No Filter

by Orlagh Collins

  I want to join in. I want to do what she’s doing and I consider the pill in my pocket. My thumb searches over the outside of my jeans to feel if it’s still there. It is and that’s enough. I start to dance: nothing showy. My feet aren’t even moving, but I am. I’m moving with the room. Emerald and me, dancing with my mates and man it feels good. No one’s feeling not-good-enough now. No one’s casting bitchy glances. Everyone is happy, drunk and lost. I feel a tap on the shoulder and one of Fiona’s friends passes me a bottle of vodka. I seize it and stare at her.

  ‘Drink it!’ she orders and for some reason I do. The vodka fills my mouth. I gulp it down and the smell shoots up my nose, sousing my whole head in the flash of alcohol. I keep dancing. The whole room is moving, arms and eyes, giddy and alive. Two girls in front are dancing together, doing stripper moves like you’d see on some music video. I can’t not look. I see Em is watching too. I feel her breath on my ear as she leans in.

  ‘It’s like you’re all at different parties.’ She’s shouting, but still I can barely hear her. I must look confused because she tilts back to me again. ‘The girls are so dressed up,’ she says, motioning around the room, ‘And look at you guys.’

  I survey the lads and she’s right: we’re in T-shirts and bad jeans and the girls look like they’re about to go clubbing in Miami with Kanye and Drake. I laugh and lean back over to her. ‘I like how you’re dressed.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be babysitting,’ she says, nodding to her jeans and the flat canvas shoes on her feet.

  ‘That’s what you told her?’

  She starts dancing again. ‘Yeah.’ She laughs.

  ‘But –?’ I’m trying to work out how she can possibly get away with rocking up to her grandma’s house in her condition but she’s twirled off again, sashaying towards the other girls. I decide it might be an idea to have another can while I worry about how she’s going to pull off her plan.

  I’m wandering to the fridge when I feel someone take my hand from behind. I know it’s her.

  ‘Grab one for me.’

  ‘Here,’ I say, ‘let’s share this.’ I hand her the newly opened beer but she doesn’t take it.

  ‘Think I might need some air,’ she says, stumbling a little before heading towards the door. I follow her, my mind in overdrive. As soon as we sit back down on our wall by the oil tank, I hit her with it.

  ‘Seriously? Babysitting? How does that story work, what with you necking pills and all?’ For a second it’s like I’m talking to Laura and I know I’ve got to back off.

  ‘Ssshhhh!’ she says, waving me away. ‘It was pill, singular. And …’ She fingers a thick strand of hair against her cheek. ‘I have until midnight.’

  ‘Midnight?’ I blurt. Man, she hasn’t a clue.

  She leers up at me like some sort of fallen angel; shivering now. ‘I’ll work it out. I’m quite smart actually!’

  ‘Are you indeed? All coming out now, isn’t it?’ I can’t help but smile at her.

  ‘Grandma goes to bed at ten, it won’t be difficult.’

  ‘Still,’ I say, ‘you’d want to be brainy for all your lies.’ I sink another mouthful of beer.

  She looks back at me, all serious, and it’s clear I’ve said something wrong. Her long fingers rub roughly at her neck and into her hair. I’ve no choice but to watch her in silence. I don’t know what to say.

  ‘It was one lie, Liam,’ she says, without looking at me. ‘Just like it was one pill.’ Her stare flicks back at me before darting towards the trees at the end of the garden again. It was only a glimpse but enough to catch the hurt in her eyes.

  ‘Em?’ She takes a shaky breath and turns back around. Her pupils are black saucers and her hair has matted to her head. There’s no lip gloss now, but her pasty Bambi face is somehow even more gorgeous. ‘I was joking.’

  ‘Forget it.’

  I want to put my arms around her to stop her shaking. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m borderline remedial.’

  A reluctant smile breaks from her pursed lips and my guts settle. ‘You’re borderline funny too,’ she says, softly pushing her hand into my shoulder, her body not quite returning to where it started. Her face stays closer to mine and for a moment I let myself imagine what it would feel like to kiss her. It’s not the time though. Not like this.

  ‘Everything is funny here,’ she says, inhaling deeply and looking up at the sky. I follow her eyes up to the sky but really I’m just wondering whether that Rupert fella goes to her school when she goes to speak again. ‘I didn’t mean there was anything wrong with being a builder, you know, earlier?’ She looks deep into my eyes before taking a drink from our can.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say, more gruffly than I planned. ‘It’s a load of bollocks anyway, all of it.’ She looks back up at me, like she’s really thinking and then she closes her eyes.

  ‘What does your da do in London?’ I ask, deciding it’s a bit late to freak her out about the whole pill- come-down-timings.

  There’s no reply at first but then her eyes flash open. ‘Stuff. Deals. Loads of things,’ she slurs. Her eyes close again and I’m about to ask something else when she adds, ‘He’s in the middle of this case, this court case. So that’s taking up most of his time because it’s …’ And then she drifts off. Her eyelids fall again and her hair dangles in front of her face. I reach over and fold a strand back behind her ear. She doesn’t seem to notice.

  ‘And your mam?’ I’m trying to keep her focused now.

  ‘Huh?’

  There’s no point pretending she’s not wasted now so I ask, ‘You feeling anything yet?’

  ‘What?’ she asks blankly, and I feel bad.

  ‘Nothing. What course is your mam doing?’ She looks up at me and suddenly I know how she must have looked as a child. I have an urge to shield her from everything that’s happening to her, but I know it’s too late. ‘I’m just chatting. Don’t worry about it.’ Don’t want her to think I’m fishing from her in this state.

  ‘Interiors!’ She kind of barks it and then she moves her right leg over to straddle the low wall and her hands slide slowly down her long thighs. She breathes deeply in and out through her nose a few times. I’ve seen this before.

  I stand up and tilt her chin to look up at me. ‘I’m going to get you some water,’ I say. ‘Don’t move!’

  I run through to the kitchen, which is now rammed with people, half of whom I don’t recognise. The place is trashed. I reach into one of the tall creamy cupboards and grab the first clean glass I find and I fill it up at the sink. The cold water runs all over my hands, then I race, half soaked, through to the hallway and hunt in the jacket pile with one hand, snatching what I hope is her coat and her cherry bag trails along with it. I shove my way through the sea of bodies dancing in the kitchen and back out into the garden.

  The small sound of her giggle in the distance freezes me. What’s she laughing at? I’m about to smile at her madness when I see she’s left the wall and the sound is coming from the barbeque where she’s standing next to his unmistakeable hood. She laughs again, taking a cigarette from the pack he holds out to her. When he raises his other hand to her face, she lifts her hand to meet his. I can’t look.

  My fingers shake and water spills out on to my boot. I’m afraid the glass is going to smash, I’m squeezing it that tight. My head is spinning and my stomach churns at the thought of his filthy hands. I twirl around and trudge back into the house. Sweaty bodies gyrate everywhere I look, but I force my way through them into the hall, where I bump straight into Kenny.

  ‘What’s up, man. You winning?’ He’s plastered. I try to brush on past him but he drags me back. I’m about to tell him I’m off: that I’m leaving. ‘Hey?’ he says, ramming his shoulder up against mine.

  ‘I don’t know what her game is at all,’ I say, using the banisters to hold myself up.

  He’s staring at me, confused and drunk. ‘What?’

  ‘She went off to talk to that … germ. She’s out the
re laughing with him now. I mean, what –’

  ‘Who?’ Kenny barks.

  ‘McDara. Emerald’s out there with Mc-feckin’-Dara!’ Saying her name and his name out loud together unscrambles my brain. Even Kenny’s too, judging by the look on his face. What the hell was I thinking leaving her out there, alone, with him! ‘Here, hold this,’ I say, shoving the water into Kenny’s chest as I reach into the kitchen for her stuff. I grab the water off him again and race through the dancing mob where the lads’ wasted heads turn as I pass them for the third time inside three minutes. I only stop running once I’ve burst back into the cold. Most of the water from the glass is now on my jeans. Taking a second to catch my breath I move quickly past the swarm of huddled bodies smoking spliff by the barbeque, but she’s not there. Nor is he. When I look over to the wall I can’t see them either. The garden is properly dark and I have to squint into the blackness, but there’s nothing. I break into a run. All sorts of horrors have hijacked my head. ‘Emerald?’ I cry out.

  It’s not long before I find her body slumped over the wall, decorating the flowerbed on the other side. I scoop her up and brush her down. ‘Hey! You’re OK, you’re OK,’ I say, turning her face towards the light so I can see her. Her body is warm and heavy and her hands are clammy. Her beautiful face is scarily white. ‘Emerald! It’s Liam, are you OK? Em, Em?’ I want to shake her but I hold her close to me instead, as I panic about what to do next. Jesus Christ!

  ‘Someone shut off my ears,’ she slurs.

  Relief spills through each of my ribs. ‘What?’

  ‘Can’t open my eyes. Everything’s … I’m spinning.’

  ‘You’re rushing,’ I explain, as gently as I can. We both take a few deep breaths. ‘Please tell me you haven’t taken anything else? Emerald!’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘OK, but you’ve gotta tell me if you start to feel any worse. D’you promise? Turbo’s sister is a nurse and I’m calling her. I don’t care if you’re supposed to be babysitting. OK?’

  She nods.

  ‘What did you want with that scumbag anyway?’

  ‘I just asked him for a cigarette.’ Her breathing goes heavy again and I take the broken unlit cigarette from her palm and dispose of it in an empty can while I think about what to do. ‘Liam?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Can you hold me?’

  ‘I’ve got you.’ I sit behind her and fold my arms around her, rocking back and forth on the wall gently, together. I can’t believe I nearly left her. The bass from the kitchen pulses through the trees around us as her heart thumps steadily inside her chest. I listen closely to her breath and I feel something adjust inside me. I want to keep my arms around her forever, but not this way. I don’t want to feel this kind of fear again. This happened to me the first time, but I’m not telling her that.

  ‘Liam … ?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Think I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, getting up. ‘Come on, let’s move you over here.’ We shunt around the corner by the shed where I spot an old bucket. I turn it up so she can sit on it. ‘Have you got that hair yoke you had earlier?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your bobbin?’

  She stands up. ‘In here,’ she says, jutting her hip towards me. I slide my hand into the deep pocket of her tight jeans and quickly pull out the elastic before she can think I’m getting any ideas. Not that she’s having any thoughts, other than the fact she’s about to puke. I bunch her hair into my hand and attempt to tie it into the elastic but it’s not as easy as it looks and she plummets forward. I manage to scrape most of it off her face before I crouch down beside her, gripping the fist of hair in my hand gently. Her breathing tells me it’s close.

  ‘How you doing?’ I ask, rubbing my hand on her back and trying to reassure myself it’s OK. It’s OK that I didn’t leave her, that she’s gonna be OK and that it’s also OK for me to have my hand where it is. I try not to think about how it felt to put my hand in her pocket …

  ‘It’s coming!’ she blurts.

  ‘You’re beside the drain, which is handy.’ I’m not expecting a laugh. I only want her to know it’s gonna be all right. Her breath gets heavier and I watch loose strands of hair fall from my half-arsed ponytail and into her eyes. I’m tempted to rescue them but her whole body swells up from the bucket and heaves. She reaches out to the wall, swatting her palm against it. She’s snivelling and I shift towards her, still holding her hair back. Her body surges once more and she vomits clean into the drain. I look away, feeling it the decent thing to do, but it’s not easy to turn around and keep hold of her hair.

  I let the minutes pass. ‘You OK?’

  ‘I want to die.’

  ‘Better out than in,’ I say, but she looks up at me, glazed and haunted. ‘You’ll feel better soon. Honest.’

  She just stares, saying nothing and then she drops her head between her knees again. We stay this way for a while, quite a long while in fact.

  Finally she takes a breath. ‘Will you stay with me, Liam?’

  ‘Sure.’ She smiles a thank-you. ‘Can you make it back to the wall?’ I’m thinking it might be good to get away from here. I spot an outside tap further along and when she gets up I fill the bucket and slosh it at the drain, washing away the remains of her boozy puke. By the way, I’m not normally like this. Under normal circumstances I’d be drunk in a corner with Kenny and the lads.

  ‘Water!’ she pants, stumbling to the tap like a dying man in the desert and guzzling straight from the gushing stream. It sprays all over her face. Guess it won’t do her any harm. She refills the mug and cradles it carefully as we walk back to our wall. ‘I think I’m gonna be OK.’ I don’t reply. I’m watching her flop back down when she says, ‘Tell me about yourself.’

  I look at her. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you!’

  ‘Er … well, right now, I’m worried about you.’

  ‘You are?

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘That’s sweet,’ she says, sipping from the cup. ‘What time is it?’ she asks, taking my wrist and attempting to read my watch upside down.

  ‘Around midnight. You’re supposed to be home, Cinderella.’

  ‘When am I going to … ?’

  ‘Come down?’ She bows her head for yes and I think this through for a minute. ‘Properly?’ She nods again. ‘Three a.m., ish.’

  ‘No!’ she grunts through her clenched teeth. ‘I’m too high … I can’t …’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Could we maybe just walk … ?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t say you’re quite ready for Grandma.’

  She pushes herself up off the wall. Last thing I want is to have to go back out through that kitchen. I scan the passage where she vommed and I spot the side door. She clocks it too, grabs her coat and we amble towards it. I reach for the handle but it’s locked. Then she shoves her bag into my hand and places her foot up on the lock.

  ‘You sure you should do that … ?’ I start, but without me finishing she hauls herself up and vaults over the wooden door. I hear her land cleanly on the other side. After picking my jaw up from the ground, I follow, copying her moves, but my whole leg-swinging operation is shambolic in comparison and I tumble clumsily down the other side.

  She sprints up the drive with a giggle. ‘I take it you’ve never been to pony club,’ she shouts back.

  I run after her. We’re well beyond Fiona’s estate when she eventually stops to put on her coat. ‘Got everything?’ I ask, trying not to sound out of breath.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, feeling for her little bag. Then she slides her hand under my arm and links it, pulling herself in close to me. ‘C’mon … you were going to tell me about you,’ she says again.

  ‘You feeling better?’

  I see her jaw go that way it does on the other side of a pill. ‘I’m definitely feeling better now,’ she says.

  ‘So what d’you wanna know?’

  Her vast, di
lated eyes light up. ‘Everything!’ she says.

  Now I know she’s hardly straight but she doesn’t look sad any more and besides, this interest in me is heady stuff. I’m deliberating where to start my hopeless life story when it hits me that unlike everyone around here, Em doesn’t know about college, or Da, or the whole bankruptcy thing. I could tell her anything. I could be anyone. But I say nothing. I just draw her in closer. Feeling her grip my arm like this might be the greatest feeling in the world. ‘D’you want to walk back by the beach?’

  ‘Just keep talking, I love listening to you.’

  ‘Jaysus, you are off your nut! C’mon then,’ I say, trying hard not to break into a skip as we weave through the lanes, huddled up together like we were born for it. We walk fast.

  Suddenly she stops in the middle of the road and drops her bag. ‘If you could be anything in the world, Liam Flynn, what would you be?’

  I look at her standing by the derelict phone box in the moonlight, still sporting my dodgy ponytail, and I stand a foot taller realising she’s remembered my whole name. ‘Anything?’

  She throws her arms out wide. ‘Yes, anything!’

  I think for a minute. ‘Maybe a Guard. You know, a cop?’ It’s true; the nine-year-old in me would happily settle for it, but it’s not only that; it feels like a respectable fallback, one that Da might accept.

  Her extended arm drops. ‘What?’

  ‘You know, like yer man in the shelters last week. Ripping up the sand in an unmarked car mightn’t be the worst way to spend –’

  ‘Seriously?’ She strides towards me, her face folded into a parcel of disappointment. ‘A policeman? For real?’

  From the look on her face you’d swear I’d said fish-gutter. ‘Might not get the grades though. Five Ds at Ordinary level. Could be tight. I’m not even messing.’

  Her head swivels back to me. ‘OK, very funny, but I asked you if you could be anything. Come on,’ she says before giving me a gentle shove. ‘Dream, Liam. Dream!’ she shouts.

  She marches away again and I stare at her back, contemplating exactly what it is about her flyaway charge to dream that I find so outrageous. What exactly is making my chest feel tight and my heart beat faster? I think hard, but it’s not about what to say, it’s more finding the guts to dare say it at all. I look at her face with her crazy moonlit eyes and suddenly I’m opening my mouth. ‘I’d like to write songs.’ The newborn words tumble out, like they can’t find their legs. I’ve never admitted this to anyone, not even Kenny.