Knickers

I was lying alone in a double bed, doing terrible things to some pairs of knickers. I had found them in the dirty-clothes basket at the foot of the bed. The house I was in was near a hospital, and every few minutes an off-duty ambulance rolled past in the night, turning the room into a disco of reds and blues. All I knew of the girl were the photos smiling back from her notice-board.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ I said, pulling over the duvet. The door scraped slowly over the carpet, stopped, and scraped shut again. There was a flick and my best friend was standing in the doorway. He’s medium height with dark hair and I suppose a handsome face, though it’s nothing we ever talk about. He should have been asleep in his girlfriend’s room.

‘D’you want to just talk for a bit, mate?’ he said.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Turn the light off.’ He turned it off and sat on the edge of the bed. I waited for him to say something.

‘It’s so cool you came,’ he said, looking down as if he were talking to Betty Boop on the duvet. 'It’s like, all my best mates up here together. But you, you’re like my oldest friend. I’m serious, we’re like brothers.’

‘Thanks. What’s up?’ His head dropped and for a moment I thought he’d fallen asleep. ‘What’s up?’ I said again.

‘Mate, I think she’s cheating on me.’ Neither of us spoke. At some point an ambulance sneaked past, its spinning lights slashing around the room. I looked up and took a tour of her life. Screaming on a roller coaster. Her muscular boyfriend by a pool somewhere. The plain girls left behind when she became beautiful.

‘How sure are you? I said, sitting up and feeling the knickers brush against my legs. ‘Because I don’t think Orla would–’

‘I think she’s cheating on me.’

‘OK. Why?’ He fell back and lay facing the ceiling.

‘Texts.’

‘Texts?’

‘From this bloke Rob. Work mate. I’ve asked around and everyone says he’s a complete douche. Clearly wants to bang her, right? But no: “We’re just good friends.”’

‘Nice impression,’ I said.

‘Thanks, I know.’

‘So what’s the problem? They’re friends; he’s a loser.’

He sat up. ‘He is a loser. One of those gamers. Ugly bastard. He sounds like a perve as well: “What kind of underwear have you got on?” – that kind of stuff.’

‘It’s out of her control,’ I said. ‘Proves nothing in itself.’

‘He’s one of those gamer boys. Works at Costa, full-time – he’s 25, for fuck’s sake – works at Costa and goes home and plays his games and has a wank. Ugly fucking failure gamer twat.’ He fell onto his back again. ‘I think he’s banging her.’

‘I very much doubt it.’

‘I’m sure he’s banging her. It’s like karma or whatever, after all the times I went with other girls. But I stopped, didn’t I? I stopped ‘cos I loved her. Can I sleep in here?'

I sat up. ‘Go back to Orla, mate.’

‘Fuck it. Top and tail.’ He made to lift the covers back. I wriggled forward and held them down. ‘What you doing?’

‘Mate, you can sleep with me or you can sleep with Orla. I know which one I’d choose.’

There was a rattle as the door brushed over the carpet. The light flicked on and Orla closed the door behind her. She had long black hair and milk white legs that were tall and toned. She was dressed as the Mad Hatter.

‘Turn the light off,’ said White, face into the duvet. She turned it off and stood at the end of the bed. All I could see of her was a slant of moonlight over her hat, those lips.

‘Are you coming to bed?’ She might have been talking to either one of us, or both. ‘James,’ she said, ‘will you tell Dan to come to bed with me?' He was lying still, pretending to be asleep.

‘Dan,’ I said, putting my hand on his back. ‘Will you please, please do the right thing and go to bed with Orla. Look at her for Christ’s sake. If you don’t, I will.’ She laughed; strings pulled and moved inside me.

‘And will you also tell Dan that I’m not cheating on him with Rob from work?’

‘Dan,’ I said. ‘Come on. Of course she’s not cheating on you with Rob from work. And if she is, who cares? She’s here now. Look at her. God, I love her. Just look at her.’

No one spoke for a moment. There was the sound of smashed glass and shouting far away. Slowly, he rolled off the bed and onto the floor. As he fell his trailing leg flicked up the duvet, revealing several of the knickers in the moonlight. I leapt forward and covered them up. White stood with her at the door; she looked down at the duvet.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Shadows.’ White put his arms around her and they kissed. As they kissed an ambulance drove past and I watched the play of lights over their faces. They came apart and said night and she dragged the door over the carpet. I sat back, alone in the dark with the knickers.

*

That morning the pavements shimmered with broken glass. I had lost my shoes the night before, and it would be two months until they arrived in the post from Orla. By that time she’d broken it off with White and was seeing Rob from work. At the bottom of the road White took his trainers off so we’d be barefoot together. We tiptoed through the city, and as we spoke, about football, films, and girls, I looked down and imagined the tarmac had turned to soil, the glass fallen nettles, and that we were weaving through trees on our way to the rope swing, many summers before.