Emma Unsworth - Animals

Liz stood up. ‘So lovely to meet you all,’ she said. ‘Marty, thanks for a lovely event.’

And she was off.

‘So,’ said Marty, nodding at Tyler’s eye. ‘What happened, badass?’

‘A drug dealer. Taking everything into account, it was a small price to pay.’ I saw Zuzu’s face and cast it away. ‘I’ve got some of the drugs I stole on me, too.’

‘I’d never have guessed. Share the wealth, then.’

She did. We all did.

When dusk fell we went to a supermarket for cigarettes. The queue for the manned counter was long — just one young man in front of the masked tobacco wall, with eight self-service counters bleeping away to our left as we queued. Unexpected item in bagging area. Approval needed. Everybody and everything was impatient.

‘I like those self-service checkouts,’ Tyler said. ‘You can rant at them and it’s not a person. You can take it all out on those fuckers.’

‘I once pretended to be blind in a chemist,’ I said.

‘Oh, this one’s great,’ said Tyler. ‘She—’

‘—I was looking for saline solution for Tyler, and I couldn’t find the eye section so I found a sales assistant and said, Can you point me to the eyecare section, please? Sorry — I’m a bit blind except he took “a bit blind” literally, came and held me by the elbow and made a big show of guiding me across the shop and I didn’t know how to correct him, I didn’t want him thinking I’d been flippant or worse still made some kind of sick joke, and I was really regretting saying it so I went along with it and pretended I was actually blind. He led me across the shop, moving people out of the way for me, and I let him lead me, thanking him, and then when he deposited me at the eyecare section I said, I think I can take it from here . But he wouldn’t let it be, he pressed a bottle of saline into my hand and then started guiding me over to the till, and I thought, I’m going to get rumbled here when I have to chip and pin so I said all indignant I’m not completely incapable, you know! which saw him off.’ I exhaled profusely, which felt good. ‘I still feel bad about it.’

‘That’s because you like feeling bad,’ said Tyler, wrenching a pack of ibuprofen off a plastic holster.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Well, you like a good telling-off at any rate. That’s why you like the idea of God. He’s the ultimate angry teacher.’

‘That’s so interesting,’ Marty said.

‘Know why they keep the toiletries behind the tills?’ I said, to be more interesting.

‘Because they’re more expensive.’

‘Nope, there are boxes of chocolate over there worth more than deodorant.’

‘Enlighten me, Miss Joyce.’

Miss Joyce. I liked that. No I didn’t. Yes I did.

‘Because they’re what homeless people are most likely to steal.’

‘I steal handwash from bars to give to homeless people,’ said Tyler. ‘I’m like Robin Hood, not in tights.’

I’d seen her help someone out of a supermarket once. The man had bought two bottles of super-strength cider and there were three staff and two security guards around him like he was a dangerous dog. Customers were staring. The man had paid, he had a carrier bag and a receipt in his hand, he was just taking his time to pack up and struggling with the bag handles. Tyler batted the people around him away. I’ll get this gent out, no need for all this. She escorted the man to the doors. He was grateful. He said They look at me like I’m shit, you know, but I’m not shit I’m just pissed. Would she have helped him if she hadn’t been pissed herself? Who gave a shit.

Marty said he knew of a place called Deco, a wine bar. We stood outside the front door finishing our fags. Down the street, a busker was singing ‘The Boxer’.

‘Boom,’ said Marty softly as we passed. I liked him better when he was smoking.

‘I kicked over a busker’s cap once,’ I said. ‘The money went everywhere. And then I felt so bad I put a fiver in on top of the rest I’d picked up. It’s a dear do, middle-class guilt.’ This wasn’t true but it was a great story.

Deco was dark and busy and everything I wanted. Stained-glass mirrors mystified the walls and a series of birdcages hung still and empty down the middle of the ceiling, between depressed Tiffany lampshades. The bar-top itself was wooden and highly polished like a long flat slide, the sudden flower of a gramophone at the far end.

Tyler went straight to the bathroom and Marty went up to the bar. I found a table in a corner with only one chair so I asked the occupants of a nearby table if they could spare one and they moved some coats and donated what looked like a milking stool. This still meant we only had two seats. I sat down on the stool. It was low, really low, and my chest came up to the table. I pulled the stool back a little way so it wasn’t as noticeable how low I was. I looked at Marty’s ass, looked away, looked back. Realised he could probably see me looking in the stained-glass mirrors behind the bar.

Marty returned with three squat cocktails. Old Fashioneds, I deduced, seeing the orange peel spiralling in the dark liquor. I took the glass from Marty’s hand and as I did so his finger brushed mine. A dopamine rush. I put the cocktail onto the table so that I’d drink it more slowly.

‘So you went to university here?’ said Marty.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You went to Oxford, then?’

‘That was for my BA.’

‘Impressive.’

He brought his cocktail to his lips and looked at me. ‘What made you choose Edinburgh?’

‘It’s a good university!’

‘Of course it is.’

He took off his coat. He was in pretty good shape, his chest and arm muscles slid around under his shirt and his stomach was flat above his belt buckle even though he was sitting down.

DO NOT LOOK AT HIS BELT BUCKLE.

‘Did you not want to push yourself?’

HE JUST CAUGHT YOU LOOKING AT HIS BELT BUCKLE.

I looked at him. His face was good and round, his evil Cupid’s-bow lips wet from the whisky. Motherfucker.

I said: ‘I admire your balls, Marty.’

‘Budge up, buster!’ Tyler was back from the bathroom. She plonked herself on his knee and helped herself to the remaining cocktail. I sipped mine. Give me credit for that, would you? I sipped.

Tyler leaned forward and then her hand was in my hand under the table and then the bag was there, crackly in my palm, depleted yet still plentiful. I went to the bathroom. When I came back Tyler was sitting down on the stool, whispering in Marty’s ear. She stopped whispering when she saw me and stood up. ‘Another chair! Another chair is what we need.’ She flew off into the depths of the bar. I sat down on the milking stool.

‘So,’ Marty said. ‘This new title. Remind me again?’

‘ Killing the Changes .’

The edge of his shirt-sleeve touched the end of my shirt-sleeve and tickled like a butterfly. Like something delicate, struggling. A rush went up my neck. He pulled at his beard, touched the arm of his glasses. ‘It’s not right.’

‘What do you mean, “not right”?’

‘It’s too TV drama. I’m seeing Helen Mirren with a difficult home life wrongly accused of sexual harassment in the workplace.’

I belted back my drink and slammed the glass down on the table. ‘Tough titty,’ I said. ‘I was disappointed when A Room With a View wasn’t about a sniper. It’s my fucking wedding.’

‘Mm, petulant. Sexy. Not.’

‘You know, your age really shows when you say words like “Not”.’

He bit his bottom lip, raised his eyebrows, nodded his head, amused. AMUSED. Oh, my bankrupt inner grammar-school debating team! I wanted to massacre them all.