Animal Lovers

by Rob Palk

  This was definitely nonsense. I poured myself another glass of wine, enjoying it. I hadn’t drunk this much in a while. Certainly not alone.

  Kerry was not a bad person. A victim, then. Of Henry and his ways. Who could resist a man like that? Strapping, dedicated, a healer of wounded birds. Hands you could fit an otter on. The man was irresistible. My head hurt from thinking. He had probably sweet talked her into it, whatever it was she’d done. Let’s not obfuscate – he had lured her into his bed, just as he’d done with Marie. Shut up, Stu. Shut up. He’d be good, you could count on it. Good enough for Marie. The orgasms he’d given her. His fingertips over her skin. Oh this was really too much. And another glass of wine. I had posted off my papers. Things were definitely going to change. The collar would soon be off. As soon as the postman came, as soon as the forms were processed. Until then my head was full of Henry and all he was doing with them, with Kerry and Marie. And another half a glass.

  I stopped thinking. My mind too tired and slow for any more. My thoughts were foolish and I was going to stamp them down. I stumbled up to bed and lay in the afternoon light, sleeping it off.

  Dreaming. Dreaming that Marie was there. She was there and I could hear her, detect the patterns of her speech, the rise and fall of communication, but I couldn’t make out the words. Then I could smell her, her sweat, her perfume, her breath, touch the slight static shining on her hair, the coolness of her mouth. She was here, she was in the room with me, I was with her and still married, waking up.

  ‘Is everything okay? You’ve gone quiet. Alarming. Oh god, I probably sound mental, I’m sure you’re fine. Call me when you can. xxx’

  I smiled at this evidence of love. I’d obviously got things wrong. To dismiss my suspicions was to bring them racing back. It was a poison, running through me. Dismiss, dismiss, dismiss. My mouth was dry and my head thumped. I stood up and reeled, clutching at my bookcase. Drinking, I had to remind myself, was not a good idea. I was an invalid, and must learn to live like one.

  It was not quite dark, not quite day outside and I still had time to get to Alistair’s R-Age. I showered, tottering, hoping the water would help. It did, a bit. I looked more or less presentable. Thank god, the event was nearby.

  I messaged Kerry, telling her I’d been asleep. I blasted myself with deodorant. I put on a new tee shirt she had chosen. I looked, I thought, okay. I looked like I was holding myself together very well. I fed Malkin, had a glass of water and left the flat.

  The restaurant had one poster in the window, advertising the night. It was free entry, at least. I wondered if they’d pull a decent crowd. Alistair had pestered me to take part but I’d pleaded my work wasn’t ready. The truth being, the work was, I wasn’t.

  My friends were sitting at a table upstairs, wolfing down a shared banquet. Raoul was there and Alistair, holding court in what looked like pancake make-up. For reasons unknown to me, he had drawn an extra eye in the middle of his forehead. Rupa had showed up and Kerry, at the end next to an empty seat. I sat down, kissed her and said hello to them all. There was another free seat, I noticed, next to Alistair. Free, apart from a giant teddy bear wearing a sash.

  ‘This your girlfriend?’ I said.

  ‘S’a present,’ said Alistair. His voice a parody of gusto. ‘For when she arrives. Ahoy there. Glad you could join us.’

  Kerry asked me if I was okay. I tried saying I was, but I must have sounded about as convincing as Alistair: ‘We’re still waiting on Su,’ he said. ‘Did I tell you about Su?’

  ‘You might have mentioned Su,’ said Rupa.

  ‘This will be quite a day for her,’ said Alistair, daring us to laugh. ‘Seeing me in action.’ Raoul muttered something which sounded like ‘first time for everything’, but I’m sure Raoul was too nice. ‘Tonight should seal the deal. Yeah, we’re going to be fine.’

  Kerry caught my eye. I tried returning her glance but somehow found I couldn’t. I felt there was something sneaky about it, this private language of mocking. I was going to be better than that.

  ‘Guys, I’ve got an announcement to make,’ said Raoul. ‘I’ve signed up to work overseas. I’m off to Colombia, work with poor kids over there. I’m in touch with this network of kind of dissident priests. Felt it was about time.’ He glanced around the table as if he were hoping that one of us would ask him not to go.

  ‘Oh that’s so exciting,’ said Kerry. Kerry the atheist, I thought. I told myself this was probably wine sourness, nothing else, but I couldn’t stop from scowling. Rancour about the world. She and Raoul got caught up in a big conversation about the logistics of his trip and from there into Liberation Theology, the Gospel according to Marx, while I picked at some spicy squid.

  Rupa filled my glass. ‘You look down, Stuart,’ she said. An astute woman, Rupa. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, possibly a little too loud. She cast a regretful look at my brimming glass. ‘Honestly.’ I tried to sound genial. ‘Could I have some of the rice?’

  A woman in fishnets, a long thin coat and a pink fright wig came over and said hello. She was, she said, a confrontational poet. Alistair barely acknowledged her. The poet sat down and smiled in a sweet way that didn’t seem too confrontational.

  ‘I know what you’re all thinking,’ said Alistair. At that moment I was thinking about Kerry and Henry, and, to a lesser extent, whether the poet took her clothes off as part of the act. ‘You’re thinking Su hasn’t turned up.’ I was going to say I wasn’t but I’d been thinking it minutes before, so I supposed he had a point. ‘Well, she’ll come. We can all be sure of that.’

  Kerry tapped my wrist and whispered something about the situation and whether I could help. I shrugged by way of response. There didn’t seem much I could do.

  ‘You know what?’ said Alistair. ‘I might send her packing. I suppose that I can do that. There have to be some boundaries. It’s okay being all free-floating and improvising your way through life—’ he shot an evil glance at the confrontational poet as if she were famous for living this way, ‘—but it’s no good if you just don’t turn up for meals. If everyone did that then how would places like this keep in business? If no one ever bothered to turn up for their meals.’

  ‘Amen,’ said Raoul, heretically.

  ‘I’m going to tell her we’re done. I will not tolerate tardiness.’ He emphasised each word with a rap on the table, rattling the chicken. ‘I bought her a bear, for god’s sake.’

  ‘She might still turn up,’ said Rupa, who seemed to be on her best behaviour.

  ‘Give me a fucking drink,’ said Alistair. Fat beads of sweat started to appear under his make-up.

  ‘You seem to be wearing slap,’ I said.

  ‘I’m going on stage, Stuart. You’ve got to create a bit of fucking distance.’ He pronged a shrimp with a chopstick and munched it with every appearance of unease. The door opened and we all looked towards it, like regulars at the saloon when the lonesome stranger walks in.

  She was tanned, with a sulky look about her mouth. She wore headphones and not much else. She scanned the room from behind enormous sunglasses and slid across to our table. If we had any doubts as to her identity, Alistair’s grin dispelled them. She raised a hand in a gesture that was about a tenth of a wave then looked around the table for an empty seat. Seeing none apart from next to Alistair, she glided towards him and sat down, dislodging the bear without giving it a glance. She started concentrating very hard on her phone. ‘Su,’ said Alistair. ‘You had me worried, there.’

  ‘I said I would come and I came,’ said Su.

  ‘Everyone,’ said Alistair. ‘This is Su. Su’s my . . .’ There was a pause, as if the unreality of their courtship were finally making itself known to him. ‘Everybody, Su. Su, everybody.’

  ‘This really isn’t what Korean food is like,’ said Su.

  ‘It’s Vietnamese,’ said Alistair.

  ‘Hello Su,’ said Kerry. ‘Alistair’s told us a lot about you.’

  ‘Ye
s,’ said Su.

  ‘You’re a student at St Martin’s, was it?’

  She said nothing. Her shoulders gestured at but didn’t quite perform a shrug.

  ‘It’s Goldsmiths,’ said Alistair. Su frowned and yawned. ‘She went to Goldsmiths.’

  ‘And you’re studying . . .?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Su. She lifted her laminated menu over her face. Kerry grinned at me and this time I couldn’t help but return her smile. Alistair grabbed his own menu and started to wobble it needlessly.

  ‘So were you okay?’ said Kerry. She brushed my fingers. ‘I was worried you might feel ill.’

  The truth was I had been feeling a bit frazzled. Maybe my suspicions were just a synapse throbbing, creating a whole structure of worries, the way that grit makes pearls. I told Kerry I’d been ill all day. Her concern at this seemed unfeigned. I wished I could forget about Henry.

  ‘Yes,’ said Su, this time in what sounded like triumph. ‘Nick’s coming.’

  ‘Nick,’ said Alistair.

  ‘I was thinking with my thing, right,’ said the poet, ‘I’m going to need a lot of space. I like to really prowl the room, you know? I like to jump around. It’s cathartic is how I see it.’ She didn’t explain if it was cathartic for anyone other than herself. Alistair looked in need of some hasty catharsis.

  ‘Nick?’ said Alistair.

  ‘I told you about Nick,’ said Su. ‘Nick’s the funniest, you’re going to love him.’

  ‘Funny,’ said Alistair. I could tell he was silently pondering if funny was code for ‘gay’.

  ‘Gotta love the Nickster,’ said Su.

  ‘Have we?’ said Alistair.

  ‘I once dated a man called Nick,’ said Rupa. ‘He was really into getting me pregnant. And not just cos he wanted kids. The shape of a pregnant stomach. He had videos.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ said Kerry.

  ‘N-dog,’ said Su. ‘N-dog in the area.’

  ‘So yeah is there going to be space for me?’ The poet was still talking. ‘I don’t just read, I perform?’

  The door opened again. We jerked our heads in unison, checking out the stranger. A hirsute, stocky young man with his hair in a bun and a neckline down to his nipples. He waved at Su, and a bit less at the rest of us, and swooped down to his friend. There was an awful lot of hugging. Alistair mouthed the word ‘gay?’ at me. I squirmed. Su and Nick started taking photographs of each other.

  ‘Alistair,’ said Alistair, holding out his hand.

  ‘Yes,’ said Nick.

  ‘Algonquin Round Table this,’ said Kerry.

  ‘I might go downstairs, then, and look at the space? It is downstairs then, the space?’ said the poet.

  ‘We can get you a chair if you like, Nick,’ said Raoul. ‘Then Su doesn’t have to sit on you.’

  ‘It’s boiling in here,’ said Alistair. ‘Is anyone else boiling? Look, I’m really sweating. Sweating because it’s so hot.’

  ‘Let’s go for a walk, Stu,’ said Kerry. ‘This is unbearable. Look at where that boy has got his hands.’ I looked. ‘You should probably stop looking now,’ she said.

  ‘How long have you two been friends, then?’ said Alistair. ‘How long have you two been mates?’

  ‘Nick,’ said Su, slapping him, but not very hard. Nick started kissing her neck.

  ‘Come on,’ said Kerry, slipping her hand into mine and leading me through the restaurant. I turned to see Alistair pushing his chair back and heading down to the basement followed by the poet, still asking about the space.

  Outside there was a cool breeze, easing the warmth of the day. Packs of drinkers whooped down the street in primary-coloured tops. There were bars lighting the pavement, with crammed tables out front, the couples chattering, men sat back, their legs spread, women forward, hands encircling their drinks.

  ‘There’s a park thing just through here,’ said Kerry. The night air was relaxing, away from poor Alistair and the worries of the day. I hoped he’d be all right. Not that I had high hopes for his poem but it would be nice to think he could get through the performance without crumbling.

  We were out of the main streets, through old railway arches and lock-ups that now held artisanal makers of cottage cheese, purveyors of imported chillies. We walked on into what looked like, but probably weren’t, the poorer streets. Ex-council flats, Asian shops, pubs turned into homes. The green, when we arrived there, was well-lit but deserted. The two of us started wandering, in a silence I hoped was comfortable.

  ‘Are you really okay?’ she said.

  There was going to be no skating this. I was going to have to be selective.

  ‘I mostly am,’ I said. ‘Truth is, I sent my final forms off today. For the, you know.’ I wondered why I couldn’t say the word. ‘I’m glad I did it but it definitely stirs things up.’

  ‘I bet it does,’ said Kerry. We had reached a bench and she sat on it, patting next to her. I could smell her perfume and a hint of cigarette smoke. She must have been stressed herself. About me, I thought. Or Henry. ‘I’ve been thinking about, well, us,’ she said. My blood fizzed in expectation, fearful or thrilled, I don’t know. ‘There’s something I wanted to say.’

  Oh Christ, was she dumping me? I didn’t want to go through this again. Why were people always doing this? Why could they not just fucking well keep still? She lit a cigarette and I asked her for one myself, knowing I wasn’t supposed to. I dragged hard, savouring the tar on my palate. It tasted abrasive, like a penance. She sat up, slouched, sat up again, holding herself as though it were a much colder night than it was.

  My phone rang. I made an apologetic hand gesture, hopped up and took the call.

  It was Rupa. The reading had hit the buffers. Alistair had dashed around the little basement space, insulted the performance poet and vanished for several minutes. ‘When we found him,’ she said, ‘he was calling his ex-wife. Asking her to come back.’ She paused after saying this, as though asking me what I thought of that? ‘He’s with Raoul now. Nice boy, Raoul. A good friend. I see you’ve gone and scarpered. Leave the difficult stuff to the rest of us, eh Stu?’

  ‘Now really isn’t a good time, Rupa.’

  ‘Well, just you be back soon is all I’m saying. He’s insisting on going ahead and he’ll need you there to support him. Don’t let everyone down Stuart.’ Her tone implied that letting everyone down was a favourite trick of mine.

  ‘I’m busy, I’m really busy. All right? I didn’t just . . . Look, I can’t talk.’

  I put away my phone and told Kerry about Alistair’s antics. We laughed a bit at his problems which made our own ones seem so adult and serious. She stopped laughing first when she realised we were being cruel.

  ‘Sorry, we were talking about?’ I said. I could see aloneness, back again, stretching out before me and with it, the awful longeurs of single life: the noisy bars, the forced shows of confidence, the need to be constantly busy. I was going to miss her, I knew it, and I began looking for arguments to keep her near.

  She lit another cigarette. ‘Well,’ she said, smoothing down her dress with her free hand. ‘I – before I say this you should know I haven’t changed my mind. I love you.’ A nervous smile as though I were the one about to walk out on her. It dawned on me that no one was walking anywhere.

  I giggled, a little too much, until she started to look insulted. ‘I love you too,’ I said. ‘I love you.’ I sat back down on the bench and looped my arms around her. We were kissing and I was stroking her hair. An unfamiliar elation, a victory. Our kissing increased, got hungrier. I tried to concentrate on how pretty and good she was, and how much she loved me. This was a good thing, a great thing.

  I closed my eyes and all I could see was Henry’s face.

  ‘Stop,’ I said. She had already stopped though, as if my suspicion were something she could taste. She had a wounded look, as though I’d told her off. ‘You were going to tell me something else.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I was.’
r />   ‘I think you should tell me now.’ She put her hands to her face but shuffled close to me along the bench. ‘I’m going to need you to tell me what it was. Especially as I have a feeling that it is linked to me. Especially as I think it’s about Henry.’

  I held on to her wrist. She looked frightened, I was shocked to see. As though I were someone threatening and strange, not the person she’d just announced she wanted more of.

  ‘It is about Henry,’ she said. ‘I wanted to set things straight.’

  I was right, then. I almost enjoyed the victory. I definitely enjoyed how upset she seemed. It seemed deserved to me. I had been right not to trust her, after all. She had deceived and betrayed me and I had nothing except my triumph to enjoy.

  I thought about marching off but then I wasn’t sure if she would follow.

  ‘You look insane,’ she said. ‘You look wild. You look like I’ve gone and done something wrong.’ I asked her what she had done. She said that it was something I could repeat to no one else.

  Fifty

  Kerry had first met Henry at the Occupy camp near St Paul’s. She’d been a few years out of university and had already embarked on the path of virtuous and ineffectual activism she’d kept to ever since. She’d gone with Neal to spend a week there, their equivalent of a holiday.

  I told her I’d been there for an hour or so myself. ‘Maybe we saw each other,’ I said.

  She ignored this. She was intent on telling her story.

  She’d gone with Neal, then. The communal library of theory and polemic which had put me off on my visit, the pinched radiance of the campers, the banners about the NWO, Bilderberg and the Zeitgeist Movement, everything that had made me want to run, all of this entranced her. ‘I’ve got more cynical since,’ she said. She must have been very un-cynical before.