The Last Summer of the Water Strider (16 page)

Troy got up from the sofa.

‘I’m going to have a VERY long life,’ he announced.

He put a record on his state-of-the-art Bang & Olufsen stereo. The Stooges.

Pattern sat smoking on the sofa, twitching his leg up and down, agitated.

Vanya leaned over and spoke, quite loudly over the music, into my ear. ‘What do you think of Strawberry?’

‘I’ve never met anyone like her. In fact . . .’

‘I can’t hear you.’

‘I said I’ve never met anyone like Strawberry. I’ve never met anyone like the rest of you, either. I’m not used to people like you.’

‘How so?’

I tried to work it out.

‘None of you seem ashamed.’

‘Why should we be ashamed?’

‘No reason. But people act like they are.’

‘Do you? Feel ashamed?’

I wanted to say, ‘All the time.’ Instead I shrugged.

‘Do we make you uncomfortable?’

‘A bit. But it’s sort of interesting.’

Vanya took a packet marked
MAHAWATT
out of her pocket and extracted a long, thin, black cigarette. She lit it and blew a cloud of smoke in my direction. It had the faint
tang of liquorice. She blew another cloud in the direction of Straw berry.

‘I get worried about her.’

‘She seems a little undernourished,’ I said.

Vanya nodded. ‘No shit. And that’s just her body. No part of her seems to be able to receive nourishment. She’s like a clam. All closed up and chilly and salty
inside.’

‘She seems friendly enough.’

‘Friendly has nothing to do with it.’

‘Maybe that’s the way she is because she’s American.’

‘Yeah, they’re friendly folk,’ called Pattern from the sofa. ‘Ask the Viet Cong.’

‘Keep your nose out of it, Pattern.’

‘What part of America does Troy come from?’ I said.

Vanya laughed. ‘Troy? He’s not American.’

‘Canada then.’

‘He’s from Stoke-on-Trent. And his name isn’t Troy. It’s Jonathan. Jonathan Swindles.’

‘Jonathan Swindles?’

‘Perfect, isn’t it? Dickens himself, et cetera.’

‘I would never have guessed.’

‘He talks the talk, I’ll give you that. He has quite the spiel. Strawberry says you couldn’t tell. But he worked as a local-radio DJ for a while. In Stafford, I think. It was
the thing to have an American accent. So Jonathan got himself one. And then got himself an American name too. Very resourceful fag. It helps sell those silly rocks.’

‘But Strawberry
is
American, right?’

‘Oh yeah. Born right there in Loopyland on the West Coast.’

Vanya took another sip of the wine. She suddenly seemed angry.

‘Do you know what happened to her? Do you know what they did to her?’

The conversation, as so often since I had arrived, was taking a turn that was too grown-up, too far out of my field of experience. I stayed silent. There was a small fleck of spittle on
Vanya’s lip. Her eyes looked wild.

‘Well? Do you know?’

I said I didn’t.

Vanya’s eyes looked bleary. It occurred to me that she was quite seriously drunk.

‘It was a real thing what they did to her. Really something. I don’t know. What the fuck is wrong with people?’

Just then Pattern flopped down on the floor between us.

‘What I’m saying is, Vanya – what I was trying to say – is that class is the fundamental
lodestone
, the most significant indicator of power. How the man on the
hill maintains hegemonic—’

‘“The man”. Look, Pattern. I don’t wish to be rude. Well, I do, actually. Just leave us alone, will you?’

‘It’s capital, Vanya. You’re being naive. It’s money. It’s always money.’

‘People who think it’s always money are always overly interested in money themselves. You’re pissed off because you’re poor.’

‘You’re trivial. You’re playing your games fighting against housework and ironing while Indochina is burning. We sit and do nothing. You’re guilty.’

‘So are you, then.’

‘We all are.’

‘What am I responsible for specifically, other than not catching the next plane out to Saigon with my trusty cutlass?’

‘Apathy and smugness. You’re smug because your daddy left you a pile when he checked out, and your husband has a paying job. Which is more than you do.’

‘You’re married?’ I said, trying to defuse what was threatening to turn into a serious breach of the good feeling in the room.

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ said Vanya.

‘She married a plumber.’ Pattern. ‘It was a political decision. Otherwise known as slumming it.’

‘I happen to love Tony.’

‘When he’s not down the pub or at the footie.’

‘There are cultural differences.’

‘Like him knocking you about.’

‘I told you, I walked into a double-glazed French door. Talking of political decisions, I heard that you and Moo decided not to go ahead with the kid.’

‘Yeah. It was one of those things.’

‘Moo was on board?’

‘More or less. I figured we shouldn’t be going around having kids if both us aren’t completely into it.’

‘
You
figured. Pattern, no couple are ever both completely into it, or anything else. You’ve just got to take the plunge and hope for the best.’

‘What would you know about it, Van?’

Vanya’s eyes clouded.

‘We’ve tried.’

The music suddenly cut off. Strawberry, who was drinking soda water with lemon in it, stood up.

‘Come on – let’s dance! The frug. You know? The mashed potato. The boogaloo!’ The Stooges were powering into their anthem of disenchantment, ‘1969’.

Nobody moved, but Strawberry launched into a frenzied series of movements that resembled less dancing, more an epileptic fit. Her arms and legs were all angles. There was no fluidity to it. If
it expressed anything at all, it wasn’t music, but confusion and anger.

After a few seconds, she toppled over on to the floor. She started laughing – not a healthy laugh. Then she rose and adopted an actorly pose, a pose that affected nobility and almost
convinced.

‘Life is beautiful.’

‘Amen,’ said Troy.

‘For you, maybe,’ muttered Pattern.

Strawberry’s body seemed to slump.

‘I want to go to bed.’

‘It’s only nine o’clock,’ said Pattern.

‘I’m tired.’

‘You’re always tired. You’re going to stay tired until you start eating some proper food. All that macrobiotic shit is just another scheme dreamed up for fleecing the
gullible.’

‘I’m sure you’re an example to us all, Pattern, when it comes to non-gullibility.’

‘You’re making yourself sick, baby.’

‘Thanks for the insight, Patty-cake. Anyway, sorry to be a wet rag. Vanya. Adam. You can choose which couch you want. I think the blue one is nicer.’

I thought the party was going to fade out then, but five minutes later Strawberry changed her mind. Just as suddenly as she had decided to go to bed, she emerged from the bedroom in Troy’s
oversized pyjamas and announced that she’d got a second wind. I could see through to the bedroom where she had been changing. The bed was huge, easily big enough for Troy and Strawberry to
sleep without even touching.

Troy went to the cupboard and started searching for something, while Pattern fiddled with the music system. Having selected a Kevin Coyne album, he came and sat down next to me. Vanya had headed
off to the kitchen to refill her glass.

‘Adam, right?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Adam from Yiewsley. So what are you going to do when you leave school, Adam from Yiewsley?’

‘I’m not sure. Worst comes to the worst, I can get a job in my old man’s shoe shop.’

‘How’s that working out for him?’

‘Not great, I guess.’

‘How about your mum?’

‘She’s dead. She died a few months ago.’

‘That’s tough.’

‘I thought I might go into computers.’

‘Technology, man. They’re replacing the humans day by day. Twenty years, ain’t going to be any fucking jobs. You know what the future is? Mass unemployment. Or nuclear war. Add
up to the same thing. We’re all fucked.’

‘Anyone played the dice game?’ said Troy.

‘The what?’ said Strawberry.

‘Haven’t you read
The Dice Man
? Luke Rhinehart?’ said Vanya. ‘It’s about some guy who throws a die then goes upstairs and rapes his neighbour because the
die tells him to. Sort of a male-fantasy novel.’

‘You’re missing the underlying theme of the book, Van,’ said Troy. ‘What if you lived your life randomly? That’s the question he’s exploring. Perhaps it would
free you.’

‘I think throwing the die sounds like a fun idea,’ said Strawberry brightly.

‘Let’s give it a kick. My life is pretty random anyway,’ said Pattern.

‘OK, this is the way we’re going to do it,’ said Troy. ‘We come up with a set of options—’

‘How many?’ said Pattern.

‘Six – obviously. Idiot. Then we each throw the die and we have to follow the challenges.’

‘Like kiss-or-dare,’ I said.

‘Sort of.’

‘What kind of options?’ asked Vanya.

‘OK, well,’ said Troy. ‘One of them could be, say, go down to the Handy Gandhi on the corner in your pants.’

‘Shit, man, I ain’t doing that,’ said Pattern. ‘And don’t call it that, you fucking racist.’

‘I’m a homo. I’m allowed prejudices.’

‘Let’s lighten it then,’ said Vanya. ‘Option one, kiss Troy. A proper kiss.’

‘Oooh,’ said Troy. ‘Pattern, this could be your lucky day.’

‘Let me check that die. It’s got to be loaded.’

‘Like
you’re
my dreamboat. You wish, darling,’ said Troy. ‘What about you, Straws? What options?’

‘Drink piss.’

Everyone laughed.

‘You’re kidding – right?’

‘Not at all. I do it all the time. It’s a health thing. It’s good for you.’

‘Disgusting,’ said Troy.

‘You’d be surprised. Chill it down a bit with ice, it’s OK.’

‘Whose piss?’ said Pattern.

‘Your own. Troy’s if you like.’

‘He’s not having any of mine. It’s vintage. Year of forty-nine. Anyway, it’s on the list,’ said Troy. ‘Four more to go. How about a soft option? You’ve
got to have some hope. Adam?’

‘Um. I don’t know. Suck someone’s toe.’

More laughter.

‘That’s a good one.’

‘How’s that a soft option?’ said Pattern.

‘Depends whose toe you want to suck,’ said Vanya. ‘Don’t suppose anyone will be getting in line for yours.’

Pattern took off his sock. ‘Nothing wrong with those babies.’

There was a strong Parmesan smell in the room. Strawberry and Vanya made retching noises.

‘OK, that’s three. Three more to go.’

‘Putting ice cubes up your ass,’ said Troy. ‘Old junkie trick for waking yourself up after an OD. Sounds kinda fun.’

Pattern suggested the men dressing in women’s clothes, but then decided there was no equivalent trial for the women. So he changed it to eating six cream crackers within ninety seconds.
Since there were only five of us, Troy offered the final option – stripping down to your underwear then walking around clucking like a chicken for thirty seconds.

Vanya threw first, then Pattern. Disappointingly – from the point of view of the spectators at least – both threw a number four, eating mouthfuls of cream crackers. The task proved
entirely impossible, but entertaining to watch. Vanya gave up after about twenty seconds, but Pattern set out with a real determination to complete the task, chewing manically and throwing his head
back in order to get the mush down his throat. It still defeated him in the end. There were crumbs and lumps of half-masticated goo all over the floor by the time he’d finished. It was making
me uncomfortable – calling up memories of my mother’s choking fit. It was over soon enough. I hoped no one else would throw a four.

Troy went next. He threw a two: drink piss. Everyone whooped and clucked – none of us believing for a moment, I suspect, that he would try. But immediately he stood up, grabbed a glass
– a small one – and headed for the bathroom. All the time he was in there we were laughing, convinced that he was just bluffing. But sure enough, he came back with some yellow
liquid.

‘You want to smell? To authenticate?’ he said, waving the glass in front of our faces, one by one.

‘You’re not really going to,’ said Pattern.

‘It’s fine,’ said Strawberry.

Instead of answering, Troy went to the fridge and took out some ice cubes. Removing a rolling pin from the drawer, he crushed the ice. Then he produced a cocktail shaker, poured the yellow
liquid in with the crushed ice and shook it.

‘Can I add anything?’ He looked at Strawberry.

‘Why not?’

He poured some lime juice, vodka and chilled tonic water into the shaker. In the end there was something like half a pint there.

‘Down the hatch.’

He opened his throat and downed it in one. We all whooped. He slammed the glass down on the table.

‘That’s one for the cocktail book. A piss martini.’

We were all doubled up with laughter now.

‘How did it taste?’ spluttered Pattern.

Troy looked thoughtful, and licked his lips.

‘Absolutely fucking horrible.’

Everyone started laughing again. Pattern slapped Troy on the back. Strawberry gave him a kiss on the cheek. Vanya shook her head in astonishment.

‘Now nobody can go back on their dare. Not after that,’ said Troy.

I was beginning to feel acutely apprehensive. My turn was still to go and, clearly, to back out now would seem cowardly.

It was Strawberry first, though. She got the option to suck someone’s toe. She looked around at us one by one.

‘OK. Well, Pattern’s out of the running, obviously. Ain’t sucking no Limburger. Troy, I don’t think he’d get the full effect. Gay toes are different. Vanya,
let’s have a look.’

Vanya removed her shoe – a small black plimsoll – and revealed a set of perfectly pretty small toes.

‘Dry skin in between. Could be a fungal infection. Adam?’

I took off my left baseball boot. My foot was unremarkable, my toes more so. However, I had recently cut the nails, so they looked neat. And they were tanned, and powdered from this morning. I
thought they looked like pretty good toes.