Sun Dog by Monique Roffey

Author:Monique Roffey [Roffey, Monique]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857203748
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK

10

Isabel’s flat was standard W11. White walls and wooden floorboards. Abstract art and Indian furniture. Night-lights floating in a stone bowl.

It was only 9 o’clock and the main room was half full of people standing, talking. All attractive. Somehow August could tell they were clever too, smart, fashionable. People who always knew a lot about everything: the Balkans, the ballet, bullfighting. He guessed they were journalists, or filmy people. The last party he’d been to was a year ago. It was a similar type of affair, same type of people. It had culminated in his having an argument with a woman who’d called Birmingham ‘parochial’.

He stood at the room’s entrance clutching his bottle of wine. In a corner he could see Jim, talking to another man. They both wore dark suits and had thin hair and looked like two cool young priests gossiping. Gabriel was sitting on a sofa nearby. A small group sat round him trying to follow his hands as he recounted a long and involved story.

August made his way over to the makeshift bar to deposit his bottle. Searching for a corkscrew, he felt a hand on his back.

‘August.’

He turned around.

‘Oh, h-hello,’ he smiled too widely, almost puncturing his lips with his teeth.

It was Isabel, trying hard not to laugh at him. ‘I’m so glad you could come,’ she gushed, looking over his shoulder. ‘Gub-gub talks about you so much.’

August squinted, not understanding. ‘Gub-gub?’

‘Guuubbbb-guuubbbb,’ she drawled, as though chiding a Chihuahua. She nodded her head over to where Gabriel was sitting, immersed in a great plume of smoke. ‘Gubby. Gongo,’ she said, making puppy eyes at him.

‘Anna!’ she shrieked.

August looked round. Coming towards them was the woman with blood-orange lips. She still had them on.

‘August, have you met Anna?’

August turned to look at her and smiled. ‘Yes.’

There was an embarrassing split second of silence, then Anna flashed him a prim micro-smile and began scanning the room.

He stood up straighter, his big shoulders blocking Anna’s view, his hair a screen of brush fire. She was annoyed and continued trying to peer past him.

Isabel, sensing her impatience, linked arms with her and made as if to move off.

‘I may not be pretty,’ August said quickly, his eyes pinned to Anna’s lips. ‘But at least I never chose this colour. It’s very . . .’ he breathed in. ‘Sharp.’

Isabel’s smile freeze-dried to her face.

Anna shook her head, incredulous.

August could see this hadn’t impressed them; they couldn’t care less. Reluctantly, he stepped aside and they slipped past him, with grim lips.

They were tough, August mused.

Tough as old hens.

Much later, he found a bathroom upstairs and locked himself in.

Bathrooms were holes in the world, he thought. Places of refuge. They had everything: cold, tiled walls for pressing one’s hot head against. Running water. A toilet to throw up in. They were rescue stations.

August flipped down the toilet lid and sat on it, running his hands through his hair. He’d been at the party for two hours but it felt like twenty and he’d drunk the lot: white wine, mint julep, beer, some warm Cava.

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