‘He’s waking up.’
‘Better go and tell him.’
‘You ain’t never caught a rabbit, and you ain’t no friend of mine…’
Against my better judgement, I open my eyes again. They’re pretty gunked up, and they won’t focus properly, but I can make out I’m in a room somewhere, in a sizable bed, and there’s a man sitting on a stool between the bed and the door. ‘Hound Dog’ comes to an end, and ‘Love Me Tender‘ begins.
‘Thank Christ you’re coming round. You gave me a fright when I opened the back door and I couldn’t wake you up. Thought you’d died on me.’
‘Huh?’
‘Elvis, it’s Dave. I drove you up here, remember?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ I can’t remember who he is, or why I’d be anywhere I’d not normally be. Worse, I can’t even remember where I’d normally be anyway. It hurts to speak and my mouth’s very dry. I ask Dave for a glass of water.
He goes to fetch it, and I try to get my brain working as to what’s going on. I pick up some fragments here and there – waking up in the country lane, sitting in the bath at Jen’s, the barman pointing to my bleeding knuckle, but the loose details lack a skeleton on which to hang them. Then a memory that has the weight of something important hurtles towards me like a boulder. I see Buddy’s body lying by the riverbank. It tugs a hidden string, and the sheer enormity of immediate events comes tumbling down on top of me. Fuck, I think to myself, I’m in serious shit here. I feel like being sick for a second as the events of the last week come flooding back. Finally, it comes to me that I was being taken to a place of safety by Dave in the limo, which means I must be there. I relax slightly. But where have I ended up, and what are the chances of me being able to leave?
I scoop the gunk out of my eyes as Dave brings me a glass of water. Instead of handing it to me, he lifts my head up with one hand, and pours it into my mouth with the other. It dribbles a bit down the sides of my mouth, and Dave dabs it away. Once he’s finished, I try to raise my arm up to look at my watch, but it’s heavy as lead. Anyway, the watch is missing. So are all my clothes. From what I can see and feel, I’m wearing some kind of hospital gown, and to my horror, what seems to be a nappy. I also seem to have something up my nose, a tube I suspect. This is getting very odd. I need information, but I don’t feel capable of handling too much, just a little bit to start with. ‘What time is it, please?’ I ask, just about getting my brain and mouth to work together.
‘Half-three,’ says Dave. Sunlight is streaming through the window. I can see now that the room is pretty luxurious, like an expensive hotel room, with an elaborate dressing table and a mirror I can see myself in at the far end. As well as that, this might be the nicest and biggest bed I’ve ever slept in, with silk sheets and a big fat duvet. Maybe I am in a hotel.
‘Um, Dave, stupid question, but what day of the week is it?’
‘It’s Monday, Elvis.’
‘I’ve been asleep for four days? Fucking hell.’
‘No, you’ve been out of it for eleven days. The doctor said you were in a vegetable state or something. He wanted you to be taken to hospital, but what with half the Cambridgeshire Police Force out looking for you, we didn’t think that would have been wise. Don’t worry, the doc’s crooked, he‘ll keep his mouth shut. Anyway, we took care of you OK. We got nurses in to look after you, but we did a lot of it ourselves too.’
‘Uh, who’s we exactly? Where am I?’
‘Yoouu ain’t nothin’ but a houuund doggg, cryyyin’ aall the tiiime…’ A voice drawls the song from the doorway across the room. Oh. Jesus Christ, no, it’s Eddie.
‘My dear boy,’ he says, making a grand entrance in summer clothes and sandals, ‘it’s so great to have you back in the land of the living.’
‘Hello, Eddie!’ I make an effort to sound pleased, but I doubt I can hide my fear.
‘Welcome, welcome, to my humble abode.’
‘You mean, I’m at your place?’
‘Yes, indeed you are. I am your host and your most humble servant.’ He bows, then makes his way to the bed and clasps his hands round my cheeks. ‘I was beginning to think we might lose you, and have to dump you in a river somewhere. But no! You’re back with us now, and – oh, the fun we’re going to have, you and I, now that we’re practically cellmates again.’
‘Cellmates?’
‘Yes, you’re going to be living with me! After all, you can’t really go back home can you, now that you’re a wanted man, a fugitive from the law. Oh, it’s so romantic! So this is your hideout, here with me. It’s your new home! Isn’t that wonderful?’
‘Yes, Eddie, that’s great, but how long do I have to stay here?’
‘Oh, it’s not safe out there, my boy. No, better you stay here, where we can look after you.’
I hope to god I’m still dreaming, but I’m pretty certain I’m not. This is beyond my worst nightmare, locked up in Eddie’s mansion with him and his goons. Worse, Eddie’s choice of entrance music was no joke. It was a signal, telling me what to expect. I’d much rather take my chances with the police.
Meanwhile, a nurse enters the room. ‘Oh, hello,’ she says, ‘wasn’t expecting you to wake up.’ I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t.
‘Yes, he has woken up, my dear,’ says Eddie. ‘Now get that nappy off him, for Christ’s sake. We‘ll give our guest some privacy, shall we, boys?’ He gestures to Dave and the other goon to leave the room. He follows them as they go, but lingers in the door. ‘Youu aint’ nothin’ but a hoouund dogg… cryiiing all the tiiime…’ he sings, poking his head round the doorframe. ‘I’ll speak to you later, my dear boy. Now be good and keep your hands off the nurse, or she’ll charge me extra.’
He winks dirtily, and finally disappears. The nurse is a sexy blonde, young and pretty, although her boobs aren’t anything to write home about. ‘OK, I’m just going to clean you up a bit,’ she says in a soft Scottish accent, Edinburgh I should imagine. She unwraps the nappy, and I’m worried that I’ll have a boner, but fortunately I don’t, it’s just caked in my own shit and piss.
‘It’s all right, I’ll clean myself up,’ I say.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she replies, ‘you’re far too weak to be doing stuff for yourself just now. Anyhoo, this is my job. I see lots of dirty botties in my line of work.’
She says that she’ll take the tube out of my nose, though, and that I can use a bedpan instead of the nappy. I ask her what her name is. She says it’s Tina. She asks me why everybody calls me Elvis. I tell her it’s so people don’t find out I’m really Alvin Stardust.
Once she’s finished wiping my arse, Tina stays with me in the room, sitting in a chair by the bed. We tell each other a bit about ourselves, although obviously I have to skimp on certain details. Well, pretty much all of them, in fact. She tells me about her boyfriend. He’s a professional bodybuilder. Eats steak for breakfast. After a while she starts flicking through magazines full of real-life tragic stories that she reads out to me, whether I want to hear them or not. They all have titles like ‘Shame of My Vampire Uncle’, or ‘I Married My Daughter’s Killer… And I Don’t Care’. All hard-luck stories featuring the criminally stupid. Every so often she rings an electric buzzer and a goon, sometimes Dave, takes over for the few minutes it takes for her to have a piss or the little longer she needs to liquidise my food. Apparently my body’s too weak to digest solids, so with a spoon she feeds me meals that have been turned into soup. I’m also asleep a lot of the time, which you’d think would be odd seeing as I was out of it for a week and a half. But apparently I’ve burned up a lot of energy just lying there while my body’s been sorting itself out, so I need to rest.
The next day, I wake up to a different nurse. ‘Hello Mister Elvis, my name is Abia,’ she says, hovering over each syllable. Abia is a black woman from Nigeria, and her English is very good. She’s pretty sexy too, but I don’t think she wants to be. Most of the time Abia sits reading the Bible. For some reason, I agree to let her read bits out to me so she can practis
e her pronunciation. Never really paid much attention to the Bible, not since Sunday school. The bit Abia is reading makes no sense to me anyway. All about the building instructions for a temple already built and knocked down thousands of years ago, and how many cubits each wall in each room had to be. To be honest she could probably skip that bit and I don’t think God would mind. I decide I need my own book.
About eleven o’clock, they cart in the crooked doctor to have a look at me. He’s a neat little man with hairy hands and a bald head. After giving me the once-over, the best diagnosis he can make without the proper tests and equipment is that I’ve been suffering from brain damage. Apparently a blow to the head, from the beating I received in the social club most likely, caused my brain to expand and press against my skull, making me shut down until it shrunk a bit and the pressure eased. I should really be having loads of treatment, but I can’t get to a hospital, so tough shit.
I don’t see Eddie for several days. Dave tells me that he’s away in Paris doing business. Just like everything with Eddie, it sounds slightly obscene, even though it wasn’t meant to be. I tell Dave I need something to read and he comes up a few minutes later with some car mags. I’m not that into cars, but it gets me out of having to listen to stories about vampire lovers and dead babies in the washing machine, or the measurements for the Israelites’ temple, so I suppose I’m grateful. Sometimes Dave sends Abia or Tina away, and sits with me for an hour or so, getting me to tell him stories about Elvis or to recount some of my own experiences as an Elvis impersonator. I tell him quite a bit, but I can’t share the really good bits without losing face. Dave tells me a bit about himself too. Turns out he’s got a fiancée, which is a surprise, as I’d presumed all of Eddie’s goons were homos.
‘No, what gave you that idea?’ he says when I tell him this.
‘Well, just the way you’re all so clean, and your skin’s so good, and the fact you’re all… shaved.’
‘Just part of the job. Eddie insists we all maintain a very strict skincare regimen, and that we’re always smooth. It’s just the way he likes things. It doesn’t really mean anything.’
‘But doesn’t he ever try anything? Last time I checked, he was the most predatory old queer on the planet.’
‘No, he’s smart enough to figure out that it’s not in his interest to go in for that. We’d all just batter him if he did.’
And there was me thinking they were all his obedient sex slaves. Just goes to show not everything’s as it first seems, I suppose. What I wouldn’t count on is any of them stopping Eddie from taking advantage of me in my weakened state, not even Dave. In fact, I’d put money on them helping.
This all carries on for four days or so, with Tina and Abia watching, me sleeping a lot, and the occasional conversation with Dave. I tell him I enjoyed the car mags, but could really do with a good book. Later that afternoon, he comes in grinning with an antique hardback copy of Oliver Twist. Says he’s heard it’s good. On the fourth day, a wheelchair appears, and the nurses lift me into it and push me out onto a balcony outside the window. There I can see the grounds of Eddie’s mansion – his landscaped garden, the trees beyond, the pool. I feel quite contented sitting there, I guess.
That night, I wake up. Abia’s sitting reading by a Iamplight. There’s a strange animal noise, like a howling, and at first it sounds like it’s outside the house, but the more I listen, the clearer it becomes that it’s actually inside the house, and it’s coming closer. First, it sounds like it might be in the hall. Then, as if it’s coming up the stairs. And finally, it’s most definitely in the corridor outside. It’s a horrible sound, unearthly. For the first time I’m glad I’m locked in a room with a religious maniac reading the Bible. But Abia doesn’t seem to notice it at all. I feel a panic coming over me, and I think I might be about to scream. Then at last, I can hear what it is. It’s singing. ‘Yoou aain’t nothin’ but a hoouund dogg, cryyiing aall the tiiime…’ It gets louder and louder, until he’s right outside the door. There, he stands still. ‘Yoouu aiin’t never caught a rabbit, and yoou aaiin’t no friiend of miiine. Good night, my boy.’ And he walks away, and he begins to sing it, all over again.
Chapter 22
Eddie’s gone again in the morning, but the doctor reappears and tells me it’s time for me to start getting used to walking about again. The nurses and Dave help me up at first, as I’m unsteady on my legs after not using them for a fortnight, but there’s nothing physically wrong with them, so although I still use the wheelchair, soon I’m shuffling about on my own for short spells. Dave locates some casual gear for me to wear round the place, thankfully not from Eddie’s old wardrobe, and once I’ve got enough strength to make it down the stairs on my own, I look to see what Eddie’s house has to offer me. After all, may as well make the best of it, seeing as I’m trapped here. Dave tells me that I’m welcome to go into and use anything in any room that’s not locked. I daren’t try any of the upstairs rooms, just in case I stumble on Eddie’s bedroom, which I definitely do not want even to imagine, let alone see. Downstairs, the first thing I discover is the TV room. The set itself is a giant thing built into the wall. When it’s turned off, it’s like an enormous eye watching me. There are cabinets full of DVDs of films I’ve never heard of, most of them foreign. Next door to it is the study. I’ve been in here before with Fatty and Gaylord, but this time I get to look at things a bit more closely. I find the space on the shelf where Dave took the copy of Oliver Twist from. I also find that a whole bookcase is fake, the spines of the books forming one large door that swings open to reveal… boxes and boxes full of old photographs of naked men and boys, some of them very old indeed, and some of them very dirty. I’d say quite a few date back as far as the nineteenth century, although I can tell from the Tony Curtis haircuts that the most recent ones are from the fifties. Most of the other doors on the ground floor are locked, which leads me to assume that they contain things Eddie does not wish me to see. God knows what that would involve. He obviously wanted me to see the photographs.
Aside from the TV and library, and the gigantic porno bathrooms, of course, there is the garden. It’s an enormous thing, and there’s no easy way of telling where it ends and the surrounding countryside begins. In it there’s a tennis court, a greenhouse full of butterflies, flowerbeds that seem to go on for miles, bushes cut into strange shapes, like pieces in an odd board game, and near the house, with a tiled path leading to it, the swimming pool. I like the garden. I forget about the TV room for the time being and decide to spend my time here.
Eddie has a live-in cook who makes meals for me and the goons, and there’s a giant fridge full of booze in the kitchen. Dave says I can help myself, which I do, to a whole range of fancy drinks I’ve never tried before. Every so often, some of the goons will take a dip, and shake themselves dry on the side like Old English Sheepdogs, but I never do. I’ve never been a good swimmer. I get into a routine of having my breakfast in bed, lazing there in the morning, having some lunch, then sitting by the pool with Dickens and a glass of something peculiar, and working on my tan, for all the good it does me. I do this for three days. On the second day, the nurses are sent away by the doctor, who visits for a third and final time, as I am having no trouble walking or eating, and am obviously capable of taking care of myself. By the third day, I’m still as white as a sheet. That‘s when I get a surprise.
I’m walking from the house to the pool in my shorts and sandals, book in hand, when I see that someone’s taken my spot. More precisely, two people. Still more precisely, one naked old bloke lying on a lounger, and a girl, also starkers, jiggling on top of him, facing the wrong way. It looks odd, his wrinkly old skin with its liver spots, next to her dark, bronzed smoothness. Her hair is dark too, with blonde streaks, and it hides her face as it swings with their motion. He’s as bald as a coot, and wearing big-lensed sunglasses. He’s grunting more like he’s doing a shit than he’s about to come. Her squeaks are high, like an oriental. Then he sees me.
&n
bsp; ‘Oi! What the fuck are you looking at? I’ll batter you, you nonce.’ He lifts up his sunglasses and pins me with his squinty eyes. I recognise them instantly. It’s Johnny Brooks. She looks up and shrieks. ‘Did I tell you to stop?’ he snaps at her. She starts bouncing and squeaking again obediently.
‘Sorry!’ I say, waving. I turn and head back to the house.
‘Hang on!’ he shouts after me, ‘it’s Elvis isn’t it? Get over here!’ Gingerly, I walk over like I’m told. ‘Be with you in a minute,’ he says, before letting out a loud moan. ‘All right, you, off.’ He slaps the girl’s pretty little bottom as she dismounts. As she does so. I catch her gaze properly for the first time. In that moment, I can say that she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Her eyes are startlingly green. She has the tiniest button nose you can imagine, while her mouth looks warm and wet, and her chin has the loveliest dimple. But, those eyes, they’re like precious stones. Also, nice tits. Brown, rather than red nipples. There’s something exotic about her, like an old Turkish Delight advert. She can’t be older than twenty.
She scurries off to catch Johnny’s spunk in a tissue as it plops out, while he vigorously shakes my hand. ‘Elvis, my man, how’s it going?’ he asks. He seems genuinely pleased to see me. ‘Heard you’re in a spot of bother with the Old Bill. Don’t worry, mate, it’ll all get sorted out eventually. ’Ere, a little birdie told me that you’re the main event at my birthday bash. Brilliant, mate, brilliant. Loved it when you used to do Elvis all those years ago. Be fucking magic to see it again, really looking forward to it.’ Christ, the birthday party. I’d forgotten all about it. Of course, I could always cry off sick, but that would probably mean I’d end up kneecapped, or knowing Eddie, buggered senseless, and then kneecapped.
‘Yeah, really looking forward to it,’ I say. ‘So what brings you to this neck of the woods, then?’
‘Oh. Eddie lends me this place when I’ve got some bird on the go. Not that Nanette gives a toss, but she don’t want to be around it. And it’s a really nice gaff, real classy. A bit fucking queer, but still top banana.’
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