Idiopathy
Page 29
But now here he was, doing the guilt-face. If there was one thing she hated in a man it was the shrivelling, the soul-coddling, the blubbery indignation, that seemed to arise whenever they felt they had been misunderstood, and they always felt they’d been misunderstood, it seemed, right after they’d fucked someone behind your back.
‘Katherine,’ Daniel said.
‘Don’t speak to me,’ she said. ‘Don’t speak to me ever again.’
‘I … I’m so sorry, Katherine. I never meant …’
She wanted to push past him and keep walking. She wanted to be very far from him indeed. She didn’t want to have to look at him or feel him looking at her. It was only as she began to muscle past, however, that she became properly aware of the fact that a lone cow was standing in the middle of the road, eyeing her oddly, while what looked like a mad hippy gestured awkwardly at its back end.
‘Just tap it on the flank, you say?’ said the hippy.
‘Fuck off, Sebastian,’ said Daniel, trying to reach for Katherine’s arm. ‘Katherine, I …’
‘I think she’s feeling kind of un-chill about this,’ called Sebastian. ‘I mean, she’s kind of giving me evils.’
As Katherine hesitated, feeling suddenly vulnerable in the face of such a large and uncannily out-of-place animal, a car came round the corner, turning into the street. She winced in the undipped headlights, bringing her hand briefly to her eyes and trying to blink away the spangled swatch of reds that now stained her vision.
‘Shit,’ Daniel said. ‘Sebastian. Get that cow out of the road.’
Springing into action, the man apparently named Sebastian skipped forward and thwacked the cow across the buttocks with the palm of his hand, causing it to leap surprisingly far into the air, yelp in a distinctly unbovine manner and charge directly towards Katherine.
The whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing turned out to be a load of crap. A life certainly appeared in the foreground of Katherine’s mind, but it was not her own, and it was not a life that yet had any recognisable past. The only thing she thought of that even indirectly involved her was, as she had imagined so many times, her own funeral, her hysterical mother hurling herself on the coffin and then seeking solace in the arms of a swarthy mourner. Other than that, everything that glittered in Katherine’s adrenalised brain was something that hadn’t yet happened, concerning someone who didn’t yet exist.
As the cow drew near, Katherine swallowed a great lungful of air and began charging towards it, screaming at the top of her lungs. She saw the cow’s eyes widen in alarm, saw it halt, skid slightly, then turn on a sixpence and, blinded by panic, barrel headlong into the approaching car, which swerved just enough to take the impact to the driver’s side. The door crumpled; the window shattered. The cow lost its footing on the asphalt, sprawled, recovered, turned again, and thundered past Daniel and Katherine up the road, its hooves ringing out on the quiet street, an absurd banner a-flap in its wake.
‘Katherine,’ said Daniel again, valiantly dashing forward and pulling her aside now that there was absolutely no danger whatsoever. She ignored him. She felt shot through with delirium and awe.
From inside the by now horribly familiar car a cry went up, followed by the sound of someone kicking against the hopelessly warped door for all they were worth.
‘Babes,’ came the well-known wail. ‘I’m coming, Katherine. Don’t worry. If I could just … I’m going to … Somebody help me. This is an emergency. We’ve got a … She’s carrying my baby. This is … I’m going to get out the passenger side, actually, because it’s … I’m coming, baby.’
The passenger door flew open, and a crumpled, wild-eyed Keith emerged, wearing saggy jogging bottoms and a T-shirt that read I Am the #1 Source of Greenhouse Gases.
‘Oh,’ said Katherine. ‘For fuck’s …’
‘I’m here, baby,’ he said breathlessly, limping forward. ‘Everybody out of my way.’
He surged forward a heroic six inches, then, putting his hand to his chest, sat on the bonnet of his car to catch his breath, his other hand raised as if signalling to the onlookers that he’d be with them in just a moment.
‘That’ll be my ride,’ said Katherine.
‘Baby?’ said Daniel. ‘What baby?’
The night air was damp and cold. It edged its way in through Nathan’s clothes and laid itself against his skin. His scars ached. His stomach heaved with hunger. The streets already had a morning-after feel, the abandoned kebabs and puddles of beery vomit beginning to congeal; a hard frost across car windows.
He would not, he thought, be seeing Daniel or Katherine for a very long time, if ever. If he did see them, it would be years hence, and would be more out of mutual curiosity than any real sense of goodwill. He would not call them. They would not call him. It was a comforting thought.
He found an all-night café on the edge of the city centre. It was quiet and warm. The walls were a soft yellow. The chairs were comfortable. The tables had everything a customer might need. He ordered a cup of tea and some chips. He was, he realised, starving, and in no particular rush to be anywhere at all. When he had finished, he paid and left, feeling awake and calm and happily lost. It was good to be lost, he thought. He had nothing, really, that might be endangered by staying lost a little longer.
His mobile vibrated with a text. It was from Daniel. Sorry about tonight. Just checking you’re OK.
Don’t worry, he texted back. I’m fine. Then he dropped his phone into a bin.
It was not yet light. The streets were empty, and they were his to walk.
‘Well,’ said Daniel.
Katherine nodded. They were sitting in the front room, on separate sofas. Daniel had ushered her there after the business with the cow, and in her momentarily dazed state Katherine hadn’t thought to refuse. Angelica had made the excuse of going to feed the cat.
‘Is there any value at all in saying I’m sorry?’ said Daniel.
‘Depends if you’re sorry.’
‘I am. Of course I am.’
Katherine thought about it for a moment, weighing the statement as if it were an unusually shaped stone she’d found on the beach, deciding whether to keep it or toss it back to the waves.
‘No,’ she said finally. ‘There’s no value in it.’
‘Why did you make me say it then?’
‘I was just wondering if you would.’
‘If you could make me, you mean.’
‘Did I make you?’
‘No. I really am sorry.’
‘Well whoop de doo.’
‘Still,’ said Daniel.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Still.’
They looked ahead of them for an indeterminate amount of time. Sitting perpendicular to each other as they were, it was possible to imagine a point in space at which their gazes might intersect.
‘Maybe one day,’ said Daniel. ‘We can …’
‘Yeah,’ said Katherine. ‘We could be friends, couldn’t we? Because, you know, we get along so well.’
‘Point taken.’ He paused, his mouth still open with a word stuck somewhere inside.
‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘Ask the obvious.’
‘What are you going to do about the baby?’
‘I think I’ll keep it,’ she said. ‘Why not.’
Daniel nodded, then cocked his head towards the window, through which Keith could be seen, engaged in a titanic battle to straighten his car door with his knee. ‘He, ah, he seems like a decent chap.’
Katherine snorted. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I’ll just tell the kid I reintroduced Daddy to the wild.’
She followed Daniel’s gaze, taking a minute to study Keith’s straining form with dispassion. She thought of the baby, hoping that, just this once if never again, nurture would win out over nature, despite the fact that there was, patently, a hell of a lot of nature for nurture to overcome.
‘Well, anyway,’ she said, standing up.
Daniel stood up. She looked at him. He sat back down.
‘Take care of yourself,’ he said as she reached the door.
‘Don’t I always?’ she said, stepping out into the street.
Acknowledgements
Firstly, and most importantly, love and thanks to my family – Sue, Richard, Mollie, Graham and everyone else – for offering every possible type of support in every possible type of emotional, professional and financial circumstance.
Tom Rowson provided inspiration, blunt criticism, unwavering positivity, healthy cynicism, a roof over my head, and the very best of friendships.
Kevin Cuffe brought highbrow chat to lowbrow bars; Dawn Marrow set me on the right road; Giles Foden found a shape amidst the mess; Anjali Joseph believed before anyone else; Philip Langeskov offered spiritual first aid; Mark Richards, Peter Straus and Mitzi Angel took a gamble and guided me through; Phil Craggs and Blank Pages indulged my InDesign obsession; Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi braved the early pages and sent the email to beat all emails; everyone at Granta gave me the happiest and least terrifying first publishing experience possible; Jonathan Gibbs made me say hello; my work colleagues put up with my ways; Jeanette West helped me find the time; Owen Carroll and John Everson entertained, embraced, and lent me a bag for life; and Lola Byers mainly just kept an eye.
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First published in Great Britain by
Fourth Estate
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 8JB
www.4thestate.co.uk
Copyright © Sam Byers 2013
The right of Sam Byers to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Parts of this book originally appeared, in a slightly different form, as ‘Some Other Katherine’ in issue 119 of Granta
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Source ISBN: 9780007412082
Ebook Edition © 2013 ISBN: 9780007412099
Version 1
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