The Red Room Read Free Page A

planted
a smacking kiss on the mouth of her new boyfriend,
who sat back in his chair looking dazed.
"More fish pie, anyone?"
"Is there someone in your life?" murmured my
neighbor. He really was quite tipsy. "Someone
to love?"
I blinked and tried not to remember. Another
party, another life away, before I'd nearly
died and come back to life as a woman with a scar
bisecting her face: Albie in a spare
bedroom in a stranger's house, with someone else.
His hands on her strawberry-pink dress, pushing
its straps off her shoulders; her creamy breasts
swelling under his hands. Her eyes closed, her
head tipped back, the bright lipstick smudged.
He said, "No, no, we mustn't" in a drunken
slur, but let her anyway, slack and passive
while her fingers unreeled him. I had stood there
on the landing, gazing in, not able to move or speak.
There are only so many things one can do in sex, I
thought then, watching this tableau; all the gestures
we think are our own belong to other people too. The
way she rubbed her thumb across his lower lip. I
do that. Then Albie saw me and I thought, There
are only so many ways you can catch your lover with
somebody else. It seemed unoriginal. His
lovely shirt hung loose. We had stared at
each other, the woman lolling between us. We stared and
I could hear my heart beat. What's life without
love?
"No," I said. "Nobody now."
Poppy rapped her knife against her glass.
Upstairs I heard a child shriek. There was a
loud thump on the ceiling above us. Seb frowned.
"I want to make a toast," she said. She
cleared her throat.
"Hang on, let me fill the glasses."
"Three months ago, Kit had her terrible
... thing. ..."
My neighbor turned and looked at my
face. I put up my hand to cover the scar, as
if his gaze was burning it. 19
"She was attacked by a madman."
"Well ..." I began to protest.
"Anybody who saw her in that hospital bed,
like I did, what he'd done to her ... We were
desperate." Drink and emotion made Poppy's
voice wobble. I looked down at my plate,
hot with embarrassment. "But nobody should judge
her by appearances." She blushed with alarm and
looked at me. "I don't mean the ... you
know." I raised my hand to my face again. I was
always doing that now, the gesture of self-protection
I hadn't managed at the time. "She may look
gentle, but she's a tough, brave woman, she's
always been a fighter, and here she is, and on
Monday she returns to work, and this evening is for
her, and I wanted everyone to raise their glasses
to celebrate her recovery and ... well, that's
it, really. I never was good at making speeches
at the best of times. But anyway, here's to darling
Kit."
"To Kit," everyone chorused. Glasses,
raised high, chinked across the debris of the meal.
Faces glowing, smiling at me, breaking up and
re-forming in the candlelight. "Kit."
I managed a smile. I didn't really
want all this, and I felt bad about that.
"Come on, Kit, give us a speech." This from
Seb, grinning at me. You probably know his
face or his voice. You've heard him giving
opinions on everything from serial killers'
motivations to toddlers' nightmares to the madness of
crowds. He compliments and smiles and does his very
best to make me feel good about myself, but really,
I suppose, sees me as a hopeless beginner in
his own profession. "You can't just sit there looking
sweet and shy, Kit. Say something."
"All right, then." I thought about Michael
Doll, lunging across the room, hand upraised.
I saw his face, the glint of his eyes. "I'm
not really a fighter. In fact I'm the
opposite, I--was There was a loud howl from
upstairs, then another.
"Oh, for God's sake," said Poppy,
rising in her chair. "Other children are in bed at ten
thirty, not beating each other up. Hang on,
everybody."
"No, I'll go," I said, pushing back my
chair.
"Don't be daft."
"Really, I want to. I haven't 21
seen the children all evening. I want to say good
night to them."
I