“You buying that?” Martin asked.
He tweaked the Astrid hat.
“Suppose. Though it is kind of naff.”
“I get the feeling you think this holiday’s naff.”
He said it in a tone low enough for me to ignore if I wished. I decided to take that option. A surreptitious swig of vodka in the mall toilets helped the process along.
My word this time was priapism. A state I had high hopes of inducing in Johno later on. When I announced it, he made a primitive yawping sound and said, “Don’t mind if I do!”
It augured well for the evening ahead.
I stood outside the bedroom door, wrapped in a towel that was a fraction too short, my hair slicked back. The door refused to open. I shoved it and squeezed through the gap.
“Ow. Jaysus,” said a deep, growling voice. “Steady on.”
A tall, lean figure blocked my view of the room. Johno.
“Have I stumbled into the wrong room?”
Such unparalleled access was not to be sneezed at. As I moved into the room, I allowed my breast to brush his arm. He moved away as if scalded, no doubt surprised by the sudden advance. Mia was on the other side of him, staring into her suitcase as if it contained the answer to all her dilemmas.
“Oh, hi Astrid. We were just...”
“Here,” said Johno. “This fluffy yoke. That what you’re looking for?”
He held up a pink fleece and thrust it into her hands.
“That’s it. Oh, you’re so good.”
She buried her face in the jacket’s folds.
“Right, come on. We’re leaving.”
“I’m changing in Johno’s room,” Mia clarified.
“Why?” I asked.
“You know why,” said Johno ominously.
The caramel-coddle texture was gone from Johno’s voice, leaving just a jagged edge. I had no idea what could have aroused his ire. At least Mia was out of the way. It gave me time to work on my look.
I went back to the bathroom and emptied half the bottle of water down the sink. Then I tipped the vodka into the bottle. It was a trick from my early days of clubbing with Jazz, always got me toasted. Some of it spilled down the side; I never managed to achieve a direct aim.
Back in the bedroom, I searched for suitable music to accompany me while I dressed. Nothing in my collection was particularly dancey, apart from some early Prodigy. On the way to sourcing their album, I came upon an hour-long mix recorded by Jazz. The mix that propelled him into Prism. The mix I helped him create. I rested the iPod on the end of the bed and clamped the earphones round my head, stretching the lead as far as it went. This gave me leeway to extract the silver dress from the wardrobe.
I laid it on the bed and surveyed it. It was a masterwork. My fingers trailed along the fine silver mesh that covered the metallic material underneath. Then I took off my iPod and shrugged myself into the dress, smoothing it down over my hips. The material was similar in look and feel to chain mail. At first glance, the dress did not appear to show much flesh. Only my shoulders and shoulder-blades were bare. But there were two slits on both sides which travelled the length of the dress, allowing a lean column of flesh to be seen. Thin bands of material zig-zagged along the slit, acting as a bridge between the front of the dress and the back. The skirt hugged my hips and skimmed the top of my thighs. Other girls had Fuck-Me boots. I had a Fuck-Me dress. It resulted in a score every time I wore it. You think you look shit hot in those clothes. The words buzzed at the edge of my mind. I quashed them; they were mere flies.
On this occasion, I teamed the dress with fishnet tights and a pair of silver stiletto heels. The heels were somewhat crumpled from being squished at the bottom of the rucksack, but they straightened out when I put them on. They raised me to Johno’s height. I reached for my overcoat. The inside pocket was a perfect fit for my water bottle. I inserted it, then left my coat open so my ensemble was visible in all its glory.
After that, I put the finishing touches to my hair. I kept it soft, minimal gel, just enough to make a wavy fringe that flared outwards and parted at the centre. Jazz liked my hair that way. Figured the mix must have triggered the thought. My head needed to be clear. I took a deep breath, reached for my bottle and took a swig. The fiery taste of the vodka drove everything else from my mind.
This was an occasion that called for my Roberto Cavalli shades. They were the real deal, one of my rare extravagant purchases. Their rims were the same shade of silver as my dress. As I inspected my reflection, a tingle shot through me. My hand drifted downwards, under my skirt. I was already wet, in anticipation of what was to come. My finger burrowed into the soft undergrowth. I removed it and licked the tip, tasting salt. Sometimes I let Jazz lick my finger and taste flesh that was not quite forbidden. I squared my shoulders, a young gladiator headed into battle.
They were already there when I arrived. Johno was leaning against the wall, wearing some sort of hideous rag covered in bobbles, which still managed to complement his physique. His guitar was balanced on his shoulder. Mia was on his other side. A reddish-pink polo-neck jumper poked out from under her fleece. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face. It shone in the dim light. I stood at the edge of the throng, waiting for my dress to elicit gasps of admiration.
“You do know it’s minus 10 outside, don’t you, Astrid,” said Martin.
“What’s she wearing?” one of the Greek Chorus stage-whispered.
“Kind of a silver yoke.”
“That’s not a colour for clothes, is it?”
“I’d say she looks like my brother’s Opel Corsa. It’s silver.”
They laughed. Johno whipped his head around and laughed too. I looked at them, took in their worn slacks and woollen jumpers.
“You’re hardly the arbiters of sartorial elegance,” I said.
They stopped laughing.
“What’s she on about?” they muttered.
“All right, gang, let’s get cracking,” said Martin.
There was a melee as everyone paired off. No chance of getting to Johno; he and Mia were hooked up with Kevin and Martin. Somehow in the shakedown I ended up without an elbow. Not that this was a cause for concern. Easier to strut that way.
Outside, a snowdrift lay in wait, in a cunning position just behind the exit. I was about to plunge headlong into it when a hand yanked me up. It was Kim. I didn’t look at him, just shook him off and checked that my bottle was still in situ.
“You might as well walk with us,” said Kim, in his nitrogen voice.
“I don’t think so. That was an aberration.”
“It’s no trouble.”
I decided to take the line of least resistance, since I wanted my dress to be presentable when I reached the restaurant. We crocodiled along the street. Cliona walked with agonising slowness, treating Kim’s arm as a lifebelt. Her cane ploughed tracks through the snow. The town was a lunar landscape, the streetlights casting grey shadows. I went into my usual flight mode and kept striding ahead, my feet lurching over hidden cracks in the pavement. I took perverse pleasure in yanking Kim’s elbow and hearing Cliona’s disapproving yelps.
“Astrid, you’ll have to slow down,” she said. “My night vision is very poor.”
There she was again, waving her career gimp’s get out of jail free card.
“So you keep saying.”
I took intermittent swigs from my bottle. Given the company I was being forced to keep, I was glad of the sustenance. In the distance, I made out a yellow glow, a beacon.
“That’s the restaurant,” Cliona said. “Didn’t Kevin say it was called Brumhilde’s?”
“Thought you couldn’t see in the dark.”
When we reached the door. I dropped Kim’s elbow as if it were a brick of uranium and pushed open the door.
“Astrid, wait.
” Cliona said.
“And to think you wanted me to slow down,” I said over my shoulder.
Again I waited, leaning against the wall, until the Greek Chorus, Cliona and Kim were seated. Then I sat alone on the bench nearest the wall. Johno approached with Mia; he still hadn’t managed to extricate himself from her clutches. He looked to be headed for where I sat, but he was rendered unreachable by a gulf of noisy bodies, as a group of guides slid in beside me. I needed the bathroom, so I decided to make good my escape. There was still some vodka left in the bottle; I took another restorative swig.
When I returned, a plate of dark meat was being placed in front of me. It was served with these weird little white potatoes instead of chips.
“Where’s the chips?” I said.
The vodka was wreaking havoc with my voice, turning it shrill. It sloshed in my stomach.
“You don’t get chips with that one, love,” one of the guides said. I couldn’t work out which one. Not Martin or Kevin. Their faces blurred into one. A waiter came around with the drinks order. I ordered vodka. Not my usual style with a meal, but I needed to maintain momentum. In the background, there was a soundtrack of people masticating with their mouths open.
“I didn’t realise I was eating with swine,” I said.
My words disappeared into the ether.
All day they talked about my birthday. All day, I waited for Matthew to come. He was always there when my birthday came.
At teatime, the girls were wailing about the food, like they always did. Little balls of half-eaten food sat on their tongues as they talked. The pink lady who ate with us said we were having a special treat because it was my birthday. My chest tightened. I knew what it was. For a moment, the noise at the table stopped.
“Look, Astrid,” a voice said. “That’s for you.”
Something was being placed in front of me, a pink mound with candles burning on top of it. I counted them; there were six. I became lost in the flickering dance of the candles. The light from the candles made their faces disappear. Voices sang, urged me to blow the candles out and to make a wish. I puffed out my cheeks and the air came out, making the sigh a balloon makes when it goes flat. I closed my eyes and wished for Matthew. When I opened them, he wasn’t there. He wasn’t coming. I heard cheers from far away.
“We’ll have to give the birthday girl the first slice,” said the voice.
I plunged my fingers into the cake. It was soft; full of finger-shaped holes. Icing spattered all over the table.
“Don’t want any stupid cake,” I said.
I heard the refrain, Now, now Astrid. A dull throb of satisfaction pulsed through me. They brought me to the bathroom to wash off the icing. When I came back, the other girls were crying that they wanted cake. But it was gone.
As the plates were cleared away, I became aware of a presence on my left. I turned around. Johno stood there, offering the promise of salvation from Hades.
“I want a word,” he said.
I was impressed he knew where I was sitting. Further evidence of his remarkable powers of sonar.
“No room here,” I said. “Unless you want to get personal.”
“Outside.”
A bolt of heat shot through me. It was time. I stood up and put on my coat. He put his hand on my elbow. Only the tips of his fingers rested on my sleeve; he was determined to prove his independence. Or his trust in me. I manoeuvred us towards a bare, whitewashed wall at the back of the restaurant. We leaned against it, beside a water pipe. Its faint gurgling was the only sound. I pressed my mouth close to his ear.
“Good thing you wanted a word. I was planning to seek you out myself.”
I was back in Prism, with shapes dancing on the walls. Jazz was in the DJ box, watching from on high. My hand traced the line of his hip and reached for his fly. His hand stretched towards me. My stomach lurched and fizzed.
The ferocity of his push sent me sprawling. I tried to right myself, but couldn’t find my footing on the soft snow. My legs parted. I wondered if my underwear was on display. Good thing he couldn’t see it. I heaved myself up, leaning against the wall. Water trickled down my legs.
“What are you like?” he said. “There’s no way I’d touch you. Not after how you treated Mia.”
What was he talking about? Where did she fit into the equation?
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m on about. Ridin’ her up the arse. Acting like you can’t hear her when she’s asking you for something.”
Maybe you won’t be so cruel to blind people.
“She says you keep your stupid headphones on the whole time. That’s just ignorance. She’s blind, Astrid, she’s not an eejit.”
“So you fancy yourself as a gallant knight, going into battle for her? How very noble of you. Can’t she fight her own battles?”
“She just needs a bit of help sometimes. And she’s not getting it off you. You don’t have the decency. You won’t even talk to her.”
I raised myself up to my full height.
“I have no interest in talking to her.”
“You’ve got issues, you know that? You’re a bully.”
Words splintered into little pieces in my brain... ruined... cruel... don’t know what it’s like. I closed my eyes, trying to squeeze them out. Johno’s cane tapped against the ground. He was leaving. Going back to Princess Mia. Freezing water trickled into my shoes. Drip, drip, drip. Like the erosion of rocks, invisible, pernicious. I finished the vodka bottle; its warmth sustained me, readied me for the final skirmish.
Johno sat at the top of the table with his guitar, Mia beside him. I strutted towards him. Far away, I heard a juddering sound, a clatter. Jazz’s mix looped in my head; I couldn’t remember which part. A pinpoint of light guided me to Johno. Voices called my name, but I pressed on, determined to complete my mission. Johno carried on strumming chords. Mia had a microphone in her hand. Her mouth was open. It was always a little open, as part of her gormless act. I snatched it out of her hand. Time to move in for the kill. Johno’s mouth waited. I thrust my tongue between his teeth, forcing his lips open.
The only way I could get your attention is if I do this.
Johno snapped his head away. My tongue flailed. I stared at him, dazed. They were the wrong lips. Too thin. I wanted fuller, cushioned lips.
“Jaysus,” he said, from somewhere far below me. “You’re a witch. A white witch.”
His arm was around Mia’s shoulder.
“Can’t handle a proper woman,” I said. “Rather have that little invertebrate.”
I spoke into the microphone. My voice echoed in my ears. Electricity surged through me. I was going to show them. Vanquish them all. Starting with Mia.
“Not as stupid as you look, are you, Mia? Got everyone dancing attendance on you. Let them think you can’t do anything for yourself. You thrive on that, don’t you? Being a pathetic child.”
My words were hot fat flying into the air, into the silent crowd. All that could be heard was the murmur of the Greek Chorus.
“What’s she doin’?”
“Tryin’ to give him one. He’s knockin’ her back, though.”
“Ah yeah. Man of taste.”
“Jaysus, I’d love two women after me.”
“Chance would be a fine thing.”
Were they speaking about me? I turned towards them.
“That your party piece? State the obvious and repeat it ad nauseum?”
“I think you’ve said enough, Astrid.”
Cliona. Taking up her cudgels, joining in the crusade.
“I don’t recall asking for your input.”
An obstacle materialised, a warm brush of flesh, but I ignored it. I was a warrior from my Viking book, thirsting for vengeance, wreaking havoc with a flaming sword.
“We exp
ect a certain standard of decorum on these trips. We made an effort to accommodate you, because your name was put forward by a very important fundraiser. It’s obvious that we made a mistake.”
“Least I don’t pretend I can’t see in the dark in order to get on the trip. Fraud!”
“Astrid, I have retinitis pigmentosa. It affects night vision.”
“That’s convenient, isn’t it? A neat label for you to hide behind. Strip that away and there’s nothing there. You need that label. Tell everyone how brave you are. Have a servant boy do your bidding.”
Another hand brushed arm. Thought I saw Kim’s face swimming in front of me. Yes, it was. He was the only man I knew who wore purple shirts.
“Get off me. Nitrogen.”
I propelled myself forward, towards the door. Leaning on the handle, I turned around to face them. Their faces clumped together, indistinguishable from each other.
“But believe it or not, you are right about one thing. It was a mistake for me to come here. I don’t know why I came. Allowed myself to be surrounded by idiots. You’re all weak. Pathetic. Can’t do anything for yourselves. Let them all wipe your ass for you. Stupid Cabbage Patch Kids. Had enough of you.”
I pushed the heavy door open, burst through it, into the lunar landscape. Moved from lamp post to lamp post, setting a crazy, determined course. I was free of limpets, fallen gods. Didn’t need well-meant, interfering elbows, the drip-drip-drip condensation of patronising remarks. A voice floated towards me from time to time, but I ignored it. The ground threatened to give way. I took off my shoes and the ground became firmer, but the bottoms of my tights were soaked in an instant. A Latin verb hovered at the edge of my mind. I seized on it. A perfect stream of conjugations flowed: dêleô, dêlêre, dêlêvî, dêlêtum. To destroy, conquer. I showed them. The words pushed me on, beyond cold, beyond all feeling.
The Pink Cage Page 18