went off to talk to the chef.
And she made sure that she was standing close by when the lobster, sunburn pink now and peacefully reclining on a bed of shredded horseradish, was served up to Digby and Tamsin on a wooden Japanese platter.
There was an instant when nothing happened – when the diners and their beady-eyed meal seemed almost hypnotised by the sight of each other. Then Cat saw the smiles vanish from their faces as, with considerable effort, the lobster lifted itself from the wooden platter and began crawling from the plate, its claws trailing thin white slivers of horseradish.
Tamsin screamed. Digby snatched up his butter knife, as if to defend himself and his fuck puppet. The lobster slowly toppled from the wooden platter and began its slow march across the table towards Tamsin, who was shrieking with terror now, and her inflatable breasts.
‘Do you want some wasabi on that?’ Cat said.
It was scary to be too unencumbered, she thought later. The whole unencumbered thing could go too far. Cat saw that now. You had to get the balance right.
A person needed to be unencumbered but not cast adrift, free but not lost, and loved but not smothered. But how do you manage all that?
‘We’re going clubbing,’ Brigitte told Cat. ‘It’s DJ Cake versus the Glitter Twins at Zoo Nation. Want to come?’
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