Page 57 of Beautiful Losers

You’ve got the music in you

‘Oh, come on. It’s the ultimate anthem,’ Jack enthuses, wrapping his arm around the headrest and looking down at my back. ‘A cracking mix of pop and alt-rock, the lyricsjustthe right side of transgressive – what’s not to love?’

‘It’s just so … optimistic,’ I say in a muffled voice from underneath the seat as I retrieve one of Ari’s socks. I sit up, my head banging against the armrest.

‘And yet cynical at the same time,’ says Jack, turning round and stepping out of the car. He puts his right hand on the door and pulls up his left calf, stretching his quads. ‘It’s an indictment of our hyper-consumerist, celebrity-obsessed culture. Did you know Gregg Alexander wrote the lyrics about Marilyn Manson et al to see what everyone would focus on – the celebrity bashing or the criticism of health-insurance companies and big banks?’

His t-shirt, covered in patches of damp, is straining with lightly toned muscle.

‘Nothing’s changed,’ I say, exiting the car and leaning against it to get some respite from the heat. ‘Inequality kills one person every four seconds, but hey guys, have you seen Kim Kardashian’s cat lip-synching to “Gold Digger”?’

‘You don’t think much of your fellow humans, do you?’

‘I think …’ I consider for a moment. ‘I think I’m revising my view of humanity.’

He turns in the opposite direction, grabbing his right foot. I can’t see the expression on his face.

One dance left

This world is gonna pull through

‘I remember reading an interview with Alexander,’ he says, turning his head over his shoulder and raising his voice over the music. ‘He said that the band didn’t want to shove their social message down people’s throats when they were performing live. That when they went on stage, they weren’t afraid to be vulnerable and happy. Even if the happiness didn’t last, they let themselves enjoy the moment. I think you can be deeply sceptical of the world, and still enjoy the good stuff, take the wins when they come.’

What’s real can’t die

He turns round and is studying me closely now with an alert expression, and it feels weird and uncomfortable and natural and incredibly sexually charged all at the same time, and I don’t know what to do. So I do the logical thing and start playing vigorous air guitar to The Best Song of The Nineties. Jack laughs and crosses his arms as he watches. He doesn’t take his gaze off me. Not for a second. Not even when I turn my back to him and slide my knees on the ground in the ultimate rocking-out stance. I stand up, giddy and breathless, buzzing from the exercise and sticky from the heat – a tuft of hair sticking to the sweat on my cheek. Jack takes a step towards me. I freeze, leaning back on the car as he stands in front of me, our bodies almost touching. I can hear him breathing, see the rise and fall in his chest as he looks down at me. I raise my eyes to meet his. He lifts his hand and pushes the sticky strand of hair back off my face. He’s going to kiss me, I think, terrified and thrilled in equal measure. This is really happening.

‘What is this noise?’

We jump, turning our heads in the direction of the disgruntled voice. Myriam is looking around her on the terrace, holding a pickled cucumber, her nose scrunched in disgust.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ she says, looking surprised at seeing us together.

Jack steps back. The spell is broken, though Myriam’s apology is proof I didn’t imagine the spark between us. I straighten up and reach for the bin bag. Jack mutters something about putting Deep Heat on his calf muscle and walks off. The song plays to fade.

Don’t let go

One dance left

30

‘We are going out,’ says Myriam.

She’s leaning against the doorway of the utility room, hollowing out a passionfruit with a teaspoon. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Myriam without something edible in her hand. It reminds me of a YouTube compilation I watched during a slow day at work: ‘Fifteen Minutes of Brad Pitt Eating’. It led me to an article examining why Pitt is always masticating in his movies, and speculated as to the reason we find this so absorbing. Various ‘experts’ chimed in with their theories. One said watching Pitt eat triggers our autonomous sensory meridian response, a pleasurable sensation you get from certain stimuli. Another reckoned Pitt’s humanity is more visible if he’s doing something we all do. I think we just like watching hot people put things in their mouths.

‘Sounds good,’ I say, folding a pair of Ari’s underpants. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Domaine Gayrard. It’s a vineyard not far from here. They’re doing jazz and aperitifs this evening.’

‘Excellent plan. Let me finish this and I’ll grab my keys.’

‘I’ll drive.’ She looks me up and down. ‘You should change.’

‘What’s wrong with this?’ I say.

Myriam throws me a withering look and departs. It’s the second time this week a French woman has deemed my outfit unfit for public consumption. I shrug and continue with my folding as Ari runs into the room.

‘Hey Mummy, Myriam says you need to look like an actual woman tonight and that I have to help you get dressed. Let’s go!’

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