Sweet Damage (18 page)

‘Hey, birthday boy,' she says softly.

‘Hey,' I say. I keep my hands resolutely off her.

She wriggles in closer, pushes her nose into my neck. ‘Mmm. You smell good. You smell like Tim.'

‘Glad I don't smell like Patrick. Or Marcus, for that matter.'

She leans back, looks at me. ‘Don't be mean.'

‘What are you doing, Lilla?' I say, shaking my head. I can guess why she's on my lap and it has a lot to do with Lilla's ego, and Lilla wanting what she can't have, and not a lot to do with me.

Even so, I let her sit there. I make no move to push her away, no move to protect myself.

She puts her head back on my shoulder and lifts her own shoulders in a shrug. ‘I don't know what I'm doing. I never know what I'm doing. Do you?'

I have no idea what I'm doing and just to prove it to myself, I put my arms around her too.

*

We sit out there for another couple of hours, everyone drinking, talking quietly about nothing much, enjoying the easy company and the cool change that has come with the late-night air. People leave, in groups or in pairs, and it gets quieter until it's just me and Lilla and Jo and Blake and a couple of others. When the last guests eventually get up to go, Lilla and I sit on the porch with them while they wait for a cab. Lilla asks if she can stay the night.

‘I won't fit in their cab,' she explains. ‘And anyway, I'm going the other way. It'll cost a million bucks.'

I take her upstairs to the bedroom opposite mine.

‘I'll just get you some sheets and a blanket,' I say.

Lilla wraps her arms around herself, shivers. ‘It's freezing in here.'

‘Two blankets, then.'

She sits on the bed, bounces, looks around the room.

‘I'm not sleeping in here,' she says. ‘No way. Not by myself. It's too scary.'

‘What's scary about it?'

‘Everything,' she says. ‘It's too dark. And listen.' She puts her finger to her lips, opens her eyes wide and we're both quiet for a minute, listening to the creak and groan of the house.

‘See?' She giggles. ‘There's no way I'm sleeping by myself in this house.'

‘Then that's a bit of a problem, isn't it? You can't exactly sleep with Anna.'

She gets up and stands beside me, takes my arm and tucks it between her arm and her side. ‘Of course I can't. Don't be dumb. But I can sleep with you.'

‘I'm not being dumb.' I pull away. ‘I can't sleep with you, Lilla.
Shit
. Don't do this.'

‘Do what?' She shakes her head. ‘It really doesn't have to be a big deal. It's just sleep, Timmy. Nothing more. Anna will never know, if that's what you're worried about. We can even sleep head to toe if it makes you feel better.'

Lilla has always had a skill for persuasion and it's late and I'm tired and half-pissed and my resolve is weak. I take her to my room.

I turn my back on her as I pull my pants off, climb into bed in my T-shirt and undies. Lilla's not so modest. She strips to her underwear, undoes her bra, and gets in beside me wearing only a very brief pair of knickers. I try not to look at the dark circles of her nipples, at the tiny triangle of fabric covering her pubic area. But Lilla knows exactly how desirable she is. She lies on her side, her head on her hand, and smiles at me provocatively.

‘Happy birthday,' she says.

I don't say a word. I don't think about what I'm doing, I just lean forward and kiss her on the mouth. She has her body pressed against mine in an instant and she rolls over, pulling me on top of her, opening her legs wide and lifting her groin up to meet mine, hungry, eager. She pushes my head down towards her chest and I take a nipple in my mouth and feel it rise, harden. She makes a soft groan in the back of her throat, a familiar noise that makes me want to both cry and fuck her at once, and then she pushes me down further, past her belly, to the soft mound between her legs. I'm about to pull her knickers aside, taste her saltiness, when I come to my senses and realise that I'm letting myself get sucked into another one of her traps. Again.

I roll off her. Shift back up the bed so that my head is on my pillow.

‘Tim? What the hell?'

I turn away from her and pull my knees up. I feel winded and frantic, like a drowning man who's just been given a snatch of air only to be pulled roughly beneath the water again. I concentrate on breathing, on getting some sense of equilibrium back.

‘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

W
HEN
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; make 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.