Dark Terrors 3 (40 page)

I’d moved, of course. I could have stayed at Louise’s place, but couldn’t handle it. So I’d found a place of my own. I was alone by then. Even poor old Percy had died. He’d lasted a year or two, but no cat can live for ever, and in the end the vet said that it would be kinder to have him put down. I cried then too. Like I say, I’ve cried a lot over those five years, but who are the tears for? Me or Louise?

Shit, but I hated being on my own. And I’d been involved in some disastrous relationships since she died.

Relationships? That’s not exactly the word I’d use to describe them. More like disgusting little detours into my worst nightmares. But after a while, any comfort seemed better than none, even if, as certainly as night follows day, they ended in disaster.

* * * *

And then, shortly after the fifth anniversary of Louise’s death, I met Julia.

Jules, she called herself. Which was fair enough. She could’ve called herself exactly what she wanted as far as I was concerned.

I met Jules at a publishing party. I was pissed as usual. I usually was in those days.

She was standing at the drinks table and I wandered over to get a refill.

‘Hello,’ she said.

“Lo,’ I said back. She was blonde, with long, thick hair, a little black dress and high heels. She looked all right. Better than all right as a matter of fact. But the state I was in, Alsatians looked attractive.

‘My name’s Jules,’ she said, and stuck out her mitten.

I had a cigarette in one hand, and a glass of appalling red wine in the other, so none to spare. ‘Paul,’ I replied, and spilled my drink down her front.

‘Clumsy,’ she said, but didn’t appear to take umbrage. That was certainly a point in her favour.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m pissed.’

‘So I noticed.’

‘I’ll pay to have your dress cleaned.’

‘Don’t worry about it. It’ll go through the wash.’

‘Good attitude. Fancy a drink?’

‘I’ve got one.’

‘No. Not here. Somewhere else.’

‘Are you trying to pick me up?’

‘Not if you don’t want me to.’

‘I might be here with someone.’

Same old same-old. ‘Well if you are,’ I said. ‘Just say so.’

‘Well I’m not.’

‘Right. That’s got that sorted. Do you want a drink then?’

‘Are you always so aggressive?’

‘Yes. No. Dunno.’

‘Where would we go?’

‘There’s a club I know around the corner. Gerry’s. It’s all right.’

‘All right then.’

So that was that. On the way to the club and over a few drinks, until we got slung out at closing time which was about 2 a.m., I told her what I did, and she told me that she worked for an agency which handled film and TV writers. So we were brother and sister under the media skin. What larks!

When we finally left the place, I was totally gone, and she wasn’t far behind. We stood together in Dean Street and a decision that was to shape the rest of our lives was made.

‘Wanna come back to my place?’ I mumbled.

‘Where’s that?’

‘Stockwell.’ She’d already intimated that she lived somewhere west of Shepherd’s Bush.

She hesitated. She knew what it meant if she came. And so did I.

A cab turned out of Old Compton Street, heading our way, with its amber ‘For Hire’ light burning.

‘Okay,’ she said, and the die was cast.

I hailed the taxi, gave him my address and we both tumbled in.

We got back to my place, went in, I made coffee in a sort of embarrassed silence, we drank it, and went to bed.

Now normally, these sort of late, one-night-stands with strangers end up in total grief. But this one was different. In bed we fitted together well, and we both enjoyed it.

The last thing I remember before falling asleep was Jules kissing me and saying, ‘That was great. I haven’t had so much fun in years.’

And truth to tell, nor had I.

* * * *

When I woke up it was light. The rising sun slanted through the gaps in the curtains and lay brightly on the duvet. Jules was fast asleep next to me, curled up like a kitten, and Louise was standing at the foot of the bed.

I mean she was there. Really there. Three dimensional and displacing the air. You see, however much you love someone, and however well you know them, when they’ve gone, sometimes it’s hard to remember what they looked like.

Thousands of times I’ve tried to place her in my new flat, but I only have four images of her that remain with me always. And none of them are particularly pleasant.

The first two are from the place we shared, and both are after she got sick.

The first memory comes from a morning. She was standing, brushing her hair in the mirror, silhouetted against the sun shining through one window. Her hair, that she’d once been so proud of, was coming out in clumps, and I realized how close to death she was.

The second is from the evening. Late evening in the summer before she died. Once again the sun caught her. This time as we were sitting together and watching TV. And for a brief instant I saw her as she would be if she lived to be very old. But by then, her body
was
old, and within a few months it would close down completely.

The third memory is how she was that Sunday morning
when I went to see her for the last time in hospital. Her skin was tight over her skull, there was a white crust around her mouth, and when she saw me, and reached out to touch me, her fingers were like claws.

And finally. The last memory is from when I went back the next day. When I plucked up courage to go. I remember how she was lying in her coffin. She should have looked peaceful then. The battle over. But she didn’t. She looked totally pissed off that she was dead. And I could only bring myself to touch her face for a moment. It was cold, and hard like wax. And I hated it. And hated myself for feeling like that, and not being there when she died.

As I left the room where she was lying, the old man who dealt with the bodies gave me the ring she was wearing when she died. It was a sapphire and diamonds set in platinum. I went home and put it on a chain around my neck so I wouldn’t forget her.

I still have it.

* * * *

‘Hello Paul,’ she said from where she was standing. ‘Long time.’

‘Louise,’ I said, confused. ‘Is that you?’

“Course it is.’

‘But you’re...’

‘Dead, is the word,’ she said, and came around and sat on the bed next to me.

I looked at Jules lying there, beside me, and wondered why, of all the hundreds and hundreds of mornings I’d woken up alone since Louise died, she’d decided to pop round on this one.

I said as much. I wasn’t frightened or anything. Just curious.

‘Because of her,’ replied Louise, poking Jules. ‘You two are going to make a go of it.’ And she poked her again. Harder.

Jules didn’t wake, just sighed in her sleep and rolled over.

‘She won’t wake up,’ said Louise. ‘You did a good job on her last night.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Am I imagining this?’ What else could I say under the circumstances?

‘Feel me,’ she said, and held out her hand. The hand I’d touched a million times before.

I took her hand in mine. It felt like solid flesh. But cool. Not cold. Not warm. Cool.

‘So where have you been?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. Somewhere.’

‘Why haven’t you come back before?’

‘It’s difficult.’

‘Are there other people there?’

‘Yes. But we never meet.’

‘So you’re alone.’

‘Not entirely. Percy’s with me. Look.’

She pointed towards the door, and there, with a look on his face as supercilious as the one he’d worn when he’d been alive, was her cat.

‘He just turned up one day,’ she said.

‘So what is this place?’

‘It’s like a beach. Hard sand. Red. And sometimes I can hear the sea, but I can never find it. It never gets dark, but the sun never shines. You never sleep or get hungry, or go to the loo. You don’t sweat or get dirty. You salivate a little. Just enough to talk, and your eyes are wet, but you never cry. Sometimes I find footprints, but I’ve never seen another soul except Percy.

‘I had to have him put down,’ I explained. ‘It was a kindness.’

‘I know. I’m not cross. I like his company.’

‘And you can see what’s going on here?’

‘I can see what’s going on everywhere.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Look up at the stars, Paul. And you’ll know what I mean.’

‘You can see what happens on other worlds?’

‘Sssh, Paul. I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I shouldn’t be here at all.’

‘Who told you that? Who told you everything?’

‘No one. I just knew. When I got there I just knew the rules. The same as I knew what would happen if I disobeyed them.’

‘And what would happen?’

‘Well, if I get found out. Poof!’ she said. ‘I’ll
go
to another place.’

‘What kind of place?’

‘I don’t want to think about it. There, there be dragons.’

‘And you just look, and you can see what’s going on here?’ I was beginning to repeat myself.

‘I’ve never missed an episode of
EastEnders.’
That had always been her favourite programme.

‘And now you’ve decided to pay me a visit. Just like that.’

She got my drift. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to suddenly turn into a flesh-eating zombie like in the films. And Percy won’t change into the rabid cat from Hell with six-inch fangs. It doesn’t work like that. I just know that now you’ve met
her,’
she looked disgustedly at Jules’ still form, ‘you’re going to forget all about me, and I’ll just fade away.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re wrong. I’d never forget about you in a million years. She’s nothing to me. An easy lay. It’s you I love, and always will.’

Louise smiled, got up from the bed and stood beside me. ‘We’ll see,’ she said, bent down, picked up Percy, who put his paws on her shoulder like he always did, and she walked out of the room.

I lay in bed for a minute at least before I followed her. The flat was empty, and I knew it. But even so, I looked in every cupboard and behind every chair.

I went back to bed, and although I didn’t think I would, I fell asleep again, and when Jules gave me a shake at eight-thirty, I was sure I’d dreamt it all.

‘I had a hell of a dream,’ I said.