like a Cabbage Patch doll, her mouth squished in my hand. I released her.
‘And I want to be part of a team against the world again. When I was a child –’
‘Oh, the formative anecdote … Come on then, Fred fucking Savage, let’s have it.’ She looked into the middle distance, made her eyes all dreamy. ‘
That was the day I realised
…’
I slapped her arm. ‘When we were in his van going out on a Sunday my dad used to say
We’re the J-Team!
Like the A-Team.’
She nodded. ‘I am aware of
The A-Team
. It’s one of my people’s cultural gifts to the world.’
‘So I want to be part of a new team against the world.’ I quailed at my own schmaltziness but I knew it was true – the idea, at any rate.
‘Teams are awful. Families are awful. People are awful. Why perpetuate the awfulness?’
‘So why don’t you live alone? Why have me around?’
Neither of us said it but it was there, unspoken. It flashed in her eyes at the same time it went through my head but I was afraid of saying it and I knew she was, too.
We used to be a team.
She lit a fag.
I reached for the fag packet and lit one up, too. ‘You can get a new housemate.’
‘Who? I don’t know anyone else. I don’t like anyone else.’
She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Two jackal-faced men came out of the pub and perched on the seats at the end of our table without asking. It irked me but I didn’t say anything. Tyler picked up her phone, read something and put it back down on the table. The men didn’t speak to each other, and I saw them clock Tyler with interest. She registered them, too. An audience.
‘So I was at this party the night before last in an old mill,’ she began. ‘That was where all the trouble started. I was fiercely bored as I so often am in this weary little city.’ Curls had snapped out from the kirby grips above her temples. Her fingernails were filthy where they were missing polish, all coal seams and saffron crescent moons. ‘Around 2 a.m. someone put a metal pole through the amp –’
‘Doormen,’ one of the men piped up.
Tyler didn’t look at him but she nodded sagely, acknowledging the suggestion. ‘There was talk of sabotage.’
‘Rival clubs,’ the man said again. ‘This town’s run by them, you know.’
‘Anyway,’ Tyler said, still without a glance at the men, ‘that was exciting for all of five minutes but the upshot was that there was no music.’
‘Whereabouts in America are you from?’ said the other man.
‘What has this got to do with us?’ I said.
Tyler glanced at the men. ‘The Midwest. Where the twisters are.’
‘You don’t look American.’
I sighed. ‘I really think we should finish our conversation.’
‘I don’t want to. I want to tell you about last night.’
I dragged on my fag and exhaled, frustrated. ‘Go on then.’
‘So we sat around in a circle on the floor of the club, talking about sex.’
‘Your suggestion, I presume?’
She took off her sunglasses and tugged a stray hair out of the hinge. ‘Well, what the fuck else? Charades? You need a bit of stimulation at that point. You need a good fuck or a good fight or a good sing-song.’
‘Want some weed?’ said one of the men. I looked at him holding out his soggy joint and shook my head.
Tyler batted the offer away with her hand. ‘No. Hate pot. Too slow.’
‘What’s the matter, love?’ the man said to Tyler. ‘Is your body too bootylicious for me?’ The other man laughed.
‘Bored,’ said Tyler, ‘my body is too bored.’
I drained my glass, anticipating our imminent departure. I hoped this wasn’t going to turn out like the time a man had overheard us talking about drugs in a queue for a cashpoint and said:
I thought junkies were meant to be thin?
She’d punched him.
She lit up another cigarette. ‘And some reprobate,’ she said exhaling, ‘posed the question:
What’s the worst thing someone can say to you just before sex?
’
The men froze. You could have heard
‘And I want to be part of a team against the world again. When I was a child –’
‘Oh, the formative anecdote … Come on then, Fred fucking Savage, let’s have it.’ She looked into the middle distance, made her eyes all dreamy. ‘
That was the day I realised
…’
I slapped her arm. ‘When we were in his van going out on a Sunday my dad used to say
We’re the J-Team!
Like the A-Team.’
She nodded. ‘I am aware of
The A-Team
. It’s one of my people’s cultural gifts to the world.’
‘So I want to be part of a new team against the world.’ I quailed at my own schmaltziness but I knew it was true – the idea, at any rate.
‘Teams are awful. Families are awful. People are awful. Why perpetuate the awfulness?’
‘So why don’t you live alone? Why have me around?’
Neither of us said it but it was there, unspoken. It flashed in her eyes at the same time it went through my head but I was afraid of saying it and I knew she was, too.
We used to be a team.
She lit a fag.
I reached for the fag packet and lit one up, too. ‘You can get a new housemate.’
‘Who? I don’t know anyone else. I don’t like anyone else.’
She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Two jackal-faced men came out of the pub and perched on the seats at the end of our table without asking. It irked me but I didn’t say anything. Tyler picked up her phone, read something and put it back down on the table. The men didn’t speak to each other, and I saw them clock Tyler with interest. She registered them, too. An audience.
‘So I was at this party the night before last in an old mill,’ she began. ‘That was where all the trouble started. I was fiercely bored as I so often am in this weary little city.’ Curls had snapped out from the kirby grips above her temples. Her fingernails were filthy where they were missing polish, all coal seams and saffron crescent moons. ‘Around 2 a.m. someone put a metal pole through the amp –’
‘Doormen,’ one of the men piped up.
Tyler didn’t look at him but she nodded sagely, acknowledging the suggestion. ‘There was talk of sabotage.’
‘Rival clubs,’ the man said again. ‘This town’s run by them, you know.’
‘Anyway,’ Tyler said, still without a glance at the men, ‘that was exciting for all of five minutes but the upshot was that there was no music.’
‘Whereabouts in America are you from?’ said the other man.
‘What has this got to do with us?’ I said.
Tyler glanced at the men. ‘The Midwest. Where the twisters are.’
‘You don’t look American.’
I sighed. ‘I really think we should finish our conversation.’
‘I don’t want to. I want to tell you about last night.’
I dragged on my fag and exhaled, frustrated. ‘Go on then.’
‘So we sat around in a circle on the floor of the club, talking about sex.’
‘Your suggestion, I presume?’
She took off her sunglasses and tugged a stray hair out of the hinge. ‘Well, what the fuck else? Charades? You need a bit of stimulation at that point. You need a good fuck or a good fight or a good sing-song.’
‘Want some weed?’ said one of the men. I looked at him holding out his soggy joint and shook my head.
Tyler batted the offer away with her hand. ‘No. Hate pot. Too slow.’
‘What’s the matter, love?’ the man said to Tyler. ‘Is your body too bootylicious for me?’ The other man laughed.
‘Bored,’ said Tyler, ‘my body is too bored.’
I drained my glass, anticipating our imminent departure. I hoped this wasn’t going to turn out like the time a man had overheard us talking about drugs in a queue for a cashpoint and said:
I thought junkies were meant to be thin?
She’d punched him.
She lit up another cigarette. ‘And some reprobate,’ she said exhaling, ‘posed the question:
What’s the worst thing someone can say to you just before sex?
’
The men froze. You could have heard
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