Carl. Jake saw Candice, Candy, whatever her stupid name was, look up at his brother. He followed her gaze and suddenly saw what she saw – his tall, handsome brother, saturnine, dark-jawed, dangerously cool. The way he himself must look. Jake glanced at Veronica. She was looking coolly blonde, coolly superior, the sharp planes of her face settled into arrogant beauty. He realised what this feral young girl beside must be thinking. How cool are they? Who are these beautiful people? It excited him. He put a hand on her thigh, noting its fleshiness, feeling at once repulsed and at the same time drawn. She turned to him, mouth slightly open. Her eye makeup had run in the heat – it made her look slutty. It made her look exciting. On impulse, he leant forward and kissed her, feeling her mouth loosen beneath his, the cigarette and alcopop taste of her distinct on his tongue, not caring about Carl’s sudden catcall, not caring about Veronica’s hardly heard gasp. He felt wantonly reckless.

He surfaced. Carl was grinning and there was a spark in his eye that Jake had seen before, in situations where the two of them were about to badly misbehave. A daring look, a challenge – where will you stop, little brother? How far are you willing to go?

Carl said nothing though. Still grinning, still silent, he reached for his bag of coke. Candice’s eyes lit up at the sight of it.

“Oh wow – is that, like, charlie?”

“Certainly is, darling. By the way, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Carl. Jake’s big brother.”

She sniggered one more time.

“Alright, Carl. What are you guys, doing here anyway?”

Carl grinned again.

“Slumming it,” he said.

They took a taxi from the party. Afterwards, they were to agonise over this decision. How much had the driver noticed? What had they said in front of him? Would he recognise any of them again? They’d been mostly silent, that was one thing, Carl giving directions when needed from his seat in the front, Jake and the others squashed against each other in the back. The guy could hardly speak English anyway.

Candice had stared in awe as they walked into the hallway.

“Fuck, it’s massive. Is this all yours? Are you guys rich?”

“Extremely rich.” Carl hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d left the party. He was drawling all his answers in a bored, ironic voice, the same tone he’d used when he’d turned to Jake and Veronica and said ‘I think we should invite this charming young lady home with us, don’t you think?”

“Wow.” Candice looked up at the high ceilings, the light fittings, the curtains. In the better light, she looked very young. Jake wondered uneasily whether she was even sixteen. Then a belated coke rush kicked in and he dismissed the thought.

Veronica brought in a bottle of champagne and Candice’s eyes widened further when she saw the label. She’s probably never been anywhere like this in her life, thought Jake, and felt a queasy mixture of pity, contempt and lust. He sat beside her on the sofa. Carl racked up some more lines and let the others snuffle them up as he searched for some music. Jake could feel the tension in the room increase with every drumbeat. His heart was thudding within his chest. He could feel Veronica on one side on him, tense as a coiled spring. Who’s going to start, he thought and opened his mouth just as Candice Stanton beat him to it.

“Let’s have some fun, guys,” she said with a giggle, and pulled off her cheap white top.

*

Carl’s bed. Jake’s bed. Dark, warm rooms, shifting limbs, damp slippery flesh. The wiry feel of pubic hair beneath his tongue. The shock of Veronica, finally, actually Veronica, her skin, no longer cool but blood-plumped, flushed with heat. After the mythology of Veronica, the shock of the reality; the ecstasy of actually being inside her. He’d already come once into Candice’s mouth, so he was able to take it slowly with Veronica, slipping back and forth, gasping with the pleasure of it, almost disbelieving. How could it be happening, after so many months of yearning? She felt like damp, warm silk, wrapped around him, her sharp angles beneath him, the tiny pink points of her nipples brushing his chest. Watching Carl with Candice, seeing his brother’s cock for the first time in years, so much bigger than he remembered, angry red, wielded like a weapon, slammed into Candice, glimpsed between her heavy thighs. Someone took a photo at one point, a Polaroid, the four of them blinking in the flash. Veronica and Candice, kissing, nipples touching, slippery fingers, flushed red cheeks. The sight made him hard again and this time Veronica put her hand on him, pumped him back and forward until he cried out for the third time, shooting the last pearly dregs into her hair. She licked her fingers, oh God, she licked his come off her fingers, he wanted her again, and again and again. He buried his face between her legs, sinking his face into her, surely he was going to die of pleasure… Carl had Candice face down, jammed inside her arse, her teeth clenched, crying out in pain or pleasure, he couldn’t tell, Carl’s face contorted as he thrust backwards and forwards, rocking like a metronome. Jake licked and sucked and kissed Veronica’s cunt, kept going until she began to pant and shake. I’ve made her come, he thought, and felt himself swell again, once more. He looked up and saw Carl bent over Candice, panting, spent. For a moment, Jake’s vision swam and his heart stuttered. Fleetingly, he felt a tiny cold finger of dread, a black glimpse of the aftermath, of what could happen once the voluptuous night ended.

Carl pulled himself away, wiped his groin with the sheet and reached for a cigarette. Jake saw that his hand was shaking. His own cock wilted slowly as he watched his brother’s eyes narrow against the smoke. Carl sat back against the headboard. There was a long moment of silence, filled only with the sounds of four sets of labouring lungs.

“I need a drink,” said Veronica. She pushed herself off the bed and walked to the door, ghost-pale in the candlelight, long legs moving smoothly. Jake watched her, loving the sight of her, so thin, boyishly thin, only the tiniest curve of her waist, the subtle rise of her breast indications of her sex. He watched her tiny, tight bum disappear out the door.

“Yeah, I could do with a drink too.”

Candice’s voice jarred the silence. She flopped back against the foot of the bed, giggling. Jake saw Carl turn his head to look at her. He looked at her himself. He looked at the bulk of her, her pendulous, dark-nippled breasts, her young, unformed face greasy with sweat. The dank roots of her brittle blonde hair. As if a switch had been flicked in his head, he was suddenly filled with disgust. He’d been inside her. At the thought of it, his stomach clenched. All at once, she repulsed him. He heard Carl’s sudden intake of breath and knew, somehow, his brother was feeling the same thing.

Jake bent to find his boxer shorts. The disgust he felt for Candice was palpable; it made his hands shake and his breath come short. He could barely look at her. Childishly, he wanted to hide his eyes, block his ears, do anything to negate her existence. Carl shifted beside him.

She noticed nothing. She was still babbling on, coke-filled slag that she was. Saliva filled his mouth. He thought of how she’d felt inside, the damp, hot clammy feel of her around his cock, and felt nausea rise suddenly. He bolted for the door, still naked.

“What’s up with him?” was what he heard before he reached the bathroom and was head down in the toilet, all the booze and coke and exertion coming up, pulling his stomach muscles tight, emptying out in a series of hot, acidic blurts.

Gasping, he stayed bent double and reached blindly up for the flush. Tears were running down his face. He thought of Veronica, of being with Veronica, being inside her, trying to make something good and clean out of the whole mess, but it was hopeless, it was all wrong, all dirty. Jake stood up shakily. He rinsed his sore mouth at the sink and wiped it on the week-old towel that hung in sour folds next to the taps.