Killing the Beasts (15 page)

'And all those footprints?'

She draped the shirt on the end of the ironing board and grabbed his hand. 'Come on, I'll show you.'

Following the trail of plaster dust, they went up the stairs and along to the door leading into the bathroom. 'Where's the fucking bath?' he asked, surveying a room stripped of all its appliances, workmen's tools littering the floor. The smell of cigarettes was much stronger.

His wife sat down on a stack of floor tiles, lifting up a Fired Earth brochure. 'I told you – we're having this room redone. Ensuite? Knocking through in to our bedroom?'

Tom leaned against the door frame. 'I don't remember you mentioning it.' Charlotte shook her head and turned back to the brochure. 'It's been on the calendar ever since we got back from the Seychelles. You just never listen to me.'

Deciding whether to escalate things into another argument, Tom said, 'What are those tiles you're sitting on?'

Charlotte ran a hand over them, as if she could feel their quality through the layers of plastic wrapping. 'Italian marble. They're absolutely gorgeous.' She stood up. 'We're having an oyster shell bath here.' She made a lavish circular motion with both hands in the far corner. Swivelling on her heel she pointed to the wall where their sink used to be. A shorn-off pipe jutting through the floorboards was all that remained. 'New sink here. 'She pointed to Tom's side. 'Walk-in shower there; you know, those ones with the jets that nearly knock you over. And,' she flicked her hand to the other corner, 'toilet and bidet there.'

'Bidet?' said Tom. 'I don't think I've ever used one in my life. Except to clean that dog turd off my shoes that time in Paris.'

'Very romantic,' answered Charlotte, before raising a hand upwards. 'Recessed halogen lights in the ceiling. That wall will be taken out so we can walk straight in from our room, and the door you're standing in will be closed up. We'll have one of those vertical radiators in its place.'

'So how long are we going to be confined to the spare toilet and shower in the attic conversion?'

'They'll be about another eight days. I reckon less – you should have seen how fast they ripped everything out.'

I bet, thought Tom. Probably sold it on to a reclaimer's yard already. Wrinkling his nose, Tom looked critically round the room, spotting the big ashtray from the dining room by a paint-splattered radio. It was brimming with the crumpled ends of roll-ups. Regarding the evidence of unfamiliar men in his house, Tom felt somehow that his territory had been violated. 'Jesus, how many of them are on the job?'

'Four or five. I think another one joined them this afternoon.'

Tom didn't want to know how much it was costing him. He stepped towards the ashtray. 'Did you have to let them smoke in the house? The whole place stinks of those rancid roll-ups.' He knew he was goading her.

'Oh stop bloody moaning, for God's sake,' Charlotte replied, voice midway to anger. He had a bit of leeway yet.

Then he noticed the lumps of chewing gum amongst the butts. His attempt at winding her up was suddenly forgotten as he turned away in disgust. He waved a hand towards it. 'For fuck's sake, that's a crystal ashtray. They've stuck their bloody chewing gum in it.' He clamped a hand over his mouth.

That did it. Charlotte stepped up to him, one finger angrily jabbing the air. 'Can't you be happy that I'm trying to improve our house? God, if it was left to you we'd still have exactly the same hallway carpets as when we moved in. And what is it with this aversion you've developed? Ever since the Seychelles, the slightest thing makes you start retching. You should see a bloody doctor,' she snapped, striding angrily out of the room.

He walked after her. 'Actually, it's just... just stuff that's been chewed, that's been in other people's mouths. I think...' He stopped speaking, realizing this revelation only opened him up further.

Sure enough, Charlotte paused in the doorway to their bedroom.' Do you realize how much of a freak that makes you sound?'

Tom knew he wasn't going to win this one. It was time to retreat. 'Where are we going out?'

Charlotte's shoulders relaxed a little. 'Our table at The Restaurant Bar and Grill is booked for eight thirty. Doors to Chilli Pete's open at ten, I think.'

Tom glanced at his watch. That gave him forty-five minutes to get ready.

Then Charlotte added in a much sweeter voice, 'Can you give that Brain a ring? See what he's got. I don't fancy any of that skaggy speed again.'

There was the signal: if he rang Brain their tiff would be over. If getting more drugs would put her in a better mood, he was prepared to do it. It might even lead to other stuff later, he thought, trying to remember the last time they'd had sex. 'Sure, we can call by on the way into town. I don't mind driving tonight.'

Argument won, she blew a kiss over her shoulder and disappeared into the bedroom.

Downstairs, he switched on the computer. While it booted up, he gave Brain a ring.

'Hello.' A voice box sounding like it had been rubbed with a cheese grater. 'Brain, it's Tom. Any chance of stopping by in about an hour?'

'Good timing Tom, shopping's just arrived.'

'Excellent. 'Tom smiled. 'See you in a bit.'

He hung up and then went on to the internet. Clicking on the Cornwall Guide, he checked that the cafe on Harbour Road was still for sale. Finding that the little thumbnail photo and description of the property were still posted on the site, he directed a silent thank you to the heavens, then went upstairs to get changed.

Tom found a parking space on the street along from Chilli Pete's. Turning off the engine, he looked across to his wife. Spread across her lap was a selection of pills and powders.

'E?' she said, holding up a pill.

'Don't mind if I do,' he replied, popping it into his mouth and knocking it back with a swig of mineral water.

Charlotte took two and he passed the small plastic bottle to her. 'Right, let's leave the coke for the weekend.' She put the wrap of paper back in the glove compartment. 'What was this stuff again? I can never understand his sandpaper voice.' She held up a plastic sachet with a self-sealing top.

'He said it's something he brewed up himself. Like GBH, but it gives you a much cleaner lift. And a lot stronger, too. He said to just take a tiny dab.'

'Sounds intriguing,' Charlotte replied, slipping it into her push-up bra. 'I might try a bit later.'

Returning the rest of the ecstasy tablets to the glove compartment, they got out of the car and walked to the club's entrance. After a cursory search at the doors, they headed down the stairs and into a dimly lit lounge area. Huge brown leather sofas and armchairs were arranged in pods around low glass tables lit from below by single soft bulbs. Round the corner the dance floor pulsed with intricate laser effects as some sort of trance track slowly built up momentum.

'What are you having?' asked Tom as Charlotte nabbed a corner armchair.

'Just water,' she replied, reaching for her cigarettes.

Tom made his way across the half-full lounge area to the bar and ordered a bottle of mineral water and a bottle of Tiger beer. Back at their seats he slumped down and lit a cigarette. Charlotte was leaning sideways in the seat, legs crossed just above the knee, one elbow on the wide handrest. With a cigarette held just in front of her lips, she surveyed the room, eagerly examining what everyone else was wearing.

After a while Tom began to sense waves of energy emanating from his chest. They spread to his arms and legs, infusing them with urgency. The music suddenly seemed to connect with him on a much deeper level. 'You coming up yet?' he asked Charlotte, realizing that the question wasn't needed when he saw how fast her knees were jiggling.

She turned to him, eyes bright. 'You dancing?' she said in a mock northern accent.

'Why, you asking?' Both of them laughed and jumped to their feet.

They stayed on the dance floor for almost an hour solid, just letting each successive song carry them along, swaying and grinding until a change of tempo or a burst of vocals lifted them up and set off another burst of energetic dancing. Eventually they took a break, breathlessly sharing a bottle of water at the side of the dance floor, Tom holding the cool plastic against his forehead before gulping down his half. Using his body as a shield, Charlotte slipped the plastic pouch from her bra and opened it up. 'Fancy any?' she asked, glancing down at what was subtly cupped in her hand.

'No, cheers – I'll just see this E through,' answered Tom, head nodding away.

Charlotte licked a finger then dipped it into the bag. It came out coated in a sherbet-like powder and she popped it into her mouth, washing it clean with her tongue. 'Another for luck,' she said with a mischievous smile, licking her finger and dipping it in again.

Back out on the dance floor the music was picking up, people were starting to shout in appreciation, glow sticks had started to appear and the mass of bodies moved with more purpose, the crowd sensing the next phase of music was going to build and build.

As usual Charlotte had quickly manoeuvred her way into the middle of the dance floor. Her hair was tied back in a long ponytail and as her body pulsed back and forth she started sweeping her head from side to side, the blonde mane flicking against those around her, causing several people to turn and watch. Tom was just clicking into his usual routine – hovering slightly to her side, just close enough to let the other men in the vicinity know they were together – when Charlotte lurched against him.

Instinctively he grabbed her waist to steady her, but next thing her legs folded and she crashed to the floor. Those in the immediate vicinity stepped back, but other people, unable to see that someone was down, carried on dancing, bumping into the stationary people. Moving quickly before someone fell over her, Tom hooked his hands under her armpits and hauled her upright. Someone helped him to carry her off the dance floor and place her in a chair at the back of the lounge area.

'She's out of it!' the guy shouted. 'What's she taken?'

'Nothing much, 'Tom yelled back, wanting to get rid of him as soon as possible. 'Just a vodka too many.'

The man glanced at Tom, looking unconvinced. Then he turned back to Charlotte. 'Can you hear me, love?' he asked her.

'I told you,' said Tom impatiently. 'She'll be all right.'

'And who are you?' asked the man. 'How do you know her?'

Tom held up his wedding ring, then grabbed Charlotte's hand and showed him the matching ring on her finger. 'She's my wife, all right?' His voice was tight with irritation.

The man looked at their fingers and seemed reassured. 'Listen mate, I'm not being funny, but you could have been anyone. You know, I was worried. All this stuff about date rape drugs. She's totally out of it, after all.'

Tom could appreciate how dodgy the situation must have looked to a stranger. 'No, you're all right mate, I see your point. But she's my wife. A bit of a headcase, but still my wife.'

'OK. You sure you don't need help?'

'No, thanks anyway.'

For some reason they shook hands and the man disappeared back towards the dance floor.

Tom looked back at his wife. Her whole body was limp, eyes shut. 'Shit,' he said, pulling her upright and having to grab her jaw to stop her head lolling forwards. 'Charlotte, can you hear me?' he shouted into her face. She appeared to be totally unconscious. He placed a hand against the left side of her chest – her heart was pounding, but not ridiculously so. Looking around, he saw a bottle of water on the table in front of them. Leaning her back in the seat, he reached out and grabbed it. Then, holding her head back, he tipped a little into her slightly open lips. She coughed but didn't come round. Beginning to panic now, he poured some into his hand and splashed it against her forehead. The water dripped down her face and neck, running into her raised cleavage. He poured more into the palm of his hand and splashed it into her hair, then raised the bottle and poured some directly on to her head. Her eyes stayed shut. Not caring if the bouncers saw, he got one arm under her legs, one round her back and lifted her out of the seat; they had to get to hospital. As he made his way between the armchairs and sofas several people nodded in his direction. A couple of blokes grinned and one called over, 'She looks up for it!'

Then, as he neared the other side of the room, he felt her head begin to move. Away from the dance floor, the music was fractionally quieter. 'Charlotte, can you hear me?'

She moaned and her eyelids began to move. He sat down in an armchair with her on his lap. Getting his face close to hers, he repeated her name. Bit by bit she came round until, after a few minutes, she half opened her eyes and mumbled, 'Where are we?'

'You collapsed. Out on the dance floor.'

She seemed to think about that for a few seconds, then her eyes slid shut. Just as he started to worry that she'd passed out again, she whispered, 'Take me home.'

After folding the duvet around her, he scraped up her damp dress and underwear. The little plastic sachet of powder fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, he walked downstairs and put the desk lamp on. Two teaspoons' worth of fine white powder formed a triangle in the corner, a couple of lumpy bits where Charlotte's damp fingertip had been.

He lifted the phone, knowing Brain rarely slept at night. 'What the fuck was that powder?'

'Who's this?'

'Tom. I called in earlier tonight to pick up some shopping. You had a new... spice.'

'Oh that,' answered Brain and Tom could hear his grin. 'Knockout, isn't it, my friend?'

'Knockout? You could fucking say. My missus is completely asleep upstairs.' 'I told you – it's something new. I put it together using a recipe from the States.' He put on a Mexican accent. 'You only need a leetle beet, amigo. Es claro?'

'Yeah, you said,' Tom felt slightly sheepish, realizing Brain had warned him. He thought about the two large dabs his wife had taken. 'What is it?'

'I told you earlier. It's very popular with men who like their ladies a little more compliant, shall we say.'