The Fall of Chance (20 page)

With a grunt from both of them, he finally broke in. He felt the moistness that Pearson had spoken of, high up inside her, but down at the bottom, it was still tight and barren.

He realised that somewhere along the line he’d closed his eyes and now he opened them. Her face was just inches away and her eyes were clenched shut: sealed tight against a great endurance. Those eyes told the battle her whole body was fighting.

Determined to secure his hard-won ground, he pressed in tight against her. Her mouth, beside his ear, shunted hot, steaming breaths over one side of his head. His face was buried in the corner between her neck and shoulder. The smell of sweat and mingled perfume peppered his nostrils.

Now he just had to end this. He started to thrust, putting his whole body into it. His hands, slick with perspiration, slipped on the base sheets that had already been worked loose. His knees and feet struggled for grip, like they were skating on melted butter.

He reached up and grabbed the end of the mattress, hands digging like talons for purchase but by doing that, he could no longer hold himself up. Gravity dropped him like a dead weight on top of her. He feared he would crush the life out of her, her breathing was so rapid and shallow.

He wanted her to do something to help him in any small way. He wanted her to show she understood this was a shared suffering, that this wasn’t something he was doing to her. If she could hold him, assist him, it would maybe stop this awful feeling he was raping dead meat. Maybe he’d been caught up in his own desires before but now he wanted it over as much as she did.

Furiously, he willed himself to finish it. When he was on his own, it took minutes - often with Crystal in mind. Now, faced with the real thing, nothing was coming. He’d worried that he’d climax too quickly and Pearson had given pointers on how to hold things off but he’d never even considered that he might want to hurry it up.

The sheets grew wetter and heavier. He wanted to throw them off but he couldn’t. They were like a last layer of protection, a sort of division they could keep between themselves and what was happening. If the sheets went, they’d be exposed. Their misery would be out in the open.

He tried to think of the beautiful figure that was trapped under him or all her other perfections. That silky skin was nothing; the memory of her eyes were shut out by the clenched lids in front of him. That sheet of gleaming hair was spilled out on the pillow, streaked and bedraggled in sweat. There was nothing of the enchantress he could focus on. He tried to grasp at what he knew was there but his mind slipped and skidded the way his feet did on the mattress cover.

His desperation grew with his tiredness and that made it all the more difficult. He couldn’t give up. He mustn’t give up. If he gave in to his body and collapsed, this whole nightmare experience was for nothing.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of something sexy. The girls in the clerks’ office - Vecta and Orla - had been in his thoughts a lot recently. They were maybe older but a week spent with Pearson and the way he was had really made them grow on him. He thought of them singly, together, in all the ways he’d imagined before, but still nothing would happen.

And then he thought of Mélie, lovely Mélie. The girl who’d held his hand while she cheekily swiped his drink. He remembered the excitement he’d felt at her touch, at her closeness. He remembered the anticipation as they’d gone off toward the darkened back-streets. His mind had concocted a dozen fantasies about what would have happened if Rob and Crystal hadn’t blundered in and made Olissa run her stupid mouth off.

Suddenly, Olissa was there in his thoughts. No! He didn’t want her there. There was nothing about her that he liked. But it was working. His mind was rebelling, his body was rebelling and at the limits of his endurance, he was willing to accept whatever worked.

He focused on the smug, sardonic smirk she always wore and her horrible bushy hair. She was broad, shapeless, completely unfeminine. Yes! There was something coming. Desperately, he put aside all worry of how this was possible and just stayed with it, stayed with it.

Thank Fate! With a heave, he was spent. There had been no pleasure in it. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was collapse and go to sleep, but he couldn’t. Crystal was still underneath him. Her eyes were still closed, her imagination locked in whatever fortress she’d constructed. He saw tears in among the sweat on her cheeks.

He didn’t know how to get out of her. Would it hurt? With his last reserve of strength, he shuffled out, moving like a fish out of water. He felt something gloopy come out with him. He immediately felt bad when he realised she’d have to sleep in that. The sheets beneath her were saturated in their combined sweat. A double-guilt filled him but he couldn’t say anything. It was all he could manage to roll over onto his back.

The second he was off her, he saw her roll back to face the wall. It was the first move she’d made since she’d guided him into her. Silently, he watched as she moved her fingers gingerly about herself. She would be sore, he was sure. Unt was sore too, but this was a different kind of probe, like she was defying the reality of it.

Minutes later, she broke the silence, “Can I borrow some clothes?” she whispered.

“What?” he asked.

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

His immediate reaction was a thrill at the thought of her naked in his house. It was absurd, given what they’d just been through, but there it was.

“Uh, of course,” he said and pointed her toward a drawer.

He watched her get out of bed, clasping one meagre corner of the sheets around her. Clearly, she felt her nakedness as keenly as him.

Finding a shirt, she quickly wrapped it around herself and buttoned it up. It was too big for her: long enough to hide her modesty but the hidden parts had suddenly become more enticing.

“The bathroom’s this way?” she asked. He made a noise of approval and she disappeared. Unt just lay there and stared at the empty doorway. His body was calling on him to sleep but he wanted to stay awake until she came back. It was like he was scared she’d run away or vanish like a dream.

There was the sound of splashing for a long time, then there was an equal period of silence. At last, he heard the pad of her feet on the wooden floor and then she was there, standing at the edge of the room.

He couldn’t see her clearly. The moon’s light didn't stretch beyond the bed. She was just standing there, a framed shadow.

“I didn’t sleep with him, you know,” her voice came out of the darkness like it was divorced from her body, “Rob, I mean. I waited for you, like I was supposed to.”

Unt didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t just nod either, she’d never see it. “Ok,” he said, “Thank you.” It sounded awful.

She stalked across to the bed and wrapped herself up in the saturated sheets. She curled up away from him in a foetal kind of way.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Goodnight,” she replied without moving.

Soon, a muffled heaving filled the dead air around them. She was crying. Unt turned toward the window and let his own tears flow in silence.

9. Intervention

It was amazing how quickly the new became routine. One week later, Unt was no longer daunted by his new workplace. Two weeks more, he was getting to know his way around and four weeks after that, it felt like he’d been there years. Pearson was offloading more of his duties onto Unt’s desk and he was surprised to find he was good at it.

Right now, he was labouring on a table to review the priority of communal repairs. Roof repairs hadn’t been done for the past three seasons and Brooker wanted to see a twenty percent increase in the probability of them appearing in the next works schedule.

Unt had to find room for that increase by giving other jobs a lower probability. The easiest place to make room was by making cuts from some of the jobs that had been done more recently. The trouble was that some of those jobs were more essential or had to be done regularly. It was a complex bit of work and Unt was working through a matrix that told him when and where to make the cuts.

The sun had passed into the middle pane of his office window and that told him it was nearly lunch. He was looking forward to the packed meal Crystal had prepared for him. Unt might have been cooking for himself all his life but it turned out that Crystal was better at it, so she made the meals.

On the other hand, Unt had a better grip on the other housework, especially cleaning, washing and ironing. Those things were his domain. The rest of the household chores, they were still finding their way with.

The domestic part of his life was finding its way into a kind of rhythm and things were getting better after that first horrible night. They were getting used to being inside each others’ skin and for Crystal, things were getting easier as his house became her home. It was like breaking in a pair of boots: the toughness got worn down through use.

They were doing their duty and having sex every night, often in the morning as well. That too had got much better after their dreadful first time. He didn’t get any sign that she enjoyed it yet but she no longer made him feel like he was forcing himself on her.

She was even letting him try some of Pearson’s techniques. They might not send her to the heights of ecstasy but it made things easier. The key, he thought, was that they’d taken the emotional element out of it. They’d turned it into a mechanical thing like a ram tupping sheep in a field. It wasn’t ideal but it was an improvement.

Pearson was out on an errand that morning and Unt was working alone. He took a moment to sit back and think of taking an early break. Most days, he was still having liquid lunch with Pearson but before that, he always had the food that Crystal had made for him.

The midday sun, punching through the window, was having an odd effect today. It filled the room with a flickering orange light so that the walls and floorboards all seemed aflame.

Unt felt a shadow on his shoulders, despite the abundant light. He turned his chair toward the door. Brooker was there and Councillor Kelly was with him. A third man was there, a man called Pollock whom Unt recognised as Councillor Erk’s Acolyte.

Brooker’s face was dark with unreadable emotions, Pollock’s square jaw projected like a battering ram and Kelly was an empty canvas. The Leader’s hands were joined and hidden beneath his robes. Unt knew at once that something was wrong.

“Unt, may we enter?” asked Brooker. It was an odd thing to ask in his own chambers.

“Uh, of course,” Unt replied. He sensed it wasn’t an answer he wanted to give but refusal was out of the question.

The three men entered the room. Kelly stood in the middle, Brooker stood nearest to Unt and Pollock stood over by Pearson’s desk. It was an odd arrangement. This was Brooker’s office but he was literally on the edge of things. It was Kelly and Pollock who dominated the room.

Unt’s sense of dread sank further still when he looked beyond Kelly to where a further shadow lurked. It was the unmistakeable figure of Lasper. ‘Vulture’ was the word that came to mind.

Lapser was joined in that background scene by the sudden appearance of Pearson. He looked out of breath, like he’d been running, which was hugely out of character for Pearson. He made as though to enter but Lasper blocked him off. They had a hot contest of muted words, and Lasper must have got the better because reluctantly, Pearson stayed where he was. He saw Unt watching. His body writhed in alarming fashion as he signalled some sort of warning.

Too late, thought Unt.

Sensing the commotion behind him, Kelly turned and gave Lasper a significant look. Lasper retreated further into the shadows, moving Pearson with him. Unt could no longer see the man but his presence remained.

“Unt,” said Brooker, “Councillor Kelly needs a word with you.”

“Yes, Unt,” Kelly took his queue, “Councillor Erk has sent Mr Pollock to me with a most serious matter. He has been contacted by a witness with a very grave accusation.”

Unt just blinked. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t breathe. A cold-hot lump was lodged in his throat.

Polllock seemed to step forward without moving. He held his jaw like a weapon
.
Unt had only spoken briefly with the man. He was a good deal older than Pearson and his age seemed to make him angry. “Mr Unt, he said, “Are you acquainted with a Mr Bulton of Ward Street, formerly Edge Street?”

Relief surged through Unt’s body. It was Bull who was in trouble. That selfish thought made him feel guilty, but he ahd to acknowledge it.

“I am,” he said, the power of speech returning.

“Would you describe your relationship as close?” Pollock followed up. The worry started to creep back through Unt’s feet.

“Well, yes,” he admitted. Pollock scribbled something in a notebook.

“And how long have you known each other?”

“All our lives.” The concern had reached his shins. Pollock scribbled something further down. Unt wondered why they were asking this.

“Did you attend school together?”

“Of course.”

“Including Work Experience?”

There it was. Fear shot up through him like a fountain. Work Experience. They were asking about the rescue.

“Yes,” Unt forced the word out. His throat was like a clenched valve.

“So you were present at an incident on the sixteenth of the fourth involving a near-drowning?”

“Yes.”

“And you gave a witness testimony relating to that event?”

“Yes.”

“A testimony that stated Mr Bulton saved two of his classmates?”

“Yes.”

The two Councillors shared a significant look.

“Do you-” Pollock began but Kelly stepped in quickly.

“I think enough has been established to validate the concern,” he said to his colleagues. “I think it best if further matters are explored more formally.”

Brooker looked relieved. Pollock looked disappointed. Unt got the impression that Kelly wanted things kept quiet. Whether that was for Unt’s benefit or theirs, it didn’t matter. Unt was just glad of the respite.

“Unt,” said Kelly, “I must inform you that you have been accused of tampering with the selection process. A beadle is waiting in the foyer to escort you to the cells. You will remain there until a trial can be arranged.”

The strength of Unt’s legs escaped him. If he’d been standing, he’d have fallen to the floor. He stared at Brooker, an appeal for salvation.

“Try not to worry, Unt,” he muttered, “I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Those weren’t exactly words of reassurance. If anything, they were so carefully guarded against reassurance that they were quite the opposite.

Kelly and Pollock took a backward-step against the far wall, forming a sort of unwanted honour-guard.

Unt turned back to Brooker. “Crystal-” he began but no more words would come.

Brooker laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Pearson will see to it,” he said.

The comforting arm became a guiding one as he gently raised Unt to his feet. Unt was screaming inside himself to kick up a fuss, to make a protest. His mute acceptance of proceedings was like an admission of guilt but his body wouldn’t respond.

As Brooker led him from his desk, he looked forlornly at the little paper box that sat atop it; the untouched lunch, abandoned in its flimsy shell.

He passed Kelly and Pollock, went out through the door and was beset on either side by Pearson and Lasper. Pearson was weaving with the energy of a boxer, lusting to come in with fists flying. Lasper had Unt pinned beneath the point of his chin. The line of his mouth flickered in his reptilian way, the smile barely suppressed. Unt knew he had somehow orchestrated this.

It was a long, lonely walk down to the foyer. Usually, there would be someone from the Order going up and down but today there was no-one. There was only Unt with Brooker beside him and Kelly and Pollock three places behind.

That loneliness wasn’t so bad compared to what was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The foyer of Fate Hall was open for business and members of the public were coming and going about their affairs. There was a mere handful of people and none seemed to show Unt any special interest but he suddenly felt exposed.

There was no reason those people should see anything other than four men of the Councillors Order in their own building but his shame felt like a beacon. Everywhere, he imagined people making overt glances and wondering what this boy had been up to.

Only one person looked straight at him and he was stood at the foot of the stairs. Unt recognised the shrewish man instantly as Old Tulk, the beadle. Tulk was supposedly the oldest man in the community and had been beadle as long as anyone could remember. Everyone knew Tulk and anyone seen in his company was known to be in trouble.

Up to this point, Unt had imagined his guilt as transparent but when people saw him with Tulk, they’d know something was up. They might not know what, but curiosity drives gossip faster than facts.

“Tulk,” said Brooker, collecting the beadle’s hand in a casual sort of way. “Good of you to come at short notice.” Pollock and Kelly shook hands too. Together, the four men and Unt made an open circle. It made things look nice and casual.

Tulk, chewing on some unseen substance, studied Unt with old, experienced eyes. His face had untidy grey stubble, his uniform was worn and shabby and his chewing made a messy noise but his eyes were alive and intelligent. They were a concentrated blue, like they held the condensed wisdom of all his years’ service.

“This here is Unt,” Brooker introduced him like they were at a party. “He’s going to be accompanying you.”

The beadle extended his hand to Unt. Despite looking frail, the grip was strong and the skin was rough and hardened. “You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you son?” he asked, leaning in.

“No sir,” said Unt, gulping.

Tulk turned his next chew into a lop-sided smile. “There’s a good lad,” he said. “As long as you behave yourself I ne’ent keep more than a guiding hand on you.”

“Excellent,” said Brooker. “Unt, you go with Tulk now and we’ll see you tomorrow.” He patted his back like he was going out for the evening. “Someone will be over to see you shortly and they’ll run you through what’s going to happen.”

Kelly and Pollock stood rigid. Apparently, propriety would only let them take the charade so far. They wouldn’t be seen being friendly to Unt.

“Right then, young man, let’s be off,” said Tulk and shepherded Unt away.

As they walked toward the exit and daylight, Unt felt like a rabbit being dragged from the safety of its burrow. Inside, there’d been an illusion of safety with the security of solid walls and darkened recesses. Outside was open country, exposed and vulnerable.

His first step out of the building made Unt think of the day of the Fall when Lasper had ambushed him. That day, his fear had been a response to sudden terror. This time, the anticipation of accusing eyes brought a more pervasive fear.

Fortune Square was as busy as ever but Unt’s expectation of everyone stopping to stare was happily far from the mark. There were easily more than two hundred people cutting paths across the open space but barely a dozen even glanced toward the Hall. Of that dozen, maybe two looked back at Unt and if either clocked a man in the company of a beadle, it was a fleeting curiosity: just enough to graze the edge of consciousness. Tulk led Unt back down the side of Fate Hall, along the broad stretch of North Street.

True to his word, Tulk kept no more than an arm on Unt but it was a restraint nonetheless. To Unt, it felt like a bright red sign saying “criminal here”. Still, despite being among thick civilian traffic, no-one seemed to notice. Even in his stunned state, Unt could only marvel at how invisible a man’s plight could be to people absorbed in their own lives.

Unt didn’t know North Street well. The places down here were ones that had never concerned him and he had few friends from this quarter. He’d passed through it from time to time but it wasn’t part of his home turf. It had an almost alien feel to it and that feeling became more threatening as they moved further and further away from Fortune Square.

Being in a foreign place should have made him more anonymous but the deeper they went, the further they got into Tulk’s territory and the beadle was a well-known face. Neighbours would say hello as they passed and then they would see Unt. They didn’t voice questions but Unt could see them thinking, filing it away. Later on, in their homes and workplaces, they’d ask around and find out who was that frightened young man they’d seen with the beadle.