BLOOD DRUGS TEA (A Dark Comedy Novel)

by Saunders, Craig

  “What about her?”

  “Well, you seemed pretty tight.”

  “Yeah, we get on. But, see analogy above – I haven’t just fallen for her. I’ve sunk.”

  “That was an analogy?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Smart.”

  “Yeah, I’m a dunce.”

  I’ve always wanted a towering intellect, but I’ve found the most I can raise is a flimsy minaret. The foundations just aren’t strong enough and it’s prone to wobbling about under the scrutiny of a stiff breeze. Much like Asimov. Or Laden.

  “Dinner’s ready.”

  “You’ve got to believe she’d love you, even just a little bit,” said Reb.

  In that moment I think I loved Reb just a little bit.

  *

  Going hungry for a long time is the same as holding your breath. Dinner was like finally filling my lungs. I felt lighter than I had for ages now I’d unburdened myself to Reb.

  We finished dinner and Reb didn’t talk about Harry and me. I was still sure he fancied me but I was glad he didn’t think to make anything of it. I don’t know what lengths he would go to in order to see me happy but he seemed content that I should get together with Harry. Now my secret was out it was time I started work on my plan to pick up the pieces.

  I didn’t really understand what I’d done to make Reb feel like he did. I tried to rack my brains to see if I’d given out any mixed signals but I thought I’d played it straight with him. Now I was in danger of losing another friend. I wished there was some easier way to understand love.

  Cryptography has to be the answer. It’s easy to see patterns in everything. Picking out the important parts. That’s got to be the trick.

  I put my coat on and prepared to leave for the pub. I knew how Reb must have felt coming round tonight. I was going to see Harry again and there were the butterflies, gnawing at the base of my skull.

  Reb and I walked up Hall Street together, where he left me, wishing me good luck. He looked happy that I was happy. It was good to see him smile.

  *

  23. Pub grub

  There was a new barmaid on in the Partridge, a nice lady called Faith. She was practically hanging out of a tight black top. She was all shadows and crevasses.

  Why do women named Faith or Charity or something always have big breasts?

  She didn’t have breasts, though. Some women have breasts, pert sticky out things with fat pointy nipples. Some women have tits, smaller, dainty appendages (I’m sure they’re appendages really and women just haven’t got the knack of using them). Anyway, Faith didn’t have breasts or tits. She had boobs. There was no other word for them.

  I was staring when Harry got there. She had her coat unbuttoned and there was a light sheen to her hair where it had gotten wet on the way in. Harry didn’t believe in umbrellas. Like she had to believe in them to make them real.

  She caught me staring at Faith’s humungous boobs while I wasn’t aware she was looking. I already had a Guinness in front of me. I was at the bar, looking for all intents and purposes your classic lecher.

  “Getting an eyeful are we?”

  “Ah! I was just trying to catch her attention,” I mumbled, flustered.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you were.”

  “You look nice.” Nice. I kicked myself. I’m such a twat sometimes. I tried again.

  “Delectable.” Now I sounded like Terry Thomas. I gave up, but was pleasantly surprised to notice Harry looked flustered.

  “You’re in a good mood tonight. You don’t normally pay me compliments.”

  “Well, normally you’d be with Joe.” I kicked myself for reminding her.

  She didn’t pick up on it. “Not tonight though.”

  “You want a drink?”

  “Yeah, a glass of red wine.”

  “Faith?”

  She came over, wobbling like two mounds of jelly attached to legs. She was a nice lady though. I think I’ve said that. I don’t know what else to say about her but she had great big boobs. Big boobs. Big boobs. I couldn’t get past that fact. With a great amount of will power I looked her in the eye as I asked her for a large glass of red wine. My gaze didn’t waver.

  “I’m impressed. Not one peek.”

  “More like two mounds.” She didn’t laugh.

  “How’s your back?”

  “Fine,” I said. And it was. I didn’t even feel the faintest twinge.

  “What about your ankle?”

  “The swelling seems to have gone down. I think the two bottles of wine I polished off last night helped.”

  “How did your night go? Were you OK on your own?”

  “Yeah, fine. I had a good cry and that was that. I’m feeling much better today.” She looked it too. She didn’t look like she’d been crying at all.

  “So what’s your plan today then?”

  “I’m going to go down to the wharf later.”

  “What, you cruising for some action?”

  “No, I’m going to ask a girl I spoke to last night some more questions. You want to come?”

  “Not my scene, thanks all the same. Shall we sit down?”

  We moved to a table. One of the regulars spotted us and gave me a wave. His name was Dave, I think. His wife left him, although I’m not sure if it was because of the amount of time he spent in the pub, or if he spent so long in the pub because his wife left him. He moans about life alone every time I get stuck at the bar with him. Talking to him makes me lonely. I avoided him and steered Harry to a secluded table in the corner. Tom wasn’t in tonight and there was nobody else here I knew. I was thankful for that at least. I felt sordid, taking Harry out to the pub like this. Like Joe was going to walk in and catch me in the act any minute. I think Harry felt the same too. I thought she might have been funny about kissing me on the cheek but she seemed fine. Maybe it hadn’t meant as much to her as it meant to me.

  I felt like a schoolboy with a crush. I don’t know what Harry thought but when she sat down she leaned in toward me, unconsciously, I think, like she was making our conversation private. I liked that.

  “What did you do today then?” she asked. “Getting anywhere?”

  “Yeah, I think I am. I think I’m going to find out what really happened today. I’ve got a theory.”

  “Yeah? What’s your theory?”

  “I think the girl I spoke to, Mary Hunford, did it.”

  “Whoa, so you really think someone else did it? Not Joe?”

  “Yeah. I think I can prove it. If I can just get her to talk. She’s the only one who knows what happened that night. I spoke to her last night but I didn’t know then what I know now.”

  “What do you know now then?”

  “I know for a fact that Tracey was seeing Mary Hunford.”

  “How do you know that? It’s a bit of a leap.”

  “I spoke with her parents today. They thought Tracey was a lesbian.”

  “But she had a boyfriend.”

  “But I don’t think that was where her true heart lay. I think it was just another part of the life she built for herself. But she couldn’t do it. There was something calling to her, making her stray. She wasn’t into men but she wanted to fit in. Something her parents said made it all click. She’d had a fight with them and her parents got her first lover into trouble. She must have been a troubled kid. I don’t think she ever got the message that it was OK to be in love with another woman. I don’t think she ever accepted it. Her parents taught her that.”

  “What happened?”

  “They found out Tracey was in love with her teacher. Her parents called the police in. I think she learned early on to keep her life a secret. I’m guessing the drugs were just a way of easing the pain. But through that life she met someone else she cared about, another woman. Mary Hunford.”

  “How do you know Mary Hunford was her lover?”

  “Just a feeling. And something a barman said. He said they’d been holding hands. Mary Hunford was cold though. I can’t ima
gine her holding hands or showing any warmth.”

  “So how are you going to get her to talk?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well I still think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “But wouldn’t you feel better if you knew it wasn’t Joe?”

  She thought about it for a while and finished her wine in one gulp.

  “Yeah, I guess I would.”

  I knew it. I knew there was a reason why I had to get Joe off. It would ease Harry’s pain. She couldn’t be allowed to go on thinking Joe was a killer. It would be too much for anyone to bear, thinking their lover was a killer.

  Harry got up to get the drinks in. “More libations, my imperial conqueror?”

  “You’re verbose today.”

  “Nah,” she said, “I was just watching the Simpsons earlier, it’s very educational.”

  I waited in silence until she came back from the bar. “Your munificence astounds me,” I said.

  I took the proffered stout. She placed her glass neatly on a coaster showing the shape of Australia and expounding the virtues of lager.

  We drank together in comfortable quiet for a while.

  I went to the toilet and I thought about Harry and Joe. I wish nothing had come first. It was annoying, but annoying like piss stains on your tiling. You know you’ll have to do something about it eventually, but it can wait.

  When I go to the toilet I like to hold up my right hand, palm upward, as if to recite Shakespeare, and intone the Latin mass. It’s just a thing I do. It’s not my best eccentricity but it’s less messy than marmalade slippers. Someone came in this time and stood next to me though so I had to finish my piss in silence. People think you’re a nut if you intone the Latin mass while pissing.

  It’s fine to make slapping noises like you’re pretending your dick hits the porcelain, though. The guy next to me did that and laughed a drunken laugh. I laughed along. He was a big guy.

  When I came back Harry had finished her wine. I stopped off at the bar before returning and brought her another wine. If she wanted to get drunk who was I to argue. Perhaps it would be to my advantage.

  *

  Four large glasses of wine later I walked Harry home. She was wobbling a bit but wasn’t too much worse for wear.

  When we got to her door Harry stepped forward and kissed me lightly on the mouth before I had the wit to move.

  “Goodnight,” she whispered.

  “Dinner tomorrow?” I managed without stumbling on my words.

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  I walked back and my feet hardly touched the ground.

  *

  When I got home Pill was standing by my front door gazing at the sky in wonderment, like a div. I joined him. Cloud heads were building. It was getting colder by the minute. I couldn’t see anything worth looking at but there were a few bright spots where stars peeped through the cloud cover.

  “What are you looking at?” I asked.

  “Orion.”

  I let him look for a minute then tapped his shoulder.

  “Come on,” I said. “It’s time to go.”

  We left for the docks. It was twelve o’clock.

  *

  Friday

  24. Trip to the Clinic in the Morning

  It took us a long time to get there walking. Night was now officially overcast. The orange of the city’s lights was reflected on the underbelly of the thick clouds. It was past one by the time we came to the Shufflers but the promise of rain was still unfulfilled. There was no sign of Mary.

  I walked over to one of the other girls, working the opposite side of the street. I still couldn’t find myself attracted to prostitutes. I always thought the process of paying must be a really unpleasant transaction, but rather than hating the girls who had to work in such a profession I just found myself hating a society that made it a necessity for women to feel the need to do something so demeaning (still, I suppose some women of a slightly different bent would think it empowering). The girl on the other side of the road was more attractive than Mary Hunford, though. I found myself smiling as I approached her.

  “Cold night for a working girl,” I said.

  “You come to give me a cuddle?”

  “No, sorry. You can put your hands in my pockets though.” That sounded wrong. It wasn’t the impression I’d wanted to give but she was a good looking girl. I felt flustered even though I knew what she did for a living. She was wearing a tight skirt and was shivering. I really hated society sometimes.

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Mary Hunford.”

  “I don’t know any Marys.”

  “You’d know her. Works the patch opposite yours.”

  “Oh, her. She took off on a job a little while ago. In a Mondeo.”

  “Will she be coming back?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Wouldn’t you rather have someone young?” she flashed her leg at me. I felt nauseous. Not for looking at a young girl’s leg, but that she felt the need to show me.

  “No, I’m all gristle honey, you wouldn’t like me.”

  “Shame,” she said. I walked back to my side of the street, relieved to be away from her.

  *

  We waited for half an hour. Pill and I sat on a low wall outside the Shufflers. There were no cars in the Shufflers car park. It didn’t pay to leave a car standing down here. Apart from the cruisers and the girls the street was deathly quiet. I could see lights on in the high rise that faced the street, Port Flats. Imaginatively named. Most things down by the wharf were named for the sea.

  Pill and I played spot the slime, trying to tell from the cars who was a married man and who was single. The saloon cars were invariably married men, at least to our way of thinking. There weren’t that many girls to choose from on the street. The cars slowed down maybe one or two times before a girl got in and they drove off round behind the flats to park. I didn’t think you got a chance to be choosy in Bridgend. There was, thankfully, a serious dearth of working girls. I knew there were more than you see on the street. There were cars parked outside Port Flats that didn’t look as though they belonged and you could find cards offering variations on the massage theme in any telephone box down this way. I didn’t know why these girls didn’t work from their flats, it had to be warmer and it couldn’t be any more dangerous.

  Eventually a Mondeo came cruising down the street. I couldn’t tell what colour it was from under the glow of the orange lights, but it looked red from where I was sitting. It pulled over to the side and Mary got out, hitching down a short skirt. She looked over to us as she got out. She didn’t look too put out that I was waiting there for her. Pill was sitting on a low brick wall. I stood, my head craned over, trying to get a look at the driver. Just morbid curiosity, really. I wanted to see what kind of guy paid a woman for sex. I looked in the open door as Mary got out. I was disappointed. He looked ordinary. Just like me. He didn’t have warts or anything.

  Mary closed the door behind her and teetered over to where I was standing.

  “You again,” she said. She folded her arms, all defensive posturing from the beginning. I didn’t think she would think I was a threat. After all, she’d met me before and that had gone well, hadn’t it?

  “Yeah, me again.”

  “What do you want? I told you everything I know.”

  “See, that’s the thing. I don’t think you were honest with me before, and I really do need to know.” I tried to sound kind but it came out as gruff.

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you so why don’t you just leave?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Well then, I’m leaving.”

  She made to walk off. I stopped her.

  “Did you love her?”

  She stopped walking. She didn’t turn around. She had nice calves.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Tracey. Did you give her the r
ing? No, you didn’t, did you? She gave you the ring.” I knew I was right. I knew Tracey had had a romantic heart. Just like me.

  Mary hunched over. I knew I had her then.

  “How did you do it, Mary? How did you kill her? Did you strangle her with her own muffler? Did you take her up to the top of the multi-story just so you could throw her off? Why did you do it, Mary? Did you hate her for making you love again? I don’t understand why. She loved you, didn’t she? Why did you kill her, Mary?”

  She started to cry, softly at first. Then it built into great racking sobs. I guessed it had been a long time since she cried. She didn’t do it with aplomb. She could use some more practice.

  I would have given her a handkerchief but I’m not that much of a gentleman. I let her cry.

  “Why did you kill her?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Make me understand. You’ll be talking to the police anyway, so you might as well get it off your chest. I bet it’s been gnawing away inside of you. You can’t live a life with that kind of filth clinging to you and not let it get to you. You hate yourself for doing it, don’t you? It’ll only get worse.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said more quietly between sniffles.

  “Make me understand.”

  “I didn’t kill her.”

  “It’s too late for that. Just admit what you did and we can all get on with our lives.”

  “It wasn’t me. I loved her, as best I could. She gave me the ring but I wouldn’t take it.”

  That sounded about right. Tracey would have been the one in love. I felt sorry for her.

  “But you wouldn’t take it, would you?”

  “I couldn’t love her back. She couldn’t take that rejection. She loved me so much.”

  “So why did you kill her?”

  “Nobody killed her!” She took a step toward me with her hands raised. I thought she was going to hit me. I just stood there.