‘Fuck off,’ she says. ‘Which flat was it?’
‘Mine,’ you say.
‘You better be fucking joking?’ she says.
‘I have decorated.’
She is shivering and staring at you, the rain running off the guttering.
‘Up to you,’ you shrug. ‘Do what you want.’
She looks back out at the rain and steps inside: ‘Long as you’re not planning any bloody seances.’
‘Thought that’d be right up your street.’
‘Fuck off,’ she says again and follows you up the stairs.
You open the door to the flat. You go in first putting on the lights.
‘Come in,’ you say.
She walks down the hall and into the front room.
‘Have a seat,’ you say.
She sits down on the sofa.
‘What do you want to drink?’
‘What you having?’
‘Think I’ll have a lager to start with.’
She nods: ‘Stick some lemonade in ours, will you?’
You go into the kitchen. You open the fridge. There’s no lemonade.
‘Got enough bloody records, haven’t you?’ she shouts.
‘But no lemonade,’ you call back.
‘Doesn’t matter.’
You wash the glasses and find a tray and bring it back through with the Chinese. You have three cans in a carrier bag on your arm. You say: ‘Won’t be a minute.’
She stands up: ‘Where you going?’
‘Just got to nip upstairs.’
‘You’re never going to leave me on my own in here, are you?’
‘Be two minutes,’ you say. ‘Less you don’t want any draw?’
‘Two minutes?’
‘Stick a record on,’ you say. ‘It switches on at the wall.’
‘Two minutes -’
‘Two minutes,’ you say. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
You knock twice on Stopper and Norm’s door. You wait and then knock once again.
‘Who is it?’ whispers Norman.
Two fingers up at the spy-hole, you say: ‘JP.’
The three bolts slide back. The two locks turn. The door opens an inch.
‘What’s the password?’ says Norm over the chain.
‘Fuck off,’ you say.
‘What day is it?’
‘Fucking hell, Norm, it’s Thursday,’ you moan. ‘Just let us in, will you?’
He takes off the chain. He opens the door.
‘Thank you,’ you say.
He locks the locks. He bolts the bolts. He chains the door behind you.
You follow the sounds of Tomita down the hall into the front room.
Stopper’s on the sofa watching the snooker.
‘Aye-up, Peter,’ you say.
He pushes his sunglasses up into his hair and winks.
‘How much you want?’ asks Norm.
You put a tenner and the cans on the table: ‘Just an eighth and a couple of wraps.’
Norm picks up one of the cans and leaves the room.
You crack the other two cans. You hand one to Stopper.
‘Ta,’ he says. ‘You out tonight?’
You look at your watch: ‘Maybe. And you?’
He shakes his head: ‘Tomorrow.’
Norm comes back in. He gives you an envelope.
‘Thanks,’ you say.
‘You stopping?’ he asks.
‘Can’t. I’ll see you tomorrow though, yeah?’
‘Nice one,’ nods Norm.
‘See you, Peter,’ you say to Stopper.
‘See you, John.’
You walk down the hall to the front door.
Norm unbolts the bolts. He unlocks the locks. He unchains the chain. He says: ‘You haven’t got a fucking lass downstairs, have you?’
‘Why?’
He puts his finger to his ear: ‘That’s fucking
You smile.
‘You dirty bastard,’ he winks.
‘Just a friend.’
Pissed and stoned, you sleep fully clothed in the same bed, dreaming of King Herod and dead kids, the Baptist and Salome -
John and Salome, the wounds of Christ and the Spear of Destiny -
Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini, Jimmy Young and Jimmy Ashworth -
Mouths open, contorted and screaming and howling:
You wake and hold her and touch her -
Hold her and touch her and fuck her -
You fuck her, hungover and hard -
Hard as her nails in your back:
Blood on the sheets, blood on the walls -
She opens her eyes, she looks into yours: ‘This place stinks.’
‘I’m sorry -’
‘Of memories,’ she whispers. ‘Bad memories.’
Chapter 15
Clare is screaming: ‘Just fucking walked up to me, bold as fucking brass, and gives it a fucking
BJ speechless.
‘The cunt! Fucking cunt!’
BJ finding words: ‘Where?’
‘St Mary’s.’
‘Shit.’
