by Chris Smyth
Blobs of fat dribbled down the length of the sausage, and Charlotte had to catch them with the back of her hand to stop them dripping on to her lap. It was awkward, especially with everyone still staring at her, so she leaned forward and chopped the sausage into chunks, then dropped them, one by one, into her bowl of stew. Justin winced as each chunk went in.
Charlotte stirred the mixture and took a forkful. It worked really well: the sticky sweetness of the sauce enveloping the meat and steeping it in flavour.
‘Mmm, really good,’ she said through a mouthful. ‘I recommend this.’
‘Anyone else want one?’ Barbara asked.
There was a very tense silence.
‘Sarah?’
‘No! No, thank you.’
‘Rosie?’
‘Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly manage . . .’
‘Matt?’
‘Er . . . All right, then.’ Matt speared a sausage and bit into it. Charlotte felt a spasm of grateful lust. His powerful jaw chewed rhythmically. It hadn’t been so bad last time, had it, really? Quite fun, in fact, definitely to begin with. So what if they’d ignored each other all week? They knew where they stood.
If they went back to her flat this time, he might be up and gone before she’d even woken up. And if he wasn’t gone . . . well, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
After inspecting it closely, Marcus declined a sausage. Stephen took one and was given a sharp, disapproving look by Rosie.
‘This is really good, Justin,’ Charlotte said cheerfully. ‘The flavours go really well together. You’ll definitely have to give me the recipe.’
Justin muttered something inaudible.
‘You know where I had a properly excellent sausage recently?’ Charlotte went on. ‘Barcelona. I wish I could remember what it was called; it was like a chorizo but with different spices. Very good. It was part of a sharing platter that was basically seven different types of pork. Fantastic.’
Charlotte ate the last lump of meat from her stew. The three remaining sausages sat cooling on the plate, their hardening skins gleaming under the lights.
‘If you guys don’t want them, I might have another one,’ she said.
No one objected.
Charlotte leaned forward and chopped up another sausage. Both Justin and Barbara watched her intently.
‘Are you all sure?’ she asked, dropping the chunks into the remains of her stew. ‘It’s very good. Rosie? Stephen?’
They shook their heads.
‘What about you, Barbara? You went to all the trouble of cooking them. Don’t you want to try one?’
Barbara looked up from the plate and met Charlotte’s eye. She looked at Justin, then back to the sausages. They glistened. She shifted on her beanbag.
‘Barbara . . .’ Justin’s tone was one of urgent anguish.
She leaned forward and reached towards the plate.
‘Barbara! No!’
Her fingers closed round the sausage, dimpling its fatty flesh.
Twenty-three
A rivulet of hot pork juice hung for a moment on Barbara’s lower lip. Matt watched it slide down the curve of her chin until she reached up a hand to brush it away. The fairy lights caught the remains of the sticky path it traced across her skin.
Matt felt a sharp jolt of desire. Barbara was wearing a loose, faded vest top, scooping open at the front to cast appealing shadows over the swell of her chest. She lay back against the bookshelf, almost reclining, one leg cocked over the other, with an air of defiance. Matt stared.
Justin emitted another squeaky moaning sound, like a small animal caught in a trap.
‘Barbara, what’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘I just can’t understand why you did that.’
‘I know,’ she said.
‘Why, then?’ Justin moaned again. ‘Why would you just give up on something like that? Something you care about? A principle that was so important to you.’
She seemed to consider this herself. ‘I don’t know . . . I guess I just wanted to try something different.’
Justin shook his head.
‘To be fair,’ Charlotte interrupted. ‘It was a pretty tasty sausage.’
Matt smiled at this. No one else gave anything away. Charlotte caught his eye and grinned. She was in good spirits now, offering round another bottle of wine and filling up her own glass when everyone except Stephen refused.
‘Does anyone want the last one?’ she asked. ‘Barbara? Are you sure you won’t have another?’
Almost imperceptibly, Barbara shook her head.
Charlotte shrugged. Then she ate the sausage.
The silence thickened.
Rosie said: ‘It’s getting quite late, isn’t it? I think we’d better be going.’
She looked expectantly at Justin. He didn’t reply.
‘Well, it’s been really good to see you all . . .’ She gestured at Stephen, who reluctantly put down his wine glass. They stood up.
The movement stirred Justin from whatever he was thinking.
‘What? Where are you going?’
‘Thank you so much for a lovely evening.’
‘You can’t go yet. We haven’t had dessert.’
‘Oh . . . that’s OK. You’ve fed us so well already . . .’
‘But I’ve made Lemon Tart!’ Justin stood up. ‘I’ll go and get it.’
They faced each other for a few seconds before Rosie conceded. She gestured at Stephen. They sat down again.
No one made any attempt at conversation. They sat quietly until the tart was served, accepting slices like prisoners receiving their rations, then offered Justin subdued praise and chewed in glum silence.
It was pretty good, actually, Matt thought. Intense lemon curd flecked with bitter rind. Matt wasn’t really hungry, but like the others he carried on eating; it was either that or feel obliged to say something.
Matt accepted another glass of wine and appraised the situation. As soon as they had got through a polite amount of tart, Rosie and Stephen would leave. That was obvious. Sarah and Marcus would probably go with them. Charlotte did not seem desperate to depart. It was pretty clear what she was thinking. Matt couldn’t help feeling pleased by that. She caught his eye again. At the beginning of the evening, she wouldn’t even look at him. But now the option was there. Last time had been OK. Good, even, in some respects. Enjoyable and uncomplicated.
Charlotte had almost finished her dessert. Barbara, though, hadn’t eaten anything. Matt had been watching. She just reclined there, using her spoon to rearrange the tart in the bowl. At first she picked out all the bits of lemon zest, and arranged them in a ring round the edge. Then she flattened out the soft filling and scraped patterns on its smooth surface with her spoon. She concentrated fully on this, not looking up. As her neck craned forward, Matt could see tiny gold hairs sticking up along the exposed length of her spine.
He watched her for some time.
Barbara’s dessert was now a dirty yellowish mush. She looked at it, disgusted, as if seeing it for the first time. In one agile movement, she sprang to her feet, left the bowl on the floor, and made for the door. Everyone looked up to watch her leave.
Matt studied Justin’s face. He could see the conflict there as Justin’s eyes followed Barbara out of the room. He obviously wanted to go after her, but to do so would mean abandoning his guests and acknowledging that the pleasant convention of the dinner party had been irretrievably shattered.
Matt watched Justin reluctantly turn back. Social obligation had won out. He offered them seconds.
Matt made his decision quickly. There wasn’t much time to think about it. He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket as if feeling it vibrate, and squinted in exaggerated puzzlement at the screen. When Justin asked if he wanted more tart, he waited several seconds to reply, his attention seemingly focused on the message.
‘No, thanks,’ he said. ‘I’d better just deal with this.’
Matt kept his eye on the screen as he left the room, and pul
led the door shut behind him.
At first he thought he was too late. The hall was empty. Then the bedroom door opened and Barbara came out, a big canvas bag slung over her shoulder. She was startled to notice Matt waiting for her.
He gave a concerned smile. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine.’ Her tone was curt.
‘Good. I just wanted to check that everything was all right.’
‘Yes.’
He looked at her for a moment, noticing how the canvas strap cut across the edge of her left breast, forcing it inwards slightly.
But he could tell the silent interaction was making her increasingly uncomfortable. He gestured at the bag. ‘Going somewhere?’ he asked. ‘Because if you’re popping out to get us kebabs, don’t let me stop you.’
There was a long silence. She didn’t react in any way. He knew it was a gamble, but he thought he had judged the odds correctly. Matt let his eyes drift up from the bag to meet hers. Finally, despite a clear effort not to, she gave the ghost of a smile back at him.
‘Sorry. Cheap crack, I know.’ He raised his hands in apology. ‘But I’ve got to say, it was a pretty impressive scene you made in there.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Absolutely.’ Matt couldn’t read her tone, so he pushed on. ‘Unforgettable, I’d say.’
‘I feel kind of stupid.’
‘There’s no need. Really. Crazy, maybe, but not stupid.’
She smiled a little more this time. ‘You don’t think I was being a bit of a brat?’
‘No. It was riveting. It certainly beat listening to Rosie and Marcus talk about office politics.’
‘I did pretty much wreck the evening, though.’
‘I wouldn’t say so. I’ve never seen Charlotte look so happy.’
Barbara looked troubled. Matt moved on.
‘Tell me, though, why did you do it?’
Barbara was looking at the floor. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Really?’
Barbara thought about it. ‘I guess I just felt that I needed to. Sounds dumb, doesn’t it?’
‘No, no, I understand.’
‘You do?’
‘Sure. Sometimes you have to be direct about what you want. A bit of bluntness and, well, other people might get bruised, but at least they know where they stand.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Yes. The alternative is that you hang around getting caught up in what other people want, what they expect of you, and after a while it starts to choke you.’
‘Yes,’ Barbara said quietly.
‘Definitely,’ Matt said with great firmness. ‘As long as you know what you want.’ A pause stretched out between them. ‘But you do, right?’ Matt said.
Barbara adjusted the strap of her bag with both hands. Matt knew it couldn’t be long before Justin cracked and came out. He might as well go for it.
He gestured at the bag again. ‘So where are you going?’
‘I don’t know,’ Barbara said.
Matt nodded and counted to three.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but it seems like you need to get out of here, clear your head for a bit. So, if you want to, to give yourself a bit of space, you could come and stay at mine.’
She didn’t react, and that was good. She was thinking about it. Matt counted another slow three seconds before he went on.
‘As a friend, of course,’ he clarified. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being inappropriate. It just seems like you need a bit of time to think things through. I’ve got a very good sofa bed, I’m at work all day, and you can have some time on your own.’
Slowly, Barbara picked her gaze off the floor and looked him in the eye. He couldn’t read what was there. Her face seemed completely blank. Confusion, maybe, or just exhaustion.
She shrugged. ‘OK.’
The door to the living room creaked open. Justin looked at them with a faint sense of worry.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Matt said.
Justin remained there, in the doorway, his eyes flicking anxiously from one to the other, and settling on Barbara’s bag.
‘Barbara was just showing me where the bedroom lights are,’ Matt said. ‘She said I could go in there to make a phone call.’
‘Oh right.’ Justin began to move. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Right, then. I’m just going to put the kettle on for some tea. Would you like some? Or some coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’ Matt smiled.
Justin nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
Matt pulled the front door quietly shut behind them.
Twenty-four
Barbara had to pause on the landing to feel in the dark for the light switch. In the quiet stillness she felt violently conscious of the jostling of thoughts in her head and the strange taste in her mouth. Her fingers found the switch and clicked it on. The sausage had been much stickier than she’d expected; a lingering meaty sweetness still coated her tongue with warm, slimy fat. It was unsettling. She couldn’t tell if it was nauseating or delicious. She could make no sense either of the weird sluice of emotions passing through her body.
But at least she was feeling something, then doing something because of it. Getting out of the pitiful lethargy she’d sunk into. What a shitty week. She’d been angry with herself for being so pathetic, but she couldn’t find a way to shake it off.
She started with Matt down the grubby stairwell. It wasn’t planned. None of it was planned. The idea of eating the sausage had just presented itself in front of her, like ideas for making things used to do. It seemed so solid.
She didn’t know if Charlotte was right about the ethics. That didn’t matter. The act was provocative. That was what was important. That was where art began, right?
So she’d eaten it. Just to see what it felt like. And it had worked. She couldn’t describe it, but it was definitely something. There were bad things in there – guilt, self-disgust. She still didn’t really want to eat meat. But it was different. That was enough for the moment.
And now here she was, beneath the unforgiving fluorescent light in the hall, squeezed up against the wall by Matt’s bulk as he opened the front door. He stepped back to let her go through first and she stepped awkwardly round him into the cool night air.
That was a surprise too. But she hadn’t been shocked when he said it. It made sense. She couldn’t stay there, go back into that room and pretend to make conversation. Maybe this wasn’t the right thing to do. But it was different. Was it sharks that had to keep moving or die? That was how she felt.
Matt walked alongside her. She still wasn’t really looking him in the eye, but under the softer light of the street lamps she felt more at ease. The night was clear, and Barbara could see a couple of stars piercing the orange glow. She shivered. Matt offered her his jacket and she took it.
‘If we walk towards the main road, we can probably get a taxi,’ he said. ‘I’d call one but it might take a while out here.’
She nodded. As they walked on, she looked at Matt sideways, as if noticing who she was with for the first time. He was a big guy, clearly direct, and most people would say he was pretty hot. Barbara wasn’t sure. There was something about the line of his jaw that she couldn’t find attractive. But he was responsive, even if he was too obviously trying to say the right thing.
And he wasn’t Justin. That was probably key here, she thought. Justin always tried to say the right thing too, but in a completely different way.
The turbulent whirl of half-formed emotions got faster. Barbara tried to back away from it. Not now. One thing at a time. She did love Justin, in many ways. He was well meaning, kind, committed, never demanding.
She had needed that, when she had arrived. He didn’t ask anything of her, always deferred to whatever she wanted. The thing was, he didn’t realize how annoying that could be. He could be passionate sometimes, sure, but w
hen that happened Barbara always felt she was an extension of his work. The rest of the time, he was always trying to placate her.
It was almost like he was scared of her. Like she was some sort of exotic creature he could never hope to understand, but only try not to provoke. It was like when she’d first asked him out. He’d been stunned, and embarrassed, hardly able to stammer out a ‘yes’. Some Englishmen liked to affect that sort of Hugh Grant awkwardness as a disguise for lust. Justin wasn’t like that.
Matt wasn’t like that either. He didn’t disguise it at all. Barbara was clear-eyed enough to know what he was aiming at. All that ‘as a friend’ stuff was just meant to make it harder for her to say no. But what was her aim? She didn’t know. Yes, she did. To get out of there. She’d done that now. She could deal with the rest of it later.
They crossed the street. Leaving behind the long terrace of Victorian cottages on one side, they passed into the shadow of the cliff-like housing estate that lined the other side of the road, then turned into the High Road. A low gully of grimy neon stretched away towards Stoke Newington, selling fried chicken to men in tracksuits and the occasional straggling reveller.
Barbara suddenly realized she would miss the surly squalor of London if she left, the way aggression was kept in check by indifference. She still had the option of appeal. Justin’s solicitor friend had said she could have a good case. But even when she had talked about it with Justin, Barbara knew she had no stomach for fighting to stay in the country. Leaving would be easier now anyway. She wouldn’t need to explain herself to anyone. She stared down the road as the 76 bus went past, seeing the details as she did when she had first arrived. The small, uneven paving squares of the sidewalk, edged with those beautiful dimpled kerbstones, weathered and faded to a smooth, pinkish grey, like granite by the seashore. Even the wobbly trajectory of the double yellow lines, spindly streaks of yellow guarding the dark asphalt.
Matt craned up and down the road looking for a taxi, while Barbara watched the ebb and flow of the street. A man in a white puffa jacket threw a half-eaten kebab into the gutter. It burst out of its orange plastic box, spraying heavy chunks of sauce-coated lettuce under the wheels of a bus.