly ‘resting’, actor and Linda, his foul-mouthed flatmate, played by the multi-talented Kathy Burke. Once or twice he had imagined what fun it would be to stay for the night at Tom and Lindy’s, sleeping on their funky sofa, perhaps. He wouldn’t be any trouble.
Half an hour later, as the show’s closing credits rolled, Malcolm stretched out and yawned. Sleep had always been a refuge to him. Through whatever storms life cast his way, it was the anchor upon which he could rely. Muscles relaxed and heart rate slowed, it wasn’t long before he drifted off. Minutes later the first delta waves appeared in his brain. REM sleep then followed and he found himself slipping into a dream.
He was lying face-down on a sun-lounger, on the deck of a cruise-liner, Existentialist Of The Sea. From above him came a woman’s voice.
“You’ve got a lovely arse.”
Turning his head, hand raised against the harsh glare of the Caribbean sun, he recognised the face. It was Kathy Burke, and she was rubbing his back with Irish butter.
“Turn over, you big hunk,” she said. “I’ll do your front.”
He watched her unclip her polka-dot bikini top then let it fall.
“Look at me,” she said, arching her back, daring him to touch. “I’m gorgeous.”
Malcolm woke with a start and despite scrambling hard against gravity’s force, he couldn’t stop himself from sliding off the sofa. It was 1am. He got up and hurried off to use the bathroom then undressed and got into bed. Lying there in the darkness, he remembered the dream. It gave him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. Shame it had to end, he thought as he closed his eyes and pulled the duvet up to his chin.
A minute later he was asleep again and he fell into another dream. This time he was in a park, and aged about 15. Some boys were playing football while he looked on, his hands stuffed deep inside the pockets of his beige, Chino-style trousers. He was hoping they would ask him to join in, but it didn’t look as if they would.
Then the game stopped and they all turned as a figure approached. It was Kathy Burke — although she didn’t look like Kathy Burke in the dream. She was dressed as a mascot with a big lion’s head and the full England football kit.
“You be on our side, Kath,” said one boy.
“No, we want her on ours,” said another.
“Well, you can’t have her,” said the first.
Waving them both away, Kathy made straight for Malcolm. “No,” she said and she placed a finger on her lion’s cheek. “I’m not going to play with you rough boys today. I want to play with Malcolm.” She lowered her eyes then looked up at him and smiled. “Come on, then, you,” she said, prodding him in the chest. “Let’s see what you’re made of. Let’s see if you can score with me between the sticks.”
Malcolm woke late the next morning, and had to rush to work. He thought no more about the dreams through the day. After dinner that evening, he sat in front of the TV, surfing the channels for a while, then decided on an early night, and once again he dreamt of Kathy Burke.
Indeed, from now on whenever Malcolm slept, he dreamt of Kathy. For a time this bothered him. He looked it up on the internet and had it confirmed that it wasn’t considered entirely normal to keep dreaming about the same person in this way, night after night. So what was happening to him? Was he losing his mind? But after a while, he adopted a more sanguine view and abandoned himself to his thrilling encounters with Kathy.
Then one night things changed. He dreamt he was in the market town of Basingstoke, trudging the streets in search of Kathy, but the place was deserted. Then he realized: he was the sole survivor of some terrible Armageddon. He tried to cheer himself up with a little light window-shopping in the town’s Festival Place. There was a big sale on at Debenham’s, he noticed. Though, without Kathy by his side, unbeatable reductions on all homeware items plus amazing credit deals left him unmoved.
At first he hoped that ‘Basingstoke’ might prove to be a one-off, but from now on Kathy refused to feature in his dreams. He wondered whether she might return if he dreamt more. He tried eating cheese at bed-time, and sleeping with his head at the foot of the bed, then setting an alarm to wake him at regular intervals throughout the night. But nothing helped.
So he decided on a different tack: he would go and see the real-life Kathy Burke. He ran a Google search on the net and discovered she was directing a new play called ‘Smaller’ at Brighton’s Theatre Royal. He phoned the ticket hot line and booked a seat for the following evening’s performance.
Travelling by train to Brighton, he arrived at the theatre and couldn’t believe who he saw standing in a corner of the foyer, unnoticed by the eager throng. Fragmented images from dreams the two of them had shared passed through his mind, like the trailer to some strange, arthouse film. After a while, she noticed him staring and returned his look with an uneasy half-smile. He seized the moment to go over and speak to her. “Hello,” he said, “I’m a big fan, a great admirer of your work.”
“That’s sweet,” she said.
As they chatted about the play, he found her open and friendly, and much more serious than he had imagined. But then, he thought, why shouldn’t she be? After all, she wasn’t the woman in his dreams. That ‘Kathy Burke’ was his own invention, a composite of the Lindy character from ‘Gimme, Gimme’ plus God knows who else. Finally, he shook her hand. “It was nice to meet you,” he said then he turned and left without seeing the play.
On his walk home from the station, he wondered how he might fill what remained of the evening. He could stop off for a take-away at the China Syndrome: the sweet and sour pork with vegetables and rice, his all-time favourite. Then, if he hurried, he could catch ‘Have I Got News For You’ on BBC1. The topical quiz show’s unique brand of satirical banter always made him smile. It was a good plan, he decided, safe and comfortable.
But on route to the Chinese eatery, he came to Major Tom’s, and a strange thing happened: he stood for a moment then decided to go inside. And as he sat there, drinking dry white wine at the same window table they had shared on the date, he tried to imagine what she might be doing now: reading one of her existential novels, perhaps, or practising Tai-chi, or watching a big football match on TV. He felt his shoulder. It still held the memory of her playful punch.
Taking his phone from his jacket pocket, he found the number and dialled. Moments later her voice came on the line. “Hello, Georgina,” he said.
Then there was silence before he heard her say, “Malcolm Madely. Is that you? I’d almost given you up for dead.”
RAYMOND CARVER
