A Party

Sometimes you go to a party and you don’t know what the fuck to do with yourself. Hell, sometimes you’re on the way to a party and you don’t know what the fuck to do with yourself. There was me, in the middle of winter, haunting the booze aisle of a Tesco Metro like a spectre, not knowing what the fuck to do with myself.

The girl whose flat I was headed to, I didn’t know well at all. I knew her friend, who managed to get me and a few others an invitation to her birthday party. I was happy to be invited – it had been a slow few months and I was bored – but I wasn’t comfortable arriving early or even on time. Typically, the train and subway had gotten me to the West End ten minutes before we were told to turn up, so I figured I’d hang around Tesco like an extra in one long movie scene. I did need booze though, for myself and as a gift for the host, so that’s where I headed. I picked up a crate of beer, but put it down when I realised I needed the option of getting drunk fast if the people at the party were uninteresting; if I only had beer I’d get all bloated and look fat, so I went with vodka. I settled on a brand I hadn’t drunk since high school, because it was cheap and I could use it in the little ‘working-class hero’ routine I sometimes liked to do at university parties.

When I walked over to look at the wine, which I thought would do well as a present, I noticed a couple over my shoulder. Then it struck me that I knew them from some of my classes, and that they weren’t a couple. The girl had blonde hair which used to be dark, and an impressive dimple on her chin which I thought was the kind of feature a lot of guys might find unattractive, but I didn’t. The boy was heavy and trailed after his friend like a dog. I realised then that they were probably headed to the same flat I was, because they were part of the same group of friends as the host. Meeting them at the party would be fine, but it would be premature and awkward to talk to them here, so I swerved into another aisle.

After giving them time to leave, I went back and picked up a bottle of white wine. It was from New Zealand, and cheap like the vodka. I figured I could get away with it because the girl wouldn’t expect a gift from me, nor would anyone looking at me think I knew anything about wine. Leaving the shop, I checked the time. It was ten minutes past the hour, which was still earlier than I would have liked to go, but I thought I had better make my way over. If I ambled around the streets, someone on their way to the party would probably see me and tell everyone that I was weird behind my back. The cold bit through my clothes, but the usual wind had abated and spared my hair. As I approached the flat, I wanted to go in less and less. I didn’t usually have a great time at these parties, but then it hit me that I was in my last year and I wouldn’t have the chance to go to many more. A little ball of something formed at the top of my stomach and pulled me to the door.

The flat was on the first floor. The close was like most in Glasgow: a white wall with a solid block of green paint along the bottom, a cold concrete floor and tight, stubby steps that were easy to trip over. I once did a little door-knocking for a local politician, and I went through God knows how many of those closes. It’s strange just how many people in this city share the same quiet portal into the world.

Erin, the host, opened the door. Her high cheekbones pushed their way up into her eyes to form the kind of smile only people with impressive teeth pull, and she told me she was so glad I could make it. It was a warmer greeting than I deserved, but I was grateful because it eased my nerves a little. As she led me to the living room I gave her the bottle of wine and she threw her thanks over her shoulder. I could barely keep up with her; she was a runner and had long legs like pistons made from smooth pinewood.

The living room was dark, lit only by lamps and candles, but pleasant and filled with people who seemed harmless. There was a small, well-decorated Christmas tree sitting on the sill of the bay window that looked down onto the street. It was almost February, but a lot of the students I knew kept decorations up to help themselves through January, which was generally miserable. I saw my friend Laura in a corner, her shoulder against a tall bookcase as she talked to baby-faced boy with an awful beard. Of all the people I knew coming to the party, I was glad it was her that was here first. Laura was one of the few people you meet in life who is singularly good-natured. I thought she must have taken the lesson from every Disney film she saw as a kid and fused them all to her character fiercely. Wherever you go, it’s nice to have someone happy to see you.

The first thing I did was go to the kitchen, which was adjoined to the living room, and pour myself a drink. I was eager and poured too much vodka and not enough coke but I drank it anyway. Laura, seeing me come in, made her way over.

‘Hi! How are you doing?’ she said.

‘Alright, how’s things?’ I replied.

‘I wasn’t sure if you were gonna come or not.’

‘Yeah well, my other engagements were cancelled so.’

‘So lucky us then?’

‘Lucky you. Are Luke and Sarah coming?’ I asked, taking another drink. The vodka burned its way down my throat.

‘Hmm, I think Luke was maybe at the football with Anna or something?’ Laura’s eyes patrolled the ceiling as she thought, which I always found cute. ‘They might come later. Sarah is definitely coming soon.’

‘Ok, cool.’ I paused, beginning to look around the room, where ten or eleven people were mixing politely. ‘Not sure I know anyone else here.’

‘They’re mostly runners, I think. Athletics anyway. I only know a couple because I’ve met them here before.’

‘Ah, ok. How disconcerted should I be that I’m in a room full of people that could catch me if I pissed them off?

Laura’s face, pink with the heat of the flat, scrunched into a sweet, childish grin. We began to move from the kitchen, towards the middle of the living room floor. Laura pried her way into a small circle that had gathered, pulling me in behind her.

The conversation was boring because it wasn’t relevant to me, and I had nothing to offer it. Along with Laura and I there were two girls and a boy. The girls were biologists and the boy was a medic and all three spent their weekends at athletics events. They talked about things that had happened in their labs and I tried to let my mind slip back to chemistry in high school, where I sat on a tall blue stool and fiddled with creaking gas taps and rusted Bunsen burners. None of it made much sense to me.

One of the girls looked well under five feet, and had large, exaggerated features as if they were the true size and the rest of her had shrunk. I thought she looked like a character from a TV show I watched as a child, with Plasticine zoo animals who lived and talked like the dreary middle class. I realised this was patronising – she was clearly smart and honest and would likely go farther in life than me – but all the time she talked I saw her as a little animal. Then, over her head, I saw the boy and girl from earlier come into the room, smiling and touching shoulders. Apparently, they hadn’t come straight here. I felt a bit of a fool.

The night went on without harm or excitement. I became more and more drunk with the vodka, but not so I was conspicuous. I do a very good job of not appearing drunk for the most part, until I pass a point and become loud and obnoxious as hell, but I don’t often reach that stage because I know how bad I get. It’s also why I don’t drink whisky.

Presently, I was sitting on a couch, wedged tight against the armrest by two other medics, such that every time I reached into the pocket of my jeans to grab my phone I peeled the skin below my fingernails. I looked out the window into the dim orange light in cautious anticipation of the snow which was forecast. Even after Christmas had passed, I still liked the snow.

When I looked back to the room, a girl had perched herself on the armrest beside me. She had oppressive black curls that framed her face, like sheep’s wool. Her cheeks were pink in the heat like everybody else’s, and she had a slight vacancy in her eyes that said she was the kind of person whose mind was rarely in the room with her. Between her smile and her unsolicited approach though, it was clear she wasn’t disinterested. I thought for a second that she fancied me, but it was more likely that she was bored, and I looked bored from afar, so it made sense to fix both.

‘Hi,’ she said. Her voice had the vacancy of her eyes.

‘Alright?’ I replied.

‘I’m Amy.’

‘Jack.’

‘How do you know Erin?’

‘Eh, friend of a friend really. Do you know Laura? Yeah, I’m pals with her. Erin’s on my course though.’

‘You study law as well?’

‘I do, unfortunately. If the night’s worth nothing, I’ve at least made plenty of contacts for future medical negligence cases.’ She laughed in a way that suggested she wasn’t one such contact.

‘How is it that you know Erin?’ I asked.

‘So, this is quite a strange story.’ She swung her legs round towards me, trapping mine to the couch. Seeing more of her now, I noticed a little marigold flower pinned to her jumper. ‘I’m from up on Orkney, and Erin was actually from there originally too. We went to primary school together.’

An aww escaped my mouth, which was genuine. I remembered a friend I had when I was younger, who I hadn’t seen since I was 12, and how before then we were inseparable.

‘And then she moved down here and we obviously lost touch. But then I came to Glasgow for uni, and first week of freshers, we bump into each other!’

‘That is a strange one! Funny how these things can work out.’ I didn’t know what else to say.

The conversation went on a while, but I didn’t fancy her so made only a slight effort and she left. The whole time I was thinking about that little yellow flower, which was made of plastic. I couldn’t see why you would wear a plastic flower. All a flower’s beauty is in its life, and life is only beautiful if it comes to an end. But then I thought how I didn’t want to die. When I was young, I felt it could never happen, but I think everybody loses that as they grow up. I wonder how many parties I’ll go to before I die.