Looking for Andrew McCarthy

People started to join in nervously, however just as they were getting going, the front door slammed open. Shadowed in the open doorway against the wet October evening, the light from the streetlamp bouncing off his face, clutching his saxophone and dripping onto the carpet stood Billy. He lifted the saxophone and started to play along. Slowly, very slowly, the handle of the bathroom door started to turn.

Ellie burst out of the bathroom.

‘Hey, sugar,’ said Billy, curling his lip at her. Billy was medium height and emaciated and looked, in a bad light, like Rob Lowe’s ugly younger brother. After he’d been addicted to crack for fifteen years and had a YTS haircut.

‘Sorry,’ said Ellie, calmly. ‘Did someone say something? Or did I just hear a cat being sick?’

Julia manoeuvred herself to Ellie’s side and put her arm round her.

‘Why don’t you just come over here and we’ll cut the cake?’

‘It didn’t mean anything, sugar.’

‘Would you like a canapé?’ said Annabel. ‘I made them myself.’

Billy ignored her, pulled on his cigarette and dropped his ash on the carpet. Annabel sniffed loudly.

‘Babe, I’ve just composed a little melody for you to show you exactly how much you mean to me.’

‘Just as well it’s not the other way around,’ said Ellie, crossly. ‘Otherwise we’d all have to listen to “Agadoo”.’

Billy lifted up the saxophone, framing himself artistically in the doorway, winked meaningfully at her and threw back his head to start blowing.

‘This isn’t the one that sounds like “Baker Street” is it?’ said Ellie.

Billy paused and slowly lowered the sax. ‘Ehm, yes. Yes it is that one.’

Ellie sighed and slowly began eating a canapé.

‘Oh well. Go on then.’

‘You’ve put me off now.’

‘Fine.’

Billy looked down at Annabel, who seemed to have accrued a dustbuster from somewhere.

‘Excuse me, but I’m trying to make what’s known as a gesture?’

‘Yes, well, you’re actually making what’s known as a mess.’

Billy sighed and, very slowly, lowered the saxophone.

‘You know darling,’ he said to Ellie in a conversational sneer. ‘It’s not like we were going to get married or anything.’

‘Nobody gets married,’ groaned Ellie.

‘… it’s you that said you didn’t want commitment.’

‘Yeah, I don’t need a lot of commitment to ME.’ Ellie found herself yelling. ‘But you can’t make a commitment to a piece of TOAST.’

‘Jeez, what happened to everyone being laid back?’ said Billy.

‘For fuck’s sake Billy. Just because I went to Red Wedge doesn’t mean that you’re allowed to get off with a trombonist, okay?’

He pouted. ‘I just don’t know why it’s such a big deal. It’s not like I’ve bought her her own handset for the playstation.’

‘Oh,’ said Ellie. ‘So she’s been round your house.’ She stared at him. He was idly brushing back his gelled hair. Fury welled in her.

‘It’s a studio, not a house, okay babe? Chill! It’s ironic really … you know … being found snogging by someone who says they don’t want commitment then them blowing a gasket.’

‘For once in your fucking life …’ she screamed at him. The chiropodist began to edge towards the door.

‘Just for once: this is NOT fucking ironic, okay?’

‘Not unless he did the same thing on her twentieth birthday in the same clothes,’ whispered Arthur to Julia, who nodded.

‘For fuck’s sake, you prick. You really hurt my feelings. Can’t you see that?’

Billy shrugged. ‘It’s like that movie …’

‘It’s not like ANY movie, Butthead,’ shouted Ellie. ‘You actually hurt me, and you seem chronically incapable of giving a fuck.’

She burst into tears and retreated into the bathroom.

‘Chicks, eh?’ said Billy in the bad fake American accent he affected much of the time. He looked closely at the bathroom door. There was no sign of life. He turned and slouched moodily out of the flat.

‘And how about another quick “Happy Birthday to You”?’ suggested Annabel.

Six hours later Ellie was still lying across her bed in something approximating despair, although she was coming to the end of the drama queen stage. Mascara was running down her face and she was clinging onto another empty bottle. Julia and Arthur were sitting on the bed, Colin was mooching around petulantly. Loxy was waiting patiently outside.

‘Oh God,’ she said dramatically. ‘That’s the worst party I’ve ever had. Or been to.’

‘Nonsense.’ said Arthur briskly. ‘What about that time at Annabel’s when you threw up on her mohair rug?’

‘It was round and it was white, okay? Looked like a toilet seat to me. Oh God. I can’t believe I’m thirty. I’m thirty and I have absolutely nothing.’

‘You have masses of things,’ said Arthur, rubbing her back soothingly. ‘Friends, and a flat and a job and everything. And your mobile phone is really, really tiny and silver. I mean, what did you think things were going to be like when you got to this stage?’

Ellie’s vision clouded over as she thought of what it was going to be like.

‘Let me see,’ she said, staring into the middle distance. ‘I’m wearing a beautiful pink dress.’

‘Oh no,’ said Julia. ‘Not this one again.’

‘And I’m in a big pink room with billowing curtains … and I’m dancing to Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark … and my handsome partner leans over and whispers something like …’

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure house prices will keep going up for ever,’ said Arthur, squeezing her tightly. ‘I can’t believe you thought that having an eighties party would make the Brat Pack happen.’