Emma Unsworth - Animals

She looked young. Mid-twenties. Fresh out of vicar college. She had long dark hair and the big silver cross round her neck looked like she’d kept it from when she was a goth teenager. I felt suddenly close to her, as though she could help me.

‘You were looking round the church a lot,’ she said. ‘Are you a Christian?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘My dad was raised Catholic but I also know I’m happier outside once I’ve got in.’

‘I like that feeling, too. But then I never feel truly alone. I suppose that’s what brought me to God, that sense of solidarity.’

‘I never feel alone either. Sometimes I can’t eat a banana , know what I mean?’ She did but she didn’t say. ‘So do you go in for the whole omnipresent schtick?’ I realised as I said it that subtext had always been masturbation. ‘I write,’ I explained, ‘I’m just thinking about how I always feel the need for that audience — and I’m not sure whether that makes me a better writer or just a narcissist.’

‘I don’t think you should worry so much.’

Ha. ‘Without the worry I wouldn’t write at all.’

‘Then try trusting the audience you most want to impress.’

‘And make sure they’re as drunk as you.’

‘Do you know the Serenity Prayer?’

The first time I’d read it, I’d thought it was a joke. I rattled it off before she could. ‘ Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. ’

Her eyes blared as she smirked. I cursed myself. Church was school and I was damned like always. I thought of my dad, who saved everything; conversations included. ‘Here’s one for you,’ I said. ‘Higgs boson walks into a church. Priest says, Thank God you’re here, we can’t have Mass without you !’

The vicar laughed. She had lovely teeth.

Back at Jean’s I sat on the end of the sofa near the door so I could get in and out without disturbing anyone. The house was full, with a queue halfway down the stairs for the bathroom, and smalltalksmalltalk everywhere. I looked from face to face, trying to spot couples, looking for matches in expressions and mood, like I was playing a kiddies’ card game. Jean was standing by the wall talking and holding Shirley. The baby’s long white dress trailed to the floor while the black plastic aerial of the stereo system was positioned on a shelf just behind Jean’s head in a squarish halo. I remembered wanting to see Jean when she was pregnant, to map the changes on her; the mystery of life going on inside. I wanted to see whether any of that mystery showed on her face.

Tyler came over with a glass of Cava. My own glass was empty. She tipped half of her drink in. ‘Thanks.’

‘Eh, mi Cava es su Cava! ’

‘Fancy a fag?’

‘Boy, do I. I just made the mistake of reading the christening cards.’

I sipped my drink. My hangover was receding. The hair of dog theory held, depressingly. We walked outside and stood on the street. I shook two cigarettes out of my pack.

‘ Welcome to the club ,’ Tyler said, taking a cigarette. ‘That’s what they all say. Welcome to the club!’ She exhaled. ‘You know what the “Baby Club” is? The Baby Club is one of those godawful discos in Leicester Square: starkly lit, tacky and full of tourists. The décor is dated and you can’t get a decent drink, and every time someone new walks through the door everyone who’s in there smiles manically with this huge relief because they’re just so glad someone else walked into their shitty club after they paid twenty quid and can’t leave.’ She went on: ‘But I’d never say that to them, you know, Stick your shitty fucking club — I’ve got better places to be .’

I wondered whether to tell her that Jim and I hadn’t been—

‘Are you worried you’re getting too old to have a baby, Tyler?’

‘I’M TWENTY-NINE!’

‘Thirty in two weeks.’

‘Still. Fifteen years at least before I need to freak. I know you think I’m pissed because I didn’t get my invite to the baby party yet. But I’ll tell you something, my friend, I’ll tell you something. If I do decide to do it then it’ll be something I just do and not something I try and sell as an exclusive event when in fact it’s anything but. I have my definitions, my developing theories, and I will never live without a lonely hungry longing in my soul, never.’

We smoked in silence.

‘Listen to that,’ Tyler said.

I strained my ears, my neck.

‘Hear it?’

‘You mean the distant rumble of Time’s winged chariot with its massive fuck-off spike on the front?’

‘Just behind that.’

I listened again. ‘Mm, not sure.’

‘Precisely. Nothing. The sound of the suburbs. They sell it as peace but it’s actually death, closing in.’

Irreversibly attached. Irreversibly.

After the party Ro went up to bed. Shirley lay asleep in her Moses basket in the corner with one hand above her head, index finger extended, like a little despot who had fallen asleep in the middle of giving an order. The chairs had all been brought in from the garden. I stroked the dog under the table and felt the bones along its back.

‘This is the first time I’ve been properly drunk since having her,’ Jean said suddenly. ‘I’m so much happier not being drunk very often. So much clearer on everything.’

Tom nodded in approval and gave Jean’s shoulder a squeeze. I felt Tyler bulging and popping.

‘You treasure your flesh when you’re pregnant,’ Jean went on. ‘You consider every cell. The time things take to grow.’

On top of the enamel bread-bin was a pestle and mortar I recognised from one of Jean’s previous abodes — a night when we crushed pills in it and snorted them. Then she forgot to clean it and made a tagine. That tagine had gone down well. Best. Cumin. Ever.

I was still stroking the dog’s head but I must have stroked too hard because it moved away. I thought, Jean’s drunk and she’s trying to sound all wise and in control for Tom. I didn’t care if she used me for that. I thought, Zen is possibly the way to go here. ‘There are many roads to happiness,’ I said. ‘I’m glad you found yours, Jean. Today was—’

‘There are many roads to hell, too,’ Jean said. ‘I worry about you two.’

The mood of the room changed. A fall in atmospheric pressure. I looked at Tyler. She was growing purplish.

‘She’s always been more wilful than me,’ Jean said, to Tyler, via me.

Bathroom, bathroom, how could I get to the bath—

‘You know you can cut down, if you want to. I know some places—’

‘I don’t need your places ,’ Tyler said.

‘You might need to grow up a bit then,’ Jean said. ‘Sorry, Lola, no disrespect, but—’

Tyler snatched for the warm wine bottle in the middle of the table and poured. When she got to Tom he held his hand over his glass and she poured wine over his hand until he moved it away. ‘I’ve warned you, Jean,’ she said.

‘It’s a case of mind over matter, I find,’ Tom said, wiping his hand on his trouser leg.

‘Last time I checked my mind was attached to my matter,’ said Tyler. ‘Furthermore. I like what my mind and matter do to each other. And I can stop. And as long as that’s the case, I’m not changing a fucking stroke. Just because your mind and matter fell out, Jeannie… ’

Tom raised his palm and looked upwards, like a saint. I remembered something Tyler had told me, something she shouldn’t have, late one night. Tom had confessed to seeing a prostitute not long after he and Jean started dating. Jean was aghast. If you ever see another prostitute I will cut off your balls with a butter knife … Tyler, in the wreckheaded re-telling, was not aghast — or rather, she was more aghast at the fact Jean was morally outraged rather than jealous. There’s no sense of the other woman in this situation , Tyler said. Let’s think about that.