by Paul Murray
‘Yes, but even if she doesn’t, there are plenty of other ladies here anyway.’
‘And most of them are drunk,’ Dennis adds.
‘Fascinating,’ Ruprecht muses to Skippy. ‘The whole thing seems to work on a similar principle to a supercollider. You know, two streams of opposingly charged particles accelerated till they’re just under the speed of light, and then crashed into each other? Only here alcohol, accentuated secondary sexual characteristics and primitive “rock and roll” beats take the place of velocity.’
Skippy has gone to replenish his punch. Ruprecht sighs quietly, and looks at his watch.
Patrick ‘Da Knowledge’ Noonan and Eoin ‘MC Sexecutioner’ Flynn pimp-roll by, plastic Uzis tucked under their arms, the faint frisson of tension still detectable between them, the aftermath of a heated debate earlier today over who was going to come as Tupac, which debate Patrick won, meaning Eoin is now waddling along in a fat suit, dressed as Biggie Smalls. The squalling riff from Cream’s ‘Layla’ blasts from the speakers; in the DJ booth, Wallace Willis nods to himself: oh yes. ‘Flubber’ Cooke, who has come in his supermarket shelf-stacking uniform, explains to a sexy nun that while it’s part of his costume the trolley is actually company property, so although he’d like to let her ride in it, he can’t. Mr Fallon, the history teacher, drifts along the periphery with his hands in his pockets and a melancholy air.
‘I’d like to say a few words about bullying,’ Dennis, in an authentic sheen of perspiration, is declaiming to anyone who’ll listen. ‘Here at Seabrook, we simply will not tolerate bullying of a second-rate nature. Bullying must meet the same standards of excellence we expect everywhere else. If you need help with your bullying, please do not hesitate to speak to me or Father Green or Mrs Timony or Mr Kilduff or…’
And then, grabbing his arm, Geoff Sproke says, ‘Hey, Skippy, look! Isn’t that your girlfriend over there?’
‘Skippy?’
‘… uh, Skippy?’
‘Hey, we’re going to need a new Skippy over here!’
It’s just like in a film. The music dims to nothing, voices fade out, everything melts away, leaving only her. She is talking with her friends, dressed in a long white dress, a slender tiara woven into her dark hair. She seems to glow like she is lit from within, and even though he is looking right at her, Skippy can’t believe how beautiful she is. He looks right at her, and he still can’t believe it.
‘Hubba hubba,’ Mario says. ‘Like a steak on a barbecue, this bitch is smokin’. It is lucky for you that you have first dibs, Juster, otherwise she would be the prime candidate for some of Mario’s Special Sauce.’
‘Keep an eye on him, Skip,’ says Dennis. ‘Never trust an Italian. The Nazis did that, and look where it got them.’
‘You’re not going to throw up again, are you?’ Ruprecht asks.
‘I can’t believe she’s here,’ Skippy whispers dazedly.
‘Skippy, old pal,’ Dennis claps a hand on his shoulder, ‘it doesn’t make any difference whether she’s here or not. As far as you’re concerned, she’s on the North Pole. She’s on the moon.’
‘What’s the deal with her costume?’ Niall wonders. ‘She looks sort of like one of the elves from Lord of the Rings.’
‘Or the girl from Labyrinth?’
‘You clowns, she’s obviously Queen Amidala from Phantom Menace.’
‘Oh, right, you mean in that scene in Phantom Menace where she wears a tiara in her hair? The special magical scene that doesn’t exist? That scene?’
But Skippy doesn’t think she looks like Queen Amidala, or the girl from Labyrinth, or anyone else. He has seen beautiful girls before, in films, on the Internet, in pictures pinned to locker doors and dorm rooms; but the beauty this girl has is something bigger, something beyond, with infinitely more sides to it – it’s like a mountain with an impossible shape that he keeps trying to climb and falling off, finding himself lying on his back in the snow…
‘Ladies and gentlemen…’ Geoff announces, arriving back on the scene with Titch Fitzpatrick. ‘Frisbee Girl’s true identity is about to be revealed!’
Titch, in a red Formula One jumpsuit crowded with company logos, clearly has other fish to fry tonight: from every side, girls wave and pout and send him amorous gazes. ‘Where is she, then?’ he says impatiently.
‘Over there,’ Geoff points with a decomposing finger. ‘Near the DJ booth?’
Titch presses his lips together, and rising onto his tiptoes cranes his head over in the direction Geoff is pointing. Inside, Skippy squirms. Finding out her name! This is becoming real! Is that what he wants? He can’t even tell –
She is with three other girls – a GI Jane with sharp, intelligent features and bouncy curls, a scuba driver in a tight-fitting wetsuit and an overweight girl in some kind of incredibly voluminous Victorian-type ballgown that keeps slipping down her shoulders. The four of them are huddled together, conferring, Frisbee Girl’s eyes darting repeatedly from the dancefloor to the door, like she’s watching out for someone.
‘Lori Wakeham, Janine Forrest, Shannan Fitzpatrick, KellyAnn Doheny,’ Titch reels off the names in a bored voice. ‘I presume you’re talking about Lori Wakeham, she’s the one in the white dress.’
Lori.
‘Who is she?’ Geoff asks.
‘Uh, Lori Wakeham? Did I not just say that?’
‘No, I mean, you know, what’s her story?’
Titch shrugs. ‘Just your typical Foxrock princess.’
‘She going out with anybody?’ Mario says.
‘Dunno,’ Titch says indifferently. ‘I’ve seen her with people at LA Nites. I don’t know if she’s got a boyfriend. She acts a bit like no one’s good enough for her.’
‘Frigid,’ Mario comments.
‘So basically you’re saying Skipford here is wasting his time, right, T-dog?’ Dennis interprets. ‘You’re saying that Skippy fancying her is like some kind of slime or ooze fancying, you know, Gisele. It’s like some sort of disgusting slime or algae seeping over to Gisele and telling her to get her coat.’
‘That’s not what he’s saying,’ Geoff objects. ‘He’s just saying she acts like no one’s good enough for her. But that’s because she hasn’t met Skippy yet.’
‘What’s so great about Skippy? No offence, Skippy.’
‘Well, okay, he’s a very good swimmer? And he’s – he’s nearly finished Hopeland?’
‘Actually,’ Titch remembers, ‘I did see her with Carl a couple of times last week.’
Instantly, as if it’s been sucked into some awful vacuum, all conversation ceases.
‘I saw them together in the mall,’ Titch says obliviously, ‘and once outside Texaco. I don’t know if they’re going out. I can ask around if you want.’
‘Good idea, you ask Carl, and if he comes over and smashes Skippy’s face in, we’ll know she’s spoken for.’ Just then, as though sensing the eyes on her, the fat girl in the unfortunate dress turns and squints in their direction; next thing they know, Titch has bolted into the crowd.
‘Sorry, dude,’ Niall commiserates. Skippy is gazing at the floor as if counting the fragments of his shattered life.
‘I think you should go and talk to her anyway,’ counsels Ruprecht.
‘You fat moron, didn’t you hear what he said?’ Dennis rebuts. ‘He said he’d seen her with Carl. Carl is the key word there. It means get the hell out of the way, or start digging your own grave.’
‘He only said he’d seen her with Carl,’ Ruprecht corrects him. ‘There could be any number of explanations for that.’
‘Oh sure, maybe they’re in stamp club together.’
‘Let’s just stop talking about it,’ Skippy says desolately.
‘But Carl,’ Ruprecht says. ‘Why would anybody want to go out with Carl?’
‘Because that’s what girls do, you idiot,’ Dennis returns. ‘The more of an asshole a guy is, the more girls he’s got lining up to give him blowjobs. That is a scientific fact.’
‘You c
an’t just say something is a scientific fact,’ Ruprecht rejoins.
‘I just did, fatass. And what do you know about it anyway? Who the hell ever gave you a blowjob?’
‘Your mother,’ Geoff prompts sotto voce.
‘Your mother,’ Ruprecht says to Dennis.
‘Stepmother,’ Dennis corrects sulkily.
‘Ruprecht has a point though,’ Niall says. ‘Like, is Carl even here?’
‘Can we just stop talking about it?’ Skippy remonstrates.
‘No, but, if they were together, he’d be here, wouldn’t he?’
‘It seems to me that the only way of establishing the truth is for Skippy to go and talk to this girl,’ Ruprecht repeats.
‘Would you all just fucking shut up?’ Skippy interjects. ‘Just fucking shut up about it, why can’t you.’
Surprised, they fall silent, and remain so a moment. Then Mario, with some remark about beavers, turns and plunges quixotically into the dancefloor; Dennis and Niall follow after him, already chuckling. Ruprecht pats Skippy on the shoulder, and directs another surreptitious glance at his watch. Skippy looks over at Lori. The other two girls are both speaking to her; she nods without seeming to be listening, thumb jabbing frenetically at her phone. He wishes he’d never told anyone about her, never found out anything about her, that he could have gone on just watching her through the telescope. Now, just like Dennis said, even though she’s right here, she’s on the other side of the world. ‘Don’t give up yet, Skippy,’ Geoff’s voice sounds in his ear. ‘Strange things happen at Hallowe’en…’ And at that very moment, in the middle of the twin lead-guitar break in ‘Hotel California’, one of Wallace Willis’s all-time favourite solos, the music cuts out and the lights too, and in the interregnum of darkness there is a fierce peal of thunder, like some huge, amorphous black animal snarling right over their heads. Everybody cheers. Skippy’s hand tightens on his sword.
Lightning flashes outside his window. In his imagination Carl hears cheers and laughing. His (Morgan’s) phone says 19:49, which means 7:49. He is late. Liarliar has been texting him all night.
RU GOIN TO HP?U SHD ITL B FN
and
WE R GON DRNKN B4 BHND CHRCH U CMN
The lightning goes again, now he imagines the Sports Hall on fire, everybody inside screaming and burning.
He was ready to go, at 19:20 he put on his coat and took the pills from behind the stereo. In the lonely church parking lot he would make her beg for them. All her friends are gone, tears are rolling down her cheeks. Sorry, the price has gone up. She has no choice. She turns over, her belt clinks open, she pulls down her jeans, he fucks her right there on the rainy steps, while God peeps out through the stained-glass window at him.
But then at the door of his room he stopped, and he is still stopped. On the TV at the end of his bed a faggot sings a faggot song to a table of faggots.
Downstairs through the rain Carl’s mom is on the phone.
‘I just don’t understand why a sixty-eight-thousand-euro car keeps breaking down! That’s what I don’t understand! I mean, isn’t it odd that it’s breaking down all the time, this wonderful sixty-eight-thousand-euro car?’
She has been on the phone for half an hour, saying the same things over and over. Or sometimes she will just cry, or scream something but cry at the same time so you can’t understand what she’s saying.
‘Well, you get the train back, so, you get the train back, and they, I imagine they will be able to deliver it back to Dublin for you, I imagine that must be part of the service they prov– well, why wouldn’t they? It’s a perfectly reasonable – well, what about the expense of staying there? What about the expense of staying in a hotel?’
AT HOP NW OMG WE R SO SHTFCD WER R U
‘Because it would be nice – because it would be! Because that is where your place is, in your home, with your wife and child! Look – no, don’t give me the name of the – what am I supposed to do with the name of the ho– what’s the point if you never answer your – David!’
He listens to her voice turning into a kind of shrieky growl, sort of like the pig on that Muppet show.
‘No, well, why don’t you stay there, in that case! Why don’t you stay in your hotel, with your tennis coach, or your dental hygienist, or your – no, you’re irrational! You’re irrational, not to understand what you have here, which is love! So why don’t you – no – no, David, it’s too late for that – no, it’s too late, so don’t bother because – no it is not, because you forfeited that right when you put a, a dental hygienist before the happiness of your own – well, tell that to my solicitor because – no, I’m locking the doors now –’
THER CLSN DE DORS SOON!!!
The sound of keys jingling and locks turning and the chain rattling and windows slamming then Mom running back to the phone to shout, ‘Do you hear that?’ Then she stamps back into the living room and there is a loud scuffing dragging noise then a thud and she starts bawling like a baby.
On the TV three men are whipping another man with nettles, his back is all fiery red like he’s been burned and he is screaming and laughing in between the screams. Carl turns up the sound, then he turns up the stereo too so the music from the show and the music from the stereo crash into each other and scramble together so there is no room for anything else in his brain. He lies in his bed, a man is hit on the toes with a sledgehammer, everyone is laughing.
RNT U CMNG IN ITS CLSN IN 15 MINS????!!!!!
Fuck you bitch you will have to get your pills somewhere else tonight. Carl is so bored, he takes a thumbtack from the wall and makes a line on his arm then pulls down his sleeve fast because the door has creaked open and Mom is standing there. Her face is invisible in the shadows. He can hear her snuffling even with the TV and the stereo.
‘Carl, baby?’
He does not answer.
‘Carl, turn off your music for a second, angel.’
He snorts with anger then points the stereo remote at the stereo then the TV remote at the TV. He is so sick of having to use two remotes! But he leaves the picture on and looks at it not Mom, the guys with the hammer laughing and the guy who is rolling around with his eyes closed and his mouth open.
‘Oh, Carl…’ Mom stands at the window a minute with the curtain held between her finger and thumb. ‘Oh, honey…’ Then she tumbles down sideways on the bed beside Carl’s knees with her hands over her nose and mouth, and little mewly sounds squirm out of her. Her nails are long and gold and pointed like the claws of some gold animal and around her neck she is wearing a necklace with big shining diamonds like she’s just come from having dinner in a fancy restaurant with someone important, instead of a microwave WeightWatchers that she ate on her own in the kitchen. ‘Sometimes –’ she lifts herself up and wipes snot from under her nose ‘– even though two people love each other very, very much, there comes a point in their lives…’
The phone chirps with a new message. It’s from Barry.
DUDE UR FRNDS LUKN DAM FIN IL HAV 2 GIV HER 1 IF U RNT HEER!!
Carl’s blood goes cold.
‘For a while now your father and I haven’t been seeing eye to eye. It’s not, it’s not anybody’s fault, it’s just the way relationships sometimes go…’
Barry giving her pills. Barry making jokes. Barry telling her clever things.
‘… and God knows we’ve sat down so many times, and tried to, to hash it out, but in the end…’
Barry’s hands sliding into her jeans. Barry fucking her in a toilet cubicle – her tits in Barry’s hands, Barry’s eyes all twisted up as he shoots his load all over her face!
‘… out of options.’ Carl’s mom is looking at him with trembling shining eyes and her voice wobbles when she speaks: ‘But your dad and I, we both want you to know that… that doesn’t mean we love you any less, okay? Okay, honey?’
Barry’s white cum rolling slowly down her cheek.
‘No!’ Carl shouts.
‘Oh, my poor baby!’ Carl’s mom expl
odes into sobs. ‘My poor baby,’ and she scoops her hand under his neck and more strongly than you would expect tugs his head into her chest. ‘Oh baby, we’ll be okay, I promise, I love you so much, Carly, I always will, more than anything in the world, more than anything…’ He is crushed up against her tit, he can hear the saline inside it sloshing around, it’s like holding a seashell to your ear and hearing the sea, a fake sea… Above him she keeps talking and crying, against the window the rain beats, Carl feels his eyes close. But then he sees bitchface on her knees sucking Barry’s dick! He opens them again and checks the clock. 20:30. He struggles free of Mom and sits up.
‘I have to go. I’m going to be late for the Hop.’
‘Of course, darling. I don’t want you to let this affect your life.’ Mom wipes her cheek with the back of her hand and gives him a fake smile. ‘We’re going to stay strong for each other, aren’t we?’
‘I’m really late,’ Carl says again. He stands up, zips his coat, not looking at her though he can feel her looking at him.
‘You’re going to be the cutest thing there,’ she says. She starts to cry again.
Carl rushes out of the room and down the stairs. Two chairs are stacked up against the front door and the couch is poking halfway out the living-room door. He carries the chairs back into the kitchen.
IL HAV 2 GIV HR 1 IF U RNT HEER!!
He pushes the couch back into its place, then goes to open the front door. But the front door is locked. He unhooks the chain and slides back the bolt and turns the key in the latch. But it is still locked. Fuck it! Blood thumps in his head. Lori takes down her knickers, Barry sticks his fingers into her. ‘Mom!’ Carl roars. She doesn’t reply. ‘MOM!’ even louder, charging back up the stairs.
‘In here, darling,’ her voice calls weakly from her own bedroom. He pushes through the door. Everything in here is gold and red. Mom is sitting at the end of her bed, watching TV. She has a glass in her hand and between her fingers is a white plastic tube, a fake cigarette you smoke to help you stop real cigarettes.