Photograph by Johanna Torell
THE WAKE PT. 2 by Louisa Little with Khalid Tetuani
...But maybe she was wondering why I didn’t offer to go and get her a drink. Danielle makes an appearance, ‘mum your glass is empty, come and get another one Uncle Pete is here now,’ and Tanya’s mum does a little mock-bow with her hands in prayer position as she gets up to leave. Namaste. We’re two too-eager orientalists, awkward and jutting, eyes twinkling in ardent ignorance. Danielle leads the woman away protectively. She is Tanya’s brother’s wife. She has blonde bobbed hair, just the sort of hair I could never have. Even her life is the sort I’d never lead, but she probably dotes on my simple scope. I have a sip of water which cuts through the disgusting menthol tincture that’s stained my breath. I have to gulp down some more water. I look up and scream quietly – teeth clenched – because Tanya’s brother is standing too near me, trying to draw my eyes towards his. ‘Sorry,’ I say, really quietly, again, like I’m really far away, under that duvet. ‘I’m sorry,’ for
36
screaming at you like I have some mental condition, but he nods and I realise he’s taken it as a sorry your sister is dead type of sorry. That’s good, it’s more appropriate that way and the last thing I want to do is draw attention to the quiet screaming; I’ve never done it before and not sure exactly what it’s all about. -‘Look, I need you to meet me upstairs in a couple of minutes. Can you do that?’
“What do I know? I ask myself. That’s a good question, one you can take home and show your parents. It doesn’t sound trite, does it?” He adds the question after the request because I’m looking at him like he’s speaking a language I don’t know. It’s
important to know what language someone is trying to speak in. I nod my head and he walks away, leaving the room. Christ, what should be my concern right now? And what was that unsubtle clumsy invitation about? I fumble around for a twiglet. I’d been imagining Tanya’s brother taking the opportunity to get to know me better, all in a sexual thought. All day; it had got me through the hellish funeral, but I never anticipated him actually inviting me upstairs at his sister’s wake. Surely that wasn’t healthy? It could’ve been natural for him to seek that kind of touch at a time like this. Am I so jaded or is it just plain naïve to think that he just needed to talk and I was the person there that he could relate to? The only time Tanya’s brother had ever spoken to me was when he once offered me a cup of tea. It was such a staged event, and even Tanya looked at him incredulously. Ever since that day I’ve kindled the belief that, deep down, Tanya’s brother fancied the arse