Sandra smelt faintly of sweat and garlic. Harry stared at the ceiling. He was amazed that in his present state he had any sense of smell at all.
‘The smell,’ he asked. ‘Is that you or the men you’ve had tonight?’
‘Both, I assume,’ Sandra replied. ‘Does it bother you?’
‘No,’ Harry answered without knowing for sure whether she meant the smell or the other men.
‘You’re pretty stewed, Harry. We don’t need to—’
‘Feel,’ Harry said, taking her hot, clammy hand and putting it between his legs.
Sandra laughed. ‘Strewth. And there was my mother telling me men who drink have only got big gobs.’
‘With me it’s vice versa,’ Harry said. ‘Booze paralyses my tongue, but inflates my dick. It’s true. I don’t know why, it’s always been like that.’
Sandra sat on him, pulled her flimsy panties to the side and drew him in without any fuss.
He watched her as she bounced up and down. She met his gaze, sent him a brief smile and looked away. It was the kind of smile you get when you’re on the tram and inadvertently stare at someone for too long.
Harry closed his eyes, listened to the rhythmic creak of the bed and thought that it wasn’t exactly true. Booze does paralyse everything. The sensitivity that made him think it would be quick, as he had promised, was gone. Sandra toiled away undaunted as Harry’s thoughts slipped out from under the sheets, out of the bed and out of the window. He travelled beneath an upside-down starry sky across the sea until he reached a white stripe of sand on the coast.
As he came lower he saw the sea crashing onto a beach, and even lower, a town he had visited before and there was a girl he knew lying on the sand. She was asleep, and he landed gently beside her so as not to wake her. Then he lay down and closed his eyes. When he awoke the sun was setting and he was alone. On the promenade behind him people he thought he recognised were taking a stroll. Hadn’t some of them been in films he had seen? Some wore sunglasses and were walking tiny, emaciated dogs on a lead by the tall hotel fronts that loomed on the other side of the street.
Harry padded down to the water’s edge and was about to go into the water when he saw it was full of sea nettles. They lay on the surface stretching out long, red threads, and in the soft, jelly-like mirror reflection he could make out contours of faces. A motorboat was pounding against the sea, coming closer and closer, and suddenly Harry was awake. Sandra was shaking him.
‘There’s someone here!’ she whispered. Harry heard someone pounding on the door.
‘Bloody receptionist!’ he said, jumping up with a pillow in front of him and opening the door.
It was Birgitta.
‘Hi!’ she said, but her smile froze when she saw Harry’s tormented expression.
‘What’s the matter? Is there something wrong, Harry?’
‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘There is something wrong.’ His head was throbbing and every beat of his pulse made his mind go blank. ‘Why are you here?’
‘They didn’t ring. I waited and waited and then I rang home, but no one picked up. They probably misunderstood the time and rang while I was at work. Summer time and all that. They must have been confused by the time difference. Typical Dad.’
She spoke quickly and was obviously trying to act as if it were the most natural thing in the world to stand in a hotel corridor in the middle of the night, chatting about trivia with a man who evidently was not going to let her in.
They stood looking at each other.
‘Have you got someone in there?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Harry said. The slap sounded like a dry twig breaking.
‘You’re drunk!’ she said. Tears were in her eyes.
‘Listen, Birgitta—’
She shoved him hard and sent him flying backwards into the room, and followed him in. Sandra already had her miniskirt in place; she was sitting on the bed trying to put on her shoes. Birgitta doubled up as if she had sudden abdominal pains.
‘You whore!’ she screamed.
‘Right first time,’ Sandra replied drily. She was taking the scene with a great deal more calm than the other two, but still heading for a sharp exit.
‘Grab your things and get out!’ Birgitta shouted in a strangulated voice, throwing the handbag on the chair at Sandra. It hit the bed and disgorged its contents. Harry stood in the middle of the floor, naked and uncertain on his feet, and saw to his surprise a Pekinese sitting on his bed. Beside the fluffy object was a hairbrush, cigarettes, keys, a lump of shimmering, green kryptonite and the biggest selection of condoms Harry had ever seen. Sandra rolled her eyes, grabbed the Pekinese by the scruff of the neck and stuffed it back in the bag.