Excerpt from the Novel Am I the Air? by Sophia Argyris
I looked at my watch; it was close to 10.30, too early to be thinking of making my escape, so I poured myself another drink and seeing a door to the back garden, slipped out into the grey London night. It was quiet outside, just the sound of cars on the road now and then, and the voices from inside tickling the back of my neck. I was relieved to be alone, and walked down to the end of the garden where I stood in unkempt grass, looking up towards the sky.
You can never really see the night sky in London, it’s always hidden somewhere behind the lights and pollution, as though they’ve pushed it up and further away from the earth. I was remembering the skies up north, when we got up very early in winter, the stars so bright and close above the fields and our house a big black shape, steadfast in the midst of it all. Everything had clarity then, the sharply defined certainty of day and night and day; not the smudgy half-life lived in the city. I stood for a long time in the garden, sobering up, with no desire to do anything.
Behind me the door opened and I heard low voices and giggling. They hadn’t noticed me and for a while I stayed where I was, hoping they’d go back in, but they didn’t and I felt uncomfortable standing there so I turned and walked back to the house. The couple by the door fell silent and let me pass, obviously feeling awkward because they had thought they were alone.
Inside was hot and stuffy, the air stale in my throat. I decided I wouldn’t stay any longer even if it looked strange my leaving early. After all there was no reason for me to be there and I shouldn’t have to make decisions based on how other people would see me.
I went to find Louise to tell her I was going. She was standing with Vicky, her face sickly from too much alcohol. Vicky was leaning against Tom, looking up at him with a simpering, wounded expression, saying ‘Go on, please get me a drink, I’m too lazy to go all the way to the kitchen’. She was using the voice of a petulant child begging for sweets, drawing out each word on a whining note, but Tom pushed her off him, said ‘Stop talking like that, it’s annoying’ and walked away. Vicky stood in silence, she looked ill and miserable. Then she turned to Louise with a wide unreal smile and said ‘Oh well, a trip to the kitchen it is then. I’ll get you one while I’m there’.
I walked over to Louise and said ‘I’m leaving, are you staying or have you had enough?’
‘Why are you leaving so early? It’s just getting started. Will you get home ok by yourself?’ She wasn’t really interested, her awareness of reality was tenuous and she was in that state of intoxication where your words seem a long way from you as soon as they’ve left your mouth.
‘Of course. I know the way. But Louise, will you get a taxi home later? The tubes might not be running by the time you leave and, well, you might be a bit drunk by then…’ I looked at her face, her skin shiny with the heat of the room and with the alcohol, and wondered if I should stay after all.
‘I’ll get a taxi, or I’ll stay here, Vicky said it would be fine. Don’t worry about me.’ She said this in the confiding manner of a drunk, putting her hand on my arm. I thought, ‘well, even if no one else looks after her Mariana will’.
As I left I saw Vicky coming out of her room. She looked manically bright and cheerful, but there was something strained and unnatural about her movements and the way her eyes seemed to be screwed so tightly into her face. It disturbed me, but I put it out of mind and went home.
You can never really see the night sky in London, it’s always hidden somewhere behind the lights and pollution, as though they’ve pushed it up and further away from the earth. I was remembering the skies up north, when we got up very early in winter, the stars so bright and close above the fields and our house a big black shape, steadfast in the midst of it all. Everything had clarity then, the sharply defined certainty of day and night and day; not the smudgy half-life lived in the city. I stood for a long time in the garden, sobering up, with no desire to do anything.
Behind me the door opened and I heard low voices and giggling. They hadn’t noticed me and for a while I stayed where I was, hoping they’d go back in, but they didn’t and I felt uncomfortable standing there so I turned and walked back to the house. The couple by the door fell silent and let me pass, obviously feeling awkward because they had thought they were alone.
Inside was hot and stuffy, the air stale in my throat. I decided I wouldn’t stay any longer even if it looked strange my leaving early. After all there was no reason for me to be there and I shouldn’t have to make decisions based on how other people would see me.
I went to find Louise to tell her I was going. She was standing with Vicky, her face sickly from too much alcohol. Vicky was leaning against Tom, looking up at him with a simpering, wounded expression, saying ‘Go on, please get me a drink, I’m too lazy to go all the way to the kitchen’. She was using the voice of a petulant child begging for sweets, drawing out each word on a whining note, but Tom pushed her off him, said ‘Stop talking like that, it’s annoying’ and walked away. Vicky stood in silence, she looked ill and miserable. Then she turned to Louise with a wide unreal smile and said ‘Oh well, a trip to the kitchen it is then. I’ll get you one while I’m there’.
I walked over to Louise and said ‘I’m leaving, are you staying or have you had enough?’
‘Why are you leaving so early? It’s just getting started. Will you get home ok by yourself?’ She wasn’t really interested, her awareness of reality was tenuous and she was in that state of intoxication where your words seem a long way from you as soon as they’ve left your mouth.
‘Of course. I know the way. But Louise, will you get a taxi home later? The tubes might not be running by the time you leave and, well, you might be a bit drunk by then…’ I looked at her face, her skin shiny with the heat of the room and with the alcohol, and wondered if I should stay after all.
‘I’ll get a taxi, or I’ll stay here, Vicky said it would be fine. Don’t worry about me.’ She said this in the confiding manner of a drunk, putting her hand on my arm. I thought, ‘well, even if no one else looks after her Mariana will’.
As I left I saw Vicky coming out of her room. She looked manically bright and cheerful, but there was something strained and unnatural about her movements and the way her eyes seemed to be screwed so tightly into her face. It disturbed me, but I put it out of mind and went home.