The Hunger Trace (31 page)

‘I don’t approve of swearing,’ Christopher said quietly.

‘The lad’s a liability,’ said Wicks. ‘Louisa, keep him in check, would you?’

Louisa sighed. Adam ambled over, hands in pockets, lips pursed. The area beyond the bar was raised, so Wicks appeared even taller.

‘He’s not a liability, and he’s standing right there – aren’t you, Chris – so you can talk directly to him, an’ all.’

‘It’s
Christopher
, not “Chris”,’ Christopher said, almost in a whisper.

Adam seemed much more comfortable than Wicks in the silence that followed. ‘Come on, Wicksy, he’s only a half-pinter. Have a pop,’ Louisa said.

Adam looked back at Louisa with a smile, and kept the smile on for Wicks. Wicks backed down. ‘Look, pal,’ he said.

‘I’m not your pal.’

‘It’s been a tough day, and I lost me rag, that’s all. I’ve been bailing out bloody cellar all afternoon.’

‘Well that’s not his fault,’ Adam said, nodding at Christopher.

‘Aye, but that’s four bottles a beer he just smashed. That’s twelve quid odd.’

‘That beer smells like you dredged it out at bogs.’

‘Alright, alright. I shun’t a said oat,’ said Wicks. He looked at the silty brown water running under the door. ‘I need a cleaner,’ he said.

‘What you need is a fucking wet nurse,’ Adam said, leaning over the bar. Louisa heard it, but Christopher did not. Wicks chose not to reply, and Adam came back to the table, leaving Christopher to sway gently to the music, a bottle in his mouth, his eyes full of concern, like a hulking lap-dancer trying to play damsel-in-distress.

After a few moments, he returned to the table. ‘Erm. There’s a bad atmosphere in this joint. Erm, erm, erm. Bad vibes. Can we go?’

‘Suits me,’ said Louisa. ‘We can have one back at mine.’

‘You alright?’ Adam said, smiling up at Christopher.

Christopher cracked a deviant smile of his own. ‘Erm. Sometimes I have one too many.’

‘Oh aye,’ said Adam.

‘Have you ever lost bowel control due to drink, at all?’ Christopher asked.

‘No,’ said Adam.

‘Or, erm, bladder?’

‘You be careful of my sofas, you,’ said Louisa. Christopher found this inordinately funny.

They left with nods and smirks, opening the door to let in a backwash of filthy water. The poor drainage in the car park allowed great pools of standing water to fizz with new rain. Christopher and Louisa were bomb-proofed by outdoor gear, but Adam had only a slim jacket, so he stayed under the awning, behind a curtain of water. Louisa became mischievous and kicked puddles at Christopher, mainly soaking herself. Christopher turned around, delighted, and kicked back. ‘Fiend,’ he shouted. ‘Erm. Succubus fiend.’

‘Accept it,’ she shouted back. ‘When you’re in love with a beautiful woman, it’s hard.’

They kicked up ropes and tunnels of water, until Christopher stopped, wiping the grime from his face. ‘Oh. Erm. Nearly forgot, Louisa. I’ve got something for you,’ he said.

Adam looked up as soon as he heard the bell ring in Christopher’s pocket. It took Louisa a little longer to realise.

‘Yours, I presume,’ Christopher said in his suave detective voice, handing the mouse head key-ring to Louisa. She did not look at Adam, who remained a couple of metres away, beneath the awning.

‘Where did you find this?’ she said to Christopher.

‘Wait,’ Adam said.

‘Erm. It was in the downstairs bathroom at home. I knew it was yours straight away of course. Erm. I’m no fool. You must have left it there in the halcyon days of you being friends with Maggie.’

Louisa closed her fist around the mouse head, silenced the bell. Adam walked out from under the awning, and grimaced against the rain. ‘I
was
there,’ he said.

‘Shut up,’ she said. Christopher flinched.

‘I was there,’ Adam continued, ‘But I never did oat.’

She opened her hand, looked again at the charm and closed her fist. ‘You know what? Fuck you.’

‘Erm. Erm, now now, children,’ Christopher said, bemused. ‘Don’t bicker.’

‘I didn’t do anything. You and me had argued, and I was mad, but I didn’t do oat. Look at me,’ Adam said to her. ‘You know I’m not lying.’

‘Don’t try that fake nonsense on me,’ Louisa said. ‘I’m not some lonely housewife you can play mind games with.’

‘Don’t do this,’ Adam said. ‘Don’t use this as an excuse.’

‘An
excuse
?’ Louisa said.

Adam’s shoulders sank. And then he received a text message. The vibrations of his phone sounded like a throat being cleared, his pocket was lit green. Automatically his hand reached down, but he stopped himself. Louisa laughed. ‘Answer it,’ she said. ‘Go on. Off you pop.’

‘What’s, erm, going on?’ said Christopher.

‘Adam has got work commitments,’ Louisa replied.

‘You can’t go,’ Christopher said. ‘I’ve had a wonderful evening, and this could be it. It could be one of those nights. A night to remember.’

‘I’d rather forget it,’ Louisa said. ‘I’d sooner forget all of it. You know what you are?’ she said to Adam, who was already nodding. ‘You’re a decent fuck, and nothing else.’

‘Aye,’ he said, and started to walk away. He pulled the jacket over his head as he left the car park, and began to run towards the hill. Christopher shouted to him. ‘Adam, wait. It’s only just begun. We could be the fun-boy three. Erm. Youth.’ But Adam did not look back.

Louisa and Christopher walked up the hill against the rain, because there was nothing else to do. Christopher spoke of the Game and Country Show, and of the death of Robin Hood, its various representations. He spoke of the Prioress, and her attractiveness. He slurred his words badly. ‘Erm, erm. I can’t believe she didn’t come back to stop the bleeding. I think she would have done. She couldn’t have, erm, forgotten because she had love on the brain. I mean, what about when they carved the figures together? Erm. Sometimes I take some Zuclopenthixol, and then I have one too many. It’s a lethal cocktail, but it feels good at the time.’ He laughed and then stopped. ‘There must have been blood everywhere.’

Louisa could barely hear him. She walked a few paces in front. She pulled up her hood but let the rain run down her face unchecked and into her eyes which stung already. She was stuck between never wanting to see him again, and praying that the wheels of his Golf had sunk into the ground. They had not. She saw the flash of his car pass by near the top of the hill. He slowed down, but when she did not turn, he kept going.

By the time they got to the house, Christopher was shivering. He had forgotten to fasten his coat, and a bib of wetness soaked his jumper. ‘I’ve got some letting to do myself, now. Some purging. Erm. Erm. I’m going to the toilet to commit perjury.’

He ran upstairs. Louisa took her time to work through his words, and worried for a moment. ‘Christopher, what do you mean?’ she said. But she could already hear him vomiting in the toilet. She went up to her bedroom, where she saw Adam’s overnight bag, forgotten in the corner. She replaced her jeans with an identical dry pair. ‘You okay?’ she said.

‘Erm. Yes. Like father like, erm, son, eh?’

Louisa descended to the kitchen, and looked at the notice-board where she had pinned the postcard Maggie had sent about the van repairs, now coated with dust and bird particles.
Mrs Musters as Hebe
. Louisa noticed for the first time that the eagle was perched not on a rock, but on a dark, smoky cloud. Mrs Musters stared out with a strained smile. Louisa took out the pin and turned the card over. Maggie always flattened the ‘M’ of her name so that it looked like the distant bird that a child paints in a picture of a sunny day.

Louisa washed the nutrients from some beef in preparation for the hawks’ morning meal and listened to the pressing insistence of the rain. The wild birds would be struggling, but her own were safe, if slightly unfit, in their communal shelter. She thought of Adam, of the proposal he had made in this house.

By the time Christopher came downstairs, Louisa was crying, her hands squeezing bubbly pink liquid out of the strips of beef shin in the sink. Christopher charged around the living room, rejuvenated after his purging. Louisa could not hold off the tears and it wasn’t long before Christopher noticed. ‘Oh,’ he said. He crept, with comic quietness, to the computer, turned it on, and came over to Louisa at the sink with the same soft footsteps. Louisa could see his reflection in the kitchen window. He had stopped a yard from her back, and was peering round her, into the sink. ‘Erm. Put. The meat. Down,’ he said.

Louisa laughed. ‘Oh shut up,’ she said, sniffing. ‘I’m alright.’

‘Erm. Erm. Step away from the meat,’ Christopher said.

Louisa let the strips of beef slide into the sink with a sop. She ran her hands under the tap, and dried them on her jeans, leaving slight traces of blood on the worn-white denim. She turned around.

‘It always seems like there’s, erm, someone missing from the party, doesn’t it?’ Christopher said.

Louisa nodded.

‘There’s never the, erm, full complement.’ He studied Louisa’s face.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said. ‘Never seen me cry?’

‘It’s not that. I’ve seen you cry loads of times. Erm, I’ve just never seen you cry whilst wearing make-up.’

Louisa wiped the darkness from her eyes. He had seen her cry loads of times; she considered that, and knew it was probably true. She looked at him. The vessels in the whites of his eyes had broken from straining to vomit. One of his eyes was blue, the other grey like David’s. He had probably lost a contact lens down the toilet, Louisa thought.

‘I’ve got something, erm, amazing to show you. It’s absolutely first class. Blow your socks completely off.’

He knelt down at the computer, and shoved the chair towards Louisa, who sat down, shattered. Christopher went to the video search engine. Louisa did not know if she had the patience for a Jason Donovan song now. She rubbed her eyes, thought of all the women she knew whom Adam could have been with, that very moment.

Christopher typed
FPS Water Balloon
. A list of thumbnails appeared. He clicked one, and maximised the video so it filled the screen. A red balloon. A red balloon with what looked like a Stanley knife heading towards it, extremely slowly. ‘Christopher, what is this?’

‘Quiet,’ he said, in a deep voice.

At the moment the tip of the knife hit the surface of the balloon, the red skin shed, smoothly peeling away in two directions from the point of contact, leaving a suspended balloon-shaped mass of bright white water, the surface rippling into the most incredible tiny peaks of silver light. Louisa could still see the line along which the balloon skin had broken, and the knife continued to travel slowly through the perfectly formed capsule of water. Gradually, the shape became hairy, and gave way to gravity, but Louisa remained transfixed. The images resonated with the slow rhythms of her drunkenness.

‘What—?’

‘Slow motion, high speed camera. A thousand frames per second,’ Christopher said.

Louisa frowned.

‘It’s what your birds see,’ Christopher said.

Louisa took a sharp intake of breath, remembering the falconry display on the lawn, and Christopher’s question about how fast the wasp was travelling. Meanwhile, on the screen, a bullet ran through a lemon, the skin of which opened slowly in a zig-zag pattern. ‘It’s amazing,’ she said.

‘It’s certainly, erm, eye-opening,’ he said.

‘It’s eye-
changing
,’ she said, and they smiled.

‘Erm. That’s right. Before these cameras, nobody had ever seen what these things looked like.’

More images flashed up: missiles breaking their own circles of haze, televisions exploding decorously, the elements flying apart in perfect order. There were more water balloons, some breaking over people’s faces like membranous sheaths. A face was slapped, the hand stroking softly but distorting the features, almost folding the nose over. The lips became cod-like as the waves of the blow passed through the skin like a crease being ironed.

It was beautiful, Louisa thought, and so considerate of Christopher. It was like something Maggie would do. Louisa decided not to mention this to Christopher, but the idea of Maggie’s influence gave her hope. She glanced at the timer, which promised another nine minutes of high definition eruptions and disasters. The thing about seeing the world slowed down, she thought, was that you could watch something terrible unfolding, without the ability to do anything about it. Perhaps you would not even notice that it was happening.

Louisa yawned and ruffled Christopher’s hair. He put his head against her shoulder, and she cradled it, closed her eyes. She could feel the pulse in his temple, the vessels constricted by dehydration. She could hear the rain, like words tapped out on a typewriter. She dropped down a level, into a half-sleep, and on this plain she saw Adam, his thick fingers on her thigh, his head turned away. He had a way of breathing through his mouth that left him parched. She blinked. Christopher’s right hand had slid along the inside seam of her jeans, and up between her legs. His head was against her breast. She blinked again, and then realised what was happening. She stood sharply from the chair, grabbing his wrist as she did so and pushing him back. He fell against the computer. His look of fear did nothing to assuage her, just pumped the blood lust further. ‘Never, ever do that,’ she said.