Dead to Her

by Sarah Pinborough

  She stared at the ceiling. Keisha had said that when she’d seen Marcie it had been like a lightning strike. Is that how it had been for her too? She could still vividly see Keisha coming down the stairs on William’s arm, wearing that too short Versace dress, so glorious it had almost hurt to look at her. Had her envy and fascination actually been attraction on some subliminal level and she hadn’t realized? God, it was all so confusing. But she couldn’t stop herself fizzing with fantasies of what might have happened if the men hadn’t come home so soon.

  She stared at her phone again. Still nothing from Jason, and all she felt was irritation rather than hurt. Even when he’d gone to Europe last year for some client or other, and she’d been stuck at home with an awful stomach bug in their cozy old house, he’d at the very least texted her every evening before bed. How times had changed. Maybe they’d been changing then.

  She opened her message thread to Keisha again, her heartbeat getting faster. Screw it, she decided. There was only one way to find out what she was really feeling. She typed quickly, before she could change her mind. Let’s go out tomorrow if you like. Get some late drinks or something. I’ll let you know where in the morning. Sorry if this woke you!

  It had barely been sent before a reply pinged back. Wild! See you then. X

  Wild. God. Her stomach knotted. No going back now. She stretched out on the bed, her legs slightly parted. It felt good. She felt sexy. She slid her hand down under the sheets. There was no crime in fantasizing after all. Maybe she just needed to get it out of her system. She closed her eyes and remembered the kiss.

  She woke later, startled, and sat up, her body on sudden alert, instinctually aware that something wasn’t quite right. A noise. Was it someone in the house? She listened, heart thumping in the hum of silence, for soft footfalls or a creak of wood. There was nothing. Not in the house. Outside. An engine running. That was all.

  She got up and went to the balcony doors and shutters to close them, the breeze having dropped and the night air now thick hot tar filling the house. The car engine still thrummed and she frowned. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where people came and went at all hours of the night, loitering outside houses while saying good night to a beau. It was wealthy and sedate. Alarm systems turned on and residents in bed by midnight, barely even the chirp of cicadas on the neatly tended lawns to disturb the peace.

  She peered out, mildly curious. The car wasn’t moving, just sitting there on the street opposite the house, headlights turned off, engine purring. It was a sedan, maybe blue but it was hard to tell, stopped as it was away from the gentle beam of the streetlamps. Who was inside? And who were they watching? On impulse, she stamped on the switch for the tall floor lamp by the dresser, filling the room with light, and then peered back out again, hidden from view. A brief moment later, the car pulled away, going a hundred yards or so before turning the headlights back on.

  Her breath caught. Her. They’d been watching her. Or Jason. Or studying their new house. She stared into the silent darkness a little longer, until she was sure the car had gone. Who would want to watch their house? Jacquie. Maybe Jason’s ex-wife really was back in town. She turned the light out and the AC on and got back into bed. Could it have been Jacquie texting Jason in the middle of the night? Surely not. The divorce had been so bitter, there was no way she’d want him back now that she was single again. That love had long ago turned to dislike, if not outright hate.

  Marcie closed her thoughts down. It was two in the morning and she’d long ago stopped losing sleep over Jacquie. Screw it. Tomorrow she’d go and buy something new to wear and then she had a night on the town to look forward to. A night with Keisha.

  23.

  Keisha was on a high and not only from the joint they were smoking in the dumpster alley behind the bar on River Street, heels wobbling on the cobbles. The air was filled with jazz and live band music, combined with the scent of seafood cooking, all spilling out from the lively bars and restaurants looking out over the water. This was Keisha’s kind of place, and the night was going great. Better than great. Marcie was wearing a shoestring-strap black glitter minidress that looked new, bare freshly tanned legs on show and hair loose around her shoulders, scrunched scruffy sexy. And she’d been there before Keisha arrived. The sight of her made Keisha’s heart thump too fast. She was curious, Keisha just knew it. For all that they’d laughed it off as a drunken moment over the first drink, their kiss had opened a door inside that they were both tempted to go through. Maybe they would. The night was still young and it felt good to be out in it, surrounded by people her own age, where she could breathe, away from the oppressive atmosphere of the staid luxury she now lived in. Away from all the ghosts, those who belonged in this city and the ones—there was no boy—she’d brought with her in her own fragile mind.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” Marcie said, with the snort of an almost teenage giggle as she took a long hit on the reefer Keisha had brought with her. “I’ve only just recovered from last time.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll hold your hair when you throw up.”

  “Ah, true love.” Marcie laughed again and handed the joint back. Her eyes shone and Keisha laughed. She felt good tonight. Her head was clear. She liked these moods, they were way better than when the pendulum swung the other way and left her feeling needy and out of control.

  “You not much of a smoker, Marcie?” One of their new friends, Daria, took a long hit before passing it on to Jade, her companion. There had been a drinks collision in the busy bar and they’d all gotten talking. The two girls were at Savannah State University, staying in the Tiger Court residence, their whole lives ahead of them. Daria did shifts as a waitress to make extra money for her tuition and Jade was thinking of dropping out and traveling for a year, working her way around beach resorts in Goa and Thailand. They were normal. No trust funds, no little Mercedes from Daddy. They were almost like some of the girls Keisha had known back home.

  “Marcie’s been married too long,” Keisha teased. “She’s forgotten how to have fun.”

  Marcie pulled a face at her. “You laugh but give it another five years with William and your joint days will be long over. Joint pain management is how you’ll be spending your time as you push his wheelchair.”

  “Five years? I was kind of hoping he’d be buried by then.” They all laughed, Keisha the loudest. Maybe her mood was slightly manic, the excitement in danger of tipping her over the edge. Breathtaking highs, or terrible lows, those were the landscapes of her emotions. An inheritance from her dead mother. Cursed. She pushed the word away.

  “And they say romance is dead.” Jade glanced at the time on her cell. “Anyway, great meeting you, but we’ve got to split.” She tugged Daria’s jacket. “Come on, I told Laz we’d be there by eleven thirty. He won’t wait and then we’ll never find him.”

  “Hey, you two should come with us!” Daria said. “Gonna be wild! A kind of underground club night in the woods down by the Truman Parkway. Music, drink, food. All kinds of tents set up and stuff given away free. Happens every year. Goes on till dawn for those who have the energy.”

  “What do you think?” Keisha asked Marcie after a pause. “Could be fun?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m not really a staying-up-till-dawn-partying kind of girl,” Marcie said.

  “We don’t have to. Just stay for an hour or so.”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  “Wow, quick turnaround. I didn’t realize you were so easily led. That’s good to know . . .”

  Marcie rolled her eyes at Keisha’s teasing, but a blush had crept across her cheeks and Keisha thought she looked beautiful.

  “So, you guys coming?” Jade said, fingers flicking over her iPhone. “I’m getting an Uber.”

  “Sure.” Keisha flicked the roach to the ground. “We love a party.”

  “Oh, you’re going to really love this one.” Daria’s eyes gleamed. “Craziest night of the year for those in the know.”


  24.

  Marcie held her breath as they hurried past the pile of garbage sacks that acted as a border between normal life and the homeless town that existed under the parkway. The mountain of uncollected waste stank and she dreaded thinking how much vermin was probably living in it.

  “Nearly there,” Daria said.

  “We don’t have to go through that do we?” Keisha nodded toward the camp of battered tents and beaten people living under a concrete sky. Here and there, faces stared out at them, impassive. Not overly threatening but definitely unsettling, huddled by fires that crackled in oil drums under graffitti-daubed pillars. The underbelly of the city that no one wanted to see.

  “Don’t worry,” Jade said. “We’re going into the woods. We’ll be fine.”

  “Glad you sound so sure.”

  “Like I said, it’s a special night.”

  Marcie wasn’t convinced. What on earth was she doing out here following two women she’d only just met to some no doubt illegal party? For all she knew they were about to get robbed. Or worse. This was the sort of impulsive shit she’d done as a kid, but not now. She was here only because Keisha had obviously wanted to come. Keisha. As Jade led them up a narrow path into the woods, Marcie reached for the other woman’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. There was no going back now. She may as well try to relax and enjoy it. It was a few minutes’ walk in the dark, only cell-phone lights to guide them—thankfully also showing full signal—and then Marcie heard the first hints of sound, a thrum of life somewhere up ahead. The path reached a peak and then as they ducked under some branches, it dipped down sharply to a surprise large clearing, half the size of a football field.

  “Wow,” Keisha said, as Marcie looked around, wide-eyed. Okay, so they weren’t going to get robbed. Lights were strung in trees at the edges, and there were tents and stalls set up here and there, a large unlit bonfire down at the other end, candles burning, food cooking, and a lot—maybe a hundred or so—of people dancing and laughing. Music hummed in the air, a sensual rhythm, heavy on the drums, as if it pulsed through the earth itself.

  “St. John’s Eve, baby!” Jade leapt into the arms of the shaven-headed black man waiting for them, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist. He was so tall he made her look like a child.

  “Hey, Laz. We brought a couple of friends,” Daria said. “And we all need a drink.”

  The man, Laz, extracted himself from Jade, and then led them to a small table, where a middle-aged hippie woman was filling paper cups from a punch bowl.

  “Welcome to the party,” he said as he handed them each a cup. “Drink, eat, dance, and be merry. Tonight our wishes come true.”

  “What is it?” Marcie asked, peering inside.

  “Tafia. Homemade rum.”

  She watched as the others, including Laz, drank theirs, her instinctual paranoia about her drink being spiked causing a brief knot in her stomach, but the rum had to be safe, it had all come out of the same bowl. She glanced over at Keisha, who winked at her. “Bottoms up.” Marcie stared into the cup for a moment, took a deep breath, and then drank.

  After that, the world swirled and time stretched like molasses as they moved through the thick hot mess of nature and people. They’d lost Daria and Jade to Laz, but Marcie wasn’t bothered. She didn’t feel drunk exactly, but somewhere close. The tafia burned her throat but relaxed her body and as she and Keisha wandered through the crowds it felt perfectly natural to have their hands linked and to feel Keisha rest her head on her shoulder when they paused at this stall or that to look at what was cooking or what was being sold.

  Heat. That’s what Marcie felt as Keisha led her farther into the steadily growing throng of people. Somewhere up ahead, the bonfire had been lit and as it blazed, the air was becoming an acrid mist hanging low. A passing man with short bleached hair and wide trippy eyes lined with black kohl that was harsh against his white skin grinned as he refilled their cups, shouting, “Drink to old John Bayou! Tonight is his night!”

  An elbow dug into Marcie’s back as dancers jostled for space, and she tugged at Keisha, nodding her forward to where there was more space. Yes, it was near the bonfire so they’d be hot, but at least they’d be able to breathe. The music had gotten louder and more energetic and the dancers, sweaty faced and slick backed, were happily keeping up. Thank God Keisha didn’t look like she wanted to join in either. In fact, she was frowning slightly, peering off to her right.

  “You okay?” Marcie leaned in and shouted.

  Keisha nodded. “I just thought I saw . . .” She paused and then shook her head, her face smoothing out. “Nothing. Just all this smoke getting in my eyes.”

  Marcie took the lead and pulled her out of the heaving crowd to a small space at the edge of the clearing. She was happy to see a proper tarmacked path leading out of it on this side, and the trees didn’t look as dense farther up that way. At least they could get out of here easily enough when they wanted to.

  They’d gotten off the improvised dance floor at the right time. A fresh tune was playing and it had brought everyone onto the grass. Marcie didn’t recognize the heavy beat, but as several of the party-goers jumped up and down shouting “Dansé Calinda!” along with the chorus, it was hard not to be swept along by the energy, the freedom of it. Faces loomed out of the smoke, smiling and damp, as they bounced and twisted in the air.

  “This is crazy!” Marcie said.

  “Yeah, like some awful rave. But kind of fun. We just need some pills.”

  It was different for Keisha. She’d probably had heaps of nights like this back in London. Wild parties. Nightclubs. Marcie hadn’t been to a club in what felt like forever. Definitely not since she’d been with Jason. It felt a little overwhelming. She wasn’t sure she belonged here. She wasn’t sure where she belonged anymore. She drank back half her cup and then coughed at the burn.

  “Take it easy,” Keisha said, laughing. “I don’t want you throwing up all night again.” Her face was radiant in the firelight and Marcie couldn’t stop looking at her. Her blood fizzed and her face flushed, warmth flooding through her. What was it about this woman that fascinated her so much? What was she being drawn into?

  “What do you want me doing all night instead?” she murmured. She trembled slightly and the noise around her dimmed as if she were underwater, only Keisha there with her.

  “You know what I want,” Keisha said, the fragility breaking the surface of her glorious confidence for a moment. For a moment they simply gazed at each other, eyes locked, unable to break away. It was intense. Too intense. Part of Marcie wanted to run like a frightened rabbit, back to safety, back to her dull life with her middle-aged husband. Her husband who lied and made middle-of-the-night secret calls and who was always in a bad mood in their big house with their rich friends. No, she would not run. Not tonight. Not in this night that made her feel as if anything was possible. She reached for Keisha’s face, once again pulling her close.

  The heat of the fire was nothing next to the heat of the kiss, burning slow and soft and deliberate. Keisha let out a moan, pressing her body into Marcie’s, and Marcie was sure she was melting. Everything was too hot. There were too many people around. But she couldn’t stop herself. After a second, Keisha pulled back, her eyes as glazed as Marcie’s own must have been, and glanced around. Was she worried about being seen by someone too? “Maybe we should—”

  Suddenly the music stopped and instantly everyone around them stilled, the sudden silence almost deafening.

  “What the fuck?” Keisha muttered. Briefly, there was nothing, not even a breath, and then a slow drumbeat started. First a solitary thud, before more joined in, the sound coming from all around them, drummers hidden in the woods, as if the forest itself were letting its heart be heard. The frozen dancers were staring at the bonfire, eyes wide with expectation.

  “Look,” Keisha breathed beside her. Marcie did. There must have been a platform of some kind behind the blazing fire, because three figures emerged,
looking as if they were rising up behind the flames and hovering there. Marcie frowned, her eyes trying to focus. It couldn’t be. The central figure stepped forward and as she came into view, the drums stopped. The whole crowd gasped as two men threw dust on the pyre, sending searing multicolored sparks high into the air, fireworks bright, and Marcie flinched, momentarily blinded, spots in her vision. But still she was sure she was right. It was. It was her.

  25.

  Keisha stared, her mouth slightly open, even Marcie forgotten. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? No. Auntie Ayo’s voice was bell clear in her head. It’s in your blood. It will always find you, KeKe, for good or bad.

  “It’s her,” Marcie murmured beside her, and all Keisha could do was nod. The tall, fat, ancient woman, framed by the sparkling flames, took another step and the bright umber of her hair made it look as if she were atop a pyre and burning alive in the night.

  The woman from the square. The crazy lady with the stall. It was her. Marcie was right. Keisha understood then what this was. Not a rave. Not a party. A celebration. Of the power. Of what was called many names and what ran strong through Auntie Ayo and what Keisha had always run from. She ran and ran and always it found her. Even now across the ocean.

  Above them, the old lady smiled, benevolent, at the crowd and then raised her cane, bringing it down three times, the drums in the forest matching her timing, boom boom boom! The crowd immediately dropped to the ground and banged their fists against it three times, an echo of a reply.

  Behind the old woman were two figures, one to her left and one to her right, veils over their heads and shoulders. On the last beat, they raised their arms high.

  “Are those live snakes?” Keisha glanced at Marcie. Her pale face reflected the flames as she watched, part horrified, part fascinated, the large serpents weaving themselves around the women’s arms. “Is that . . . ?” Marcie’s voice drifted away, smoke in the night, her face momentarily confused by something.