Emma Unsworth - Animals

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘I realise that was a little below par.’

‘It’s fine.’ He reset his face. ‘So long as it’s foreplay.’

A chair landed on one side of us and Tyler landed on top of it. I thought they’d been thrown across the room for a moment, but no she was just… bouncy. I moved back in my seat.

‘Marty went to Oxford,’ she said.

‘I’d remembered.’

‘You almost went, didn’t you, Lo?’

‘“Almost” is a bit of an overstatement.’

‘Always the bridesmaid?’ Marty grinned. I grinned back.

‘I went to look round one of the colleges in sixth form,’ I said, reaching for my glass, which was empty.

‘We’re all out,’ Tyler said. ‘I’m going to the bar.’

‘Do you want some money?’ I said, looking for my bag.

‘No, what I want is for you to enjoy yourself.’

‘I am enjoying myself.’

She went to the bar.

‘You should use Yeats for your title,’ Marty said. ‘If he’s your favourite.’

‘How do you know he’s my favourite?’

‘I’m a hardline Romantic, too. Surprised you didn’t spot me a mile off.’

‘Your event publicity was hardly knavish.’

‘Hook, line and sinker.’

‘You wish.’ I pulled my lip-gloss out of my bag and swiped a scoop out, smeared it across my lips. Marty watched me. ‘Want some?’ He nodded. I applied. He rubbed his lips together. ‘You know, that suits you.’

He pouted. ‘Thanks. Hey, do you have the… erm.’

I shook my head. ‘Tyler’s got it.’

His aftershave wasn’t so bad, close up. It was strong and alien and could under some circumstances even be a turn-on. I imagined.

‘So does your fiancé like poetry?’

‘Jim? Of course he does.’ (I wasn’t sure. My mind was a blank where Jim was concerned.)

‘But he doesn’t write?’

‘He plays the piano.’

‘He covers other people’s songs?’

‘He channels. He pulls music through himself and puts it out again. It’s very creative. His process.’

‘Others because you did not keep that deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine. “Friends”. That’s a sweet way of putting it, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t want to think about anyone’s face right now, thanks.’

A dimple appeared. ‘Oh, okay, so we’re going to hell. Shall we hold hands on the way down?’

I nodded towards the bar and Tyler. ‘Go over there and say “Three Bloody Marys” and everything will be fine. I’m half-Catholic.’

Oh this was really really really bad. He moved closer. Tyler turned to glance at us and quickly turned back again. I looked at Marty and thought, I could just kiss you, just kiss you, right now. I tilted my head to show him his mouth might fit on the side of my throat.

He said: ‘You spend too much time guilty.’

‘I’m a writer. Guilt helps analysis.’

‘You need more to analyse. Less conversation, more action.’

‘Maybe you’re right. I have too much thinking time. Really someone should just put me in a mill or down a mine—’

‘How about I just put you over my knee?’

Three cocktails landed on the table, Tyler’s fingers in them. I shot back, looked down, told myself I must have misheard him. But I was wet and I was afraid he might know it. Jesus and all the fucks. Marty was taking me apart, layer by layer, piece by tiny piece. An autopsy with cutlery. I felt that feeling of being the focus, of the focus sharpening — even when you know it’s to your own (small-scale) destruction (oh fuckit, especially when you know that). I thought of the sailor Quint sliding down the deck towards the shark’s open mouth and there was something in his eye that wasn’t pure horror, there was a part of him contracting, a last kick from being the sole object of the beast’s desire. I looked at Marty’s hand around his glass, mentally transplanted it to my breast, my arse cheek. I looked at the chunky zip of his trousers, imagined opening his flies, pushing my fingers inside, feeling him stiffen as I pushed him back on his chair and swung my leg over and shoved the fingers of my free hand in his mouth…

In the quantum multiverse all eventualities are possible. Which means, paradoxically, that all eventualities are inevitable. They have also quite possibly already happened. Make of that what you will, not that your will has much to do with it. Because here’s the thing. If you believe that consciousness is an accumulation of memory; if you believe that you often know what’s going to occur either through some animal instinct or a human subscription to fate, then you are a walking and talking embodiment of everything happening all at once. There is no x and y, no cause and effect. Nothing is inevitable because it doesn’t have time to be inevitable. You just are, all at once. Living for the moment isn’t even a choice.

Another bar. Another round. The street, a path through a graveyard. A shortcut. It’s quicker this way. I had hold of Marty’s hand. No time to think about the meaning or lack of meaning, just hold the buzz. Another street. Fag-ends. Chip wrappers. A discarded Peperami sheath like an anteater’s condom. A small fence to step over. Is the line this thin, then? I wondered, lifting my foot and landing on the other side of the fence. My other foot followed. And there it was, I was over, all of me over. The line was elastic. Life and death, unreality and reality, right and wrong. You could step from one to the other with no bother. It was eleven and midnight and morning and—

Marty’s hotel. The man behind reception had Sorry, residents only in his eyes ready for us. Tyler sashayed up to him and placed her palms on the desk.

Tell me, good sir, do all your rooms have wig stands?

I’m sorry?

Wig stands. For storing one’s wig overnight. Do all your rooms have them?

I’m sorry, I—

May I speak with the manager?

He eyed her: I am the manager.

She held the desk and rocked up onto her toes. Prove it. Give us four bottles of wine.

And he did.

I caught up with myself in Marty’s bathroom, admiring the miniature toiletries, resisting the urge to pocket a few. I sat on the toilet and pissed hard, holding the soft ballotine of my stomach as I pushed. Someone had pulled the toilet roll holder off the wall and there was a hole in the tiling where its fixture had ripped out. It reminded me of a hole that was in the wall of my bedroom at university. It was about the size of a macaroon, half an inch deep, jagged round the edges. I grew attached to that hole. The second time I took ecstasy I sat having a conversation with it for about an hour. Know what? I’ve had worse conversations. Out in the bedroom I could hear Tyler arguing with Marty. The thing is, you’ve internalised a norm, that’s all. It’s not actually your desire to wear trousers, even though you think it is … I finished pissing and stood. Zigzagged my pants up and zipped.

KNOCK KNOCK.

You okay in there, darlin’? A girl’s voice I didn’t recognise.

Fine thanks, just taking a minute.

Do you feel sick?

No.

If you feel sick I could rub your back.

I don’t feel sick.

I could paint your nails then.

Okay.

I opened the door and let her in. Hieroglyphs on her arms. Long brown hair tied back and slicked with sweat. A hole in her tights just above the knee that stretched into a screaming mouth as she kneeled.

‘Who are you?’ I said.

‘I’m Alice.’

Alice? Who the fuck was Alice?

Back out in the room there were more people, sitting on the bed.