Pressure: a dark and disturbing psychological thriller

by Betsy Reavley

  The smell of it hits my nostrils immediately and I long to be able to open a window.

  Moments later Frank arrives, still doing up his flies.

  ‘Clean that shit up,’ he says stepping over the puddle of vomit. ‘It stinks in here.’ He waves a hand under his nose.

  My misery mixes with shame.

  ‘Yes, Frank.’ I stand up straight again, still tasting the sick in my mouth.

  ‘Disgusting,’ I hear him mutter as he heads towards the living area.

  5

  Ray

  Everyone knew who Frank was. You’d have to have lived in a cave not to, so when I got the call from my agent telling me that he was making a ground-breaking new film, and his casting director had specifically asked for me, I calmly replied that I would attend the audition.

  There was a lot of cloak-and-dagger around the film and I was told practically nothing about the role when I agreed to go to the audition. Unfortunately, I was disappointed to learn that Frank would not be present. Instead, a young German casting director was there to put me through my paces.

  I’d been acting for nearly forty years and had often had television roles in dramas. For some reason unknown to me, I was often cast as the snotty villain. I was best known for my brief appearance in EastEnders as the silver-haired fox who was determined to bring the Mitchell family down. Like many characters before me, I was set up to fail, but working alongside some of those stars was one of my proudest moments and, it goes without saying, meant that my face was often recognised by people on the street.

  Fame isn’t as glamorous as it may appear. I couldn’t step out of my flat without someone shouting my character’s name at me or asking for my signature. Oh, and the selfies, the hundreds of selfies I had to pose for grew tedious very quickly. I don’t really like people, you see.

  Naturally, people wanted to be associated with me due to my fame and success and I will openly admit I used it to my benefit. Getting laid became a doddle. Young men would throw themselves at me and who was I to resist? For a while it was a delicious time. But then the work dried up and I was forgotten. I worked in theatre from time to time, starring in bad whodunnits. It put food on the table but I wasn’t happy and felt the success slipping away.

  I am classically trained and went to RADA. As a young boy I knew I wanted to act. My father was never around but Mummy would take me to auditions. She had had ambitions of being an actress but had fallen pregnant with me when she was only twenty. In those days most women were expected to stay at home and look after their children. Poor Mummy never stood a chance. Instead she channelled all her motivation into me, her only child.

  When she found me playing dress-up in her clothes, rather than chastise me, she encouraged it. ‘The boy is just play-acting,’ she would say, ‘practising his art.’ I don’t think she understood that I was gay and, even later on when I was grown up, we never discussed my sexuality. I was terrified of disappointing her. She was a strong, overbearing woman.

  The audition for the film took place in a small studio in Shoreditch. There was the casting director, a cameraman and me. That was it.

  I’d imagined, with Frank’s name attached to the production, that there would be a vast budget behind the film. It turned out I was wrong. Still, on the plus side, the German casting director, Jürgen, was a real dish.

  ‘Hello. Ray Neil.’ I offered the Aryan looker my most elegant handshake.

  ‘Yes. Take a seat.’ He gestured to a chair that was positioned in the middle of the room with a camera and lights pointing at it.

  I did as was instructed and sat, crossing one of my long, slim legs over the other.

  ‘Nice jacket,’ the German said, not looking up from his notes.

  I ran my hand down the burgundy velvet and allowed myself a smile.

  ‘I have them made for me by Edward Sexton on Beauchamp Place.’

  Neither Jürgen nor the cameraman responded or looked impressed, which was somewhat disappointing.

  ‘So what exactly is this film about? I’ve not been given a brief.’

  ‘You will know what you need to know when the time is right.’ Jürgen’s blue eyes looked at me through his trendy glasses and gave nothing away.

  ‘Ooh, it’s all very cloak-and-dagger, isn’t it?’ I teased.

  ‘Mr Holden wants to keep the details under wraps for now,’ the cameraman chipped in, ‘so I understand.’ His concentration remained on getting his camera in focus.

  ‘That’s fine, I suppose, but how can I audition when I have no knowledge of the character I might be playing? This is most unusual.’ I did not like being treated like an idiot. ‘I have my dignity and as an actor you are asking the impossible of me.’ I straightened in the hard plastic chair, knowing that although I wanted to flounce out my credit card bill would not allow me that luxury.

  ‘We need you to be a scientist guy.’ Jürgen cleared his throat, put his notes down and folded his arms across his chest.

  ‘What kind of scientist?’

  ‘One who works on a submarine.’

  ‘Oh.’ I pondered for a moment, wondering what on earth the film was going to be about.

  ‘You can start to read when you are ready.’ Jürgen leant over and handed me a script. ‘I will read the other part.’ Despite his cold demeanour his smooth German accent held a certain authority and I felt compelled to obey.

  ‘Action.’ Jürgen clicked his fingers and pointed at me.

  ‘We are going deeper than any other vessel like this has gone before.’ I started reading, trying to find my stride, having had little time to prepare.

  ‘How deep?’ Jürgen responded with no emotion or attempt at acting.

  This was going to be painful.

  After a gruelling audition the cameraman was instructed to stop filming and Jürgen announced that it was a wrap.

  He tidied the script and notes that lay on the desk in front of him, filed them away into a smart brown leather bag and left the room calling over his shoulder, ‘Someone will be in touch’, leaving the cameraman and me alone in the room.

  We looked at each other, neither really understanding what had just taken place.

  ‘Well, that was odd,’ I smirked, trying to disguise my discomfort.

  ‘Never worked like that before.’ The young bearded man began to pack up and for the first time since entering the room I was able to get a proper look at him. Until then his face had been hidden behind the large camera on its tripod.

  ‘Have you been in this business for long?’ I looked at his buttocks as he bent down to unscrew the camera lens. Nice, I thought to myself.

  ‘Been filming for about three years. Do odd jobs here and there but nothing big like this.’

  ‘Are you one of the privileged few who knows what this is all about?’ I stood from my chair, my bottom sore from having sat on the hard plastic for so long.

  ‘Nah, not me, mate. I’m just a skivvy.’ The young man winked.

  ‘I don’t suppose you fancy a drink? There is a quaint little pub just around the corner.’ I checked my watch wondering how long I had been in the room.

  ‘Sure. I could do with a pint.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name…’ I extended my hand and we shook.

  ‘Luke.’

  ‘Lovely to make your acquaintance.’ His handshake was firm. I liked that.

  ‘Let’s get out of here and have a drink. I think we both deserve one after that ordeal.’

  ‘Strange, wasn’t it,’ Luke agreed. ‘Give me five to finish packing up and then I’m all yours.’

  I liked the sound of that too and smiled before perching on the desk to wait for him, struggling to keep my eyes off of his arse.

  Half an hour later the two of us were in The Ten Bells on Commercial Street.

  ‘I love this place. You can sense the history, don’t you think?’ I sat opposite Luke in the upstairs bar of the pub. Only one other table was occupied. It had just gone five o’clock in the afternoo
n and the post-work drinkers would soon be descending on us.

  Sipping my gin and tonic, I watched Luke glug his beer in earnest.

  ‘Are you London born and bred?’

  ‘Nah, I was brought up in the country. Moved down here for work.’

  ‘How old are you, may I ask?’ I inquired, leaning in.

  ‘Twenty-five.’ He wiped the froth from his trendy beard and looked around at the chipped tiles on the walls, the peeling wallpaper and candles. ‘Bit gothic, isn’t it?’

  ‘It has a chequered history.’ I smiled to myself. ‘Two of Jack the Ripper’s victims were associated with the place.’

  ‘Bit grim.’ Luke sank more of his beer.

  ‘Fascinating, though, don’t you think?’

  Luke shrugged and finished his drink.

  ‘Another?’

  ‘Sure, why not,’ he agreed as I picked up his empty glass before going over to the bar to order him another pint of ale.

  As it just so happened he was sitting with his back to me. I asked the moody-looking barman for another ale. While he prepared the drink I had just enough time to remove the liquid diazepam from the small bottle in my jacket pocket. After the pint was placed on the bar I handed over a crisp ten-pound note. While the barman fetched my change I slipped the liquid into Luke’s pint. The dark ale concealed the drug and I lingered for a moment hoping that it would disperse into the ale. Dipping my finger into the liquid I give it a quick stir to encourage it to mix properly.

  ‘Thanks.’ Luke accepted the second pint I had bought for him and began to drink.

  That is the thing about young men: they will always accept free drinks, even if it means having to spend time with an old poof like me.

  By seven o’clock the bar was brimming with revellers and Luke had drunk a skinful. I was careful not to get too drunk and had been ordering simple tonic water, unbeknown to my companion. His eyes looked glazed and he sat slumped in his chair muttering. I could not hear what he was saying because of the noise in the room but every now and then I smiled and nodded, pretending to listen.

  An hour later and he was well and truly out of it. I slipped my arm around his torso and guided him out of the pub. He was wobbly on his feet and his head rolled around. No one paid any attention to us as we exited onto the busy street.

  We walked for ten minutes, and he began to get heavy. Still, his feet moved along the pavement not knowing where we were going.

  ‘You’ve had a bit too much haven’t you, you naughty boy.’ I allowed my hand to rest on his bum.

  ‘Juss…’ His speech was slurred and indecipherable as we wandered along Brick Lane towards the hotel I had in mind.

  Above a curry house was the Brick Lane Hotel, a one-star establishment that had simple rooms. All I needed was a bed so why break the bank?

  We made our way into reception and I had to stop Luke from falling over the threshold.

  Moments later I had paid for one night’s stay and we made our way towards the room. Luke was beginning to get very heavy, so after I managed to manoeuvre the key into the door I dropped him onto the bed with a thump. He lay on his back, still conscious, just.

  After removing my jacket I hung it on the back of the cheap, dated chair and I stood over him for a while, enjoy my moment of power.

  Half an hour later I was finished and I left Luke sleeping on the bed, snoring like a pig, with his trousers pulled down to his ankles.

  ‘Good night, sweet prince,’ I said as I pulled my jacket back on and approached the door, ‘I had fun.’

  Then I left and slipped away into the night, smiling and knowing that he wouldn’t remember a thing.

  6

  Child

  For what seemed like an age I sat in the cold dark cellar, on the damp floor, next to my bundled up, stained sheets.

  The scent of stale air, and my wee, clung to my pyjamas and my skin. I wanted to climb the staircase and bang on the door but I knew Mummy wouldn’t let me out. Not until she had calmed down or convinced herself that I had suffered enough.

  I’d been down there so many times I felt like I knew each of the spiders personally. I used to be scared of them, especially when the cobwebs would catch on my clothes, but I got used to them. There was one large spindly one that lived in one of the beams. It came out from time to time and rearranged its web. I called it Simon. I thought it was a boy but I couldn’t be sure.

  I was always a bit surprised how quickly my eyes adjusted to the dark. It only took a few minutes before I could see everything in the cellar. The light from the gap under the door helped, probably.

  The thing that was worst of all was that my pyjama bottoms were still wet and clinging to me. I wanted to take them off but then my bottom would be naked against the stone floor, which was so cold.

  I hugged myself and rocked backwards and forwards, trying to get warm. A song came into my head and I started singing to myself.

  ‘Hush, little baby, don’t say a word…’ My voice was dry and crackly. I didn’t sound like me.

  Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something moving in the far corner and heard a rustling noise.

  I stood up. My legs felt wobbly and I backed away until I was up against a wall and couldn’t go any further. My eyes strained in the darkness to see what was moving on the other side of the cellar. Then I saw a flash of a pink tail and I knew that there was a rat in the room. I heard it moving around looking for something to eat.

  I don’t like rats now and I didn’t like rats then. They have sharp teeth.

  Lying up against the wall was an old broom and I picked it up for protection. I didn’t want that creature coming anywhere near me. It might have bitten my toes and I didn’t like blood. It has a funny smell. I didn’t want my toes to bleed so I stood shaking and holding the broom, keeping my eyes peeled.

  Just then, I heard the key being turned in the lock and I dropped the broom, breathing a sigh of relief. As I started to climb the stairs I saw Mummy at the top holding a large bucket.

  ‘This is what you get for being so disgusting!’ she yelled as she threw icy water all over me, making me slip on the stairs and lose my footing. Seconds later my chin connected with one of the steps and the door slammed shut again.

  7

  The Pica Explorer

  Day one. Hour 01:00.

  ‘So what is the plan?’ Frank stands at the table with his big arms folded across his broad, puffed up chest while the rest of us sit.

  ‘I can tell you what we know for sure,’ Patrick speaks at last. ‘There has been a short circuit in the batteries. It’s not clear what caused it. The vessel is now probably sitting at a depth of two hundred metres on the ocean floor, somewhere between Norway and the Shetland Islands. We have plenty of food but the issue we face is running out of oxygen. The sub, thankfully, is equipped with military-grade oxygen generators so we probably have up to seven days of breathable air.’

  We remain sitting in silence for some time.

  ‘I thought that submarines could stay underwater for months at a time?’ Frank finally says something.

  ‘Nuclear vessels, yes. But this is not a nuclear submarine.’

  ‘Okay. But people know we are down here. They will be looking for us. They will send help,’ Luke cuts in, looking tired and wiping the sleep from his eyes.

  ‘It isn’t as simple as that.’ Fiona stands up with a sigh. ‘Submarines are built to be stealthy. Even commercial ships such as this. We are currently resting on the seabed and the engines are not working so therefore we are silent. There is no noise coming from the engine, which makes it very difficult for anyone to locate us.’

  ‘That sounds bad.’ Dominique’s bottom lip begins to quiver.

  ‘It is.’ Patrick sounds grave.

  ‘Isn’t there any way to get the engine going again? Some way to get this fucking thing back to the surface?’

  ‘There is something we can try but it needs to be discussed first.’

  ‘Well, what the h
ell is it?’ Frank shouts, scowling at Patrick. ‘Do it. Whatever it is just get on and bloody do something.’

  ‘It is to do with the floatation. When the sub is working, in order for it to travel deeper, there is a chamber that allows water in, making the vessel heavier so it can descend. In order for the sub to then return to the surface, that chamber needs to be emptied and then filled with air so that it can float.’

  ‘So what are you waiting for?’ Sam’s voice is high-pitched and full of panic.

  ‘There is a risk that the sub could tip over if we empty the chamber.’ Fiona speaks very matter-of-factly but can’t disguise the horror plastered across her face. ‘Then we could end up damaging the walls of the sub. Worst case scenario, we could spring a leak.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound great.’ Sam swallows hard.

  ‘No, it fucking doesn’t!’ Frank roars, slamming his fists down onto the laminate table surface. ‘How the hell did this happen? I demand an answer!’

  Patrick and Fiona just stare at each other. No one moves.

  ‘Getting arsey isn’t going to help here,’ Ray says meekly. ‘This isn’t anyone’s fault. Is it?’ He turns to Patrick and Fiona, hoping for an answer. Both shake their heads.

  ‘Does the radio work? If not, can it be fixed?’ I can feel my hands still shaking and my stomach turning around.

  ‘Is it just me or is it getting colder in here?’ Anya says, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

  ‘Without the power on fully the temperature will drop rapidly,’ Fiona admits, sitting down and putting her head in her hands.

  ‘We should all go and put extra clothes on.’ Susie offers up an idea.

  ‘Yes, good idea.’ Luke stands up and heads towards the sleeping quarters followed by Ray.

  ‘We have some candles. They will help with light and heat,’ Patrick says, trying to remain positive.