by CS Savage
'I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you busy now? Would you do me the pleasure of letting me buy you a coffee?'
Beth didn't hesitate. It was like a dream come true. 'The pleasure would be mine.'
He stood, and she followed him down the stairs.
They sat outside Costa, under the umbrellas and talked as their cappuccinos cooled. She found herself telling him all about her recent episode, how awful the paranoia had been – the terror of the feeling that she was being followed. He listened without comment, his face set with sincerity, and responded by telling her about his own illness. He had been treated for depression after this mother had passed away, fortunately as an outpatient. He had been threatened with admission but had tried to avoid it like the plague. Beth was touched by the story, the tears in his eyes. They were so alike, their histories so similar, she could have been listening to herself. She didn't know why, but she felt a real bond with this guy, like never before. She was used to feeling inadequate, needing to hide her illness, but today, she felt accepted, cherished for who she was. She felt the old excitement rise again, tried to hold herself back, not to get her hopes up too much, but as usual, she was swept along by her feelings, her imagination running wild. She tried to make her drink last as long as she could, didn't want the date to end, hoped so much that he would ask to see her again.
When they had finished their coffee, Beth felt like she'd known him for years. She tried to act cool when he asked if he could walk her home, didn't want to appear too keen, but she was ecstatic. She followed him out of the courtyard and watched as he turned left up the high street – he didn't ask for directions. Clearly, they were in sync, it was as if they could communicate telepathically. By the time they reached her door, they had a firm date fixed for the following night. As she shut the front door behind her, she leant against it, closed her eyes and thanked the God she didn't really believe in for bringing her a stroke of luck.
64
Rowan
She removed her make-up in the mirror, gurning to ensure she didn’t miss a patch, then rummaged through her bag for a different colour. Coral. Much more Fariq's taste, understated. Now she looked the part.
Her overnight bag was on her bed. She had packed white lacy underwear and a silky camisole. As she had no idea what they were going to do during the day she didn’t know what clothes to pack, but settled for some smart black trousers and a sexy black top. She'd also added another black dress and heels. Just as she was closing the bag, she remembered she had forgotten to get condoms. Or at least, she had not managed to overcome her embarrassment when she had been in the chemist. She hoped Fariq would be prepared. Checking her iPhone, she saw it was six pm – almost time to leave. She put a call through to Amy.
'Hi, it's me. I'm off now to Fariq's. Whatever you do, remember what I said. Mum thinks I'm away at a house party with you, don't forget and blow my cover.'
'I won't,' Amy replied. 'When did you say you'd be back?'
'Tuesday. God, I'm nervous. I've packed all the stuff I said, can you think of anything else?' There was a brief silence, presumably Amy was thinking.
'Did you pack all that underwear he asked for?'
Rowan could hear from her voice she didn't approve, thought this was a bit creepy, but she didn't care. 'Of course.'
'Well be careful and keep your phone on. And could you drop me a text or two to let me know how things are going? I'm off out with Sam tonight, hoping he might take me back to his. Enjoy your weekend, see you next week.' The line went silent.
Rowan remembered that she had promised to text Beth Fariq's address – the problem was, she didn't know it. No worries, she could ask Fariq and text her when she met him. She checked her watch again, threw her bag over her shoulder, grabbed her coat and gave one final cursory look in the mirror before stepping out of the front door.
For once, he wasn't waiting for her. She tried hard to stop the negative thoughts pushing into her mind – he had said he would come, he would be there. After five minutes, she checked her watch, she was freezing – but just then his car pulled into the kerb. The relief ran through her like a tranquilliser. She couldn't stop herself from grinning broadly at him as he leant across the passenger seat and opened the door for her.
'Hi, babes. Gorgeous as ever.'
He looked glowing tonight, his sleek hair even shinier than normal. He was dressed in his usual black jacket and dark trousers, sporting a light blue shirt. He pecked her on the cheek, before pulling back into the traffic and driving north towards Morden.
'Where do you live? I forgot to ask,' she said.
But he just touched the side of his nose and smirked. 'You'll find out, soon enough.'
Damn, I won’t be able to text Beth – why does he have to be so secretive all the time? She knew he liked to look mysterious, to impress her, but Beth was going to kill her if she didn't let her know where she was going. She took a deep breath – in through the mouth, out through the nose. Like he said, she would find out soon enough.
She recognised some of the streets they were passing, saw that they were heading towards Wimbledon. Of course, she remembered now him saying he lived there, had a house. Nice. Surely nothing bad ever happened in Wimbledon? It wasn't like her to be so bloody twitchy – she sank into the passenger seat and stretched her legs out in front of her.
They passed through Wimbledon village and onto leafy back roads, before he pulled in and parked on a side street. She looked around, tried to locate a street name, but couldn't see one. Helping her from the car, he led her up a smart path that ran through a neatly trimmed lawn towards a stained-glass panelled front door, not dissimilar to her own. She stood close to him as he reached in his pockets for his keys, swung the door open and stood aside to let her enter before him. She hadn't known what to expect of his home, but she didn’t imagine this. The hall was well lit, contemporarily decorated with cream walls and carpets. A modern oak dresser stood before her with an enormous bunch of cream lilies on top. They scented the air heavily, sweet and cloying. Rowan couldn't believe the opulence, she was so used to tatty carpet, functional furniture, piles of papers and magazines.
'What a lovely house.'
Fariq took her hand and pulled her towards him into an embrace. 'Glad you like it, babe.' He pressed his lips into the base of her neck, nuzzled his face into her. 'Come through to the lounge.'
Rowan followed him into a spacious room with a high ceiling, one wall almost filled with tall sash windows, deep crimson curtains pulled to the side in tie-backs. There were two large leather sofas, with matching crimson cushions, and an open coal fire. An enormous wide-screen TV was set on a low oak table in the corner. It was like being in an expensive hotel suite, everything matching and luxurious but a lack of personal effects, no pictures or magazines, so unlike her own home.
He motioned to one of the sofas, 'Your couch awaits madam. Now, would you like a drink?'
Rowan sat down, her overnight bag at her feet, and nodded.
'Wine? Champagne?'
'Champagne would be wonderful.' Rowan tried to keep the awe out of her smile, she didn't want to appear gauche.
He reached out and picked up her overnight bag, 'Let me take this for you,' and before she could protest, he had exited the room, her bag hanging from his shoulder. She heard footsteps on the stairs, creaking floor boards, what sounded like the clunk of a key turning, a door shutting quietly. She realised her phone was in the bag, felt suddenly isolated without it. She could ask for it back – but she didn't want to upset him, make him think she wanted to fiddle with it when she should be concentrating on him. And now, she wouldn't be able to text Beth. Shit.
A few minutes later, he was back with two flutes of champagne, handed her one and tipped his glass towards hers. 'Cheers, here's to us.'
Rowan took a sip, delicious, and relaxed back into the sofa cushion as Fariq put some music on. Classical music burst into the room. Again, Rowan did not recognise it, but it was powerful, flooded with em
otion.
'Hungry?' he asked.
'Yes, starving.' Rowan had been too excited earlier to eat much.
'Great, I've got us some steak. I'll go and start preparing it. Make yourself at home.' She got up, followed him into the kitchen where he was mixing salad in bowl, he had a griddle heating on the stove and two slabs of steak on a board next to it. He grabbed a bag of peanuts, poured some into a ramekin dish. Then, he opened a drawer by the sink, pulled out a familiar small white envelope.
'Something to help you relax a little?' He smiled. He moved to the kitchen side where he had laid a tile and a razor blade, and a small piece of drinking straw, and tipped the contents of the packet on to the tile, before cutting through the powder with the blade and forming into perfect thin lines of off-white crystals. He handed her the tile.
'Go ahead, help yourself.'
She put the straw to the tile, inhaled. The powder flew up her nose.
'Don't stop there, have another,' he encouraged, 'You're playing catch up. I've had loads.'
She leant forward and hoovered a second line. The taste was bitter as it ran down the back of her nose, but as usual, the feeling was amazing, euphoric. She felt on top of the world, accepted greedily as he offered her a second glass of champagne.
'Now, go and sit down. I'll be through in a second.’
Ten minutes later, the door flew open, he stood in the doorway holding a tray. He placed it on the coffee table in front of her. She took a plate of steak and salad, had another sip of champagne. She had lost her appetite, didn't feel hungry, but tried to nibble on as much as she could so as not to disappoint him. Her mouth was dry, so she drank more wine. Her head started to swim, too much alcohol. She felt an urgent need to close her eyes. She placed her tray back on the table, leant back against the cushion. I'll just rest for a second. She felt Fariq sit next to her, put his arm behind her, stroke her hair. It was like she was floating in a warm soft bubble, drifting far away.
65
Beth
When she got to All Bar One, she could see him through the window. He had managed to get a table, despite it being a Saturday night. And it happened to be the table she had sat at before, on a night she’d never forget, for all the wrong reasons. She tried to ignore the coincidence. Her smile came naturally as she walked across the bar to him, although she was struck by a sudden feeling of shyness. He stood up to greet her, she saw a bottle of white wine and two glasses in front of him.
He gestured at the bottle. 'Hope that's ok for you? Or do you want coffee?'
'It's perfect.' She smiled. It wouldn't hurt to treat herself, and she could just miss a dose of her meds. One night wouldn't matter.
She felt awkward for a few minutes as she tucked her bag under her seat and sat down, but as had been the case on the bus, Kieran soon put her at ease. He listened attentively as she told him about her lived experience, the paranoia, the admissions, the downsides of having to take medication every day. His face was a picture of sympathy, he nodded and pursed his lips in all the right places. Usually, the main stress in new relationships for her was when to tackle the subject of her illness. This time, everything was simple and straightforward. She felt accepted. It was like he knew her already, and it was such a good omen. She felt a glow deep inside her.
She sipped her wine slowly, but her head still felt light and buzzy, it added to her feeling of bonhomie. They started talking about work, their families, even got onto their life aspirations. He had been medically retired from his job as a paediatric nurse after his first episode. Beth explained how she had struggled to keep her job, how she was still terrified of losing it if she got ill again. She didn't have to hide her problems; the feeling was euphoric. When she checked her watch, two hours had passed. They were leaning in towards each other, their faces only inches apart. He noticed her checking the time.
'Do you have to be somewhere?'
Her face flushed. 'No, just can't believe how quickly tonight has gone.'
He didn't reply immediately, but then caught her gaze. 'Please don't be offended. I'd love to spend more time with you. But sorry, I'm short of cash. I'd take you for a meal, but I just can't afford it. I wondered if you would like to…' he paused, squirmed a little before continuing. 'Come back to mine, we could order a takeaway?'
Beth didn't need asking twice. She reached out for his hand, squeezed it. 'That would be wonderful.' As she spoke, their eyes met, she felt a powerful connection. And she could see he felt it too.
They walked up the high street, past the station and then took the Brighton Road towards the old Sutton Hospital site.
'It's quite a way. Are you sure you don't mind walking?' he asked.
'I'd like to get some fresh air.'
Beth chatted as they walked, told him about Suze and what a great friend she was, how upset she had been about their recent fallout. The time passed quickly, and before long, they turned left onto a housing estate. Shuddering slightly, Beth followed him down a dark alley and onto the main concourse.
'I know, it's a bit grim, isn't it?' Kieran smiled at her. 'But it's not as bad as it looks, honest. Most of the people who live here are old folk, don't get much trouble.'
But Beth looked up at the grey concrete balconies and moved closer to him, as if for protection. He led her up a path to a front door on the ground floor, the garden was neat, a pair of wheelie bins stood to the side. He shuffled in his pocket for his keys, pulled them out and opened the door. The atmosphere was light and held a slight fragrance – lemon. He flicked on the light in the hall, she was surprised to see stairs. He spotted her looking, explained that all these flats had two storeys. Looking around, she saw the maisonette was barely furnished and completely clear of clutter and rubbish. So unusual for a man.
'It's nice,' she said, as he ushered her through to the lounge and motioned to a beige sofa.
'Take a seat. Now what would you like to drink? I've got some wine…'
She smiled. She may as well enjoy herself. She put her bag on the floor beside the sofa and settled herself into the cushions. 'That would be great.'
He went to the kitchen, she could hear the fridge door opening, glasses clinking. Perhaps her luck had changed at last.
'It's only cheap stuff, I'm afraid…but at least it's cold.' He handed her a glass. She took large swig immediately. She nearly gagged on the tartness, wasn't used to drinking alcohol. But she saw him watching intently, so made an effort to smile, took another large glug.
He sat next to her on the sofa, and put his arm around her shoulders, gently pulling her towards him. She leant against him. He was telling her about his mum, how close they had been, how lonely he had felt since she passed, but his voice seemed to be coming from far away. She raised her glass, took another mouthful of wine, even though she didn’t really like it that much, rested her head against the back of the sofa. Just for a few seconds, she would close her eyelids – she had to rest them. She felt her body relax. His voice grew more distant…and then, her mind drifted off.
66
It's not long before your speech starts to slur, your eyelids droop. The combination of the alcohol with the very small amount of phenobarbitone is intoxicating. I hold your hand as you lean in towards me, your body slumps, I gently place a kiss on the top of your head and then untangle myself from you. I have lots to do before you wake.
I climb the stairs and unlock the door to your room, gently pushing it open. It is prepared and waiting for you. The bed is made, silk ties hang at all four corners, the drip stand and IV fluids hang at the side. I unwrap the fluid bag, take the line down and open the roller, running the fluid until it drips on the floor, tapping to remove bubbles. I roll the clip to stop the flow, leave it hanging. Now, all I have to do is get you up here.
I return downstairs to your sleeping body and gently straighten you so that you are sitting upright. I lean forwards and down, so that my shoulder is resting against your stomach, and then force my arms around you into a bear hug. As I slowly sta
nd, you rise with me into a perfect fireman's lift. God, you are heavy, I would never have imagined you would weigh so much. I stagger slightly to the left as I straighten, dig my heels firmly into the carpet and steady myself before taking small steps towards the staircase. I can feel your chest rise and fall as you breathe into my back. Gripping the top of your legs firmly, I gradually ascend, one step at a time. Progress is slow, and my muscles are burning, but I am spurred on by the proximity of the room, my near success. As I reach the top step, I catch my toe, trip and nearly fall. I just about manage to right myself, leaning into the banister which creaks quietly. I take some deep breaths and then proceed to your room.
I gently lay you down on the silk sheet, straighten your body. I remove your clothes item by item, like peeling fruit, until you are clad only in your underwear. Your breathing is soft and regular but your eyes do not flicker, you show no signs of waking. I start with your left arm, raise it above your head and to the side, and circle the silk scarf tightly around it three times, fixing it securely to the bedpost. I repeat this with your right arm. You lie still, reminiscent of a supine crucifixion.
As I move to your legs, I feel my erection throb against my trousers. It is so engorged, it is painful. The desire to release it, to caress it, is almost overwhelming. But I know that you are not yet ready, and Mother will not allow it. I part your legs and tie them with the scarves to the lower bed posts, my eyes linger longingly on the taught gossamer-thin silk stretched over your pussy. My hand itches to stray under my belt, but I bite my lip…my time will come. I turn and open the wardrobe door. I select a butterfly needle, an inch of thin shiny steel flanked by green wings. I place a tourniquet around your upper arm, pull it tight, watch as your youthful veins swell. I quickly insert the needle up to its green plastic hilt, flick off the tourniquet and watch the blood fill the tiny plastic tube. I take a roll of tape and wrap it around the needle, securing it tightly to your arm, unscrew the tiny white cap and fix the plastic cap to the bag of fluid. As I roll the clip back, the fluid starts to drip steadily into you.