Ben

The last time I saw Ben, I helped him wash his hair. I have no idea why he couldn’t do it himself. He wanted to look smart when he went through immigration once he arrived in the States – maybe that’s why? They are legendary for making things difficult for someone if they don’t like the way you look. I can’t remember why he was going, or how he managed to get the money together for it either. I have no memory of Ben ever having a job.

It wasn’t that long after Joel died. We never slept together again after than time in Marnie’s flat - that had been a little bubble of comfort seeking for both of us. I don’t think we even ended it consciously – like you would even a very short relationship; we just left when she came home.

After the memorial service, Ben and I spent a lot of time at Stephen’s flat. We just kind of attached ourselves to him and all played house together. He had recently moved into a big flat – half a house really – in West Hampstead.

There was a jolly, elderly couple downstairs – they were so kind, smiling when they saw us, never minding the constant stream of visitors, the music all night. They were just pleased to see the house come to life again. Their family had grown up and moved away and I think they liked the hustle and bustle we brought with us.

I think Stephen felt protective towards us both. Just as I have always felt I had to do certain things because Joel could no longer do them, I think looking after Ben and I fulfilled a similar need for Stephen.

We helped him paint his new flat – we had no idea what we were doing – we just followed him around trying to help. Poor Stephen – he couldn’t have had two less practical decorators. We fucked up the skirting board, we ruined the floor, and we couldn’t paint in straight lines to save our lives. But we all loved being there together – it was so much safer not to be alone. I think we all felt that; the music playing the whole time, the ladders, the smell of paint; the sense that we were doing something – anything.

Stephen was so lovely. He was fragile looking, very thin and full of nervous energy. He wasn’t as funny as Joel and we never had that same closeness, but that year we needed each other. Financially, he lived on a knife-edge. He was a freelance photographer and they are always the last ones to get paid. He was also rubbish at hassling people for his money - he was too gentle. I remember a card on his wall that said “You want it when??”, and next to that, there was a cartoon of a laughing man. It was from a newspaper he did a lot of work for.

Despite being constantly broke though, he kept open house for us. We were always welcome – to stay, to share his food – whatever he had was ours. I felt safe there. It stopped me from thinking too much. Stephen was the kind of person who always wanted to please his friends. If he thought it would make you happy he would lie outrageously – some completely over the top compliment that you absolutely knew for sure wasn’t true – but it was nice all the same, because it came from a good place.

The next I heard of Ben, it must have been 1988 or 1989. I was at the cottage in Suffolk with Marnie and David. When my first son was born, naturally, the second name I gave him was Joel’s and I had brought him there, along with his father. I remember sitting at a table outside in the garden. T was there too, back from the States with his American girlfriend.

I felt uncomfortable. I don’t know if it was the same for T, but he didn’t look very happy. He had his “everything is cool” expression on his face but you could see behind that quite easily. His girlfriend, wife – I can’t remember if they were married by then – she didn’t say much; I didn’t think she liked me. It felt weird being there with our partners. Poor Marnie – it must have been so awkward for her, keeping the conversation going. No one else was trying very hard.

She said Ben was really happy in America. He’d settled in Philadelphia and married an artist. She showed me a photo of her – she was beautiful – a pale face surrounded by red hair. He also had a son, younger than mine, also named after Joel. She said he’d started a design company and was really successful. I was so pleased. He’d had such a rocky start – I was so glad he was ok.

It was a different story the next time I saw Marnie. This time I had two boys, and I came alone. I was still living with their father but it was already over. T wasn’t there.

Instead, there was a man I’d known on the island. Dark as a pirate, Will had a golden ticket when he was younger – he was a brilliant, talented artist. It had been his girlfriend who’d sung at Joel’s memorial service. He couldn’t have been that old, but he hadn’t aged well. His face was puffy; his eyes had kind of disappeared into all the extra flesh.

His two children were also staying. The atmosphere was tense. I think their mother had only allowed them to visit because Marnie was there. The eldest must have been thirteen or so. She looked anxious. The little boy was wild. Marnie was very gentle with them. She said it had been the girl who’d found her father when he’d tried to commit suicide

Will’s mother was there too. She and Marnie made such a pair – two stunningly beautiful old ladies, still tall, still blonde, still clicking away with their cameras.

Will was in a relationship with Joel’s girlfriend at the time, and she was there with her daughter too. We avoided each other. Another awkward situation for Marnie – God I put her on the spot so many times.

I had last seen her on the island the year after Joel’s death. Her boyfriend had just dumped her for me. It hadn’t been intentional – I never set out to do it, but even at the time I was aware that it wasn’t the nicest thing I have ever done. I am not very good at self-restraint. He turned out to be a complete wanker anyway. A vain bully who never let a conversation go by without mentioning his number one. After us, I think he concentrated on page three girls exclusively.

David had died a few years before. I wondered how Marnie managed to carry on. I was still young enough then, not to understand that you just do, mostly; whatever life throws at you. She carried on with such grace. She still does.

I almost met Ben again that afternoon. I was so looking forward to it. There was a constant stream of phone calls. He wasn’t far – he was coming but he’d be late – he had to stop somewhere first – the car had broken down.

Marnie took each call with a smile. She told me how Ben’s business had failed and how he’d fallen back into his old habits again. He’d split up with his wife and somehow ended up in a psychiatric hospital, and after a while, once the insurance had run out, or the divorce had come through or something, the authorities had just put him on a plane back to England, like a piece of misaddressed mail.

She said he was pretty fucked up when he arrived. I think he’d been on strong medication and they hadn’t given him any to bring with him. Somehow, he’d been taken to a hospital and had recently been discharged. He wasn’t the same, but he was as well as he would ever be.

He never did arrive, at least, not before I left. Soon after, we had a long, long conversation on the phone. I remember spending hours, lying on my bed, laughing softly, listening to him. He didn’t make a lot of sense. He had that way of speaking that junkies often have – even when they’re not on drugs. Vague, breaking off in mid-sentence, switching from one thing to another, saying wildly improbable things you just know can’t be true.

You could hear some of the lovely old Ben through the chaos, but he was only half-there. He had met someone in the hospital and they were going to be together for the rest of their lives. He was going to have a massive tattoo to prove it, just as soon as he could get the money together. We promised to meet up soon – we didn’t live so far away from each other. And then I heard nothing.

Perhaps four or five months later I was queuing in a supermarket, reading the local newspaper as it travelled along the conveyor belt, waiting for my turn. I think I was about five lines in before I realised I was reading Ben’s inquest verdict. It happens all the time like that for ex-addicts – they stay clean, and then just once, that’s all it takes – they fall back into it again, only they don’t realise that their normal dose is now way too much. And they die.