by Ruth Jacobs
“I had some tea, or maybe that was yesterday. I don’t know.”
Len handed Shelley a glass of water, which she tried to pour into her mouth. Though she felt some go down her throat, she also felt her face and legs get wet. Len disappeared for a while then she saw him come back with another glass.
“Sip it slowly.” He raised the glass in his ‘F-A-T-E’ hand and held it to her lips, tipping it at an angle as she swallowed the water. “Sit up, Shelley. Sit up. You’re gonna choke.”
“I’m okay. I think I need a hit,” Shelley said in between coughs.
“You need a rest, love. That’s what you need.”
“I need a bit of gear to bring me down and I’ll be fine.”
“We’ll see. First, you’ve gotta eat.” He stood up. “What’ve you done to your Chevy?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got biro all over one side of your face.”
While Len was in the kitchen, Shelley could smell burning and she expected it was her food, though what he might be cooking, she had no idea. She hadn’t shopped for herself in ages and Aunt Elsie had cleared the kitchen of everything that was out of date, which was everything she had.
She watched Len walk out of the kitchen, holding a dustpan and brush. He swept up the rice from under the dining table. As she looked over, she was relieved to see the policemen had gone. She hoped they’d actually left the flat and weren’t hiding somewhere. She would ask Len to check before he left.
He went back into the kitchen, and she heard the rice being poured into what she imagined was the bin. What would she use if they came back again?
Following the scraping noises that had come from the kitchen, Len sat down beside her and handed her a slice of toast. Shelley couldn’t grasp it. He raised it to her mouth and she took a bite.
“I’m so sorry. I usually manage okay on my own,” she said, with her mouth full.
“It’s all right, love. We all get fucked up sometimes. Like they say, shit happens, don’t it?” He fed Shelley another mouthful of toast. “What happened to you?”
She knew she wasn’t close to reality yet, and she told herself to watch what she said. There were a few matters of which she’d need to be mindful.
31. Never-Ending Benders
Fifty-seven hours wasn’t long enough for Shelley’s paranoia and hallucinations to dissipate. Although during that time, she hadn’t used crack, the junk she’d injected along with the joints she’d smoked were unable to return her to a non-psychotic-but-pleasantly-drugged state of mind.
The policemen had gone, but from time to time, she could still see the shadow people following her around. The words ‘damaged goods’ were being spoken by an ever widening range of objects, which were also saying, ‘high-class call girl, you’re still a whore girl’.
From the passenger seat, she turned her head to look in the back of the Chimaera. At last the shadow people had gone.
“Have you lost something?” Nicole asked.
“No, I was just stretching my neck.” I did stretch it. Shelley tried to convince herself it wasn’t a lie.
“I think you’ll make it worse if you keep doing that.”
How many times had she looked backwards already? The rising urge to keep checking behind her would need to be suppressed. The sirens in her ears kept on relentlessly and she told herself not to look round. They’d been blaring on and off for days, and most times an emergency vehicle was nowhere in sight. With the visions and sounds, she knew her mind was playing tricks. She prayed it would end soon.
Shelley didn’t want to leave her flat, but Nicole had phoned earlier in the day and insisted she come to Tara’s that afternoon. Neither Nicole nor Shelley had heard from Tara since the meeting with Angel in The Magdala. Nicole was concerned that Tara’s phone was going straight to voicemail; she’d tried Hugo, but her attempts to contact him were equally unsuccessful.
Though Shelley didn’t always speak regularly with Tara, Nicole did. For Nicole, ten days with no contact was a long time. The three of them used to go nightclubbing at least once a week but since February, Shelley had managed to excuse herself from most of those nights with various versions of the truth. Nicole and Tara liked to go where they were known, and given special treatment and VIP access. But Shelley didn’t like the feeling she got in Cafe de Paris and those other upmarket nightclubs where everyone knew she was a hooker. Admittedly, some might have fallen for the model story, but she’d rather go to Freedom where she felt secure that no one knew anything about her.
Trying to get out of the visit, Shelley had proposed that Tara might be staying with her parents or on a holiday. Nicole wouldn’t believe it. “We’re waiting for Angel to call. She wouldn’t go AWOL on us now,” Nicole had said.
Shelley wondered whether Tara had an issue with Angel, but it didn’t make sense. They’d got on so well at the pub and seemed pleased to be reunited. Tara’s problem wouldn’t be that. Her problem would most likely be the same problem she always had – crack.
“You know she won’t answer the door,” Shelley said, as Nicole was turning off the Cromwell Road.
Nicole slowed the car down, looking around for a parking space. “I’ll call her.”
“You told me she’s not picking up her phone.” Shelley shook her head – wasn’t she the one whose thinking was supposed to be skewed? “You’ll never fit in there.”
Having reverse-parked into the space Shelley deemed too small to fit the TVR, Nicole stormed ahead to Tara’s building. Shelley caught up and, as she’d anticipated, there was no reply from Tara’s flat. Nicole took out her phone and called her. Shelley already knew there’d be no answer. She was right.
“What are we gonna do now?” Shelley lit a cigarette.
“Wait. What else can we do?”
“Get a coffee?” Shelley had in mind a specific use for the lavatory of an eatery.
“Damn! You can be so selfish sometimes.” Nicole put her hand in Shelley’s handbag and helped herself to one of Shelley’s cigarettes. “Aren’t you worried?”
“She’ll be on a bender.”
“That’s why I’m worried, you stupid tart.”
Still recovering from her own bender, it wasn’t the time to argue with Nicole. “I’m sorry, Nic. I’ll call Hugo.”
“Haven’t you been listening? His damn phone’s not picking up either.”
Shelley felt tears come to her eyes but she managed to blink them away. She knew she was more sensitive than usual. If only she could have a fix; she needed a public convenience.
“I need a wee,” Shelley said.
“Go and find a toilet then.”
Shelley kissed her angry friend’s reddened cheek. Then she headed to the main road towards Earl’s Court Tube station to find a lavatory. While she walked, she felt the sun warm her back. She wanted to take off her cardigan to cool down, but she couldn’t.
She went inside the first place she found, a run-down cafe, and asked to use their ladies’ room. A scraggly haired woman dressed in a gingham uniform denied her request.
“I’m sorry to ask, but I’ve a problem with my bladder.” Shelley rubbed her stomach and hunched her shoulders.
The lady showed her through to the back where the lavatory was. Shelley locked the door, put down the seat and sat on the toilet with her jeans on.
Frantically, she cooked up a hit. Using the ribbed sleeve of her cardigan as a tourniquet, she pulled it tight around her arm, just above her elbow. The vein on the inside of her elbow was now restored and it was the easiest one to get when it was present.
“Straight in, pull back, shoot up, and get out,” a wise voice on the board advised her. It was true; there was no time to indulge her needle fixation. She’d have to be quick or the staff would get suspicious.
“You’ve been ages.” Nicole stood with her hand on her hip, looking angrily at Shelley walking towards her.
“Sorry. I’ve got a dodgy tummy,” Shelley said, hoping Nicole wouldn’t notice
her pupils, which she imagined were now pinned. Lying to Nicole was easier than she’d expected, but the sickening feeling with which it came tasted as vile as when she lied to her mother and aunt.
As their wait outside continued, Shelley lit a cigarette. Nicole asked her for another as she’d finished her pack. Shelley already knew that before, yet on her expedition to have a hit, it hadn’t once entered her mind to buy her friend a new box. Nicole was right: she was selfish.
“I don’t wanna upset you but if Angel doesn’t get that call, we need to find someone else.”
“Shouldn’t we give it another week?” Shelley looked down at the grey paving stones.
“A week and that’s it.” Nicole took a pull on her cigarette. Puffs of smoke escaped from her mouth as she coughed. That was Shelley’s fault for not getting her a pack of her own brand.
“I’m not putting off my punters any more,” Nicole said. “She’ll just have to stall him.”
“You can’t do that.” Shelley scratched at the itching skin on her ribs. “We need to be available all the time.”
“It doesn’t need four of us. Three’s enough to get started. Then we can take turns to— Resident Handyman.”
The communal door of Tara’s building opened as a man dressed in denim overalls and a yellow checked shirt walked out.
Shelley jammed her foot in the door to prevent it from closing. “I’d say he’s more of a Resident Lumberjack,” she said quietly to Nicole once the man was out of earshot.
“And I don’t care,” Nicole added lyrically, and indiscreetly, which was the opposite of Shelley’s planned subtle entrance.
***
Although they were now inside, they still had to convince Tara to open her front door – if she was in. While Shelley struggled to climb the stairs, she heard banging and assumed Nicole, fit as she was, had already reached Tara’s flat.
Shelley’s legs were aching by the time she eventually made it to the third floor and once there, she discovered that Nicole had been responsible for the noise. How much longer she could stand with the weight on her feet, she didn’t know, but she knew that she wanted to sit down. And how much longer she could bear the banging on the door, she didn’t know either, but she expected it would be around the same amount of time it would take for Tara’s neighbours to come out and complain.
“There’s a fire. Get out. Open this door,” Shelley said gruffly in the lowest voice she could muster.
Finally, Tara’s door opened. In fear of it closing, Shelley barged inside, thrusting herself into the flat. Tara ran from her, down the hall. Shelley chased after her, dashing into the lounge, which neglected had aligned itself to the style of Miss Havisham.
Tara threw herself on her knees. She picked up tiny pieces of crack from the glass coffee table. “Tell them I’m coming,” she shouted.
“What’s going on?” Wearing only a pair of red checked boxer shorts, Hugo appeared in the lounge.
“Resident Handyman or Resident Lumberjack?” Shelley whispered to Nicole as they stood together at the bay window.
“Not the kind of resident I’d like to be lumbered with,” Nicole replied.
“Don’t you ladies know it’s rude to whisper?” Hugo sounded vexed.
Nicole swept Shelley’s hair back behind her ear. “Good with his hands though, wasn’t he?”
Tara combed the carpet with her fingers. Shelley knew she was looking for crack, though it would be impossible to decipher the crack from the dirt. The carpet still sported the same non-vacuumed look that was worsening with every passing season.
“You’re not going to find my laptop down there.” Hugo walked towards Tara.
“I can’t look for it now.” Tara stroked the carpet. “The building’s on fire.”
Hugo peered out the window. “There’s nothing to see out here. Is the assembly point in the back, Tars?”
“How would I know?” Tara replied.
“There isn’t a damn fire. We’ve been worried about her.” Nicole knelt on the carpet next to Tara, who was still down there searching for crack.
“It’s my fault, darling. Don’t be angry with Tars.” Hugo sat down on the sofa.
Shelley glared at him – he’d stolen her seat. Then she glared at Tara – she’d quite possibly stolen his laptop. Although she was furious with Hugo, he was still a friend, and her other supposed friend, Tara, had most likely exchanged his laptop for crack: crack that she’d smoked, some of it in Hugo’s presence. She’d partaken in the smoking of Hugo’s Toshiba in front of him. She felt terrible.
“We’ve had quite a party. You should’ve come over,” Hugo said.
If they’d wanted her or Nicole present, they would have taken their calls. She wondered what Hugo was doing there. He never used crack, yet there he was setting up a pipe. In disbelief, Shelley watched as Hugo lit the rock and sucked in through the hollow pen. He sat back and, after a short while, blew out the smoke. In that instant, Shelley felt overwhelmingly sober. She took Nicole’s arm and dragged her out into the hall then through to the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” Nicole said.
“She’s taken him hostage.”
“I know she’s a fuck up, but you can’t just blame her.” Nicole reached into Shelley’s handbag and took out the gold cigarette box. “He’s got his own mind.”
“Yeah he has – and a lot of money. I bet that was his laptop.”
Nicole switched on the gas hob and lit her cigarette over the blue flame. “You don’t know that for sure,” she said.
“I don’t know why you’re defending her. No one has a laptop. Why would her parents have bought her one?”
“It can’t be very interesting talking about me.” Tara walked into the kitchen.
Shelley looked up at her then looked away, saying nothing. She knew a conversation with Tara on crack would be wasted. Nicole kept quiet too as she filled the kettle.
The three stood in a silence unbroken until the kettle whistled. Nicole poured the boiling water into four cups containing teabags. Shelley assumed this was her passive-aggressive way of letting Tara know she was riled – neither of them ever made tea for Tara; she only took coffee.
With a look of disgust, Shelley handed Hugo his tea and with reluctance, she sat down on Tara’s armchair. Tara was already at Crack Island, putting a pipe together. Within seconds, Tara was aiming the lighter at the crack that was resting on the ash-covered foil. Having taken in the hit, she immediately placed another rock on the blackened and crusty ash. In her desperation to get a hit, she was wasting the crack. The ash needed changing before putting on a new rock. Shelley was aware she did the equivalent when injecting: each time she rushed it, causing a vein to pop, and when she reused the same blunt needles too many times because she couldn’t get it together to go out for new works.
Perhaps Shelley was better able to hide how fucked up she was, except when she was psychotic like the other night with Len. She hoped she hadn’t let anything slip that night. She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be sure because she’d been so far gone.
“You better not have called that lowlife who stole my camcorder,” Hugo said when the buzzer from the intercom sounded. “The girls will know another dealer.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t score from him any more.” Tara walked into the hall. “You need to go. I’ve got a punter,” she said, looking back at Shelley and Nicole.
Shelley followed Tara into the first part of the L-shaped hall. She imagined the sort of punter who’d want to see a hooker in the state her friend was in. What sort of friend was she anyway? The type who’d steal your electrical items, blame a dealer for the camcorder she thieved from you, and help you look for a laptop she knew would never be found because she’d already stolen it and sold it on. She thought about her own dishonesty. Maybe she ought to look at herself a little before pointing her finger, too judgementally perhaps, in Tara’s direction.
A door creaked open and soft footsteps became louder
. “Mummy, what’s going on?” Maxwell rubbed his eyes with his tiny fists.
“Get back to bed, sweetie-pie. It’s still naptime.” Tara shooed her son down the hall and he retreated.
Shelley remained silent, feeling the heat of her anger flush her face. “What the fuck are you doing?” she finally asked, having waited to hear Maxwell return to the bedroom at the other end of the flat.
“Just go.” Tara turned towards the front door.
Nicole raced around her and stood with her back against the door. “You think I’m gonna leave a child here, while you’re doing crack and there’s a punter? Are you out of your mind?”
“I need the money.”
“Get rid of him. Now.” Nicole looked to Shelley. Shelley raised her hand to the button on the intercom.
“No, don’t, please.” Tara stepped in front, blocking Shelley’s access.
Shelley nudged her out of the way and pressed the button to talk. “Fuck off,” she yelled.
“But I’ve got an appointment.” A man’s voice boomed out the box.
“Wait,” Tara shouted.
“Fuck off or I’m calling the police,” Shelley re-advised him.
“Give me your parents’ number.” Nicole sprinted into the lounge. Tara chased after her. As Nicole made a grab for Tara’s mobile phone on the table, she knocked over the pipe. Crumbs of crack snowed down on the carpet.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Tara got on her hands and knees and crawled around, scrambling for the crack.
“You’ve fucking lost it. You can’t smoke that shit around your son.” Nicole looked at Tara’s phone as she hit the keypad. “Don’t you realise the danger you’re putting him in?”
“Stop it, Tara. Get up.” Shelley put her hand out to Tara but it was ignored.
“You’re off your fucking head, having strange men here. Even you can’t be that stupid.” Nicole held the phone to her ear.
“What the fuck are you doing with my phone?” Tara looked up at Nicole.
“What someone should’ve done for me... I’m calling his grandparents.”