The Lamplighters (10 page)

Morning birdsong rang out across the island. Marla, meanwhile, slept like a dead thing. Her breath was barely audible above the joyous chorus of birdsong outside on the roof. Gradually the shrill orchestra penetrated through the layers of sleep and Marla groaned herself awake, remembering the agonizing abdominal pains of the preceding night. She was already in the bathroom, taking a pee, when she realized the pain had gone. Not just gone, but disappeared entirely, as if it had never been there in the first place. In fact, she felt healthier than ever, rejuvenated somehow. Removing her tampon, Marla was stunned by its dryness. She had expected to see lots of blood, but there was very little. And what scant blood was there had already taken on that deep brown color, like autumnal leaves turned to rust. She was puzzled about how her flow could have diminished after such an aggressive bout of pain. She pressed some tissue paper between her legs and inspected it. Marla could now see that her menses hadn’t just diminished, they had
stopped
. There was nothing on the tissue paper—not a trace of blood at all.

Beyond the green belt, towards the beach, Pietro lay in bed trying to masturbate to some memories of a blonde he’d fucked on the beach one night in Palermo. He couldn’t remember her name, or where she was from—some Eurotrash from the East no doubt—but he had clear memories of seducing her back to the beach and doing her over the bank of a sand dune. He tried desperately to fixate on an image of her ass, pale and round as two full moons, but try as he might he just couldn’t stay hard. He grunted in frustration as his dick went limp in his hand, vowing that he had to do something about this; he needed to feel alive again. Life on the damned island was sapping his virility. Pietro concentrated on a mental facsimile of Marla’s face. Maybe this new blood could, well, give him some new blood. He traced the line of her mouth around the head of his cock with the digit he lovingly referred to as his “pussy finger”. Oh, wait. There was a little stirring in his loins. It was a start.

Something else stirred on the island too, a presence that sensed its time was coming. A sudden shift in the seasons. It churned the waves in the sea like a great invisible oar. It rattled the branches of the trees and hissed through their leaves. The birds flapped their wings and stopped singing for a few moments, as if steeling themselves for changes yet to come.

Chapter Fifteen

As the days passed, Marla found herself becoming accustomed to her new life in paradise. Whenever Adam dropped by with a food parcel, she imagined herself the Lady of the Manor and he the faithful servant. They drank coffee together outside the summerhouse and got to know a little more about one another. Adam was a business school dropout, who had gotten into the security profession after a brief stint as a volunteer at summer camps. Gradually, Marla opened up to Adam, regaling him with tales of her wilder days and nights in London. At points the conversation became a little muted, whenever Marla began to dwell on the past. She made a mental note to avoid sounding too maudlin in future—nobody likes a Moaning Minnie after all. But there was lots of laughter too, with Adam making fun of Marla’s “posh English accent” whenever he could. She enjoyed his easy humor, and his company in general, but after a time she began to feel there was a downside (
isn’t there always
). This was her thing; Marla was actually beginning to wonder if there was something “wrong” with her. Waiting for Adam to make a move was becoming something of a thankless task. She wasn’t enjoying the way his visits had descended into a routine indiscernable from the systematic list of chores she had to perform daily up at the house. The initial relaxation of her first few days on the island had turned into a kind of breathless tension—a cycle of expectation and disappointment that left her feeling very much like a tightly coiled spring. Mopping the huge expanse of kitchen floor at the house became an act of aggression and perhaps most disturbingly, Marla had begun chattering to herself like some insane old washerwoman. This wasn’t good, she’d decided, and so opted to visit Jessie in the hope of getting good and loaded on her secret stash—and to hell with the hangover.

“Ah, you’ve got cabin fever already,” said Jessie with an evil twinkle in her eye, “Pietro’s gonna be gloating, that bastard. He said you’d only last a week. I had you down for at least a month.”

“You were running a book on me?” asked Marla, incredulous.

“We sure were. In case you hadn’t noticed, which obviously you didn’t, us old timers went
totally
cabin a few months back. Wait and see, you’ll be placing bets on all kinds of things soon. One of the oldest forms of entertainment known to humanity, especially for sexy young human beings like us who are stuck on a rock without music, TV or books to keep them occupied!”

“I see. Well, maybe there’s an opportunity for me here. I’ll write the bloody books, then you and the Italian Stallion can read them…”

“Awesome. I like that plan.”

“For a fee.”

“Not awesome. See? You’re settling right in.”

Marla laughed. Finally some of the tension was dissipating. She had been taking herself far too seriously these past few days.

“Does it get any easier? The isolation, I mean.” There was an upward curve to her voice as she mouthed the question. It ended on a hopeful note.

“No. Not really.”

Marla’s face fell again, hope shattered.

Jessie placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Look, you just have to be creative about how you spend your time. That’s all.”

“I did have a long walk over to the beach, met Pietro at his place, it was really lovely.”

“Yes, I saw him yesterday too. He said he’d met you. Listen, you’re a big girl Marla, so I don’t need to tell you to be careful of that one. Hey, was he complaining about not being allowed to go swimming in the sea again?”

Marla nodded.

“Oh I wish he’d change the damn record.”

“It’s his passion though, isn’t it?”

Jessie scoffed. “One of them, maybe.” Her smile shrank. “But anyway, the lovely island walks, they soon get old.”

“I really can’t imagine that.”

“Oh, you can’t imagine it
now.
Just like you couldn’t imagine booking into the Cabin Fever Motel when you first arrived here—trust me, everything reaches boredom point here. The question is; what can we do about it? What can we possibly do to liven things up around here?”

She looked pointedly at Marla, who was now feeling like a school kid who’d been caught staring out of the window. Her mouth fell open, dumbly.

“Secret party. That’s how.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“That’s how we liven things up. With a fucking party. And you dear—well, I need your help to pull it off. How’s your yoga?”

“My yoga?”

“Yeah. Ever indulged?”

“No, well I went to a pilates class once, but…”

“Follow me, look and learn. Come on, the lawn awaits.”

Marla plummeted towards the ground again, as her belly dipped causing her legs to give way. As her outstretched palms skidded across the grass, she tried to twist her head to one side and ended up rolling onto a garden sprinkler. Arching her back and sitting up painfully, Marla rubbed her lower back with one hand. It was very tender where she’d pivoted onto the sprinkler valve. Both her hands were stained green from the grass and began to sting furiously with friction burning. Yoga, it seemed, was not very relaxing.

The complicated move that Jessie had assured her was “beginner-level stuff” was called “Downward Dog”. Marla honestly thought “Collapsing Cow” would be more apt a description. Jessie did too, clearly, as she spent the next five minutes rolling around with laughter on the lawn watching Marla fail. Her student gave up, lying back down on the soft grass breathless, remembering to avoid the sprinkler head this time round.

“Giving up already?” Jessie was still laughing.

“I’m glad to be the source of so much amusement,” Marla said dryly as Jessie lay down next to her, shielding her eyes from the sun with a saluting hand.

“You’ll get the hang of it. Takes practice, that’s all. Just wait ’til I show you ‘The Wheel’.”

Whatever “The Wheel” was, it sounded downright painful and Marla wanted no part of it. She rubbed at the tender spot in her back and quickly changed the subject.

“Are you serious about what you said earlier—about throwing a secret party?”

“Deadly serious.”

“Who would we invite?”

Jessie gave her a stern look.

“Jesus, you’re so transparent. You can invite Adam if you want, I think we can trust him. But none of the others, especially Anders—he’s a total slime.”

“Where would we have the party? The houses are off-limits right? And the rule about gatherings—Fowler was pretty adamant about that.”

“The whole point of having a party is to stick it to The Man. And where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Jessie lowered her voice. “There’s a mansion on the other side of the island, around the coastline from Pietro’s place but off the beaten track, surrounded by huge old trees. We call it The Big House.”

“The Big House?”

“Damn straight. The place is fricking massive, and really cool, it looks like the oldest house on the island. Thing is, it’s all locked up with shutters and shit. The security defenses are all computerized. I’d love to find out what’s so precious they lock it up in there.”

“So how are we going to get in?”

“Simple, I hack into the computer network and modify the house’s security parameters. If I do it behind the scenes, the Chief and his boys won’t notice a thing; it’ll look like everything is functioning normally. Then we slip in through the back door.”

“So you’re a computer hacker now?”

“Look. I could tell you but…”

“Yeah, yeah. But then you’d have to kill me right?”

Jessie nodded sagely.

“But what about Fowler’s rules, hey? What if we get caught?”

“Screw Fowler’s rules. And we won’t get caught. I have a plan Marla, a very good plan.”

“I don’t doubt that. It’s just… I can’t afford to mess up my chances of getting paid.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it toots. An integral part of my plan is that it is founded upon the bedrock principle of not messing up getting paid.”

Jessie’s words were doing nothing to reassure her. She had a fleeting vision of herself, Jessie, Pietro and Adam standing in front of Fowler’s desk stone drunk and wearing idiotic party hats, desperately trying desperately to explain themselves.

“Admit it, you want to stick to The Man too. I see it in your eyes.”

Marla was of two minds, but the idea of spending the night partying with Adam was tipping the balance a little.

“So, there was another reason I brought you out here toots, apart from yoga practice I mean…”

Jessie’s voice had taken on a hushed, conspiratorial tone. Marla turned to her, placing a hand over her forehead to block out the sun. She was a mirror image of Jessie, partners in crime.

“Don’t be too obvious, but I want you to lie back and look up at the trees to the right of the house. Make it look like you’re just stretching out, relaxing.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Just. Do. It,” Jessie whispered firmly.

Marla did as she was told. The trees to the right were away from the sun and as Marla’s eyes adjusted she could just make out a white bird perching high up in the topmost branches.

“What do you see?”

“A white bird.”

“Look again.”

“What the hell is this about Jessie?”

“That’s no bird.
Look again
.”

Marla squinted up at the trees once more. The white bird looked strangely still. No song emanated from its black beak.

“Marla, it’s a security camera.”

“No it isn’t…”

“Yes it is. And they’re all over this island, watching us night and day.”

Marla’s skin flushed cold.

Marla could see security cameras everywhere as she and Jessie walked through the trees towards her own summerhouse. She could see them in the white of the clouds peeking through branches and in the feathers of songbirds perched on the gatepost as they approached the house. Then they were part of the house itself, insinuating themselves into the neutral stucco background beneath the eaves. She felt herself becoming twitchy and nervous, watching for the glint of a lens, listening out for the whirring of tiny camera motors.
Shouldn’t have smoked that joint
, thought Marla,
get a bloody grip. I mean it’s not as though London was exactly short on security cameras. Paranoia, that’s all this is. You’ve got The Fear…

“You okay, toots?”

Jessie was part way up the path to the house. She looked back at Marla who had stopped at the gate, staring blankly up at the white stucco giant.

“Fine. I’m fine.” She walked on, catching up. “Let’s just get inside shall we?”

She passed Jessie, who looked a little concerned by Marla’s behavior, and headed for the summerhouse door. It was framed by late afternoon shadow, cool and inviting.

Inside, Jessie poured them both a stiff drink from a little stainless steel hipflask that she had hidden behind a throw cushion. Marla slugged back the drink, balancing out the effects of the smoke and the heat.

“Why didn’t you tell me about them before? The cameras?”

“Look, you seemed so damned blissed out, I didn’t want to lay any downers on you. I thought you’d spot them yourself soon enough anyway, city girl like you.”

“Must be losing my touch, or my eyesight. Or both.”

Marla felt positively myopic. How had she missed these spies in the skies, watching her as she walked up the path to the house, tracking her movements as she made her way to Jessie’s and Pietro’s? Why didn’t she notice them zooming in on her as she chatted with Adam outside the summerhouse?

There’s a thing
, thought Marla sighing with relief.
Maybe there isn’t anything wrong with me after all. Adam didn’t want to make a move because he knew the cameras were there!
Her sigh became a dry chuckle. Then her chuckling stopped—he should’ve told her about the cameras sooner too. Whatever, she’d just have to drag him inside and jump him next time. Try zooming in on
that
, pesky cameras. Then a new flood of paranoia invaded her daydream—what if there were cameras inside the summerhouse? In the bedroom. The
shower?
She looked up at the ceiling, nervously peering into the corner shadows.