13 May 2012
trying to call up his dad and girlfriend to bid them a teary farewell.” He points an angry finger at Juian. “You fucking degenerate! We had to wrestle the phone off you and hide it, which was fine because you were losing your bloody memory every 20 seconds and constantly asking us, ‘What’s just happened?’ OVER AND OVER AND OVER!” The table is in hysterics, we’re all laughing uncontrollably together, even Julian has long since conceded that the entire episode was so painfully funny in hindsight, that it will be forever retold at our reunions. “AND THEN!” He waits for the rest of us to stop laughing so he can carry on, “Then there’s a knock at the door, so we’re all obviously thinking we’re about to get turfed out of the hotel so Simon and Ed pin Jay down to the bed while Felix opens the door. As soon as there’s a way out Jay starts thrashing around like a lunatic screaming for an ambulance to pull him out of the car crash, the guy at the door just nods, reaches in, takes the bin out and leaves without saying a word. Priceless!” “Yeah what an asshole, what if I had been really dying?” “I really don’t think it was particularly plausible seeing as you were convinced we’d been in a car accident on the first floor of a hotel. You’re a moron just accept it. Then after all that you suggesting going to get some more mushrooms, what sort of person does that?” Julian gives us all the finger and takes a long sip of his drink. “Not to mention that once you started coming round you stripped off, put a cigarette in your mouth and proclaim to the world that if you are going to die then you’re going to do it in style.” “At which point he lights his cigarette, takes and enormous drag, then pukes into the sink and falls over.” “What can I say? I’m a man of class.” “What class is that, the underclass?” Jay just sits and nods proudly, there’s smiles all around and conversation becomes slightly more mundane, politics, work and the like so I find my concentration drifting and my eyes scan the room to find something of interest. Out of the corner of my eye I see the entrance doors swing wide and three pairs of golden legs strut through into the dazzling area in front of the bar. My eyes slowly move up from expensive high heels to well fitted dresses to delicately made up faces, whilst my mind moves from interest, to desire, to grim realisation coupled with a wave of nausea which takes me right back to that morning a couple of weeks before. It had to be her didn’t it? I was always being optimistic that she wouldn’t waltz back in here for round two, but why tonight? It’s time to improvise and make the best of a bad situation so I ignore Noodle and his story and get up to meet them, all the time thanking God that she didn’t come alone. I affix a horrifically handsome (fake) smile to my face and strut over with an outstretched arm as though welcoming back a long lost friend. She’s stood still in the middle of the room, dramatically poised with a slender arm perched on the curve of her hip, her face is halfway between satisfaction and expectation, knowing she’s found me. But even her eyes can’t see what’s coming. I’ve made an executive decision to ignore the fact that I fucked and flipped her all in the space of a few hours a couple of weeks ago and I’m not going to let this ruin my night. The key to this is no apology, an apology is an instant admission to perpetrating a wrongdoing. I do wish I could remember her name though. “Hello gorgeous,” I say at the same time as sliding my outstretched arm around her side and kissing her cheek, receiving not even a hint of reciprocation. “You and your friends should come over and sit with us we’re having a little party.” She looks back at her friends, two of them, all equally stunning and immaculately attired, they exchange sardonic looks in silence and seem to reach a telepathic agreement. She wraps her hands around my arm and turns me around to walk towards our table, behind me I hear the clicks of high heels following. This is the warmest reception I’ve had upon re-encountering someone I abandoned in the middle of the night, but it’s certainly more enjoyable than shouting matches and impromptu showers with the nearest available drink. I guess she’s still feeling guilty about her little surprise in the toilet. We get back to the table and they’re back to discussing the bloody mushroom debacle amidst rising hysterics and slamming drinks. They hadn’t noticed I’d gone, but they’ve noticed I’m coming back. Julian is first to pipe up, “Wow! Hello and welcome to our little table, I’m Julian,” he says standing up extending an arm, “the short one’s Simon, the skinny one is Ed and the Chinese one is Noodle.” He softens the R to pull a slapstick Chinese impersonation. Apparently you already have the misfortune of knowing our host so no introduction necessary there.” He turns to me and winks, “Get some fucking seats man! And where the fuck is the coke at anyway? Call your little errand boy and see what he’s doing.” I turn to pull up some seats from a vacated table behind us and the girls sit down making introductions to which I carefully eavesdrop, in order to actually try and get this girl’s name this time. I take my new seat at the head of our merry throng, I’ve worked out that my little succubus is called Belle, how fitting, I’ve forgotten what her friends are called but they seem completely taken by Julian and Noodle whose embellished tales of past adventurism have them craning their necks and tilting their heads like expectant puppies. We get another round of drinks sent to the table, Belle orders my signature cocktail and when they arrive we clink glasses with a sly smile to each other. The bar has been getting progressively emptier for the last hour and the music is now audible over the hum of conversation around us, I tell the two waitresses to call last orders, I feel it’s time to make this party more private so as soon as Cal gets back with the stuff I’m going to throw all the punters out so that we can take over the bar proper.
There’s cocaine all over the bar, so much that it’s spread into the pores of the wood and the traces of where it has been spread out and methodically cut into lines are visible. People are both sides of the bar now because we are the only ones occupying the entire place, everyone has paired off into separate conversations and everyone is smoking. Each one takes place over a separate white mound and every now and then a participant will take a card and slice out a portion of the pile, look at the other for agreement, then take great care in cutting two equal lines whilst still conversing with the other and only stopping to stoop and inhale the neat little strip through a cut straw. Julian and Noodle are all over Belle’s two friends and the feeling seems mutual so I’m leaving them to it, Ed and Simon have taken the corner of the bar and appear to be in the middle of a heated debate about something I couldn’t even pretend to be interested in. I’m sitting on a bar stool opposite Belle, drink in hand and totally inebriated already but still unable to shake the feeling of sickness that I’ve had since she arrived. I even powered through most of the coke just to take my mind off it but if anything it’s making me concentrate even harder on how bad I feel. The volume of our conversation seems turned down to me and although she continues talking at a rate of knots I just sit there nodding and grunting along to appease her. I just wish I could leave now, but since I’m the host it’s an impossibility, I have an undeniable urge to get back to my house in suburbia and crawl into bed next to Ali, it’s the only way I could shake this feeling and knowing that she’s there alone is killing me. This problem is compounded by the fact that now all fired up on drugs nobody is going to bed for a good few hours, so I sit and try to take my mind off of home and put it firmly back in the present. I pick up my card and begin arranging five thin little lines from our pile, a narcotic little stave from which I’ll play the tragic lullaby of impending middle age. Unlike the others the equality of size at this moment holds far less significance for me so I just blast line after line straight up my nose and take a big hit of my drink to boot. Belle looks at me with an air of concern and says, “Are you ok? You seem a bit quiet.” A bit quiet? I’m sitting here pounding coke up my fucking snout and you ask me why I’m quiet. “I’m fine,” I lie. She puts a hand on my thigh and squeezes as if to reassure me. “You know I don’t mind that you left last time, I get it, I knew you were married anyway I saw the ring on your finger. I wasn’t expecting anything from you.” What she’s referring to isn’t actually my wedding ring, it’s a giant gaudy piece of silver I had from before I met Ali and its three interlocking parts have been the equivalent of worry beads to me in times of stress, nobody notices but this ring must have been twirled around my finger millions of times. Ali’s always had an issue with me wearing it on my ring finger, she thinks it’s bad luck, I don’t buy into superstition. “Well that’s good, it’s the people that do I feel sorry for though.” “What do you mean?” “Listen, as much as talking about our problems is advocated by almost everyone these days I’m not sure that you want a depressive middle aged man on your hands tonight. Especially one who’s drunk far too much for his own good and is just feeling even more sorry for himself than he usually does.” “Okay well I’m not going to force you, but I did sort of prefer you when you were your charming old self I’ll admit.” I let out a sad little laugh, “Sorry, it comes in waves, it’s very hard to be that charming all the time.” I take another drink and put my hand on hers with a smile, now even she is making me feel bad about what I did to her. I get off the stool and turn to everyone else, “Guys I’m afraid that we’re gonna’ have to finish up soon-ish, I’v
Daddy's Gone 3.1 • Opuss № I