Emma notices, holds up the pendant for him to look at. It is a swirl of fine silver lines. ‘This is from Laos, it’s the symbol for charity.’ She drops the pendant. ‘I got it in a hospice where I was working, helping children whose parents had died from AIDS.’ She has dropped the pendant but her finger is tracing the swirls. ‘I used to be sceptical of the word charity, I thought it was some middle-class Christian hang-up. But I’ve learned that it’s a universal quality. I’ve learned to appreciate it.’
He is conscious of how sad she is. He tries to form words in his head, words that will banish the melancholy. Every word this beautiful woman utters, every word floats on sadness.
‘I wish there was more charity here,’ she says bitterly. ‘In this house, in this city, in this country.’
Dan blurts out, ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi.’
And that makes her laugh, that chases away the sadness. ‘Absolutely right, Danny. You’re absolutely right.’ She starts shouting. ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie, Fucking Oi Oi Oi!’
They are on their backs on the bed, shaking with laughter. Emma clutches his hand. ‘It must have been a tough night for you. I know how much you wanted to be there at these Olympics. I know what it meant to you.’
He is rigid. His skin, his heart, his lungs, his whole being, it has gone cold, he is frozen. Her too, all they feel for him is pity. His lips are cracked, his tongue feels heavy. ‘I need a drink.’
Emma stretches over and opens a drawer in the bureau beside the bed. She pulls out a bottle of dark ochre liquid. She points to the cupboard. ‘You’re taller than I am. Up there, at the back, there’s an old toy kitchen set, I think you’ll find two cups in there.’
Dan leaps up off the bed and is on his tiptoes: his searching hand unsettles dust and he shifts an old teddy bear, worn patches of faded hessian showing through; he feels an old Walkman, then a small flat disc. He slides it forward. The plate is covered with a film of grime and dust, he can hardly make out the design of the blue finch etched on the white china surface. He pushes it back, far back, and finds the two plastic toy cups.
He hands Emma the cups and she wipes them clean with the hem of her smock, then pours a generous slug of the liquid into each one. ‘It’s Mum’s bottle,’ she explains. ‘She keeps a bottle of whiskey in here, one in the bathroom and a couple in the kitchen. That way she’s never at a loose end.’ The words are hollow, there is no expression in her voice. Emma raises the toy cup. ‘Here’s to the two fucking thousand fucking Olympic fucking Games.’
And his first whiskey, that was fire. That was certainly fire.
The heat of the whiskey cuts the ice. He drinks a cupful, then another. And another. He reaches to refill the cup but Emma places her hand around his wrist.
‘That’s enough, Dan’ she says. ‘I’m going to call you a taxi. You should go home.’
But he doesn’t. Walking down the stairs, the steps loom large and he has to think, I’m putting my left foot on that one, my right foot on that one; he is trying not to fall, Emma giggling behind him, they are in the kitchen and the bottle of rum is by the sink, it is nearly empty and he says, ‘Maybe I’ll have another,’ and Emma shrugs. Dan rinses a glass and pours the drink into it and at that moment Martin slides open the door. Dan is by the sink, he has tilted his head back, he has had the last of the drink, his mouth is wide open and he is shaking the glass for the last drops to fall onto his tongue. Martin has slid open the door and is staring at him. He hears the exasperated click of Taylor’s tongue.
‘Mate,’ Taylor’s voice is firm, ‘I think it’s time you were off.’
Dan can recognise a riff and a chug of chords from out in the backyard, from under the billowing clouds of the marquee. He takes Emma’s hand. ‘Come and dance,’ he says. ‘It’s Nirvana.’
But Taylor has shut the door. Through the glass Dan can see Lauren, her skin a reddish hue from the light of the Chinese lanterns studded through the yard, standing at the entrance of the marquee, looking anxious, her hand to her mouth.
Taylor has shut the door and is standing there, arms crossed, shaking his head. ‘Kelly, you’re going home.’
And Emma has pulled her hand away from his. ‘Danny, Martin’s right, I’m going to call a taxi.’
But he can still hear the relentless riff of the guitar, the hypnotic bass, the simple propulsive drum pattern. It is calling him. ‘I just want to dance to this one, I’ll dance to this and then I’ll go.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Kelly, you’re a bloody loser. So you didn’t make it to the Olympics. So you weren’t good enough. Get over it.’
Dan has to touch his own face. Those words, he saw them fly through the air and cut at his face. He has walked up to Taylor, he can see the sheen of sweat on the man’s upper lip. No, not a man, they are boys, together, competing. Who will be the strongest, the fastest, the best? ‘You wanted it too,’ says Dan, and as the words are said, he feels the blessed release. They have both failed. They will always be together, he and Martin, for both of them have failed.
But Taylor is shaking his head. ‘No, mate. I never wanted it like you. Not like you and Wilco.’ Taylor has moved forward, his breath is caressing Dan’s face. ‘You didn’t see it tonight, did you, the opening ceremony? You didn’t see Wilco there, his head high, proud because he’s in the swim team? You didn’t see it, did you?’
The music has disappeared, Emma isn’t there, Lauren isn’t peering anxiously out from the darkness. It is just Kelly and Taylor. And Taylor knows, Taylor knows that Dan was stronger, faster, better than Wilco. Taylor knows.
‘Of course, he won’t make it past the heats but the bastard was smiling like he couldn’t believe his luck. And too right, I reckon. He shouldn’t be there.’ Taylor’s voice was almost, not quite, but so close to, disgusted. And like they were still kids in the change rooms, Taylor is poking a sharp stabbing finger into Dan’s chest. ‘You should have been there. Not him.’
Dan smacks Martin’s hand away, so hard that Emma starts. Through the glass, he can see Lauren walking towards them. ‘And you. How about you? You wanted it just as much.’
Martin is scowling, rubbing his wrist; Dan’s blow had hurt. ‘No, I was never hungry for it. I liked beating you but once I knew you were better than me I just didn’t care. You can’t get anywhere if you don’t care, can you? You’re the one who really wanted it.’ Taylor drops his hand to his side in distaste. ‘Why am I bothering? You know what you didn’t do. You know exactly what I’m talking about.’
If he could just close his eyes, if he could shut out Taylor’s taunts and the noise and light and the crowd.
‘Martin, stop!’ Emma’s voice cuts through the night, and for one moment she alleviates the harshness of the light. But Dan can’t bear the way she is looking at him. His mother looks at him like that, it is the way Demet and Luke look at him, as if all they can muster for him is pity and compassion.
Lauren is sliding open the door, asking, in a frightened high-pitched voice, ‘Is everything alright?’
He hates her, he hates her most of all.
He responds to Emma, ignoring Lauren, ‘Nah, let him say what he’s got to say.’ He faces Martin. ‘What didn’t I do, Taylor? Tell me.’ Stare him out, give it back to him, give it right back to him. ‘Come on, cunt, what didn’t I do?’
It feels so good to say that word, to hear Lauren gasp, to see Emma shrink back.
Taylor looks away, Taylor can’t look at him. Then he says it all with a limp tilt of his shoulders, that says it all, that he can’t be bothered. It says that Dan isn’t worth it.