Black Bread White Beer Read Online Free PDF

toperfect and was unable to accomplish. When he walked down the church aisle three years ago, a newly baptized Christian – a page note to the cricket test, a secondary gesture to please Liz and Sam – he married not just her, but her girlfriends as well; those ready to jump in and complete all the things that he cannot do.
    This is his turn to feel the b-a-b-y, a collection of cells ripped from him, no longer their precious secret, but a story to be gossiped about over sweetish cocktails and wine coolers. There was a bitter yet muddled sense of disloyalty after sharing it with Hari, but there is something more agonizing about the permanence of girl talk. With every detail spilled down the phone he feels their child slipping from an imaginary grasp, and disappearing like a dream.
    â€˜I told Jen. She texted me and it all came out.’
    â€˜It’s good that you’re talking about it,’ he says, angry with himself that he is unable to stop feeling betrayed. ‘Jen’s a good person to have around.’
    â€˜I couldn’t stop talking once I started. Sorry.’
    â€˜Nothing to apologize about. It helps to share it.’
    â€˜You should talk to someone too. Ring Hari.’
    So talking is advocated, championed, in fact, so long as they do not do it with each other. They sit side by side at the breakfast counter unable to look each other in the eye.
    â€˜I don’t need to speak to anyone. I’m fine.’
    Her passive aggression weighs heavily on his shoulders,creeping across his front in a choke-hold. He resists. All too often has she used the same tactic.
    I’ve told Clare about the engagement. Do you want to tell someone? Hari? Mum wangled it out of me that we’re trying for a baby. You might as well tell your parents now so that we’re in sync. Or maybe Hari if you don’t want to tell them straight away. But you should tell someone.
    It is the most comfortable, easy-reaching tool in her box of tricks, so he understands why she still clings on to it, the way the collection of cells should have stayed attached to her insides.
    Her reliance on these things is admirable, how she expects him to call Hari right away, while she is still there, so that every nuance of the conversation can be analysed, then corrected. She was the same last week when he called the service people to get the digital TV box looked at. Bossiness has propelled her through higher education and a fast-track in her career. It gets results. Why should she be any different now? But it should be. Some things should be different between them. He sees how such a move can bang nails into a coffin further down the marriage. His parents. Liz and Sam.
    She is crying again as he packs the car. He knows her tears come more from a frustrated place, because he ignored her attempts to call Hari, than anything to do with the lost collection of cells. Office cynicism does not stay in the office. It is a part of every aspect of theirhome. The muffled package of sniff and sob resonates as loudly as any wailing for the way it follows him outside, but he carries on with packing the car. He speaks quietly to the neighbour about the plumber, and goes about his business; not going to her, knowing she is still not ready to be touched.

    Again there is nothing to listen to. She should not be woken on the journey, aside from a gentle tap on the shoulder when they wind up the drive in Lewes. Their story has been concocted. There is no reason to discuss it endlessly. They are making the most of a well-earned long weekend. She is pregnant. They are happy.
    Driving through the country will hurt with its constant reminders of plant in bud. Everything has the ability to reproduce but them. He prefers it on the motorway where concrete has killed all life. Black and grey, miles of it, make everything better. It is time to reaffirm his faith in hard, physical objects: the road, his BlackBerry and iPhone. There is nothing to be had