Niven Govinden - Graffiti My Soul

‘Let’s not discount the pizza, though,’ said Jase, grabbing the box and inhaling the contents like some deranged knicker sniffer, ‘seeing that it’s here, and hot and everything.’

‘I would never have thought to appease a no-show by sending a pizza,’ said Moon, thinking aloud, eyes lighting up with possibilities, ‘but the more I think about it, the more I like. Pizza is good.’

‘Let’s open presents. Presents is better,’ I go, hating the idea of being palmed off by that dry-skinned snake, and them falling for it. I clap my hands to break the mesmeric hold of melted cheese, jalapeno and ground beef.

Casey tries to hide his pleasure, but is useless at it, a thick smile spreading like an oil slick across his cheeks and raising all the muscles across his face. For a moment he looks almost normal.

‘You can’t have got me presents after everything else you’ve done. It’s too much.’

‘Shut up and take it like a man, C. It’s your birthday, innit. Expect presents. It’s the law.’

I’d asked all guests to come up with a present to the value of five pounds. I would have said a tenner, but you only do gifts for a tenner for someone you really like.

‘It’s manners,’ I’d explained to the disbelieving. ‘You can’t go to someone’s party and not bring them a present. It’s really rude.’

One of the disbelieving asked whether a punch in the mouth could be considered a gift, or maybe pissing on the TV.

‘You needn’t be so generous,’ I said. ‘Something that comes from a shop will do fine.’

We got our shit together and assembled. I was first and last in line, so to speak, presenting Casey with Mum’s gift, which she had neglected to put forward in her rush to leave: a white orchid in a square cut-glass vase from Tesco. She’d wanted to go for geraniums, which is what she gives to any old dear on her rounds that she gets friendly with. Bribes them with flowers so that they produce their stool samples without any fuss. The conservatory was full of geraniums for shitty occasions. This wasn’t right for Casey. I pushed her for a slightly pricier option.

‘I know he looks like a sad figure, but he’s a man about town. A player on the scene. You wouldn’t give a Premiership footballer a fussy old trail of greenery.’

‘I’ll decide what I think is an appropriate gift, thank you very much. I’m not going to break my habit of giving plants just because you think he’d rather have a bottle of overpriced aftershave. I always give plants, Veerapen. It’s what I’m known for.’

‘She says it’s for colour. Said it’ll brighten up any room, or something. Just be sparing with the water. They hate it, apparently.’

Casey handled the plant uncomfortably, struggling to take off the yellow ribbon that had been affixed with some kind of gum glue around the top of the vase. He got halfway, before feeling the weight of collective eyes on him, and gave up, placing it on the table amongst the food, the bow at the front falling low like some slapper who’s showing you what’s under her skirt.

The orchid looked funny sitting there. Aside from bacteria, his flat looked like a stranger to botanicals.

‘That’s very generous of your mother, on top of everything else. Very posh. I don’t know what to say.’

‘Save it for later, mate. You can write her a note or something. Here’s mine. Happy returns and that.’

Jase had bought an Odour Eaters three-pack. One size fits all.

‘And mine.’

Moon produced an olive oil and balsamic vinegar set, looking rather similar to the gift boxes The Rottweiler TMkept in the dining room cupboard for emergencies. Just saying. His grip of this was clumsier than with the orchid. He looked suspiciously at the bottle of balsamic like he didn’t know what the hell to do with it. If anything, he was happiest with the Odour Eaters.

Then I got out my present, which made Casey’s eyes fill with tears, and made the disbelievers think that I’d gone too far.

‘Friends are friends, right? They tell each other everything?’

‘Course, son. Unless you’re a mass murderer, in which case I’d rather you keep it to yourself.’

‘But you should be able to share everything with them, right? Even things they don’t want to hear?’

‘Even things they don’t want to hear.’

This is the kind of phone call that Jase likes to make at one a.m.: mashed up, just back from hanging with one of the older college dudes from Produce, and wanting to right wrongs. These were the kind of calls I was used to, where he’d show his regret for giving beatings to whichever muppet had crossed his path that day, or be wondering why no girl at school was ever interested in him. My job wasn’t to say anything, it was just a case of being there, listening. If Mum hadn’t been out on an emergency visit, another old girl who needed an urgent check-in at the nearest NHS hotel, she would have wrung my neck to be up so late, as well as Jase’s.

Also, what’s spoken down the phone stays down the phone. There is never any mention of this stuff at school the next day. It’s like we were both imagining it.

‘I’ve done something I shouldn’t.’

‘We’ve all done something we shouldn’t have, Jase.’

‘Are you just going to repeat everything I say? I’m phoning you for a reason.’

‘All I’m saying is that we’re meant to get off the programme once in a while. Don’t give yourself such a hard time over it. If everyone just does what’s expected of them, things are bound to get boring. Tonight, your stray dog is Stella, three cans, possibly four.’

It’s not that I don’t have the patience to be a good mate, just that Casey’s party has given me the warmest feeling that I want to carry into sleep. I don’t get this often enough, the comfort zone, so want to hold onto it for as long as possible. My own stray dog, I guess, #645.

‘I thought I was being really clever. I was acting so smug this afternoon, didn’t you notice?’

‘I just put that down to your natural exuberance, bra.’

‘And I just feel dumb about it now, ’cos I know I’ve done a really nasty thing.’

He says Casey’s name, and it’s like stray dog #645 has been killed instantly in a hit and run. The warmth, everything I’d been holding onto since I got home, evaporates.

‘I was going to his house, V. You were taking me to his freakin’ house. The temptation was too great.’

‘What the fuck have you done?’

‘I left pictures, V.’

‘What d’you mean, you left some pictures?’

‘If you don’t stop repeating me like some fucking parrot, I’m going to hang up, I swear.’

‘OK. OK. Just tell me what you did.’

‘Like I said, I was in his house. The temptation to leave a souvenir was far too great to pass up. It’s not like I was gonna get another invite, was it?’

‘I still don’t understand. What pictures?’

‘I guessed Casey might be feeling a little lonely in his new place. Without the old comforts of home, if you see what I mean. I just thought I’d leave him a few things. So he could take a stroll down memory lane whenever he liked.’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I left five. All about twelve years old, eleven. All starkers. No sex poses or anything. Just nekkid. Thought that’d do the trick.’

‘What were you trying to prove? Can’t you see that there’s nothing wrong with him? That all that shit was made up?’

‘Well, yeah. Now I can. I mean, there’s no way you’ll ever really know, but he does seem all right once you’ve spent a few hours with him.’

‘That’s what I’ve been telling you all this time!’

It’s a minute or two before one of us speaks, both of us lying there listening to the other’s breathing. If this were any other time, I’d be thinking something else about Jase and his breathing, not the anger that is wringing my guts inside out. I clamp my jaw so tight my teeth feel like they’re about to shatter. I feel wired and gritty, like those people on the ECT tables, when they’re being tortured for wanting to hold everything in.