And Jen was laughing hard at his jokes.
Straining to act cool, I inched forward, trying to make out what was being said now in more hushed tones, accompanied by intimate-sounding laughter. She was asking him about his time in the States.
‘… amazin. It pisses all over this fuckin city. Ye can do whatever ye like over there. Everyone is on drugs all the time. Nobody takes anything seriously — work and all that shite. Dublin is full of wankers, I’m goin to save up for a while and get the fuck out of here, go back over there to stay. Only pricks would stay in a fuckin shit-hole like this. What a load of fuckin cunts.’
A faint smile was fixed on Jen’s face. She looked at Kearney with complete attention, leaning in as if fascinated by every word. Kearney was still managing to play Manhunt while talking to her. Jen was laughing a lot. Then Kearney stopped playing and turned to face her. He just looked at her for a moment. ‘Hold on a sec, Jen,’ I heard him say. ‘Let me get ye a drink. I learned to make some deadly cocktails in the States. Here, take this. Keep slammin yer man with the cosh.’ He handed her the joypad, then stood up and darted into the kitchen. I couldn’t believe this crap — I’d never seen Kearney do anything for anybody. Sitting on the floor, holding the joypad, Jen finally turned to look up at me.
I got up and walked out of the room. Cocker stayed where he was, grinning and content with everything like a total imbecile. I decided I would drink as much as I possibly could, as quickly as I possibly could, just for the hell of it.
I was already pissed as I veered towards the living room, where a group of laughing strangers were pouring shots of absinthe at a low glass table. Grace was there. ‘Matthew, come and have a shot with us,’ she called, and I decided she was alright after all. I got on my hunkers with them, six of us on the carpet crouched around the table, while Aido and Jonathan or whoever sat on the couch, looking on in morose, contemptuous silence.
We all downed a shot together. I started coughing, spluttering. My throat was blazing like I’d swallowed petrol and thrown in a match. ‘Jesus Christ,’ I rasped, only to trigger another fit of coughing.
‘It’s real absinthe,’ said some goon to my side, a pure D4 head. ‘The last time I drank this it literally blew my head off.’
‘Literally?’ I barked.
Grace was at my left side. Her breasts jiggled and pressed against me, warm and full and soft. I envisioned sticking my face into them. Suddenly euphoric, I turned and started leeringly trying it on with her.
‘Grace, fair play to ye for havin the party. Yer amazin. Yer a lovely-lookin girl as well, did ye know that? I mean it, yer gorgeous.’
She laughed, not in an embarrassed way. ‘Ah thanks, Matthew. But are you sure you’re not just a bit drunk? You look like it. I think you are.’
‘No! I’m not drunk, I swear,’ I slurred, wobbling forward slightly. ‘Yer just gorgeous, that’s all.’ I raised my hand in an attempt to touch the hair behind her ear, but either she drew deftly away, or I completely missed her. Either way I was all-in by now, and too fucked to be embarrassed. I was considering another swipe at her hair but one of the voices from around the table shouted, ‘Another shot goys, let’s go!’
Glasses were refilled. Faces swam. I felt all-powerful, though it was getting hard to remain upright as I squatted at the tableside. I downed a shot. Then I slammed my glass on the table and turned to face Grace again. She was laughing at what someone across from her was saying. I reached out and pulled her shoulder. ‘C’mere, Grace.’
‘Stop it, would you?’ she said with an uneasy little laugh, then turned back to the one she was chatting with.
I put my hand on the back of her neck, caressing her hair.
‘What are you doing?’ she said, clearly irritated now. But I had it in my head that what was needed here, what girls respected, was persistence — barbarian persistence. So I simply leered at her. I stroked the hair above her ear.
‘Seriously, what are you doing?’ she said.
‘Nothin. Just touchin yer hair. Yer gorgeous,’ I said. Surely that was the clincher.
‘Right. Well, would you stop doing it, please?’
She seemed to be saying it more for the benefit of the others than for mine. She’d crumble yet. I thought of Mick Jagger and all the posh girls who were allegedly crazy about him — I’d seen a documentary. Not to mention the Gallaghers, though they were cunts. There were sniggers from around the table.
‘Yer gorgeous, that’s all. C’mere would ye,’ I said again, and this time I leaned in to kiss her. She gasped and hissed something, trying to pull away, but I dragged her face towards mine with my hand on the back of her neck. I succeeded in finding her lips, or the part of her face just above them, with my own lips — and immediately felt myself being smacked in the side of the head.
Recoiling, numb from the drink, I assumed one of the males present had walloped me, but soon realized it had been her.
‘You fucking prick,’ she hissed.
‘I’m not a prick,’ I said.
‘You are, you’re a fucking prick. Get lost. Jesus Christ.’ She turned to her friends. ‘Did you see that? God, you’d swear he’d never seen a woman in his life.’ There was a chorus of mocking laughter, which at least meant I probably wouldn’t be getting my head kicked in by an irate, macho mob.
‘Look I’m very sorry, I just thought ye were a bit of a ride,’ I said as I clambered to my feet — maybe a compliment would take the sting out of the situation and save me some face.
‘Do you hear him? Get lost, will you.’
‘Fair enough.’ I left the swirl of mocking faces, along with Grace’s low-cut silver dress and the possibility of sticking my face in her tits. My concerns now were elsewhere; namely with my head, which was swimming badly. I stumbled upstairs, towards where I thought the bathroom might be. I thought I’d fallen over but I hadn’t. I needed to get sick. I barged ahead, shoving randomers out of the way, falling up the steps, mostly on my knees.
I shoved against the door to the bathroom. It opened and I fell into blackness, one hand held out, feeling for the bowl, the other slapping my mouth, holding in the upsurging puke. It was past the tipping point, already halfway up my oesophagus, when I realized that I wasn’t in the bathroom at all, that there was a bed in front of me, half-lit from the doorway behind. And I realized that Jen was on the bed, with Kearney on top of her, pushing her knees back behind her head, both of their faces turned towards me.
I fell to my knees and spewed. Some of it spurted on to the bed, splashing over the pair of them; the rest splattered into a big puddle on the carpet beneath me. I remained on my knees for a moment, wobbling. I could hear Kearney shrieking with laughter, and he was still fucking her, fucking Jen — he hadn’t even slowed down. Then my momentum caught up with me and I fell forward, my hands rising up too late to stop me toppling right into a puddle of my own vomit, as Kearney cackled and Jen moaned and moaned and moaned.