do you know her, Swedish?” Wild asks, picking up his stein and tipping the whisky into his throat. “I know I keep asking.” He wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “But you keep on not saying. She says she’s never met you before, yet you two act like you’re the oldest of friends.”
For a moment Julian is silent. “Like you and me?” he says.
“We’re men, it doesn’t count. We can make friends with anybody.”
“I suppose.” Julian stares down the tunnel, wishing for a train to come and derail his angst. “But about the other thing … does she like me?”
“Who wouldn’t like you, Swedish?”
“Well, Finch, for one.”
“Because you’re trying to pinch his butter. You won’t leave his butter alone.” Wild rattles his empty cup.
Julian pours again, they clink and drink. “So if she likes me,” he says, “why hasn’t she broken up with him?”
“You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you?” Wild says. “Why? Because she’s known him since they were in nappies, and she’s known you since yesterday, that’s why. As you appeared out of thin air, you could vanish into thin air. You’re an unknown quantity,” he adds. “An amusing quantity, but unknown nonetheless.” He burps. “But also, do you know what I do when I want to ask a girl a question? I ask the girl. I don’t ask her plastered friend who knows nothing.”
“I don’t want to put her on the spot.”
“Yes, but making love to her in public in front of her beau, such as he is, is not putting her on the spot?”
They clink.
Julian sighs. “You think I should leave her alone?”
“No, mate. I think you should ask her a question.”
Minutes pass. After a while, Wild speaks. He doesn’t look at Julian. “You got any brothers, Swedish?”
“Yeah,” Julian says. “I got five.”
“Five! Fuck me. So lucky.” Wild raises his cup. “What are their names?”
“Brandon, Rowan, Harlan, me, Tristan, and Dalton.”
“Amazing. How was that growing up?”
“Awesome. Loud.”
“I bet. And your mum handled it?”
“Mom is Norwegian. Nothing fazes her.”
“Do they all have kids now?”
“Yeah. Like fifteen all in all.”
“Unbelievable. Where are they all at, Wales?”
Julian clams up.
Wild misunderstands. “Your brothers, are they still alive?”
“Yeah.” Julian doesn’t say more. “I’m sorry, Wild.”
“But I know you lost somebody, too,” Wild says, his voice quaking. “I can tell. Who was it, that girl on the ship?”
“Yes,” Julian says. “The way you can’t talk to me about your brother, I can’t talk to you about her.”
“I could tell you ended your story too soon. Is that who Folgate reminds you of?”
“Something like that.” They both drink like they need it. “But I’ll tell you this,” Julian says. “I had friends growing up, though none of them especially close because I didn’t need it, you know? I had my brothers. But when I was eighteen and went to college, I met a guy named Ashton. I don’t remember a time in my adult life when he was not by my side, through everything, no matter what. My mother called him her seventh son. I was never closer to anyone than I was to him. He was my blood brother.” The memories, just behind his eyes, had not faded. Only life had faded. Julian moved through the days in the dark; he had lost his sight. But he remembered everything, as if he could still see. “I can tell you about him, if you want.”
“Oh, yeah?” Wild says absent-mindedly. “I like that name, Ashton. Never heard it before. What was he like?”
“He was a good guy. He was a great friend.” Julian inhales. “You remind me a bit of him.”
“I’m not surprised, because I’m a great guy. So what happened to him?”
“He’s still somewhere, over the earth. I’m sure of it.”
“My brother, too,” Wild says. “Awake all night, like us.”
“Drinking, talking about girls, uncovering the mysteries of life.”
“Knowing Louis, probably just drinking, Swedish.”
Side by side on the floor of the Central Line platform, Wild and Swedish sit, finishing the whisky, telling each other stories of those they lost and couldn’t save, of those they left behind.
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