Текст книги "The House on Fever Street"

Автор книги: Celina Grace

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“In here.”

Carl gestured to the dark doorway up ahead and Veronica giggled again, turning her face up for a kiss. Jake tried to smile. The three of them squeezed through the entrance, joining the small queue at the payment counter.

The bar was darker than the one they’d been earlier, louder, a lot louder. More of a crowd, a much drunker, lairier crowd than earlier. Jake followed the gleam of V’s hair through the darkness, squinting through the flashing lights. They waded across the tiny dance floor, heading for the bar at the back. Jake was beginning to feel an itch, the yearning for another line. He didn’t need one – he could still feel the spark of the last one, could still taste acrid powder every time he swallowed. But there it was, the niggling power of cocaine, tugging at his senses for just one more line, one more…

He managed to communicate his need to the other two at the bar, subtly, he hoped. Carl pressed the wrap into his hand discreetly.

“We’ll stay here,” he bellowed in his brother’s ear. “You go ahead.”

Jake fought down the disappointment of not sharing a cubicle with Veronica. He battled his way to the gents, queued for roughly a year for a cubicle and did what he had to do. The burn was greater this time, making him screw up his face and snort.

Carl and Veronica were dancing by the time he got back to the bar. He could see them wedged into the struggling mass of humanity on the dance floor, slotted together at the hip, Carl’s big hands curved around Veronica’s hips. Jake hesitated for a moment. Then, coke-fuelled, he squirmed his way through to them.

“Jake!”

Veronica detached herself from Carl and threw her arms around his neck. Jake staggered, surprised, and his arms went about her in an attempt at balance. Dreamily, she moved against him, hot cheek against his face. He could see tiny pearls of sweat caught in her hairline. Quickly he glanced at Carl who was oblivious, shaking his head in time to the music, grooving on down, throwing shapes. Jake grinned. He pulled Veronica closer, grinding himself against her. He was hard and he knew she could feel it but powered by the coke and booze, he didn’t care. Giddily, he moved with her, feeling the bass thud up though his body, shaking him from deep within. Her skin slipped underneath his sweaty hands, so warm; he wanted to lick his fingers. He wanted to run his tongue over her neck. He caught his breath and brought his face closer to hers – and then the song changed, the thudding beats of the last song segueing into some insipid R n B groove. Veronica laughed and slipped from his grasp, moving from his hands into his brother’s arms.

“Let’s get a drink,” she said. “I’m so hot.”

*

“Zero tolerance rules for a happier Britain,” said Carl, shouting over the music and the background of Veronica’s laughing. Jake rolled his eyes.

“What?”

Carl grinned. “Look, it’s easy. I’ll start. Okay – anyone found dropping litter will be forced to eat whatever they’ve dropped. No, wait – whatever they’ve dropped will be vigorously inserted into a bodily orifice.”

Veronica hiccupped with laughter.

“Go on!”

“Anyone who doesn’t clean up after their dog will have their face rubbed in it –“

“Ewwwwwww…”

Carl warmed to his theme, encouraged by their amused response. “Anyone – anyone seen reading Heat magazine will be soundly beaten, no, publically flogged with a copy of the Oxford English dictionary.”

Jake whooped with laughter. “Everyone with one of those fucking awful novelty ringtones will be forced to text ‘I’m a pea-brained, lobotomised moron’ fifty thousand times!”

They collapsed with laughter. It was many, many drinks later, more lines later, three more sexually tantalising dances later. Jake felt at once both lazily drunk and wildly excited. He wanted to fall down in a heap and at the same time, run screaming down the street. He took another long pull of his drink, his jaw aching.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“And go where?”

Carl slammed his empty glass down on the table.

“Anywhere! Everywhere! Let’s go!”

Veronica laughed. Jake grinned at her. God, she was beautiful – no matter how long he looked at her, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to fill his eyes with the sight of her, to gaze and gaze until finally, he’d properly absorbed her. But seeing wasn’t enough either – he wanted her, the whole of her. Every part of her.

Outside in the street, it was still miraculously warm. The sky above them, just glimpsed through turrets of brick and slate, was a smudged, ominous red. There were no stars to be seen.

“Christ, it’s hot,” said Carl. “It’s like being on holiday.”

They were wandering through some back streets, heading vaguely for another club that Veronica had mentioned. There were fewer people about now they were off the main drag. The three of them walked slowly, limbs heavy with alcohol.

Up ahead they could see a little knot of people on the pavement. Almost simultaneous, the boom of music reached them, and the high shrieks of laughter and, visible against the street light, clouds of smoke and steam writhing in the night air. Someone was having a party, a wild one by the look of it. Their footsteps slowed until they were standing right outside.

Veronica turned to the two boys, her delicate eyebrows raised. She lifted her chin and smiled.

“Well?” she said. “How about here?”

Chapter Twenty-One

“This is Candy.”

Veronica gestured to the girl sat next to her on the sagging sofa. She had one eyebrow arched, ever so slightly, and the deadpan tone of her voice told Jake she was sneering at the name, just a little. He smiled inwardly and held out his hand to the girl who took it, looking momentarily confused.

“Your name’s Candy?”

The girl sniggered. “Nah, it’s Candice really. Candy’s just what people call me. What’s your name?”

“I’m Jake.”

He smiled at her. Veronica shifted up on the sofa, patting the seat next to her. He squeezed himself between them, feeling the long length of her thigh against him on that side, the fat-padded softness of the girl’s hip on the other. He took a long swig at the beer in his hand, washing away the acrid taste of the recently snorted coke.

“Where’s Carl?” said Veronica.

“Dunno. He was queuing for the bog last time I saw him. Have you seen the rest of this place? It’s a complete shit-hole.”

“What d’you say?”

Candice poked him in the ribs. He turned to her, slightly annoyed at the familiarity of her gesture.

“What?”

“What d’you say?”

“I said, this place is a shit-hole.”

“Yeah, well. It’s a squat, innit?”

“A squat? Christ. Do you live here then?”

He didn’t know why he’d asked her that. Perhaps it was the way she looked; top glittering with badly sewn sequins, black roots smudging the crispy blonde cloud of hair, cheap perfume rising like swamp gas from her sweating cleavage. She looked as if she belonged here.

She sniggered again.

“Nah. I know one of the blokes here, Guy – he’s the boyfriend of a mate of mine.”

“And where’s your boyfriend then?”

He grinned down at her. It was the sort of thing Carl would say. She laughed again. He looked at her breasts, straining against the cheap white Lycra. She wore a necklace of blue plastic beads around her neck, the sort that looked as though they’d break with a single twist.

“What boyfriend?”

“Come on, tell me you don’t have one. I won’t believe you.”

She was giggling furiously now. He felt a sudden sharp pulse of desire. She was abundantly fleshy – he had a sudden longing to sink his face into her breasts. He was aware of Veronica, cool and sharp beside him.

“Hey – what’s up? What’s going on here? Who’s this?”

Carl. Jake saw Candice, Candy, whatever her stupid name was, look up at his brother. He followed her gaze and suddenly saw what she saw – his tall, handsome brother, saturnine, dark-jawed, dangerously cool. The way he himself must look. Jake glanced at Veronica. She was looking coolly blonde, coolly superior, the sharp planes of her face settled into arrogant beauty. He realised what this feral young girl beside must be thinking. How cool are they? Who are these beautiful people? It excited him. He put a hand on her thigh, noting its fleshiness, feeling at once repulsed and at the same time drawn. She turned to him, mouth slightly open. Her eye makeup had run in the heat – it made her look slutty. It made her look exciting. On impulse, he leant forward and kissed her, feeling her mouth loosen beneath his, the cigarette and alcopop taste of her distinct on his tongue, not caring about Carl’s sudden catcall, not caring about Veronica’s hardly heard gasp. He felt wantonly reckless.

He surfaced. Carl was grinning and there was a spark in his eye that Jake had seen before, in situations where the two of them were about to badly misbehave. A daring look, a challenge – where will you stop, little brother? How far are you willing to go?

Carl said nothing though. Still grinning, still silent, he reached for his bag of coke. Candice’s eyes lit up at the sight of it.

“Oh wow – is that, like, charlie?”

“Certainly is, darling. By the way, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Carl. Jake’s big brother.”

She sniggered one more time.

“Alright, Carl. What are you guys, doing here anyway?”

Carl grinned again.

“Slumming it,” he said.

They took a taxi from the party. Afterwards, they were to agonise over this decision. How much had the driver noticed? What had they said in front of him? Would he recognise any of them again? They’d been mostly silent, that was one thing, Carl giving directions when needed from his seat in the front, Jake and the others squashed against each other in the back. The guy could hardly speak English anyway.

Candice had stared in awe as they walked into the hallway.

“Fuck, it’s massive. Is this all yours? Are you guys rich?”

“Extremely rich.” Carl hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d left the party. He was drawling all his answers in a bored, ironic voice, the same tone he’d used when he’d turned to Jake and Veronica and said ‘I think we should invite this charming young lady home with us, don’t you think?”

“Wow.” Candice looked up at the high ceilings, the light fittings, the curtains. In the better light, she looked very young. Jake wondered uneasily whether she was even sixteen. Then a belated coke rush kicked in and he dismissed the thought.

Veronica brought in a bottle of champagne and Candice’s eyes widened further when she saw the label. She’s probably never been anywhere like this in her life, thought Jake, and felt a queasy mixture of pity, contempt and lust. He sat beside her on the sofa. Carl racked up some more lines and let the others snuffle them up as he searched for some music. Jake could feel the tension in the room increase with every drumbeat. His heart was thudding within his chest. He could feel Veronica on one side on him, tense as a coiled spring. Who’s going to start, he thought and opened his mouth just as Candice Stanton beat him to it.

“Let’s have some fun, guys,” she said with a giggle, and pulled off her cheap white top.

*

Carl’s bed. Jake’s bed. Dark, warm rooms, shifting limbs, damp slippery flesh. The wiry feel of pubic hair beneath his tongue. The shock of Veronica, finally, actually Veronica, her skin, no longer cool but blood-plumped, flushed with heat. After the mythology of Veronica, the shock of the reality; the ecstasy of actually being inside her. He’d already come once into Candice’s mouth, so he was able to take it slowly with Veronica, slipping back and forth, gasping with the pleasure of it, almost disbelieving. How could it be happening, after so many months of yearning? She felt like damp, warm silk, wrapped around him, her sharp angles beneath him, the tiny pink points of her nipples brushing his chest. Watching Carl with Candice, seeing his brother’s cock for the first time in years, so much bigger than he remembered, angry red, wielded like a weapon, slammed into Candice, glimpsed between her heavy thighs. Someone took a photo at one point, a Polaroid, the four of them blinking in the flash. Veronica and Candice, kissing, nipples touching, slippery fingers, flushed red cheeks. The sight made him hard again and this time Veronica put her hand on him, pumped him back and forward until he cried out for the third time, shooting the last pearly dregs into her hair. She licked her fingers, oh God, she licked his come off her fingers, he wanted her again, and again and again. He buried his face between her legs, sinking his face into her, surely he was going to die of pleasure… Carl had Candice face down, jammed inside her arse, her teeth clenched, crying out in pain or pleasure, he couldn’t tell, Carl’s face contorted as he thrust backwards and forwards, rocking like a metronome. Jake licked and sucked and kissed Veronica’s cunt, kept going until she began to pant and shake. I’ve made her come, he thought, and felt himself swell again, once more. He looked up and saw Carl bent over Candice, panting, spent. For a moment, Jake’s vision swam and his heart stuttered. Fleetingly, he felt a tiny cold finger of dread, a black glimpse of the aftermath, of what could happen once the voluptuous night ended.

Carl pulled himself away, wiped his groin with the sheet and reached for a cigarette. Jake saw that his hand was shaking. His own cock wilted slowly as he watched his brother’s eyes narrow against the smoke. Carl sat back against the headboard. There was a long moment of silence, filled only with the sounds of four sets of labouring lungs.

“I need a drink,” said Veronica. She pushed herself off the bed and walked to the door, ghost-pale in the candlelight, long legs moving smoothly. Jake watched her, loving the sight of her, so thin, boyishly thin, only the tiniest curve of her waist, the subtle rise of her breast indications of her sex. He watched her tiny, tight bum disappear out the door.

“Yeah, I could do with a drink too.”

Candice’s voice jarred the silence. She flopped back against the foot of the bed, giggling. Jake saw Carl turn his head to look at her. He looked at her himself. He looked at the bulk of her, her pendulous, dark-nippled breasts, her young, unformed face greasy with sweat. The dank roots of her brittle blonde hair. As if a switch had been flicked in his head, he was suddenly filled with disgust. He’d been inside her. At the thought of it, his stomach clenched. All at once, she repulsed him. He heard Carl’s sudden intake of breath and knew, somehow, his brother was feeling the same thing.

Jake bent to find his boxer shorts. The disgust he felt for Candice was palpable; it made his hands shake and his breath come short. He could barely look at her. Childishly, he wanted to hide his eyes, block his ears, do anything to negate her existence. Carl shifted beside him.

She noticed nothing. She was still babbling on, coke-filled slag that she was. Saliva filled his mouth. He thought of how she’d felt inside, the damp, hot clammy feel of her around his cock, and felt nausea rise suddenly. He bolted for the door, still naked.

“What’s up with him?” was what he heard before he reached the bathroom and was head down in the toilet, all the booze and coke and exertion coming up, pulling his stomach muscles tight, emptying out in a series of hot, acidic blurts.

Gasping, he stayed bent double and reached blindly up for the flush. Tears were running down his face. He thought of Veronica, of being with Veronica, being inside her, trying to make something good and clean out of the whole mess, but it was hopeless, it was all wrong, all dirty. Jake stood up shakily. He rinsed his sore mouth at the sink and wiped it on the week-old towel that hung in sour folds next to the taps.

“Alright?”

Jake looked round. Carl stood in the doorway, swathed in his towelling dressing gown. The white cotton blazed under the harsh strip light of the bathroom. Jake squinted against the glare.

“I’m okay.”

Carl didn’t say anything else. He just nodded. Jake saw, behind him, Veronica’s pale golden head moving into vision as she came up the stairs. She was carrying another bottle of champagne cool from the fridge, beaded with condensation. Jake’s stomach lurched at the sight of it.

“I think I’ve had enough, V,” he said.

She looked at him anxiously, then at Carl and nodded. She was wrapped in her dressing gown too. Jake was suddenly very aware of his nakedness. As if reading his mind, Carl said ‘want me to get your dressing gown?’

Jake nodded gratefully and Carl disappeared in the direction of his bedroom. Veronica remained in the doorway, looking at him. He tried to smile at her and she smiled back, tremulously.

Carl walked back with Jake’s gown in his hand and Jake took it, wrapping it around himself. With his body hidden, he felt a little better. They stood in a little circle of three at the top of the stairs, by the bathroom door. Carl looked at Veronica, Veronica looked at Carl and they both looked at Jake. Jake could see Carl opening his mouth to say something – he never found out what it was.

“Hey you guys – what the fuck are you doing? Where are you? Come on, let’s get going again – “

Candice’s voice shrilled from the direction of Jake’s bedroom. Jake winced. He could see Carl’s mouth turn down at the sound of that young, rough, strident voice. I’m going to have to get my room fumigated, he thought to himself. To get rid of the smell of that stupid cow.

Candice appeared in the doorway. She was still naked and her jiggling, goose-pimpled flesh looked obscene under the hall lights.

“Come on, guys,” she said. “What are you doing?”

Nobody spoke for a moment. Then Veronica shook back her hair.

“Don’t you think it’s time you were going?” she said remotely.

Candice sniggered again. The sound grated on Jake’s nerves.

“What? Come on, don’t be square. We’re just getting going.”

“Put some fucking clothes on.”

Carl’s voice was stony. Jake watched the smile dissolve from Candice’s face and felt a horrible mixture of pity, revulsion and anger. He clenched his fists.

“What?”

“I said, put some clothes on. Don’t you get it, darling? We’ve had our fun. We don’t want anymore. We don’t want you.”

Candice had gone white. Jake had a sudden feeling that this was the outcome she’d been expecting, right from the moment her cheap white vest hit the floor. The blemishes on her skin flared red against the sudden pallor of her face.

“You what?”

Jake found his voice. He meant to say something a bit kinder, a bit more human. Instead, what emerged from his mouth was ‘can’t you tell when someone’s had enough? What are you, a nymphomaniac, or what?’

He heard his tone, his words, almost aghast at himself. It was Candice herself standing there, suddenly vulnerable, naked and young, looking at them with dumb, uncomprehending hurt. Why couldn’t she see what they wanted was for her to just disappear? Her mouth dropped open and for a moment, Jake thought she would start to cry.

She didn’t. Instead she began to scream, at first incoherently, then in a stream of profanity, stamping her foot, fists clenched. Veronica flinched. Candice came forward, heavy breasts swinging, face white no longer but furiously red.

“You fucking bunch of cunts! You stuck-up cunts! You think you can just do what you like – to me – you cunts – don’t think you can get away with – with treating me like this – cunts –“

She ran out of breath and stood before them, chest heaving. Her eyes looked bruised by all the eye makeup that had sweated down her face. She took another step towards them.

“You fucking cunts. I’m going to the police, I’m going to say you raped me, you brought me back here and gave me drugs and raped me, and they’ll get you, you know they’ll get you, you fucking bunch of freaks –“

Carl was standing between Jake and Veronica, directly in the path of Candice’s stream of invective. He said nothing. Silently, he stepped forward and gave her one hard shove, his large hand on her small shoulder, one quick decisive push. Candice staggered backwards. For a second, her arms clawed at the empty air and then she went straight over backwards, down the stairs, too surprised even to scream. Her head hit the hallway floor first, with a dull cracking thud. The rest of her body followed a second later. For a moment afterwards, there was no sound in the house, just the motes of dust swirling in the displaced air that Candice had fallen through. Jake watched the shimmering column of light in the hallway as downstairs on the hard tiles of the kitchen floor, Candice lay in a tangle of limbs, her shattered head in the centre of a starburst of blood. The dust motes writhed and coiled in the air, as if a giant breath from unseen lungs had blown them gently, to whip them into a whirling, silent, glittering dance.