Read The Bird Room for Free Online Page B

scratch’.
    Will gets excited. He says it sounds like something this artist, Tehching Hsieh, might do. He attempts to turn my decision into a piece of performance art and says I should document everything, keep a journal and take a photo of myself once a day.
    He’s a bit drunk. He’s showing off to Katrina.
    She listens quietly, her eyes lowered, fingering the stem of her wine glass.
    Later, when she’s gone to the toilet, he leans across the table and whispers in my ear, ‘I met her on the bus back from the airport. It’s her first time in England. She’s supposed to be staying with her cousin, but she spent last night at mine.’
    â€˜Great,’ I say.
    â€˜Not really. I might finish with her tonight. She doesn’t talk that much and she’s rubbish in bed.’
    Out in the street, Will hails a taxi. We’re all a bit drunk. He ushers Katrina into it, then beckons to me, offering me a lift home. I tell him I’ll walk.
    I stop for chips somewhere.
    I weave through the city centre, past groups of men 100x more pissed and violent than I am.
    I should go straight home, get into bed, pull the covers over my head and try to dream about that girl I’ll meet.
    But instead, I join the queue to a nightclub.

The swing of the cab presses her close against me. It straightens from the turn but she doesn’t pull away. Her hand gropes for mine. She leans into me, heavy and vodka-smelling.
    â€˜I don’t normally do this,’ she says.
    â€˜Do what?’
    â€˜Go home with strange men in taxis.’
    â€˜Me neither.’
    â€˜You’re not strange, are you?’ she says into my coat.
    â€˜I don’t think so.’
    â€˜Good,’ she says. ‘I need to be looked after.’ She says this last bit abstractedly, almost to herself.
    She leans her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes. I think she’s gone to sleep, but then her hand untangles itself. It moves onto my thigh. Her headshifts from my shoulder. She bites my arm through my sleeve.
    Now the hand is massaging my crotch.
    It is working open the zip of my jeans.
    The zip sounds incredibly loud, even with the engine noise.
    I look at the driver and his eyes catch mine in the rear-view mirror. I can’t. Not now, not with him there. But the hand is curling around my dick. Her hair is falling into my lap.
    I check the mirror again. The driver winks at me.
    Very gently, I ease her up.
    â€˜What? Whatsa matter?’
    She sounds slurred and dreamy.
    â€˜Nothing. Shh. We’re almost there.’
    (This is a lie. We won’t be there for a few minutes yet.)
    I close my eyes and hug her. If I look again, he’ll be there in the mirror, winking.
    â€˜Anywhere here’s fine,’ I say, trying to zip myself up without him seeing.
    He pulls up to the kerb and I hand him a tenner, telling him to keep the change, and bustle us out of the cab.
    The air is sharp. Suddenly I’m completely sober.
    â€˜Which one’s yours?’ she asks, twirling on the pavement and looking up at the houses.
    A cat runs out from underneath a parked car.
    I drape my jacket over her shoulders.
    â€˜It’s a walk from here,’ I say. ‘Fancied a bit of fresh air.’
    â€˜Tell me a story,’ she says.
    So I start to tell her about me and what I used to do; my ex-job, my parents, my panic attacks and how something shifted inside me …
    But she’s no longer listening. She’s stopped to pick up an empty crisp packet and post it through a letterbox.
    Once we’re through my door, I give her the choice of tea or coffee or vodka. She chooses black coffee with vodka in. Maybe it’s just her drunkenness, but she seems more at home in my house than I am. The place is a mess of papers, clothes, plates and cans. I wasn’t planning on bringing anyone home tonight. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to me. My sheets are unwashed. I have no condoms. The bathroom is