The Mouse On The Bar Room Floor
Some Guinness was spilled on the bar room floor
When the pub was shut for the night.
Out of his hole crept a wee brown mouse
And, in the pale moonlight,
He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor,
Then back on his haunches he sat.
And all night long you could hear him roar,
‘Bring on the goddamn cat!’
—An Irish Tall Tale
ONE
Layla
Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.
—Karl, Age 5
‘What are you standing there for? Go use the upstairs bathroom,’ Ria said, when she spotted me at the end of the queue to use the downstairs cloakroom.
She was right. The queue was long. ‘I’ll just use the portaloo outside,’ I said.
‘Don’t be so silly. There’s a humongous queue there, too.’
I bit my lip. Ria was BJ Pilkington’s second cousin. We were in BJ Pilkington’s house for a party he was throwing for my brother, Jake, and his new wife, Lily. And while I liked and socialized with Ria, BJ and I shared a stinging mutual dislike for each other.
In fact, I did not even want to come, but my mother had forced me to. ‘It’s in your brother’s honor,’ she had said in that displeased tone I knew not to disobey. ‘It’d be ignorant not to, and God help me, I didn’t bring you up to be ignorant.’
‘Are you really sure it’ll be OK?’ I asked looking doubtfully at the long, curving, dark wood staircase. Nobody else seemed to be going up it. It was understood that the party was restricted to the four reception rooms downstairs.
‘Of course,’ she insisted confidently.
I gave it one last attempt. ‘I don’t even know where it is, and I don’t really want to go wandering around by myself.’
‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ she said, and, taking my hand, made for the stairs.
‘Thanks, Ria,’ I said, following her meekly. I did need the bathroom rather badly. At the top of the stairs I looked down and saw all the beautiful people dressed in their absolute finest. That’s the thing with us travelers. We love our color. Peacocks we all are. There wasn’t a plain black gown in sight. Ria took me down a corridor and half opened a door to a blue and white bathroom.
‘See you downstairs,’ she called brightly and walked away.
I used the toilet, washed my hands and stood in front of the mirror. My deep auburn hair was straight and came down to the tips of my breasts. My eyebrows were straight and my eyes were blue. My nose was narrow, lips were generous and my jaw was strongly defined.
I was wearing a duck egg blue taffeta dress that I had designed and sewn myself. It had a tight bodice, a wide bow at the back of my waist, the ends of which trailed lower than the hem of my mid-thigh, honey boo boo skirt. Underneath were layers upon layers of gathered electric blue tulle and lace petticoats. Crinolines, my grandma used to call them.
I fluffed them up. I loved petticoats. In my opinion life was way too short not to wear petticoats that stick out from under your skirt. I reapplied my lipstick, pressed my lips and left the bathroom.
As I walked along the corridor I was suddenly and very strangely overcome by an irresistible curiosity. I wanted to open a door, just one, and see how BJ lived. I don’t know why since I thought him an arrogant beast. But just for those seconds I wanted to see more than everyone downstairs saw. Oh! What the hell, just a quick look, I thought, and opened a door. It was plain and obviously just a spare bedroom. I closed it and opened another. It, too, had an unlived-in appearance. Again very plain. I tried another door.
Oh! Wow!