Social Event

I don't like parties. Well, I tell people that, don't I, because they don't understand otherwise. I like my own parties more, but I don't tell people that for the same reason. Better off sober at parties, really, because then I make fewer mistakes. I don't think I'm autistic or anything, but complicated social things pass me by. When I first heard about that quantum stuff, with one thing affecting another thing when they're miles apart, but you can't even look at what's passing between them because that spoils the effect... I mean, that made so much sense: it was like the look across a crowded room, or the joke that everyone laughs at even though it's crapper than the ones I'd just been telling. I say it made sense, but it only ever made sense when I was already half pissed. Then it felt like there were undercurrents everywhere. I could really believe in them, running between everyone and pulling them around. But they were still just about out of reach. Eventually I realized that being drunk wasn't helping me grasp what I couldn't at the best of times, so just stayed a bit tipsy, not sober but civil at any rate.

Anyway, this was my own party---well, mine and Adam's and Peter's, in the new house that I'd got the buggers to tidy up for the occasion---so I'd only had a few. Every now and then I snarfed a Red Bull, just to keep myself awake. I mixed vodka with some of them, Helen always calls that a "VRB", but I didn't want to get too pissed and not be in a position to stop people smashing plates or pouring red wine all over the carpet. Especially that bloody beige stuff in the hall---or is it wheat or some other crap? What's the point of that stuff in a rented house, anyway? I mean, for Christ's sake. Sorry.

The party had been going pretty well by midnight and didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. We'd had a couple of gatecrashers, actually. I was worried when I first saw them, as they were quite big blokes, but they spoke like someone's parents and they were so bloody nice. They both brought a bottle of pretty expensive-looking wine, Tio something or other. I don't know wine from wee-wee but I this stuff tasted gorgeous. I suppose between them they drank far more than they had on them, but they were such good fun that I didn't really want to say anything. They really livened up the party. Even Miserable Ed didn't sit in the bloody corner again, although I wouldn't say he was exactly life and soul.

Ralph was OK. Quite a good laugh until he started on the Bacardi, then that cheap tequila, and then I think he had a whole bottle of bloody Bailey's to himself---a glass of it's pretty gay but a whole bottle is just fecking mental. I lost track of him a bit because he went upstairs to talk to the stoners, and then next thing I knew he was passed out on the sofa. He was a doctor, so he told everyone; "physician" was what he actually said, which struck me as a bit posh. And pronouncing his name "Rayf". I mean. Mind you, I think it was Mike that introduced him, but it's still a bit stuck up. Like that film star all the girls in the office like. They don't swoon over him, I mean not like the one who played D'Arcy in Bridget Jones or anything, but I once made the mistake of mentioning that film he's in, The English Patient (pile of crap, if you ask me) and they all went off on one for ages.

Anyway, I was talking about Mike, and that night he had been talking to everyone, anyone who listened (so everyone in reach, really). He really made sense to me, you know? Not in a poofy way. But having him round the place.... It's like, oh, what's it like? When you put a tin tray on the radio aerial, and suddenly you can hear Chris Moyles or someone clear as a bell, cracked fucking bell, but yeah. I got the whole conversation so much more with Mike around, like he knew how to lead it and keep everyone interested. I'm not normally that quick on the uptake---I mean, I think that's sometimes a good thing, sometimes you have to be slow and steady, don't you?---but I sort of heard more of everything that night.

And God, he was funny! I mean, Ralph had been a laugh like I say, but he was a bit showy and, well, odd, really. Mike was like he'd been going to parties all his life, although he said he didn't get out that much. I got the impression they both worked somewhere pretty antisocial. Although if they weren't partiers then they were bloody hard drinkers. Mike was getting through his third bottle of wine when he got off a good one about Steve and his extreme sports hobbies. "I don't suppose you go for that sort of thing, do you?" said Steve, in that way of his that means "you're clearly not as brave as me, but I don't mind talking to you". Cunt. But Mike just said "Oh, yeah, I do." He shook his glass. "Extreme drinking." And everyone fell about laughing.

There was one weird thing that night, though. Well, three, I suppose, but this was the first. He was banging on about religion a bit, but it was all old stuff. And he mentioned something like those angels, seraphim, but it wasn't seraphim. Sepharim? No, that wasn't it either. Some Old Testament stuff, Jehovah this and Jehovah that, but he didn't say "Jehovah", I don't think. Someone asked him if he was Christian, a bit like asking if you're gay with our lot. He stumbled a bit, and said "errm", only it wasn't that. It was a bit drawn out and, like, tortured: "Eheiehhhh...." He turned it into an impression, who was it of? That Emlyn Hughes guy. Shiv noticed it because he was the oldest person there, and actually remembered "A Question Of Sport." He laughed like a drain at it too, because it was the end of Eid and so he was completely off his face. Mike smiled at that, like he was humouring Shiv, but he saw sense and changed the subject. It was quite funny for a while, actually. He went on about the Devil a lot. I think he was overcompensating, didn't want people to think he was an evi, did he, but it was good stuff. There was a joke about George Bush selling his soul for peanuts that he told, and I wish I could tell it like he did but I can't. So I won't.

One of the stoners from upstairs, Jess, I think (glassy eyes and skinny legs, well, normally she's got normal eyes but that night she was pretty wankered) was laughing for a few minutes at that Bush gag. Then she stopped for a while, then started giggling again. Mike was taking her in like he'd never seen anything like her before. I don't think he fancied her. It was like he was looking at her under a microscope or something. Taking mental notes. Made me feel a bit chilly, actually. I didn't want to think I'd let a psycho into the house, did I? I looked round for the cutlery drawer and put myself casually between Mike and it.... I probably was a bit pissed, actually.

"You're funny, Mike. You and your mate. It's a shame he, er, peaked so soon, like? Eh?" And then another wave of giggles like bubbles from a can of Coke. This made me want another RB, this time with a lot of vodka in it, so I started pouring one out with one ear as it were cocked towards the conversation.

"Yeah, well, he's one for the drink is Ralph. He doesn't drink much at home—I mean, generally—but when he does, he's a bit of a demon for it. The demon drink, isn't it?"

Jess stared for a few seconds, and then it was as if this had been the most hysterical thing he'd said all night. She laughed and laughed. I think she might have wet herself if another one of our resident dope fiends hadn't got into the act. "He was so fucken cool, though, right? That stuff he was doing. Magic like stuff, and all that."

"What?" said Mike. It felt like someone had turned the heating and the music down, both at once.

"You know, sleight of hand stuff," he said, holding his fat hands up and rubbing his fingers against each other like chafing legs. "He made a coin appear from up my nose. Then a rabbit from a hat. I mean," he turned to everyone else now, "an actual rabbit, from Jess's actual hat! I swear I saw a rabbit, but then he threw it up at the ceiling and it was like it just---pfff. Gone. Fucking class, that, Mike. I don't know how he fucken did it."

Then the second bit of weirdness. Mike rolled his eyes at this, trying to pass off whatever it was he was about to do as being nothing much, but you could see Ralph had done something wrong. Like something out of turn, or something. It made me think: maybe Mike was a bit of an evi after all. Is it Baptists or Methodists that are really down on gambling and cards and stuff? When I was a kid, one of our neighbours used to be like that. He once saw me with a pack of cards playing snap and he played hell.

"Excuse me, guys," he said, still as polite as ever, but clearly a bit fucked off. He walked over to where Ralph was sprawled and bent down to his ear.

"Ralph," he whispered. "Ralph. Ralph, mate. Ralph!" he screamed, but all that happened was Ralph's eyes flicked open. They were bloodshot and focussed on nothing. The whole room must've been spinning. A whole bottle of Bailey's. I shake my head when I think of it. "Gnwa," he began. He couldn't get his mouth to move properly at first, and smacked his lips a bit. "Gal. Galab? Harab. Gamal-"

At this point Mike cuffed him round the head. That doesn't sound much but I could hear the impact from the kitchen as if it was right by my ear, not Ralph's, and the poor bugger clearly felt it. He looked, if anything, more stunned than before he was hit, although his eyes began to clear pretty soon after that.

"Come on, Ralph," said Mike. "We're going."

As Ralph struggled to get out of our couch---it's had me like that a few times since, especially when I've been a bit pissed, and that time I slept on it---Mike said to us: "I forgot, we've got to get up early tomorrow, I'm afraid. Bit of a pain, really. Work"

"On a Sunday?"

"Yeah, well, no rest for the wicked, I'm afraid. It's been a great party," he said to me. "Thanks for letting us trespass, you know, gatecrash. Hopefully see you again."

Ralph bowed, almost touching his toes. "You've been a lovely host," he said, "and I only wish I could say the same for us, sir." Sir? The last time someone called me sir it was a bloke at the train station trying to be smart and actually being a cunt. I don't think Ralph meant anything by it. The sincerity of the drunk, I suppose. Anyway, they both left sharpish, not putting on any coats---I don't think they came with any anyway---and closed the door after them. It swung back open a little, though, and I was going to follow them anyway to ask them where they lived. I mean, they were a good laugh, weren't they? They'd been nice guests. It'd've been good to have them round some time, or go to the pub with them. I don't know if they'd've found me much fun, mind you, but what the hell, I thought... so I followed them out.

The house is just on the junction of Hodson Crescent and Cadmon Street, and they'd got as far as the lampost on the corner. They were arguing and I didn't think it would be a good idea to make an appearance just yet. I hid in our garden behind the shitty dead privet and saw them now and again between the branches. I could hear Mike give Raff a whack round the head again, harder this time, but he laughed like he barely felt it and just grinned. Then Mike said:

"Bollocks, Raff," he said---"Raff", not "Rayf" or "Rallf"---"Magic tricks? I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

"Me? I wasn't that pissed, Michael, and I could hear what you were up to in there. Banging on about him and 'im, as usual. You can't leave it alone, can you? One of these days we'll have trouble at home. Walls," he said, and he seemed drunk again now as he looked from side to side and up and down and behind the hedge (but he was drunk enough not to see me, at any rate), "have ears. And eyes. And noses. And-"

Mike put a hand on his shoulder. "All right, Raff. You've made your point. Let's go home."

There was a shuffling noise and I thought, well, now they've made up is my chance. I didn't want to miss 'em so I was rushing a bit, and I skidded through the gate and onto the pavement. But they were both gone already. When I looked down Hodson Crescent they weren't there, and there was no sign of them up and down Cadmon. I'm damned if I know where they went to. One minute they were there, then they were gone, I swear. The third weird thing. But I felt a bit light-headed, to be honest. That last VRB had got to me, probably. I couldn't drink like Mike and I certainly couldn't drink like Ralph or Rayff or Raph or whatever he was called. I headed back to the house to have more of the RB and less of the V. I'd had enough of spirits for that night.