The Wine of Angels

Dean cackled. ‘Er’d prob’ly been on the cider!’

‘Shut your fat face!’ Jane was out of her seat. But Dean went on as if he hadn’t heard her.

‘Well, what’s that but a sign of Satanism, see. A devil-worshipper, witch, whatever you wanner call ’em, they can’t go into a Christian church without they vomits. I seen it in a film. Ole black and white job. Mark o’ the Witch, some shit like that. Chucks her—’

‘Stop it!’ Jane screamed. ‘You bastard!’

‘You year some’ing then, Gittoes?’ Dean leaned back smugly. ‘Makes you think, though, dunnit? Why don’t Jane Watkins ever go to church of a Sunday? You ever see Jane in church?’

‘Don’t go, do I?’

‘Well me neither, but my gran does and ’er says to me the other day, ’er says, You never sees the vicar’s daughter at no services, do you? En’t right, that. En’t right at all!

‘She was there tonight,’ Danny Gittoes said. ‘I seen ’er goin’ in. School uniform an’ all.’

‘Ec ... sacly,’ Dean said. ‘Exacly, boy. Special occasion, so ‘er’d need to be there, bring down the forces of darkness, innit? Now ... No, listen, this is interestin’ ... You remember that night Jane threw up on us. Where’d that happen exacly? Right outside the bloody church! In fact ... in fact... it was up agin’ the ole church wall, right? So that’s holy ground, ennit? An’ we said, we said we was all gonner go in the church porch, open a coupler cans, and that was when she done it. You think about that, Gittoes ...’

‘Fuckin’ hell, Dean—’

Danny Gittoes broke off because the lights began to fade and the strobing began from the stage, Dr Samedi demonstrating something. Dean’s voice rose placidly out of the flashes.

‘She only got to think about goin’ in the church porch, see, an’ up it comes. Splat. Well, all right, Jane never threw up tonight, see, but her evil presence in that church was enough to—’

Jane threw herself at him, knocking the glass out of his hand, seeing alarm on his fat, porous face, but, because of the strobe, when she saw it again it was wearing a grin and he was on his feet, around her side of the table and his arms were around her.

‘Wanner dance with me, is it ... devil woman?’

‘Get your filthy—’

Dean gripped her tightly; she felt something hard against her stomach. She realized that in the strobe it might look as though they were actually snogging. She couldn’t kick him because of the chair legs in the way. She wondered where she could bite him without encountering great pools of sweat.

‘All right.’ Quentin was on his feet. ‘Now let’s stop this.’

‘Hey,’ Dean said over Jane’s shoulder. ‘It fuckin’ talks. I ‘ad it figured for one ‘o Doc Samedi’s zombies.’

‘You just ... just let her go,’ Quentin said uncertainly.

‘Let her geeeow! What you gonner do about it, sunshine? Phone up your dad on the mobile, is it?’

Through the flashes, Jane saw that Danny Gittoes had pushed his chair back but was still sitting on it. The third boy, Mark, however, had moved in from the door. His hands were out of his pockets, something gleaming in one of them.

Jane screamed, ‘He’s got a knife!’

And the room went quiet.

‘Lights,’ someone snapped. Dean Wall’s arms went slack and Jane stepped away as the strobe stopped and the main lights came up.

Barry, the manager, ex-SAS, came across the room like a small tank. Behind him, Lloyd Powell.

‘Who shouted?’ Barry demanded.

Jane looked across at Mark. He was a slight, quiet-looking, mousy-haired boy. You tended not to notice him. Both arms hung by his side, the hands empty. Could she have been mistaken?

She looked away from Mark and across at Barry. ‘Sorry. I thought someone had a knife.’

‘One of these boys?’ Lloyd Powell wandered over, hooked out a chair with his foot to see if anything had been kicked under it. Lloyd looked pretty cool in a timeless sort of way; he was the only guy here who could get away with wearing a patched tweed jacket over his jeans and denim workshirt.

‘I didn’t really see,’ Jane said. ‘There was just a sort of flash. But with the strobelights ... Sorry.’

‘All right,’ Barry said. ‘You.’ Stabbing a finger at Dean Wall then Danny Gittoes, then Mark. ‘Out.’

‘Aw, come on, man.’ Dean stepped away from Jane. ‘We was only havin’ a laugh. Tell ‘im, Lloyd.’

‘You’re outer line, boy,’ Lloyd said sternly. He folded his arms, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Barry.

‘Out,’ Barry said. ‘Now.’

Danny Gittoes stood up and edged towards the door. Some of the kids began to move back towards the walls. Dr Samedi stood protectively in front of his main console. Dean Wall didn’t move.

‘You’ve got five seconds,’ Barry said, like they were terrorists or something. ‘And that includes the door closing behind you.’

It was starting to look nasty. Then Colette was there.

‘Ease up, Barry.’

There was silence. Jane reckoned that every man in the room must be looking at Colette, including Barry and Lloyd. She looked like she’d stepped out of one of those moody, sexy, Sunday-supplement fashion spreads, one of the threadlike straps of her tight, black dress just parted from the shoulder, a perfect dab of perspiration in the little cleft over her top lip. She looked about twenty-seven and drop-dead gorgeous.

‘I’d be prepared to bet these lads are not on the guest list,’ Barry said stiffly. ‘You know your parents’ rules.’

‘One of my rules, Barry,’ Colette said, ‘was that the word parents would not be mentioned in here tonight, yeah?’

‘Sorry, Colette, but they pay my wages. We have a guest list, nobody comes in they’re not on it.’

‘These are local guys,’ Colette said. ‘We don’t want to be seen as snobbish, do we?’

Dean Wall leered at Colette. ‘Tell the bastard, darlin’. These ex-SAS guys, they en’t got it out their system, see. They’re jus’ lookin’ for innocent people to beat up.’

‘Shut it, lad.’ Barry’s lips barely moved.

‘What you gonner do? You got a Heckler and Koch down your trousers, is it?’

Danny Gittoes laughed feebly.

‘Don’t push it, boy,’ Lloyd Powell said.

Dean turned on him. ‘Shit, Powell, I thought you were a mate.’

‘You’re outer line, boy.’

‘Colette, look ...’ Barry lowered his voice. ‘It’s getting late.’

‘So it is ...’

Colette’s eyes were shining with a steady, steely light that didn’t seem quite natural to Jane. Had she taken something? Well, of course she had. The eyes turned on Barry.

‘I mean, I know you army guys like your early nights, but you’re in the catering trade now, Baz.’

‘Just there’s a little ceremony planned,’ Barry said uncomfortably.

Colette gave him a hard stare. ‘What did you say?’

‘It’s your birthday party.’ Barry blushed. ‘We’ve got this ... cake.’

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Colette looked appalled. ‘Who’s idea was that?’

‘Your mother’s.’

‘Jesus wept!’ Jane saw Colette’s fists clench. ‘How old they think I am? Six?’

‘Please,’ Barry said. ‘It was supposed to be a surprise.’

‘Jesus Christ?’ Colette’s whole body went rigid and Jane saw tears of outrage and betrayal spring into her eyes. ‘They’re not coming?’

Barry gritted his teeth. ‘Just for a few minutes.’

Colette began to breathe rapidly, her breasts rising half out of the shiny, black dress, bringing a half- suppressed whimper out of Dean Wall.

‘I’m sorry,’ Barry said.

‘You little toad, Barry,’ Colette spat. ‘You little fucking toad. You lied to me!