Part 37: link
Is someone sawing timber outside?
Gwen scrunches her eyes together, then blinks them open. It is barely light outside, and Arthur is sprawled on his back beside her, mouth wide open with the most God-awful racket issuing forth.
This is bad, even for him, she thinks, trying her normal tactic of stroking his cheek to get him to turn and shut up. He feels a little warm, she notes, then presses her hand to his cheek, firmer, followed kwa his forehead. It’s not too hot in here. I hope he hasn’t caught something.
She leans over and kisses his forehead, and his skin feels hot against her lips. Damn.
Arthur stirs, snorts, and turns, flopping to his side, facing away from her. He is quieter, but she can tell he’s congested.
She lies back down with a sigh, and tries to go back to sleep.
Gwen dozes fitfully, drifting in and out for a while, listening to Arthur’s stuffy breathing. Finally she gives up and gets up, tucking him in after she rises. She pulls on her vazi and heads out to the kitchen.
She makes a list, throws some clothes on, re-secures her hair back, and heads quietly out.
A short time later, Arthur stirs. He flops over, groping for Gwen and finding only empty bed.
“Ugh,” he groans, opening his eyes and realizing the he feels like his head is under water.
“Guinevere?” he calls, his voice a croak. He tries clearing it to no avail. Then he turns his head and sees a note on the bedside table.
Gone to the market. Back soon. Stay in bed!
He flops back onto the pillow, smiling sadly at the fact that she already knew he was sick. I’m sure I’m allowed to get up to have a pee, he thinks, swinging his feet to the floor and sitting up.
“Whoa,” he says when the room tilts sharply. He waits until the room rights itself before attempting to stand.
He returns and looks for a pair of his shorts. I know I have at least one pair around here somewhere, he thinks, opening drawers and doors, pausing for a moment to appreciate her knickers, before finding them. When he bends to pull them on, it feels like his brain is trying to expand and push its way out of his head.
“Shit,” he exclaims, blinking as he stands. He stumbles over to the kitanda and flops down on it.
Arthur lays there in bed, feeling miserable. He slowly gets up again, shuffles back to the loo, cursing the fact that he didn’t think of this before, digs around for some aspirin, takes it, shuffles back to the kitanda and falls back in.
I was supposed to go back to the gallery today, he thinks sadly, reaching down and pulling the covers up to his chin. He turns onto his side and then pulls the covers over his head.
A sound wakes him up some time later, and Arthur jumps a little, not realizing that he had fallen back to sleep.
Guinevere, he thinks, and snuggles into the covers, feeling a little better just because she’s back. au at least he imagines he does.
He hears the rustle of bags as she sets her shopping on the jikoni counter. Her soft voice, talking to Iggy.
Then she leaves again.
The door opens a moment later, and he hears the distinct thunk, thunk of her setting down two large glass containers on the counter.
She brought my candy.
Gwen makes one zaidi trip out, returning with the third jar, thunk, and something else that goes fwap and rattle.
Did she bring some of my drawing stuff over?
Arthur intends to lie in kitanda and pretend he’s still sleeping until she comes to investigate, but his nose has other ideas. He sneezes, loudly.
“Ow,” he complains, pressing his hand to his forehead.
A moment later Gwen is at his side with a glass of machungwa, chungwa juice. “How are wewe feeling?” she asks, placing her hand on his head, then kissing his forehead again.
“Like my head is inside an elephant’s bum,” he says, his voice still hoarse.
“Interesting analogy, but I’m sorry wewe don’t feel well,” she says, fussing over him, propping pillows behind him. “You should try to sit upright. Help your head drain.”
He sits up. “A constipated elephant,” he amends, and she hands him the glass.
“Drink.”
“I found some aspirin in the cabinet already. Took some,” he says, drinking obediently.
“Good. I’m going to make wewe some soup,” she tells him, kissing his forehead one zaidi time, lingering a bit. “You’re not as warm as wewe were, that’s good. I think this is just a nasty cold.”
“As I was?”
“At around five. Your snoring woke me,” she says, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed.
“Sorry,” he says, drinking again.
“I thought someone had a chainsaw outside,” she smiles, lifting her hand to his cheek. “You don’t normally snore that loud, so…”
“I don’t normally snore at all!” he protests.
“Arthur,” she looks at him. “Honestly, you’re going to argue with me on this?”
“I do?”
“Yes. And most of the time it doesn’t bother me, honest. But this morning it was like a pig had gotten into the flat,” she says, smirking at him.
“Thanks,” he says glumly.
“But that’s how I knew wewe had caught cold. All the stuffiness was making wewe loud. And wewe had a slight fever.”
“Did wewe take my temperature au something? I didn’t notice a thing…”
“Well, it helps to warm up the rectal thermometer before inserting it, wewe know,” she teases, laughing when his eyes grow wide.
“Arthur, I just felt your forehead, and kissed it,” she leans mbele and does it yet again, “like this.”
“What good does kissing my forehead do? I mean, apart from just making me feel special,” he chuckles.
“Best way to feel for fever, my love,” she says, standing now. “I’ll bring wewe some toast in a minute.”
“So I’m just supposed to lay here?”
“You have a better idea?”
“Can I at least come out to the kitanda so I can watch telly au something? It’s boring back here without you.”
“God, you’re like a child,” she sighs. “Come on, then. Grab your pillow.”
“I’m supposed to go back to Lance’s today,” he grumbles, grabbing the mto and the quilt from her bed, dragging it behind him to the sofa.
“Arthur, I have other blankets,” she sighs.
“I like this one.”
“It smells like me,” she guesses, giving up. “And I’ll go to the gallery.”
“You don’t have to do that, Sweet,” he says, but he knows that there really is nothing to discuss.
In fact, she doesn’t even bother answering him. She just helps get him settled in on the couch, pulling the coffee meza, jedwali close so he can reach his juice, then flips on the TV for him, turning the dial until he finds something he wants to watch.
“Thank you,” he says, giving her a pathetic smile as she heads back to the kitchen.
He hears her puttering in the kitchen, listening as she unpacks her shopping.
Sounds like a lot. Wasn’t she just going to make soup?
She comes out with his toast, and he smiles as she hands him two slices, one with marmalade, the other with blueberry jam.
“I was going to protest if there was only siagi on these,” he warns.
“I know better,” she says, returning to the kitchen.
Arthur hears her filling what sounds like a large pot with water and setting it on the stove. He hears chopping. Things being dropped into the water.
“What are wewe doing?” he finally calls.
“I told you, I’m making soup.”
“Surely that just involves a can opener,” he says.
Gwen emerges with a carrot in one hand, a large kisu in the other, and fixes him in a stare. “Honestly? wewe think tinned supu is going to do wewe any good at all?”
“You’re making making soup? Like with a real chicken?”
Gwen just makes an exasperated noise and returns to the kitchen.
“What?” he calls, then sneezes again.
“Bless you.”
Arthur eats his toast and watches cartoons. He actually does feel like a child, a little. He finds he’s enjoying having her take care of him.
He sneezes a few zaidi times, prompting Gwen to come out and place a box of tissues on the meza, jedwali for him and a small trash bin on the floor.
“You’re going now?” Arthur asks, pouting.
“Yes,” she says, showered and dressed, picking up her purse.
“What about the soup?”
“The supu will be fine. It needs to simmer, so don’t touch it. It’s not done yet.”
“What about lunch?”
“Are wewe always this needy when you’re not feeling well?”
He says nothing, taking a drink of his juice.
“I’ll come back for lunch. Here,” she moves the phone so it’s sitting within his reach. “In case someone calls. Like me.”
“I want wewe to take a kuoga at some point,” she orders, coming over to crouch beside him now. “A really hot one. Stand there and breathe in the steam for a while. And take these,” she puts a couple tablets on the table, “in an hour.”
“Okay. Thank you, Guinevere,” he says, smiling.
“I upendo you,” she says, bending and kissing his cheek.
“I upendo you, too,” he says, wanting zaidi of a kiss, but he doesn’t want to get her sick, too.
She leaves, driving her small car to the gallery.
I wonder if he was starting to feel lousy yesterday, she thinks. Probably was too busy and running on too much adrenaline to even notice.
The gallery door is unlocked, though it’s not officially open. “Hello?” Gwen calls as she walks in, her eyes again taking in the wonderful sight of Arthur’s art everywhere.
“Gwen!” Lance comes out. “I was expecting Arthur...” he looks confused.
“Arthur woke up with a terrible head cold,” Gwen tells him. “So you’re stuck with me.”
“You’ll just have to do, then,” he grins at her. “Hope he’s all right,” Lance adds, looking around the gallery as if he is wondering if he should douse the place with bleach.
“He’ll be fine. It’s just a cold. A nasty one, yes, but I have every confidence that he’ll make a full recovery. I’ve left him at nyumbani on the kitanda watching cartoons and drinking machungwa, chungwa juice.”
“What is he, nine?”
“Acting like it,” she laughs. “So. What do we do now?”
“We go over the sales slips. Start figuring out how much cash he’s brought us,” he grins.
“Are wewe going to lock the door?”
“Nah, someone may wander in. I’m not technically open, but since I’m here, I’m not turning away visitors.”
They sit at the dawati in the back, sorting papers and chatting.
“Gwen,” Lance asks, trying to sound casual. Gwen knows him too well for him to get away with it.
“Yes?” she looks up expectantly at him.
“Are things… good? With him?”
She smiles. He’s still worried about me. “Yes, Lance, they’re very good. He’s, um, moving in with me.”
“With you?”
“My flat is bigger and nicer.”
“So, then… wewe think he’s the one?”
“The one what?” she asks, setting the order form she was looking at on the pile.
“You know, the one. The one.”
Gwen laughs at him. “You sound like a teenage girl. And yes.”
“I figured as much,” he says. “You never looked at me the way wewe look at him,” he adds, smirking lightly.
“Sorry,” she says, reaching her hand over and placing it over his.
“Well, in all fairness, I never looked at wewe the way he looks at you, either,” he chuckles, turning his hand beneath hers and squeezing it.
“So we’re even, then,” she laughs.
He looks at her, and they study each other for a moment. “I’m glad. I’m happy you’ve found happiness.”
“What about you, Lance?”
He shrugs. “I’ve dated a little. No one lasted past two dates. So I guess I’m still looking for that special person.”
“You’d think that in all your travels you’d manage to find someone,” Gwen comments. “Paris, New York, back to London. It’s not like wewe were in the Sahara au anything, au living in a cave.”
He chuckles. “I know. I guess I have to figure out what I’m looking for, first. Figure out…”
The door opens and they look up. A middle-aged couple enters, looking around.
“Hello,” Lance calls, walking forward.
“I’m so glad you’re open,” the woman says. “We had intended to come last night and it got completely forgotten.”
“Well, there are one au two items still available, and he is available for commissions as well.”
“Is the artist here?” the man asks, looking around and seeing only Gwen sitting at the counter, studying a slip of paper.
“Unfortunately, he woke up feeling under the weather today. He was supposed to be here, but if wewe have any questions, I’m sure Gwen au I would be able to answer them,” Lance answers, indicating Guinevere, who looks up and waves.
“We’ll just look around a bit and let wewe know,” the man says.
“Anything with a red dot on the placard is sold,” Lance says, leaving them.
“I still feel a little weird,” Gwen whispers to Lance.
“About what?”
“About the fact that I’m in so many of these pieces,” she says.
“Excuse me,” the man says, and Lance looks up.
“Yes?” he starts walking over.
“You are certain he will not sell this one?”
“Um, Gwen?”
Gwen comes over now, sighing inwardly. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he won’t part with that one.”
“Pity. It’s beautiful,” the man says, turning back to it.
“We could call him and confirm, if you’d like,” Lance offers.
“Won’t do any good,” Gwen says quietly, earning her a dirty look from Lance.
“Would you?” the man turns back to them, coming up short as he actually looks at Gwen and realizes that she is the woman in the painting.
There it is, Gwen thinks, as the familiar feeling of mild embarrassment creeps over her again.
“I’ll call him,” she says, grateful to be able to escape, beating Lance to the punch.
“Tim, come look at this,” the woman calls to him. She is standing in front of the painting of Arthur and Merlin as children, contemplating the unseen frog in Arthur’s hand.
“Hello?” Arthur’s voice, made deeper kwa the cold, answers.
“Hello, darling, how are wewe feeling?”
“Eh.”
“Did wewe take a kuoga yet?”
“Once Bugs Bunny is done.”
Gwen laughs, and she can even hear the beep beep of the Road Runner in the background. “Sounds zaidi like Road Runner and Coyote.”
He laughs, which turns into a cough. “Yeah, that’s new,” he says, “been coughing a bit now.”
“Probably your sinuses draining down the back of your throat,” she says, realizing she needs to get to her point.
“Yuck.”
“Gross but true. Anyway, there’s a man here who wants to know if that one painting is really not for sale.”
“Of course it isn’t, wewe know that.”
“I know. But Lance told them we’d call and confirm. I told him wewe wouldn’t budge, but…” she smiles, finding that she actually rather likes that Arthur is so adamant about keeping that painting for himself.
“Right. No. Not for sale. I will have a special coffin constructed so that it can be buried with me when I die.”
He’d do it, too, she thinks, chuckling. “Take a shower, love.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, still not for sale,” Gwen announces, hanging up the phone. “He’s quite stubborn, I’m afraid.”
“Well, if the woman in the painting cannot convince him, I guess there’s nothing for it,” the man sighs, turning back to his companion. Gwen watches them, and realizes they are not a couple. Perhaps business associates. She looks like she is trying to convince him of something.
“She wants the painting of little Arthur and Merlin,” Lance comes over and tells her quietly. “She runs a child care facility that he owns. She wants it for there.”
“That would be a good painting for a child care center,” Gwen says. “I upendo that one, it’s just so sweet. Merlin’s mum cried when she saw it.”
“I saw that, she seemed a lovely woman. Tom seemed a bit smitten as well,” he laughs.
“I know, I’m trying to work on that.”
“Always busy, wewe are,” Lance chuckles.
“All right, we’ll take that one, the one of the two boys,” Tim comes over and says, sighing. The woman is beaming behind him.
“The blonde boy is actually Drag, the artist,” Gwen tells them.
“Really?” the woman asks. “And the other?”
“His best friend, Merlin. They are still best friends, too.”
“That is wonderful. Do wewe know what they are looking at?”
“A frog,” Gwen smiles, and the woman laughs.
“Fantastic.” She smiles and reaches over and takes a card from the holder on the counter, slipping it in her purse.
“All set,” Lance says, handing the slip to Tim to sign.
“I’m sorry he wasn’t able to be here,” Tim says, signing his name. “I would have liked to have met him. Perhaps I could have convinced him to part with that painting.”
“Not likely,” Gwen says.
“In any case, this Drag is a very lucky man,” he says pointedly, nodding at Gwen. She just smiles politely. He’s starting to creep me out a bit now.
They turn to leave and Gwen mutters to Lance, “And he is very lucky that Arthur wasn’t here.”
“Aw, I would have liked to have seen the Alpha Male in action,” Lance teases.
Arthur spends twenty dakika in the shower, trying to absorb as much steam as he can. He steps out, shivers in the cold air, wrapping himself in two towels.
He pulls his shorts back on and looks for a t-shirt as well, wishing he had some zaidi of his clothes, knowing he has at least one pair of soft cotton pajamas that would be lovely right now.
He refills his glass, grabs a couple licorice ropes, and dives quickly back under his quilt on the couch, burrowing in deep.
Then the phone rings again.
“Fuuuuucckkk…” he groans, pulling an arm out to grab the phone.
“Hello?”
“…Pendragon, is that you? wewe sound like shit,” Gwen’s father’s confused voice comes through the line.
“Yes, sir, that’s about how I feel, thanks.”
“Is… is Gwen there?” he asks, obviously thrown off kwa Arthur answering his daughter’s phone.
“Actually, she’s at the gallery. I was supposed to be there today, but that wasn’t happening.”
“So you’re at her flat. Alone.”
“Um, yes…” he says, not sure if he should break the news to her father. I may not have a choice.
“And she’s okay with wewe answering her phone?”
“She put the phone kwa the kitanda so I could reach it in case someone called, sir. So I assume she is okay with me answering. I honestly thought wewe were her calling. She called earlier.”
“Hmm.”
“Can I give her a message?” Arthur asks as Iggy leaps up onto the couch. He lets out a rather loud meow. Oh, no.
“Was that a cat? Since when does Gwen have a cat?”
“Ah, well sir, that’s my cat…”
“Your cat?”
“Yes. Sir.”
“Pendragon, are wewe shacking up with my daughter?”
Arthur pauses. “A bit.”
“A bit?”
“Look, I’m not entirely comfortable with the fact that you’re hearing this from me, and I’m sorry. It literally just happened last night, honest.”
“So the first thing wewe moved was the cat?”
“Officially, yes.”
“And un-officially?”
“Un-officially, I’ve been sneaking my things over for about a week and a half,” he admits.
“Hmm.”
“I know wewe probably don’t approve, sir, but Gwen is a grown woman, and it is 1977 and everything, and…”
“Pendragon,” Tom interrupts.
“Yes, sir?”
“Stop. I’ll discuss this with Gwen later.”
“Um, okay.”
“And Arthur?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t screw it up. Remember I carry a gun.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll… I’ll just tell Guinevere that wewe called, then, shall I?”
“Yes, do.”
“Thank you, sir. Have a good day.”
“Hope wewe feel better,” Tom says, and hangs up the phone.
Arthur stares at the handset a moment, then hangs up.
I can’t tell if he’s upset au not. Guinevere may kill me, though. He looks down at Iggy, looking up at him innocently. “You had to open your bloody mouth, didn’t you?”
Gwen enters the flat quietly, not wanting to wake Arthur if he’s sleeping. The snores that greet her hakikisha her suspicions.
She pads over to the couch, and he his curled on his side, blanket up to his chin and Iggy curled behind his bent knees.
If he wasn’t snoring and drooling, this would actually be really cute, she thinks, turning to go to the jikoni and her soup.
“Guinevere?” Arthur’s hoarse voice calls to her a short time later. Gwen is adding dumplings to the soup, scraping the sticky dough in small dollops from a teaspoon with a siagi kisu into the boiling soup.
“One second,” she says. Scrape. Plop.
She comes out to find him sitting up now, hair hanging limply to one side. “How are wewe feeling, Love?”
“Slightly better,” he says, tilting his head to receive her kiss on his scratchy cheek.
“Are wewe hungry?”
“Yes. I’ve been smelling that damn supu all morning, wewe know.”
“Sorry. Just finishing it up right now.”
He stands with a groan, and Iggy hops down from the couch.
“He seems to have settled right in,” she says, heading back to finish adding the dumplings.
“If I moved him anywhere but your flat, he’d be shredding the furniture and shitting everywhere, wewe know,” he calls, heading for the bathroom.
Gwen laughs, scooping the last of the dough up into her spoon.
Arthur trudges in and sits at the table, resting his head on his hands. “What are wewe doing?”
“Dumplings. Didn’t feel like noodles.”
“Aha.” He spies the pot on the stove. It’s huge. “Do wewe think wewe made enough?” he teases.
“I do not have the ability to make a little soup,” she confesses. “I’ve tried. It just doesn’t work.”
“No recipe?”
“It’s soup, Arthur, wewe don’t need a recipe.”
“Maybe you don’t. If I tried it would end up a pot of crap.”
She ladles out two bowls and brings them to the table. “Bread au crackers?”
“Bread,” he says, stirring his soup. “Um, Guinevere?”
“Yes? wewe need something?”
“No. Just… your father called this morning.”
“Oh, okay.”
“He… he might have gotten the impression we were living together,” he says carefully.
“Oh. And how exactly did that happen?”
“I didn’t want to tell him, honest. I mean, he’s not my dad, and he’s critical enough of me already.”
“Go on,” she says, buttering a slice of bread.
“He was asking why I was answering your phone. I was trying to explain that wewe had put the phone within my reach so that I could answer it, and then Iggy jumped on my lap and…”
“Yes?”
“He meowed, rather loudly. I think he was trying to get me in trouble. Fucking cat.”
Gwen laughs now. “And I suppose Dad heard the meow.”
“Yeah. So… you’re supposed to call him.”
“After we eat.”
“You’re not upset?”
“Well, it’s not quite how I would have liked for him to find out, but wewe really had no other option. aliyopewa the fact that Iggy busted wewe and all.”
“I don’t know if your father is upset au not. I couldn’t tell.”
“I’ll sort it out. After lunch.”
“This supu is outstanding,” he says, blowing on a spoonful.
“Thank you. Oh, I almost forgot,” Gwen says, standing and going to her purse. She returns with something small in her hand, which she places on the meza, jedwali inayofuata to his bowl.
“My own key,” he smiles, picking it up. “Thank you, Sweet. I guess that makes it official, hey?”
“Well, once wewe tell your landlord you’re moving, then it will be official,” she reminds him.
“Right,” he laughs, turning the key between his fingers a moment before setting it down again.
Arthur finishes two bowls of supu and four pieces of bread. Gwen stacks the bowls in the sink and sighs.
“Time to face the music,” she says, walking to the living room to sit on the sofa inayofuata to Arthur, who is taking zaidi cold medicine and tucking himself back in. He’s found football, so he’ll be set for the inayofuata few hours.
“Hi, Dad,” she says into the phone.
“Had an interesting conversation with Arthur this morning,” he replies, wasting no time.
“I know. He told me.”
“I’m not exactly thrilled kwa this news, Guinevere.”
“I didn’t expect wewe to be.”
“You’re certain this is what wewe want to do?” he asks.
So it’s not about living in sin, it’s about my happiness. That’s better, I guess. “Yes.”
“So wewe upendo him, then?”
“I do.”
“And he loves you? Do wewe think that he’s in this for the long haul?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“I do feel better since that onyesha went well last night. I was actually originally calling to offer to take wewe both out for chajio, chakula cha jioni tonight, but if he’s ill, then probably not.”
“We’ll take a rain check on that,” Gwen confirms.
“Gwen, have wewe told your mother about him?”
“Yes. She called a few weeks ago.”
“I see. wewe know I’m just worried about your happiness. I don’t want wewe to end up in an unhappy marriage like your mum and I.”
“I know that, Daddy. But Arthur and I are not wewe and Mum.”
“I know. How is she, anyway?”
“Do wewe really care?”
“Not really.”
“Apparently she’s getting married. Some bloke called Pierre au something.”
“Oh, really?” he says, sounding zaidi interested than she would have thought.
“Yeah, I didn’t even know she was seeing someone.”
“I’ll have to give my lawyer a call,” he says absently, almost to himself.
“Why?”
“If she gets married, I might not have to pay her any more.”
“Well there’s a silver lining, then,” Gwen laughs. “But anyway. You’re okay with Arthur and me living together?”
“I don’t know if okay is exactly the word for it, but…”
“But since I am an adult and wewe are not the one paying the rent on this flat, wewe really can’t stop me, can you?” she asks, chuckling.
“I suppose wewe do have a point. And if I’m being honest, I’ll worry about wewe less knowing wewe aren’t alone there.”
“You’re such a cop,” she rolls her eyes.
“Love you, Gwen. Keep me ilitumwa on how Arthur’s paintings are doing.”
“You are also completely transparent,” Gwen laughs, knowing he is not so much interested in his art but in her future well-being. “And I think wewe had already left before the really good stuff happened…”
Part 39: link
Is someone sawing timber outside?
Gwen scrunches her eyes together, then blinks them open. It is barely light outside, and Arthur is sprawled on his back beside her, mouth wide open with the most God-awful racket issuing forth.
This is bad, even for him, she thinks, trying her normal tactic of stroking his cheek to get him to turn and shut up. He feels a little warm, she notes, then presses her hand to his cheek, firmer, followed kwa his forehead. It’s not too hot in here. I hope he hasn’t caught something.
She leans over and kisses his forehead, and his skin feels hot against her lips. Damn.
Arthur stirs, snorts, and turns, flopping to his side, facing away from her. He is quieter, but she can tell he’s congested.
She lies back down with a sigh, and tries to go back to sleep.
Gwen dozes fitfully, drifting in and out for a while, listening to Arthur’s stuffy breathing. Finally she gives up and gets up, tucking him in after she rises. She pulls on her vazi and heads out to the kitchen.
She makes a list, throws some clothes on, re-secures her hair back, and heads quietly out.
A short time later, Arthur stirs. He flops over, groping for Gwen and finding only empty bed.
“Ugh,” he groans, opening his eyes and realizing the he feels like his head is under water.
“Guinevere?” he calls, his voice a croak. He tries clearing it to no avail. Then he turns his head and sees a note on the bedside table.
Gone to the market. Back soon. Stay in bed!
He flops back onto the pillow, smiling sadly at the fact that she already knew he was sick. I’m sure I’m allowed to get up to have a pee, he thinks, swinging his feet to the floor and sitting up.
“Whoa,” he says when the room tilts sharply. He waits until the room rights itself before attempting to stand.
He returns and looks for a pair of his shorts. I know I have at least one pair around here somewhere, he thinks, opening drawers and doors, pausing for a moment to appreciate her knickers, before finding them. When he bends to pull them on, it feels like his brain is trying to expand and push its way out of his head.
“Shit,” he exclaims, blinking as he stands. He stumbles over to the kitanda and flops down on it.
Arthur lays there in bed, feeling miserable. He slowly gets up again, shuffles back to the loo, cursing the fact that he didn’t think of this before, digs around for some aspirin, takes it, shuffles back to the kitanda and falls back in.
I was supposed to go back to the gallery today, he thinks sadly, reaching down and pulling the covers up to his chin. He turns onto his side and then pulls the covers over his head.
A sound wakes him up some time later, and Arthur jumps a little, not realizing that he had fallen back to sleep.
Guinevere, he thinks, and snuggles into the covers, feeling a little better just because she’s back. au at least he imagines he does.
He hears the rustle of bags as she sets her shopping on the jikoni counter. Her soft voice, talking to Iggy.
Then she leaves again.
The door opens a moment later, and he hears the distinct thunk, thunk of her setting down two large glass containers on the counter.
She brought my candy.
Gwen makes one zaidi trip out, returning with the third jar, thunk, and something else that goes fwap and rattle.
Did she bring some of my drawing stuff over?
Arthur intends to lie in kitanda and pretend he’s still sleeping until she comes to investigate, but his nose has other ideas. He sneezes, loudly.
“Ow,” he complains, pressing his hand to his forehead.
A moment later Gwen is at his side with a glass of machungwa, chungwa juice. “How are wewe feeling?” she asks, placing her hand on his head, then kissing his forehead again.
“Like my head is inside an elephant’s bum,” he says, his voice still hoarse.
“Interesting analogy, but I’m sorry wewe don’t feel well,” she says, fussing over him, propping pillows behind him. “You should try to sit upright. Help your head drain.”
He sits up. “A constipated elephant,” he amends, and she hands him the glass.
“Drink.”
“I found some aspirin in the cabinet already. Took some,” he says, drinking obediently.
“Good. I’m going to make wewe some soup,” she tells him, kissing his forehead one zaidi time, lingering a bit. “You’re not as warm as wewe were, that’s good. I think this is just a nasty cold.”
“As I was?”
“At around five. Your snoring woke me,” she says, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed.
“Sorry,” he says, drinking again.
“I thought someone had a chainsaw outside,” she smiles, lifting her hand to his cheek. “You don’t normally snore that loud, so…”
“I don’t normally snore at all!” he protests.
“Arthur,” she looks at him. “Honestly, you’re going to argue with me on this?”
“I do?”
“Yes. And most of the time it doesn’t bother me, honest. But this morning it was like a pig had gotten into the flat,” she says, smirking at him.
“Thanks,” he says glumly.
“But that’s how I knew wewe had caught cold. All the stuffiness was making wewe loud. And wewe had a slight fever.”
“Did wewe take my temperature au something? I didn’t notice a thing…”
“Well, it helps to warm up the rectal thermometer before inserting it, wewe know,” she teases, laughing when his eyes grow wide.
“Arthur, I just felt your forehead, and kissed it,” she leans mbele and does it yet again, “like this.”
“What good does kissing my forehead do? I mean, apart from just making me feel special,” he chuckles.
“Best way to feel for fever, my love,” she says, standing now. “I’ll bring wewe some toast in a minute.”
“So I’m just supposed to lay here?”
“You have a better idea?”
“Can I at least come out to the kitanda so I can watch telly au something? It’s boring back here without you.”
“God, you’re like a child,” she sighs. “Come on, then. Grab your pillow.”
“I’m supposed to go back to Lance’s today,” he grumbles, grabbing the mto and the quilt from her bed, dragging it behind him to the sofa.
“Arthur, I have other blankets,” she sighs.
“I like this one.”
“It smells like me,” she guesses, giving up. “And I’ll go to the gallery.”
“You don’t have to do that, Sweet,” he says, but he knows that there really is nothing to discuss.
In fact, she doesn’t even bother answering him. She just helps get him settled in on the couch, pulling the coffee meza, jedwali close so he can reach his juice, then flips on the TV for him, turning the dial until he finds something he wants to watch.
“Thank you,” he says, giving her a pathetic smile as she heads back to the kitchen.
He hears her puttering in the kitchen, listening as she unpacks her shopping.
Sounds like a lot. Wasn’t she just going to make soup?
She comes out with his toast, and he smiles as she hands him two slices, one with marmalade, the other with blueberry jam.
“I was going to protest if there was only siagi on these,” he warns.
“I know better,” she says, returning to the kitchen.
Arthur hears her filling what sounds like a large pot with water and setting it on the stove. He hears chopping. Things being dropped into the water.
“What are wewe doing?” he finally calls.
“I told you, I’m making soup.”
“Surely that just involves a can opener,” he says.
Gwen emerges with a carrot in one hand, a large kisu in the other, and fixes him in a stare. “Honestly? wewe think tinned supu is going to do wewe any good at all?”
“You’re making making soup? Like with a real chicken?”
Gwen just makes an exasperated noise and returns to the kitchen.
“What?” he calls, then sneezes again.
“Bless you.”
Arthur eats his toast and watches cartoons. He actually does feel like a child, a little. He finds he’s enjoying having her take care of him.
He sneezes a few zaidi times, prompting Gwen to come out and place a box of tissues on the meza, jedwali for him and a small trash bin on the floor.
“You’re going now?” Arthur asks, pouting.
“Yes,” she says, showered and dressed, picking up her purse.
“What about the soup?”
“The supu will be fine. It needs to simmer, so don’t touch it. It’s not done yet.”
“What about lunch?”
“Are wewe always this needy when you’re not feeling well?”
He says nothing, taking a drink of his juice.
“I’ll come back for lunch. Here,” she moves the phone so it’s sitting within his reach. “In case someone calls. Like me.”
“I want wewe to take a kuoga at some point,” she orders, coming over to crouch beside him now. “A really hot one. Stand there and breathe in the steam for a while. And take these,” she puts a couple tablets on the table, “in an hour.”
“Okay. Thank you, Guinevere,” he says, smiling.
“I upendo you,” she says, bending and kissing his cheek.
“I upendo you, too,” he says, wanting zaidi of a kiss, but he doesn’t want to get her sick, too.
She leaves, driving her small car to the gallery.
I wonder if he was starting to feel lousy yesterday, she thinks. Probably was too busy and running on too much adrenaline to even notice.
The gallery door is unlocked, though it’s not officially open. “Hello?” Gwen calls as she walks in, her eyes again taking in the wonderful sight of Arthur’s art everywhere.
“Gwen!” Lance comes out. “I was expecting Arthur...” he looks confused.
“Arthur woke up with a terrible head cold,” Gwen tells him. “So you’re stuck with me.”
“You’ll just have to do, then,” he grins at her. “Hope he’s all right,” Lance adds, looking around the gallery as if he is wondering if he should douse the place with bleach.
“He’ll be fine. It’s just a cold. A nasty one, yes, but I have every confidence that he’ll make a full recovery. I’ve left him at nyumbani on the kitanda watching cartoons and drinking machungwa, chungwa juice.”
“What is he, nine?”
“Acting like it,” she laughs. “So. What do we do now?”
“We go over the sales slips. Start figuring out how much cash he’s brought us,” he grins.
“Are wewe going to lock the door?”
“Nah, someone may wander in. I’m not technically open, but since I’m here, I’m not turning away visitors.”
They sit at the dawati in the back, sorting papers and chatting.
“Gwen,” Lance asks, trying to sound casual. Gwen knows him too well for him to get away with it.
“Yes?” she looks up expectantly at him.
“Are things… good? With him?”
She smiles. He’s still worried about me. “Yes, Lance, they’re very good. He’s, um, moving in with me.”
“With you?”
“My flat is bigger and nicer.”
“So, then… wewe think he’s the one?”
“The one what?” she asks, setting the order form she was looking at on the pile.
“You know, the one. The one.”
Gwen laughs at him. “You sound like a teenage girl. And yes.”
“I figured as much,” he says. “You never looked at me the way wewe look at him,” he adds, smirking lightly.
“Sorry,” she says, reaching her hand over and placing it over his.
“Well, in all fairness, I never looked at wewe the way he looks at you, either,” he chuckles, turning his hand beneath hers and squeezing it.
“So we’re even, then,” she laughs.
He looks at her, and they study each other for a moment. “I’m glad. I’m happy you’ve found happiness.”
“What about you, Lance?”
He shrugs. “I’ve dated a little. No one lasted past two dates. So I guess I’m still looking for that special person.”
“You’d think that in all your travels you’d manage to find someone,” Gwen comments. “Paris, New York, back to London. It’s not like wewe were in the Sahara au anything, au living in a cave.”
He chuckles. “I know. I guess I have to figure out what I’m looking for, first. Figure out…”
The door opens and they look up. A middle-aged couple enters, looking around.
“Hello,” Lance calls, walking forward.
“I’m so glad you’re open,” the woman says. “We had intended to come last night and it got completely forgotten.”
“Well, there are one au two items still available, and he is available for commissions as well.”
“Is the artist here?” the man asks, looking around and seeing only Gwen sitting at the counter, studying a slip of paper.
“Unfortunately, he woke up feeling under the weather today. He was supposed to be here, but if wewe have any questions, I’m sure Gwen au I would be able to answer them,” Lance answers, indicating Guinevere, who looks up and waves.
“We’ll just look around a bit and let wewe know,” the man says.
“Anything with a red dot on the placard is sold,” Lance says, leaving them.
“I still feel a little weird,” Gwen whispers to Lance.
“About what?”
“About the fact that I’m in so many of these pieces,” she says.
“Excuse me,” the man says, and Lance looks up.
“Yes?” he starts walking over.
“You are certain he will not sell this one?”
“Um, Gwen?”
Gwen comes over now, sighing inwardly. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he won’t part with that one.”
“Pity. It’s beautiful,” the man says, turning back to it.
“We could call him and confirm, if you’d like,” Lance offers.
“Won’t do any good,” Gwen says quietly, earning her a dirty look from Lance.
“Would you?” the man turns back to them, coming up short as he actually looks at Gwen and realizes that she is the woman in the painting.
There it is, Gwen thinks, as the familiar feeling of mild embarrassment creeps over her again.
“I’ll call him,” she says, grateful to be able to escape, beating Lance to the punch.
“Tim, come look at this,” the woman calls to him. She is standing in front of the painting of Arthur and Merlin as children, contemplating the unseen frog in Arthur’s hand.
“Hello?” Arthur’s voice, made deeper kwa the cold, answers.
“Hello, darling, how are wewe feeling?”
“Eh.”
“Did wewe take a kuoga yet?”
“Once Bugs Bunny is done.”
Gwen laughs, and she can even hear the beep beep of the Road Runner in the background. “Sounds zaidi like Road Runner and Coyote.”
He laughs, which turns into a cough. “Yeah, that’s new,” he says, “been coughing a bit now.”
“Probably your sinuses draining down the back of your throat,” she says, realizing she needs to get to her point.
“Yuck.”
“Gross but true. Anyway, there’s a man here who wants to know if that one painting is really not for sale.”
“Of course it isn’t, wewe know that.”
“I know. But Lance told them we’d call and confirm. I told him wewe wouldn’t budge, but…” she smiles, finding that she actually rather likes that Arthur is so adamant about keeping that painting for himself.
“Right. No. Not for sale. I will have a special coffin constructed so that it can be buried with me when I die.”
He’d do it, too, she thinks, chuckling. “Take a shower, love.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, still not for sale,” Gwen announces, hanging up the phone. “He’s quite stubborn, I’m afraid.”
“Well, if the woman in the painting cannot convince him, I guess there’s nothing for it,” the man sighs, turning back to his companion. Gwen watches them, and realizes they are not a couple. Perhaps business associates. She looks like she is trying to convince him of something.
“She wants the painting of little Arthur and Merlin,” Lance comes over and tells her quietly. “She runs a child care facility that he owns. She wants it for there.”
“That would be a good painting for a child care center,” Gwen says. “I upendo that one, it’s just so sweet. Merlin’s mum cried when she saw it.”
“I saw that, she seemed a lovely woman. Tom seemed a bit smitten as well,” he laughs.
“I know, I’m trying to work on that.”
“Always busy, wewe are,” Lance chuckles.
“All right, we’ll take that one, the one of the two boys,” Tim comes over and says, sighing. The woman is beaming behind him.
“The blonde boy is actually Drag, the artist,” Gwen tells them.
“Really?” the woman asks. “And the other?”
“His best friend, Merlin. They are still best friends, too.”
“That is wonderful. Do wewe know what they are looking at?”
“A frog,” Gwen smiles, and the woman laughs.
“Fantastic.” She smiles and reaches over and takes a card from the holder on the counter, slipping it in her purse.
“All set,” Lance says, handing the slip to Tim to sign.
“I’m sorry he wasn’t able to be here,” Tim says, signing his name. “I would have liked to have met him. Perhaps I could have convinced him to part with that painting.”
“Not likely,” Gwen says.
“In any case, this Drag is a very lucky man,” he says pointedly, nodding at Gwen. She just smiles politely. He’s starting to creep me out a bit now.
They turn to leave and Gwen mutters to Lance, “And he is very lucky that Arthur wasn’t here.”
“Aw, I would have liked to have seen the Alpha Male in action,” Lance teases.
Arthur spends twenty dakika in the shower, trying to absorb as much steam as he can. He steps out, shivers in the cold air, wrapping himself in two towels.
He pulls his shorts back on and looks for a t-shirt as well, wishing he had some zaidi of his clothes, knowing he has at least one pair of soft cotton pajamas that would be lovely right now.
He refills his glass, grabs a couple licorice ropes, and dives quickly back under his quilt on the couch, burrowing in deep.
Then the phone rings again.
“Fuuuuucckkk…” he groans, pulling an arm out to grab the phone.
“Hello?”
“…Pendragon, is that you? wewe sound like shit,” Gwen’s father’s confused voice comes through the line.
“Yes, sir, that’s about how I feel, thanks.”
“Is… is Gwen there?” he asks, obviously thrown off kwa Arthur answering his daughter’s phone.
“Actually, she’s at the gallery. I was supposed to be there today, but that wasn’t happening.”
“So you’re at her flat. Alone.”
“Um, yes…” he says, not sure if he should break the news to her father. I may not have a choice.
“And she’s okay with wewe answering her phone?”
“She put the phone kwa the kitanda so I could reach it in case someone called, sir. So I assume she is okay with me answering. I honestly thought wewe were her calling. She called earlier.”
“Hmm.”
“Can I give her a message?” Arthur asks as Iggy leaps up onto the couch. He lets out a rather loud meow. Oh, no.
“Was that a cat? Since when does Gwen have a cat?”
“Ah, well sir, that’s my cat…”
“Your cat?”
“Yes. Sir.”
“Pendragon, are wewe shacking up with my daughter?”
Arthur pauses. “A bit.”
“A bit?”
“Look, I’m not entirely comfortable with the fact that you’re hearing this from me, and I’m sorry. It literally just happened last night, honest.”
“So the first thing wewe moved was the cat?”
“Officially, yes.”
“And un-officially?”
“Un-officially, I’ve been sneaking my things over for about a week and a half,” he admits.
“Hmm.”
“I know wewe probably don’t approve, sir, but Gwen is a grown woman, and it is 1977 and everything, and…”
“Pendragon,” Tom interrupts.
“Yes, sir?”
“Stop. I’ll discuss this with Gwen later.”
“Um, okay.”
“And Arthur?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t screw it up. Remember I carry a gun.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll… I’ll just tell Guinevere that wewe called, then, shall I?”
“Yes, do.”
“Thank you, sir. Have a good day.”
“Hope wewe feel better,” Tom says, and hangs up the phone.
Arthur stares at the handset a moment, then hangs up.
I can’t tell if he’s upset au not. Guinevere may kill me, though. He looks down at Iggy, looking up at him innocently. “You had to open your bloody mouth, didn’t you?”
Gwen enters the flat quietly, not wanting to wake Arthur if he’s sleeping. The snores that greet her hakikisha her suspicions.
She pads over to the couch, and he his curled on his side, blanket up to his chin and Iggy curled behind his bent knees.
If he wasn’t snoring and drooling, this would actually be really cute, she thinks, turning to go to the jikoni and her soup.
“Guinevere?” Arthur’s hoarse voice calls to her a short time later. Gwen is adding dumplings to the soup, scraping the sticky dough in small dollops from a teaspoon with a siagi kisu into the boiling soup.
“One second,” she says. Scrape. Plop.
She comes out to find him sitting up now, hair hanging limply to one side. “How are wewe feeling, Love?”
“Slightly better,” he says, tilting his head to receive her kiss on his scratchy cheek.
“Are wewe hungry?”
“Yes. I’ve been smelling that damn supu all morning, wewe know.”
“Sorry. Just finishing it up right now.”
He stands with a groan, and Iggy hops down from the couch.
“He seems to have settled right in,” she says, heading back to finish adding the dumplings.
“If I moved him anywhere but your flat, he’d be shredding the furniture and shitting everywhere, wewe know,” he calls, heading for the bathroom.
Gwen laughs, scooping the last of the dough up into her spoon.
Arthur trudges in and sits at the table, resting his head on his hands. “What are wewe doing?”
“Dumplings. Didn’t feel like noodles.”
“Aha.” He spies the pot on the stove. It’s huge. “Do wewe think wewe made enough?” he teases.
“I do not have the ability to make a little soup,” she confesses. “I’ve tried. It just doesn’t work.”
“No recipe?”
“It’s soup, Arthur, wewe don’t need a recipe.”
“Maybe you don’t. If I tried it would end up a pot of crap.”
She ladles out two bowls and brings them to the table. “Bread au crackers?”
“Bread,” he says, stirring his soup. “Um, Guinevere?”
“Yes? wewe need something?”
“No. Just… your father called this morning.”
“Oh, okay.”
“He… he might have gotten the impression we were living together,” he says carefully.
“Oh. And how exactly did that happen?”
“I didn’t want to tell him, honest. I mean, he’s not my dad, and he’s critical enough of me already.”
“Go on,” she says, buttering a slice of bread.
“He was asking why I was answering your phone. I was trying to explain that wewe had put the phone within my reach so that I could answer it, and then Iggy jumped on my lap and…”
“Yes?”
“He meowed, rather loudly. I think he was trying to get me in trouble. Fucking cat.”
Gwen laughs now. “And I suppose Dad heard the meow.”
“Yeah. So… you’re supposed to call him.”
“After we eat.”
“You’re not upset?”
“Well, it’s not quite how I would have liked for him to find out, but wewe really had no other option. aliyopewa the fact that Iggy busted wewe and all.”
“I don’t know if your father is upset au not. I couldn’t tell.”
“I’ll sort it out. After lunch.”
“This supu is outstanding,” he says, blowing on a spoonful.
“Thank you. Oh, I almost forgot,” Gwen says, standing and going to her purse. She returns with something small in her hand, which she places on the meza, jedwali inayofuata to his bowl.
“My own key,” he smiles, picking it up. “Thank you, Sweet. I guess that makes it official, hey?”
“Well, once wewe tell your landlord you’re moving, then it will be official,” she reminds him.
“Right,” he laughs, turning the key between his fingers a moment before setting it down again.
Arthur finishes two bowls of supu and four pieces of bread. Gwen stacks the bowls in the sink and sighs.
“Time to face the music,” she says, walking to the living room to sit on the sofa inayofuata to Arthur, who is taking zaidi cold medicine and tucking himself back in. He’s found football, so he’ll be set for the inayofuata few hours.
“Hi, Dad,” she says into the phone.
“Had an interesting conversation with Arthur this morning,” he replies, wasting no time.
“I know. He told me.”
“I’m not exactly thrilled kwa this news, Guinevere.”
“I didn’t expect wewe to be.”
“You’re certain this is what wewe want to do?” he asks.
So it’s not about living in sin, it’s about my happiness. That’s better, I guess. “Yes.”
“So wewe upendo him, then?”
“I do.”
“And he loves you? Do wewe think that he’s in this for the long haul?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“I do feel better since that onyesha went well last night. I was actually originally calling to offer to take wewe both out for chajio, chakula cha jioni tonight, but if he’s ill, then probably not.”
“We’ll take a rain check on that,” Gwen confirms.
“Gwen, have wewe told your mother about him?”
“Yes. She called a few weeks ago.”
“I see. wewe know I’m just worried about your happiness. I don’t want wewe to end up in an unhappy marriage like your mum and I.”
“I know that, Daddy. But Arthur and I are not wewe and Mum.”
“I know. How is she, anyway?”
“Do wewe really care?”
“Not really.”
“Apparently she’s getting married. Some bloke called Pierre au something.”
“Oh, really?” he says, sounding zaidi interested than she would have thought.
“Yeah, I didn’t even know she was seeing someone.”
“I’ll have to give my lawyer a call,” he says absently, almost to himself.
“Why?”
“If she gets married, I might not have to pay her any more.”
“Well there’s a silver lining, then,” Gwen laughs. “But anyway. You’re okay with Arthur and me living together?”
“I don’t know if okay is exactly the word for it, but…”
“But since I am an adult and wewe are not the one paying the rent on this flat, wewe really can’t stop me, can you?” she asks, chuckling.
“I suppose wewe do have a point. And if I’m being honest, I’ll worry about wewe less knowing wewe aren’t alone there.”
“You’re such a cop,” she rolls her eyes.
“Love you, Gwen. Keep me ilitumwa on how Arthur’s paintings are doing.”
“You are also completely transparent,” Gwen laughs, knowing he is not so much interested in his art but in her future well-being. “And I think wewe had already left before the really good stuff happened…”
Part 39: link
