Soon Matt was stirring a large wok full of Balti that simmered over a camping stove. The scent of the warming curry filled the room and became too tempting to bear. At the growing pleas from the others, he started ladling it out over rice in cardboard picnic bowls. The chatter of conversation from the group fell silent for the first time since they'd reached the bar as the bowls were handed out. All interest was fixed in fevered anticipation on the steaming food. Each bowl was snatched up as soon as it was filled and spoonful after spoonful was stoked into each mouth from the moment they were able. Sitting hunched over their bowls, they ate with a greedy lust and didn't look up once as they devoured their meal, not even stopping for a drink as they felt the burning heat sear their mouths.
Fingers that gripped the spoons slipped down into the curry and were smeared all over with with the sauce as well as lips and hanging strands of hair. If a spoon was dropped from a slippery grip it fell to the floor and stayed there as bare hands plunged into the burning slop and scooped it directly to the mouth. When one bowl was finished, more Balti was piled back in as fast as anyone could manage, with a complete disregard for anyone else as they pushed and barged for a place in their bottomless, ravenous hunger.
Soon, scooping out great swathes of curry with spoons and hands wasn't quick enough and they rammed their bowls into the pan to gouge as much of the hot, delicious sludge out as fast as possible to gulp it straight from the bowl. During this time, the hi-fi got knocked to the floor and the CD skipped and fell silent. The wok slid from the stove and spilled onto the table, and none of them paused for a second or even seemed to notice. They scooped up the bubbling-hot remnants from the pan with bowls that got soggy and fell apart in their hands or they even clawed it from the table and shoved it directly into their mouths.
Finally, after several unbroken minutes of feeding, they flopped back on the sofa and breathed hard from the feeling of release. Now that they were sated, it was like they'd woken up from being blackout drunk. They looked around in bleary confusion, with no memory of the last few minutes. They tugged at their clothing to vent boiling heat and wiped wet foreheads, which smeared their face paint all over their faces and hands.
Copious amounts of alcohol were drunk to soothe the burn, as each of them grimaced and closed their eyes in exhilaration.
They belched softly from scalded mouths and massaged bloated bellies while they poured down soothing drinks after the burn. There were groans from empty stomachs suddenly stuffed to capacity and from threatening, tectonic rumours that this limit may have been exceeded. There were drawn-out moans from the hefty weight that filled them, flattened them, groans as much from pain as bliss. It left them spent and listless, tingly warm with no desire left in the world.
The friends looked dully at the mess all over the table, their hands, their faces, even clumps in their hair, with incomprehension. How did that all get there, they idly wondered, but they couldn't remember.
It was some time before someone lazily asked where the music was. One of them eventually summoned the strength to find the hi-fi skipping feebly on the floor in mechanical pain before they bungled it back upright and reset it.
'Wow. That was amazing,' Jack said, lazily casting a look at Joe, who held his mouth and scrunched his eyes up.
'Why do we make it so hot?' Joe said with a muffled voice.
'I love it, the spice makes it so intense,' said Jack. 'And then when you cool it off with some beer… oh, it's just the best.'
Conversation began to pick up again as everyone regained their faculties.
'That curry seemed different,' said Katie, idly running a finger around her bowl and sucking it. A few others said they agreed.
'Yep. New, improved recipe,' said Matt, briefly glancing Nick's way. 'Some of our own home-grown chillies to jazz it up a bit.'
'That wasn't what I meant though.' Katie paused for thought. 'The meat seemed different. It had a different kind of texture.'
'Maybe it was a different cut of meat,' said Nick. 'Meat tastes and feels different from the shoulder, loin or fillet perhaps.'
'Are you sure it was cooked properly? Some chunks were very rare… like, bleeding rare,' said Emma.
'We couldn't live off canned crap forever so we had to think hard about how to preserve it,' Matt said to Katie. 'We tried lots of different ways. 'There's surprisingly little literature on how to preserve meat without fridges or freezers these days, it seems. We tried pickling some or salting it but that tasted nasty. We found the best way was to rub it with chilli and spices, then embalm it in jars with vodka.'
'And thus the Balti tradition was born,' said Nick.
'Tell us the story of how you got it again,' said Jenny. Nick and Matt shifted in their seats.
They started speaking at the same time, then stopped and gestured for the other to continue. Nick hesitated. 'I'm sure we've told you all this tale before,' he said.
'Go on, tell us again. We all like to hear a story,' said Sarah. 'I can't remember how it goes, anyway.'
'Okay,' said Nick, and he took a deep breath. Someone turned the music down, which made him grin self-consciously. 'Matt, Ryan and I were looking around the top road that leads off to Milnsbridge. You know the one. We went to see what was out there, if there were any shops that were untouched, if any people were around. We'd run out of food in the flats, or at least there was nothing there that we could bring ourselves to eat. We were getting hungry, but we didn't even know what we wanted. The canned crap and instant noodles wouldn't cut it any more. The stores were empty though, and the streets were silent like nothing you'd seen before.
'Anyway, the weirdest things can happen these days – after the big day. We've had so many strange encounters, things you wouldn't ever expect to see.' Nick stopped to refresh himself with a drink. His speech seemed recited, like it was well rehearsed.
'Strange encounters like what?' others asked, in the mood to hear a tale.
Matt butted in. 'Do you remember that time when we were breaking houses for loot, and we came out of one and we heard this weird noise coming up the street, like this scratching, rustling kind of sound.' Matt made scratchy motions with his fingers. 'We had no idea what it was. We turned and saw this whole pack of wild dogs charging up the road at us…'
'Yeah, hang on, we'll get to that,' said Nick. Matt grumbled but sat forward to wait his turn to tell a story once Nick had finished.
'We were standing in the road to Milnsbridge, having a smoke break, not even being quiet. You know, just talking, joking around, complaining about stuff, swearing a bit. Then, all of a sudden, this deer comes clip-clopping around the corner. It stands there in the middle of the road and looks at us, a few metres away. It was this huge stag, with a full set of antlers like this and it stopped there and stared at us.
'I mean, we froze. This was one thing that we didn't expect, we didn't know what to do! It was so surreal, we wondered if we were hallucinating. I mean, I'm a city lad and I'd never even seen one of these things before in my life. I don't think anyone had, but here it was. Up close, living and breathing. It was magnificent. We had no idea what we would do next. We had no idea what it would do next! Would it charge at us? Run away? We were frozen on the spot and stood and looked at each other for ages.
'I think we all had the same idea without saying anything. I slowly, slowly, slowly took a loose stone from on top of this garden wall right next to me and then bowled it right at the deer. The stone smacked it in the leg. We pelted it with more and it stumbled, then we all rushed in and finished the job with our hammers.'
'Aw no, the poor deer!' exclaimed Katie. The girls looked around at each other, hands to their mouths and cooed their sympathy. 'I can't believe I used to be a vegan before all this. Why did you do that?'
'It must be a guy thing,' Nick said, smiling drily. We had the same idea at the same time and didn't even need to say anything. I mean, what were the chances of ever seeing anything like that again? We couldn't just let it go. If there was anything we really did want to eat, then free-range venison was definitely that. And if we caught it ourselves, well then, that would be… the best.'
'The idea of hunting a wild stag and bringing it back to feed our tribe… yeah, it's a primal thing. To be honest, I don't think I've been prouder of doing anything in my life,' said Matt.
'You're mean,' said Emma.
'I'm sorry, did you not enjoy the curry?' Matt said. 'None for you next time then.'
'Oh no, no!' the girls all said, and laughed. 'Only joking. It was amazing.'
'Hang on, if Ryan was with you and still healthy and mobile, then this must have been a several weeks ago,' Jack said. 'How come this meat was still fresh? It surely wouldn't be after all this time, even if you did manage to preserve it somehow…'
'What were you saying about the story with the dogs?' asked Jane.
'Yeah, weird thing, right? From out of nowhere all these dogs charged up the street at us,' said Matt. 'They got so close we could smell them. They were all mangy and chewed up. Their eyes were all dull and blank and were oozing with this slime. It looked like they were all infected with what the Dead have. They didn't bark, growl or anything – they ran at us silently in one big pack. That's why we didn't hear them coming until they were so close. We bricked it, dropped everything and ran back inside this house.
'The dogs chased us upstairs, snapping at our heels. We didn't even have time to close any doors to keep them out. We kept running until we were in the attic. We were trapped. There was no way out and we had gone and dropped our weapons like a bunch of pansies. We were all stuck there holding this flimsy attic door shut because we'd already bust it earlier in the day, and this great mass of Dead dogs was shoving and biting at the other side.' Everyone around the table looked rapt, horrified.
'Our bare hands were millimetres away from all these teeth and claws on the other side of the door. It was horrible. You could feel them chewing through the wood. They were relentless, possessed – and they didn't even bark or growl once. There was dead silence apart from them ripping at the door to get us and their breathing. It was so spooky. You were there with us, weren't you?' Matt asked Tom.
'Yeah, it's true,' Tom said. 'They chewed and scratched at the wood for ages. I honestly thought we were going to die.'
'All of a sudden, they took off and left. Just like that. as though they had one mind. They left scratches, lumps of fur and turds behind them. It was the weirdest thing.
'Yeah, you know why the occupants of the house kept this attic room locked?' said Matt to everybody. 'The parents of the house had set up a mini bondage dungeon up there in the attic and wanted to keep the kids out!' They all fell back in their chairs, laughing. 'There were some horrifying things in there: a post with leather straps and chains, whips, some objects that were used to go in that were horrible – horribly big, and a TV and camcorder to film it all on! We thought we were going to die in a middle-aged couple's BDSM dungeon!'
'Yeah, but how have you managed to keep the meat fresh for so long?' asked Jack. 'Also, won't there be much left by now?'
Nick had heard the original question in the first place.
'Well, we were presented with a carcass, and now it was felled and the thrill of doing so had passed, we had no idea what to do with it. We knew we had to butcher it, but we had no idea how. Then we remembered there was a butcher's a few doors down from mine so we dragged it there. There were plenty of useful things like knives, cleavers, meat hooks, clean storage space and the like, but no instructions on what to do with a full carcass. They only dealt with prepared ones, it seemed. Selfish bastards. Well, there's a small bookshop down the street that happened to have a fantastically helpful little volume in there that told us all we needed to know about all the things to do next and how to store a body. It's been a lifesaver. Our Bible, reverently kept.'
'Can I come and see where you keep it?' Jack said. 'I'm quite interested in all that and I'd like to help.'
'No, it's fine. No need,' said Nick. 'It's all carefully maintained and we don't want anything to get contaminated or spoil.'
'But I wouldn't—' Jack complained.
'Who loved the Balti!' Nick said loudly, and raised his glass.
'HEYYY!' everyone cheered and raised their drinks.
'That was a damn good meal…' '…thanks for that…' '…write that recipe down…' Voices of appreciation were raised around the group.
There was a pause, then like the friends were of one mind, they raised their glasses and solemnly called out: 'To Ryan.'
'To Ryan!' The sombre toast travelled around the group. 'Rest in peace,' came the murmured tributes. 'Alive in spirit…' 'Remember you always…' 'Never be forgotten…'
'Bottoms up!' said Jane. She downed her drink and slammed the glass on the table. They all tilted their heads back and gulped at their drinks in an attempt to see them off in one. 'Down it! Down it!' Jane cheered them on but with a sheen of tears to her eyes.
A cheer and a whoop went up from the friends once the last of them had thumped their empty glass on the table. Some pitched about as they coughed and grimaced. Others grimly sucked air through their teeth and cracked another bottle open for themselves and their friends to continue the party in Ryan's honour.
It was hard to keep track of time after so many drinks had been imbibed and so much Bhuna had been smoked. People settled into upbeat, animated conversation and past differences were soon forgotten. Boundaries were dissolved as the stress of the past couple of weeks washed away, along with the divisions that had built up between them all.
They each waited their turn to take hits from the largest, most ornamented glass pipe they owned. This was their peace pipe. They passed it around in turn, with no prejudice from former grievances. No one could remember who, when or where someone had discovered the peace pipe or how it became part of their tradition, but that's what it was, and it was treated with reverence.
After one chokingly powerful hit from it, the friends whooped and clapped against their knees, one by one. They swore and blasphemed as they swayed and reeled in their seats. Many of them felt compelled to stand up and slap their limbs to wake them up as they went numb from the strength of the smoke.
'Bloody hell, what was in that thing?' Tom wheezed as he passed the pipe.
'The best, most premium clippings I've gathered for a week,' Andy said with a starry-eyed grin as smoke spilled from between his teeth. 'The highest concentration of pollen. I knew they would be something special and that there would be no better time than this.'
After one breathtaking, gasping hit from the pipe, the rest could well believe it. Strangely though, despite the Herb's potency, the smoke didn't burn their lungs like any other narcotic would. Instead, it was a clean, elevating rush, like a diver that surfaced for a breath of air. It was giddying, euphoric, life-giving.
'The Bhuna's life,' said Andy, and the others repeated his mantra in religious awe.
More time passed and the evening had long since become night-time, lit by their coloured lanterns. The music had been turned up from a background hum to as loud as it would go, as caution was completely abandoned and the party was in full swing.
'Don't you think the Dead will hear us?' asked Jack.
'Nah,' Nick replied. 'The inner doors are shut. You can hardly hear a thing outside. Let them come!' Nick spread his arms aggressively, defiantly. He grabbed Jack around the neck and hugged him to his side. 'Let them come! WE'RE RIGHT HERE!' he bellowed, 'CUNTS!'
Sarah looked over towards Jenny and her group for a while as she wavered on her seat, her stoned expression unreadable. Katie and Emily talked between themselves but Sarah didn't notice. She picked her chance, then wobbled her way over in her heels.
Jenny and her friends drew back warily.
'Oh for fuck's sake, not again,' Matt said, and he prepared himself to have to break apart another fight. Sarah, however, profusely apologised for the incident that had happened before.
'I'm so sorry,' Sarah said. 'I don't know what came over me. I shouldn't have said all that. I didn't mean it. You're a lovely person, and I've been so awful and feel really bad for it now.' Sarah held her arms outstretched, and Jenny, while she blinked back the memory of the fight, sheepishly stepped into the hug.
'You hurt me,' Jenny said.
'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,' Sarah replied. 'I was bang out of order. I feel so bad. If it's any consolation, I think you still have a chunk of my hair. You can keep it.' Jenny hugged her back, and they cried a little together.
Matt shook his head in bewilderment and sat back down with his drink. 'Dear me.'
At some point, the face paints were cracked out and the friends merrily engaged in an activity that had become a ritual and a tradition.
The sweat brought on by the Balti and the clamminess of the biker suits meant their old designs were smudged and greasy and faces needed to be freshened up first. One friend helped another by using cleansing wipes to wipe away shine, grime and traces of face paint that had been left on for far too long. To paint another's face was a kind of bonding. A level of intimacy was required and only a special friend would be trusted to carefully navigate such a tender area.
For now, Jenny was left by the side, as her best friend Emma was paired with her boyfriend Tom and likewise Jane was paired with Matt.
Jenny looked around the group and her glance briefly caught Nick's. He was alone and had given up on trying to make conversation as others became too involved in their task to follow what was said. Nick sat by himself, sprawled in a deliberately casual way. He feigned nonchalance and picked at the label on his drink.
She bet that right now if they still had mobile phones he would pull it out and pretend he had someone important to text. Wow, Nick, that bottle must be so interesting with all its bright colours, shapes and health warnings, Jenny thought, and she bit her lip against a smile. Why doesn't he want to talk to me or paint me? she wondered. He can't be that bashful, or oblivious to see we're the only odd ones out in the room. Emma and Jane are going to be ages before they get round to me.
Sideways on, Jenny had a look at Nick. He seemed so different right now from the Nick she thought she knew. He'd seemed troubled, haunted by something these past few weeks. To be honest, it was concerning. What was he thinking? Jenny felt they still didn't really know each other after all this time. He looked attractive, sure, but was always so distant and slightly mournful-looking. She'd heard of many times when he'd acted so disinterestedly in others and so aloof that he'd rubbed them up the wrong way by being rude.
Eventually Nick caught her looking. Jenny smiled, and he smiled back. It was a sad smile that only pulled at the corner of his mouth and didn't reach his eyes. Jenny summoned the courage to go over to him, and Nick cleared a space for her to sit next to him. She playfully rubbed the top of his hand.
'Don't be so glum, Nick,' Jenny said. 'How would you like to come and paint me?'
Nick smiled more this time, a slow kind of grin that brightened his face.
He reached for some face paints and cleanser wipes and put 'Barbie Girl' on the hi-fi, but not too loud. Jenny beamed. Nick shook his head and tutted but still with the same rare little smile. His hands were careful and gentle as he wiped her face clean.
'I remember your design. I know you like butterflies,' Nick said. Jenny nodded, pleased that he'd noticed. Nick concentrated and steadily traced purple wings on each of Jenny's cheeks, along with pale blue on her eyelids and a little red heart shape on her lips.
Jenny closed her eyes and Nick gazed at her face. After he finished he leaned in and touched his lips to hers. After a moment she pulled away bashfully and looked at the end result in a mirror.
'Not bad,' Jenny said coyly, and she blurred the edges on a butterfly wing that were a little rough. She admired herself from left to right.
'I like it,' Jenny said, beaming. His style was basic but he had done well to mimic her design. He must have being paying attention at some point. She would give it a bit of a touch-up later, when he wasn't looking.
Jenny placed a hand on Nick's knee and she leant in to paint his face in return. Nick's design was straightforward enough, and although it took a little effort to focus as she swayed and wobbled her way through, Jenny was a quick painter and well-practised from time spent with her friends.
Jenny reprimanded Nick for smirking as the sponge touched around the tender area around his lips and he visibly struggled to keep a straight face. Nick placed his hand on top of Jenny's then slid it round to the inside of her thigh. Jenny leant in till the side of her breast touched against his arm.
Once the painting was finished, Jenny checked that no one was watching, then they kissed. After smoking and drinking so much, they only had to gently touch their lips together. The sensation was so vivid, so intense, she could feel every part of where they touched.
'Let's go and look at ourselves in a mirror.' Nick smiled and led Jenny off to the girls' toilets. They admired their handiwork in the dim lamplight. There by themselves, they openly kissed as Nick pressed Jenny against the sinks. She held his shoulders and pulled him against her. Nick ran his hands up and down Jenny's sides, from the curve of her hips to the round swell of her chest.
He broke the kiss to pull Jenny into a cubicle after him. She resisted, knowing that she probably shouldn't, but then she succumbed to his insistence and followed him in. They pulled down their underwear, then Nick sat on the lid of the toilet seat and Jenny put her legs astride him and eased herself down on to his lap.
Back in the bar during this time, the remaining friends partied on without noticing Nick and Jenny's absence. A couple of gas stoves blazed away for warmth and people sat close together beneath blankets because the night's chill had set in. By now, most of them were the worse for wear after all the eating and partying. The stimulation of the Bhuna mixed with the alcohol's effects caused minds to drift towards the abstract and the surreal. Sarah, however, was fast asleep on Emily's shoulder and snored open-mouthed and dribbling.
Tom idly pointed his spliff at a newspaper a bored staff member must have read behind the bar. He wheezed out smoke and said, 'Isn't it funny to see all the things people used to care about?'
'Whuh… whuh?' Joe said, who'd sat and gazed at nothing for half an hour. 'I'm literally…'
Tom was zoned out, not so much in a conversation as a monologue. 'In the papers there's all these things people thought were so important. I guess they got that wrong, huh? I never saw anything in any paper about all this happening, though. This stuff. People cared so much about so-and-so having an affair, or speculating if they had a facelift. It was scandalous if a politician said a naughty word or was caught sparking up a cheeky number behind the Parliament bike sheds…' Tom chuckled away absent-mindedly to himself.
'They worried so much about… about the value of the pound being down by like, one per cent, or unemployment levels going up and drug use…' Joe, Jack and Andy barely understood a word of what he said as he chuckled away to himself.
'Now it doesn't matter how many facelifts they had 'cause they're staggering around all grey and shit. We have handfuls of notes back home that are worth nothing because the pound is down by one hundred per cent, and all the living population is sparking up cheeky numbers and we're all unemployed and on fuckin' drugs!' Tom's laughter was contagious around the others, even if it was only to see him reduced to a giggling fit for a reason they couldn't fathom.
'Oh… my… word…' said Andy. He shook his head as he went back to rolling and folding an elaborate, multi-skinned construction. 'Anyway, it's not a drug, it's a herb.'
Jack plucked the joint from Tom's fingers as he was doubled up, helpless in his giggling fit. 'I'll just take that one off you,' he said.
Joe was roused from his daydreaming. 'Go on,' he said to Andy in a bleary, thick voice. 'Tell us again about the Herb, and why does it have such a silly name? I think it's great.'
Andy sighed and wrung his spidery fingers, which became clumsy and uncooperative again. He tried to fob him off by saying 'the Bhuna's life,' but the question couldn't be so easily dismissed. 'Ryan got the seeds from a dodgy mate. The original plant was a one-off, a freak… you've got to look after them. A lot. A lot of what makes it – what gives it the effect – is because of what you feed it… the fertiliser…'
'That's not what I heard before,' said Jack. 'I thought you said it was a clipping of some experiment his biochemist brother nicked from a lab.'
Andy apparently didn't hear him. 'Originally we didn't have a name for it, even though we smoked it now and then. Well, a lot. Pretty much every day. We couldn't think what to call it. One day we sat around having a sesh and that was when it came to us and gave us the knowledge and wisdom to know its name.' Jack and Joe quizzically glanced at each other.
'We were getting hungry. We got the munchies pretty bad.' Andy rambled on as he resumed his work on the spliff. 'Something about it gives you a real appetite, makes you feel like eating something spicy, so we set about trying to order a curry.
'Someone was really baked, I can't remember who. They sat there for hours watching the spliff go round and suddenly yelled out "I want Bhuna!" and we passed him the spliff and he was the happiest guy you've ever seen. The look on his face! For some reason it was so funny, the way he said it. We just knew it then, all at once, and the name stuck. Bhuna. It sounded so right.
'We also needed a name for it that we could say around tutors or parents or people like that so they wouldn't know what we were talking about,' Andy said. He held a thumb and little finger to his ear to represent a phone. 'I really fancy "going for a curry" right now. How about we get some Bhuna cracked on? Ryan was training to be a chef back then, so the two just went together. It became tradition.'
'There she is.' The last pieces of Andy's creation came together and he got a little cheer and a clap.
After a while, the sequence of events became confused to anyone trying to remember them, especially after the huge tulip-shaped creation that Andy had made and shared with anyone left conscious.
Emma sat on Tom's lap with her arms around his neck. She used to be a plain, down to earth kind of girl with shoulder-length, mousey brown hair and the kind of practical, bossy personality that suggested a future career as a retail manager. Some wondered how she got mixed up in this kind of crowd. It may have been that she was determined to live a little and try the 'Uni Experience' for the couple of years that it lasted. Maybe she got called 'boring' or 'frumpy' once.
Now she was a daily smoker like the rest of them, had shaved off one side of her hair, put braids in the rest and accumulated piercings. Emma's face paint style was half powder blue, half magenta, with purple ovals that looked like praying mantis eyes over her own along with gold art-deco pattern embellishments.
Emma and Tom hadn't spoken to anyone for hours, but every so often they would stop kissing to drunkenly whisper something in each other's ears then smile and start kissing again. Jack sat beside them, next to Emily. In the press of people his shoulder squashed up against Tom and Emma's side. He wrinkled his nose at Emily because they could hear the wet kissing noises. Emily giggled. She was by herself, since Sarah had disappeared somewhere, possibly to be sick in the toilets as Katie held back her hair.
'Katie never got round to finishing my face paint,' Emily said. Her voice was quiet, timid, but each word was like music to Jack's ears.
'Oh, I couldn't see because of the dark,' said Jack.
'It's a shame. She only got half way,' Emily said.
Jack was struck with a brilliant idea. 'I don't suppose those two will be in any state to finish it now. Maybe I could?' Already his heart fluttered at the prospect. He was a genius.
Jack's face paint had long since been finished by Joe. It was in his adopted style of a red and white harlequin pattern. A goofy, uneven smile curved up his cheek in orange while an eyebrow arched quizzically on the opposing side. He searched around the mess on the table for paints.
'Normally I have one half deep blue. It represents the night. The other is circular and white. That's supposed to be like the moon,' Emily explained. 'Also, I have a red kiss mark in lipstick on my forehead, right at the top but to the side…'
'I know,' said Jack.
He was thrilled. He'd actually got an opportunity to talk to Emily without Sarah and Katie getting in the way and spoiling things. More than that, he got to do her face paint, which meant he could get close to her and even got to touch her. His adrenaline flowed and he willed himself over and over again in his mind to not balls it all up and make an ass of himself.
He was really feeling the effects, though, after all the partying. Especially after the last couple of hits from the tulip, which Emily politely declined. The intensity of the high made a whining hum in the background, his vision was swimming and it was hard to get his limbs to move how he wanted. The pressure was on. He had one shot to make a good impression. He dabbed on some paint with a sponge to smooth over Emily's base layer of white, which was patchy and unfinished.
He hesitated. He didn't want to paint Emily in her old pattern. He thought that Emily's normal design was unflattering. It didn't make her look pretty. The wisdom about face designs was that it was half the painter's perception of the person and half that person's personality that shone through to the pattern on their face.
The blue side hid half her face. Jack thought it looked strange when you saw her from either side, blue or white, and it made her eyes look different from each other. To him it seemed as though the lipstick kiss mark that Sarah and Katie put on her forehead was condescending. After all, isn't that where people kissed a child they looked down to? Katie and Sarah had a lipstick-red heart shape on their lips. Emily's lips were as left as white as the moon, kissless. Perhaps he should probably stick to her old design, Jack thought, but then if he did so, how could he make a memorable impression?
As he carefully dabbed paint away, he got a chance to see her up close. Emily had deep blue eyes, a bashful smile and a curvy figure he liked, though girls seemed to complain about it. Jack seemed to go against the grain when he thought Emily was pretty. Pictures of her on social media had been rare, she was the kind of person who hid behind someone or slipped into the background whenever a camera was brought out. She was smarter than most girls but an underachiever, which was endearing. Jack was of the opinion that a book in a girl's hand was infinitely more appealing than a skimpy dress, heels and make-up. Especially as heels made girls taller than him. Girls like Sarah, who 'everyone' liked, could burn as far as he cared.
As he carefully began to paint, or at least try his hardest not to poke Emily in the eye with the brush, Jack wondered whether to comment on how Sarah and Katie hadn't bothered to finish the job on Emily. Of course he saw how they treated her, how they spoke down to her and told her to do things. They decided between the two of them what they would do, then they'd get up, leave and expect her to follow. He wanted to tell her that she was pretty, that she was a lovely person, that she didn't deserve to be treated so badly. Maybe they could be happy together.
Jack wondered what it would take, what he could do, to make Emily be with him as Emma was with Tom now. It's what he wished for, but he had no idea how he could make it happen. Whatever he said about the girls of the group holding the rest of them back and what he said about leaving them behind, it didn't apply to Emily. She was the exception in his philosophy.
He had so many things he wanted to say but no idea how to say them. To keep silent was agonising, but he kept painting.
How about I try something a little different?' Jack asked to break the silence.
Emily shifted a little. 'Okay,' she said.
'Ugh, I can't keep my eyes closed any more,' Emily said. 'I get dizzy and I can see moving colours and shapes behind my eyelids.'
'I know, right? Me too,' Jack said, as he fought to keep focus.
Jack was fixated on the task. Every so often Emily would look up at him and sometimes he wouldn't be so involved in his activity not to notice and smile back.
Eventually he finished, or at least couldn't feasibly add or change anything more. The end result wasn't quite how he'd imagined it, but he was pleased with the new design.
Jack kept the base white, used a pink blusher on Emily's cheeks, a light blue eyeshadow and put the red back on her lips. Jack had always considered himself the artistic type and had put a lot of feeling into it. There were one or two things he would correct next time she asked him to paint her, but he thought she looked very pretty.
Emily took one look in the mirror and gave a loud exclamation. 'Oh my God,' she said. 'I look like a whore!' She laughed scornfully, disbelieving at Jack.
Jack tried laughing too, nervously, taken aback. Was she joking? No, apparently now. The mood was shattered.
'Is that what you think I'm like? Thanks a lot!' Emily exclaimed, lips twisting in fury as she stormed off.
Defeated, bewildered, Jack slumped down in his old place next to Joe.
'What just happened?' Joe asked.
'I don't know,' Jack said hollowly.