by Maynard Sims
Estelle stood in the centre of the room and clapped her hands together again. 'Right, everybody. Who’s ready for the next round?'
The man at the fireplace stood up from the footstool. 'I guess I’m up next,' he said.
‘I’ll take you on, you old reprobate,' the wag from earlier called from the back of the room.
'If you think you’re up to it, Charles,' fireplace man said.
'Just watch me… oh, no, you won’t be able to with the blindfold on. But you’ll feel my victory blow soon enough,' Charles the wag said.
Burton found the banter tiresome, but watched the match carefully regardless, hoping to pick up a few pointers for his own upcoming contest.
Unfortunately the match was over almost before it had begun.
Charles the wag called out, 'I’m here!' and fireplace man slapped him so hard around the face with the newspaper, the wag’s spectacles went flying across the room to land in the hearth next to the unburned logs. Laughter erupted in the room, led by Estelle and, for the first time that evening, Burton realised what fun this game could be.
As the laughter subsided, Estelle took her position in the middle of the room. 'And our last two contestants, if you please. That’s you, Larry, and William, I think.'
Larry strode out into the room, grinning broadly at William – why did he feel that Mayfield was mocking him? – and Burton stepped out into the centre of the rug and stood next to him.
'I’ll go easy on you, old man,' Mayfield said out of the corner of his mouth, and gave a theatrical wink.
'Please don’t pull your punches on my account,' Burton said, infuriated at the man’s condescension, even if it had been prompted by his beloved Estelle’s intervention.
'So be it,' Mayfield said. 'A fight to the finish it is, then.'
'Yes,' Burton said. 'So be it.'
Estelle moved behind them and Mayfield bent at the knee without being asked. Estelle tied the silk scarf tightly around his eyes. She then moved to the front and stood before Burton.
'William, hold out your arm.'
Burton did as she requested, and from the sleeve of her dress she produced a red chiffon scarf and looped it around his wrist, tying the chiffon in a neat bow.
'What’s this?' Burton said.
'A favour,' she said.
'A favour?'
'A queen may bestow a favour to the champion of choice. This is my favour for you to wear. May it bring you good fortune. And now, the blindfold.' She moved back around him and Burton bent his knees.
As she wrapped the silk around his eyes, Burton raised the chiffon scarf to his nose. The heady, intoxicating scent of Chanel filled his nostrils.
'Ready, gentlemen?'
'Of course, Poppet,' Mayfield said.
'Ready,' Burton said grimly.
He felt her hands on his shoulders and felt her turn him about, and then sensed rather than saw her do the same thing to her husband.
'If you could both kneel.'
The hands were at his shoulders again and she was guiding him into position.
In the centre of the Persian rug Burton knelt there, his weapon gripped tightly in his fist, waiting for the signal to begin.
'William, the first strike is yours,' she said, and Mayfield called out, 'I’m here!'
Burton lashed out in the direction of the voice, but struck only empty air. Swaying slightly, trying to recover his balance, Burton called out, 'I’m here!'
He felt the breeze of Mayfield’s newspaper as it passed close to his face, and instinctively he swayed backwards.
'Go on Larry, hit him!' a male voice called.
'Make him pay!' another shouted.
Estelle hushed them.
Burton steadied himself.
'I’m here!' Mayfield again. The call did not come from where Burton was expecting it to be, but it was too late to change direction, and again his blow sailed wide.
Damn it! he thought, and adjusted his knees on the rug. 'I’m here!' he called, and braced himself for the impact. But it never came. Mayfield missed him again.
There were a few more attempts from either side, and perspiration was starting to dribble down Burton’s back and bead on his forehead. He raised his arm to mop his brow and again caught a waft of Chanel.
There was virtual silence in the room, as if the guests were holding their collective breath. All Burton could hear was the steady ticking of the marble clock on the mantelpiece, and the occasional pop and hiss of the logs on the fire that was raising the temperature of the room, making him sweat.
And then Mayfield called again, 'I’m here!' and it was as if the man was directly in front of him. Burton raised the weapon above his head, gathered himself, and brought it crashing down, relishing the soft impact it made as it collided with Mayfield’s skull.
That’s for losing me a fortune!
He raised his arm and struck again.
That’s for mocking me!
He drew his arm back as far as it would go.
And this is for stealing Estelle away from me.
He swung his arm in an arc and made contact again, the sound of the blow making a soft, wet thwup.
Victory was his, and he waited for the cheers, and waited, but the cheers didn’t come. Instead, the room was filled with a heavy silence.
'What’s the matter with you all? I won fairly, didn’t I?' Burton called.
Still the silence closed in on him. He could not even hear the clock and the crackle of the burning logs.
His fingers scrabbled at the blindfold and managed to tear it away from his eyes. As the light flooded in, he blinked several times to clear his vision.
It was then he became aware of his surroundings.
Gone was the Mayfields’ sumptuous drawing room, the assembled guests and the Christmas tree with the coloured fairy carriage lights. Gone was the Persian rug. He was kneeling now on the threadbare carpet that covered the floor of his two-roomed flat in Islington.
He looked about him bleakly at the peeling wallpaper, and the chipped and cracked, yellowing paintwork. In the window was the brown and spiky skeleton of a dead Christmas tree.
As tears of realization began to dribble from his eyes and run down his cheeks, he raised his arm, to smell once more the delicious perfume suffused in the chiffon scarf tied about his wrist, and as he did so he saw the long poker with the brass handle clutched in his fist. With a cry, he dropped it to the floor and saw the rusty streaks of blood staining the metal, and his eyes registered the lump of pink and bloody flesh that clung to the poker’s hooked and pointed end, and the silver-blonde, Marcel-waved hair that grew from it.
SWEET DECAY OF YOUTH
By the end of the day one of us would die, although then, on that glorious afternoon, death was the furthest event most of us could imagine, being so young, and full of hope and expectation for our charmed lives.
The word die might suggest a peaceful exit, a passing, a slipping away to some other place, a sleeping and awakening somewhere better, if such a place exists. Death, conversely, comes in many shapes and degrees of size, many natural, and various not-so-normal ways to leave this world. Some will die peacefully, quietly and without fuss, but others will feel pain, their death a loud and shouted wrench away from what they know, and into the dark unknown, the scary passage into an oblivion that may last for eternity. Quite a subject to ponder, if you were of such an inquiring state of mind, and endured such thoughts.
I wasn’t pondering death at the moment Amy poured more chilled white wine into my crystal glass, I was admiring the slightly flushed swell of her admirable breasts as they swayed beneath the scooped neckline of her blue summer dress.
‘More wine, Dan,’ she said to me, my name being Daniel, and she smiled and leaned further forward so that it was only natural my eyes should be drawn to her cleavage. It was a game we played, or at least I was aware of it being a series of acts played out; I wasn’t sure she was quite so kno
wledgeable. I do think she was innocent in her behaviour, oblivious to the way her dress floated out as she bent forward and poured the delightful Sancerre, not knowing that I could see quite so much of her.
‘Eyes to the sky, Flynn,’ Eddie said. Eddie was aware of the effects Amy had on me. He was her boyfriend just now, a badge he wore with a constant need to remind everyone of his status. It wouldn’t last; I knew that, even if Amy didn’t. Eddie certainly wasn’t aware that his relationship with the lovely Amy was temporary.
‘Isn’t it a great place?’ Bella sighed. Bella was beautiful, and knew it, but she managed to project her beauty in a way that wasn’t obvious, or offensive. Understated, I suppose is how she presented herself to the world, although she always made sure there was someone to offer admiration during the day. That role was currently being performed by Carlo.
Carlo was from Italian heritage, a background he liked to play along to, emphasising his dark good looks by wearing his black hair just a little too long, and the sleeves of his cashmere sweaters tied casually around his shoulders.
‘It’s wonderful,’ Carlo said, in reply to Bella, and he squeezed her foot, which was the part of her body closest to him as he lay flat on his back beneath the huge oak tree. He was gazing up at the sun through his sunglasses, and enjoying the way the rays dappled through the gently moving branches, the leaves seeming to catch the sunlight and hold it for a moment, before releasing it to fall to the grass below.
‘We should do this more often,’ Amy announced, and Bella agreed.
I watched as Eddie and Carlo exchanged a glance that excluded me, but I was getting used to that. The group was fragmenting, that was clear to see, and lines were being drawn that they seemed to believe would be the way things were for the future.
‘I hope you enjoy it,’ Amy said, to me, and started to shuffle away.
‘I did,’ I said, and stared pointedly at her chest.
She smiled, as I knew she would, eyes cast down, but secretly she was pleased at my attention; I knew that as well. I watched, amused, as she pressed herself into Eddie, and his arm snaked around her and pulled her in.
‘It’s good for us all to hang out,’ I said. ‘Have a break from our studies. Lectures can get on top of us all if we don’t take care to relax when we can.’
‘I’m going to get the second hamper from the car,’ Eddie said. ‘Amy, coming with me?’
Amy shook her head. ‘It’s too nice here, in the shade, warm but not too hot.’
I could see Eddie wasn’t pleased with the rebuff, but he re-arranged his features into his usual amused-with-the-world expression and marched off to where we’d parked the battered old people-carrier we used as a kind of communal vehicle of all purposes.
Amy stood and swirled around, arms outstretched, skirt floating and flying, legs bare and tanned.
‘You look as if you might take off and fly,’ Bella said.
‘That’s how I feel. Free. Alive.’
‘I’m not one to wax poetical,’ Carlo said. ‘But I can see what Amy means. There’s a kind of serenity here.’
I looked around at our surroundings. We’d never been here before, even though it wasn’t far from our university campus, not a long drive at all. We had a free afternoon, and everyone had agreed we should go out, ignore the work we still had to hand in. It was the height of summer, the weather was hot and cloud-free, and we were young and care-free. We needed an escape, and here it was.
I’d pointed out the small lane, hidden, all but obscured, by overgrown bushes and undergrowth at the side of the road. The lane led into a wood, dense with trees and buzzing with the sounds of birds and small animals. Eddie turned the wheel just in time and we curled off the main road and began bouncing down the dry and rutted mud lane. Either side of us, trees crowded over our heads, and thorn-sharp brambles thrust out to scratch at the already pitted paintwork of the car.
Amy saw the clearing and Eddie steered us over a small hump of grass and parked in the shade. We all got out, the men taking one of the hampers, the blankets, and the drink. The girls ran ahead, as excited as children.
‘Look at this,’ Bella shouted back at us.
When we caught up with them, we all marvelled at what we had found. There was a stream, bubbling over stones which glistened like diamonds in the clear water. A large and ancient oak tree stood guard at the bank of the stream, providing perfect shade beneath its vast branches. The grass at the base of the trunk was lush and green, smooth and dry.
‘That’s where we should set up camp.’ Amy pointed.
We all laid out the blankets and between us we emptied the hamper. The food was set out around the edge of the blankets, with the glasses and drinks. The centre was our lair, where we all sat, or laid, to enjoy the peace and the warmth.
***
Eddie surreptitiously checked his mobile phone under the desk and managed to hide from himself the disappointment at the lack of a text from Amy. At the front of the lecture hall, the professor was espousing his theory about cognitive and development psychology, and most people were taking notes. Eddie had a tablet computer laid out in front of him, and occasionally he noted down keywords that he hoped would mean something to him later on.
They hadn’t argued, he and Amy, but he hated any kind of confrontation, and he couldn’t quite quell the anger that he felt when she didn’t immediately accept his ideas for the upcoming holiday period. He knew she’d love time in the Cotswolds. He’d found a quaint little cottage to rent near the small town of Broadway, and he knew she’d love the walks over the fields and hills, and the country pubs where you had to remove your boots before they let you in.
The sleeping arrangements weren’t set in stone, he’d tried to explain that, but she wouldn’t listen. She was determined to believe that he’d suggested the whole trip so that he could share a bed with her. How could she say she wasn’t ready when they had already started on the path to full intimacy? He knew she wasn’t comfortable staying the night with him when they were on campus, though he found her protestations a little fiercer than they needed to be. Either she liked him or she didn’t. She said she did, which fuelled his belief that a week away, just the two of them, would be the private setting she needed to demonstrate that she felt as strongly about him as he did for her.
What was he saying, the professor? It was hard to concentrate when all that filled his thoughts were the images and scenes of Amy. In her bikini the time they all went swimming, the tight gym top when they worked out once or twice in the university facilities. The others were there those times, as well. That was the trouble, in his view: they were all so ingrained as a group that tearing her away from the others was stifling his chances of a proper relationship with her. They came as a package, and he wanted more than that.
He became aware of people packing up and standing, so he guessed the lecture was over. That was his last of the day. He wondered where Amy was right now.
On the way out, he bumped into Carlo. Where could he go where the others wouldn’t be?
‘Hey,’ Carlo said, in that faux-casual manner of his.
‘I’m finished for the day,’ Eddie said.
‘Me too. Want to grab a coffee?’
Grab a coffee? Who said that, outside city-bankers? ‘No, thanks, I’m meeting Amy.’ A lie, but a hope as well.
Carlo made a face that suggested pleasure, or at least that must have been his intention. ‘The lovely Amy. How’s that going?’
‘Great. Couldn’t be better.’
They were outside now, the sun shining, and the warmth inviting honesty and truth.
‘So.’ Carlo all but prodded Eddie in the ribs. ‘Have you done the deed yet?’
Done the… why was he friends with this man? Amy, of course. They came from the same city, and so naturally gravitated to one another when they came here.
Carlo obviously took his silence as confirmation. ‘You have, you have, haven’t you?’
The chance to be honest was there, the truth was waiting to be spoken. ‘Sure, of course.’
Carlo punched Eddie’s shoulder. ‘Good man. I’ll bet she was great in bed.’
‘Too true. Couldn’t get enough.’
‘I knew it. She’s hot. Listen, I’ll see you later.’ And with that, he was gone.
Eddie stood with the sun beating down on his head and wondered why he felt slightly reduced.
***
Bella was in town. She’d skipped a lecture to go shopping. It was a relief to get away from other people for a while. She loved her friends, she really did, but sometimes the others seemed so young, so redundant. Carlo was amusing, and when she was alone with him she could manipulate the relationship so that he gave her some of what she wanted. But when they were with the others, especially Eddie and Amy, he seemed to change so that he became a small part of something larger, rather than a person in his own right.
Amy was so obviously stringing Eddie along, and it was pathetic to watch, especially as he clearly had no idea. He wafted after her like a wave of her perfume, left behind but eagerly trying to get back with her.
Bella went into a clothes shop she shouldn’t have been able to afford on her student finance, but that was one of the benefits of rich parents. Her monthly allowance was the only satisfaction she got from university life, generous enough to allow her the little luxuries she had grown accustomed to enjoying. The others would have a fit if they ever found out how well-off she was, as they scrabbled around with their loan money, thinking the nights in the student bars were the ultimate in excess.
‘Can I help you?’ The shop assistant looked as if she was the one in need of help, if her makeup and clothes were anything to go by.
Bella shook her head and dismissed the poor girl from her mind. There was a rack of dresses that she was interested in, but she had no illusions that anyone in here could give her an opinion that she valued. She took one and held it up to the light. She liked it, and when she pressed it to her body and admired her reflection in the mirror, she wasn’t too displeased. She carried it over to the changing rooms, followed puppy-fashion by the assistant.