by Hugh Fraser
Roberto and his team deploy themselves near the door. Waiters bearing trays of champagne weave skillfully among the crowd. Lee takes my elbow and pilots me towards a group near the centre, which appears to be gathered around a tall, distinguished, silver haired figure, about sixty years old, standing next to an extremely beautiful dark-haired woman of about my age. They listen politely to a corpulent, red-faced man who appears to be delivering an impassioned plea for something or other. During a slight pause in his peroration, Lee takes my hand, approaches the silver-haired man and speaks to him in confident Spanish. The silver-haired man turns abruptly away from his interlocutor and smiles warmly at us, extending his hand first to Lee and then to me.
‘I am Enrico Gonzales,’ he says.
Lee shakes his hand and replies, ‘Spencer Johansen. This is my wife, Caroline.’
‘What a great pleasure to meet you both. I hope you will enjoy our little party. May I introduce my wife, Adelina?’
Adelina has the deepest dark brown eyes and skin so creamy that I have trouble letting go of her hand after we shake. Her silver sheath dress contains a luxurious body that appears to be making a subtle attempt to escape from it. She envelops me in a radiant smile.
‘How do you do?’
Her voice is a mellifluous purr that sends a ripple of pure pleasure direct to my pelvic floor. She senses my reaction and offers me another, slightly more knowing smile before turning to greet Lee. I find myself beginning to look forward to whatever entertainment might be available later and move a little closer to Gonzales, who compliments me on my dress, while staring at my cleavage.
We exchange pleasantries until a bell chimes and a gold-braided military man mounts a podium and addresses the audience. Gonzales excuses himself, goes to the podium and delivers a short speech, which is received with enthusiastic applause.
Returning to our group, he engages Lee in conversation while glancing at me occasionally and completely ignoring various important looking men who seem to be waiting to speak to him. I stand as close to Adelina as I dare and inhale her sensuous perfume. There is a round of applause as the speeches come to an end and a string quartet begins to play. A uniformed man dripping with gold braid asks if I speak English, and when I say I do he offers to show me round the palace. I decline politely, whereupon he begins a detailed biography of the glum-looking figure whose portrait hangs above us; an Emperor of Mexico from a couple of hundred years ago who, although completely bald, would have carried off first prize in any side whiskers competition.
Just as I am becoming paralysed with boredom, Adelina sees that I need rescuing and joins us. She says something apologetic in Spanish to the historian and tells me of some dignitary who wishes to meet me.
As she steers me away she says, ‘It is time to freshen up, I think.’
As we move through the crowd towards the exit, I see Roberto nodding to a couple of his team near the door. They follow us across the hallway. We go through a door at the head of a corridor on the other side, leaving the guards lurking outside. The ladies room has a pink and black marble floor. White basins and gold taps are sunk into a red marble slab beneath a long mirror.
Adelina moves to the mirror, and as she catches the light from above she seems to blush a little as her silken skin reflects the colour of the marble. She looks at me for a moment, as I wait by the door, and then lowers her eyes. I move to her side and feel a shiver of excitement as our shoulders touch. I find her eyes with mine and we share a cautious smile and turn slowly towards each other. I feel her breathing quicken as I take her hand and stroke her fingers. We hold each other’s gaze for a moment then move closer. As our lips touch and I begin to lose myself in her delicious softness, the door opens.
We separate hurriedly as Lee says, ‘Oh. Hey … I’m sorry, I thought this was the men’s room.’
Adelina turns away and says, ‘The next door, I think.’ She reaches into her bag and takes out a lipstick.
‘OK, cool. Sorry.’
Lee looks at me for a moment and leaves.
I look at my smeared lipstick in the mirror and make repairs. Adelina says, ‘We should get back.’
She turns towards the door and I hold her arm.
‘It is OK,’ she says as she opens the door and sweeps past the guards and across the hall towards the reception.
I make a final check of my makeup, straighten my dress and follow her. Lee appears beside me.
‘What the fuck was that?’
‘Just rehearsing,’ I reply.
‘Don’t expect me to go down on Gonzales.’
‘How’s it looking?’
‘Not so good since you took off with Señora. I need you to do some work here.’
Some people are leaving as we enter the state room. I pick up a glass of champagne as we approach Gonzales. Adelina is standing beside him, laughing and smiling as he tells some story to a couple of tough-looking middle-aged men in very shiny suits. As he shakes hands with them and turns away, Adelina takes his arm and whispers something to him.
He turns to me and Lee.
‘Have you managed to see much of our country during your visit, Mrs Johansen?’
‘Not as much as I would like to.’
‘We must see if we can arrange to show you some of our sights while you are here.’
Gonzales pulls his wife towards him, rather as though she is one of the sights he is referring to, and says, ‘I think perhaps it is time to leave now. May we invite you to dinner at our house, General and Mrs Johansen?’
I look briefly at Lee and say, ‘That would be delightful.’
‘You will come in our car, of course.’
‘With pleasure,’ says Lee.
‘You may tell your driver to follow.’
Adelina smiles at me and Gonzales shakes various hands as we make our way out of the room, down the stairs and out onto the red carpet. Roberto and his men follow at a distance and then head for our cars, parked some way along the square, as a very long black limousine glides to a halt beside us. A uniformed chauffeur gets out and opens the door. Gonzales indicates the back seat and smiles warmly as he settles in beside me. Lee and Adelina sit opposite us. As the car moves off, Gonzales takes a bottle of champagne from a compartment beside him, pours four glasses, and we toast Mexican/US relations. Lee produces a silver snuff box from his pocket and we relax into a haze of champagne, cocaine and Aretha Franklin.
As we purr through the sub-tropical night, Gonzales stretches back and casually puts his arm around me. I move closer and he pulls me to him, kissing my neck and squeezing various parts of my body. I undulate dutifully in response while taking as much pleasure as I can from glimpses of Lee fondling Adelina’s sumptuous breasts and then sliding his hand between her thighs. Gonzales becomes increasingly enthusiastic, but just as I am wondering how much further he can get his tongue down my throat before I throw up, there is a loud bang from behind us and a blaze of headlights through the back window.
A pick-up truck lurches alongside us with two machine guns mounted on the back. I dive to the floor and heave Gonzales on top of me. Bullets thump into his back and head as the guns drill their load into us. We are tossed around in a tornado of bullets, bodies and shattered glass. The car careers off the road, bounces through the undergrowth and smashes into a tree. I lose consciousness to the sound of squawking birds and machine gun fire receding into the distance.
6
I’m sitting in the armchair with one arm, with Jack curled up on my lap, and I’m trying to follow what Jeremy Fisher’s up to, now he’s decided to go fishing and set off with enormous hops to the place where he keeps his lily pad boat, but he’s losing me. I’m wishing I’d learnt to read properly at school instead of bunking off all the time so I could at least read him a story without stumbling and bumbling over the words, but I think Jack’s falling asleep anyway after his stewed steak and carrots. I reckon the first decent meal we’ve had for weeks has left us all a bit groggy with shock. Georgie’s sitting a
t the kitchen table bent over her exercise book writing something and Mum’s back on her mattress sipping gin and looking at an old Woman magazine.
The growly blues music from downstairs is throbbing through the floor. At least they’re off early in the morning to shovel shit, or whatever they do, so it goes off later. They’re quite friendly when you see them, so I don’t mind them really, although I know they get a lot of trouble going about.
Jack’s out cold so I pick a few lice out of his hair and crush them between my thumbnails, then I lift him onto the bed and take his trousers and his pullover off him. I put him next to the wall and cover him with the blanket. I go into the kitchen to tell Georgie it’s time for bed. There’s a shout in the street and I look down and see a young Jamaican running fast along the pavement. Two men run after him and catch him as he reaches the corner. They throw him on the ground and lay into him with fists and feet, then walk away laughing and leave him lying in the gutter. I watch him for a bit and I see him crawl onto the pavement and lie against the railings.
I’m thinking about whether to go and help him when a policeman comes round the corner and goes over to him. The copper says something to him and then steps over him and walks away. He’s bleeding from his face and I watch him pull himself up on the railings and hobble off round the corner. I turn and see that Georgie’s still writing in her book. I tell her she can finish it in the morning, and she goes into the bedroom and gets undressed.
I look at Mum on her mattress. The magazine’s slid onto the floor, her eyes are shut and she’s snuffling and wheezing. I take the glass out of her hand and look at the wreck she’s become with the drink, not knowing who she is half the time. I think of the glamour girl who used to say goodnight to me when she and Dad left me at Grandad and Grandma’s and went up west in the Daimler for a night out. She curses in her sleep and kicks her legs out at some enemy she’s dreaming about. I put her blanket back on her and go into the bedroom.
Georgie’s sitting on the side of the bed in her vest and pants. She looks at her little brother and says, ‘He’s really getting it at school, you know.’
She lifts the blanket and pulls up his vest. There are bruises on his back and up one side. This has happened since I took him for a bath last week or I’d have seen it. He hasn’t said anything to me about it in case I complain to his teachers, which will make the bullying worse. If I go after the kids and give them a smack, it will start off all kinds of trouble with the families, ending up in God knows what kind of warfare. He’s got to learn how to look after himself. Make an example of one of them. I wish Grandad was still here to teach him a few tricks, like he taught me. He was a fighting man. Five-foot-tall, thin as a rake and muscles like whipcord. He worked in the Notting Dale brickworks and fought anyone in the street or in the ring until he was feared by everyone. He liked a laugh and a joke and I loved him. He coughed his lungs up one night in the pub from the Woodbines and the brick dust and died on the floor. Grandma went a couple of months later in her grief at losing him.
I look at Jack snuggled up and decide to have a talk with him in the morning. Georgie’s in bed now and asleep. I pick up the Jeremy Fisher book, look at the pictures of the silly frog and try to think if I know anyone who’s good at reading who I could learn it from. Georgie’s better at it than me, but it doesn’t seem right to ask her. I get out the mending kit and try to sew up a rip in Georgie’s skirt. I’ve only got black cotton and the skirt’s grey but it’ll have to do. I make a decent job of it and put the skirt on the back of a chair for the morning. The slow, pulsing beat of the blues from downstairs is making me drowsy and I take off my blouse and skirt and slip in beside Georgie.
• • •
The boat’s rocking. I hold onto the side of it and reach out to stop Jack falling into the sea. The waves are getting bigger. I can see Mum and Dad on the beach waving at us. I’m scared and I wave back and try to shout to them to come and get us, but I can’t make a sound and the boat’s tipping up and down and Jack falls over the side and I’m holding on to his collar and I’m being dragged off the boat into the sea and I keep waving to Mum and Dad, but they’re dancing together on the beach and not looking at me, and Jack’s gone into the water and a big hand comes out of the sea and pulls me down under the waves and the water’s crushing me and …
His hand’s over my mouth and he says, ‘What are you crying about, you silly girl?’
I struggle underneath him, then I go limp and he takes his hand away, kisses my neck and says, ‘Bad dream?’
He lifts the blanket off me and puts his hand between my legs. I hate him. If I try to stop him, he’ll hit me and do it anyway, only more violently. I lie still. He sits up on the edge of the bed and pushes his fingers into me. Georgie wakes up and turns over and away from us. She lies against Jack and puts the blanket over him so that he won’t see us.
Johnny looks at her bare legs. He reaches over, takes hold of her ankle and pulls her into the middle of the bed. He climbs over me and turns her onto her back. She screams. He rips her knickers off and stuffs them in her mouth. He pulls her legs open, kneels between them and takes his cock out. Jack’s awake. His eyes are wide and he’s holding the blanket to his face and pressing himself against the wall. I slip off the bed and creep into the kitchen. I grab the carving knife off the draining board and tiptoe back into the bedroom. He’s on top of her, trying to get himself inside. I kneel on the bed behind him and rub my hand between his legs and round his balls.
‘Oooh yes,’ he says.
I get on top of him and ram the knife into the back of his neck. He shouts and snaps his head back. I pull the knife out, grab a handful of his hair, lift him up against me and slice the blade across his throat. His blood spurts out against the wall. Georgie scrambles out from underneath us, grabs hold of Jack and runs into the kitchen. Mum shouts something. His body goes limp and I let him fall forward onto the bed. Mum comes to the doorway.
‘Fuck me, Rina.’
I look down at him and I know he’s dead. I’ve stopped him.
• • •
Mum’s taking the knife out of my hand.
‘Come on, love.’
She helps me off the bed, puts her arm round me and tries to sit me down. I don’t want to sit down. I’m not tired. I feel good. I’m all calm inside. I look at the bleeding mound of guts on the bed and I’m glad I’ve done it. I can do anything.
Mum’s pulling the furniture off the old carpet. What’s got into her? I haven’t seen her move further than the kitchen table for months. Jack’s crying. Mum’s calling for Georgie and telling her to go and get Lizzie from upstairs. She rolls Johnny to the edge of the bed and takes hold of his shoulders.
‘Help me get him onto the carpet,’ she says.
I take his ankles. We lift him off the bed and put him down in the middle of the carpet. He’s still bleeding. Mum takes her old cardigan off and wraps it tight round his neck. She searches through his pockets and finds a packet of fags, a lighter and a roll of fivers and some change. She pockets the fags and the lighter, hands me the money and says, ‘Put that somewhere.’
I go over and stuff it into the back of the armchair. Mum goes to the bed, picks up the sopping blankets and puts them next to the body. She wipes the handle of the knife and stuffs it in among the bedclothes. She lifts the edge of the carpet and folds it over him. Lizzie comes in with her eyes wide and stands looking at me. She’s naked under her coat and I want to go to her.
‘Help me roll him over,’ Mum says.
‘What about the kids?’ I ask.
‘Leave them.’
Me and Lizzie get on the floor with her and roll him over until the carpet’s wrapped right round him.
Mum says, ‘We’ve got to get this out of here now.’
‘Where to?’ asks Lizzie.
‘Basement?’ says Mum.
‘It’s boarded up.’
‘I know.’
‘We’d need a crowbar to get in and there’s four foot of w
ater in there.’
‘Well, what then?’ says Mum.
‘Bury him,’ says Lizzie.
‘Them Jamaicans keep their shovels out the back,’ I say.
‘Hang on, let me think,’ says Mum.
Lizzie puts her arm round me and says, ‘It’s OK, love.’
I lean my head on her shoulder and feel the soft skin of her neck against my cheek. I press myself into her.
Mum stands up and says, ‘Rina, get the kids round to Claire’s. Tell Maureen to mind them and bring Claire back here.’
I’ve never seen her like this. I put on my skirt and blouse, grab the kids’ clothes and go in the kitchen. They’re sitting at the table. Georgie’s crying now and holding onto Jack.
‘It’s all right, you’re just going round to stay with Maureen for a bit,’ I say.
I notice Johnny’s coat over the chair and pick it up. There’s something heavy in the pocket. I turn away from the kids, put my hand it the pocket and take out a gun. I slip the gun into the oven, take the coat into the bedroom and hand it to Lizzie. I go back in the kitchen, wet a cloth under the tap and wipe the blood off Georgie’s face and hands, then I dress her and Jack and take them downstairs into the street.
The moon’s out and the street’s empty and dead quiet. The clubs have shut and no one’s up yet. We go along to Claire’s and down the steps. I tap on the window and wait. Georgie’s shivering and I pull her to me. The curtain’s pulled back and Claire’s there. She sees the kids and disappears. The door opens and we go into the hall. Her mother’s standing behind her.
I say, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Welch.’
‘What’s up, love?’ she says.
‘Mum’s not well. She’s being sick and I’ve got to take her to the hospital and I wondered if you could look after them until …’
