تق تق‌ کسی در میزند. نویسنده روی صندلی پشت میز شیشه ای که از آن برای همه کار استفاده میکند نشسته و مشغول حرف زدن پای تلفن است. زن از حمام بیرون میپرد و در را باز میکند. مردی جلوی در است. میگوید: « معذرت می خواهم در باز بود.». نویسنده به او و یک جعبه ی بزرگ که  به داخل هل میدهد نگاه میکند. مرد دوباره عذر می خواهد و در را پشت سرش می بندد.  زن با هیجان به سمت بسته میرود قبل از آنکه به آن برسد به سمت کشوی آشپزخانه برمیگردد. از داخل آن جاقویی برداشته و آنرا روی جعبه میگذارد. می ایستد و حوله ای را از دور خودش باز میکند و چند ثانیه به اینکه آنرا کجا بگذارد فکر میکند. نویسنده دستش را دراز میکند و زن حوله را به سمت او پرتاب میکند، نویسنده میگوید : « میروم دوش بگیرم» و قبل از آنگه گوشی را روی میز بگذارد به سیری دستور پخش موزیک میدهد. 

چند ساعت بعد هر دوی آنها آماده هر کدام سامسونت بزرگی در دست وسط اتاق ایستاده اند. زن که حالا هیچ اثری از هیجانی که یک ساعت پیش در او بود باقی نمانده دمق میپرسد: « چرا به آین سرعت؟» نویسنده نگاه آخری به استودیوی که باید آن را احتمالا برای همیشه ترک‌ کند می اندازد و لبخند تلخی روی لب میگوید: « اسم محله رو یادت بمونه. شارلوتنبرگ». زن ایرپاد و گوشی را از روی میز برداشته. و به دست او میدهد. می پرسد: « محله ی خوبیست؟» نویسنده در فکر این است که: به هر حال گاهی باید فرار کرد ولی لازم‌نیست راجع به آن به همه توضیح بدهی.  و ایرپادش را در گوش گذاشته و بلند تکرار میکند: « پول، پاسپورت، کلید.».

ده دقیقه ی بعد آنها در ماشین کرایه ای نشسته اند.. سیزده ساعت و پنجاه و سه دقیقه بعد هم که چند ساعتی از آن را در کشتی میگذرانند،  به محله ای میرسند‌که‌کلوب در آن قرار دارد. زن‌ می گوید: « می دانی هر روز نه ولی گاهی غذا خوردن بد نیست. به آدم انرژی میدهد. اینجا یک رستورا ن خوب پیدا میشود. اول کمی غذا بخوریم و چیزی بنوشیم.» نویسنده موافق است و کنار میزند تا از روی نقشه رستورانی را پیدا کنند. روی یک رستوران یونانی دو تا کوچه بالاتر از کلوپ  توافق میکنند. زن به آنها تلفن میکند و میزی برای دو‌نفر رزرو‌میکند. تا به رستوران برسند و هنگام خوردن غذا برای او‌تعریف کرد که چند روز پیش خوابی دیده است از این قرار؛ مردی که او‌چند روز پیش ملاقات کرده بود و او‌آنقدر با او‌خوش و بش میکر ده را در هتلی ملاقات کرده بود در جایی از دنیا که او مطمئن نبود کجاست. نویسنده گویا میدانسته که مرد آدم خطرناکیست اما  نتوانسته تحت تاثیر او قرار نگیرد و به طرزی غیر قابل کنترل به سمت او‌کشیده شده و با او سوار یک وسیله ی نقلیه ای که مطمئن نیست چه بوده شده و در نهایت او نویسنده را جایی در «گذشته اش» تنها گذاشته. بعد ناگهان او سر از کلوپی در برلین در آورده. دیروز صبح مشخصاتی‌که در ذهنش بوده را کنار هم گذاشته و بعد از کمی تحقیق  متوجه شده که این کلوپ است. چمدان ها را سفارش داده و بقیه ی این داستان را هم‌ که زن خود شاهد بوده. زن خوب به حرفهای او گوش میکند. آخرین تکه های غذا را از داخل ظرف های کوچک دانه دانه؛ یک زیتون، یک تکه دنیر و یک غذای گوشتی که نویسنده یادش نمی آید آنرا سفارش داده باشد، برداشته و با ته مانده ی شرابش می خورد. 

بیرون از رستوران دو‌ کوچه بالاتر تابلوی کوچک فلزی کلوپ کنار یک دروازه ی باز که به چند پله و بعد در اصلی کلوپ شبانه راه دارد، دیده میشود؛. نویسنده در میزند و در باز میشود. و در لحظه آنها را صدای موسیقی راک و مه غلیظی  فرا میگیرد. زنی. وبه رویشان ایستاده و با کمی تعجب و کمی هیجان زده به آنها خیره مانده. نویسنده بدون هیچ حرفی از کنارش رد شده و داخل می شود. زن با خانمی که در را باز کرده چند کلمه رد و بدل میکند و پشت سر نویسنده وارد کلوپ می شود. 

اولین چیزی که به چشمشان می خورد باریست در سمت راست سالن بزرگ و کمی پیچ در پیچ. پشت پیشخوان آن زنی چاق و کمی اخمو یا کسل و روبه رویش مردیست که  کمی مست و به طور طبیعی خوشحال به نظر می رسد. زن به جایی در پشت سالن می رود‌که لباس عوض کند و وقتی برمی گردد مرد مست خوشحال دارد با نویسنده به زبان آلمانی البته به واسطه ی یک دختر اینالیایی که در کلوپ کار میکند خوش و بش میکند. رو به رویشان روی میز بطری شامپاین است ومعلوم است که نویسنده پر همیشگی اش را داده که مشروب نمی خورد. تعریف مرد از او‌که به زبان آلمانیست را به زبان اصلی حتی زن هم درک میکند: « او آلمانیست.» زن با اعصاب خوردی وسط گفت وکویشان‌ میپرد: « نمی تونید حدس بزنید ما از کجا می آییم!» و رو به نویسنده با ادا اطوار:« و اون جایی نیست جز…»

Scotland

I have an early morning train so I am anxious I might oversleep therefore I get none. I have chosen to travel by train. I promised to be there before noon.I am sat in the train before 7am and the beautiful scenery as we cross England toward north; petersborough, sheffield, newcastle… is familiar and then, we arrive in Scotland. I can see the coast on my right. I can hear the two Scottish gents talking to each other and to another guy sitting across them in the opposite row. He is originally from Pakistan and lives in london. They talk about sports, politics, England, Scotland! When I am tired of looking out the window the last hour of the journey, I lie down with my head sticking slightly out toward the corridor between the two rows of seats. Hashim the guy from London asks if I am Ok. And one of the Scottish guys asks if I want a drink. “I am ok. Just lack sleep but no thank you I got a coffee”. The older Scottish gent walks towards me and gently strokes my cheeks and complements my features; beautiful lips, chin, eyes. I hold his hands in mine and thank him: « very kind ».  He says: “We are Scottish. We are good people”. I say “I know. I have a couple of Scottish boyfriends” and He laughs, gives me a kiss on the forehead and leaves as I get up. I go to the toilet to look in the mirror and when I get out I bump into him. He apologises: «  sorry, I shouldn’t have ». I say: «  I didn’t notice you doing anything wrong » . Back in the coach, I am invited to sit with the Scottish gents and Hashim to have a little chat. Half an hour later we are in Edinburgh.

We get off the train, and as I am having a conversation with Hashim walking toward the exit, I find myself right in Harry’s arms again. He was standing so strategically on the right spot. Him and Hashim say a quick hi and bye. He says: « I thought you were with that guy » I say «  yes, I thought you might. He said hi to me on the train. He told me he wanted to take a photo of me as I was resting my head on the seat, because according to him it was so beautiful. But he thought I might mind so he didn’t » Harry says «  I knew people would fall in love with you on the way » I laugh and say sorry, I told him you were going to be waiting. But he quickly adds «  don’t worry. Same rules apply ».

We leave my luggage in the car, and walk  toward the IVy. Edinburgh is so beautiful. Everywhere you look, you only see beauty. The Ivy in the city centre is very nicely decorated. At the end of the lunch, once I am back from the ladies room, Harry tells me he has just got a text from a journalist he works with and whom he has never met before, asking if it was him sitting at the IVy?. Then he takes me to meet the lady. She is so beautiful and kind, and I love her accent. She says “ I am just a little journalist”. I like her. She is a writer with a writer’s best characteristic; polite, kind, considerate, observant and easy to speak to.

Before I know it, I am sitting at the next restaurant having a big dinner but struggling to stay awake. As soon as we are back in the hotel we checked in after lunch, I fall asleep literally within seconds. When I wake up everything feels right. I feel good. Then we are out to do something. We have no plans. Harry is cursing the weather as it’s cold and pissing a little. and he wants everything to be perfect. I want to tell him that he can’t control the weather but I don’t. Out of the hotel, we turn right and my view is a very old grand castle and the eternal beauty of its surrounding. We sit at a couple of cafes: having breakfast and talking. Cafè Nero in the city centre looks different to all the other ones I have seen anywhere else. It’s decorated like little independent cafes, very intimate and arty. While there, I buy tickets to visit the castle at noon.

The castle is high up, and has halls and banquets and rooms in which weaponry and jewellery and art pieces including photographs and paintings and books are displayed. The most interesting room is where a gold crown, a sword and an old stone are on display. And outside by the walls there are the cannons. The Cafe restaurant is beautiful. It has an artistic and at the same time very posh decor and atmosphere. Though, the food and service  is only better than average. Nothing like where we are going to in Glasgow.

Glasgow has a completely different feel to Edinburgh. It’s not as pretty. There are no castles and it looks flat. But at night it’s magical. We settled in a hotel room on the eighth floor with an amazing view of the river, a bridge across it, and a big arena and a big chunk of the city centre and a lot of sky. A poetic view. I write poems.  The first night we met Harry asked me to read him one. I had a few on my device. I said “ let me go get my phone. It’s with Jeremy”. He said: I’ll do it and he did but I never had a chance to read him one. I offered to do it now before we go out and he liked the idea. He sat down on the sofa on the other side of the room. And I sat on a chair behind the dining table and read. When I finished reading the first poem, he got up, walked towards me and hugged me. “ you are so talented, ” he said. No one, other than my mum, has ever reacted to anything I have done like that. He went back to the sofa and I followed and sitting next to him there, I read another one, and his reaction was something I cannot describe in words, at least not normal words, but perhaps one day in a poem. I can only say that it felt like that moment was a very important moment in my little life. Because It’s so good to feel someone believes in you; everything you say, every decision you make, every word you write. By the time he had finished commenting I was entirely a different person; confident, seen, appreciated, taller even. Then we got ready for dinner.

Ka Paw is a fancy restaurant not far from where we were staying. Our waiter was a charming Italian guy who gave good advice on choosing wine. The lighting and the arrangement of the tables and the food and the wine; all meant to make you feel good. We feel good. “Are you good?” It’s Harry. He keeps asking me that. I am not sure why because of course I am good. I am fantastic. He is here and Hugh is here and well, I am not sure where I am. I am not sure how I got here but I know what I am doing, and why I am lying on the sofa between Harry and Hugh, but, “ yes,yes, yes!  I feel good”. “Where is your jacket? Where is your jacket?” I want to go back to sleep but he keeps asking me “where is your jacket?” I have to wake up. Where is my jacket? And hat? And scarf? And handbag in which there is my phone and credit cards and passport and keys and my dad’s keychain; the only thing belonging to him that  I have kept all these years. I have nearly lost it twice during the last 20 years. They are not here.It’s 9 am. According to Harry’s phone we have walked about 5000 steps between 5-6 am and we have ended up here at this flat which belongs to one of the chefs who works at Hugh’s restaurant. Because that’s where we went after dinner to pick him up. Him and Hugh have to go to work and Harry and I go back to our hotel where for half an hour he is telling me “it’s ok. Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new phone. A new jacket, everything”. “But  it was my dad’s keychain” you can’t buy me that” I can barely speak, and he goes quiet. 

Quietly we spend the next 3 hours worrying, until Harry receives an email back from the last place we were in. It was a strip club called the Seventh. I remember drinking champagne and I remember going on the stage and grabbing the pole and being pulled off by the bouncer before I could make a move, and then Harry and Hugh laughing their asses off while coming to my help and then I must have blacked out for a bit until we were in the flat. I remember Harry playing music on the keyboard and us dancing“ princess” shouts Harry it’s all there” “what?” And then he reads me the email. “ hey Harry, I am sure that was all handed to the DJ box. You can pop over at 9pm and collect them”. That’s what I said to him to begin with but then he had responded: “princess it’s a strip club” and even then I thought so what? And later agreed that maybe he’s right. But no! It was me. I was right. “Right! Let’s go eat”.

The next place we are dining in, other than the light lunch and glasses of champagne that we take at the hotel bar on the rooftop, is at Hugh’s restaurant; Unalome. Hugh already has a star and might receive a second one soon, and between us that’s a secret . Unalome is a piece of art;  Every colour, evey object, every detail is designed to please one’s every sense. Even the soap and hand moisturiser bottles have his name on them. The kitchen is open as in, if sat in the right spots, you can see what is happening there. There are quite a few chiefs working with him. Rayne; the guy whose flat we all ended up in this morning is the top one below Hugh. Other than the stools right by the kitchen, our table is the closest table to well…him. We can see Hugh making our dishes, and him and Harry and the other chefs discretely throwing little pieces of vegetables at each other. I have requested a little birthday cake again. Because I liked that non-birthday birthday party I had the last time. And as always he said “consider it done!”. And then he brings them: lovely chocolatey swear words and a huge chocolatey “fuck you” mmmm, delicious. 

After the dinner when all the customers had left we sat with the staff and drank and chatted. There’s a girl amongst them. A very beautiful one; almost a super model kind of beautiful, intelligent, like an academic type of intelligent, kind as in angel like kind of girl called Chelsea. Chelsea sits next to me and we chat. Harry is telling her about last night at  the strip club and me going on the stage. She turns to me and says: « don’t do it for free ». I say I would have if they’d let me. A while later, we are all back at the Seventh, and Chelsea insists we should strip and get on the stage. « They’ll kick us out » I say. She looks at her watch: «  they’re closing soon anyway ». I say: « They’ll ban us ». A few minutes later, still sat on her sofa, I watch her taking her work pants off and tying her work shirt on her belly and off she jumps on the stage, grabs the pole and starts dancing. One of the bouncers is approaching, the one from last night but it seems he decides to ignore her and walks around the stage towards the back. And then another one, a dark haired fit younger one comes and grabs her and pulls her off the stage. They tell us that she’s banned permanently, and that we all have to go now because «  every night you send a girl on our stage ». Then we are all accompanied outside and as he’s shutting the door the bouncer looks me in the eye and says: «  you are a darling » while Chelsea is surrounded by her friends a little upset, very drunk and without her pants. 

Later Harry told me that «  she’s got that Chinese boyfriend  and she’s fucking this bouncer guy on the side. Now she’s going to be banned from there ». I don’t think I tell him that an hour before the incident at the Seventh I heard Hugh and Chelsea making a bet. « £200 and  I will strip” Hugh says: “ and a kiss”. Chelsea agrees “ “”£200 and I’ll strip on the stage, plus a kiss” . I say: «  good for her. She’s beautiful enough to be able to get anywhere she likes anytime. And about the boyfriend and the bouncer well… same rules apply ».