Dreams of Sex and Stage Diving by Martin Millar Page B

terminal disagreement with Amnesia, Elfish had been close to no one except Aran. As Aran was generally too wrapped up in his own depressions and anxieties to be much of a friend, Elfish’s life tended to be lacking in light relief.

twenty-seven
    MO LOUNGED IN a pub in Brixton, pint in hand, satisfied after a successful rehearsal. He and the rest of his band were discussing management. After several semi-successful forays into music, Mo now felt he had enough experience to find some management, someone who might be willing to pay a company to do some publicity for them. It would be nothing extravagant but might well be enough to get them on their way.
    â€œI’ll do some phoning round next week,” said Mo.
    â€œWhy not now?”
    â€œBecause of the name.”
    The drummer was puzzled.
    â€œI thought you’d settled on Queen Mab.”
    â€œI have,” said Mo. “But it will take another week to be finalised. There is the matter of Elfish.”
    None of the rest of the band understood this. They could not see why he did not just adopt the name immediately. If Mo liked it there was no hindrance to him using it.
    â€œWho cares if it upsets Elfish? Elfish is a total fuck-up.”
    Mo took off his leather jacket and slung it over his chair. It fell
on the ground and he let it lie. Over his torso a ragged blue T-shirt strained against the width of his shoulders.
    â€œI want to make her feel even worse than she does already,” said Mo, and the others took this as a reasonable explanation. Mo’s dislike for Elfish was well known, and if it seemed to have grown in the past few days there was nothing remarkable in that. Everyone at the table had at one time or another felt their hatred and disgust for former lovers grow without warning.
    â€œIs she really going to stand up before our gig and recite a speech?”
    â€œYes, she is.”
    Everyone laughed.
    â€œWhat if she succeeds?”
    Mo assured them that she would not. He had experience of Elfish and was confident of her inability to learn lines under pressure.
    A thin, black-clad woman with long blonde hair and tattooed shoulders walked into the pub, causing the heads of all the band to swivel.
    â€œI know her,” said Cody. “That’s Amnesia. I thought she’d left London.”

twenty-eight
    ELFISH WAVERED BETWEEN going out and getting on with things or spending the whole day in bed. It was vital to her endeavours that she kept busy. Unfortunately she did not feel like keeping busy.
    She had a new bottle of whisky, cheap from the supermarket. To bring the television up to her room, stay under the blankets, drink whisky and pretend to learn the speech was a powerful temptation.
    Eventually, late in the day, she dragged herself up. She was wearing several T-shirts and many pairs of socks. Both the T-shirts and the socks were ragged, dirty and caked in ages-old sweat. She pulled on her leggings, stuffed her feet in her boots and manoeuvred her arms through the ripped lining of her leather jacket.
    Outside the sun shone and Elfish squinted in disapproval. She hated it when the sun shone brightly. It hurt her eyes, even when they were covered by her hair.
    â€œHello, Elfish,” came one cheerful voice, followed by another.
    Cary and Lilac were standing outside, holding hands.
    Elfish came to a halt, glowering. She could not be sure but she had the distinct impression that the young lovers were gently squeezing each other’s hands in a secret message of devotion.
    This was too much for Elfish. She glared evilly at them, stormed
back into her house, grabbed the television from the living room and marched upstairs.
    She brought out her bottle of whisky and, without removing her leggings, boots or jacket, switched off the light and got into bed. She passed the afternoon watching game shows and soap operas, drinking whisky and smoking joints, all the time sinking into a grimmer and grimmer mood till eventually