their special effects weren’t nearly as good as these. But as Einstein had calculated, some time back, there was no escaping it. So Mr Lawrence didn't try. Not really.
“I can't. I can't,” he said, not really trying.
“Yes, you can. You can. There, didn't I tell you you could?” She was a furnace, a slippery furnace. And he was sweating. All at once sounds seemed louder. He could hear the rustle of her hair, a little moaning from her lips, the slip-slap of things farther south.
“Let it come,” she said with burning breath. “It doesn't matter. Feel my stomach against yours,” she whispered against his ear and he felt it turn wet. The sensation wasn't altogether pleasant. Water found its way into his ears very easily. For that reason he never went swimming or put his head under in the bath. Luscious Laura went on, “Feel my thighs against yours. Feel my perfect breasts with their perfect nipples brushing your chest. Tell me if you can, that all this isn't worth twentyfive quid!” And then quickly, like someone selling insurance, she added breathlessly, “No hidden extras. VAT – vagina, arse and tits – included in the price, and there’s ten percent off for pensioners.” He laughed out loud.
“What is it? Is it something I said?”
She settled back against his arms, the hint of spearmint and wild flowers quite agreeable.
But the spit in his ear was still giving him trouble.
He said, nevertheless, “You know, Laura, without speaking of looks, you are very beautiful.”
“Yes, I do know that, Mr Lawrence.”
She snuggled closer and closed her eyes, safe. Her breath was soft and warm.
He fell asleep thinking that he ought to kick her out before he did. When you are older courtships should be longer. It takes time getting used to waking next to a nightmare: open mouth slobbering and spitting, zoo noises rattling, breath corrupted by life. Younger things smell younger and taste fresher. Older people should get out before falling asleep. It saves the younger people unnecessary brain damage in the morning.
And yet, and yet, it was too late now, for he snored a satisfied snore.
His erection woke him for it was so unusual. Pounding. Detached. Sweat poured from him and collected on his chest, a salty pool, another Dead Sea. He felt utterly wrecked. The sex tonic was taking its toll. There is always a price to pay, old timers would tell you, and they knew a thing or two. If it happened again – and you never knew for even this chance came out of the blue – he would stick to walnuts and red peppers and what was it? Ah yes, Heinz baked beans with sausages in tomato sauce. An old-fashioned tin that needed a tin-opener; razor sharp lids that could slice off a finger and often did.
Life is so…grey, without the red.
He heard his own voice. “My Goodness, what's happening?” The dark vixen leant across him. “It's all right. You had a dream. You shouted out. Golly gosh, Mr Lawrence, what horror world do you sleep in?”
“I'm all right. Just a dream, as you said. I disturbed you. I'm sorry.” “Don't worry. It's only four. Only half way through my shift. Shame to waste it.”
She was still glued with him and her, more of him, than her. “Did you hear it, in the night?”
“Hear what?”
“It sounded like a baby crying.”
“It was probably a cat. They sound just like babies, in the night.” Her breasts brushed over him, her nipples traced cool ticklish paths across his chest, through the pool. Her hand pulled him gently against her curls and she whispered, “We can try something else if you like. I can turn over if you like and you can try it that way or, if you like, I can eat you.”
“Gosh, a second coming, and some say I am not a religious man. But that's the trouble with Chinese food,” he said, making time while he made up his mind. “You want to eat again so soon afterwards.” He gave in to her first suggestion, that dark taboo. Perhaps because it housed that tighter place and tightness was the thing. And pain, of course, for there it lay. That fine flame-throwing moment, that swift stab of bliss, for just an instant, too short an instant, and then it was gone and then, only indulgence mattered.
But it wasn't easy, even with Luscious Laura, whose stumps had been shattered by a thousand googlies. But the pills she'd fed him had produced a wicked leg-break, and she squealed quite loudly, loudly enough for him to worry about the neighbours on the growing Richmond Park council estate.
His concern for the neighbours ended abruptly as an explosion of light from a large torch held them in its silver beam. Behind it the dark outline of a huge man was just visible. The stocking on his head rounded his shape even more. As the giant figure approached Laura yelped and dived beneath the sheets. But she could still hear his voice, filled with muffled accent. It might have come all the way from Leeds, or some other God-forsaken place.
“Where is he? The two-timing bitch!”
The sheet was ripped away leaving them cowering, quite defenceless. The heavy torch rose above them and the crazy beam zigzagged across the room before at last settling on Laura, first on her quivering breasts and then on her quivering curls. A giant hand reached down to part her legs and the beam focused its full intensity on her sticky wicket.
“It's a girl!” The muffled voice was full of surprise.
The torchlight went out. They heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, then someone falling and cursing and then movements in the shop below and moments later the brass bell ringing out the slamming of the shop door.
“Blimeeey!” Laura sighed her relief. “Who was that? Did you know him?”
Beside her, Mr Lawrence breathed his own relief. “No, I didn’t.” They crept down the stairs to the shop. The blinking neon opposite, red and green, threw the shadows of the ballerinas in the window on to the far wall. They danced. The paintings gathered the light and the painted faces glinted grotesquely. Their bodies glowed red and then green and the green picked up the muscle tone and deepened the hollows.
“How did he get in? I saw you lock the door.”
“These thieves of the night crawl through the crack beneath the door. Even the trusted brass bell let me down tonight. We need garlic, lots of it. It won't keep out the burglars but we can throw it at the cats!” He threw the bolt on the door and turned back into the shop. She'd perched herself on the counter. Her legs dangled. The volcanic light poured in, framing her in its glow.
“Everything's so red and fiery down here,” she whispered. “Just like hell.”
“It is hell, my dear. You can smell the sulphur, hear the clank of chains…” He pointed to the faces in the paintings and then up to the overhead tackle. “See!”
The red turned to green and she became a corpse and her slick became a rotten streak of pus. He shivered at the unholy sight which, of course, was holey too, and he held his breath, waiting for the light to turn again and fill her veins with blood. As the red took hold she smiled at him, wistfully. “Come on, Sir Lancelot, you’ve frightened him off, whoever he was. Bring your helmet and, if you think you need it, your shield, and let's go back to bed.”
The grey December light crawled in with the dawn, adding its gloomy touch to the bedroom. The windows were frostbitten even though the central heating had banged throughout the night. The bedroom was warm and stuffy. In her sleep she had thrown off the bed covers and lay naked, face down. Her breathing was gentle, her sleep untroubled by the creeping light.
He wondered whether he'd snored and checked his chin for froth. His hand remained dry and for a while he lay there pleased with himself.
She looked paler, mixed with buff-yellow. From the hollow of her back the curve of her behind was breathtaking. There could be no finer single line. Stroking it seemed natural. His stalk was still alive, stabbing at the air, made immortal by nocturnal witchery and a handful of pills. He wondered how many men had been inspired by such delight, how many had been led to disaster while drunk on such abandon. He was, nevertheless, aware that the circadian clock was ticking. He was feeling jet-lagged from his ride with Laura, or it might have been the pills, or the unlikely excitement of the night. Whatever it was, with the exception of his dong which was out of control, he was beginning to flag. Even the bedroom door opening made no difference to that.
Paul's face appeared, bright and early, his happiness reaching through the specks of dust held in the heavy air.
“I'm home, Mr Lawrence. Let out early for good behaviour. Gosh, Mr Lawrence, you should be proud of that! A Kodak moment, without a doubt.”
The spell faded slowly, leaving Mr Lawrence befuddled. He tried to smile politely but it wasn’t easy. One of his hands rested on Laura's behind, the other was full of his enthusiasm for it.
