Authors: Chris Simms
' ... puke.' Clare finished the sentence for her. 'Do you think he heard us?'
‘No we were whispering.'
'God, he's repulsive isn't he?'
‘Tell me about it,' said Lisa, raising herself up in the seat. 'He's always drifting into Pat's office with bullshit requests for staples and stuff. Strangely, the conversation always ends up with him asking what I'm up to after work. He gives me the creeps.' She shuddered as if someone had traced a feather across the back of her neck.
They both stubbed out their cigarettes in silence before Lisa said, 'Fancy another?'
'Oh, go on then,' laughed Clare and they lit up again.
‘So I wonder what Maudsley will do,' commented Lisa quietly.
'I know. Poor old bloke. He lives for his job here.'
'Yeah, even though Julian is a complete twat, he's got a point. No one wants to do his courses. Pat's having to teach bigger and bigger classes, mark more and more essays, while he has hardly anything to do.'
A part of Clare wondered if she should say anything more. Feeling light-headed with the champagne, she threw caution to the wind. 'I did one of his courses this term.'
Outside the door Eric, on his way to the men's toilet, paused.
'It was dire,’ Clare continued. ‘Most lectures there were me and about two others. If I'd have charged the ones who couldn't be arsed to show up for photocopying my notes, I could have made a fortune.'
Lisa giggled and Clare carried on, slightly louder, 'Don't tell anyone, but I actually asked him about research positions in his department next year. First time anyone's actually tried to jump on a sinking ship.'
The comment stung Eric and the corners of his mouth twitched downwards. As the two girls began to laugh he passed like a long silent shadow across the doorway.
'Let's get back in there before they neck all that champagne,' said Lisa.
As they re-entered Patricia's office Michel was shaking hands and patting backs. 'Good to see you again Lisa. And it's Clare isn't it?'
'Yes, thank you for the champagne.'
'You won't tomorrow morning,' he laughed, turning to Patricia. 'Are you sure you're OK?'
'Go on, away with you,' Patricia flapped a hand a little too vigorously, the hair on one side of her head squashed flat where she'd been hugging him. 'Call me tomorrow - you know there's no way I'll wake up to the phone tonight.'
He winked at her, heading for the door and almost bumping into Eric as he slipped back into the room. 'See you about Eric. And make sure my wife gets home safely will you?'
'Of course Michel, good bye,' said Eric, stepping back so the other man could leave.
One of the younger lecturers was searching through the empty bottles. When he realised only Eric's Cava remained, he turned to his colleagues. 'Who fancies moving on to Gio's Wine Bar?'
Flushed with free alcohol, cash so far untouched, everyone - except Patricia, Eric and Clare – enthusiastically agreed.
'Right, let's do a whip. Tenners in?'
Everyone started rummaging in their pockets.
‘Pat?' Lisa asked. 'The night's still young you know.'
Already more drunk than she had been in a long time, Patricia knew moving on to another venue for yet more drink was going to be impossible. 'No, you lot go and have a good time. I've had more than my limit for one night.'
'Oh come on Pat, are you sure?' someone else encouraged.
'No really,' she said, holding up both hands and sitting down on the edge of her desk.
‘I should be getting off too,' said Clare, feeling like an intruder and aware she only had the bus fare home.
'Bollocks!' said Lisa, and then clamped a hand over her mouth. 'I mean, no way. You're coming with us. We can let a student off the whip can't we?' Lisa asked the room.
A chorus of 'Yes' and 'Of course' followed and Clare smiled.
'Eric?' someone hesitantly asked.
He looked gravely at his questioner. 'No thank you.' His tone didn't invite any attempt to dissuade him.
As they filed from the room, everyone said their goodnights and thank-yous. Soon the group had headed off down the corridor, voices suddenly growing fainter as the double doors swung shut behind them.
‘WeIl,' said Patricia, running a hand through her hair and looking unsteadily around her at the discarded cups, bottles and bowls of nibbles. 'I'd better clear up.'
'I'll help,' Eric quickly said and began piling paper plates onto each other.
‘No, really Eric.' Pat said, feeling uncomfortable now she was alone with him. 'You needn't, I'm sure you want to get off home.'
'It's fine, don't worry,' he answered.
‘Thank you,' replied Patricia as she gathered up the few cups with any champagne still left in. 'I'll empty these down the loos.'
When she walked back in a couple of minutes later Eric had just finished filling two cups with Cava. Before she could object, he said, 'Actually Pat, I'm glad we've got a few minutes alone. It seems as good a time as any to tell you that I'm taking voluntary redundancy.'
Patricia stopped in her tracks. Reluctantly she took the outstretched cup. 'Oh Eric,' fighting to clear her head, 'is it because of those awful budget cuts? Surely they're not set in stone?'
Eric smiled grimly and knocked his plastic cup against Patricia's, forcing her to drink again.
'Not really. I've been feeling more and more lately that it's all a bit much for these old bones.' He looked down at the skeletal hand holding his cup. 'The budget cuts just made my decision easier.' He took another sip, barely allowing more than a drop into his mouth. Patricia gulped nervously at hers.
Well I think, I think it's ...' she struggled to arrange the sentence in her head before attempting it, ' ... it's a scandal if a career as distinguished as yours is cut short by this Government's actions. And they wonder why we're suffering a brain-drain to the likes of America?'
Eric lowered his head. 'You're too kind.'
Patricia stood there, realising she could see the top of Eric's head twice. Blinking to try and clear her double vision, she placed her cup on the desk and began to gather up plates, pouring the leftovers into one bowl. Dry roasted peanuts cascaded to the floor. 'Bugger,' she crouched down, and had to put out a hand to stop herself toppling over. Quickly Eric tipped some drink from his cup to hers.
Looking down at her, he was suddenly struck by a sense of her vulnerability. Knees bent, her hand scrabbling over the carpet like a hungry crab searching for food, he thought, Am I supposed to lose my department to you? He focused malevolently on the swirl of hair at the crown of her head, saw the wisps of grey pushing through the dyed brown strands.
Sensing his eyes boring into the top of her skull, Patricia said, 'Have you any plans for retirement?'
Eric breathed in slowly, then knelt down beside her to help scoop up the last of the peanuts. 'Not really. I may move to the Peak District, indulge my love of walking. The Derbyshire Health Authority has a very good standard of care for its pensioners, which, let's face it, is what I'll soon be.'
Uncomfortable once again with his proximity, Patricia tried to move away but her crouching position made it difficult. 'Walking. That sounds a lovely idea,' she said, struggling to her feet. 'I sometimes dream about doing more things like that myself.'
Eric looked up and wanted to scream in her face, Then why don't you, you stupid bitch! Leave my fucking department alone!
As Patricia stood upright the blood drained from her head. Seeing her beginning to lose balance, Eric quickly stood as well, grasped her by the shoulders and guided her back to the desk so she could sit on its edge once again.
'Thank you Eric,' she said, massaging her temples and breathing deeply for a few seconds. 'Now I must be getting home. I'm feeling really quite woozy. Can we talk about this tomorrow perhaps?'
Eric was collecting the empty bottles together and lining them up on a filing cabinet. 'Let me call you a taxi. Do you have any numbers?'
'Lisa's phone - she has a sticker on it.'
Eric dialled the number and ordered a cab. 'Five minutes,' he said, walking back to Patricia's desk. He picked up their cups. 'Well Pat - it's been a pleasure working with you.'
She stared at the full cup, unsure if she could hold any more alcohol down. But refusing was impossible. 'And you too,' she began drinking again.
Eric watched as she just managed to place the cup on the desk. 'That really is me ... enough for me,' said Patricia, slurring her words.
He realised that he had pushed the voluntary drinking as far as it would go.
'What you need is some milk. Stay here.' Grabbing a clean plastic cup, he walked out of the office and into the coffee room. He opened the fridge that the coffee percolator stood on and took out a carton of milk. Filling the cup three quarters full, he removed a hip flask from his pocket and added a large splash of vodka to it.
Back in the office Patricia was sitting slackly on the edge of the desk, arms wrapped about herself, head hanging forwards.
‘Here Pat, this will settle your stomach,' he held the cup just below her nose.
Patricia tilted her head back, trying to focus on it. 'Oh, thanks.' A hand took it and she lifted it slowly to her lips and gulped it down.
‘Well done,' said Eric, taking it off her and dropping it into the nearest bin. 'Right, let's go downstairs.' He picked up her coat, helped her into it and then hung her handbag over her shoulder. After putting the latch on her office door, he pulled it shut and guided her down the corridor. On the ground floor a metro taxi was idling outside the entrance. Eric wished the security guard good night and led Patricia to the doors. Once she was safely in the back of the taxi, it pulled away and Eric poked his head back into the reception.
'She'll sleep well tonight,' he said, smiling.
'It certainly looked that way,' agreed the security guard.
'Well, good night John.'
'Night, Professor Maudsley.'
He walked round the corner to where his bike was chained up.
Taking the mobile phone from his jacket, he dialled a number. 'Agent White? I have another job for you. Tonight.'
Chapter 36
All three healthy birds were now laying but restrictions within the cage were creating visible signs of stress. Heat from their closely packed bodies and the ever-present dust caused them to preen more aggressively. Now they pulled at their feathers, frequently yanking them clean out of their flesh. This merely served to increase dust levels still further. Though the healthy birds were able to monopolise the front of the cage without contest from the injured bird, squabbling disagreements frequently broke out over access to the water drip. The largest bird had unchallenged access to it at all times, but the other two had yet to establish who ranked second. Occasionally a different person passed. This one was dressed in blue, not white. It behaved more erratically than the others, stopping to peer into cages, sometimes shouting, often running a key along the bars and terrifying them with the shrill noise. The feet of all four birds had become malformed. Unable to wear their claws down by scratching at anything, the talons had curled inwards. Lesions had broken out on the fleshy under-pads of the largest bird's feet. The pain made its movements sharper, its head bobbed more jerkily and an aggravated clucking came almost continuously from its throat. Hunched in the back corner, the fourth bird was silent.
Chapter 37
The taxi pulled up, diesel engine chugging loudly in the silent street.
‘Cheers Lisa, I really owe you for tonight. It was great fun. And I’ll give you the taxi fare tomorrow,’ said Clare, grabbing her bag off the back seat.
‘Don’t be stupid. You don’t owe me a penny. I’ll see you in the department.’
Clare thanked the driver as she got out. Once she’d got her front door open, she turned around and waved. The vehicle pulled away. Looking into the tiny hall, she saw the morning post still lying on the door mat. From the other side of the living room door came the low drone of music. Shaking her head, she picked up the A4 sized envelope and went through.
Zoe was sitting in front of the gas fire, two stainless steel knives balanced on the horizontal bars, their tips inserted into the flames. On the hearth next to her was a couple of tea towels and a plastic bottle, the bottom of it cut away.
Clare took in the dirty plates, half full cups and general mess in a single glance. ‘What are you up to?’ she asked, frowning slightly.
Blearily, Zoe glanced over her shoulder. ‘Hot knives. Fancy one?’
‘No thanks. Want to know how my day went?’ said Clare, collapsing on the sofa and examining the envelope.
'Yeah, course. Just hang on a sec.' Zoe placed the neck of the plastic bottle between her teeth. Then she wrapped a tea towel around the handle of each knife and withdrew one from the flames. Carefully she placed a large lump of cannabis resin on its flat surface. A wisp of smoke curled up. Then she extracted the other knife. Holding the one with the resin stuck to it just below the cut away end of the plastic bottle, she pressed the blades together, sandwiching the resin between the two hot surfaces. Instantly the bottle filled with a thick yellow smoke and Zoe inhaled deeply. The bottle emptied and she dropped the knives back on the hearth, removed the bottle from her mouth and slumped on the carpet, back against the base of the sofa.
A series of tiny coughs sounded at the back of her throat, but she refused to open her mouth and let any of the smoke escape. The coughs increased in strength, turning into little explosions, sounding as if she was trying to suppress the urge to laugh. Eventually she could hold it in no longer and her mouth opened with a pained 'aaaaahhh.' Barely any smoke came out and she ground both fists against her sternum, eyes tightly shut.
'Is that worth all the trouble'?' asked Clare, looking dubiously at her friend.
Zoe's head lolled back and with eyes still shut, she replied hoarsely, 'Don't knock it till you've tried it.'
Clare sighed and pulled the sheets of paper from the envelope.