by David Belbin
I suspect that Steve and I are even. I don’t know what his parents are like. He never talks about them, or says much about the village he’s from. I wonder when he’ll take me home. If he does, I’ll know he’s serious about me. He’d say that renewing the lease on the house we share shows he’s serious. We’re moving into the rooms that Finn and Tessa share. Our turn to be the couple of the house.
I reply to Mark, agreeing to meet, saying I’ll bring Steve with me, and it’ll be nice to see Helen again. I don’t want to see Mark alone, for he is my reserve guy, the one I will turn to when Steve bails out. And I am Mark’s back-up girl. Neither of us needs to articulate this. All over the world, there are reserves waiting for their call up to the first team, the Love Eleven. Only nobody calls it “love”. They don’t know what to call it. I like Mark more than I like Steve but Steve excites me, and I like him about as much as I like myself. If he were a stranger and came up to me in a bar offering no strings sex, I might say “yes”. We’re not strangers, so I’ve no way of knowing. But we’ve both got strings now. Sooner or later, one of us is going to start pulling them.
The Old Gang
It was Zoe’s idea.
‘I can’t go on holiday with Aidan on his own. You know what he’s like.’
‘You’re the one going out with him.’
‘I’ve already persuaded Mark and Helen to come.’
‘Jesus, Zoe. I’d be going on holiday with my two exboyfriends.’
‘But you finished with both of them. And Mark was so long ago. Steve doesn’t look like the jealous type to me.’
‘I’ll discuss it with him,’ I said. ‘See what he thinks.’
‘Persuade him,’ Zoe said. ‘It’ll be like the old gang.’
‘And I’ll be the odd one out,’ Steve says, when I put it to him.
‘We were never really a gang. Zoe and Mark were at primary school together, but I’ve only known Aidan a year. And Helen, well...’
‘I don’t know.’
‘We wouldn’t have to spend all our time with them.’
I’m nervous about going on holiday with Steve on his own. Out of bed, we don’t have that much in common. Anyway, he hasn’t suggested that we go on holiday together. And I need to. I’ve had a crap year and I need to get away. Home is my mum. Nottingham is finals. I need to be elsewhere.
‘It’s not for long. A week, ten days at most. That’s all any of us can afford.’
Steve’s tight-fisted. It’s taken me a while to work this out, but the signs are clear. The meals in restaurants haven’t happened. He doesn’t drive, and never offers to pay for petrol. He lives in the cheapest house going, has a decent part time job and is usually the last to buy a round. I have to make this holiday worth his while.
After three days, he agrees to go. What impresses me most is that he doesn’t once display any anxiety about us being in close proximity to my two ex-boyfriends. They’re no threat to him. That’s how sure of himself he is.
How sure am I? On the plane, I can’t help but make comparisons. Steve, while the shortest of the three guys, only four inches taller than me, is the most conventionally good looking. Aidan, even with his curly hair cut short, looks coolest. Enigmatic. Unlike Mark, whose open face is more footballer than rock star, and whose haircut is dated: mid-90’s Britpop. Helen should tell him this, but to her he has become a comfort figure, a favourite family pet.
We girls compete too. Helen is way ahead in the tits and legs department, though Zoe, with her funky feather cut and artificial tan, competes in the glam stakes. She’s already been mistaken for a travel rep, a career she has considered. I’m the odd one out here, prone to dressing down, with breasts you’d only notice if I went topless, which I have no intention of doing. Steve says I’m his ideal body type, that I look like a model (I’m not tall enough to be one), but I’ve already seen him ogling Helen’s low top, hoping to chance on a nipple slip. On holiday, he might revert to type. I’ll have to watch him.
Mark’s brought some weed with him. It’s double wrapped and concealed in a trouser pocket somewhere in his suitcase. No e’s. He says they’re easy to get on the island. And no need to be nervous. The ‘nothing to declare’ line at Customs isn’t staffed. Within half an hour of our reaching the hotel, Mark’s skinning up and passing the spliff along the balcony to me and then to Aidan, on my left.
‘Should you be doing that?’ I hear Zoe say.
A few minutes later, on my right, I can hear Mark and Helen making love. So can Steve. He feels me up. I’m not comfortable, having sex in such close proximity to the others, and, for once, I don’t finish. Steve hardly notices. Mark is going to get some whiz so that we can hit the ground running. I hear him go out and come back. It takes him all of ten minutes. Everyone has some. Even Steve has a dab, but it doesn’t suit him. He’s even more confident than usual, annoyingly hyper. I thought speed might make Aidan more loquacious, but it has no visible effect.
From night one, a pattern establishes itself. We eat badly, neck a few beers and a couple of pills, then hit the clubs around midnight. Before dawn, we chill out on the beach or the balcony. Then we sleep until at least noon. Wander around, get a tan and/or screw in the afternoon, followed by a little more sleep, then the whole things starts up again. On the third day, I try to persuade Steve to rent a bike and explore the island, but he’s not keen. Helen agrees to come with me instead.
‘I wonder how Mark and Steve will get on without us,’ Helen says as we leave the bike hire place.
‘Me too.’
Then she swears. Her period has started and she needs to go back to her room.
‘I’m sorry. It’s early. This always happens when I go on holiday. I guess I’ll have to cry off.’
I don’t want to cycle alone, so I head to the beach to see if I can find one of the others. Aidan is on his own. I ask where Zoe is and he gives me a ‘don’t know, don’t care’ look.
‘Helen’s got her period and she won’t cycle. Do you want to come with me instead?’
‘All right,’ he says. ‘Give me five minutes.’
He drapes his towel around shiny shoulders and leads the way. I look at his wiry frame, his flat bum, and wonder how I ever fancied him. His eyes are duller these days, perhaps because the drugs he’s on are working.
When we get to the road I start to worry. Aidan wobbles a lot and takes a while to find his pace. I haven’t used my bike much since Dad bought me the car, but it’s not a skill that deserts you. That said, Aidan, with his driving ban, isn’t used to roads. I cycle cautiously, keeping a constant eye on him. He doesn’t seem worried, or aware of my concern, but we can’t have done more than a couple of miles when he suggests that we stop for a beer.
‘I think it was somewhere round here that Nico died,’ he says. ‘She had a heart attack while she was riding her bike and fell off, hit her head on a rock. It was the rock, not the heart attack or heroin, that killed her.’
This is the longest speech he’s uttered all holiday. I get him to explain who Nico was. He gets quite enthusiastic when he talks about the Velvet Underground, although not the way Mark does when he’s talking about music. Maybe Zoe’s right and Aidan is becoming his old self again. Only I never knew his old self and everybody keeps changing, all the time. Other people rarely notice this, because they’re so wrapped up in themselves.
‘You and Zoe seem good together,’ I tell him.
‘Zoe and Aidan,’ he says, slurping Becks. ‘We sound like a children’s picture book. Zoe’s great. I thought you and Steve would get together. That party at yours, I could see how much he wanted you. Even the next morning, when he was with that Persia girl, it was you he looked at.’
‘She was more interested in you than him. I got Steve to take her off your hands. Maybe we should have swapped that night.’
‘I wouldn’t have done that to you.’
This is the most open conversation I’ve ever had with Aidan. He isn’t like this with the others (except, I hope, Zoe,
when they’re alone).
‘What about you, Aidan. What do you really want?’
He lights a cigarette and his eyes seem to focus on the middle distance.
‘Not this,’ is all he finally says, stubbing out his cigarette, half smoked.
Without discussion we get back on our bikes and head back to the beach, reconnoitring clubs and bars as we cycle past them. We’ve done the best ones in walking distance, but spot a couple which look smart enough to justify forking out for a taxi. By the time I’m back in my room, I feel like I’ve made progress with Aidan. We’re mates, insofar as Aidan has mates.From my room, I can hear Zoe giving Aidan a hard time for going off without telling her.
‘You could have been anywhere! I was worried sick. No, I didn’t think that. I trust you both. I thought Allison was with Steve, I thought... I don’t know what I thought.’
Aidan’s voice in reply is calm, soothing. I can barely make out the sound, never mind the words. Of Steve, there is no sign. Maybe he’s out on the pull, checking his average ‘yes’ rate. The place is full of single women, so he should do well. I doze off. When I wake, he’s in bed with me, his instant hardon a sign that he’s not been straying. I decide to relax and trust him.
Afterwards, we shower together and he produces fresh drugs. For an abstainer, he’s discovered a strong affection for e’s and whiz. By midnight, we’re flying. Even Aidan, never much of a dancer, is making shapes. Zoe, who usually restricts herself to a few puffs of spliff or half an e, is speeding like crazy.
‘This is the best I’ve ever felt,’ she tells anyone who’ll listen. ‘The very, very best.’
It’s four in the morning and we’re all on the beach with big bottles of San Miguel and Metaxa, smoking spliffs the shape of magic markers. The boys are talking bullshit at the speed of sound. We girls are more chilled out, but my head’s still throbbing from the speed and e. The weed smoothes the edges but it’ll be hours before I’m ready for bed.
It’s Helen who suggests playing Truth Or Dare. Any other time, I would have put a stop to it, but I’m too fucked up to flash a warning sign.
‘That’s such a cliché,’ Steve says.
‘What is it you’re interested in?’ Zoe asks Helen. ‘The truth or the dare?’
‘I like to hear the truth,’ Helen says. ‘We’re all friends, so the truth can’t hurt us. It can only make us stronger.’
‘Telling the truth gets people into trouble,’ Steve says. ‘It’s dangerous. Sometimes, lies are all that keep people from beating each other up.’
‘Nobody’s going to beat anybody up,’ Aidan says.
Mark is quiet. So am I.
‘Is Steve always this middle-aged?’ Helen, sotto voce.
‘Who wants to start?’ Zoe asks, before I can answer.
‘Truth, no dare,’ Helen says. ‘Can I start?’ She turns to me.
‘Allison, do you still have feelings for Mark?’
Easy one. The speed makes me open, articulate. ‘Of course I have feelings for him,’ I say. ‘He was my first serious boyfriend. I hope we’ll always be friends. But I’m not out to take him off you. I’m with Steve.’
Helen opens her mouth to ask a follow-up but Mark stops her.
‘Asked and answered. My turn. Steve, you’re always dropping hints when the women aren’t around. Now I want to know the honest truth. How many women have you slept with?’
Steve gives one of his lazy, arrogant smiles. ‘You don’t think I keep count, do you?’
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘We all do,’ I add, and Steve grins. Then I tense up a little. He may be a slut but he’s my slut.
‘Why doesn’t everyone have a guess?’ Steve says. ‘Make the game more interesting.’
‘Good idea.’ Helen gets out some green rizlas. ‘Everyone put their name and number on. Steve, you write it down too, so you can’t cheat. Remember, total honesty. No exaggeration.’
‘What about under-exaggeration?’ Steve says. ‘We’re talking about full sex, right?’
Everyone writes a number. Strangely, I want to win. I calculate what Steve’s told me about his first year in hall, average a conquest a week for term time, knocking off a few weeks for exams and illness. We hand the rizlas to Steve, who opens them.
‘OK, here we go,’ he says. ‘In reverse order. Helen: one. Very funny. Aidan, twelve. Not even close, buddy. Mark. Twenty-five. Getting warmer. Zoe, eighty-eight. Who do you think I am, Hugh Hefner? But the winner, the one who gets the prize of my body tonight and the most significant digit on this illustrious list, is Allison.’
‘What did you guess, Allison?’ Helen.
‘Forty-seven.’
‘Show us, Steve,’ Mark says.
‘Come on,’ Helen says. ‘We all want to know what number Allison is.’
Steve hands over the rizla. Forty-three. Suddenly, I feel humiliated. Forty-two women before me. How many will there be after?
‘My turn,’ Zoe says. ‘Mark, do you still have a thing for Allison?’
‘Jeez,’ Helen says. ‘Are you trying to split us up?’
‘Actually, I am,’ Zoe says. ‘In the long run, I think Mark and Allison ought to be together. He calms her down. She keeps him more... together. Nothing personal, Helen, but you know that Mark’s only a stop-gap for you.’
‘Notice she doesn’t apologise to me,’ Steve says, as Helen strokes Mark’s hair, murmurs something to him.
‘Does speed do this to everyone?’ Helen asks, ‘puts them on a total honesty jag? I’m beginning to wish I’d never started this game.’
‘Uh, Zoe and I took a little acid too,’ Aidan says.
‘And you didn’t offer us any?’ Mark says.
‘I’m not sure I’d take acid,’ I say. ‘Too scary.’
‘Too right,’ Steve says.
‘Obviously it wasn’t acid,’ Helen says. ‘It was that truth drug they used in the fifties, sodium somethingtol. Go on, Mark, give your answer.’
Mark doesn’t look at Helen, or at me.
‘Realistically, none of us are going to be with the same person for the rest of our lives. I know Helen won’t stay with me. And yeah, if I had to choose one person I already know who I’d like to end up with, it would be Allison. She knows that, at least I hope she does. But, you know, we’ll all probably get married, have kids etc with people we haven’t even met yet.’
‘Wow,’ Zoe says. ‘Allison, what do you make of that?’
‘I’ve already answered my question,’ I say.
We all see at once that Helen is crying.
‘Why?’ she says. ‘Why do people have relationships they know aren’t going to last? I don’t mean Steve and his one night stands. I don’t even mean you, Mark...’
‘Tired and emotional,’ Steve mumbles to me, as Mark gives Helen a cuddle.
‘Sorry,’ Zoe says. ‘I didn’t mean my question to...’
‘It’s OK,’ Helen says. ‘It’s just that, I thought he was going to marry me. I thought he was the one.’
Aidan clicks that she isn’t talking about Mark and turns to Steve. ‘I think it’s your turn. Uh, me or Zoe.’
‘This doesn’t have to be about relationships, does it?’ Steve asks.
‘Please,’ Aidan says, ‘anything else.’
‘Anything? The sodium pentothal reply?’
‘Anything.’
‘OK,’ Steve says softly. ‘Tell us what really happened, the night of the crash. Goes no further, just the six of us.’
‘That’s not on,’ Zoe says, sharply.
‘You don’t have to,’ Helen tells him.
I stare daggers at Steve, but he’s not looking. He’s staring at Aidan, who’s staring back at him. Mark was rolling a joint, but he’s stopped.
‘All right,’ Aidan says. ‘I agreed to play, so I will. You got any of that speed left, Mark?’
‘Isn’t it a bit late?’ Zoe says, as Mark gets the wrap out.
‘I won’t sleep tonight anyway.’
It’s nearly dawn. Aidan takes a large dab, washes it down with beer, and swigs from the brandy bottle as he talks. It takes him a while to warm up, but when he gets going, his voice is clear, strong, even defiant.
‘The thing was Huw’s idea in the first place. I passed my test two months before him and we’d go driving. Just driving. No destination. Once we drove through the Mersey Tunnel stoned and I got disoriented, nearly crashed. After that, Huw passed his test and got given his own car, so he did most of the driving. He came up with the game one night when we were both off our faces. How close could you go without hitting? How fast? He hated slow drivers, that was what really got to him. If you were behind the wheel on a road with no speed cameras, you ought to go at a fair lick, not twenty-eight fucking miles an hour. So he’d get right up their backside until they speeded up or pulled over.’
‘And if they didn’t?’ I hear myself ask.
‘They always did. Or turned off. Or something. We didn’t give them room to brake. Huw was better at it than me. I was worried about scratching my mum’s car. Huw had a banger, he didn’t give a shit.’
‘What sort of cars did you tail-gate?’ Steve asks.
‘Anything, as long as we could see the driver. Young. Old. Couples. As long as there were no kids in the back. That would have been too creepy.’
‘And didn’t you get any retaliation?’ Mark.
‘How many questions is that?’
‘You haven’t got to the crash yet,’ Steve points out. Aidan ignores him.
‘There was one time, a car braked slowly and we hit the bumper. He pulled over, tried to block the road. Big, angry guy got out. But he’d left us room to get past him. We scratched his car as we went round. He banged on our boot but there was nothing he could do to stop us.’