Free My Biggest Lie by Luke Brown Page A

Ella disappeared when they were together: they played up to it and acquiesced to each other, they were a holiday from themselves. Ella was pregnant with their first child.
    â€˜Yes, I love Ella too,’ I said.
    â€˜And you know he was talking about leaving her?’
    â€˜He’s not, is he? Who else would take him?’
    â€˜Talking about it anyway. Who knows how serious that man is about anything? But if he was prepared to talk about it, I was prepared to take him seriously.’
    â€˜But who for?’
    â€˜For a woman not nearly as interesting a human being, not nearly as good for him. Whose very appeal is only that she’s not nearly as good for him. He wants to destroyhis life, his happiness, so he feels more alive. Ah, fuck it, why did I think I had the right to get involved? In the end, this is how we measure our happiness, by how much dramatic unhappiness we have to narrate, by how much interesting misery we have inflicted on others. This is how we make our mark. Not by love but through cruelty. Isn’t that what tempted you to cheat on your girlfriend? To say, I inflicted pain. I abandoned conventional morality. People noticed me. Yes, people thought you were a vain tosser. Just like me. Like our awful role models. What more drugs do we have, Liam? We need more drugs. Let’s lift our spirits. What’s that stuff you were telling me about earlier that you had, the stuff the kids are buying off the internet these days? I’m so pleased about that, that someone’s worked out a use for the internet that isn’t wanking. Let me have a look at that stuff.’
    â€˜I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
    â€˜To look? Oh, come on, don’t patronise me. I’m not your granddad. Don’t you owe me some trust? There’s nothing wrong with me. They’re just trying to make you feel bad.’
    I was tired of arguing. I pulled the packet out and handed it to him. He held it to his nose and took a cautious sniff. ‘That’s quite disgusting,’ he said. It was. The powder smelled of gone-off eggs. ‘Do some,’ he said. I took a dab, hoping that would be enough for him. Someone was knocking on the door of the toilet. Another gang had arrived via a deviation to the Groucho. They’d brought two famous conceptual artists with them, friends of Cockburn’s. They looked past me as I opened the door. ‘Craig! How are you?’ they called and pushed past, squeezing me out of the door.
    * * *
    The mephedrone whooshed up in me straight away and I found myself in a corner of the kitchen with Lucy, one of the actresses, talking quickly about something and inviting her out to dinner. I offered her some mephedrone but couldn’t find my packet when she accepted. She had some coke anyway and we did a line of that. Her boyfriend meant she couldn’t come out for dinner with me. That was fine: I felt deranged, entirely separate from myself. I was doing my best to break the connection altogether, because when I remembered . . . We talked and talked and time went by. I was searching through my pockets, looking for the mephedrone, when I saw Bennett walk in the room, clutching and kneading the top of his left arm. He walked over to the kitchen sink and pulled the cold tap on full, looking around for a glass.
    I bounded over and hugged him. ‘Here,’ I said, handing him a pint glass from a cupboard. ‘Are you all right?’
    He filled the glass up and drank it down. He turned to me. His face was bright red, scared. ‘No, I’m not. Quietly, please, will you ring me an ambulance?’
    He was sucking for air, holding his shoulder and wincing. I knew immediately it wasn’t a joke, could see how scared, and yes, embarrassed he was. He was trying to deceive himself that he was simply making a shameful exit from a party. The rest of the guests were looking over at us. I put my arm round him and rang 999 with the