tears at the party

A quick scan of the party assured me that I knew absolutely no one, except, of course, the lovely Amy Knight, everybody's friend, our honourable hostess. But this was little consolation, for Amy Knight was certain to be preoccupied for the duration, taking up her rightful position of centre of attention.

I, on the other hand, had resigned to a familier role; the detached mass of inconsequentiality to be found lingering in a corner, in an inpenetrable circle reaching a metre in all directions. But, experienced as I have become in this regard, the role greeted me with a strange comfort. With a beer in my hand, my reliable friend, I gauged how long it would be before I could realistically leave.

But I was not alone, as I had thought. There were two of us. Another member of my species hoverred above the buffet, unreacheable to all apart from one reliable friend, a can of beer. As the party continued, Amy Knight at its epicentre, we two stood alone, clinging to separate corners of the room, listening to the music.

As he prodded a pork pie, the Sinead O'Connor version of the song Nothing Compares 2 U came on the stereo. The man's head rose slightly in appreciation, as if acknowledging the god of music, and standing there by the buffet, he hesitated to eat his pork pie, and simply closed his eyes.

He was a squashed accordian of a man, a stomach disproportional to his height, and I struggled between states of bewilderment, awkwardness and sheer laughter as he stood there, eyes closed, head raised, holding a pork pie out in front of him. After a short while, before the song had finished, he roused himself from this trance and approached the dizzy circle of friends as they attentively listened to the humorous tales of Amy Knight.

'—and the irony was that he was a doctor too! ' she exclaimed, and roared with laughter. The ensemble around her roared in equal measure, and showed no signs of stopping. In the chaos of uncontrollable laughter, a gap in the circle provided a way in and was casually occupied by the approaching man.

'Nothing compares to you,' he said matter-of-factly towards Amy Knight, in a northern accent which I was too ignorant to place. The laughter was cut, and promptly spluttered out.

'Oh, erm, this is Lenny Carmichael,' said Amy Knight, attempting to regain her composure.

'Call me Darwin,' replied Lenny Carmichael, addressing the perplexed audience.

'Oh, yes, ...Darwin,' said Amy Knight. And then with some effort, 'Darwin is from the office.'

Darwin seemed to enjoy the attention, but unbeknownst to him a serious lull had replaced the jovial atmosphere. An awkward silence of inconceivable magnitude ensued, and Sinead O'Connor shone though with newfound clarity, crooning to her incomparable Other. A cross-fire of glances darted across the circle as Darwin stood there rocking on his heels.

With professional aptitude, Amy Knight flung into action, hoping to reclaim the party and get it under control. The reactions of the onlookers seemed to encourage this.

'So the doctor—'

'Those tears,' Darwin intercepted. He was not done yet.

'Those tears?' inquired one of the women, unaware of what she could be getting herself into.

'Those tears were real,' Darwin said.

'Sinead O'Connor's tears?' asked another woman.

'Oh yes,' he said, closing his eyes and biting his lip. 'Those tears were real.'

Another set of glances were exchanged, and Amy Knight's attempt had failed. From the comfort of my refuge I saw Darwin socially free-falling. I had a desire to run away on his behalf.

But Amy Knight was right on the button, soaring back into action from what looked to be a sorry defeat.

'The doctor had no idea, so...'

And she continued as the circle closed and slowly pushed Darwin out. He calmly pivoted on the spot, and headed back to the buffet, his beer firmly in his grasp.

You and me, we're the same, I said to Darwin Carmichael in silence, except that I am aware of the condition. We are the party no-hopers, forever cast to the sidelines, unable to penetrate the collective. Our purpose, to set the bench mark for the in-crowd, to remind them of their luxuries. I could have been the man attempting to integrate as Darwin had done, I realised with a shudder. I made a mental note to never utter a word to a person at a party.

And I knew, somewhere in the vast world of music television, Sinead O'Connor was weeping for the both of us.