by Gill Mather
“So you’ve split up?”
“If you can call it that. We’ve been housing and feeding him for months and he left suddenly the other night. It turns out sex upsets him. Or at least he doesn't want to do it. Would you credit that?” she said forlornly. “A man who doesn't want to have sex!”
“I agree it’s a bit unusual.”
“I can't really describe what he’s like. He’s just….completely different to anyone else you’ve ever met. On the surface it looks like autism or something but it isn't. It’s really weird. Totally. He seems to know so much. Things he shouldn't know. No-one could know as much as he does. And he has no past, no documents, no name for Christ’s sake. I made up the name Tristram for him because we had to call him something. He wouldn't eat anything to begin with. He was asking all sorts of weird questions. I mean really weird like did it hurt to defecate if he did eat anything. You’d think he was on drugs or had severe mental problems or was just having everyone on. But it isn't any of those things. But I don't know what it is. Although I think he was wrong about one thing.”
“Oh yes? What’s that then?”
“I mean I don't suppose it matters if I mention it now that he’s gone. It was about you actually.”
“Me?”
“Well you and Hugh. He said last year, a couple of months ago, that you were pregnant and didn't know about it but that Hugh suspected. Obviously that wasn't right was it.”
But Amanda had gone pale. “He said that?”
“Well yes. But you’re not are you?”
Amanda’s mouth was open in surprise and she didn't say anything for a moment. Then she jerked herself into life. “Sorry to sit here like a fish out of water. But actually yes. We’re going for the scan soon. We were going to tell people after that. And before it starts to show. But you’re saying he knew two months ago?”
“He seemed to. Perhaps it was just a wild guess that he managed to get right. The way he put it was weird too, although not for him of course. He said you were ‘gestating a small human’!” She sighed. “He also said you and Hugh were both very unhappy in the past but for different reasons and that I reminded Hugh of that time. I can't imagine why.”
“I’m stunned. No-one knew about the baby. We didn't know at that time. Well you’ve got something on your hands. I don't know what. Are you sure you want him to come back? Especially if he doesn't like sex. I mean sex isn't everything as they say, but it’s a significant bonding activity. It’d be hard for a relationship to survive very well without it. It’s all very strange as you say.”
“I can't help it. Yes I want him back. I think sex wouldn't really be a problem. It wasn't actually that he didn't like it. Without going into detail, he was unexpectedly very good at it as it turned out. I’m sure we could sort the sex thing out.”
“Well come and see me if you want to talk about it any more. I must say I’m flabbergasted.” And Amanda went out.
Orielle sat there wondering at the fact she’d been able to be so open with Amanda whom she barely knew. It was so nice though speaking to a woman a bit older than herself. It was a good thing she hadn't blurted out about the baby being a male child. Let them have their scan and find out for themselves.
CHAPTER 10
A COUPLE OF WEEKS had gone by which Orielle had sleep-walked through. Wherever she went, she looked for Tristram but if he was around, he kept himself well-hidden. Perhaps she should go up to Newcastle and track down that cyber-squat. Perhaps he’d gone to live there. But an insistent voice cut into her musings and she forced herself to concentrate.
“Listen! You must come out tonight,” said Georgie. “It’s Friday. I’m not going to let you stay in. The cousins’ll be distraught if you don't come out with us. And it might mean I’d have to tell them why, what’s wrong with you. You know they’re very good at extracting information when they form a pack. I don't think I could resist.”
Orielle hadn't told the cousins about Tristram, at least not the last part. They’d have been appalled and they’d have probably told their mum, Orielle’s aunt, who in turn would probably have told her sister, Orielle’s mum about the unsuitable man Orielle had got herself mixed up with. And her mum would never have left her alone until she had every last detail. She might even have sent one of the brothers down to see exactly what was going on. Heaven forefend! In fact, horror of horrors, both of them might come down and, intent on protecting their sister’s honour, go out and try to find Tristram and beat him up.
“That’s blackmail,” said Orielle.
“It’ll do you the world of good to get out. Have a drink or twelve. Honestly, you can't just waste your life moping for him. You’ve got no way of contacting him. He’ll either come back or he won't. Nothing you do’ll make any difference.”
The logic and stark truth of this was inescapable.
“Very well,” said Orielle. “On one condition. That if he does come back, that you‘ll be nicer to him.”
“It’s a deal,” said Georgie.
“I can see you crossing your fingers behind your back. But still. I’ll go and get ready.” And she managed a little smile and in truth started, albeit in a lukewarm way, to look forward to it.
THE NIGHT CLUB WAS dim and noisy, very very noisy. Strobe lights were flashing periodically making the heaving throng look as though they were moving in slow motion. The cousins of course were in the thick of it, jumping away to the regular mechanical-sounding bass beat, though naturally out of time with everyone else and constantly bumping into people. Orielle started to worry that someone as the night drew on would take umbrage and provoke an incident. They weren’t in the least interested in getting off with anyone. Georgie on the other hand was scanning the crowded room for her preferred male stereotype. Orielle could see no-one who might obviously fit the bill. She must suggest to Georgie that she’d be better off going to a body-builders’ convention or even starting to support the local rugby club.
They had long ago given up trying to converse over the noise and that suited Orielle fine in her present mood but Georgie was saying something. Her face indicated that she was yelling at the top of her voice but Orielle couldn't hear anything at all. Watching Georgie’s mouth and gesticulations it looked as though she was offering to go and get them another drink.
Orie shrugged back at her: Why the hell not.
Georgie got up leaving Orielle alone which wasn’t a problem. She pulled a bar menu towards her and studied it apparently avidly to deflect any interest from would-be suitors. Anyway she’d made scant effort tonight with her appearance. She’d left her hair straggly and greasy and had put more or less no make-up on though her hastily applied eye-liner had gone on thicker than she’d intended so actually she looked sultry, rather abandoned and come hither, not at all the look she had been aiming at. So far as she was concerned, she looked scruffy and undesirable and hopefully no-one would want to try to pick her up.
Left alone with her thoughts, they turned inevitably to the subject most on her mind. She kept getting stray tantalising glimpses of fair, bearded men at the very edge of her vision but when she turned sharply to face that way, there was no-one there remotely like Triss. Biting an irritating, isolated broken nail, she looked over to the bar where Georgie still hadn’t been served and saw that she at least was being chatted up by a smallish man with brown hair and a wispy beard. Or at least he was smaller than Georgie. But then most people were smaller than Georgie. It was difficult to see very well but Orielle wasn’t sure she liked the look of the man. Getting up from her chair and grabbing her bag, she pushed through the crowd. The noise from the music was slightly less fearsome over near the bar and she could just about make out the conversation. Georgie was telling the man she had a small house bordering on Castle Park and worked as the manager of a recruitment agency in Colchester. The man had hooded eyes and appeared to be looking at Georgie coldly and fixedly. Well perhaps she reasoned that was his pick up technique. Mysterious and brooding. But to Orielle, he was not a l
ittle bit frightening.
“Oh,” said Georgie seeing Orielle. “This is my house-mate Orie. Orie, this is Mike.”
He didn’t look like a Mike. More like a Manson or a Bundy.
“Mike” turned his attention to Orielle and she felt honestly literally for a second as though she was peering into hell.
“Hello,” she mumbled nervously. Mike, staring at her unblinkingly, smiled a cold smile. She had to admit he was rather attractive. But massively scary. Again perhaps that was his opening technique. She couldn’t think why Georgie didn’t pick up on his menacing aura.
“I’ll get us all a drink shall I then maybe we can go and sit down,” said Georgie. Had she no antennae for trouble thought Orielle? Her common sense appeared to have deserted her. Especially as this man was now undressing Orielle slowly and lingeringly with his eyes. Orielle looked desperately at Georgie but she was trying to attract the barman.
“You two go over to the table and save the seats,” yelled Georgie, “I’ll get the drinks.” She seemed to know what Mike would want.
Unwillingly, Orielle preceded Mike to the table she’d just left. She could feel his eyes boring into her backside. Luckily (or perhaps not) the table was still free. Thank God, conversation with Mike was impossible this close to the dance floor. She willed the cousins to come over and rescue her. Surely they’d be able to see that Georgie had somehow attracted the anti-christ into their midst. But the cousins were clearly off on another plane. The very word reminded her of Tristram and she sank deeper into her seat as Mike drew gradually, hypnotically nearer to her.
But Georgie was suddenly there bearing their three glasses. Orielle breathed out thankfully and then as there was an interlude in the music, the cousins came over too. They looked Mike over critically but didn’t seem to notice anything too off the wall and one of them went to get drinks for the others.
Georgie introduced everyone again. Gradually Mike was becoming less intimidating. Queerly in fact he was turning into a normal person and had stopped staring at her like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. He was looking in a purely friendly way at the cousins as the introductions were completed. Orielle kicked herself for getting into such a state over apparently nothing.
Georgie was jangling her bangles and bracelets uncomfortably. Orielle knew she didn’t like to wear them and wondered why she did.
“You know you don't like them,” she said aloud, “so why do you wear them?”
“Oh haven't I ever told you,” said Georgie, “I call them my baboon bracelets.”
Mike must have still been a little interested since he asked what she could possibly mean by this. Although by this time it looked at though he held her in low esteem and was only asking for the put down possibilities this information might present. But Georgie got there first.
“I wear them because they make my arms look less like a female baboon’s arms,” Georgie said deliberately matter-of-factly. “Well they looked OK on the baboon modelling them in the shop. I thought ‘You can't go wrong there.’ ”
She stopped for effect while everyone laughed. Mike rolled his eyes..
“Although,” she went on, “I’m not actually sure it was a female baboon but I didn’t like to look too closely.”
Georgie affected a coy look and the table heaved with laughter.
Mike however rolled his eyes again and didn’t laugh at all. He was sitting talking winningly to Orielle’s female cousin Dilly and his eyes seemed to say: Who is this nutcase you’re with?
But someone else nearby did laugh. It was a deep belly laugh. So manly as to be almost a caricature. Brian Blessed-like. Any second Orielle expected a “Ho Ho Ho!” to break out. Orie and Georgie glanced over but the cousins by now were in conversation with Mike. The man standing there was a little older than the average age of most of the clientele at a place like this, perhaps thirty or so. The bloke had on a tight sleeveless tee shirt revealing bulging biceps and forearms covered in tattoos. He must have been at least six foot three or four. He was clean shaven and his dark hair was cut very short. He was holding two drinks in front of him and periodically looking towards the loos. But the main thing that struck Orie was his cheerful face. He looked so friendly. His bright blue twinkly eyes were crinkled at the edges with laughter lines and he laughed again now.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude or butt in but I just couldn’t help hearing what you said. I wasn’t sure it was a female baboon,” he repeated creasing up. “What a gem!” He had a slight northern accent.
“Oh,” said Georgie not knowing whether to be pleased or just ever so slightly put out. But the man went on:
“I’m Jack. I’m here with my brother. He’s a captain stationed at the barracks here.” He looked about him again towards the loos. “He’s off having a pee,” he said “Oh here he comes.”
A carbon copy of Jack but a few years younger was weaving his way through the crowd to his brother. They were both so much taller than anyone else in the club Orielle wondered why she hadn’t noticed them before.
“We’ve only just arrive,” said Jack. “This is Al. Short for Albert but he doesn’t like anyone to know.” And Jack received a shove from his brother for that. Al’s eyes had started to crease at the edges too and the two brothers started joshing and japing together like a couple of enormous puppies. Georgie watched transfixed. I think she’s encountered Mr Right at last thought Orielle. Let’s hope he doesn’t start ogling me instead like Mike did. But when the brothers did take a break, Jack started taking a lot of notice of Georgie and as soon as the music came back on he asked her off to dance leaving Orielle to smile weakly at Al. Thank God he didn’t ask her to dance too.
She was languidly watching Mike and Dilly on the dance floor when they disappeared from view. They just seemed to melt to the floor. As she stared, she noticed some sort of kerfuffle breaking out. Maybe her worst fears had been realised and the cousins had finally collectively stood on one foot too many. But Mike and Dilly were re-emerging. Dilly was swiping Mike across the face with her handbag. He reacted instantly and, mouthing something, he pushed her roughly several times at which her brothers waded in and arm-locked Mike. A bloke nearby apparently unconnected to any of them took a swipe at one of the brothers who ducked briskly and punched him back full on the nose. The man’s girlfriend screamed piercingly and Dilly turned round and grabbed her by the hair and a cat fight started up. The man’s mates and those of the girlfriend immediately appeared and the fracas took hold in earnest.
It was fascinating in a worrying sort of way and she watched with others frozen to the spot as punch followed head butt, nails, hair and handbags flew through the air and poorly aimed missiles started to be thrown.
Suddenly she noticed Al beside her stiffen. “Oh fuck,” he mouthed at his mobile. He yelled something at her. She couldn't be completely sure what but it sounded like: “Shit. I’ve got to go. My wife’s just gone into labour.” Did he really say that she thought as she watched him shouldering his way through the melée a head or more above everyone else. A man aimed a blow at him but he effortlessly floored the man and carried on. Obviously he had no trouble pin-pointing Jack and Georgie.
Why the hell was he out tonight at all then if his wife was due to give birth? It didn’t make much sense.
Georgie looked disappointed and Jack apologetic. Orielle saw him get out a card or something and write on the back of it and thrust it into Georgie’s hand. He said something into her ear and the two brothers were gone. Oh no, thought Orielle. I hope she doesn't join in the bundle out of sheer disappointment. But Georgie left the dance floor from the other end and walked circuitously back to their table to avoid the fighting. She gestured to Orielle to go somewhere quieter and they went off to the ladies.
“Just my bloody luck,” said Georgie leaning up against the sinks. “The perfect man for me comes along for once and what happens? His brother’s wife goes into premature bloody labour. You’ll have to tell me where you hid those fags when we get home.”<
br />
“What was it he gave you?”
“Oh.” Georgie ferreted about in her bag and they looked at the card. It said:
First Officer Jack Briggs. There was the name of a shipping line and some `phone numbers including a mobile. Turning it over, they read on the back “Call me tomorrow”.
Georgie brightened somewhat and then beamed and started swooning rapturously.
“Come on. Let’s go home now. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”
“But what about…?” Orielle nodded towards the door.
“That lot can look after themselves. They started it anyway.” As Orielle heard police sirens growing louder through the toilet windows, she was inclined to agree and they made their way outside just before a group of uniformed officers charged through the open front door.
“Lets take this short cut,” said Georgie and ducked down a narrow passage. Orielle looked around nervously and after pausing fractionally, she followed. It was dark and suddenly very quiet and isolated after the noise and turmoil of the club. They hadn't gone far when footsteps became apparent behind them. Turning they saw Mike. “Oh Mike it’s you,” Georgie said, relieved.
Uh-oh, thought Orielle. His right hand was in his pocket and in the dim light from the street lamps at the end of the passage, he didn’t look at all friendly any more. The impression he was giving wasn't improved by a black eye and swollen lip.
“You bitches,” he sneered.
“What?” said Georgie stupidly.
Well at least Georgie should be able to make mincemeat of him Orielle was thinking when he pulled something from his pocket. Both women gasped as a knife flicked out.
“Cock teasers, both of you. And that cousin of yours.” He advanced on them.
“Put the knife away,” said a pleasant even male voice from behind them. Mike looked over their shoulders and started to give a cold laugh. But then he froze.
“Tristram,” cried Orielle as she turned.
