Ecstasy

by Irvine Welsh

  – Naw, I’m gaunny keep off the Es for a bit, it’s fucking my head up. I think I love everyone, then I think I’m incapable of loving anyone. The comedowns are getting pretty bad.

  – Yeah, I think you’re wise, you’ve put in a fair old bit over the last couple of years. You’ve well paid your dues, gel, ya know? Yvonne laughed then she stood up and embraced Lorraine in a hug which meant more to each woman than either could ever have told each other.

  As she left, Lorraine reflected on Yvonne’s love for Glen. No, she wouldn’t be going to the club with them. When two people were in love you had to leave them to it. Especially when you weren’t in love and wished that you were. That could embarrass. That could hurt.

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  The decline of the Earl of Denby continued apace. Servants complained that Flossie, the sheep, made a mess of the quarters, yet he insisted that she would be waited on by a team of hand-maidens, who would keep the animal in luxury and contentment, particularly ensuring that the beast’s fleece was well-groomed and spotless.

  – Flossie, my darling angel, Denby said, rubbing his erect penis against his beloved blackface’s fleece, – you have rescued me from a life of emptiness and despondency since the untimely demise of my wonderful wife … ah, Flossie, please do not mind me talking of that divine lady. I do wish that the two of you could have met! That would have been wonderful. Alas, it can never be, it is just the two of us now, my darling. How you arouse and tantalise me! I am bewitched … The Earl felt himself sliding into the sheep. – … what bliss …

  19 The Pathologist’s Report

  The Trust Manager, Alan Sweet, had that sinking feeling he’d anticipated for some time. Someone had to be the bearer of bad news. Sweet had a bad feeling about the bumptious Geoffrey Clements, the new pathologist, right from the start. Clements came into his office, without making an appointment, sat down, and thrust a typed report in front of him. After letting Sweet glance through it, he started to speak in deep, stern tones. – … and I have to conclude that the body of Mr Armitage-Welsby has been interfered with in the way I described, since it came into our possession, here at St Hubbin’s.

  – Listen, Mr Clements …, Sweet said, looking at the report, – … eh, Geoffrey … we have to be quite sure about this.

  – I am quite sure. Hence the report, Clements gruffly observed.

  – But surely there are other factors to consider …

  – Such as?

  – I mean to say, Sweet began, adding a matey wink which he immediately knew was a bad move before Clements’ bearded face could register a disapproving scowl, – Nick Armitage-Welsby attended an English public school and played rugby at all levels. These two factors should be enough to ensure that he was no stranger to these kind of, eh, attentions …

  Clements looked astonished.

  – I mean, Sweet continued – could the stretching and contusions around the sphincter and the traces of semen not perhaps be the result of some dressing-room pranks and frolics, perhaps at half-time, shortly before the poor unfortunate fellow was brought to us?

  – Not in my professional opinion, Clements retorted frostily. – And incidentally, I would like you to know that I attended an English public school and I play rugby with great enthusiasm, though at nowhere near the same level as Nick Armitage-Welsby used to. I have certainly never encountered those practices you talk about and I take great offence at the bland recital of such an offensive stereotype.

  – I apologise for any offence caused, Geoffrey. However, as Trust Manager, you appreciate that I have a responsibility to the Trustees who are accountable for any alleged malpractice …

  – What about your responsibility to the patients and their relatives?

  – Why, that goes without saying, surely. I regard the two as synonymous. But the point is that I can’t go around accusing members of staff of necrophiliac practices. If the press got hold of it, they would have a field day! Public confidence in the hospital and its management would be severely undermined. The Trust relies to a great extent for some of its innovative practices, like the state-of-the-art screening equipment in the new preventative medicine unit, on the goodwill, expressed through charitable donations, of its many wealthy benefactors. Why, if I started pushing needless panic buttons …

  – As manager, you and your team also have a duty to the public to investigate this, Clements snapped.

  Sweet decided that Clements stood for almost everything he detested, perhaps even more than the working classes he himself sprang from. That arrogant public-school assumption of in-bred superior morality. Bastards like that could afford it; no money worries there. Sweet, though, had staked everything on purchasing that large property on the Thames at Richmond, no more than a shell when he bought it. Now the bills had to be repaid, and things were coming along nicely, thanks to Freddy’s patronage. Now all that was being threatened, his very livelihood, by an arrogant little fuss-pot with a silver spoon in his mouth!

  Taking a deep breath, Sweet tried to resume his air of detached professionalism. – Of course, a full investigation will take place …

  – See that it does, Clements barked, – and see also that I’m kept informed.

  – Of course … Geoffrey … Sweet simpered through gritted teeth.

  – Goodbye, Mister Sweet, Clements snapped.

  Sweet grasped a pen in his fist and scraped the word CUNT across the paper of a lined notepad with such venom that it tore through six pages and left its impression on another dozen. He then picked up the phone and dialled a number. – Freddy Royle?

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  Lorraine had been following the Earl of Denby, all the way across the city to the opium den he frequented in Limehouse. Dressed in old clothes and with a scarf over her face to avoid being recognised by the Earl, she looked for all the world like a humble servant-girl. The disguise proved to be effective; in some ways too effective. Lorraine was subjected to continual harassment from the assorted reprobates and ne’er-do-wells who were returning home through the dark city streets after a night of revelry.

  She maintained her demeanour and walked on, but one persistent pair, dressed in military colours, had been making comments, and now they jumped in front of her to block her path.

  – This pretty maid will be fair game for some sport, I’ll wager, one of the men said wryly.

  – And I think I know the sport you have in mind, the other smiled lewdly.

  Lorraine froze to the spot. These drunken soldiers had mistaken her for a common maid. She was about to speak but was then aware of another presence behind her.

  – I caution you not to bother this lady, a voice was heard.

  Lorraine turned to see a handsome man emerging from the shadows.

  – Who do you think you are? One of the bloods shouted, – be about your business!

  The man stood impassively. Lorraine recognised the familiar contemptuous scowl on his lips, though his hat kept his eyes in shadow. When he deigned to address the young soldiers, he did so with authority. – I’ve been observing your revels, Sirs, and I have to inform you that your drunken verse displays a taste for the bawdy that would shame the most undisciplined conscripts from the coal towns of Lancashire!

  The other soldier, recognising the bearing of a fellow officer, seemed more wary. – And who might you be, Sir?

  – Colonel Marcus Cox, of the House of Cranborough, and of the 3rd Division of the Sussex Rangers. And you: who would be the rogue who sullies the colours of his fine regiment by insulting a lady of status in society and a ward of the Earl of Denby?

  – You know, Sir? Lorraine asked in surprise. Her disguise had been enough to fool the grieving Denby, he who could not wait to return from his London duties to his stupid sheep, but had not deceived Marcus Cox, restored as he was to full health and alertness.

  – Begging your pardon, my dear Miss Lorraine, the gallant young Colonel said
, turning back to the bucks, – well, what have you to say for yourselves?

  – Why, madam, one thousand apologies … we took you for a maid …

  – Evidently, said Marcus, – and in my capacity as enforcer of discipline within my own regiment how, pray tell, would my good friend Colonel ‘Sandy’ Alexander react to learning of his junior officers setting such an unseemly example of debauchery?

  – Sir … let me explain my circumstances … we are soon to be dispatched to the front to see off Boney’s mob. We … did not realise that the lady was … of society. My people are not wealthy, Sir, this commission means so much to them … I beseech you … the young soldier who had seemed the more arrogant pleaded openly, his face pained with anguish.

  Lorraine thought of her own circumstances, and the sacrifices made by her parents to introduce her to society. – It was my fault for dressing like this, Marcus, I only did it so that I could follow our beloved Denby undetected … she cried.

  Marcus Cox turned briefly to Lorraine, then glanced back at the two men. He let his bottom lip curl downwards and rested one hand on his hip as he looked them up and down. – I am not a man who lacks compassion by nature, Cox explained to the two young officers, – nor am I one who is immune to the temptations of sport, particularly before the stresses of battle, which I understand only too well. However, when an officer of a British regiment insults a lady of breeding, and one of my acquaintance, I can only demand satisfaction. All other considerations pale, he said ominously, his voice lowered almost to a whisper. Then he boomed, – Will you give me satisfaction?

  – Dear Sir, said the more silent of the soldiers, who was now in much distress, literally shaking, as if he was facing Napoleon’s rifles, – we cannot consent to duel with a senior officer! Let alone a man of your standing! It would be barbaric! To engage in combat with someone whom we should be standing with side by side for England, why, it is nothing short of perverse! Please, my noble Sir, I accept that we have erred badly and that some recompense is due to you for our dastardly behaviour towards the good lady, but please, I implore you, do not seek your satisfaction from us in this way!

  – And that is the feeling of you both? Cox asked.

  – Yes, Sir, it is, the other soldier answered.

  – I will have satisfaction, damn you! Cox roared into the night, – Will you give me satisfaction?

  – Sir … I beg you … how can we? The two young men were cowed and timid under the thunderous ferocity of the senior officer’s tones.

  Marcus felt his raw, tingling lips spattered with his froth, and a powerful throbbing in his chest. – I see before me a man of no consequence, unused to society and unfit to wear those colours, and an arrogant milksop who will sell his soul to save his quivering, goose-bumped flesh!

  – Please, Sir … I beseech you, in the name of England herself! How can we give you satisfaction in the manner you suggest?

  – Very well, said Cox, after a contemplative silence. – As you refuse to comply with my request to settle this matter in a time-honoured way, it leaves me to fall back upon the traditions of my own regiment to guide me. These traditions of punishment for junior officers who transgress, in this or any manner, are the punishments which I myself now feel duty-bound to administer. Drop your trousers, the both of you! Obey! Marcus turned to Lorraine, – Please get into the carriage, Lorraine, this is not for the eyes of a lady.

  Lorraine complied, but could not stop herself from pulling back the blind and observing the men strip from the waist and bend over a railing. She could watch no more, but she did hear the screams of one man and then the other, followed by Marcus shouting: – I will have satisfaction!

  He joined her shortly afterwards in the carriage, a little breathless. – I am sorry, Lorraine, that you had to be exposed, in this manner, to the harsher side of military discipline. It hurt me gravely to be forced to administer such a punishment, but the lot of a senior army officer is not always a pleasant one.

  – But your way of disciplining these officers, Marcus, was that usual?

  Marcus raised an eyebow at Lorraine. – There are many methods one can call upon, but in this particular situation, these were the ones I would expect to find most effective. When one is entrusted with the responsibility of administering punishment upon one’s brother officers it is important to remember that one still cannot relinquish one’s equally compelling role in ensuring that the sense of esprit de corps, the sense of togetherness and, yes, the sense of love for the regiment and for brother officers be maintained. This is absolutely essential for the purposes of morale.

  Lorraine looked doubtful, but was moved by Marcus’s eloquence to concede, – Alas, Sir, as a mere woman I am far from wise in military ways …

  – That is as it should be, Marcus nodded, – And now, what news of our friend, the Earl of Denby?

  – Oh, my Lord is still in such a sorry way, Marcus! It tears my heart! The gluttonous taking of wine and opium, the bizarre congress with that sheep … it vexes me so! He is going to Wiltshire in a few days, and he will be with that beast the entire time!

  – We must accompany him. We must endeavour to do something that will bring him to his senses. It was a trauma that enfeebled his mind, so perhaps it requires some trauma to shake him out off it. We must think.

  – Marcus, Lorraine began, after an impressively small pause for such thought, – I think I have something in mind …

  21 Lord Of The Rings

  The corpse had been pulled out of the burning warehouse early that morning. Glen winced as he looked at it; desensitised as he had become to dead bodies, some of them in abominable states, he had never come across one like this. The flesh was burned from the top half of the body, the face unrecognisable. Ominously, as Glen heard the heavy breathing of Freddy Royle behind him, he saw that the buttocks were almost untouched by the consuming flames.

  – Zo this un woz a regular arze bandit then, woz e? Freddy drawled.

  – Well, yeah, I mean it was a fire in a gay disco. The geezer’s boyfriend came in to identify the body, Glen nodded at the charred mess. – He could only recognise the ring, that’s how he was able to make the identification.

  Freddy thrust his index finger into the corpse’s arsehole. – Yeah, it’s about the only thing that ain’t been damaged … I dunno how he could tell the difference, though, most of them look the same to me. Must’ve been true love, eh?

  Glen shook his head and pointed at the gold band which was on one of the body’s charred fingers. – That ring, Freddy, he said.

  – Oh! Oi see wot you mean, me ol moite! Freddy laughed.

  Glen was almost gagging on the sickly scent of the charred flesh. It seemed to get everywhere. He stuck more of the blocking cream under his nostrils.

  After he had his way with the corpse, Freddy poured lighter fuel into the arsehole and set it on fire.

  – What are you doing? Glen screamed.

  – Just makin it a little bit more divigult vor that there patholigizt fella to vind evidinz, Freddy smiled as Glen started gagging again.

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  – The tenderest and most succulent lamb I have tasted in many years, Denby said, then froze. The word ‘lamb’ seemed to echo in his skull. Flossie. He glanced up at Harcourt who was filling his goblet with wine.

  – Indeed, Harcourt smiled, – meat, I hear, which has been marinated internally with the juices of the finest English aristocrat.

  – Denby looked across at Marcus Cox. It was not the smirk he expected on the face of his friend, but the odd look of compassion and pity that convinced him some terrible deed had been perpetrated. Harcourt, though, demonstrated no such compassion. His shoulders began to shake and a giggling sound vibrated from his bulky frame.

  – You … Denby rose and shouted, – Damn your eyes … if anything has happened to my Flossie I swear by God … he broke off and stormed into the kitchens.

  He saw the terrified face of the c
ook, Mrs Hurst, just as he came across the head of his beloved sheep, Flossie, decapitated and staring at him from the kitchen table with what he thought was a look of sadness and recrimination.

  He buckled as if from the impact of a blow, then quickly straightened and advanced towards the shivering old woman.

  – Damn you, you evil witch! I’ll consign your scrawny body to the grave and your twisted soul to hell!

  – This was not my work, Sir! the woman screamed.

  – Who sanctioned this sick, criminal butchery? Denby roared.

  – It were the young mistress, Sir, Miss Lorraine, it were her that told I to do this …

  – LIAR! Denby screamed, reaching for a meat cleaver on the table.

  Lorraine stood in the doorway. – My Lord, if you are to wreak vengance, vent your spleen on me. For it is true, it was I who sanctioned this!

  Denby looked at his ward. As his eyes met hers he could fathom no duplicity, only an unerring devotion in the beautiful young woman, who had, indeed, since the departure of his wife, unstintingly taken on the mantle of mistress of the hall. It had the effect of squeezing the anger from him like the juice from an orange. – But Lorraine, my sweet, tender blossom of wild Scotch heather … how could you do such an unspeakably vile thing!

  Lorraine turned away, and let the tears run from her eyes. Then she turned back to Denby. – I beg you, my Lord, believe me that I surely had to! The relationship between my beloved Earl and this unfortunate beast of the fields was making him the laughing-stock of society …

  – But …

  – … there was even talk of the corrosive power of syphilis on the faculties of his Lordship. You were, noble Sir, being steadfastly undermined by this scurrilous chatter, the idle banter of fools and reprobates, granted, yet still serving the foulest and most despicable of purposes …

  – I did not realise … I had no idea …

  – No, Sir, you did not, so bewitched by a spell of evil were you, so torn by heartbreak that the devil got into you while your defences were devastated by the loss of your darling wife. But that sheep is no replacement … only a woman can love a man, Sir, this I contend.