the way out, but I knew it was coming.
MAUREEN
I was sick on the carpet outside the bathroom. Well, I say ‘carpet’ – I was actually sick where the carpet should have been, but he didn’t have one. Which was just as well, because it was much easier to clean up afterwards. I’ve seen lots of those programmes where they decorate your house for you, and I’ve never understood why they always make you throw your carpets away, even good ones which still have a nice thick pile. But now I’m wondering whether they first of all decide whether the people who live in the house are sicker-uppers or not. A lot of younger people have the bare floorboards, I’ve noticed, and of course they tend to be sick on the floor more than older people, what with all the beer they drink and so on. And the drugs they take, too, nowadays, I suppose. (Do drugs make you sick? I’d think so, wouldn’t you?) And some of the young families in Islington don’t seem to go in for the carpets much, either. But you see that might be because babies are alwaysbeing sick all over the place as well. So maybe Martin is a sicker-upper. Or maybe he just has a lot of friends who are sicker-uppers. Like me. I was sick because I’m not used to drinking, and also because I hadn’t had a thing to eat for more than a day. I was too nervous on New Year’s Eve to eat anything, and there didn’t seem to be an awful lot of point anyway. I didn’t even have any of Matty’s mush. What’s food for? It’s fuel, isn’t it? It keeps you going. And I didn’t really want to be kept going. Jumping off Toppers’ House with a full stomach would have seemed wasteful, like selling a car with a full tank of petrol. So I was dizzy even before we started drinking the whisky, because of the white wine at the party, and after I’d had a couple the room started spinning round and round.
We were quiet for a little while after Penny had gone. We didn’t know whether we were supposed to be sad or not. Jess offered to chase after her and tell her that Martin hadn’t been with anyone else, but Martin asked her how she was going to explain what we were doing there, and Jess said she thought that the truth wasn’t so bad, and Martin said that he’d rather Penny thought badly of him than be told that he’d been thinking of killing himself.
‘You’re mad,’ said Jess. ‘She’d feel all sorry for you if she found out how we’d met. You’d probably get a sympathy shag.’
Martin laughed. ‘I don’t think that’s how it works, Jess,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because if she found out how we met, it would really upset her. She’d think she was responsible in some way. It’s a terrible thing, finding out that your lover is so unhappy he wants to die. It’s a time for self-reflection.’
‘Yeah. And?’
‘And I’d have to spend hours holding her hand. I don’t feel like holding her hand.’
‘You’d still end up with a sympathy shag. I didn’t say it would be easy.’
Sometimes it was hard to remember that Jess was unhappy too. The rest of us, we were still shell-shocked. I didn’t know how I’d ended up drinking whisky in the lounge of a well-known TV personality when I’d actually left the house to kill myself, and youcould tell that JJ and Martin were confused about the evening too. But with Jess, it was like the whole how’s-your-father on the roof was like a minor accident, the sort of thing where you rub your head and sit down and have a cup of sweet tea, and then you get on with the rest of your day. When she was talking about sympathy intercourse and whatever other nonsense came into her head, you couldn’t see what could possibly have made her want to climb those stairs up to the roof – her eyes were twinkling, and she was full of energy, and you could tell that she was having fun. We weren’t having fun. We weren’t killing ourselves, but we weren’t having fun either. We’d come too close to jumping. And yet Jess had come the
MAUREEN
I was sick on the carpet outside the bathroom. Well, I say ‘carpet’ – I was actually sick where the carpet should have been, but he didn’t have one. Which was just as well, because it was much easier to clean up afterwards. I’ve seen lots of those programmes where they decorate your house for you, and I’ve never understood why they always make you throw your carpets away, even good ones which still have a nice thick pile. But now I’m wondering whether they first of all decide whether the people who live in the house are sicker-uppers or not. A lot of younger people have the bare floorboards, I’ve noticed, and of course they tend to be sick on the floor more than older people, what with all the beer they drink and so on. And the drugs they take, too, nowadays, I suppose. (Do drugs make you sick? I’d think so, wouldn’t you?) And some of the young families in Islington don’t seem to go in for the carpets much, either. But you see that might be because babies are alwaysbeing sick all over the place as well. So maybe Martin is a sicker-upper. Or maybe he just has a lot of friends who are sicker-uppers. Like me. I was sick because I’m not used to drinking, and also because I hadn’t had a thing to eat for more than a day. I was too nervous on New Year’s Eve to eat anything, and there didn’t seem to be an awful lot of point anyway. I didn’t even have any of Matty’s mush. What’s food for? It’s fuel, isn’t it? It keeps you going. And I didn’t really want to be kept going. Jumping off Toppers’ House with a full stomach would have seemed wasteful, like selling a car with a full tank of petrol. So I was dizzy even before we started drinking the whisky, because of the white wine at the party, and after I’d had a couple the room started spinning round and round.
We were quiet for a little while after Penny had gone. We didn’t know whether we were supposed to be sad or not. Jess offered to chase after her and tell her that Martin hadn’t been with anyone else, but Martin asked her how she was going to explain what we were doing there, and Jess said she thought that the truth wasn’t so bad, and Martin said that he’d rather Penny thought badly of him than be told that he’d been thinking of killing himself.
‘You’re mad,’ said Jess. ‘She’d feel all sorry for you if she found out how we’d met. You’d probably get a sympathy shag.’
Martin laughed. ‘I don’t think that’s how it works, Jess,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because if she found out how we met, it would really upset her. She’d think she was responsible in some way. It’s a terrible thing, finding out that your lover is so unhappy he wants to die. It’s a time for self-reflection.’
‘Yeah. And?’
‘And I’d have to spend hours holding her hand. I don’t feel like holding her hand.’
‘You’d still end up with a sympathy shag. I didn’t say it would be easy.’
Sometimes it was hard to remember that Jess was unhappy too. The rest of us, we were still shell-shocked. I didn’t know how I’d ended up drinking whisky in the lounge of a well-known TV personality when I’d actually left the house to kill myself, and youcould tell that JJ and Martin were confused about the evening too. But with Jess, it was like the whole how’s-your-father on the roof was like a minor accident, the sort of thing where you rub your head and sit down and have a cup of sweet tea, and then you get on with the rest of your day. When she was talking about sympathy intercourse and whatever other nonsense came into her head, you couldn’t see what could possibly have made her want to climb those stairs up to the roof – her eyes were twinkling, and she was full of energy, and you could tell that she was having fun. We weren’t having fun. We weren’t killing ourselves, but we weren’t having fun either. We’d come too close to jumping. And yet Jess had come the
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