Pants on Fire by Maggie Alderson Read Free Book Online

about London was that there was nowhere to go dancing. All the nightclubs were about being eighteen and cool, or they were ghastly pick-up joints with men in white shoes, or Annabel’s, which I really have to be in the mood for—i.e. drunk. And none of my friends have proper parties any more. They’ve all got children and you’ll be invited to hideous Sunday lunches with thousands of kids everywhere, or drink parties where you all leave at nine-thirty and go out and spend £40 a head on dinner, which you don’t get until ten-thirty . . .”
    I could see his eyes glazing over. “Sorry, I’m going on, aren’t I?”
    â€œNo worries,” he said, clearly oblivious. “I love this song. Come on.”
    It was a slow one. Don’t ask me what it was. I couldn’t hear it. All I was aware of was the smell of Billy’s neck, a combination of soap and sunshine and clean shirt, as he held me tightly and slowly moved us round the floor. It was divine. There were lots of slow songs after that and we danced until my knees were practically buckling. I could feel the hardness of Billy’s body pressed against me. He felt like he was made entirely of muscle—he may have been a stockbroker during the week, but he felt like a farmer. Was it the champagne, the music, the powder plate, or just pure pheromones? Maybe it was the way he was humming along with the music in my ear. I don’t know what it was but I would have followed Billy Ryan around on my hands and knees at that moment. I think for the first time in my life I really understood the meaning of the word “lust.” I was practically drooling.
    Then the music stopped. Coming back to consciousness, I saw that the room was empty, apart from the DJ packing up, Danny Green asleep on a sofa and his poodle sniffing around the empty glasses and full ashtrays. I could hear naughty giggles coming from one of the side rooms.
    â€œWe’d better go,” said Billy. “I think this party is officially over. I’ll take you home. Where do you live?”
    â€œElizabeth Bay,” I murmured, blinking up at him. “Billyard Avenue.”
    â€œWell, that won’t be hard then. We’re already in Elizabeth Bay. I’ll just go and get our hats.”
    He came back wearing mine and handed me his. I put it on. When we stepped outside the night was still warm and very starry.
    â€œThis city never stops showing off, does it?” I said, looking up at the huge vaulted inky sky, with its unfamiliar constellations.
    â€œMmm?” He didn’t seem to have heard me. “Did you say you live in Billyard Avenue? Let’s go the long way round.”
    He took my hand and instead of walking straight to my street, he turned left down some steps to a park. It was so peaceful. The water in Rushcutters Bay was completely calm; the lights reflected in it were barely twinkling. Even the air was barely stirring. We leaned on the seawall for a while and then I asked Billy if he could show me the Southern Cross.
    â€œToo right,” he said. “But let’s get away form these lights.”
    He led me to the darkest part of the park, where we lay on our backs on the grass.
    â€œOK. See that bright star there? That’s your guide star. Then you just go along and you can see the five stars of the Southern Cross. It’s kind of upside down at this time of year. See it?”
    I did see it. It was beautiful.
    â€œAnd if you draw a line from the head of the cross to the foot and continue over—that bright star is called Achenar. Now come back in a circle towards the Southern Cross—see those three stars in a row? That’s called the Peacock. Don’t ask me why.”
    â€œWhat’s that very bright one there?”
    â€œThat’s Sirius. Aborigines call him the Eagle. Come across from there . . .” He was holding my hand while he said all this, tracing the direction. “See