The A to Z of You and Me

S

Skin

‘THE SKIN,’ KELVIN reads from the textbook, ‘is the largest organ on the human body.’ He looks at me. ‘Well,’ he says, with his big stupid face, ‘it’s not the largest organ on my body.’

‘Gah!’ I throw my pen down and it bounces off the kitchen table and rolls across the floor. ‘I knew you were going to say that!’

‘What? It’s true!’

Watching Kelvin’s mind at work is like watching an oil tanker trying to do a three-point turn. I reach down and retrieve my pen, and try to get back into my notes. I’ve got to stop this jitteriness. I’m starting to get really panicky about this exam.

‘It’s such a stupid joke,’ I say.

‘So? All good jokes are stupid.’

‘No, but it’s bad stupid. It’s the first thing anyone ever says — and it’s just impossible. It doesn’t work. Even if you had a cock the size of Ecuador, the skin would still be the size of Ecuador plus one human, wouldn’t it?’

Kelvin ignores me, and flips the page.

‘Skin renews itself every twenty-eight days,’ he reads.

‘I know.’

‘My cock renews itself every twenty-eight minutes.’

Laura is slumped, still in her dressing gown, in the middle of the sofa in the front room of her flat, crying. The utter pitifulness of the expression on her face is almost funny. I feel bad for thinking it, because the state of her actual face isn’t funny at all.

The skin looks badly scalded, angry red cheeks sweeping down to an almost bony yellowish colour under her nose and around her mouth.

‘I’ve got to go to a spa in three days,’ she says, dabbing at her nose with a sopping tissue, ‘and I look like Freddy Krueger.’

‘Well why did you give yourself a chemical peel if you’re going to a spa in three days, you dumb shit?’ says Mal over-loudly. I reckon he’s showing off to hide the embarrassment that they’ve had to drag us round to Laura’s for your medical opinion.

You tentatively settle beside her on the sofa.

‘What exactly was it that you put on your face?’

Laura pushes a box at you.

‘Glycolic acid,’ you read. ‘Did you follow the instructions?’

‘Yeah,’ she nods, sadly. ‘I just pushed up the percentage a little bit. Just a little bit.’

You take up the minutely typed instruction leaflet and scan it. ‘Are you in any pain?’

‘Not so much now,’ she sniffs. ‘At first it felt like my whole face was on fire. Now it’s really tight. But it’s how it looks. I don’t know how long it’s going to look like this.’

Her tears well up again, and you tut sympathetically, flip the instruction leaflet over in your hand.

‘It’s stupid, I know,’ says Laura, ‘but I’m going with Becca for a bring-a-friend-free weekend getaway and I didn’t want to look like some sort of dried-up old hag next to her.’

‘Oh, Laura, you’ve got lovely skin,’ you say.

‘Yeah, except it’s not on her face any more,’ says Mal.

You glare at him.

‘What?’ he says. ‘I could have boiled the kettle and poured it over her head and had the same effect. Cheaper too.’

Laura picks up her compact mirror and lifts and dips her head to assess the damage once again. ‘Becca looks amazing without even trying,’ she says, ‘and I spend ages — like when we went to that fetish club on her birthday?’ She looks up at me, as if asking me to remember. ‘She didn’t need to make any effort, and she was instant eye-candy, and I was stood there in a stupid catsuit and no one gave me a second look. And I thought, it’ll be exactly like that at the spa.’

There’s a momentary process in your eyes as you meet my gaze. Something begins to unsettle in my middle. Fetish club? Some explanation required?

‘It was her birthday, wasn’t it? Ah, that was a top night,’ says Mal, with forced wistfulness. ‘She did look good though, didn’t she?’

‘Thanks a lot, Mal,’ spits Laura. ‘That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.’

‘Well, come on. That body in just a bra? Nothing else? Hats off to her.’

‘Were you there?’ you say, looking across at me. ‘Where was I? I don’t remember even hearing about this.’

I squint at Mal, pretending only to dimly remember, broadcasting all the negatives I can at him.

‘She said her knickers and bra didn’t match, and it was her best bra,’ Laura explains, dolefully.

‘Oh no, I remember, that was when you were on your little break from each other,’ says Mal.

‘I can’t remember,’ I say.

‘I’m not surprised, the state you were in,’ says Mal, laughing.

‘When was this?’ you ask, almost as if you hadn’t heard him. ‘My lips are sealed,’ says Mal. ‘I’ve said too much already.’

‘You were in an S&M club?’

We’re marching along at a furious rate now. I’m starting to get a bit out of breath.

‘I was down,’ I say. ‘We’d all trekked up north to a place Mal knew for a night out. I didn’t want to go, but it was Becca’s birthday, and — they all thought I should be having a good time. I didn’t know that was their plan when we went out, but — when you’re there, you’re there.’

‘And had you taken anything?’

I look across at you, and your eyes are blazing. My first instinct is to look away. I try to suppress it, but by the time I do it’s already too late.

‘I was really low,’ I say.

The clock of our footsteps on the pavement echoes off the walls and parked cars as we square the slabs away behind us, off down the street. ‘I don’t understand it—’ you say. ‘I do not understand first why you can’t just stop it. You’re not addicted, you’re not dependent, it’s just a bad habit you will not kick. And I don’t get how these people, these friends and family, can stand by and let you do this to yourself. And to us.’

‘There was no us at the time. There was no us.’

I can see your eyes are stressed and weary. It’s happening again. The whole thing is going to shit again.

‘Just — tell me what happened,’ you say.

‘OK, look, you’ve got to try to remember how it was — it was a hard time. For us both. It was, wasn’t it?’

You don’t reply.

I sigh unsteadily.

Honesty. Full honesty.

Finally.

‘We were in the club, and a woman was dancing with me, and I was feeling — I was upset over you.’

You frown deeply, processing.

‘And we went into a back room and — I don’t know what happened. We kissed. I remember we kissed.’

‘Do you know who it was?’

You’re looking up at me with hard eyes, scanning, scanning, your irises moving minimally from left to right to left as you look in each of my eyes.

‘Time for more bedsore meds, I’m afraid,’ calls Sheila as she breezes through the door with a smile. She stops in her tracks. ‘Oh, lovey, what’s the matter?’

I’m crying. What is it I’m doing, the grotesque dry twitch, voice, rasping awfulness. I cannot get it out. I want to shed tears but I cannot drink enough water to make tears.

Sheila fixes the door shut and hurries round beside me, but she doesn’t know what to say. She simply stands there and holds my cold hand, strokes the back of it.

‘I should never have started this,’ I say.

‘Started what, my darling?’

‘It’s too painful to remember these things.’

‘Oh, lovey, I’m so sorry, it was only supposed to be a silly game to keep you occupied.’

‘No, no,’ I say, steadily regaining some kind of equilibrium, ‘it’s not you, it’s not you. It’s me.’

Am I imagining it? I’m shocked to see she seems a little choked. Double shine in her eyes.

‘Sheila — could I —? Morphine?’

‘Oh yes, yes, of course. Give me a sec.’