Emma Unsworth - Animals

‘I like your jacket,’ she said.

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You’d suit a leather jacket.’

Then someone tapped a mic and we all turned.

I suppose I should have known when she took two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and tried to hand one to Jim. I should have known when he refused the champagne in a tone of voice I couldn’t remember hearing before, more of a growl. I should have known when she poked him in the ribs with her finger when she thought I wasn’t looking. I should have known when she downed the two champagnes, got another two, and downed those. I should have known when she started talking softly but not that softly during the speeches: You really have stuck to it, haven’t you?

Yeah , said Jim through gritted teeth.

I hoped you wouldn’t, you know.

Jim turned and walked off. I didn’t follow him. The speeches finished. Applause. Kirsten turned and said to me: ‘You know, Jim’s such a special guy.’

I looked at her. She had a different look on her, a ruthlessness, her face was all hard angles. Maybe Kirsten and I weren’t going to be such good friends after all, especially since I usually preferred people when they were drunk.

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘He’s been so supportive. It’s a lonely life this, all the travel, all the solo work. Jim’s been there for me so many times.’

Suspicion, now. Dripping and trickling and flowing in, walls bursting, villages submerged. ‘Yeah,’ I heard myself say.

‘I’m not always sure I know what I’m doing and Jim’s kept me on track. Guided me. He’s a real teacher. A nurturer, I suppose you’d say. I feel as though we’ve been through so many things together.’

‘Mm.’ Out of the corner of my eye I saw the shape and gait of Jim striding towards us. Suspicion smelted, emotional alchemy, and there it was: clean blue fury.

‘Yes,’ said Kirsten, ‘we really have been through so many things, together.’

I leaned towards her, closer, spitting distance. ‘Have you been through a fucking window together?’

I felt Jim’s hand on my right arm. He pulled me away. ‘Goodbye, Kirsten.’

I skidded in his grip and then shook him off. ‘DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING PULL ME.’ People turned and looked. Jim raised his hands, Hands up, crazy woman in the house! and followed me towards the double swing-doors.

‘Stop walking,’ he said. ‘Laura.’ His voice echoed along the stone corridor.

I turned to look at him. I was sick at our sex, sick at our love. ‘I need to find a bathroom.’

‘This way.’

I sat on the toilet doing nothing, staring at the door in front of me and listening to my phone vibrate in my bag. The tiles on the floor were huge and white, similar to what you’d find in a torture chamber or morgue. At one point it dawned on me that I was hearing voices and it took a moment for me to recognise that I recognised one of the voices and then another moment to tune in to what the voice was saying.

It was Kirsten. Words became sentences, sentences sense.

‘You know how cut-up I’ve been about this.’

‘Oh, Kirsten, babes.’

‘I’m sorry — I… ’

Oh god, I thought. Oh no. Please don’t be — Fabric rustled against fabric. I could hear the water in the pipes and now and then a low quiet female cough like someone clearing her throat gently.

‘Can you believe what she said to me?’ Kirsten’s voice cracked as she said the words. ‘Do you think she knows? She must.’

I paused, held myself taut. I wondered whether I should get up, flush, make a sound, come out, cough, sneeze, call someone? Or just stay still and—

‘Nah, she’s just always pissed, isn’t she?’

A snort, sad not happy. ‘The way he’s been with me, Sylvia, ever since. So cold. Hard to believe it’s the same man. Like he hates me and hates himself — oh, I don’t know. I felt like what happened had been building up for so long but to him it was obviously just a mistake. And now it’s so hard to avoid him, this world is so fucking small.’

Oh for a sinkhole , I thought. Or a bomb scare. Even an actual bomb would be a blessing right now. They fell silent. Liquid horror. Had they worked out I was in there? That would be too much to bear. I’d have to run if they saw me, have to. I couldn’t endure making them feel better on top of—

‘We should be—’

My cunt burned with held-in piss.

‘I know,’ said Kirsten.

‘I’m so paranoid!’

Footsteps. High heels on tiling. Their voices receding and a door creaking to a close. I sat there. After a few seconds, piss trickled out. I had no water pressure. It took a while and when I was done I wiped myself and stood shakily. Pulled up my jeans. What was I going to do what was I going to do? I didn’t know. Could I climb through a window? Was there a window? I opened the cubicle door and peered out. They’d gone. I rinsed my hands and wiped them on my thighs. I’d have to leave it a few minutes but not too long before I emerged into the bar. Could I just run away? Just running away would be preferable. I looked for a window. There was no window. I was having a heart attack. I put a hand on my chest and pressed it there.

What would Tyler do?

Just the thought of Tyler made me feel calmer. I knew what she would do. She would walk out there chin-first, down a drink for the road, and get the fuck out. That’s what Tyler would do.

That’s what I would do.

I opened the door. The noise of the corridor hit me like a train. Jim was standing there, stone-faced, by a sandy beige pillar. I turned and walked in the other direction. I knew there was an exit round the back of the town hall. Would it be open? Would I be granted that small mercy?

The back exit was open. Hosannas! I flew out and started to run.

‘Laura!’

He grabbed my hand and pulled me to a stop. I turned and looked at him. Everything had receded within, sucked back like the tide going out or the thaw after an ice age. Just wet rocks remained. A deserted beach. The moraine after the glacier.

‘When?’

‘Christmas. The party at the Bridgewater.’

‘Did you fuck her?’

He shook his head.

‘You kissed her, though.’

He nodded.

‘What else?’

‘I was drunk. I don’t—’

‘Did you see her tits?’

A nod.

‘How about her nipples? Did you see her nipples?’

What was this, soft-porn rules? Yes. Yes, it was.

Another nod.

‘Did you touch them?’

Yes, he had touched her nipples.

‘Did she see your cock?’

He looked at me.

‘Answer the question, Jim.’

He nodded.

‘Did she suck your cock?’

Yep.

‘Did you eat her pussy?’

He looked down.

‘DID YOU EAT HER PUSSY, JIM?’

My imagination didn’t spare me the visuals.

‘I was so drunk, Laur… ’

The hotel room. The bed. The two of them grabbing at each other like zombies at a combination lock, futility beckoning, along with some half-awareness of it. He’d had a dopey hard-on, scrabbled unsuccessfully with a condom — the non-application of which had become a momentum-sapping distraction. They’d done everything they could with the tools to hand.

‘I get it. You would have fucked her but you couldn’t.’

‘I’m sorry, Laur. I’ve tried to make this right.’

‘Impossible. There’s nothing more to say.’

‘This is the insane thing with you,’ Jim said, sitting down on a step. ‘This is why I couldn’t tell you. You’re so extreme.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘It is. And you’ve been fighting this wedding, you and your wreckhead friend.’

‘YOU LEAVE MY WRECKHEAD FRIEND OUT OF THIS.’