by Nigel Bird
Starts off with the guilty feelings that mass in my stomach. It’s like nausea, except it expands like cancer. Makes me want to tear it out and chuck it away.
I imagine the way she’ll feel when she gets home. The phone calls we’ll have just like the last time and the time before. I picture taking her in my arms to make it better, then taking her to bed and putting the world to rights. And then the guilt again.
Can’t get it out of my head that I’m doing something wrong even though I’m not.
There’s no law against sleeping with your step-sister far as I know. There’d be no weird mutations if we had a child.
It’s just the image of what Mum might say and unless she comes back from the dead there’s nothing she’ll say about anything ever again.
I drive down the Archway Road, pass under Suicide Bridge.
Feel better to be home in a city where anonymity is king.
no place to hide
The phone rings at 9 o’clock. I’m in bed. A week of staying up all night for cuddly chats and sex, topped off with the drive has done me in.
I let it ring. Seven bells and it stops. I daren’t pick up to take the message, so I put the pillow over my head and try to sleep.
It rings again at 10, 11 and midnight, then at 6 a.m.
When I eventually check for a message, there’s only one.
“JC, you’re a tramp. A streak of yellow in a pot of piss. I hate you more than ever.”
I think there was a sob at the end. Dial again. Definitely a sob.
I could drive there right now. Put my arms around her. Stay there forever.
Instead, I pull the pillow over my head again and hold on tight to my insides to keep the pain within.
the girl in the jogging bottoms
When I first got to the café, I walked on by. Thought better of going in.
From the corner of my eye, I could see that it was packed, all the more chance I’d not been seen.
I can’t say for sure what brought me back. Thinking about her in the bikini or the memory of her scent, or because I’d agreed to go. Whatever it was, I turned round as soon as I’d crossed the road.
When I go in they’re easy to spot.
Emma’s red hair shines like a beacon, her smile beaming like a nuclear accident.
Vince’s face is covered in chocolate smudges and Sheena’s chewing on a mouthful of cake.
Roger sits with his arms folded across his chest, resting on the top of his paunch. His lips stay dead straight as he talks to a man I don’t know, a huge guy with a face that suggests blood pressure problems.
I’m not sure who to go to first.
Inevitably it’s Emma who does the work. Holds out her hand, pulls me over and gives me a kiss. I feel her squeeze my fingers and wish I’d not turned back.
Vince gets a ruffle of the hair, Sheena a hug. They greet me like I’m the second coming.
Roger stays seated as he shakes my hand. His lips stay straight and he looks away.
Me and the big guy are introduced.
“Gus this is JC. JC, Gus.” We’re polite. I sense that Gus is feeling about as trapped as I do.
A waitress comes over and everybody orders. Wine for the adults, pop for the kids. It would seem like a party if anyone was talking to each other.
Gus and I try to get things moving.
“See the football,” he asks.
“Yeah. Who’d you support?” Lowest common denominator.
“Spurs.” His hands go out as if to apologise.
“Can’t be helped.”
“You?”
“Preston North End. Don’t ask.”
Having established that we’re both losers, the rest is easy. Best goals, the sending offs, a little match analysis and a couple of predictions and we’re like a burning house.
Same can’t be said of the rest of our table.
At least the kids are having a great time, blowing down their straws and making the fizz rise to the top of their glasses.
Roger and Emma must have had words. The body language isn’t good. Hers is all adolescent slouching, his all closed like he’s made of stone.
It’s like we’re waiting for something to crack, Gus and I, but nothing gives.
The wine’s gone in a couple of minutes, the fastest I’ve seen in a civilised setting. I guess we’re all as keen as each other to leave.
Roger holds up a note to the waitress.
She’s over in a tick.
Looks like a fake to me, his cash, till I see the 50 on it.
“Never seen one of those before,” I say, but he doesn’t react.
She puts the change on the table and he puts up his hand to tell her when to stop.
“Why, thank you very much sir,” she says and gives him an extra little wiggle of her skirt as she goes back to the bar.
Gus and I remain trapped in the middle of the feud with no idea what’s going on.
Roger insists Gus goes with them back to their place.
As if not to be undone, Emma tells me to do the same.
“I need to pick up some things from the supermarket,” I try, but there’s not spine to my words and she doesn’t even bother to respond.
Into the flat we go. There’s no chaos and nothing’s out of place.
First thing that happens is the wine is brought out onto the table.
The kids are sent to watch TV and Gus and Roger both skin up a couple of fat ones.
Conversation flows, but only in particular ways, as if we’re negotiating a maths puzzle. As long as Roger and Emma don’t have to communicate directly, everything’s fine.
Soon as the smoke gets to my brain, I’m cooked. All I want is more. I watch the joints pass around and try not to look desperate.
Roger and Gus start going on about horse racing. Sounds like they know their onions. I hear 2000 Guineas, Derby, furlong and favourites and mull the words over trying to stick them together in a way that makes sense.
Emma leans over.
Her eyes are beautiful. The blue sparkles at me as she passes over the spliff. At the same time she whispers. “Look. See. You’ve come for lunch and I couldn’t even be bothered to dress up.” It’s a loud whisper. Makes me uncomfortable for a moment, till I realise the men are still talking even-money shots and jockeys. “And do you know?”
I shake my head and fill my lungs.
“I’m not wearing knickers.”
The smoke’s expelled as a cough when I hear her words. It catches my throat and gets out of control.
Gus takes the joint and Emma goes to get a glass of water. She’s giggling like a teenager, proud of her latest tease.
The water does the job. I breathe deeply and feel a rasping in my chest. All the same I feel hard done by that my turn with the drugs was short-lived.
I try hard to think about whether I know anything about racing. All I can come up with is the Grand National.
“We always bet on the Grand National,” I say. I’m not sure who the ‘we’ are. Mum, Dad and Jenny, I guess.
“Us too,” Emma says with too much enthusiasm.
“Never touch it,” Roger says. “It’s for mugs.”
Gus nods in agreement. “Too big a field you see. Too many variables.”
Now, instead of being four people, we’re two teams vying for position.
I don’t care, so I sit back expecting things to kick off.
“You two are no fun,” Emma says, and gets up like the arguments over.
It takes me a while to come to a conclusion. For some reason, she thinks I’m fun. She must be the first person ever to put me into that camp.
“Who’s staying for soup?” she asks and Gus is in.
“I’ve still got the shopping to do,” I say, half standing.
I catch a look from Roger. He seems to approve at last, happy that I’m yet to fall under the spell of his wife.
He’s wrong though. I’m both under the spell and scared to argue back, so when she tells me to sit down and
not to be stupid, I do.
When I remember there’s nothing bar tobacco to smoke at mine, the decision’s made.
“No red meat then,” I remind her.
“Course not,” she smiles and pulls things out from the fridge.
the girl with no bottoms
Soon as the other men have gone, some reunion or other, we’re left alone.
Somewhere in my mind floats the sound of an alarm bell. A distant voice telling me to be good. To pick up my things. To go.
The kids are tucked up in bed. Think about using the ‘need to get to the supermarket’ line.
She giggles. Too much wine and too much dope.
The music’s loud. She dances on the tiled floor dressed like she’s at a work-out, moving like she needs a pole.
“What?” I ask, making sure it’s not me she finds amusing.
“The soup.” She’s using the loud whisper again, like a cockney Marilyn Monroe. “You said no red meat.”
“Because I don’t eat it.”
Her body moves close. She slips herself onto my lap and she’s practically weightless.
Looking round, she seems to be checking whether there’s anyone else there. “I used beef stock.” Her laughter is irresistible. I note the fillings in her teeth.
Anyone else, any other time, I’d have flipped.
I pretend it doesn’t matter. Maybe it doesn’t.
“And that’s red meat.” Whatever it is about getting one over on me, it’s giving her a kick. It’s what I should be giving her too, right up the arse.
Instead, I lift my hand and wrap a finger in her hair.
Quickly she bobs her head forward like a pigeon on the scrounge. Her lips touch mine. Make that mmwa noise and she pulls back, looking right into my eyes.
We both lean this time. Lips meet. And she has me, hook, line and sinker.
Time passes slowly like the world’s on hold.
All we do is kiss and smoke, ask the same questions and leave the answers as they are.
“Are you sure this is OK?”
“Doesn’t it feel OK?”
“It’s wonderful, but don’t you think...?”
“Stop it with the words, my lips are getting cold.”
Warming her lips becomes my favourite pastime.
It’s not like the kisses I was expecting. I couldn’t have even imagined lips like this. They’re like apples when they’re chewed for so long they feel like blossom. They have the taste of strawberry balm and the moves of a close magician.
I push up the vest. Reveal her breasts. I cup them neatly in my hands and there’s room to spare.
“So small,” she says, yet I can tell she’s proud. “You don’t mind them being so small, do you?”
When I run my fingers lightly over her, she throws her head back and snorts.
Her neck is long and white. At the sight I shake like milk. I find the nape and snuggle in.
At music’s end, we listen for the kids. Not a peep.
She leads me to the door and we lean against it.
There’s more hunger this time. She nips me with her teeth. I nip back. For the first time, I feel myself sweat and lose control. My hand slips under the elastic waistband.
“See,” she smiles. “No knickers.”
My fingers stroke and try to get their bearings.
Before I know it she stops. Reaches down and slips the trousers off.
“Keep your feet against the door.”
I don’t give it a thought. Undo my belt and drop to the floor.
I’m inside her and all’s well with the world.
She moans a happy moan and I look to find her eyes, but they’ve disappeared. All that’s left are the whites and the reds and it seems like she’s gazing into a better place.
The thought that it’s so good spurs me on. Makes me hot.
I take a deep breath and try to prolong things, but to no avail.
My stomach spasms like it’s been machine gunned.
And somehow I kept my heels against the door from beginning to end.
When the fuzz of pleasure clears, I give her hair a stroke.
“I was so wrong about you,” she says.
I do something with my eyebrows that’s supposed to show I’m puzzled.
“I always thought you’d have a small willy.”
Vagrant
Mike Arch is the only person I know who has more energy after a smoke than before.
He’s rolled and passed on a spliff the size of a carrot and now he’s doling out the mushrooms. Six shares. Enough in each pile to set up a business.
Mike and Wolf pick them up and swallow them down, swigging Special Brew to stun their tongues.
Vagrant puts on the kettle to make mushroom tea.
The rest of us make sandwiches. We sit down together, nibble and pull faces.
I imagine slugs in my mouth which doesn’t help.
We watch Mike and Wolf stroll out and set to making a fire, always eager to get things going. They pile up wood into a neat wigwam, smoking as they work.
Inside, we’re all done. We sit in a state of shock, happy it’s over. This time, none of us has puked. It’s a cause for celebration.
The fire’s enormous. Half the party’s gathered round.
Stars wink down at us. I spend time joining them together, inventing constellations. The truck. Tank. Ava Gardner. Elvis. Speedy Gonzales.
My hearing’s gone. Fades in and out like someone’s working my volume control. Makes me laugh to think of it.
Mike’s over under the trees. He’s showing some Tai Chi moves to a girl he’s chatting up. I don’t recognise her. She’s one of the locals. Good for him.
To see him now you’d never think he’d been in the Marines. He’s got the shaven head all right, but the Tin Tin fringe flopping out from his cap and his many-ringed ears are more eco-warrior than soldier. He never talks about the military world, but I know they taught him plenty. I wonder if chatting up women was part of the brief.
Across the fire from me’s a stranger place.
Wolf looks like his name. Always does. I guess that’s where it comes from. Never thought to ask.
The Vagrant’s skin is pure white. Looks like his ghostly soul has returned to wander the earth just like his body used to.
Noddy’s face has aged, has taken on something of Nosferatu.
I wonder if I’m tripping or if it’s Halloween, then from somewhere remember it’s summer.
Whatever it is, I can’t stop staring at them.
“All right JC?” Wolf asks and throws something at me.
Takes a while for it to get over. I pick it up and smoke it. “All right Wolfman?” I think of Wolfman Jack, of Rock and Roll, imagine that the air is full of music.
It’s only when Wolf starts pacing that uneasiness creeps in.
I feel like my mind has been wired to his. Look out for Maxine hoping she can help, but there’s no sign.
Nobody else seems to notice. Everything else is the same. The Vagrant is still lying by the fire. Nosferatu keeps giving me the eye.
Mike and the girl have gone.
Wolf runs over to me. Puts his arm around my shoulders.
“Shit man. I’m going mad.” His incisor teeth are larger than normal, which is saying something, his beard looking strangely alive. “I’ve lost my mind.”
A wave passes through me. It’s cold. Terrifying. The heat of the fire is suddenly gone.
I stand up and get close. Whisper to him. “Let’s go inside.” Check to make sure nobody has read our thoughts. I can’t be sure. We slope off treading lightly as we go.
We enter somebody’s bedroom. A double bed, blankets, wardrobes. A dressing table is full of his and hers. The floors are bare.
Pacing to and fro like a captive lion, Wolf holds his head and mumbles.
“I’ve lost my marbles. They’ll never be found ever again. Will I always be like this? JC? Tell me if I’ll always be like this.”
There’s no way
I can answer the question. His madness is spreading. “No idea, Wolf. Will I always be like this?” I’ve joined in the pacing. Back and forth, back and forth.
His face is twisted, like he’s been cooked on a skewer.
I feel my own with my fingers to see what it’s doing. It gives nothing away.
Something funny happens to time. I can’t tell whether what was last said came an hour ago, ten seconds or maybe never escaped anybody’s lips at all. It’s certainly not helping. I wonder if it’s my turn to say something or not.
“I’m mad,” he says, it evidently not being my turn. “There’s nothing we can do. I’m mad aren’t I?”
The question’s there to be answered, but I forget what to say before I say it.
Instead I sit down and think of Jenny. Just for a moment, I feel content.
The next face I imagine is Emma’s, those eyeballs white in their sockets.
The two faces merge together. Completely freaks me out, like there’s a message coming from somewhere. I scrunch my eyes tight then hold my breath until I feel my lungs burst.
I guess it’s me that’s doing the screaming when they come in. Wolf had his fingers in his ears and his mouth is closed.
The girl who comes to me has a soft voice. Places a hand on my arm. Talks to me like I’m her patient.
She leads me through to a large room lit with fairy lights and warmed by laughter.
Mike’s there, a woman’s head upon his shoulder.
The Vagrant and Noddy are playing the flinching game with a tennis ball, aiming for each others’ faces, no protection allowed.
The ball hits Noddy bang on the nose.
Vagrant looks like he’ll piss himself.
My nurse talks softly, asks my name.
“JC,” I remember.
“JC, I’m Laura. It’s my party.”
“Great party,” I think I say.
“Fancy a game of Connect 4?” Laura sets up the frame and dishes out the pieces.
Things are good. The world feels right. I’m safe and I like it here.
Through the door I see Wolf and Maxine. She shows her teeth, slaps his face. I want to go and help. Tell him that everything is sane.
“Yellow or red?” she asks.
It takes a while for me to make up my mind.