‘Junkie’s tea. Keeps you going when you can’t be arsed to eat.’ He dredged a layer of sugar syrup from the bottom of the mug and licked the residue from his spoon. ‘Old habits and all that.’
‘I guess you didn’t inject.’
Finn shook his head. ‘Nah. Only real benefit of my big girl’s phobia. I just chased more dragons than Saint George. Well, that and smoked the occasional rock if I fancied splashing out. Good job I suit the ‘crack whore’ look.’ He sucked in his cheeks. ‘Like that.’
I laughed, and his whole face broke into a boy’s wide grin at my reaction.
‘Y’know, that’s what’s so fucking crazy. When I met
Blaine
I was just starting to clean up my act. I’d found this project, run by a couple of decent fellas – ex-trade – who didn’t try to counsel the very arse off you. Then Her Ladyship turned up and made me an offer that sounded like heaven, and… well, you can guess the rest, huh?’ He’d had enough of talking about himself, because he suddenly asked, ‘So, what do you usually do when you can’t sleep?’
‘Usually I
can
sleep. That’s the bloody problem.’ I gave him a sideways glance. ‘Other than that, I find masturbation to be effective. Why, what about you?’
‘A good Catholic boy like myself? You must be joking. Anyway, it kind of changes things when your equipment’s used for business instead of pleasure.’ The grin returned. ‘Fuckin’ hell, it’s three in the morning and I’m sitting in a kitchen having a conversation about jackin’ off with the Future of British Art.’ He took a drink of his disgusting concoction. ‘Lilith Bresson. Ice Princess. Wanks and farts. Possibly at the same time.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘You think you’ve got it bad? It’s three in the morning and
I’m
having a conversation about jacking off with some cheeky Irish pikey bastard. And I’m bloody freezing.’ It was then that I came up with the most stupid suggestion in the world. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be willing to walk me back to my room?’ I asked, and watched the barriers rise faster than I could count.
‘Why?’
I gave a sigh of frustration. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake Finn, I’m not that crass. It’s just that I’m bloody freezing here, and it might be wishful thinking but it’s the only place in this shithole where I even begin to feel l
ike I’m on my own territory.’
‘That’s not an answer.’
I held my hands up. ‘All right. If you want me to be excruciatingly honest, I don’t fancy being by myself in some bloody madhouse that doesn’t even let me flick on the TV when I can’t stand the sound of my own breathing. So right now I need some intelligent conversation and civilised company until I’m too knackered to keep my eyes open, and seeing as I’m not going to get that, you’ll have to do. Will that suffice?’
‘Maybe.’
I was still cursing myself for being so forward when he asked, ‘What about Bran?’ He gestured at his dog, who dozed contentedly on a towel laid out on the warm flagstones by the stove.
‘I haven’t let a dog in my bedroom since one of my father’s
Labradors
cocked its leg on my doll’s house.’
‘I promise she won’t piss in your room,’ Finn assured me. ‘Can’t guarantee that I won’t, mind you.’
I smiled with relief, already pushing my chair back under the table. ‘Come on then, before I feel like an even bigger idiot than I do already.’
*****
When we reached my door, I stopped. ‘Look, you really don’t have to do this.’ I was already beginning to feel foolish at my display of weakness.
‘I know I don’t. That’s why I am.’
‘You won’t get any hassle, will you?’
‘Nah, I don’t think so. I’ll just stay the ten minutes though, until you’re settled again. That way, no-one’s going to be getting the wrong idea even if we
are
seen.’
‘God, I feel so bloody stupid.’ I unlocked my door. ‘I think I’ve got an allergy to silence.’
‘No shame in admitting this place has got you rattled. I’m impressed it’s taken this long, to be honest with you.’
I had never known Finn to be so friendly, as open as this. I wondered if it was the relative freedom the darkness of the early hours gave him, or simply a recent dose of temazepam talking. Either way, I was grateful for this particular incarnation. ‘Grab a seat.’
‘Fuck me!’ Finn exclaimed. ‘Does anyone actually live here?’
‘Me, last time I checked.’ I sat on my bed and worked my feet back under a duvet that was still warm from my body heat. ‘What can I say? I like tidy.’
Finn took the armchair by the window: facing the door, furthest from the bed. ‘You sure you weren’t in the army?’
‘Positive. But any amateur psychologist would tell you it’s your average control freak’s response to a chaotic life. Creating order wherever I can.’
‘This place must really be doing your head in, huh?’
Bran jumped up onto the bed with me and I absently stroked the soft velvet of her ears. ‘To be honest, it’s managed to provide everything I’ve spent my adult life escaping, in one handy package.’
Finn reached out and swept the flat of his hand across the surface of my dresser as if he couldn’t quite believe the absence of dust. ‘I don’t know anyone who’s paid so much not to fuck me,’ he said quietly.
I was wondering how to reply, when he laughed. ‘God, I’ve just figured out what’s missing – you ditched the hallowed Albermarle Teddy Bear!’
I nodded. ‘Banished to a dark cupboard for all eternity.’
‘You cold-hearted bastard.’
‘Give me a hot water bottle any day. At least they have some appreciable function. Not like that pathetic pile of overpriced fake fur and anthropomorphic bullshit I locked in the wardrobe.’
‘You have serious teddy bear issues.’
‘Too damn right. My mother ditched my last one when I was thirteen. Doused him in lighter fuel and incinerated him in the bathroom. Apparently he was a covert listening device for the CIA.’
‘Yeah, well, you can’t be too careful. They can be dodgy little fuckers. Anyway, at least you
had
a proper bear…’
Now it was my turn to grin. ‘Let me guess.
You
had to fashion one from twigs and those little bundles of fluff you find in the gutter.’
‘Close. Actually, I knitted one using the discarded pubes that my mother’s endless procession of shags left in her bed.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘He was pretty cute, actually. Apart from the smell.’
‘Sick fuck,’ I giggled, and burrowed a little further into bed. Bran gave a soft grunt at the disturbance.
‘Better now?’
‘Much.’
‘Good.’ Finn settled back into the armchair and brought his knees to his chest. Even in the dim light I could see the goosebumps that covered his bare arms. I immediately felt guilty.
“Shit. You must be absolutely freezing.’
Finn shrugged. ‘I’m used to it.’
‘That’s not the point.’ I reached under the bed and offered him one of the soft white blankets that were stored there. ‘Here, take this. I don’t want you getting hypothermia on my account.’
Finn hesitated as if even this simple transaction might tip the delicate balance that kept him in my room. Eventually he held out his arms. ‘Cheers.’
I threw the blanket across to him. He wrapped himself in it so that just his eyes and tousled hair were visible. Content that he was as comfortable as he could be, I felt the first pull of sleep and reached out to turn down the oil lamp. That’s when I heard the panicked little gasp catch in his throat.
‘That scares you.’ Lilith let her hand drop.
I thought about denying it, but she said it with a certainty that was becoming familiar. ‘Yeah. It does. Impressive, huh? A twenty four year-old fella scared of the fucking dark.’
‘I’ll leave it on. It’s not a problem.’
I prepared myself for the inquisition, but none came. I was glad she didn’t push it: it wasn’t a story I ever planned on sharing. In the dark I was forever fourteen, in my second care home and kneeling in front of a pock-marked young priest who bound my eyes with a ripped sheet so that he didn’t have to look into them as he forced me to take his cock into my unwilling mouth, or lying silent in my bed and listening to his sobs as he thrust against me again and again, praying out loud that the cover of darkness would hide his sin from God’s sight.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Lilith asked in a voice already full of sleep.
No. I’m just having a wee flashback to giving Father McKenna a blowjob
. I buried my mouth into the blanket. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. No worries,’ I replied.
‘S’all right then. I owe you one for this, Finn.’
‘Don’t be so feckin’ daft,’ I said as she pulled her duvet over her shoulders and shut her eyes.
Lilith even slept tidily. Simply turned onto her right side and drifted off with a light sigh, as still as Snow White in her glass coffin.
I sat there for a while, wrapped in my blanket and just listening to her soft, regular breathing, until to my shame I realised that I wanted nothing more than to curl up, surrounded by the order that Lilith had created in the heart of so much chaos, and sleep.
Even Blaine, who would –
had
– let guests do pretty much anything with me for the right price, did not let anyone keep me overnight in case I fell asleep in their company. According to Blaine, who had witnessed it, I tended to spend most of my time howling out the dissent I was denied whilst awake. Not at all good for business.
That was why I had paused before I took the blanket from Lilith: it increased the risk that I would get too comfortable and do something really stupid. Tonight had been dangerous for both of us, even though we had not been caught: for a while it had been all too easy to pretend that this was a nascent friendship, and that would only make another thing for
Blaine
to convert into her own sick currency.
I reluctantly shrugged myself free of the blanket’s warmth and folded it into a haphazard square before resting it gently on the foot of the bed. Then I clicked Bran to my side and left Lilith’s room without looking back.
I had always been a watcher. From an early age I had learnt that if I stayed still and quiet enough for long enough, things would happen around me as though I were invisible.
It used to send my father demented. As a child I could sit a corner of his office for hours, watching him work and listening to his calls to his constituents, his colleagues and his lovers, and he would only notice me when I had had enough of my game and decided to leave.
This particular morning in mid-July, I lurked in a dark corner of Henry’s kitchen, behind the door and with my back to the range, feeling its warmth along my spine. My sketch pad rested on my knees and I worked on a drawing of Bran, who was obligingly posing for me by sleeping in a brindled, softly snoring ball of fur at my feet.
Finn sat at the table, belligerent and uncommunicative. He knew I was there – had grunted something that might be loosely interpreted as an acknowledgement when I first walked in – but had said nothing for the next half hour. Since our nocturnal meeting he would usually talk to me if we met at breakfast, so I guessed that he had had a rough night. The new bruise that was just beginning to bloom across his right cheekbone and around his eye bore testament to my theory.
That morning, I wasn’t in the best of moods to begin with. I’d spent most of the night before with a happily married CEO who had got loaded on speed and GHB and fucked me hard for hours without coming once and then hit me clear across the bedroom for making him betray his wife. His loathing hadn’t stopped him from demanding one last hand job for his money, which at least finally did the trick, but by then the dawn was already creeping across the lake and sleep was no longer an option.
To really make my whole fucking day, I had run out of temazepam. The final eight had been thrown down my throat the night before, and now the subtle ache that would soon grow to consume every muscle and nerve was heralding my unwilling withdrawal.
Blaine
had informed me that the next supply was on its way, but that meant waiting for Coyle. And playing his game.
I knew Lilith was there: the soft scratch of her pencil punctuated the silence as she drew something or other, but any energy I had was focused on the twin challenges of sitting down and not screaming as my rattle kicked in. I told myself that Lilith had probably figured out most of what was going on, so conversation was redundant.
Just as I was trying to work out the least uncomfortable way of standing up to refill my coffee, I heard the muted throb of the outboard motor as Coyle arrived on the island. Relief that my next fix was at worst ten minutes away was tainted by the realisation that Lilith was going to witness whatever scenario the evil little shit had planned as sport.
‘I’ve got something you might want,’ Coyle said, sing-song, and held up a small green-striped paper bag. He sprawled across a kitchen chair, his legs spread wide.