home, do I?”
She shook her head and smiled. “Are you getting rushes? This should make them amazing.”
She whipped my body around and began to knead the flesh of my shoulders, which yielded to her bony, inexpert fingers. But the feel of skin—her skin—on mine compensated for the imprecision of her touch. I closed my eyes and prepared for my body to dissolve under her hands, only for the massage to come to an abrupt end.
“Oh, bloody hell.” She sighed. The man who stood before us, arms folded, had to be Rex. The face was her own, re-sexed. Straight, thick, unplucked eyebrows framed the same brown eyes. (I thought with a sympathetic wince of the effort her grooming routine must involve.) The small teeth and tight jawline were the same, as was the pointed nose, but the long neck was interrupted by an Adam’s apple that dipped and rose. Without the glow and spirit that made her face beautiful, his was top-heavy and beaky. He ran his fingers through his hair: it formed a quiff and retained its shape.
“Just checking you’re okay,” he said to her, holding her by the chin. “How much have you had? Your eyes are like pins .” How could he tell how big or small her pupils were? Last time I had looked into her eyes, the black-brown irises merged with the pupils, surrounded by unbroken whites. Perhaps it was different if you had the same eyes, if you were used to looking at them in a mirror.
“Just half a pill, Rex, don’t fuss ,” she said, her voice echoing his own rising intonation. “Do you want one? Guy’s got loads.”
“Who the bloody hell is Guy?” he snapped, and then, “No, thanks. Someone’s got to stay vaguely compos mentis.” Biba kissed him full on the lips and smoothed his hair. It bounced up again almost immediately.
“This is Rex, the best brother in the world,” she said to me. “And this is my new best friend, Karen,” said Biba. “She is a linguistic genius, and she has taken a whole ecstasy tablet, and she is very much enjoying herself, so you’re not to tell her off or nag her at all.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Rex. “But you two take care. Have you got enough water? Remember only to drink if you’re dancing. Okay then.”
The intense rush died down to be replaced by muzzy feelings of benevolence. The girl called Rachael, so intimidating a couple of hours ago, now numbered among my new friends. She offered me not a joint or wine but a sip of the tea she was drinking from a chipped mug.
“Biba and her brother are very alike, aren’t they?” I said.
“Ridiculously so,” agreed Rachael. “They almost give truth to those bizarre plots in Shakespearean comedies, don’t they? It’s such a pity Rex can’t act. They’d be a shoo-in for Twelfth Night .”
“He’s not a drama student, then?”
She barked a cynical laugh. “Rex? He’s not an anything .”
A new and irregular beat came not from the amps but from the front door. A male voice was raised in anger. Edging away from the dance floor, I crouched on the landing and peered through the banisters. The candles had long ago blown out.
“What’s wrong with you people?” The voice cracked as the man strained to make himself heard above the noise. “My wife is pregnant !” He wore a T-shirt and sweatpants, probably pulled on moments before. I saw only the top of his head and wondered if he knew about the incipient bald patch at the crown, or if it was still a secret his wife kept from him.
“This is the worst one yet!” His voice rose to a screech. “I’ve written it down in my noise diary, and I’m calling the police if you don’t turn it off right now .”
“We’ll wind it up, Mr. Wheeler.” Rex’s voice was gentle. “I’m sorry if we kept you awake. It’s Biba’s twenty-first, so we’re in quite high spirits.”
His composure exacerbated the other man’s hysteria and he began to repeat himself. “It’s four o’clock in the bloody morning! My wife is pregnant!”
There were
She shook her head and smiled. “Are you getting rushes? This should make them amazing.”
She whipped my body around and began to knead the flesh of my shoulders, which yielded to her bony, inexpert fingers. But the feel of skin—her skin—on mine compensated for the imprecision of her touch. I closed my eyes and prepared for my body to dissolve under her hands, only for the massage to come to an abrupt end.
“Oh, bloody hell.” She sighed. The man who stood before us, arms folded, had to be Rex. The face was her own, re-sexed. Straight, thick, unplucked eyebrows framed the same brown eyes. (I thought with a sympathetic wince of the effort her grooming routine must involve.) The small teeth and tight jawline were the same, as was the pointed nose, but the long neck was interrupted by an Adam’s apple that dipped and rose. Without the glow and spirit that made her face beautiful, his was top-heavy and beaky. He ran his fingers through his hair: it formed a quiff and retained its shape.
“Just checking you’re okay,” he said to her, holding her by the chin. “How much have you had? Your eyes are like pins .” How could he tell how big or small her pupils were? Last time I had looked into her eyes, the black-brown irises merged with the pupils, surrounded by unbroken whites. Perhaps it was different if you had the same eyes, if you were used to looking at them in a mirror.
“Just half a pill, Rex, don’t fuss ,” she said, her voice echoing his own rising intonation. “Do you want one? Guy’s got loads.”
“Who the bloody hell is Guy?” he snapped, and then, “No, thanks. Someone’s got to stay vaguely compos mentis.” Biba kissed him full on the lips and smoothed his hair. It bounced up again almost immediately.
“This is Rex, the best brother in the world,” she said to me. “And this is my new best friend, Karen,” said Biba. “She is a linguistic genius, and she has taken a whole ecstasy tablet, and she is very much enjoying herself, so you’re not to tell her off or nag her at all.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Rex. “But you two take care. Have you got enough water? Remember only to drink if you’re dancing. Okay then.”
The intense rush died down to be replaced by muzzy feelings of benevolence. The girl called Rachael, so intimidating a couple of hours ago, now numbered among my new friends. She offered me not a joint or wine but a sip of the tea she was drinking from a chipped mug.
“Biba and her brother are very alike, aren’t they?” I said.
“Ridiculously so,” agreed Rachael. “They almost give truth to those bizarre plots in Shakespearean comedies, don’t they? It’s such a pity Rex can’t act. They’d be a shoo-in for Twelfth Night .”
“He’s not a drama student, then?”
She barked a cynical laugh. “Rex? He’s not an anything .”
A new and irregular beat came not from the amps but from the front door. A male voice was raised in anger. Edging away from the dance floor, I crouched on the landing and peered through the banisters. The candles had long ago blown out.
“What’s wrong with you people?” The voice cracked as the man strained to make himself heard above the noise. “My wife is pregnant !” He wore a T-shirt and sweatpants, probably pulled on moments before. I saw only the top of his head and wondered if he knew about the incipient bald patch at the crown, or if it was still a secret his wife kept from him.
“This is the worst one yet!” His voice rose to a screech. “I’ve written it down in my noise diary, and I’m calling the police if you don’t turn it off right now .”
“We’ll wind it up, Mr. Wheeler.” Rex’s voice was gentle. “I’m sorry if we kept you awake. It’s Biba’s twenty-first, so we’re in quite high spirits.”
His composure exacerbated the other man’s hysteria and he began to repeat himself. “It’s four o’clock in the bloody morning! My wife is pregnant!”
There were
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