Ursula Archer - Five

‘Not very stylish, I’m afraid,’ he says, pressing the prettier of the two glasses into her hand. ‘But I hope you can see the charm in it.’

She can. Paradise is now a badly ventilated bachelors’ pad with unwashed dishes in the sink and piles of dirty washing in the bedroom. But she doesn’t care about any of that.

For a while, the cork is reluctant to leave the bottle. They struggle with it, giggling, and once they’re finally victorious a good third of the contents shoot out. But they don’t care about that either, snuggling up to one another, drinking from the old glasses and each other’s mouths, kissing each other’s bodies.

Then her phone rings.

‘I’m not answering it.’ She holds her empty glass out towards David and he fills it up halfway. They drink. The phone continues ringing – beeping, to be precise – boring shrill holes in the mood.

‘Fine then.’ Beatrice swings her legs out of bed. Where was her bag?

‘Why doesn’t your answerphone kick in?’

‘Because I deactivated it. Otherwise I’d never receive any calls – by the time I’ve found the phone the mailbox has always picked up.’

Evelyn . Oh, God, yes, the stupid party. She’d completely forgotten.

‘Hi, Eve.’

‘Hey, sweetie, where are you?’

‘I’m… um, I’m busy.’

‘Busy… oh, I get it, with Michelangelo’s David. Understood. How long will you be there for?’

‘That’s hard to say.’ He’s behind her now, lifting the hair from the nape of her neck and kissing the sensitive spot. ‘It’s likely to be a while. A very long while.’

‘Does that mean you’re not coming to Nola’s? I’m already there, and I can tell you you’re missing a good party.’

She suppresses a blissful sigh. ‘I very much doubt that.’

‘Oh, come on. Just bring him with you. Make everyone else jealous of how happy you are.’

‘That’s a good idea in theory, but…’ Did she really have to spell it out?

‘Fine then, stay in bed for all I care. The only thing is, I don’t know how I’ll get home later, this place is in the middle of nowhere. I was counting on you.’

Just like you always do . For the first time that day, her elated mood is starting to deflate. I’m the one with the car and the driving licence, and you’re in absolutely no hurry to get yours. That way, the question of who’s drinking and who’s the designated driver never even comes up .

‘There are loads of people there. I’m sure someone will give you a lift.’

‘Yes, probably.’ Evelyn giggles. ‘There’s a really cute blond guy with dark brown eyes, so let’s hope he lives near us.’ She hangs up.

‘Evelyn?’ asks David. ‘The fiery-headed flatmate?’

‘That’s the one. I stood her up, and she’s not used to that.’ Smiling, she goes back to bed, into David’s arms, into the space beyond the passing of time, into the chaotic paradise.

Four hours later, the phone rings again. ‘Hi, sweetie. Listen, I can’t get a lift home. Some people left early and the others are sleeping here.’

Beatrice had been sleeping too – not for long, maybe fifteen minutes or so. Her mind is foggy and she’s barely able to grasp what Evelyn is saying. ‘Then sleep there too.’

‘No way. There’s no space left, apart from on the floor. And there are two drunken, annoying guys I want to get away from. Would you be an angel and pick me up?’

You can’t be serious . ‘I’m sorry, but I’m tired and I’ve been drinking and—’

‘And David is about to ravish you again.’ She hears Evelyn sigh. ‘I’m happy for you, really I am. It’s just a difficult situation – but I know it’s my own fault. I really have to get around to doing my driving licence. Never mind, it’s been a while since I hitch-hiked. So, hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow and hear all the dirty details?’

For a split second Beatrice considers giving in. Getting dressed and driving twenty miles through the night to pick up her friend from a party and take her home. Then David’s hands win out, on her back, around her waist, on her buttocks, moving down and in between.

‘Sure. See you tomorrow.’

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’ Evelyn blows her a kiss down the line before hanging up.

Their night comes to an end shortly after seven the next morning. David has to get up and start work at the call centre job with which he’s financing his medical studies. She leaves the house with him, breathing in Vienna’s morning air and scraping together a few coins to buy croissants for breakfast. She plans to brew some fresh coffee at home, hoping that there is still some of the raspberry jam left that her mother had sent her.

‘Will I see you this evening?’ David whispers into her hair. She’s happy that the question comes from him; otherwise she would have had to ask. She nods, kisses him and is still warming herself with his words even once she’s sitting on the metro.

Five stops on the U6. David’s place is in Vienna’s ninth district, her flatshare with Evelyn in the sixth. She can still smell David on her. She closes her eyes and smiles, breathing in his scent. In the small branch of one of the large bakery chains, she buys four croissants, pleased to find they’re on offer. As she skips down the narrow Turmgasse towards her home, she feels like bursting out into song.

Evelyn is evidently already back and awake. Pink Floyd’s The Wall is blaring out into the hallway, and old Frau Heckel glares at her as they meet at the main door. ‘I’m going to call the police at some point, you know, if you keep making such a racket all the time. It’s been on for hours – it’s just not acceptable!’

‘I’m sorry, Frau Heckel. It won’t happen again.’ She feels the urge to hug the old woman, wanting her to be cheerful too. Her happiness won’t tolerate any sullenness today.

She dashes up the stairs to the third floor, feeling as though she could run for ever, The Wall accompanying her on her climb. She and Evelyn have been listening to the CD constantly over the last few weeks, and know every song by heart. ‘One of My Turns’ is a favourite, even though its sombre lyrics are laughably inappropriate this morning. She spins around as she reaches the front door, her eyes closed, smiling indulgently at Roger Waters’s depressing contemplations on life.

She fumbles her key out of her bag and puts it in the lock. Frau Heckel did have a point; the music was on really loud. Luckily the other flats in the building are rented to students, so hardly anyone ever complains.

The door now open, the song blares out into the hallway.

Beatrice sings along to the words. She holds the paper bag filled with croissants up in front of her face like a microphone.

She smells it before she sees it, and wonders why her heart has suddenly begun to beat faster, why something within her wants to turn back.

Ignoring the feeling, she closes the door. It smells… smells of…

‘Evelyn?’

No answer. She passes through the tiny kitchen and is about to knock on Evelyn’s door, but it’s already standing ajar so she pushes it open.

Evelyn isn’t there. The room has been trashed and it looks as though an animal has been slaughtered on the bed, splattering the walls with blood, dripping all over the floor, all over the room.

The thing, whatever it is, is splayed out on the bed amongst the duvet and pillows. It’s well disguised amidst all the red, glistening in parts.

Something smacks against Beatrice’s head. The door frame, but why? She grabs onto it, the breath streaming out of her body with a whistling sound. Now something hits her left knee. The floor. A speck of red is just a few centimetres away; she can’t tear her eyes away from it. What if it creeps and flows over to her, touches her?