The House Guest by Mark Edwards(13)

‘Maybe it’ll cool down now,’ I said, going over to watch people running for cover outside, a sheet of water already forming on the surface of the road and rushing towards the drains. For a moment I wondered what would happen if the rain didn’t stop, if it filled the sewers beneath us and the river overflowed and the streets flooded. I pictured a world washed clean of its sins, and thought I might welcome it.

Then I turned back to reality.

Ruth was slumped on the sofa, Eden beside her, the remains of our meal spilling from cartons on the coffee table in front of them. Noodles and lumps of tofu that had fallen on to the floor; chopsticks standing rigid in the unfinished rice. A Japanese friend had once told me that a bowl of rice with the chopsticks stuck upright is a symbol of death. But I had drunk too much tequila to do anything about it. With the broken A/C, the room was as hot as a restaurant kitchen, like sitting in a cloud of steam. My hair was plastered to my forehead with sweat and my T-shirt clung to my chest. My armpits and the backs of my knees were wet. Ruth and Eden were in a similar state. Ruth’s hair had gone frizzy and kind of wild, and Eden’s cheeks were pink. She had produced a little portable fan which we had been passing between us like stoners handing round a spliff, grateful for the tiniest breath of relief.

I sat back down on the wooden chair I’d pulled over from the table.

I was sure Ruth was about to fall asleep. I didn’t know how many shots of tequila she’d had before she moved on to beer. Her eyes were half open, her chin dipped low towards her chest.

‘Ruth, are you okay?’ I asked. The tequila was heavy in my bloodstream too. I could feel it in my brain, like fingers stroking the inside of my head. I shifted forward to pick up my own bottle of beer. ‘Do you need to go to bed?’

‘No.’ Ruth pushed herself upright and lifted her head. ‘I’m fine. I’m hunky-dory.’

Another clap of thunder filled the air, and she suddenly got to her feet and headed towards the back door.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

‘I’m going to wake myself up, Adam.’

Ruth ran outside, laughing as she went, and I jumped up – my head whirled; maybe I was even drunker than I thought – and watched through the kitchen window as she danced in the rain, spinning in a slow circle, face raised to the sky, barefoot on the grass.

‘It feels so good!’ Ruth called, and Eden hesitated for a moment before running outside to join her. They held each other’s hands and jumped up and down like excited children.

More thunder boomed, and lightning flashed overhead, revealing, just for a moment, a flotilla of black clouds. My booze-addled brain was thrown into that scene in The Immaculate. The apocalypse. The end of the world. I blinked and rubbed my eyes and lightning flashed again, so close I thought I could smell it: a singed electric scent. The sky had turned the colour of dried blood and the trees in the garden swayed and seemed to be calling to me. I stared at the ground and imagined worms wriggling in the soil; watched as fat raindrops bounced in slow motion off the surface of the swing, which moved back and forth as if an invisible child were playing there.

Jesus, this tequila was strong.

Then Ruth and Eden were running back inside, dripping wet, just like the first time I’d seen Eden. They grabbed towels from the bathroom.

‘I feel so much better,’ said Ruth, casting the towel aside and going back into the living room. She sat back on the sofa, still wet and not seeming to care. Eden said something about getting changed and ran up the stairs.

Ruth reached for the bottle of tequila. One was already empty. I didn’t feel better at all, but I saw my own arm pick up a shot glass, waiting for Ruth to pour.

We both knocked back a shot, not bothering with the salt or lime. I banged my glass down, refilled it and did it again. Ruth did the same. I closed my eyes and felt the chill creep through my bones. When I opened them again the room seemed both darker and lighter, objects glinting and shining in the shadows. Ruth shone too, like her skin was luminescent.

Oh God, she was beautiful. I wanted to kiss her. She looked like she wanted to kiss me too. But then Eden came back down wearing a dry shirt and pair of shorts. She flopped on to the sofa and smiled at me, showing off her perfect white teeth. Thunder sounded again, but from further away.

‘Hey, Adam, are you still with us?’

I blinked at Eden, who was clicking her fingers in front of my face. I must have spaced out for a second. Or was it a minute? Nothing seemed to make much sense anymore. I had a jagged pain in my stomach and I clutched it, leaning forward, telling myself not to be sick. Ruth was holding her hand in front of her face and studying it like she’d never seen it before. Eden got up and left the room and I don’t know how much time passed before she came back, but when she sat back down her expression was serious. Sad.

‘I’ve got to tell you guys how grateful I am,’ she said. ‘For letting me stay here. A complete stranger. I could have been anyone.’

‘You’re a friend of Jack and Mona’s,’ I said, as the pain in my belly abated a little.

‘Yeah,’ added Ruth, in what sounded like a slowed-down version of her regular voice. ‘Any friend of theirs is a friend of ours.’

Eden’s eyes were damp. ‘Thank you. But you both . . . You showed trust. And kindness. I can’t tell you what that means after . . . after everything that’s happened to me.’