Another Bloody Love Story

by Rachel Green

  “My uncle? He married the girl from the chippy and got a job at the steelworks.” Winston turned to look at her and grinned. “They’re still together.”

  “What do you do?” Pennie was relieved to see the icon for the ladies toilet and stepped up her pace.

  “I work at Magelight,” Winston said. “Making security stuff. Here’s the loo.”

  “Are you going to wait here for me?”

  “Sure.” Winston leaned against the wall as she went in.

  Pennie went inside, nodding to the two girls adjusting their clothes and wondering if they were old enough to take their GCSEs’, let alone get into a nightclub. She crossed to the huge bank of mirrors over the sinks and looked at herself critically. Okay, she wasn’t fashionably skeletal as three of the four women who seemed to be Winston’s spare dates. One of the sisters had been so well muscled, Pennie felt certain she must be an athlete.

  She was certainly attractive if you liked the maturity that came with wisdom. She was well-off, too, though Winston had no idea about that. It was part of his charm that he had been interested in her for herself, and not for her money.

  She squinted at her reflection, digging into her handbag for mascara and lippy to repair what the heat of the club and the late hour had done. She splashed cold water onto her cheeks, dabbing them dry with a tissue to close off the pores and leave them with a healthy bloom of red. She stared at herself, stepping back to see the full effect of her dress. ‘Go get him tiger,’ her reflection said.

  She went back through the two doors with more confidence than she’d gone in with, and Winston smiled to see her again. “You’re lookin’ mighty fine,” he said, holding out his hand. “Is that all for me?”

  “There’s nobody else here I came for,” she said.

  “Is there anyone else in there?” He nodded toward the toilet. “No-one’s gone in since you.”

  “No,” she said. “It was empty. Why?”

  “Because the promised land is here to stay.” Winston pushed open the door with his foot and propelled her inside. She considered saying no, but the thrill of being wanted so passionately was hard to ignore.

  He hurried her past the cubicles, opening each door and discarding the area as too open, too dirty too cramped, until he came to one he considered fit for his intentions. With a last glance around the room, he winked at his reflection and pushed Pennie inside.

  “We can’t,” she said, as he began to nuzzle at her neck. “What if somebody catches us?”

  “Then they’ll bitch about us and use another stall,” said Winston. “Don’t worry, I’ve d…”

  He stopped himself from finishing as the outer door opened, letting in a flood of sound from the dance floor.

  Pennie clamped a hand over her mouth as two women came in, snorting and laughing over the desperation of the boys they’d just sent to the bar. Cubicle doors clanked against plastic-coated chipboard as they fumbled shaking hands into knicker elastic, desperate to empty their bladders and return to the chase.

  Winston grinned and winked, his trousers around his knees looking ridiculous as they flapped, the buckle of his belt tinkling against the ceramic of the toilet bowl. Pennie had to admit he was a brave man to kneel on this floor. She hoped that no-one noticed the soles of his shoes through the gap at the bottom.

  They listened in silence as the two girls flushed, rose and left. “They didn’t wash their hands,” Pennie said, her voice a sharp hiss.

  “They know where they’ve been,” said Winston, running his hand up under her skirt. Pennie giggled and took her hand away.

  “I’ve lost the urge,” she said. “Do something would you?”

  “Like what?” Winston stared up at her, getting a good view of her chin and nostrils. Marry this one, he said to himself, and that’s the view you’ll have for the rest of your life. He gave an experimental tug on her knickers.

  “I don’t know,” said Pennie. “Surprise me. Make me know that you want me.”

  “I want you, Pennie.” The words, repeated almost by rote, were less than inspiring.

  “That’s no good.” Pennie cast for something that had worked in the past. “I know. Bite me,” she said. “Steve used to bite me sometimes.”

  “Your husband?” Winston scowled. “Trust me girl. You don’t want to talk about no husband at a time like this.”

  “Sorry.” Pennie shifted position and stood up long enough to flip her knickers off. “I’m not used to doing this.”

  “You don’t say?” Winston grazed his teeth across her knee. Not the most erogenous spot on a woman, he knew, but from this angle it was convenient. He was already regretting his spur-of-the-moment decision to push her in here.

  Pennie followed his progress for several seconds. “Forget that,” she said. “Try something else.”

  Winston separated her thighs, wrapping one meaty arm around each and rolled back her skirt with his thumbs. Pennie’s stocking tops came into view like the ribbon of a finish line and he couldn’t help smiling. Her muscles rippled under his hands.

  “Oh God,” she said, “I love a man who’ll go down on me.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “Wait,” she said, jigging her leg. “Shit. I’ve got cramp.”

  She stood too suddenly, sending a surprised Winston backwards through the flimsy cubicle door. He was quick enough to stop himself cracking his head on the tiles and lay on the floor for several moments, stupefied. Pennie looked to be dancing a jig as she tried to free herself of the spasms.

  A muted cough alerted him to the presence of the bouncer from downstairs.

  “I hope you’ve got enough on you to pay for that,” said Big John, cracking his knuckles.

  Winston blinked and picked himself up, brushing down his suit and grinning. “No worries, my man,” he said. “Couple of screws and it’ll be right as rain.” He held out his hand to Pennie, who turned her head away to hide her flushed embarrassment.

  “More ‘n you’ve had, then.” Big John grinned and held the door open. “I trust you’ll be collecting your belongings and leaving.”

  “I could do,” said Winston. “If you’re insisting, like.”

  “I am.” John waited until they’d passed, then stood the broken door roughly in place. He took a roll of yellow and black tape from a cupboard under one of the sinks and closed off the stall to customers. When he returned to the club Winston and Pennie had gone.

  Chapter Ten

  Gillian watched from the balcony above as Winston collected his hat and downed the last of his drink, picking up the glass by dropping his hand over it like a fairground crane searching for a soft toy. He looked up as he drank, tipping his head back to gulp down the lukewarm contents and grinned as their eyes met. He made as if to tip his hat to her and she smiled and turned away, leaning into the railing and allowing it to press into the small of her back.

  She looked over to where Felicia and Julie were dancing, holding the attention of four barely legal men in a group at the wall. Felicia was an expert dancer, a veteran of dance clubs across the whole of London and was almost too good for the local talent. She twisted and gyrated in a way that made women jealous and men salivate over her. Anyone copying her moves was doomed to at least failure if not a physical injury. No-one, with the possible exception of Gillian, could bend her body in quite the same way.

  Julie, sheltered from the world for almost half her life, was the opposite of her sister. Quiet and nervous, she relied on the other dancers for her moves, content to shuffle from one foot to the other, her head bowed to the floor and her false eye shielded by her long hair. Not for her the flamboyancy of Felicia’s high kicks and back flips. Even the interest of the men wasn’t enough to coax her from her safety zone of the pillar and the railing. She risked a glance at the boys ogling her sister. They were nothing special; street punks and college boys t
hat couldn’t be compared to her Jasfoup.

  The music slowed and stopped. Felicia grinned and winked at the boys, trailing a finger down the cheek of the prettiest of them then driving them wild by pushing it slowly between her lips to taste the beaded sweat. She stalked off the floor gathering Julie, and pulling her along while the DJ crooned into the mike as the strains of Personal Jesus echoed through the speakers.

  “Having fun?” Gillian pulled Felicia in for a kiss, shattering the hopes for a late night tryst for at least one of the college boys who had followed her out.

  “Sure.” Felicia grinned and disengaged, picking up her bottle of water and downing most of it in one long swallow. “Dancing is good for the body and the mind.” She glanced back toward the dance area. “There’re a couple of interesting men out on the floor.”

  “Interesting how?” Julie asked.

  “Drug free, teetotallers.” Felicia grinned again, showing her canines.

  Julie winced. “You’re on the prowl?”

  “Why not?” Gillian reached out and smoothed Julie’s hair away from her face then cupped her chin, lifting her face so she could look into her eyes. “If you had our…appetites…wouldn’t you be?”

  “I suppose so,” said Julie. “It seems a little icky that we came for a girls night out, and you’re eyeing up the local talent like it’s a menu board at the takeaway.”

  “Nonsense.” Gillian dropped her hand, her pretence of generosity dropping away. “We don’t kill them. Not like the old days.”

  “No point in killing them these days.” Felicia leaned in close, her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “If you kill them you have all the trouble of disposal of the body in a safe…”

  “Hygienic,” added Gillian.

  “Fashion, followed by a set of spurious clues to lead the pitch forking villagers away from the castle.”

  “Or the Manor, in this case,” said Gillian. “Then the next time you’re peckish you have to start the whole process again. Much better to take a little and leave them happy. They’ll come to you next time.”

  “It’s like a drug,” said Felicia. “Gillian’s a fix they can’t get enough of and she gives them a prize every time.”

  “And damp trousers.” Gillian winked.

  “Unless they already take drugs,” said Felicia. “Drugs of any kind interfere with the mortal body’s natural homing beacon, so they won’t get the euphoria or the craving.”

  “We don’t do people who do drugs,” said Gillian. “Quite apart from the homing instinct, they can taste disgusting, and ingesting them can give us the effects too. Most unpleasant.” She shivered.

  “The same goes for nicotine and alcohol,” said Felicia. “Nicotine blocks the transfer of oxygen and alcohol thins the blood. We don’t want either of them.”

  “Thank the Lord for the smoking ban,” said Gillian.

  “God?” asked Julie.

  “House of Lords,” said Felicia. “No smoking in the UK except in the House of Commons members’ lounge.”

  “But what about you?” Julie asked Felicia. “I didn’t think you drank blood like she does. I thought you were more the throat ripping meat-and-no-veg type.”

  “I am,” said Felicia. “This is all for her benefit.” She smiled at Gillian. “I’ll go out for a bite later.”

  “I see.” Julie forced a smile out. “Can we go home soon? I’m feeling a little nauseous.”

  Gillian nodded. “It’s the heat,” she said. “It’s very stuffy in here, now that the club’s filled up.”

  “Something like that.” Julie stared at her shaking her head. “I’m hungry too.”

  “I thought you were nauseous?” Felicia frowned and stared into Julie’s face. “Oh, I see. Sorry. We were a bit too graphic, weren’t we?”

  “A bit?” Julie drained the remainder of her rum and coke and slammed the glass down on the table. “I’ve learned more about your feeding habits in ten minutes than in the last six months since you got me out of the hospital.”

  “And to punish me you’re going to make me watch you eat vegetables.”

  “That’s right.” Julie grinned and linked arms with both her escorts. “Shall we go, ladies?” She shook her head to force her hair to fall over her discoloured eye.

  “Sure.” Felicia leaned forward and kissed her sister on the forehead. Gillian stared for a moment longer at the two men Felicia had pointed out, then patted Julie’s hand, tucked it into her arm and led her toward the exit.

  At this time of night, the club had closed the doors, leaving them locked only with an open-from-the-inside-only emergency exit bar. Felicia opened it with a downward kick, earning her a glare from Big John who was standing outside with a beer and a cigarette. He always had a break at this time of night, conserving his strength and patience for when the club closed at two-am.

  Gillian had seen it at that time of morning. Before the last song even came off the turntable the doors would slam open and people would begin to stagger out, heading for the predatory burger vans and taxi cabs that earned more money in the next hour, than they would for the rest of the working day.

  Fights inevitably broke out as the crowds thickened, often caused by someone intending to go home with someone they hadn’t arrived with, causing consternation and resentment in the forsaken party. At this point Big John would come whaling in, his bulk and fists cutting a path like an icebreaker through frozen seas, and his martial arts skills bringing the altercation to a swift and sudden halt.

  Big John was curiously reticent about the martial art he had learned. He claimed to have been in the Paratroopers for a while, though he had nothing to show for it other than brightly polished boots and a mean left hook. Gillian privately suspected that the dojo he attended for training was the internet, for she recognized elements of several styles in his fighting skills, from Karate punches to Judo throws to Jiu-Jitsu joint locks. With the speed at which he’d graded from first dan last year to fourth dan now, she also suspected that his training assessor was the market, where a new belt would set you back a couple of quid, no questions asked.

  He scowled as they marched out three abreast. “Evening ladies.”

  “It is.” Gillian broke away from the other two and sauntered up to him. “What happened to my friend Winston and his lady? “

  “The ones shagging in the toilets?” John laughed. “I’ve no idea. By the time I came out here they were long gone. Tell him he owes the club for a new door when you see him.”

  “He’ll be ecstatic to hear that,” said Gillian. “What was he driving?”

  “I’ve just told you. I didn’t see ‘im.” John dropped the stub of his cigarette and ground it out. “Do you want to try calling me a liar?”

  Gillian smiled into the towering bulk. “Not at all,” she said. “You’d probably want to defend your honour and I’d be forced to defend myself and I hate to see a grown man cry.”

  “Leave it.” Felicia tugged on her arm. “Pick on someone your own size.”

  “I wasn’t picking on her,” said John.

  Felicia glared at him. “I was talking to her,” she said. Laughing, she dragged Julie and Gillian around the corner to the late-opening burger bar. Gillian turned her nose up and pulled away. “I can’t eat that stuff,” she said.

  “No, but Julie’s ravenous and so am I. We’ve indulged your cravings all night. Now it’s time for you to put up with ours.”

  Julie squeezed her arm from the other side. “Think of it as a fattening farm,” she said. “Everyone here is a potential customer for your rapture.”

  “Well, if you put it like that…” Gillian smiled and stepped inside, her pupils contracting from the intense fluorescent light.

  “I’m famished.” Julie pushed past while Felicia found the quietest table and guided Gillian to it. She strode to th
e counter, her eyes on the backlit plastic boards proclaiming the wares.

  “Can I help you?” The voice intruded only marginally onto Julie’s consciousness as she chose her food. “Two super burgers with everything on them, two portions of chips and a milk shake,” she said. Looking to her sister she called out: “What do you want, Fliss?”

  “The usual.” Felicia didn’t even bother to look up.

  “And four rare superburgers with nothing on.” Julie finally dropped her eyes to the woman taking the order. Her jaw dropped. “Vixen?” she said, her voice a hushed whisper.

  The ex-nun gave her a half-smile. “Long time, no see.”

  “But…” Julie frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a convent? Have you given up your vows?”

  “They gave up on me.” Valerie pulled on plastic gloves, measured out four pounds of raw beef and dropped it into a cardboard burger box. “I got expelled from the convent for staying out all night again.”

  “You didn’t?” Julie watched her pull two cooked burgers from the rack and stack them on the counter. She unwrapped one and bit into it, feeling a rivulet of fat run down her throat as she chewed. “Were you working your other job?”

  “Of course.” Valerie used a funnel to fill two cardboard cones with pre-salted chips. “What flavour milkshake?”

  “Strawberry.”

  Valerie filled a paper cup with milk, broke open a packet of additives and mixed it in. “That’s all tied up of course, so I needed a job to tide me over and here I am, working the nightshift at a greasy spoon.” She snapped a lid on the paper cup and stood it on the counter. “That’ll be twelve-eighty please.”

  “Here.” Julie handed her the money, picking up the cartons and stacking them into her left arm. “At least I know where to come for raw meat now.”

  Valerie laughed. “I’m still not a lesbian.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “It does rather give me the idea that I could open a place of my own,” said Valerie. “Something for the less…mortal…among the populace. I’m sure I could stock more interesting things to eat than raw steak mince.”