Free The Bird Room by Chris Killen

it there.’
    I wait for her to ask why.
    I almost want her to ask why.
    (I don’t know what I’ll say if she does.)
    But she just puts on her boots, goes into the yard and carries it back to the bathroom.

In bed we listen to one of Alice’s CDs. Some sort of electronica. She’s leafing through a fashion magazine which is about 80 per cent adverts. I’m watching the pages turn from the corner of my eye.
    â€˜Hold on,’ I say, laying my palm flat across the magazine.
    â€˜What?’ she says.
    I lean over, pretending to take a closer look at a redheaded model in a photo shoot.
    â€˜What?’ she says. ‘What is it?’
    â€˜Nothing,’ I say, letting go of the magazine. ‘Just looked a bit like someone I knew.’
    I wait.
    The silence swells around us.
    â€˜Like who?’ she says eventually.
    â€˜Oh, just some girl I used to go out with.’
    â€˜Right,’ says Alice and turns the page. She starts to read an article on celebrity collagen injections.
    Is that it? ‘Right’, as if she didn’t believe me? Why shouldn’t I have an ex somewhere who looks a bit like the girl in her magazine?
    I had a whole relationship planned, ready to tell her; a girl I met at an old job – Carol – who ended up moving to London. We lived together for almost a year and then things finished amicably. It was her job, not me, that made her unhappy and caused the move. We tried things long-distance for a bit, but it didn’t work out. We’re still friends but have kind of lost touch.
    â€˜Carol,’ I say, out loud.
    â€˜What?’ she says, looking up from the article.
    â€˜Carol. That was the girl’s name. The one I went out with.’
    â€˜Great,’ she says.
    I leave a dramatic pause.
    â€˜We used to live together for a bit.’
    â€˜Fantastic.’
    â€˜And then she had to move to London.’
    â€˜Wonderful.’
    â€˜I’m still in touch with her.’ Alice has closed the magazine. ‘But not like that. Just as friends.’
    She flips off the covers and gets out of bed.
    She walks out of the room. I think she’s going to the toilet, but then I hear the sound of her walking down thestairs and across the hall and into the kitchen. I wait for a running tap or the clink of a plate on the countertop.
    Nothing.
    I wait a long time.
    Still nothing.
    Alice is down there in the kitchen, probably sat at the table with her head in her hands, hating Carol, seeing images of me and her in bed together, at the park, laughing, kissing, sharing an ice-cream …
    Carol, fucking Carol, Alice is thinking, biting her lip and wringing her hands and wanting to smash Carol’s knees and stick hot pins in her eyes.
    I am something worth getting jealous over, I think.
    I’ve won.
    Alice is definitely in love with me.

Will calls round unexpectedly. Three in the afternoon. Alice is at work. I’m upstairs in the empty second bedroom, using the computer. The screen is full of pop-up windows. [Teen Sex Fiesta] [Housewife Pool Party] When I try to close them, more appear in their place. I’m peering down from a crack in the curtains. Will rings the doorbell a second time. I wait for him to go away. But Will is persistent. He steps back. He looks up at the window. He spots me and waves.
    I turn off the monitor and walk down the stairs, feeling shifty and sore-eyed.
    â€˜Just wanted to see how your new life was going,’ he says when I open the door.
    I lead him through to the living room.
    He sits down on the sofa and starts rolling a fag.
    â€˜Well?’ he says.
    â€˜Fine,’ I say. ‘It’s going fine.’ [Abigail’s Fuck Playground] ‘Drink?’
    â€˜Can’t stop,’ he says. ‘Meeting some bloke in town in a minute. Might have another exhibition lined up.’
    â€˜How’s Katrina?’ I say. [Hardcore Ass Fest]
    â€˜Who?’ he says.
    â€˜The girl you