Man Hating Psycho

by Iphgenia Baal

  Before I could answer yes or no, Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend plucked a watermarked tumbler out of a cardboard box that said ‘kitchen’ and filled it. Then, asking me to pass an allen key, a screw, a piece of MDF, roped me into helping her assemble the shelves. It wasn’t what I’d had in mind for my afternoon but as it turned out, it was fun. The shared activity and the booze made conversation flow a little more easily. I quickly ascertained that Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend had neither read my books nor looked me up online (what a weird lie for Matey to tell), but other than that Matey was right. We got on pretty well. She laughed at all the right bits of my jokes and I listened with interest to her reasons for wanting to live anywhere other than Spain. She bemoaned her father and Spain’s rigid class structures, saying that England was so much better because no one cared if you were posh. I begged to differ but Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend was so insistent I let it drop.

  The drunker we got, the more careless we became, discarding the instructions for assembling the shelves in favour of working intuitively. All well and good until we came to slotting the shelves into the frame. They didn’t fit. I searched the mess we’d made for the instruction booklet but Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend, who was drunker than me, slurred for me not to bother.

  — Look, she said, — Watch.

  She jammed shelf after shelf into the frame, each at a different at a wonky angle, snapping pegs.

  — See, she said, shaking the shelving unit to test its resilience.

  If the shelving unit had belonged to me, I might’ve objected but what did I care if Matey and his rich Spanish girlfriend had wonky shelves?

  — If you say so, I said, then, noticing dusk setting in outside, — where the fuck is Matey?

  Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend, still slurring, said Matey was an ‘arseholio’ for inviting me over then going out all afternoon and for leaving her here alone to unpack. I pointed out that we hadn’t done any unpacking. There were boxes everywhere and nowhere to sit. The flat was in no way ready for a party. Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend draped a heavy arm around my shoulder and prodded me in the ribs, saying that I was a really good person no matter what Matey said.

  — What do you mean? I said.

  But she dismissed my question with a wave, saying I shouldn’t care what people said about me because she thought I was ok.

  — Ok, I said.

  Seeing I was bothered by the remark, Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend started stroking my face, saying that she liked me more than she liked Matey and when he got back, if he ever got back, she was gonna kick him out and tell him I was moving in instead. From the way she said it I got the feeling that she (or at least her fascist father) was the one paying the rent. Then Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend grabbed my forearm and squeezed it hard, eyes popping excitedly open.

  — Wait! she said. — I forget! We can get up on the roof.

  Before I knew what was happening, Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend was dragging the Ikea shelving unit we’d just assembled into the hall. She pointed up at a skylight in the ceiling.

  — See? Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend said.

  She climbed the shelves, which trembled under her weight, creaking ominously.

  — Hold them, she said, sounding every bit as bossy as Matey scrambling over a rig.

  Standing on its top shelf she reached up her arms and pulled a catch, which opened the skylight to reveal a square of dark neon sky.

  — Ooooh, Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend said.

  She went up on tiptoe but was well shy of the roof.

  — Get more things, she said. — A chair.

  I fetched a chair from the kitchen and passed it up then held the shelves. Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend put one foot on the back of the chair and jacked herself up, catching the roof. The chair wobbled. The Ikea shelving unit wobbled. Her scissoring legs disappeared out of the skylight. I heard her cockcrow laugh then her face appeared above me grinning and telling me to come up.

  I climbed the Ikea shelving unit and stood on the seat of the chair but I had a problem. There was no one to hold the chair for me, so I wasn’t gonna be able to jump without it tumbling over. Seeing the issue, Matey’s rich Spanish lowered her arms through the skylight towards me.

  — I pull you up, she said.

  I didn’t think Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend looked strong enough to lift my entire bodyweight from above but raised my arms all the same.

  — I don’t think… I said.

  — Ready? Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend interrupted.

  — No, I… I said.

  But Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend yanked my arms and my feet lifted off of the chair. My head emerged into the fast-approaching evening but Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend’s hands were sweaty and one of my wrists slipped from her grasp. For a dizzy moment I dangled from one arm like a rag doll, legs cycling in the hallway below, before Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend reached down to scoop me up by my waist and haul me to safety.

  I flopped down on the asphalt, reeling from my melodramatic ascent, feeling the coldness of the tiles seep into my clothes like damp. Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend brought her face level with mine.

  — You ok? she said, laughing through port-stained lips.

  My shoulder was throbbing.

  — I think I’ve done something to my shoulder, I said, wanting to say, ‘I think you’ve done something to my shoulder’, but not having the guts.

  But Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend was off, scrambling up the incline to the chimney pots, where she started pointing out obvious landmarks and going on about how beautiful London is. While I was in agreement with her that London sometimes looked beautiful, I wasn’t able to give the city my full attention because whatever was going on my shoulder was getting worse. It twitched. It spasmed.

  — I think I’m gonna go back in, I said.

  — Noooo. Come up, come up, come up! Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend shouted. — Just two minutes, please, then we go in. Come on, you’re a writer.

  Against my better judgement and not understanding what being a writer had to do with anything, I joined Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend by the chimney pots, taking more care with the old house than she had. We sat arm in arm and watched the sun go down. The temperature went down with it. The port was wearing off. Soon we were both shivering.

  — Now we go back in, Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend said, blatantly pleased at having got her way. — Come back again later, with more people.

  I didn’t need asking twice. We slid down the tiles and returned to the skylight where Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend decided she would go first. Holding herself on braced arms, hands to either side of the skylight, she lowered herself through the opening, giggling. It seemed like she was in control until her arms buckled and she slipped. She grabbed my ankles to stop herself falling but her flailing left leg clipped the chair. A crash sounded from below. I helped Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend to her feet then we both peered through the skylight. The chair had fallen upside down, legs in the air, and the Ikea shelving unit had smashed into something close to the flat-pack form it’d arrived in.

  — We are stuck, Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend said.

  She seemed to think it was hilarious but I failed to see the funny side.

  — How are we gonna get back in? I said. — It’s freezing.

  Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend, high on adrenaline, suggested we scale the building’s exterior.

  — If we want to die, I said.

  She scurried to the roof’s edge and for a second I worried I was going to have to forcibly stop her climbing down but she just leaned into the street and yelled at a pair of market traders filling their lock-up for the night.

  — Hey, she shouted. — Help. We’re stuck. This woman is hurt.

  This woman?

  — Why don’t you just call Matey? I said, trying not to sound snappy and failing. I really wanted to get
off the roof. I didn’t want to get ill.

  Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend smacked her forehead with an open palm.

  — Of course! she said, ran her hands over her pockets. — But I think I left my phone. You call him…

  There was nothing else for it but to wait.

  — Matey will be back soon, Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend said.

  — Yeah, I said. — For the party.

  But Matey wasn’t back soon. We sat huddled together for warmth underneath the brown sky listening to the sounds of the city for one hour, two hours, maybe more. Without a phone it was hard to tell. Conversation stalled, our lips turned blue, I think we both began to fall asleep but not restful sleep like from being tired, sleep like hypothermia setting in, organs shutting down.

  We woke to loud, drunk voices echoing in the dead end street.

  — Ees Matey, Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend said, untangling her limbs from mine and gettting up and shouting. — Matey! Matey.

  Cheers came from below. Matey clearly had the party with him but I couldn’t stand up to see because my limbs were so cold they’d gone dead. Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend hung over the edge of the roof shouting down to the crowd while I did my best to bring my body back to life. Huffing warm breath on my fingers until I could feel them again. Rubbing my legs until the feeling came back. But my shoulder had completely seized up, so solid and immovable it was as if the muscle had started to calcify and turn into bone.

  Once Matey grasped that we weren’t up on the roof out of choice, he was, even drunk, astonishingly efficient. He got the partygoers indoors and shut them in the living room out of the way before removing the chair and broken Ikea shelving unit. Then, under his rich Spanish girlfriend’s instruction, he fashioned a landing pad out of a mattress and cushions and pillows and blankets.

  — Ok, Matey said, plumping the array. — I think we’re good.

  Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend wasted no time. She plunged through the skylight feet first without a word to me. I was impressed by her bravery until I watched her crash land. The mattress skidded across the floor, she landed hard on her bum. Dangling my legs through the skylight, I watcher her writhe around. The floor looked miles away and I was starting to wish I’d gone first.

  — Is she ok? I said. —Are you okay?

  But Matey and his rich Spanish girlfriend, wrapped up in one another, either ignored me or didn’t hear.

  — You tell me you go half an hour, Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend said. — You leave me all day to look after your friend.

  — Hey, I said. — Guys. Guys.

  Matey looked up at me then back at his rich Spanish girlfriend.

  — Come, let’s get out of the way, he said.

  — I don’t think I can do it, I said.

  — Don’t be a pussy, Matey said. — Here, I’ll catch you.

  He opened his arms wide and grinned.

  — My shoulder, I said. — I can’t move it.

  Just then, a guest who must’ve escaped from the front room, appeared in the hall. He whispered in Matey’s ear and though I couldn’t hear what he said it was obvious he was offering Matey a line of cocaine, because he put two fingers to his nostril, rolled his head and sniffed, then nodded at Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend. Matey looked up at me.

  — One minute, he said, then all three of them vanished.

  — Matey! I shouted. — The mattress. Don’t leave me here. Matey.

  I waited, hoping Matey would return to catch me or at least move the mattress back underneath the skylight but when I heard the damp fuzz of an amp being switched on, followed by the crackle of vinyl and Heads High - Mr Vegas, I knew I was on my own.

  I shifted my bum to the edge of the skylight. Then, holding my bad shoulder, counted down in my head from ten. Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four. I tricked myself and went on three. I heard my scream but wasn’t aware of making it as I plummeted to the floor, tucking and rolling off of my bad shoulder on impact. I heard applause and looked up to see a pair of vintage sportswear wankers who raised their drinks at me. Hadn’t they heard me calling for help? Why hadn’t they helped me?

  — That was wicked, one of them said.

  Relieved as I was to be back inside, I was not in the mood for a party. I couldn’t believe Matey had left me like that, never mind inviting me over then going out all day, never mind that he’d spun me some yarn about his girlfriend reading my books. What was that about? If he’d wanted someone to babysit he should’ve just asked straight out, not won me over with flattery. I stalked from room to room intent on holding Matey to account but when I found him, in the bathroom on the phone ordering drugs, he shushed me before I could say anything. I stood there like a lemon for five, ten minutes, but the more I thawed out the clearer it became that there was something seriously wrong with my shoulder. It didn’t hurt but things kept happening. Little spasms, little throbs, then a feeling like there was liquid glugging through it.

  I gave up on Matey finishing the call and went to find Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend instead to see if I could borrow a jumper or jacket for the walk back to mine. She was in the kitchen doing tequila shots with a group of people more her own age, talking loudly in Spanish. It looked to me like she had plenty of friends.

  — I think I’m gonna go, I said.

  A couple of the people Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend was doing shots with looked round but she didn’t.

  — Hey, I said, unable for the life of me to remember her name. Had she even said it? Had Matey?

  — Could you maybe lend me a jumper for the walk home? I said. — I’ll bring it back.

  Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend turned and grabbed the hand on the side of my bad shoulder and held it aloft, like we were champions.

  — Yes! she said. — Roof legeeeeend.

  I yowled in pain but Matey's rich Spanish girlfriend didn't seem to get that I was yowling because it hurt and started yowling with me.

  — Yowl! she yelled then did a shot.

  — Yowl! the Spaniards yelled and did theirs.

  I withdrew my bad arm away, cradling it with my good one. I had to get away from these people.

  Nicking a jumper a partygoer had discarded, I slunk off without saying goodbye and walked back across the park thinking what a pair of obnoxious cunts Matey and his rich Spanish girlfriend were and annoyed at myself for wasting a whole day and night on such horrendously selfish people.

  When I woke the next morning my first thought was of Matey and Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend’s living room. It appeared to me like a vision, full of cigarette smoke and empty wraps. What a beautiful morning not to have been up all night, I thought, but my smugness was short-lived because kicking off the covers and sitting up, a jolt of electric, synapse-y pain that’d been lurking in my fingertips awaiting its opportunity, shot up my arm, into my neck and I yelped like a dog that’d been stood on. Not daring to move for fear of whatever had just happened happening again, I lay pinned to the sheets. My thoughts, like the thoughts of many an incapacitated person before me, returned to yesterday’s misadventure. If only I hadn’t gone along with Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend’s stupid idea to go up on the roof. If only she hadn’t kicked the stupid chair and stranded us up there for hours. If only Matey hadn’t done a stupid disappearing act and been there when he said he would be. Why hadn’t he just invited me to the stupid party instead of telling me to come over in the stupid afternoon when he wouldn’t even be there? My poor, poor neck! Those stupid arseholes! This was all their fault.

  Several further failed attempts at elevation followed. Putting my hands behind my head and interlacing my fingers to carry its weight; rolling onto my side and trying to scoop my head up; rolling onto my front and leaving my head hanging. All resulted in the same outcome: me thrashing around in distress and cursing Matey and Matey's rich Spanish girlfriend. It was only after I took a pause and gave the matter more serious thought, that I deduced the problem I was having w
as getting up, but what with the floor, which I was aiming for, being below the bed, I could potentially forgo getting up and instead, get down. As I shifted my body to the mattress edge, I recalled shifting my bum to the edge of the skylight and the anticipation before dropping. My legs dropped to the floor. Kneeling, like I’d keeled over saying my prayers, face-down on the sheets, I recalled lying face-down on the asphalt up on the roof to catch my breath. I put each hand on the corner of the mattress, elbows up, remembering Matey’s rich Spanish girlfriend’s braced arms before her fumbled ascent. Then, with a sharp inhale of breath, I pushed away from the bed. A high-pitched mewling noise came out of my mouth but I made it to standing.

  Head held high, like I was balancing a stack of books on it, one hand protectively supporting neck, I made my way to the bathroom, wincing with the impact of my feet meeting the floor. The vibrations jarred my shoulder with every step. I remembered sitting on the roof hearing the amp get turned on… I mean, I knew Matey could be selfish but who abandons a woman in distress like that? In the bathroom I pinged on the light but catching sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror, lips pursed in self-pity, I pinged it off again. I tugged my knickers down one-handed, one side then the other, feeling the strain rippling across my shoulders. I sat heavily on the toilet, moaning with relief at taking the weight off of my feet, but instead of the delayed tinkle of wee hitting water, I felt a prickly warmth that instantly turned cold spread under my bum cheeks. The toilet lid was down and wee was going everywhere but I didn’t have the strength to stop it. I’d never felt so weak, so incapable. I dropped my head to my hands in despair. Why was this happening to me? I wasn’t a bad person. I hadn’t stayed up all night and done coke. All I’d done was go round to see my friend’s new place. All I’d done was bring him his records so he had music for his housewarming party.

  A Jiminey Cricket voice whispered, maybe that was the only reason Matey called you, maybe that was why he invited you over in the afternoon and ditched. All he wanted was his records, he didn’t want to see you, he didn’t care whether or not you were at the party, he hadn’t cared enough to wait for you to get down from the roof, or even say goodbye.