I was determined to get my five minutes of calm.
When I returned to our table, Beck and my father and Marie seemed to be sharing a joke. I thought it really would have been better if I wasn’t there. Then everyone could go on having a good time.
‘Well, you and Daddy certainly seemed to be getting on,’ I said to Beck as we waited for a taxi to take us home. I didn’t even try to keep the reprimand out of my voice.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Abby!’
‘What? It’s good that one of us enjoyed dinner.’
‘I can’t believe you sometimes. Do you actually expect me to turn up to your family meal and spend the whole time being hostile to your family?’
He made it sound so unreasonable.
‘I’m just asking for a bit of support. Is that so much to ask? I’m not saying that you have to be actively hostile to my father, but you don’t have to nod and agree with every idiotic remark he makes. It undermines me.’
‘I undermine you? Not the other way round – like when you told me to put my wallet away because I was “being ridiculous”. You know, it’s normal to offer to split the bill. It’s the polite thing to do.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a man! It was ridiculous. How could we afford to split the bill? Anyway, Daddy had already made it clear that he was paying. You do understand that he earns four or five times our combined income?’
‘Don’t exaggerate. He doesn’t earn anything like that amount, not after tax.’
I laughed, and it was a genuine laugh. ‘Really, Beck! You’re so naïve. Daddy doesn’t pay tax. It’s one of the few things he has a strong moral objection to. He pays his accountant instead. He has more money going offshore than either of us will earn in the rest of the decade.’
Beck scowled. ‘Fine. Next time I won’t bother coming at all. You can sit there and be miserable on your own.’
The awful thing, of course, was that I knew I was being ridiculous and unfair. I was being a complete bitch. But somehow I couldn’t stop myself. Seeing my father brought out the absolute worst in me.
I knew I should apologize. I knew I should tell Beck that I did appreciate his being there, that it made such a difference to me, even if I acted completely to the contrary. But I thought that if I tried to say any of this, I’d just break down crying, and then we’d have to have yet another earnest conversation about my mood. I couldn’t handle that at the moment. I’d had too much vodka; it was fogging my mind and making me depressed. And the thought of getting in a taxi and going home made me feel even worse. Our flat was not a good flat to argue in, and it was not a good place for tense silences. It was too much of a pressure cooker. There was nowhere to stomp off to, nowhere to cool down.
I needed to stay out for a bit. More specifically, what I really needed was that special clarity, that feeling of absolute tranquillity that only ecstasy can provide. This was the best solution I could see to our current situation. It would offer us a short cut to reconciliation, without the need for words or compromise or all those raw, dangerous emotions.
Beck, however, was resistant – even though he must have been as fed up of arguing as I was.
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ he told me. ‘Not at the moment.’
‘It’s a great idea. We need to have some fun, forget the past week. I can’t face the thought of going home right now, not like this.’
‘We’ll still have to go home,’ Beck pointed out. ‘We’ll have to go home to get the stuff.’
‘No, I have the stuff in my bag,’ I told him. We were calling it ‘the stuff’ because we were still in the street, and there was a certain amount of pedestrian traffic. Not that I thought anyone would care. Plus ‘stuff’ wasn’t exactly the Enigma Code.
‘It’s in your bag?’ Beck repeated, after a small, faintly pointed hesitation.
‘Well, you know . . . dinner with Daddy. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. I thought we might need it.’
He still looked far from convinced.
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘How about we just go and find somewhere to have a drink? A soft drink – I realize I’ve had quite enough alcohol.’
This last was very true, but I also said it knowing it might placate him a bit. It was almost an apology.
‘One drink?’ Beck asked.
‘Yes. One drink. If you still want to go home after that, we’ll go home.’ We weren’t going home. ‘Either way, I think it will do us some good.’
Beck weighed this proposition for a few moments. I could see the cogs turning. Going for a drink was obviously a more attractive proposition than going home in a huffy silence, but I still had to play this carefully, find the right balance of carrot and stick. I placed a hand on his arm and gave him a soft, tentative smile. Slightly manipulative, but never mind.
‘Please? I just need to wind down. It’s been a really difficult evening for me.’
A vacant taxi had finally emerged from around the corner. Beck looked at it for a moment, dropped his hand, and let it pass.
‘One drink,’ he said.
We found a club that was playing non-stop classic trance until 6 a.m. and stayed until it closed. When we got home, an hour later, we each had another pill, then had sex on the floor while listening to Blondie’s Greatest Hits. It was languorous, and meltingly soft.
Halfway through, I started thinking about Marie Martin and began to giggle.
‘What?’ Beck asked.
‘Marie Martin thinks I’m pretty when I laugh.’
‘You are pretty.’
‘Prettier than her?’
‘Yes. Much, much prettier.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘I don’t think many men would agree.’
‘No, I’m sure they wouldn’t. That doesn’t matter. You’re much more of a niche market – darker, quirkier.’
‘Good. I want to be a niche market.’
‘You are. They don’t come any nicher.’
He ran his fingers through my hair. Debbie Harry was singing ‘Sunday Girl’.
‘What about Debbie Harry? 1977 Debbie Harry. Am I prettier than her?’
‘Of course. No competition.’
I could feel tears starting to well in my eyes. I wrapped my legs tightly around Beck’s waist and buried my face in his shoulder.
‘I love you,’ I said. ‘I’m so fucking happy.’
7
LAUNDRY
The problem with drugs, of course, is that they work too well.
The comedown began on Monday morning. I awoke at nine to discover that Beck had left without disturbing me. I’d finally got to sleep around 3.30 a.m. At that point, I’d reached the hallucination stage of ecstasy sleep deprivation. My last memory was of lying in the darkness with my fingers almost paired, as if around an invisible Tesla Ball. Except I didn’t need a Tesla Ball. Fine veins of electric-blue fire were sizzling between my splayed fingertips. I must have watched them for hours while Beck slept beside me. I listened to all of The Orb’s Adventures Beyond the Ultraworld in my earphones, my finger-lightning dancing in time with the music.
The world I awoke to was a dull and washed-out version of what it should have been. I didn’t feel much like getting up. I wanted to bury myself under the duvet and hide until it was dark again. But I knew this was probably the worst thing to do. Anyway, I had the vague notion that if I could get through the day on just my five-and-a-bit hours’ sleep, it might finally reset my body clock, help me sleep through a whole night without waking.
I got up.
Beck had stuck a note to the coffee machine. It read: You’re a thousand times prettier than Marie Martin and 1977 Debbie Harry combined. Be kind to yourself today. X
It was a sweet thing to do, but it didn’t make me feel much better. I knew I didn’t really deserve it. I folded the note to the size of a postage stamp and squirrelled it away in my purse.