‘Sorry,’ I say, when I can speak again. ‘That was stupid. We’re not doing this. Not now.’
‘This isn’t because of that crazy girl, is it?’ She says. ‘You don’t have a thing for her? Tim? Look at me.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘And stop calling her crazy. It’s got nothing to do with Anna. I’m just tired of you, Lilla. You and your games.’ I roll over so I can see her face. ‘You know what I think? I think you can’t stand the thought that I might stop lusting after you for one second. You saw me dancing with Anna and it gave you the shits. And this? Now? It’s all just a game. A stupid fucking ego trip. That’s what I am to you . . . a convenient ego-boost device.’
She giggles softly. ‘An ego-boost device? That’s actually quite good, Tim.’ She clears her throat, presses the palm of her hand to my chest. ‘But no, that’s not it. You’re wrong. It’s much nicer than that. It really is. I love you, Tim. I care about you. And, the truth is, I think about you a lot, the times we were together. I miss you. I really do. And if it does have anything to do with that girl it’s only because I can’t stand to think of you hooking up with someone like that. She’s weird, Tim. She gives me the creeps. And those spiders? That horrible present? It was her. It was totally her. I mean, use some common sense. She’s the weirdest person you know. Everyone else you know is relatively sane. Who else would do something like that? And you should have seen her face when—’
‘Shut up, Lilla,’ I say. ‘Just shut up, would you? You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t even know her.’
But I can’t help wondering if she’s right.
38
I CAN’T BREATHE.
There’s a crushing weight over my mouth and nose. A weight that pins my head against the bed, that won’t let me move. My mouth is open and full of something soft, something that won’t let the air in.
I scream. Or I try to. Without air I can’t make a noise.
My head is filled with red. An agonising, pulsing red. The red of my own blood rushing through my head.
I try to thrash my arms, my legs, but I can’t move. Can’t do anything. I need oxygen. And I need to use every ounce of energy to get it. To suck air into my lungs.
Everything becomes black. And I feel myself fading, growing weak. Dying.
Then suddenly the weight is gone and I can breathe. Sweet, sweet oxygen. The relief of it is so immense I sit up and gulp it in, gasping and spluttering noisily in the dark.
Slowly my mind comes back into focus, and I take stock. Lilla is asleep and still beside me. I can hear the regular in-and-out of her breath. The room is empty.
Was I dreaming? And if so, why does my jaw hurt? Why do my lips feel bruised? Why does the lingering ache in my chest feel so real?
39
WHEN I WAKE THE NEXT MORNING I REMEMBER THE DREAM BEFORE anything else. The fear I felt during the night is still there, like a bad taste I can’t get rid of. In the light of day it doesn’t seem possible that someone would get into the house and hold a pillow over my face – what would be the point? And wouldn’t Lilla have woken up if I was being smothered right beside her? And yet I can’t shake the powerful sense of dread that sits like a brick in my guts. I run my hand along the length of my jaw, up and down my neck, checking for soreness. Apart from a throbbing headache from the many beers I drank, I feel nothing unusual.
‘Don’t worry,’ Lilla says, her voice startling in the silence. ‘We’ll tell Anna we slept head to toe. Totally platonic. Just tell her how scared I was.’ She sighs, stretches her arms over her head, yawns noisily. ‘If she even asks, that is. Which I doubt. And anyway, you’re not exactly married. She won’t stay angry for long, if at all.’
‘I’m not worried about Anna,’ I say. ‘Why the hell would I be? And why the hell would she care, anyway?’
‘You’re biting your lip. And your foot is twitching. You always do that when you’re worried. And hey, Anna would care.’ She leans over and kisses my cheek, then gets out of bed and starts pulling on her clothes. ‘And you would care that she cared. I saw you two last night getting all romantic on the dance floor. You must notice the way she looks at you. She watches you all the time. She’s totally got a big crush on you. Open your eyes. Stop being so dumb.’
‘It’s not that,’ I sigh. ‘It’s nothing to do with Anna. It’s . . . last night. I had this shitty dream.’
‘It wasn’t a dream, babe.’ She winks at me, then she makes a more sober face and sits on the bed. ‘But really. I’m sorry. It was stupid. I had too much champagne. Can we just forget about it?’
‘It’s not that either,’ I say, rubbing my jaw. ‘It’s this dream I had . . . I couldn’t breathe. As if someone had a pillow over my face. Trying to kill me. I was scared shitless.’
Lilla stands up again, starts putting her shoes on.
‘I felt as if I was going to pass out, or like my head would explode or something. It actually hurt. And I could see all this red. My own blood or something. It was fucking terrifying. Lilla? Are you even listening?’
‘Yeah, yeah. Sounds really scary,’ she says. ‘But hasn’t anyone ever told you how dead boring it is listening to other people’s dreams?’
*
The kitchen and courtyard are a mess. There are empty bottles everywhere, plastic cups crushed on the floor, on the table, on every horizontal surface. Chairs are all over the place, one lying on its side beneath the table. The floor is sticky. I walk through the hall and find more of the same, plus a collection of cigarette butts in one corner. The ballroom is in a similar state, and I hope that at least the mess has been contained to just these areas. I check the living room. There are a couple of empty beer bottles, but no other damage. I get some heavy-duty bin liners and start picking up rubbish.
Lilla follows me around, occasionally picking up a random bottle, and tells me all about her plans for the day.
But I’m distracted and can barely make myself listen. Did Anna really watch me? Did she have a crush on me as Lilla said? And if so, had I made a stupid mistake last night dancing with her? Did I really want to start something with a girl like Anna?
‘Lilla,’ I say eventually, straightening to look at her. ‘If you’re not going to help, why don’t you just go home? In fact, don’t you think it would be a good idea if you left?’
‘A good idea? Why?’ She stares at me blankly for a minute before making her eyes all wide, an artificial show of sudden understanding. ‘Oh, you mean before Anna comes down?’
‘Isn’t Patrick waiting for you?’ I glare at her. ‘Won’t he be wondering where you are?’
‘He left me here. He mustn’t care that much.’ She leans towards me. ‘Don’t worry. You can tell Anna I crashed on the couch. She won’t suspect a thing.’ She straightens up. ‘And anyway, I can’t go yet. I need coffee and I need it now, and I’m not going anywhere until I get it.’
She turns on her heel and walks towards the kitchen. She stops in the doorway and looks back at me.
‘I assume you want one too?’
*
Anna comes downstairs just as Lilla is pouring the coffee.
‘Want some?’ Lilla asks.
‘Yes. Thank you,’ Anna says, looking around the kitchen as if she isn’t sure where to put herself or what to do. Lilla, in contrast, seems as comfortable as if she owns the place.
‘Take a seat,’ she says to Anna. ‘I’ll bring it over.’ Her voice is bossy, patronising. I shoot her a warning look, but she avoids my eye.
Anna goes agreeably to the table and takes a seat. I think it’s actually pretty cool the way she doesn’t seem to notice how bitchy Lilla is. Or maybe it’s just that she doesn’t care enough to react. Either way, despite all her anxieties, she must have some deep inner sense of confidence. Unlike Lilla, she isn’t on the lookout for slights, she doesn’t consistently have her prickles out, doesn’t assume the world is looking for a fight.
I observe them silently for a moment: their appearance, their mannerisms; m
ake a mental catalogue of their differences.
This morning, it seems to me, the way they look on the outside, soft and fragile in Anna’s case, hard and edgy in Lilla’s, is an almost comically exact reflection of their inner selves.
Anna is self-effacing and quiet. Unlike Lilla, she listens to people instead of dominating every conversation. Lilla is irritating, confrontational, spiky, and always has to give her opinion, whether you want to hear it or not. And as I think about this, it suddenly becomes clear to me which type of woman I’d prefer to be with. Anna is content to let others shine; Lilla always has to be the centre of attention. Anna minds her own business, does her own thing, doesn’t interfere. Lilla sticks her nose into everything, pushes people around, can’t help but be critical and sarcastic and mean.
Lilla’s need for attention, I conclude, is almost pathological, and in her own way she’s probably just as mentally screwed up as Anna. At least Anna has legitimate reasons for her problems. Lilla is just a brat.
And, most importantly and attractively of all, Anna is available. And from what I can tell, she doesn’t tease or play manipulative games. With Anna, what you see is what you get.
*
Lilla takes the coffee, the mugs, the sugar and the milk to the table, forcing the three of us to sit there together.
‘Anyway, what do you do, Anna? Study? Work?’ Lilla asks almost as soon as we sit down.
‘Oh, well.’ Anna shakes her head. ‘Nothing right now.’
Lilla lifts her mug to her mouth, gazes at Anna over the rim. ‘You’ve just finished a course? Looking for work?’
I have no doubt that Lilla knows exactly what Anna meant by the word ‘nothing’. Now she’s just being nasty.
‘No.’ Anna glances at me, then stares down into her coffee. A hot blush creeps up her neck and across her face, like red wine spilled on a white tablecloth. It’s painful to watch, and I wish she’d just tell Lilla that it’s none of her business, or lie, make something up: create a fake job, a fake university course, anything to wipe the superior look from Lilla’s face. Her voice, when she eventually speaks, is small. ‘I’m not studying or working. I’m just . . . taking some time to—’
‘Anna’s had a pretty rough couple of years,’ I interrupt, glaring at Lilla.
‘Oh no. That’s too bad, I’m sorry to hear it,’ Lilla says, ignoring my glare. Her voice is completely unsympathetic. She smiles, sighs, looks around the room. ‘But you’re lucky to have all this. Lucky to be in a position to take time. And it is pure luck, you know. It’s not as if you worked for it, or deserved it or anything. It’s not as if people who are born poor deserve that either. It’s all just an accident of birth. Chance. A toss of the dice. You should be more grateful, Anna – for most of us, when shit happens, we just have to get on with it.’
There’s a silence before Anna responds. ‘I am lucky in some ways,’ she says, looking directly at Lilla now. ‘But not so lucky in others. Just like everybody else.’
Lilla laughs. ‘Actually, I don’t think you can fairly say you’re just like everybody else at all. I think you’ll find that the playing field is not quite that . . . equal. I mean, yeah, we all have shit. That’s life. But we don’t all have loads of money to help us deal with it, you know? Hard as it might be for you to admit, I’m quite sure money helps smooth out those rough times. In fact, I’m quite sure money means the rough times happen a lot less often.’
‘Money doesn’t stop people dying,’ Anna says. The blush has gone from her skin and the ice-cold strength in her voice makes me want to cheer.
But Lilla isn’t fazed. She only shakes her head. ‘I hate to be a pedant, but I think you’re probably wrong on that count, too. I’m sure money does stop people dying. Frequently. Think of all those private doctors. Think of all the extra help private patients get in hospital . . .’ She pauses. ‘Though it obviously didn’t help much in your mum and dad’s case. Anyway, that’s only the secondary stuff, when you’re already sick, that’s not even counting the primary stuff that stops you getting sick in the first place. The good food. The education. All the extra privilege money brings.’
I can’t believe what a bitch Lilla is being. I’ve only seen her act in this deliberately provocative and self-righteous way a couple of times before. Both of those times it was a hilarious performance, delivered to someone who deserved it. But this feels different. Wrong. This is Lilla being a bully, not Lilla taking a bully down.
I stand up, angry, scraping my chair against the floor noisily. I put my hand on the back of Lilla’s chair.
‘The next bus to the mall is leaving in five minutes,’ I say. ‘You’d better get on it because there isn’t another one until after lunch.’
I’m lying and I know it’s obvious, but I don’t care. I’ve had enough of Lilla and her bullshit. I want her to go.
Lilla looks as if she’s about to argue the point, but I give her the filthiest glare I can. It clearly has the desired effect, because she blinks and for a moment looks gratifyingly uncertain. She glances into her mug and takes a final sip of coffee, then stands up.
‘Okay then,’ she says. ‘I’d better get going. Thanks for the party, Anna. Nice meeting you.’
She strides off down the hallway towards the front door without waiting for Anna to respond.
I follow her out. We’re on the front porch before I speak.
‘What’s your problem? Why were you being so bloody rude?’
She hesitates for a moment, staring down at her feet before meeting my eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I just . . . she annoys me.’ She looks at me carefully, shakes her head. ‘Don’t start anything with her, Tim. She’s just so not right for you.’
‘How the hell would you know?’
‘I know you.’
‘You know me?’ I laugh. ‘So what? Doesn’t give you the right to be rude. Doesn’t mean you know who’s right for me. Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.’
‘Okay,’ she scowls. ‘Fair enough. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I suppose the truth is I just don’t like those types of girls.’
‘Those types of girls?’ I say, incredulous. ‘You’re joking, right? You’ve barely spent five minutes with her. You don’t even know her.’
‘I don’t need to spend any more time with her. I can tell exactly what she’s like. She’s weak, I can see that much. Is that what you really want, Tim? Someone so spoilt they don’t even know what it means to work for a living? Someone who contributes nothing to the world? Someone so useless?’
I’ve always known Lilla has a harsh side, but I’m stunned by this. How can she make such a cruel judgement of someone she’s only just met? I shake my head.
‘You’re fucking spiteful sometimes, Lilla. And it’s not her lack of job that bothers you. That’s just a convenient excuse, something easy and obvious for you to pick on. You’re bloody jealous, that’s all. You wish you had what she has. You wish you were more like her.’
‘Bullshit.’ She looks appalled. ‘Jesus, I’d rather shoot myself.’
‘I know exactly what your problem with Anna is.’ I count on my fingers as I go. ‘One, she’s nice. Two, she’s attractive. Three, she’s rich, and four, I like her. And the truth is, she threatens you.’ I step closer, letting the full depth of my anger show, fuelled by the events of the night before, our whole sad history together. I let all these months of pent-up frustration out, and I get no small amount of joy from watching her squirm.
‘And just for the record, Lilla, just so you know, Anna hasn’t had the easiest time. In fact, she’s had a much, much tougher life than you have, and I seriously do not know where you get off calling her spoilt. I mean, what gives you the right to judge her? To judge anyone, for that matter? And what about tolerance, huh? Lilla? And compassion? Remember those words? Your old favourites, remember? Or do those concepts only apply to people exactly like you?’
I don’t realise quite how angry I am, or how vicious I must sound, until Lilla puts her
hand up and takes a step back. She has tears in her eyes.
‘God, Tim. Okay. That’s enough.’ She puts her hand to her mouth and I can tell she’s about to cry. I’m startled out of my anger – it takes a lot to make Lilla cry – and I’m about to stop, to apologise even, but she turns away and is gone before I get the chance.
When I turn around to go back inside, I see Anna waiting in the doorway. She must have heard everything.
40
WEAK. SPOILT. USELESS. AT THESE WORDS, ANNA FEELS AN INVIGORATING spark of anger. ‘You don’t know me,’ she is tempted to shout. ‘How dare you? How DARE you?’
But watching Tim’s reaction, Anna’s rage quickly evaporates. The way he defends her, and the fact that he gets so angry on her behalf, soothes like ice on burnt skin. His defensive words soften the sting of Lilla’s cruel ones. She watches him and listens to the passion in his voice and it occurs to her that he genuinely cares. And with that knowledge, she allows the small thread of happiness within her to grow stronger, more certain.
41
ANNA AND I SPEND THE REST OF THE MORNING CLEANING. ANNA works energetically, and though I watch to see if she’s upset by Lilla’s remarks, I see very little sign of it. We sustain ourselves on a packet of malt biscuits and frequent cups of coffee, and when we’ve finished it’s past one and the house is clean. We’ve filled the recycling bin, plus three large boxes, with empty bottles, and there are three huge bags of rubbish tied up in the courtyard.
I make some pasta and divide it onto two plates. I serve it at the kitchen table because it’s overcast and cool, and, unusually for a summer’s day, not nice enough to eat outside.
Anna eats so slowly I wonder if she doesn’t like it.
‘Is it okay?’ I ask.
Sweet Damage Page 14
