by Janet Kelly
Dismissing the vision I made my way over to the corner. What was sauce for the goose …
‘Out of the way, I need to go,’ I said, contemplating my own genital area which was, in comparison, trimmed to prevent overspill and decidedly grey. At least I’m not bald, I thought as I lowered myself into a crouching position before releasing not only my bladder but a huge stool that splashed loudly into the bowl.
‘There’s no shaking that off!’ laughed Tracey, turning towards the pile of papers that sat neatly on top of the chest.
Tearing off a page from OK! magazine, she walked over to me as I struggled to maintain privacy while wobbling about over the now full bowl.
‘Here you are, I use old mags all the time when I forget to buy bog roll. This one’s got Kerry Katona on it at her first wedding. Shows how old it is.’
I was mortified. I’d hoped to hang on a bit longer, but nature took its course without so much as a by your leave to my dignity. I cleaned myself as much as I could with the glossy remnants of Ms Katona’s nuptials. I couldn’t help but pause briefly to note the youthful and misplaced ardour of her husband’s face.
Having pulled back my lower clothing as effortlessly as I could under the circumstances, I made my own way to the paper pile, returning to cover the offending bowl with two pages of obituary columns from the Daily Telegraph.
I thought this was about as low as I could go, but just as I was feeling myself fall into a pit of despair, the door was unlocked before it flew open and a man dressed in a military guard’s uniform marched in with a tray carrying two mugs full of steaming liquid, a bowl of eggs and four oranges.
He was young, about thirty, shorter than the two men from earlier and was wearing full khaki uniform with a massive belt that was too big for him. Where he had pulled it tight around his small waist it had bunched the waistline of his trousers and left a good six inches of belt dangling freely in front. He had a baseball cap that partially covered his eyes, meaning he had to tilt his head up to see in front of him, and red Converse boots, giving away the fact his military status might not be genuine. I thought he looked a little like Darius, but smaller. Much smaller.
‘Here – food,’ he grunted as he sniffed the air and looked with disdain in the direction of the bowl.
‘We need to make arrangements for the toilet and access to a telephone,’ I said to him as sternly as I could muster. He looked slightly put out by my assertion, which I thought was a good start. He had a large chain attached to his belt loop which held a key ring, but there was only one key, which I suspected was to our quarters.
‘You cannot keep us here and will not keep us here,’ I added, moving towards the fake guard with as determined steps as I could, which seemed to unnerve him further. ‘Do you understand me?’
I had the advantage at this point, so glared at him, trying to meet his eyes which had been gradually hidden from sight as his oversized baseball cap, featuring a Manchester United Football Club emblem at the front, fell down his face.
‘Maybe he don’t speak English, hun,’ said Tracey, who had tried to move towards the door before the guard kicked it closed with his foot and stood in her path.
I thought that was a touch of the pot calling the kettle black, then laughed to myself at the irony of my observation. I continued speaking to the guard whose initial attempts at looking in control were slipping with every word.
‘Now you must tell me why we’re here and when you’re going to let us go. We cannot tolerate being here any longer and will report your superiors for false imprisonment,’ I demanded in my best magisterial voice.
The guard continued to look around the room, sniffing until he found the source of his consternation. Placing the food tray on the floor, the guard walked over to the bowl. He removed the paper and, on witnessing the contents, picked it up and carried it with him as he left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.
‘I’ll be back,’ he shouted through the door, leaving us wondering if that could be a good thing.
‘Hey, come here now,’ I shouted through the door. ‘Where’s our luggage? And I want to make a phone call.’
‘And I want clean knickers, fags and my make-up,’ said Tracey who was busy inspecting the contents of the mugs. She sniffed cautiously before taking a large gulp – an act she quickly regretted. ‘Yuk, that’s disgusting,’ she wailed, spitting the contents to the floor. ‘It tastes like pig shit.’
Trust Tracey to moan about everything. I was just fed up that the guard had paid no heed to me. Perhaps if he’d not had to deal with my excrement he might have paid me more respect.
I was hungry, and as I’d no reason to respect my companion’s view on cuisine, decided to give the contents of the mug a try. I made a face at the peculiar earthy taste of the concoction, but was determined to show an open-minded appreciation of foreign food, so continued to drink.
‘Well, this is all we’ve got by the looks of it, so we might as well make the most of it,’ I said, as much to convince myself as Tracey, who was sobbing again.
‘This is your bloody fault,’ said Tracey, as she sniffed and rubbed her arm across her runny nose. ‘Why did you make me get in that car?’
I couldn’t recall making anyone do anything.
‘I thought your boyfriend was going to pick you up. You didn’t have to come with me,’ I said, thinking her plight could have been worse if she hadn’t been with me. I decided to try and keep the peace and find a way out of this mess. ‘Whatever’s happened we’re here now. Let’s see what they’ve given us.’
I’ve never actually tasted pig shit but did have to concur with Tracey – the flavour was like nothing I’d experienced before. Turning my back on this new culinary experience for a while, I cracked open the shells of the eggs and was delighted to discover they were still warm and not quite hard boiled – just as I liked them, although I was miffed they hadn’t bothered to bring us any salt or a teaspoon.
‘Come on, eat something, Tracey. You have to keep your strength up. The oranges smell divine,’ I added, as I pressed the dimpled flesh to my nose, taking in the fresh, fruitful aroma.
Suitably convinced, Tracey joined me as we devoured the eggs and the oranges before turning our attention again to the mugs of whatever it was we’d been given. Neither of us could decide if it was soup, gruel or something completely alien.
‘It’s probably a local drink of some kind,’ I said in a bid to remain positive. The last thing we needed was to be at each other’s throats.
Tracey had settled down a little and had stopped sniffing quite so much. Her nose was bright red while her nostrils shone with untamed snot. Her eyes, still stained from mascara and tear-diluted eyeliner, were swollen and misted. But she seemed, if not cheerful, resigned.
Both of us decided that after our adventures so far, we needed food. In the absence of any alternative we managed to finish the contents of both mugs, silently and with increasing relish as time went on.
‘It ain’t that bad really,’ said Tracey.
We were both silent for a while. We didn’t know the time as neither of us had been wearing a watch, and Tracey usually relied on her phone which had been taken.
‘I’m cold,’ I said, as I noticed the room getting dark. Daylight seemed to disappear quickly.
‘Me too, hun,’ replied Tracey. ‘And I’m a bit shaky.’
My thoughts were untethered and floating around in my head. My legs were weak, and although they felt heavy the rest of me felt incredibly light. I flopped down on the bed and held my hands tightly together for comfort.
‘That’s a bit strange,’ I tried to say but my tongue swelled up with every word.
My mind was full of random ideas, none of which I could grab hold of long enough to articulate, even to myself. I came up with solutions to problems I didn’t know existed, then quickly forgot them.
‘Soup. Is it soup?’ I heard myself saying, but thought it was an animal talking to us from the corner of the room. ‘Did you
see that?’
I pointed to the corner of the shack where I could see a unicorn sitting on a stool, playing the ukulele. My thoughts drifted off again and I was dreaming of chocolate.
I started to laugh and couldn’t stop. It was uncontrollable, and the more I laughed the more I thought about chocolate. What I wouldn’t do for a Malteser. What I hadn’t done for a Malteser.
Tracey had been briefly asleep and my laughing woke her up. That made me laugh even more. So much so that I held on to my sides in case my ribs popped out. My chest could barely hold my breath. I’d never laughed like that before. It was most peculiar.
‘See what?’ said Tracey. Her eyes were barely open and her pupils were like big black rings. She tried, but failed to rest her weight on her elbows and ended up with her face in the pillow.
My head was scrambled. I tried to focus on my thoughts, but every time I grasped hold of one that made sense another would get in its way. My body could float away to an unknown galaxy at any point and there was nothing I could do about. At one point I was convinced I was actually on a moon – one made of Victoria sponge cake and chestnut macaroons – and rather liked it.
‘I wish I had something sweet,’ I said to Tracey, as this was a recurring thought I couldn’t shake off, despite normally being quite moderate in my calorie intake.
She was still wrestling with her own body weight as she tried to turn over onto her side. After three attempts she propped her face up on a folded arm.
‘I’ve got a Galaxy bar in my bag if only those creeps would bring it back. And my fags. I need a fag. Even a Silk Cut would do,’ she said, as she fell into a fit of giggles, soon to be joined by me, for no reason I could work out.
Tracey tried to sit up again and managed to push herself onto her left arm, bringing her right hand across her face to wipe spittle from her mouth. She squealed.
‘What the hell?’ she cried. ‘What’s this in my mouth?’
She tugged at the spike that had held her lost crown and, for the first time since its loss, wanted to know what had happened.
‘Where’s my tooth? What’s happened to my tooth?’
I thought of the unicorn again, taunting us with Tracey’s tooth, and started to roll about with laughter, unable to retain any sense of empathy.
‘The tooth, the whole tooth. Nothing butts the tooth!’
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’ll cost an arm and a leg to get that sorted. Bastards,’ said Tracey, as she started to laugh so hard I thought she was going to cough up her lungs. That’s what a lifetime of smoking does to you. ‘It serves me right for eating too much chocolate and rotting me teeth,’ said Tracey. ‘Oh, chocolate. Wish I hadn’t said that.’
‘Me too,’ I said, wiping my eyes of tears of laughter.
‘I could just eat a family-size bar now,’ she added. ‘Or a furry rosher.’
‘What’s a furry rosher?’ I asked, feeling the need to know.
‘Those chocolates you get at Christmas. With gold paper. Bit like Ryvita covered in Nutella,’ Tracey replied.
‘Ah, Ferrero Rocher,’ I clarified.
‘S’what I said, innit?’
‘I think we’ve been drugged,’ Tracey added a moment later, before falling back onto the mattress and closing her eyes. ‘What is this shit, man? Nothing like I’ve ever had.’
I drooled, unable to speak and holding onto the floor with both hands for balance, even though I was lying down.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I woke abruptly, halfway through a dream where Colin was telling me how stupid I’d been. I was about to get indignant when vague memories, which I’d hoped were part of the dream, started to surface.
I saw one of the men kick the mattress, and when he realised I was already awake, he smiled broadly – revealing a lovely pinkness of the lips that reminded me yet again of Darius.
Tracey was still stirring, making muffled noises like a cow in labour, although I forgave her on the basis that if she felt like me she would still be muddled from the effects of the previous night’s drink.
The guard nearly lost his balance trying to negotiate a tray of eggs and oranges, two chipped Coca-Cola glasses filled with water and a bucket, with a lid, which he carried over his right arm. I stifled a laugh.
My dreams had been vivid and multi-coloured, which on recollection might have had something to do with the drugs we’d inadvertently taken. But they didn’t add any colour to Colin’s personality. Even in my wildest dreams he was still permanently affronted by the way no one, particularly me, seemed to take him seriously enough.
Tracey had said last night she thought there’d been something in our drinks, and I suspect she had an inkling of what it was. She was far more familiar than I with the feelings of disorientation and euphoria, neither of which have been my regular companions. I also remembered the lack of toilet facilities, so thought I should make my feelings known to the guard again. He’d already shown signs of weakening to previous demands, so a bit more work and I reckoned I could crack him.
‘Now, unless you want to clear up after us again I suggest you find a way we can use a toilet and a shower,’ I barked at him, as I tried to untangle myself from the blankets and Tracey’s right leg, which she’d hooked over mine in the night. Thankfully I hadn’t noticed at the time. ‘We might not be so tidy about where we do it in future.’
The guard looked uncomfortable, particularly after Tracey awoke abruptly, sat up and then smiled at him full on. She’d worked out the sight of her toothless grin might not be as attractive as she’d like, but it did have some power – if only to shock.
I wanted to tackle the drugs issue but thought it might be best to leave it until another time. I needed to quiz Tracey about what she thought we’d been given, although in principle I’d already decided I wasn’t entirely against it. My sleep had been unexpectedly marvellous, which considering our circumstances was surprising. Although I was trying to maintain dignity, my anxiety levels were high. We didn’t know why we’d been locked up by these people, what they wanted, or indeed if we would get out alive. Maybe all kidnapped people were drugged to ensure they didn’t wail through the night, or cause their captors any problems. Thinking about it logically, that made some kind of sense.
‘You look kinda cute,’ Tracey said to the guard as he placed the tray on the chest and backed towards the door. If he found me scary he was almost apoplectic with terror now he’d seen her spiky grin and wobbly bosom.
‘We will arrange for proper facilities,’ he said, letting the bucket fall from his arm and onto the floor. ‘This will have to do for emergencies. I just need to get s-s-someone,’ he stuttered, before making a swift exit.
‘He’d better mean it. I stink,’ said Tracey.
We’d just finished eating our breakfast of slightly runnier eggs than we’d eaten the day before and oranges when the guard returned with a larger but similarly aged male, also dressed in the khaki clothes masquerading as a uniform. Both were carrying handcuffs.
‘Here,’ said the first guard. ‘Come with me.’
He came over to me and locked one of the rings of the cuffs over my left wrist. As he did so he smelled very welcoming. I would like to say a manly smell, but it wasn’t redolent of Darius, who wore a distinctive aftershave advertised by muscle-bound surfers. It reminded me of something very familiar, which made me feel safe. I also noticed he’d shaved and had decidedly clean fingernails. This was a fact I found surprising.
The second guard, around four inches taller than the first and with noticeably light brown eyes, put the same kind of handcuffs on Tracey, who seemed to be somewhat entertained by the experience.
‘This is all a bit Fifty Shades, innit?’ she said to the new guard, who had a firm chest exposed through his largely unbuttoned shirt. It was hairy but with tight curly black hairs rather than the thatch of untamed grey wire I was used to with Colin. ‘You into a bit of S & M, Cynth?’
‘What are you talking about? Do you mean M&S?’ I said.
Tracey laughed, trying to cover her mouth as she did so, but the weight of the guard’s arm cuffed to her wrist prevented her.
‘Sadists and stuff. Fifty Shades of Grey. Don’t tell me you ain’t read it. Everyone else has. Rich boy meets hot chick, he ties her up and they shag. No foreplay, as he’s so hot she orgasms just by looking at his trousers. That’s about it really.’
I was frankly surprised to hear Tracey had read anything and wondered why ‘Shades of Grey’ reminded me of her pubic region. I dismissed the thought of no foreplay. It reminded me of Colin.
Before I could think any more about sadists, sex and orgasm-inducing trousers, I was tugged out of the shack and along one of the makeshift corridors to what looked like a camper’s toilet area within a muddy cave.
There was a wooden bench with a hole cut into it placed over a gap in the stilted floor which I assumed perched over the lagoon area below. To both sides of the caved area were two watering cans filled to overflowing with water, placed next to wooden slatted blocks. Each block had a back scrub and some washing-up liquid on the floor next to them. I noticed one of my towels, which would have been in the luggage they took away from us, was hanging on a hook on the wall. Logic suggested the beach towel hanging on the other side belonged to Tracey and I guessed this was what was going to pass as a bathroom.
‘So how are we going to get washed while we’re tied up to you?’ I asked of my guard, who at least looked a bit embarrassed by what he was showing us. ‘This is very improper.’
The guard shrugged and placed his free hand over his eyes as if to suggest he wouldn’t be looking. He seemed very sweet, and there was definitely an air of Darius about him – his skin was shiny, his lips pink and his teeth white. I couldn’t help but find him attractive, regardless of the underlying terror of the situation.
Desperate to go to the toilet, and keen to avoid the embarrassment of yesterday, I remained calm as he escorted me to the wooden slat where I managed to pee. Tracey’s guard followed us over to the bench, which meant she had to follow too. He wasn’t as gentlemanly as mine, and didn’t bother to avert his eyes while she loudly and fully carried out her evacuations.