The Leaping Part 18

'Just just wait. I'm looking for it.' He has his mobile phone out. Is gazing intently at the screen. I pick up the colander and absent-mindedly spin it around and around in my hands. 'Here it is. Feast your eyes.'

He hands the phone over. The video is already playing. A man is pinned to the ground by somebody kneeling on his back. The person kneeling on the man's back is holding the man's head up by his hair. So that he's looking straight into the camera. Blood is running down his nose and his eyes are swollen. Suddenly somebody out of shot kicks him in the face with heavy-looking boots. And again, and again. And again. Then they step back and the camera zooms in. I drop the phone. again. And again. Then they step back and the camera zooms in. I drop the phone.

'Francisco,' Aidan says, 'you missed the best bit. His jaw's come half off so that he can't close it and then-'

'Stop.' I stamp on the phone and hear it crunch beneath my heel.

'Jesus, Francis!' he says. 'That's my phone, you w.a.n.ker! I've only got one!'

'What was that? Where do you get it from? Does it entertain you?'

'It's footage,' he says. 'You know, San Francisco. From the war.'

I slam the colander into his face. His head bounces off the wall behind and then back into the colander again. He's bleeding already. I haul him up to his feet. I go to punch him in the stomach. But he digs his thumbs into my wrists. I have to pull away. He punches me in the stomach but I don't really feel it. I hit him back. My fist makes a hole in the tinfoil over his belly. I punch him again, this time in the face. He falls to his knees. I feel cool hands grasp my waist from behind. I turn to find that I'm staring into a pair of deep green eyes.

'Jennifer?'

'Calm down,' she says. 'Calm down.'

'Jennifer. I'm sorry.'

'Shh. Don't worry. He's OK. Look.'

I look back to see Aidan standing up, slowly. He staggers past, shooting me a murderous look. 'p.r.i.c.k,' he mutters.

'He just wound me up,' I say.

'I know,' she says. 'Come and sit down, somewhere out of the way.'

She takes me by the hand. Leads me to her room.

'Lock the door,' I say.

'Yeah,' she says, 'I will.' She kisses me. I kiss her back. Too tired now to resist. I could say no. But I don't want to. I don't want to make the decision at all. I want her to take me. Her mouth is hot, red and hungry. Her lip-rings roll over my mouth and tongue. They send delicate tremors radiating out across the whole surface of my body. I can hear music from downstairs. And the wind shrieking through the attic above us. But in here there are only the sounds that we make. She pushes me down so that I'm sitting on the bed. She smoothes my jacket from my shoulders. She kneels over me. Then she's working busily at my tie. I run the straps of her dress down her arms. She leans forwards so that I can kiss her now-exposed b.r.e.a.s.t.s and they tremble, rising and falling with her quickening breath. I start unb.u.t.toning my s.h.i.+rt, but struggle, the b.u.t.tons being slippery with Aidan's blood. So she finishes it. Her hands carry on down to my belt buckle while I dig my nails into the small of her back. I bite her shoulder. She pulls my trousers down but they snag on my shoes. She crouches down and unlaces them deftly with one hand. The other creeps up my thigh and under my boxer shorts. I kick my shoes off and shrug off my s.h.i.+rt. She lifts her dress up over her shoulders and her wings. She is wearing black knickers beneath. I lie back on the bed. She sits astride me. I look up at her. She's smiling the beautiful smile from my fantasies. Her eyes are half closed as she leans back down again to kiss me. Her wings spread outwards. They obscure the light bulb that dangles nakedly on the end of its sad, cobwebbed wire. She sits astride me. I look up at her. She's smiling the beautiful smile from my fantasies. Her eyes are half closed as she leans back down again to kiss me. Her wings spread outwards. They obscure the light bulb that dangles nakedly on the end of its sad, cobwebbed wire.

I drop the used condom into a wooden waste-paper bin on my way out of the room. It lands greasily amongst the other rubbish. Carcinogens coating my p.e.n.i.s. Nausea bubbles in my gut. Guilt, maybe. I look back at Jennifer. She's sitting on the bed.

'Go,' she whispers. 'I'll be out in five.'

I look briefly in the full-length mirror that's propped up against the wall. I have dried blood smeared around my face and on my hands. My white s.h.i.+rt is splattered with it. There are several dark stains on my black jacket. I look back at Jennifer.

'Go!' she says.

I go.

The house is full of people that I don't recognise. They are mostly young. They have an unhealthy air about them. They are thin and pale. Their hair is lank. In contrast to their stretched, manic mouths, their eyes convey a boredom so absolute that they might be dead. Girls and boys. They eat, drink and touch each other casually. Yet intimately. They drift through the party like stray dogs. Scattered amongst them are people that I do know. I am startled to see how similar they are to the strangers. Their apparent hunger. Their frantic, tired energy. the strangers. Their apparent hunger. Their frantic, tired energy.

I head for the kitchen. Once there, I pour myself another large gla.s.s of Protocol vodka. The table has been pushed against the side. Lots of people are dancing. Erin is dancing with Taylor between surfaces laden with drink. And food. They wriggle and twist around. The floor beneath them is slick with spilled liquid. They slide effortlessly across it. The night is still going strong. There's plenty of time to get drunk. Forget about everything for a few hours. Lose myself in the noise and the s.h.i.+fting planes of a good party. Mess around like a d.i.c.khead on the wet edge of abyssal nihilism. I've finished the vodka already. I pour myself another.

'Annihilation!' Graham roars, directly into my ear. I jump. The gla.s.s slips from my fingers. Shatters on the floor.

'Jesus!' I say. 'Jesus, Graham. Jesus Christ. Look at this gla.s.s!' I try to point at the gla.s.s I just dropped. But there is so much broken gla.s.s on the stone floor that I can't tell which was mine. Graham shakes with laughter. 'What do you want, anyway?'

'You and me,' he says, 'are going to play the annihilation game. It's where we both drink until we can barely move, and then we have to drink through through it, to the it, to the other side other side of drunkenness.' of drunkenness.'

'Is this a real game?'

'Yes,' he says. 'Of my own invention, too. Well, it's a lot more than just a game. It's a deeply spiritual experience. The idea is that we learn a lot about ourselves on the way, maybe have a few adventures. Fall in and out of love, test our friends.h.i.+p, solve age-old mysteries, push ourselves to the outer limits of our endurance.' The idea is that we learn a lot about ourselves on the way, maybe have a few adventures. Fall in and out of love, test our friends.h.i.+p, solve age-old mysteries, push ourselves to the outer limits of our endurance.'

'Well then,' I say. 'Get me another drink.'

Graham pours me another vodka. 'Why have you got so much blood on you, anyway?'

'I had a fight,' I say. 'With Aidan.'

'Aidan?' he says. 'Ha. What a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I'm sure he deserved it. I thought he'd wind a few people up. Here.' He hands me the vodka. 'Right,' he says. 'First off; we go outside.'

'Who are all these people?' I point at a group dressed as bikers. Beards and everything. We push through the hallway. 'Did you invite them?'

'No,' he says. 'But good parties always get gatecrashers and the gatecrashers are part of what makes a good party good.'

We push open the back door. The cold air sweeps in over us. The wind is fierce. The sky low with cloud. There is a muddy, rocky stretch of ground before us that disappears into the darkness beneath the scraggy excuse for an orchard.

'Why did we have to come outside?' I say.

'To explore,' he says.

'Jack's already shown us around.'

'That's not what I mean,' he says. 'I don't know what I mean. It's weird, to be honest, Francis. I just felt like we should come outside.'

I hear the door slam shut behind us. The light vanishes. We move forward, slowly, towards the low trees.

'I don't like those trees,' I say. 'They're a bit warped.'

'No,' Graham says. 'Hey! s.h.i.+t.'

'What?'

'I just tripped over something.' He's crouched down now. Feeling around on the ground. He moves on all fours. He crawls towards me. 'Look at this.' He stands back up.

'What is it?' I say. 'I can't see.'

'I think it's an axe,' he says. 'A big one too. Imagine Aidan's face if we went back in swinging this around!'

The wind tears the clouds open for a moment. Beyond them the sky is thick with stars. The faint light illuminates Graham holding a huge woodcutting axe. He's laughing. It's like the axe was made for him, despite the suit he wears. If you didn't know him, he'd be terrifying. Beyond him, the gnarled skin of the mountainside is momentarily visible. My stomach clenches as I see what looks like a person, tall and awkward, tottering across the bleak expanse towards us.

'Graham,' I say. The clouds close up again.

He stands the axe on the ground. He leans on it. 'Are there any girls here tonight?' he says. 'I mean, any that might sleep with me? It's been too long. I mean, three months.'

'Graham.'

'Don't worry,' he says. 'I'll be quick with them; I won't let s.e.x get in the way. I mean, I'll fit it in around everything else. The game.'

'There's somebody out there,' I say. 'Past the orchard.'

'What?' He turns around. 'Some wayward guest, probably. h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo, who's there?'

They're close enough for us to see despite the darkness, now. They stop walking about ten feet away from us.

'Hey,' she says. 'Just here for the party, man. What are you? Like, bouncers?'

'No,' Graham says. 'Just getting the air.'

'Cool, man.' She carries on past us. Her huge eyes flas.h.i.+ng. She opens the back door. She disappears inside.

'What was she doing out there?' I ask. My heartbeat still racing.

'Dunno,' he says. 'Maybe a local. Or maybe she's been here all night, and she's just been outside for whatever. A p.i.s.s or something.'

'I haven't told anybody this,' I say. 'But there's something about this place that I don't like."

But he's not listening. He's looking back at the house. 'Maybe she'd she'd sleep with me,' he says. sleep with me,' he says.

JACK.

I heard it before I saw it. I heard it from the kitchen and made my way through the rush and pushed towards the sound because I liked it, because it was lively and hopeful and brought to mind folk music from another time, a wilder happier time, maybe in another country where music and love were more important than money, where a night spent dancing and laughing was the pinnacle the ultimate aim of human endeavour.

I saw people grouped in the living-room, crowded round the musician. I pushed through and there he was, standing on one leg, with the other resting on a chair. He was wearing tight black trousers and a loose white s.h.i.+rt and a tatty old black waistcoat. He was playing so fast his arm was a blur, and his eyes were closed, his face a mask of concentration, and many of the hairs of the bow had snapped, and whipped through the air around him. There was something about him that resonated deep inside me and I didn't know what it was, but it was hypnotic. It was like he had entered me, penetrated me, in some non-s.e.xual way, but just as intimately, and I felt like I shouldn't have wanted to feel it, but I did want to, and we all seemed to we were all standing and watching him as if we'd been waiting a long time for the opportunity, as if he was important to us all. He was a bit intimidating, because of his obvious talent and his somewhat forbidding demeanour he was tall and strong-looking and his eyes were rolling but that added to the excitement. Maybe he was some sort of celebrity, because there was something unnervingly familiar about him but no. It wasn't that kind of familiarity, it was something altogether deeper, like the recognition that I imagine you'd feel if you met the ghost of your great-grandfather without ever having seen a photograph. We all felt it. And, all that aside, the music had this transcendental quality that took you out of your world momentarily, cutting through everything you chose, and opened up the part of you that was really you, the part of you that you never shaped or manipulated or dressed up for public consumption. I often thought that was what the soul might be. The part of you that was completely you. Whatever was left when you took away all of the CDs, books, films, friends. in some non-s.e.xual way, but just as intimately, and I felt like I shouldn't have wanted to feel it, but I did want to, and we all seemed to we were all standing and watching him as if we'd been waiting a long time for the opportunity, as if he was important to us all. He was a bit intimidating, because of his obvious talent and his somewhat forbidding demeanour he was tall and strong-looking and his eyes were rolling but that added to the excitement. Maybe he was some sort of celebrity, because there was something unnervingly familiar about him but no. It wasn't that kind of familiarity, it was something altogether deeper, like the recognition that I imagine you'd feel if you met the ghost of your great-grandfather without ever having seen a photograph. We all felt it. And, all that aside, the music had this transcendental quality that took you out of your world momentarily, cutting through everything you chose, and opened up the part of you that was really you, the part of you that you never shaped or manipulated or dressed up for public consumption. I often thought that was what the soul might be. The part of you that was completely you. Whatever was left when you took away all of the CDs, books, films, friends.

Whatever that part of you was, his music revealed it, laid it open, as if he was peeling open our skins and looking inside.

A girl in a red skirt and a white s.h.i.+rt danced and danced and danced, whirled and stamped and shouted. I recognised her as one of the girls that I'd seen on their bikes the day before, and with her was a tall boy with long hair smas.h.i.+ng a tambourine against his thigh. They must have been from the gathering at the end of Wast.w.a.ter. I was glad they'd come actually, I liked their music and their dancing. But there was a story from Norfolk about two girls who danced to the music of a strange fiddler until they died. It was a variant on one of the explanations for stone circles the stories in which girls dance and dance and dance to the fiddle music until they break the Sabbath and so get turned to stone. the day before, and with her was a tall boy with long hair smas.h.i.+ng a tambourine against his thigh. They must have been from the gathering at the end of Wast.w.a.ter. I was glad they'd come actually, I liked their music and their dancing. But there was a story from Norfolk about two girls who danced to the music of a strange fiddler until they died. It was a variant on one of the explanations for stone circles the stories in which girls dance and dance and dance to the fiddle music until they break the Sabbath and so get turned to stone.

I backed away.

I was looking for Jennifer but I couldn't find her, so I sat on the bottom step whilst all around me people span and drank, kissed and argued. A boy called Paul, who I knew from university, tumbled down the stairs and hit his head on the floor in front of me and lay there motionless. I half thought about calling an ambulance, but then he got to his feet, dizzily, and grinned at me before walking unsteadily away down the corridor.

The party raged like a caged animal on heat. I was still looking for Jennifer. I went up to the room that she was sharing with Erin and stood outside. I'd already tried it, but I supposed that it was entirely possible that she had wound up in there since I'd last looked.

I opened the door and quickly glanced around the edge. There she was, naked, with Francis, on the bed, and she was on top of him, rocking back and forth, his head hanging over the edge of the bed. Neither of them noticed my intrusion so I closed the door quietly and nodded to myself. So that was that, then. my intrusion so I closed the door quietly and nodded to myself. So that was that, then.

There weren't any empty rooms for me to be alone in so I made my way outside. It was bitterly cold and there were still a few stars visible towards the horizon, although most of the sky was obscured by cloud.

FRANCIS.

Graham and I stand before the barn. A tall, stooped figure lopes quietly across the yard to join us. Taylor. Three mice before a sleeping cat.

'Is the barn a part of our journey?' I ask.

'Part of your journey maybe,' Graham says, 'but I'm not going inside that f.u.c.king thing.'

I can almost feel the alcohol running through their veins.

'I will,' Taylor says. 'I've been thinking about Erin. I love her, I realize. I f.u.c.king love that girl. She's perfect.'

'Congratulations,' I say. 'So that means you're going into the barn?'

He turns and looks at me, smiling. 'I'm not sure the two things are related. Is Jack OK?'

'I don't know,' I say. 'I thought he was OK. Why?'

'He seems quiet,' he says. 'He should be out here, with us.'

'You know Jack,' I say. 'He's always been quiet.'

He just looks at me. Then strides off towards the barn door. It is unlocked. He pulls it open and the sound is horrific. Metal on stone. A train grinding along the rails. An injured dragon. To say that it is dark inside the barn would be an understatement. Taylor disappears inside. Graham holds the axe in both hands, rotating it. Maybe Jennifer told Erin about us. Maybe Erin told Taylor. door. It is unlocked. He pulls it open and the sound is horrific. Metal on stone. A train grinding along the rails. An injured dragon. To say that it is dark inside the barn would be an understatement. Taylor disappears inside. Graham holds the axe in both hands, rotating it. Maybe Jennifer told Erin about us. Maybe Erin told Taylor.

'What do you think?' he says. 'What's he hoping to find?'

'I don't know,' I say. 'This is your stupid game.'

'Jesus. Somebody's suddenly turned into a miserable t.w.a.t. What's wrong with you?'

'Nothing.' Jack, I think. Poor Jack. You invite us into your house. And I sleep with your girlfriend.

'Cheer up,' Graham says. 'Or I'm going to chop you into pieces. You're so covered in blood n.o.body would notice. Ha! What do you reckon shall we hide while Taylor's in there?'

'Ha ha, yes!' I nod manically.

'Come on!' Graham is giggling. We start running towards the corner of the barn so that we can hide round the side.

'He's going to be terrified!' Graham says.

'Hey!' Taylor shouts. He emerges from the mouth of the barn. 'Where are you going?'

'Oh,' I say. I look and see that we're only half-way to being out of sight. 'Nowhere. We were going to come in with you.'

'Oh well,' he says. 'I wouldn't bother. It's just empty. Nothing there.'

As we re-enter the house it starts to snow. I register it dimly. Like when you hear somebody talking in another room as you wake up.

I'm sitting on a beanbag in the living-room. Slowly zoning out. Graham is next to me. Gazing meditatively at the joint in his hand. Simon dances slowly to an Avril Lavigne video that's playing on the TV. A girl called Lucy is lying along the sofa. I know her from before. Before what? Before we lost touch. Before work. I don't know. Some other people are here too. People I don't know. A boy with the clearest blue eyes. A man dressed up as a h.e.l.l's Angel. Sungla.s.ses and all.