Читать книгу In at the Deep End - Kate Davies - Страница 8

The party was at a warehouse in Hackney Wick, which was quite exciting – the sort of place trendy people who have lots of sex might go on a Friday night, I thought. As we walked up the concrete stairs, edging past a couple in his-and-hers fur coats drinking rum straight from the bottle, my body began to pulse with possibility. Who knew what was on the other side of that door?

‘So my friend Jane lives here with about six other artists,’ said Dave, knocking on the door. ‘She’s a conceptual painter. Her work is kind of confrontational – you’ll see what I mean in a minute.’

The door swung open and we edged our way into the warehouse, past a DJ playing electro on actual decks. The walls were covered in canvases splashed with phrases like You’re a cunt and What are you looking at?

I stopped in front of a huge blue square bearing the words No one likes you.

‘Sell a lot of these, does she?’ I said to Dave, but he was standing at the makeshift bar with his arm around Alice, pouring vodka into two plastic cups.

I looked back at the painting. I was beginning to take it personally.

‘What do you think?’ A woman had sidled up next to me and was standing with her arms crossed. She had a blunt bob and was wearing high-waisted trousers; she looked just like I do in the daydreams where I’m a bohemian novelist (and part-time detective) living in Berlin.

‘They give a lovely homely feel to the place,’ I said.

‘Ha!’ she said, and turned to face me. ‘I like that. You’re funny.’ She held my gaze for longer than was comfortable.

‘You painted them, didn’t you?’ I said.

‘Yep.’

I opened my mouth to say something, but my humiliation had slowed down my thought process a bit.

She waved away my embarrassment with her hand. ‘To be fair, I was going through a bad break-up at the time,’ she said. ‘My new stuff’s much softer. I’ll show you some of it.’ She caught me by the hand and pulled me through the fog of sweaty, dancing bodies to the far end of the warehouse.

‘Here,’ she said. She pointed to a pink canvas with curving purple script that read Your cunt tastes delicious. ‘What does this one make you feel?’

I considered the painting. ‘Flattered? Sort of?’

She raised her eyebrows.

I turned back to the canvas. ‘Violated’ was the honest answer, so I said that out loud, and she seemed pleased. ‘Are these all things someone has said to you?’

‘They’re things I’ve wanted to say to people but never worked up the nerve.’ She looked me in the eye again. Not smiling any more.

‘Right,’ I said, focusing on the painting while I thought of something to say. Was she hitting on me? ‘I guess you’re going out with someone you like now, then.’ I said.

‘Nah,’ she said, shrugging. ‘It was a one-time thing.’

‘Right,’ I said again.

‘You seeing anyone?’ she asked. I could feel her eyes on me.

‘Not right now,’ I said, still not looking at her.

‘You ever been with a woman?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I said, flicking my gaze at her and away again straight away. I wasn’t drunk enough for that level of intense eye contact.

‘You should try it,’ she said.

‘Maybe I will!’ I said, in an Enid Blyton sort of voice. I started nodding and didn’t seem to be able to stop. ‘Do you need another drink?’

‘Nah, it’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m on the K. Want some?’ She held out a wrap.

I looked at the wrap. It was made of a flyer for a club night that I’d never been to; the photos on Facebook were full of trendy genderqueer people and I’d always assumed I was too boring to get in. This was my chance to be cool, to be young and spontaneous.

I’d always vaguely wondered what it would be like to be with a woman; I had occasionally masturbated while thinking about Beyoncé, and I’d even half-heartedly come out as bi to Cat when we were 17. We’d talked about it in whispers, and hugged melodramatically, and then somehow I just sort of … forgot about it. Maybe I should seize the moment, have a line of ketamine and a little light lesbian sex. But I’d just read an article in the Guardian about ketamine damaging your bladder, and I can’t even handle cystitis without wanting to scratch my insides out. Besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted Jane to taste my cunt. Apart from anything else, she was obviously a cunt connoisseur, and I wasn’t sure mine would be up to standard. I couldn’t think of anything worse than being the subject of a painting that said something like You need to trim your pubic hair, or Your cunt did not taste as good as that other cunt.

So I shook my head.

‘Another time then,’ she said, already on her way to the toilets.

I looked around for Alice and Dave, but they were dancing in a corner, foreheads together, grinding into each other like a pestle and mortar. I needed wine, a pint of red wine, preferably. There was none in the bar area so I walked around the edge of the room, picking up every bottle I came across. They were all empty or dark with cigarette ash, the butts floating on the surface like drowned flies.

I took out my phone and texted Cat. At a party with Alice and Dave. They are basically having sex on dance floor. Help.

She replied straight away: If you can’t beat em join em, mate. And she put a wink emoji at the end. She knows I hate the wink emoji.

Eventually I found a half-full bottle of vodka on a windowsill and took a swig. It was like a delicious slap in the face, if there can be such a thing. I stood there for a while, drinking and watching the people on the dance floor. Almost everyone was in a couple – a relatively recent one, judging by the level of groping that was going on. I turned and looked out of the window, over rows of graffitied brick walls towards the glow of the Olympic Park, the party behind me reflected in the glass. Fuck this, I thought to myself, drinking a bit more vodka. I was not going to stand there staring mournfully out of a window like a Jane Austen heroine. I too could have a casual fuck. I’d turned over a sexy new leaf. Conceptual artists wanted to have lesbian sex with me. I would find a man and I would snog him. Maybe I’d even bang him if the snog got me in the mood.

I took another swig from the bottle – a longer one this time, till my gag reflex kicked in and my body started to buzz – and then I walked with purpose into the thick of the party, giving what I thought were sultry come-hither looks to the men I passed.

Everything is a little bit blurry after that. Or soft-focus – let’s go with soft-focus. I remember dancing for a while, standing in a big circle, opposite an angular woman in dungarees who was waving her cigarette around above her head, the tip striping the air with fire. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jane emerge from the toilets. She felt her way around the room, her hands against the wall, clearly not trusting herself not to fall over. I looked down at my vodka bottle and was surprised to find it almost empty.

I don’t remember how I met him. The first thing I remember is pushing him out of the circle towards the fire escape, both of my hands on his back, the two of us stumbling and laughing. And the next thing I remember is being pressed up against him, him stroking my face and murmuring to me in his sexy Irish voice. He had green-brown eyes and very red lips, and stubble. He smelled a bit like he hadn’t washed in a few days, but there was something appealing about that, something raw and masculine and unconventional.

I kissed him first. I’m proud of myself for that. He kissed back and pushed me against the fire escape railing so it dug into my back. I closed my eyes and let my hands wander over his arse, using his body to turn myself on. I’d bloody done it. I was touching another human being. I’d broken the bloody spell.

‘Come home with me, like.’ He breathed into my ear, hot and damp. ‘I want to see what’s underneath that T-shirt.’

It occurred to me that the answer to that question was ‘an old M&S multi-pack bra’.

‘I don’t know …’ It was so fucking nice to feel the warmth of another human being, but the world was beginning to tilt and lurch, and the vodka was threatening to reappear.

‘Your tits are so firm,’ he said, running a hand over the pointy edges of my ribcage.

‘Those aren’t my tits,’ I said, picking up his hand and moving it upwards.

He laughed. ‘Thank fuck for that. Come to the toilets with me.’

That’s when Alice’s face appeared over his shoulder. She gave me two thumbs up and ducked away.

I pulled away from him and called to Alice. ‘Wait!’ I began to walk back into the warehouse.

He grabbed my hand. ‘What, you’re not going, are you?’

‘Yeah. Sorry. Thanks, though.’

‘Swap numbers then?’

‘Sure.’ He gave me his phone and I typed in my number with the slow deliberation of the extremely drunk.

My phone buzzed in the taxi on the way home. Gonna dream about you tonight ;) Finn x

I smiled to myself. I’m going to have sex with you, Finn, I thought. And if you’re lucky, I’ll let you have sex with me back.

I couldn’t quite believe how bad my hangover was the next morning. I could practically feel my brain knocking against the sides of my skull when I moved. I lay on my back, as still as possible. What had happened to me last night? Why did I feel like I’d been rubbing a cheese grater against my cheek?

I had a sudden vision of an empty bottle of vodka and a fire escape and a hand fondling my ribcage. Finn. Finn and his stubble. I’d snogged Finn.

Even though I was concentrating very hard on breathing in and out and not vomiting, I felt very pleased with myself. I had kissed an actual man – I had not forgotten how. And although I couldn’t imagine enjoying anything at all at that particular moment, I had a feeling I’d really enjoyed the kiss, too.

Not only that, but I had been about two units of alcohol away from fucking him on a ketamine-covered toilet cistern in Hackney Wick. I closed my eyes and thanked the universe that I hadn’t had sex for the first time in years while in a vodka coma. I wanted to remember such a momentous occasion.

I was woken again by Alice opening my door, which was a little awkward, as I wasn’t wearing any clothes. She handed me a cup of tea; as I took it, I had to clutch the duvet with my chin so she didn’t get a flash of nipple.

‘Feeling rough?’ she said cheerfully.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Do we have any Haribo, or crisps or anything?’ I took a sip of tea. It seemed to curdle in my mouth.

‘I’ll get you some later. Tell me about the guy you snogged!’ Her arms were crossed. She was far too excited about it.

‘I don’t really remember …’

‘He had great hair. Reddish.’

‘Did he?’ I said, putting my tea down and delicately lowering myself onto my back again.

‘Yes! I couldn’t really see his face, though, the angle you were at.’

‘He definitely smelled quite masculine,’ I said, closing my eyes. I could hear birds singing and the pounding of the blood in my head.

Alice took the hint. She padded out of the room, ostentatiously quietly, and returned clutching a pack of Haribo Starmix.

‘Thank you,’ I said, and she sat there, smiling at me indulgently, as I piled the sweets into my mouth, one after the other.

I had a mouth full of cola bottles when my phone started to ring. I reached out for it, swallowing hastily and narrowing my eyes against the glare of the screen.

It was Finn.

I waved Alice out of the room. She went as slowly as she could, clearly trying to overhear as much of our conversation as possible.

‘I feel like shit this morning,’ said Finn. His voice was deeper than I remembered, a lazy drawl.

‘I literally think I’m about to die,’ I said.

‘Not because of me, I hope,’ he said.

‘No,’ I said, trying to ignore Alice, who was standing in the doorway, grinning at me.

‘Cool,’ he said. ‘So, like – do you want to go for a drink sometime then?’ He sounded like he wasn’t arsed either way, and yet he obviously was arsed, because here he was calling me the morning after we’d met. ‘Next Friday maybe?’

‘Sounds good,’ I said. He must actually like me, I thought. This could genuinely lead to sex. I wasn’t sure I could remember how to do it. What if I couldn’t – what’s the female equivalent of ‘get it up’?