Revenge of the Tide (14 page)

I
n total, I estimated that there were no more than five guests at Fitz’s party. They were vastly outnumbered by caterers, a waitress, heavies they’d brought with them that weren’t officially participating, and by Fitz’s entourage, including various other men, Gray, Nicks, Dylan, and me.

I got changed in a downstairs bathroom before my first dance. Dylan had taken a CD with all my favourite music, plus some extras for spares, and uploaded it on to Fitz’s sound system.

I’d gone to town on the outfit, although it never consisted of much more than underwear with something stretchy over the top that I could remove over the course of the dance.

In fact, I’d spent most on the shoes – two hundred pounds on a pair of sandals that buckled with thin straps all the way up to just below the knee. The heel on them was five inches. I’d had to practise dancing with them on, as much of my grip came from the skin on my calves down to the ankles, but when I tested them out it was fine. The only danger would be if one of the buckles snagged on another when my legs were crossed at the ankle.

Dylan came to fetch me. Despite my attire he didn’t so much as look at me twice. ‘You’re on,’ he said.

The first dance went well. I opened to my favourite dancing track, the one I’d had at my audition with Fitz – Elbow’s ‘Grounds for Divorce’.

I swung around the pole at full force to start off with, and it was my first chance to have a look at the men grouped on the chairs and sofas. They were all smartly dressed, and they’d all had a drink or two – including Fitz – but they weren’t drunk yet and I needed a spectacular start to get their attention. They were still talking and laughing amongst themselves when I started, but they stopped within the first ten seconds of my routine and then I had their undivided attention – vertical, upside-down splits with a spin, my hair flying around in an arc so fast that they should have been able to feel a breeze from it.

Fitz watched me, and looked at his guests, glancing from them back to me with an expression that was hard to read. Approval, definitely. Arousal? I could never tell, not with him.

The next morning I went to the
Aunty Jean
to see Malcolm and Josie, but the boat was empty and the hatch shut and locked. Liam was on the deck of the
Painted Lady
, tinkering with something. He waved at me, and I went across the pontoon to where he was.

‘Morning,’ he said.

‘How are you doing?’

He pointed with the screwdriver he was holding, towards the office. The ladder was resting against the wall. ‘That light’s gone again. Maureen’s just been out there having a go at Cam.’

‘Gone again? What do you mean?’

‘Someone’s cut the cable. Maureen said Cam should put electronic gates on the car park and keep them locked at night. She’s trying to get a residents’ meeting together for tonight. Hasn’t she been round to see you yet?’

I shook my head. ‘I saw her yesterday; she was going on about it then, too. Liam, have you seen Malcolm and Josie?’

‘They went to the supermarket, ’bout half an hour ago.’

‘Oh. Thanks.’

I still had no idea what to say to them about Oswald. I’d tucked him inside a cotton shopping bag, still wrapped in Carling’s towel, and put him in the wheelhouse so he wouldn’t get wet if it rained. He would need burying – maybe on the recreation ground? Roger and Sally’s allotment? It all seemed so bloody horrible.

I couldn’t get Carling out of my head. He’d asked me about the Barclay and I’d stalled him. He knew where Caddy worked. Which meant it was only a matter of time before he found out that I’d been a dancer there too, that we were friends. I needed Dylan, needed him so badly. Why wasn’t he answering his phone? And then Carling – lying on my bed next to me. This morning that just felt awkward. If I ever saw him again I would be embarrassed by it.

‘What did Cam say about the gates?’ I asked.

Liam laughed. ‘You know Maureen. Maybe she just asked in the wrong way.’

I went back to the boat and spread my plans and notes out on the dinette table. If I was going to do the bathroom, I would need to lose the storage space at the bow. I would need to start with the conservatory and the sliding roof – in theory a straightforward project, in practice quite difficult.

I rang up a local glazing company and tried to describe what I wanted. I’d done this before, with other companies, and had received a mixed response, including one telling me to my face that I didn’t know what I was doing and I would be better off leaving the boat alone and getting myself a nice house.

The local independent glazing company was much better. I spoke to a guy called Kev who promised to come round and have a look.

At some point I was going to need to get the MIG welder and the saws out again and cut a hole in the cabin roof. I’d done it before with the skylights and each time it had made me nervous. But when Kev turned up an hour later, he was more helpful than I’d expected and he offered to help fit the sliding roof as well as supply it. His father owned a boat and he’d often helped out on it. Nothing this dramatic, mind you, but he looked at my plans and at the article I’d clipped out of
Waterways World
magazine that had a boat with a similar sliding roof, and he agreed that it could be done. He even had tracks in stock that we could use to make the mechanism for the slide.

I started to get excited about it again. ‘How long would it be before we can do it, if I order everything now?’

‘Six weeks, maybe less,’ Kev said. ‘When they’re ready we could pick some good weather days and I’ll help you out with the roof.’

I felt much better with a plan. I wrote a cheque for the deposit, and, when I waved Kev off in his van, the sun came out.

Malcolm and Josie were back.

I went to board the
Scarisbrick Jean,
knocking on the hatch. A shout came from below; it might have been ‘come aboard’ or might just have been ‘piss off’. Either way, I opened the door and climbed down the three steps into the cabin.

Josie was packing shopping away in the galley.

‘I’ve got some bad news,’ I said.

Her face fell and she stared at me. ‘Is it Oswald?’

I nodded, and went forward to hug her as she started to sob.

‘I knew it, I knew something had happened to him. I told Malcolm, I said…’

At that moment Malcolm came in from the bedroom. ‘What’s going on?’

I looked at him over Josie’s shoulder. ‘I found Oswald.’

‘Aw, shit. He’s dead? I knew it; he always comes home. Run over was he? Bastards on that road, they speed up and down.’

I didn’t say anything else. I should have told them what had happened, but I was afraid they would blame me. I’d done this: I’d brought this to the marina, this nightmare.

‘Where is he?’ Josie whispered. Malcolm was hugging her now, stroking her back with his huge, bony hands.

‘I’ve got him in my wheelhouse,’ I said. ‘I’ve wrapped him up a bit.’

Malcolm nodded. ‘I’ll come and get him.’

I said to Josie, ‘Do you want me to stay with you?’

She shook her head. ‘I just need a minute,’ she said, her shoulders shaking. ‘I just need to be on my own for a minute. You – you go with Malc.’

We got to the wheelhouse and I showed him the cotton bag, neatly wrapped. Malcolm said to me, ‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’

The sun shone fiercely on the back of my neck. Just for a moment, it was warm. ‘He wasn’t run over,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘We won’t say anything to Josie.’

‘No.’

‘What happened?’

‘Last night,’ I said, ‘I heard a noise. Like a thump. When I went outside to have a look, Oswald was lying on the pontoon.’

‘You didn’t see anyone?’

I shook my head. ‘Did you know someone’s cut the cable to the light again? Liam told me that Cam was up there trying to fix it again this morning.’

‘Yeah. Maureen was bending my ear about electronic gates when I went to the shops earlier. Like that’s going to solve anything.’

He picked up the bundle, cradling it gently as though Oswald was still alive. ‘I’d better take him back,’ he said.

‘Can I help? With – you know. Digging a hole.’

He smiled. ‘No. I’ll do it later. Be fine.’

He left me alone on the deck, taking Oswald with him. I felt so bad for them both, and Malcolm was so kind. Even though it was all my fault.

In total I earned nearly five thousand pounds for one night’s effort at Fitz’s party. I did work for it, in truth – I lost count of the songs I danced to on the pole, and then lap dances for each of them. Worth it for the tips.

By three, most of Fitz’s guests had gone. One guy was left – a hand-stitched suit, silk shirt, open at the neck. Bling on his wrist. Serious money. I’d been talking to him for a while, pouring him drinks and laughing at his crap sense of humour. His name was Kenny. I had an appalling memory, but I’d trained myself at the day job by repeating people’s names back to them constantly until they stuck. It felt clumsy to me, but I’d never met a man who’d commented on it. They all seemed to love the sound of their own names.

The flirting ramped up a notch. The same lines, variations of which I heard most weekends in the club.

‘Seriously, you’re the best dancer I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a few. What’s your name?’

‘You know – it’s Viva.’

‘No, your real name. What is it?’

‘Ah, if I told you that it would spoil the magic, Kenny. You’ll just have to trust me.’

‘You have an incredible body, Viva.’

‘Thank you, Kenny.’

‘No, seriously. You deserve better than this. Why don’t you come out with me? Go on, say yes. I can give you the best time ever.’

‘I’m sure you could,’ I said, smiling.

‘Will you? Let me take you away somewhere. I’ve got a place in Spain – come with me for a weekend…’ He was slurring his words. He wouldn’t have been able to stand up without assistance. I topped up his glass.

Behind him, in the darkened room, Dylan looked at me and then at his watch.

‘Ah, I can’t. I’d love to, but I’ve got to work…’

‘I can pay you,’ he said. ‘You just tell me how much it is you need and I’ll sort it.’

‘It’s not the money,’ I fibbed. ‘I love my job. I get to meet gorgeous guys like you, Kenny.’

He sighed heavily, as though admitting defeat. Dylan took a step forward. He was ready to kick him out.

‘What about one last dance?’ Kenny said, leaning forward unsteadily. ‘One last dance, just you and me. You know.’

Dylan appeared at his side. ‘It’s getting late,’ was all he said.

The man said, ‘Where’s Fitz?’

I took advantage of the distraction and excused myself, and went to the bathroom to get changed. A few moments later Fitz opened the door, without knocking. I was folding up clothes and packing them away into my bag.

‘Viva,’ he said. ‘I need to ask you a favour.’

I stopped what I was doing and gave him a look. It had been a long night.

He came over to me and stroked the back of his hand over my bare arm. ‘See?’ he said. ‘Not so bad, is it?’

‘That’s not the bit he wants to touch, is it?’

‘Viva. This guy – he’s going to be very helpful to me. I need to keep him sweet. He really likes you; he’s never been bothered with any of the girls before…’

‘I’ll dance as many times as you want, Fitz. That was what we agreed. You promised me that there would be nothing like this. You want to change the deal, you have to pay for it.’

‘How much?’

I told him I would do it for a grand, I would choose my own music, and there was an extra condition: that Dylan was waiting at the door. Fitz was torn, as though I was screwing him over, and at the same time as though he’d just been given the keys to the sweetie shop.

‘Seriously, a grand? Who do you think you are?’

He was quite drunk, unsteady. I waited patiently.

He looked at me for several moments, then said, ‘Alright. A grand. You’re pushing your luck, you know that, don’t you?’

A thousand pounds. I’d better make it worth his money.

The music had already started when I went into the room. Donna Summer’s ‘Love to Love You Baby’ – the extended version, sixteen minutes long, complete with Summer’s orgasmic moans and cries. Not the three-minute track I’d chosen. Should I make a fuss? I wondered. But it seemed quicker to just get it over with.

He was waiting in the chair, reclining. He looked half-conscious; he would wake up pretty damn soon. I came up behind him, stroked my hand across his shoulders, down his arms. One last look behind me. Dylan was standing at the open door, his face in shadow.

I didn’t make him wait too long for the dress to come off. The song made me hot anyway. He’d paid, or rather Fitz probably had, for just about everything he wanted. Even though I knew he wanted me to be close, I was going to start on the pole, since it was what made my dances special. So I spun and swirled and kicked, vaguely aware of Dylan at the back of the room. If he’d been watching Spurs play he would probably have shown more emotion.

As I had more skin to play with, I was adventurous with my dance and experimented with some new moves. I tried some back flips and twists that I’d not done since my gymnastic days, although doing it in heels was a different story, and thankfully I didn’t fall or pull a muscle. When the music slowed and pulsed, I came off the pole and went over to Kenny, and I danced for him. I let him have my best moves, up close. At first he didn’t touch, then a hand on my backside. I pushed backwards encouragingly. After that, there was no stopping him. When his fingers got too insistent I backed off, smiling as though I was enjoying it, as though he was turning me on. And when I was astride his lap, rubbing the side of my knee against the bulge in his expensive handmade trousers, I glanced up to the shadows. Dylan was still there. Unmoving.

There was a lot of touching. Some of it clumsy, uncomfortable. I had a moment where I thought,
Why am I doing this? This can’t be right. I don’t give a fuck about this bloke, I don’t even like him, and he’s got two fingers inside me and the other hand in his open fly and I’m pretending I’m enjoying it. Is it worth the money? Is it really worth a grand?