Ecstasy: Three Tales of Chemical Romance

by Irvine Welsh

  The dinners at Radcombe House were grand affairs, even on the occasions where few guests were present. – Isn’t this wonderful? Lorraine said to Miss May, ever present by the young Scotch beauty’s side.

  – This is rather modest. Wait until you see New Thorndyke Hall, my girl, she smiled. That was the family’s country seat in Wiltshire, and Lorraine eagerly anticipated going there.

  At a smaller Radcombe House dinner one evening, where only a few guests were present, Lorraine’s attention was caught by the flirtatious eye of a handsome young man. He seemed strangely familiar, and she fancied that she might have seen him before at one of the earlier dinners. This man, an erratic young sprig of fashion, fixed his friend and host, Earl Denby, with a mocking eye and demanded in theatrical, rallying tones: – Well, Denby, you old rogue, you promise me a champion time down in Wiltshire with the hounds this weekend, but what, pray tell, do you offer me for my entertainment this evening? The young blood smiled over at Lorraine, and she instantly recalled where she had seen him before: he was one of the officers from the post-chaise which had so disrupted their progress to London, the one who had gestured at her.

  – My cook, said Denby, rather nervously, – is generally thought of as an artist in her own line …

  – But, interrupted the young man, smugly, as he cast another flirtatious glance over towards Lorraine, who felt herself blush, as she had done before, – I am not to be put off with a cook! I came here in the fond expectation of finding all manner of shocking orgies! he boomed. Lord Harcourt, sitting nearby, spluttered on his wine and shook his head testily.

  – Darling Marcus! You are so scandalous! Lady Huntingdon smiled benignly.

  – My dear lady, said Lord Harcourt, – you are as bad as that despicable young blade himself, giving his puerile and amoral blabberings such indulgence!

  – The lamentable influence of Lord Byron and his cohorts upon society! Denby said, with a slightly contemptuous smile.

  – Yes, that damn poet fellow has set up such a dust! Harcourt exclaimed.

  – But the point I seek to make, continued the young man, – is how can I seek to encounter old Boney at the end of the month without the sustenance of more vigorous recreation?

  – The sort of recreation you seem to be suggesting shall not be forthcoming under my roof, Marcus! Denby growled.

  – Marcus, do be a darling and dampen that fiery ardour for a moment while we eat, as your talk is verging on the scandalous! Entertain us with your army tales, Lady Huntingdon sweetly implored her bullish young guest.

  – As you wish, my good lady, the young man smiled, soothed and seduced by the soft tones and calming classical beauty of his hostess. And that was exactly what he did for the remainder of the evening: enthralling the table with tales of great wit and humour concerning his military service.

  – Who was that man? Lorraine was moved to ask Lady Huntingdon, after the guests had taken their departure.

  That was Marcus Cox. A perfect darling, and one of London’s most eligible bachelors, but an unspeakable cad. There are many bloods in this town who are not what they seem, my angel, and you must tread warily with them. But no doubt my friends your dear mama and darling Amanda will have already told you that. Alas, many bloods will do and say almost anything to capture a maiden’s virtue. When a man, even one of Marcus Cox’s breeding, faces posting at the front, a certain recklessness enters his tone and bearing. For the sad truth is that many do not return, a fact of which they are only too well aware.

  – You are so wise in the ways of the world … Lorraine said.

  – And it is therefore my duty to impart to you some of the wisdom I have had the good fortune to have acquired, my darling Lorraine. But now, there is work to be done. We must, with reluctance, undertake that most pressing and arduous of tasks and finally decide what you and I are to wear to tomorrow evening’s ball.

  The following night, Lorraine was prepared for the ball, supervised by Lady Huntington. Lorraine could tell the operation had been a success before she studied herself in the mirror. In the eyes of her hostess she saw such a look of glowing approval that, indeed, a mirror was superfluous. She looked heavenly and striking in a red dress made from imported Indian silk. – How wonderful you look, my darling, how simply divine! Lady Huntingdon cooed.

  Lorraine went over to the mirror and studied her reflection, – It cannot be I, surely not!

  – Oh but it is, my darling, it most surely is. How like your darling mama you are …

  At the ball, one handsome officer after another danced with Lorraine, all keen to make her acquaintance. The waltz was the most wonderful dance, and Lorraine was intoxicated by the music and the movement.

  Lady Huntington and Lord Denby took her aside after one dance with a particularly tall officer. – My darling Lorraine, we are so proud of you! How I wish your dear mama was with us to witness this, the mistress of the house said appreciatively in her ear.

  Lorraine thought with fondness and love of her beloved parents back up in the Scottish border manse, and the sacrifices they had made so that this dream might be realised.

  – Yes, my pretty one, your introduction to society has been more of a success than I had bargained for! I have had every young officer in my own regiment asking after you! Lord Denby noted cheerfully.

  – Alas, lam always in the radiant shadow of your beautiful wife, m’Lord, Lorraine smiled at Denby. The company all knew that the pretty debutante’s comment was an honest statement of the truth, rather than a sycophantic act of deference or display of gratitude to her hostess.

  – Ha! You flatter me so! The eyes are on you, my little darling. Look, watch and wait, my angel, and curb any tendency towards impetuosity. The ideal one will come along and you will know, Lady Huntington smiled at her husband who touchingly squeezed her hand.

  Lorraine was moved by this. She felt that she should dance with the most handsome man in the hall. – Come and dance with me, m’Lord, she pleaded to Denby.

  – That would never do! Denby burst into a laugh of mock outrage.

  – You will not get him to waltz, my child; his Lordship is a strict opponent of the importation of such music into this country.

  – And I must agree with his Lordship’s principles on this, Lord Harcourt, who had now come over to join them, sharply opined, – for it is but an underhand tactic of our foreign foes to import this decadent music and dance to our shores.

  Lorraine was horrified that the wise lord could feel this way about such beautiful music. – Why do you say that, m’Lord? she asked.

  Harcourt took a step backwards and Lorraine watched his chin recede into his neck. – Why, he began with bluster, unused to being challenged in such a way by a young woman, – this unsettling proximity of gentleman to lady is a most scandalous and improper thing, and can only be a strategy by overseas enemies of the realm to weaken the resolve of the British officer, by facilitating the erosion of his moral fibre and lubricating his fall to debauchery! This filth is spreading like an unchecked virus through polite society, and I shudder to think of the ramifications for the enlisted men adopting these devilish practices!

  – Oh hush, Harcourt, Lady Huntington smiled, brushing the good lord aside as she swept majestically down the marble stairs, to the approving eye of her husband, who noted the admiring looks his handsome wife elicited.

  Lorraine saw Lord Denby’s expression, and was moved to address him. – My Lord, I pray that one day I will command a presence similar to that of this divine beauty, your good wife, the Lady Huntington. What poise and grace that most radiant and noble woman possesses, what …

  Lorraine’s words were cut short as Lady Huntington tripped on the skirts of her gown and toppled down the marble stairs. The guests watched in shocked and horrified silence, none of them being close enough to catch her, with the lady herself seemingly unable to break her fall as she tumbled on and on down the steps for what seemed like an eternity, gathering a frightening momentum, until she came t
o rest in a broken heap at the bottom of the staircase.

  The Earl of Denby was first at her side. He lifted his wife’s golden, tousled head to him, tears filling his eyes as he felt the blood run through his hands and drip onto the marble floor. Denby looked up towards the heavens, beyond and through the ornate roof of the banqueting hall. He knew that by the most random and arbitrary of cruel accidents, everything he had and held dear had gone from him. – There is no God, he said quietly, then, even more softly, he repeated, – no God.

  12 Rebecca’s Relapse

  Rebecca thought she was having another stroke. Her heart burned as she flicked through the contents of the magazine. There were two young women inside, in various poses. One of them – as she considered one might expect from the title: Feisty Feminist Fist-Fuckers – appeared to have her clenched fist in the other’s vagina.

  Her mind raced back to last Friday, when her world had blown apart. This was worse than the stroke, it seemed even more casual, vicious and sickening. It carried a humiliation that the illness, for all its disfigurement and incapacity, had never conferred. Last Friday, following her hospital discharge, she had gone shopping. She was coming out of Harrod’s with a new, morale-boosting outfit one size down from what had become her usual. Then, from the window of the taxi on the way home, she saw Perky, right there in a busy Kensington street. She had the taxi slow down and she got out to pursue him, deciding that it might be jolly good fun to follow her beloved Perks.

  It started to seem less good fun as she saw him vanish into a small flat. Rebecca’s heart sank, as she immediately suspected another woman. She went home under the darkest of clouds and fought the desperate urge to cram her face with food until her stomach was at bursting point. Then, the urge passed and she couldn’t have eaten had she been force-fed. All she wanted to do was to know.

  After this, she followed Perky many times, but he always went to the flat alone. Rebecca spent ages watching to see if anyone else was coming and going. It seemed to be unoccupied. Eventually, she went to the door and rang the bell. Nobody answered. Every subsequent time she tried it, nobody was home. She confided in Lorraine, who came over to tea at her request. It was Lorraine who suggested she look through his pockets to see if there was a key. There was, and Rebecca had it copied. Going there alone, she found a small studio flat. Inside, the place was a library of pornography: magazines, video tapes and, most ominously, a video camera on a tripod positioned over a bed that – along with the television set and the racks of books, magazines and tapes – dominated the room.

  She was now sitting there alone, glancing at this one, Feisty Feminist Fist-Fuckers. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the video tapes, especially the home-made ones. They each had the name of a different woman, written on a label on the spine. They were whores’ names, she thought bitterly: Candy, Jade, Cindy, and the like. She felt the side of her face again. It didn’t burn but it was wet. She dropped Perky’s copy of Feisty Feminist Fist-Fuckers on the floor.

  Something told her to do her breathing exercises. She started with forced, laboured, deep breaths, punctuated by sobs, but eventually found a rhythm. Then she coldly said out loud: – The bastard.

  A strange, frozen calm came over her as she continued to compulsively explore the flat. Then she discovered something which proved to be the worst find of all. It was a large box-folder which contained various financial statements, cash receipts and invoices. Rebecca found herself shaking. She needed to be with someone. The only person she could think of was Lorraine. She dialled the number and her young former nurse, and now friend, answered, – Please come, Rebecca said softly to her, – please come.

  Lorraine had just come off a shift and was going to bed. It had been a good one at the club last night and she was suffering, but when she heard Rebecca’s voice on the other end of the line she threw on some casual clothes and jumped in a taxi to Kensington. She had never heard such pain and desperation in a human voice before.

  Lorraine met Rebecca in a wine bar which was by the tube station and round the corner from the flat. She could see that something terrible had happened.

  – I’ve been betrayed, deeply betrayed, she said in a cold, trembling voice. – I’ve been paying for him to … it’s all been a lie, Lorraine … it’s all been a fucking lie! she sobbed.

  It fazed Lorraine to see Rebecca like this. It wasn’t her: she was no longer the eccentric, by turns engaging and irritating woman she knew in the hospital. She seemed vulnerable and real. This woman was a troubled sister, not a dotty aunt.

  – What am I going to do … she cried to Lorraine.

  Lorraine looked her in the eye. – It’s no what you’re gaunny dae. It’s what that fuckin creep, that fuckin parasite’s gaunny dae. You’re the one wi the money. Ye cannae rely on everybody else, Rebecca, especially some fuckin creepy man. Look around you. He’s got away with it cause you’ve had your heid stuck up your fanny for too long in that never-never land of yours. That’s how he’s been able to exploit ye, tae fleece ye like that!

  Rebecca was jolted by Lorraine’s outburst. But she sensed that there was something behind it. Through her own pain, she was able to empathise with something coming from Lorraine.

  – Lorraine, what’s wrong? What is it? Rebecca couldn’t believe that she was talking like this. Not Lorraine. Not Nursey …

  – What’s wrong is that I see people who come into the hospital who’ve got nothing. Then I go hame, back up the road tae Livi and they’ve goat nothing. And you, well, you’ve goat everything. And what dae ye dae wi it? Ye let some pig fuckin waste it aw away!

  – I know … I know I go on about romance all the time … I know I live in that dreamworld you say. Maybe I’ve been writing that crap for so long I’ve come to believe it … I don’t know. All I know is that he was always there for me, Lorraine, Perky was always there.

  – Always there, watching you get fatter and more ridiculous, jist encouraging ye tae sit aboot and be a fucking fat stupid vegetable. Making a fool ay yersel for other people’s amusement … ye know what we used tae say aboot ye oan the ward? We said: she’s so fuckin stupid. Then ma pal Yvonne goes: she’s no that daft, she’s the one that’s makin aw that money while we’re working these back-breaking shifts for a fuckin pittance. We went, aye, right enough. It made us think differently, we thought: she’s doing it, she’s pretending to be daft, but she’s beating the bastards. Now you tell me he’s been ripping you off for years and you didn’t even know about it.

  Rebecca felt a rage boil up inside her, – You … you … just obviously hate men. I should’ve noticed that… it’s not romance you hate, it’s men, isn’t it? Isn’t it!

  – Ah dinnae hate men, just the kind ah always seem tae run intae!

  – And what kind is that?

  – Well, at school for one thing. Lorraine Gillespian, they used tae call me at Craigshill High back in Livi. They called me a lesbian just because I was a thirteen year old with tits who didnae want tae fuck every guy that leered at me or hassled me. Just because ah wouldnae get intae that fuckin shite wi them. I got eight O. Grades and I was studying for my Highers, then I was off to Uni. My mother’s new husband wouldn’t keep his fuckin hands off me long enough tae let me sit the exams. I had to get away, so I applied tae dae nursing here. Now I’m still getting it, still getting hassled and fucked around by wankers at the hospital. All I want is tae be left alaine. I don’t know what I am, I don’t even know if I am a fuckin dyke or not … I want tae be left alaine tae work it all out.

  Now Lorraine was sobbing, and it was Rebecca who was comforting her. – It’s all right, darling … it’s all right. You’re still so young … it’s all so confusing. You’ll find someone …

  – That’s just it, Lorraine sniffed, – I don’t want to find someone, not yet at any rate. I want to find me first.

  – Me too, Rebecca said softly, – and I need a friend to help me along.

  – Aye, me n aw, Lorraine smiled. – So, what are we gaunny da
e?

  – Well, we’re going to get pissed, then go and watch Perky’s video tapes and see what the bastard has been up to, and then I’m going to do what I’ve always done.

  – What’s that? Lorraine asked.

  – I’m going to write.

  13 Perks Sees The Script

  It was wonderful; that little Scotch nurse was round almost constantly, and the old girl was writing like a proverbial bastard out of hell. There were times when his sweet little Lorraine was present that Perky found it difficult to take leave of absence to his flat. His mind had become fevered with the prospect of getting Lorraine round there. He had to get her round there, he had to make his move.

  One afternoon, Perky decided to take the opportunity. He had heard Lorraine laughing with Rebecca in the study and noted that she was preparing to go. – Ah, Lorraine, where are you headed?

  – Back tae the hospital, eh.

  – Splendid! Perks sang, – I’m off in that direction. I’ll drop you there.

  – That’s simply wonderful, Perky, Rebecca said, – See what a darling he is, Lorraine? What would I do without him? The two women exchanged a knowing smile Perks was oblivious to.

  Lorraine climbed into the passenger seat and Perky drove off. – Listen, Lorraine, I hope you don’t mind, he said, pulling over and turning down a side-street where he brought the car to a halt, – but you and I need to have a talk about Rebecca.

  – Aw aye?

  – Well, you and her are close, so I thought that I should reward you for making such a sterling contribution to her recovery. Perks reached into the glove compartment and handed Lorraine a brown envelope.