Untitled
By caribou_
- 961 reads
The endless exhaust fumes infiltrated the air but Ruth took no heed of them on the brisk walk. Breathed them in and out, in and out automatically. The traffic was backed up as far as she could see. Horns were tooting, doors were being slammed. One young man, skinny and dressed for business in a double-breasted suit, jumped out of his Ford Mondeo and began shouting at the car behind.
This was obviously a mistake as two men, both over six feet tall and adorned in heavy gold chains slowly opened their doors. Sunglasses concealing their eyes and therefore their expressions, they began a slow, sexy strut over to the businessman. Their casual clothes emblazoned with sports names seemed to reflect the bright sunlight and the larger of the two lifted up a toned arm, closing his fingers around the businessman's throat and pulling him out of the car. She turned away. Aggression in this city was getting worse and you were a fool to pick a fight, especially in the East End. He'd asked for it. The cool and dark descended for a moment as she walked under the bridge and then she was inside.
The table was slightly sticky, tacky under her touch. The man next to her ordered a breakfast, extra mushrooms and toast, and she heard the eggs spit as they drizzled into the heated pan. Black, choking smoke rose from the toaster as the waitress swore silently at her carelessness. The customers eyed the flickering black and white television indifferently as Elvis shook across a stage in a crowded venue, girls screaming.
Ruth ordered the Cheeseburger Special and a coke. Real coke from the traditional bottle. It arrived cool and fizzing in a greasy glass, no ice. The cutlery was wrapped in a white paper napkin. Newspaper clippings from throughout the Sixties hung on the walls. Moira Hindley and Ian Brady stared down at her, remorseless. Her blond mop of hair and empty eyes, and his greasy quiff and cocky stare always unnerved her slightly.
Sunlight was caught in the chrome hubcaps hanging on the walls and reflected back onto the face of the owner of the cafe. Slouched on a stool behind a waist-high counter, his black shirt was unbuttoned at the throat and his black trousers were gathered around the shiny shoes. A day's stubble grew on his face and his brown hair was uncombed. He was the kind of person who looked dirty constantly, even when they've just stepped out of the shower. His face was set in a frown as he read the morning paper, a cigarette hung from his bottom lip, eye's squinting through the smoke.
Every Saturday he would sit there, dissecting the paper page by page until he finally set it down and disappeared into the kitchen. Sometimes he could be heard calling orders to the cook, but he seldom spoke. When he finished reading he would set his eyes on her. She never actually caught him staring but his eyes might as well have been lasers because she could always feel them focused on her, feel his unrelenting gaze, almost fancy she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. But whenever she turned to look at him he would be watching the telly, or checking the till or just vanishing round the back. Despite his intrusive presence she still ate there every few Saturdays, fascinated by his mysteriousness.
The cheeseburger arrived, so huge and hot she could hardly hold it. Crisp lettuce and melted cheddar peeped out from under the toasted bun and the chips glistened with the fryer fat before she showered them with salt. The Beatles were on the TV, jumping about and singing "Twist and Shout". The man on her right stood up and left, and an elderly woman occupied the now empty seat. Her floral dress billowed around her large, voluminous frame and she crammed herself in next to the wall. Her face was damp and she noticed how her fingers bulged over the cheap gold rings she was wearing. The woman caught Ruth looking at her and she quickly shifted her gaze back to the TV. In doing so she caught the owner staring at her, a half smile, half sneer on his face. His green eyes were focused right on her, the sunlight caught in them, lighting them up. She shuddered with distaste at his lecherous look. Leaving her money on the table rather than venturing over to the till, she left.
The week passed monotonously, work was boring; her colleagues too wrapped up in their lives and personal dramas to be of any interest to her. She ate out a couple of times with friends, had a meeting with her bank manger to discuss her overdraft, did the chores, saw a film. Saturday came around very quickly and she was having doubts about whether or not to go back. It was like morbid fascination though. There was something attractive about the owner; it had to be said. He must have been in his late twenties. He had a tattoo on his left wrist. It was a small black pattern, curling back to hide behind his cuff. She had only seen it for the first time a few weeks ago, so perhaps it was new. He wore no wedding band, no jewelry at all except for a thick silver ring on the middle finger of his right hand. She had noticed this, she realized, without noticing that she had noticed. It was like being a kid, when you watch a scary film even though you know it will give you nightmares, or you'll have to stay awake most of the night to keep your eye on the door. Ruth was enchanted by him, and his indifference to the outside world. It was as though he lived within a certain sphere and on almost every level, there was nothing that could penetrate it.
She went back, but left it until a few weeks later. It was exactly the same as every other Saturday except for a new waitress. The girl annoyed her slightly, although she couldn't work out why. She was unusually tall and this obviously made her feel awkward, she stooped slightly and had the irritating habit of not lifting up her feet when she walked. Her cheap black loafers scuffed the floor as she shuffled to and from the kitchen. Her auburn hair was twisted up into a bun and she kept her pencil behind her left ear. The end of it had been chewed she noticed, and the heat of the kitchen had made her mascara smudge slightly around her brown eyes. She seemed flustered most of the time. She realized the girl was not unattractive, merely a very self-conscious character. By the end of her meal she had come to pity her, as she shambled around, mumbling at the customers, glancing frequently at the owner with an expression Ruth took to be fear. The girl was new after all. She decided she would leave her a tip, the pay in this place couldn't be all that good. She hadn't managed to catch the owner looking at her at all but she had a strong feeling of discomfort and felt constant shivers as she heard his newspaper pages turn over slowly and methodically.
Moments before she left he disappeared into the kitchen and the new girl quickly followed. Obedient like a dog. She heard a muffled conversation as she paid the other waitress at the till and caught the last verse of a Stones song on the black and white TV. Just after Ruth stepped out through the door and had got a few feet down the street, came loud sounds of breaking glass and suddenly a male voice raised in anger. The voice got louder as he shouted obscenities and abuse. Then it went quiet and seconds later the new waitress ran out of the tiny kitchen her face a mask of anguish, and beyond that, pain. She was fast and the other customers averted their eyes in embarrassment at the scene, some glanced up and there was the sound of several throats being cleared, but it seemed that no-one saw the angry red swelling on the girls right cheek bone, as she ran swiftly in the opposite direction to Ruth.
Walking down the crowded high street, Ruth stepped into a newsagent to get a pack of cigarettes. Silk Cut. And a pint of milk. Semi-skimmed. Paying the small Asian woman behind the counter she heard the disjointed, strained noise of the buzzer as the door opened. Taking her change and turning, she saw the owner. He stared at the ground, reaching for a packet of biscuits as she headed down the shop towards him. As she progressed down the faded, worn carpet, he fingered the packet, turning it over and over in his hands, reading the printed information that no one ever reads. He deliberately avoided her eyes as she slid past him, smelling his sharp, expensive cologne. She pulled open the heavy door, wrapping her hand round the brass handle and stepped out onto the street. She glanced back into the shop through the grimy window, Coca-Cola stickers peeling off the thick glass. He was still staring at the pack, seemingly mesmerized by it. This was strange. He never left the café. Not while it was open anyway. Certainly not while there were customers there. Certainly not to examine a packet of biscuits in a crummy newsagents. He must have been following her. She began to feel scared. Scared but excited. If he was following her he must have some interest in her, surely.
She continued walking down the street at what she hoped was a leisurely pace, at least it looked like she was indifferent to this pursuit he had undertaken. She stopped to look in a stereo shop window at an expensive hi-fi that was on display. This gave her time to look back down the crowded road and search for the café owner. Squinting through the sun, she could just make out his outline outside the newsagents as he strolled along on the opposite side of the road. Closer. Closer. Her heart was thumping against her ribs so hard she felt it must show through her clothes.
However, he suddenly turned left down a side street and the sun slipped behind a huge cumulus cloud, the shadow reflecting her disappointment. Feeling foolish she realized he hadn't been following her at all. He had been going about his daily business, unaware; probably that she had even been in the same shop. Thank God she hadn't spoken to him.
Once she was at home she delved into the work she had brought back with her from the office. She would be paid overtime of course and for once she relished the opportunity to have something to concentrate on. She placed a CD on the waiting disk tray and turned up the volume, lit a cigarette and settled down to work.
Three storeys down on the cracked, chewing gum-covered pavement stood James. The proprietor of the Sixties Café. Her building was old. Grey, moss-blighted bricks and a rusty fire-escape stair case at the back, amongst the scrubby grass and giant wheelie bins. For the hundredth time his eyes scanned down the row of buzzers and names on the intercom system. Mr.Harvey, Larry.Webb, G.W.Kravinski. His eyes came to rest on the eleventh name. It was scrawled in blue ink that had run slightly as damp had penetrated the plastic. Ruth Freeborn. Condensation hung inside the plastic and his finger wavered over the grubby white plastic button before folding itself back to join the others in a fist of frustration.
The timing wasn't right, he decided. Her apartment was at the back of the building and closing the gate behind him he trod on an unfortunately placed 'present' that a stranger's dog had left behind. Cursing, he positioned himself behind a bin.
The main light was on in her living room and the curtains still partially open. Ruth was sitting at a desk, and as he watched her she weaved her head slightly in time to the beat of a song he could not hear. Her computer screen was lit up with what he assumed was work she had to complete over the weekend. Every so often she would look up to stare at the ceiling, chin raised, with a hand supporting her cheek, deep in thought. If she had, instead, looked out of the window she would have seen James, a slight frown on his face and his lip curled in a cross between disgust and a leer. He turned to leave and head back to the café, avoiding the dog faeces on his way back out the gate.
By the time he got back to the café the new waitress Caroline had returned. He was surprised to see her but less surprised to see the blueish bruise blossoming on her cheek. It wasn't the first bruise he had given one of his staff and it wouldn't be the last. Idiots, who couldn't get the simplest things right. If he had to tell her how to work the till, or change the coffee machine one more time he would snap. It wasn't rocket science, just a simple till for Christ's sake.
She glanced over and gave a half -smile then mouthed "Can I have a word?" and shuffled over to the kitchen. Under the muggy kitchen heat and choking smell of burnt toast she apologized and offered to pay for the glasses she had broken. She understood his anger; she said and would make every conscious effort to get everything right from now on. Throughout the conversation she sub-consciously raised her hand to the bruised cheek and winced as her roaming fingers reminded her. Her weakness sickened him. Anyone else would have left, told him where to go, hit him back even. The others had. But not her. She was willing to 'forgive and forget'. What a disgusting creature she was, so desperate for the pittance he paid her that she would stay, and suffer. A feeling of supreme power washed over him as he realized if she hadn't left this first time, it would get harder and harder. She was powerless against him. Insipid.
The other staff, two cooks and the older waitress, Sam, gave him looks for the rest of the day, but he knew the routine. If he laid off them and carried on paying them, they too were so desperate they would keep their mouths shut. So pathetic. So predictable. The same as the customers. What made it even worse with Caroline was that he had actually been interested in her not so long ago. Unknown to her, a few months back he had had such a deep fascination with her that he could think about little else.
Spotting her in a bar one night he had followed her home, determined to make his move. She had captivated him, unintentionally in the bar, as she threw back her head with laughter, brushed away the hair at her face with delicate white hands. Then, she had seemed so elegant and sophisticated. Mysterious, even. On hearing her desperation for "A job, any job, God only knows what I'll have to resort to soon!" and the high laughs of her girlfriends, he had offered her the waitressing job, sliding a smooth, white business card emblazoned with his name and number on it. His smiles and the two martinis had not been enough to charm her though, and she had declined the offer of a job and a further drink at his place. The cold shoulder did the exact opposite of what it was intended to do and her appeal to him grew. He had followed her the next few nights, guessing correctly that the gaggle of friends she had been with that first night, met frequently in the bar.
Caroline had forgotten him almost as soon as he had left. He had been mildly attractive, in a vague roguish way, but she had more serious problems to worry about. Her alcoholic mother for one. She had left the bar that night feeling more than tipsy and staggering the short distance home, the familiar feeling of the alcohol sloshing around in a too-full stomach overcame her and she was quietly sick in an overflowing litter bin.
Like mother like daughter she thought as she closed the sky blue front door of her ground floor flat, in a block sixteen storeys high. It was an absolute shit hole and try as she might to perk it up with bright paint, cheap accessories and loud music, it depressed her. Not as much as the thought of going back home granted, but the situation was getting desperate. She had lost her job at a travel agents two months ago. This was partly her own fault, as she had to take more and more time off to cope with and care for her mother's problem. Phone calls to the shop asking her to pick her mother up from random pubs, and more recently the hospital, after she had fallen and broken her wrist had become so embarrassing. The official reason had been staff cut backs but they all knew the truth. People buying holidays were trying to get away from it all and a travel agent dashing off to deal with a drunken old waster didn't exactly boost sales.
It was three days later when she found the crumpled business card in the back pocket of her jeans. James Stewart. Proprietor of the Sixties Café. His number and address. What the hell she thought and rang him. An interview wasn't necessary he informed her and she could start the next day. Short term, making ends meet, still looking, not permanent, she kept repeating to herself.
James attention to her wavered after she had been there a week. How could she have appeared to be so different to the truth of herself? She had been an image of perfection to him that first night. Well-dressed despite her lack of work, glorious auburn hair that caught the light, a melodious laugh that made him feel a strange sense of relief as if any problem could be fixed by her blissful laughter. Her brown eyes that maintained the smile long after it had vanished from her face. But all these attractive elements had faded into the background as he spent day after day with her. Now he noticed the aggravating shuffle of her feet, as she failed to lift them up. The way she chewed her pencil as she waited for customers to place an order. The droop of her shoulders as she slouched against the counter trying to work the till. The way her make-up ran and she didn't bother to fix it. The fact that those beautiful hands were now reddened and dry from the hours of washing up at the end of a busy day. Now she was just an irritation to him. A mistake, a mistake that wouldn't even leave after he had hit her.
He watched her now, the pathetic half smile as she listened to an old girl talking about the café that used to be here, in this very spot when the War was on. How they all used to gather here for a singsong in the evenings. He despised her for listening to this drivel, for humouring the old cow. The good old days. Her laughter reached his ears and it grated on his nerves, lasting much longer than necessary and seeming to him horribly forced. At the end of the day he decided to give her one week. One week to get on the right side of him, or she was out of there. He could soon find someone else. He decided a drink was in order after such a long day. Especially a day spent in the company of that idiot. He headed to a bar just off the High Street, well away from the bar where he had first laid eyes on the ultimate faux pas.
Ruth had finished her work and had spent the last half an hour on the phone to one of her favourite friends. They had been discussing the gossip within their circle that a male friend had turned out to be gay, and not only this but had also been sleeping with his sister's husband.
" I'm keeping Andy well away from Rob from now on!" Jess had said. " I noticed a funny look in his eyes when I showed him the pictures of us in Greece on the beach. Rob has got really buff now, what with the gym and rowing and…." She was joking of course but Jess' new boyfriend had become a popular subject in the group. Everyone loved him because he seemed to be the full package; charming, intelligent, successful, attractive and suprisingly enough he wasn't a complete bastard. If anyone deserved it, Jess did. In fact it made Ruth sick. It served only to add to her own insecurities, but because she was a good friend she tried to just be happy for Jess and keep a lid on the envy. Jess was a good friend too, and it was this fact that led to the organization of the dreaded double date.
As she showered and dressed and put on her make-up, Ruth began to feel the tumbling nerves of excitement in her stomach and as pathetic as she felt, she couldn't help it. If Rob was this good, hopefully his friend would be an equal match. She pulled on her smart jeans, black leather mules and a slinky, sleeveless black top. An old reliable that always made her feel comfortable. She drank two glasses of red wine as she got ready and applied a shimmering brown eyeshadow, mascara and eyeliner. She played a handful of her favourite songs before she left singing along and generally getting in the mood. She finished by accessorizing with two of her favourite silver bracelets and a slick of clear lipgloss. Spritzed in perfume she called a cab to take her to the designated meeting place. Jess had chosen it, some quiet bar in one of the back streets she had said. Brilliant live music and cheap cocktails apparently, so it couldn't be too bad.
The cab was uncomfortably hot and the driver suitably letchy. It was to be expected now, she supposed. He leered at her, mumbling his compliments on her outfit. She could smell him as she sat in the back. A strange smell of musty damp. He had squinty, piggy eyes that hardly ever left her face in the mirror the whole journey, which only took five minutes but seemed to last an eternity. She paid him the exact change and burst out of the door into the cool night air. She looked up, hoping to see some stars, but being in the city the hazy orange glow of the streetlights obscured them from view.
All she could see was the flashing red and white lights of a plane passing through a large cloud, on it's way to some sunny destination away from the smog of London, no doubt. She pushed open the door of the bar and stepped inside. She spotted Jess and Rob straight away, sitting uncomfortably close, practically one person through the smoky air and heavy drums. Couples. Her gaze shifted to the uneasy looking man sat with them. He wasn't too bad, thank goodness and she was glad she had had the good sense to assess the situation before walking headlong into it.
Blond - not usually her type but he wasn't albino blond and even through the smoke she could see he must be a gym buddy of Rob's. Not exactly a beefcake but not the runt of the litter either. He was dressed in a plain black sweater with a white T-shirt collar showing beneath. His jeans were fashionably dirty and she noticed the specks of mud of his brown boots as she walked over. Jess had said he was a vet, worked with large animals. Must spend a lot of time in the country, she thought. She mouthed a silent 'thankyou' with a waggle of her eyebrows to Jess as she sat down. She soon learnt this was a mistake.
How deceptive appearances can be, she thought a thousand times over the course of the evening. All that never judge a book by it's cover stuff was so right but so hard to live by. This bloke's head had been so far up his own backside that she was surprised he ever got to see the light of day at all. His name was Rupert and he barely bothered to ask her two questions about herself before he launched into a million 'at Uni.' stories and 'the first time I anaesthetized a goat...' anecdotes. To Ruth's surprise Jess and Rob found him hilariously funny and entertaining. She knew it must look suspicious and, slightly alcoholic, the amount of times she had been up to the bar and consequently the Ladies, but she was passed caring. She cringed when she thought back to how excited she had been earlier in the evening. The music, admittedly was brilliant and she found herself spending more and more time staring at the sexy bassist, who was returning her looks and smiling in her direction every few seconds.
When James had arrived in the bar, he ordered a pint and a whisky chaser. He planned to get absolutely hammered, as quickly as possible. The bar had begun to fill up as the evening progressed and he had watched the band set up their instruments ready for the evening's performance. His mind wandered, inevitably back to Ruth. He played the image of her in the café this morning in his head, like a video, over and over again, pausing on his favourite moments. When she licked her lips before eating the cheeseburger, when she reached to scratch her head and revealed her tanned neck, decorated by a thick silver chain, when she glanced up to catch him looking as he read the newspaper, and gave a whisper of a smile on being unsuccessful. Now, she truly was perfection. This time he was sure.
He had noticed the two men and an attractive woman walk in and watched them order their drinks. Both men were big and obviously worked out. They ordered bottled larger, which to him, was a bad sign. To be honest they looked like a bunch of flashy gits and he heard the blond man talking in a loud voice about 'the clinic' and 'my animals'. Just what the world needs, another bloody vet, he thought. More morons, he seemed to be surrounded, apart from Ruth, of course. And like a cliched scene in a film she walked through the door and walked to join the three idiots he had been despising from afar. She looked striking, in a simple black top and jeans. His eyes narrowed with a thirst for her and through his obsession he realised the blond vet was her date.
A snarl flickered as his lip jumped to meet his nostril in disgust. He went to the bar to order his fourth pint and whiskey chaser, hoping she might notice and catch his eye, but she was staring at the band, seeming distracted by their energetic performance. The image of her licking her lips played on a loop in his head, constant like a heartbeat, like the drum beat attacking his ears and bringing him back to the bar with a jolt. He couldn't help but think of her as his.
He was glad to see by the end of the evening she looked about as drunk and bored as it was sensible to get. He decided to risk staggering to the gents before he left. Standing at the urinal with his eyes closed in drunken drowsiness, he heard the door swing, and saw the two men from Ruth's table. Unaware of him, they began to chat about the women. 'She doesn't seem too keen, she's hardly listened to me all night, you know I have got women around me that would kill for a night in my company...' the blond was saying. His friend explained he had only asked him to come as a favour to his own girlfriend. He apologised and James heard the blond say, as he walked out the door 'It's not even like she's that much of a catch.' His head filled with an angry heat, and he felt his eyes water with fury. His hands balled into fists at his side and every other noise was drowned out by the blood rushing through his head.
By the time he had come out of the toilet, the two women had left and only the men remained at the table full of empties. So smug he thought, as a shiver of rage jostled down his spine. As the barman called time he watched them go up and get another drink, watched each sip they took, strained to hear each word they said over the loud music. Finally they got up to leave and James slipped out of the leather booth and followed them at a distance. All three were very unsteady on their feet after an evening of drinking and the slow drizzle that had begun to fall didn't help. They arrived at a modern block of flats and James watched as the dark haired, larger one turned away from the blond and staggered to the foyer.
The anger towards the blond hadn't cooled or diminished since James had heard his comments in the bathroom, and he felt a surge of adrenaline as he observed Rupert lurching off down the next side street. He didn't have much time he realised as he heard the jangle of keys. His home must be close by. With a strong pulse beating a furious rhythm in his head, James began to run. The heavy footsteps startled Rupert and he reeled round, eyes wide with fright. This quick action unsteadied him and his brown boot slipped off the kerb. He fell with a thud and his head made a appalling crack as it came into contact with the pavement. This didn't deter James. He was blind with rage, deaf with fury. He began to kick at Rupert, his shoes making contact with his chest, his legs, his face.
This continued until a sudden clarity descended on James. A cold, stark fear, not at his own inhumanity but at the possibility of being caught. He glanced around and his chest heaved in relief, as he saw no one had seen or heard anything. Rupert hadn't made a sound, there was no reason anyone should have woken up or alerted anyone. Rupert was still unconscious from the fall and leaning down, two fingers extended to check his pulse, James was satisfied, and he was still breathing after all. He began to walk away, realising he had no idea where he was, having been so consumed by anger and violence.
One hand in his pocket and whistling softly, he ran the other hand through his rain-soaked hair. " Well done," he whispered to himself, "very well done indeed."
After they had said goodbye and the men had gone to the toilet, Ruth and Jess had left. Outside the bar, hailing a cab, Ruth began to lay into Jess about Rupert. They were both too drunk and too tired to really sustain a full-blown row but Jess apologized, saying she couldn't see the problem. They stayed subdued and moody in the cab. Jess asked her in for another drink and a chat to sort out the problem, but Ruth could feel the hangover already - a dull buzz in the middle of her head. In her own flat she set about preparing hot buttered toast and a pint of water trying to combat the effects of the alcohol. What a disaster the night had been. Why did she bother going out at all, it always ended up a disappointment.
She crawled into bed with some toast and after finishing it, quickly fell into a deep, alcohol-assisted sleep. The next morning she didn't feel as rough as she should have. It was Sunday, so she crunched down a bowl of cereal and drank a cup of strong black coffee before heading out to get the papers. She arrived back to hear the phone ringing desperately through the chipped paint on the front door.
"Coming, coming" she yelled, dropping the papers as she fumbled with the door key. It was Jess.
" Something terrible has happened, it's Rupert, he got beaten up on his way home after the pub last night. He's in intensive care, me and Rob are here but they won't let us see him. It's so bad, God Ruth they won't tell us anything, he's got a serious head injury…." Ten minutes later Ruth was still standing in the hall, with her hand over her mouth. Her mind seemed unable to process what she had been told, disbelief and realisation kept overtaking each other as she thought about what had happened. It was only after she had sat down she wondered why and who.
The week passed so slowly and though she tried twice to visit him, once on her own and once with Jess, only relations were permitted into his room. It was such a horrific thing but Ruth found that keeping busy and sticking to her normal routines helped a great deal. So she returned to The Sixties Café the following Saturday, slipping into a seat by the window. Sam and Dave were on the TV. The waitress she had noticed the last time m shuffled over to take her order. As she slowly progressed closer, Ruth noticed a strange look of urgency in her face. She looked strained and so much more alert and wary than last time.
Ruth glanced around for the owner and saw him pass by the door through to the kitchen. He too looked unusually stressed and she could hear muffled shouting. Despite this strangeness, she was still distracted by the thought of Rupert. She felt so guilty for mouthing off about him to Jess that night. He hadn't been that bad and now he was lying in a hospital bed.
Caroline watched as Ruth stared into space and bit her thumbnail. Every now and then her eyes would fill up with tears as she bit her lip. This obviously wasn't a good time for what Caroline had to tell her, but it couldn't wait. At the beginning of the week she had headed out with her friends to the pub where she had first met James. Despite the fact that it was Monday she couldn't stop herself. She got incoherently drunk, even though her friends tried to dissuade her. She had always tried to kid herself she was just up for a good time, alcohol wasn't a necessity but it was preferable. She just liked a few drinks, after all who didn't? So her mother was an alcoholic, so what? It wasn't genetic or anything. It wasn't fate. Through her scrambled thoughts and rapidly closing eyelids she realised she had lost control of herself but at this point she didn't actually care. She had transformed from being happily pissed into a desperately depressed drunk.
Loneliness, she suddenly realized was the main reason behind all this. No father, a rambling mother and friends that had lost patience with her. What she needed was a man, a big strong man who could look after her and sort her out. But who? In her daze she glanced at her male friends. Definitely not. She slowly surveyed the pub, slack-jawed. Every man she could see was attached to some beautiful woman. Granted, she could only see the men immediately in front of her, but it was enough to encourage her to leave.
" Gon..get cab.." she managed to slur.
Luckily her friend Becky rang the cab company for her on her mobile.
" You've got five minutes to get it together and get outside Cas" she said
" Do you want me to take you out?"
Caroline declined and lurched towards the door. The thing was, she decided, she didn't even make a good alcoholic because she could never handle her drink and invariably ended up being sick. As she was now. She stumbled to move behind three giant blue wheelie bins. God this was embarrassing. Wiping her mouth with a fortunate tissue she found in her pocket, she emerged from the bins just in time to see two girls falling into a cab. " Yep, I'm Caroline." The blond one said, swallowing a laugh. Her friend dissolved into giggles, slamming the door.
" Oi.. iss for me" Caroline yelled, stabbing an accusing finger at herself.
This knocked her off balance and she swayed on her high heels. " Walkin then…." She murmured to herself.
Shoving her hands in her pocket, her fingers closed around a square of card. She squinted at the bold type. James Stewart. He lived right near here, she realized. He was as good a man as any. So what if he was her boss? She needed him right now, she decided. The alcohol had conveniently let her forget about the fact that he had hit her. All she saw now was his ruffled hair, his smile as he had offered her a job, his soft eyes.
By the time she arrived at his flat she had worked herself into frenzy. Why hadn't she seen it before? He so obviously wanted her and now that she thought about it she was almost certain she had seen him in the pub, across the bar several times after that first night when he had offered her the job. Just quietly sitting there watching her as her eyes passed right over him, time and time again. "He must have been delighted when I took up the job", she decided "this is exactly what he wants".
When James heard the bell go, he had been busy with his new project in the sitting room. He couldn't think who it could be; no one ever visited him here. His face immediately recoiled with disgust as he opened the door to Caroline.
" What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.
" Don't be like that," Caroline said " I realize what you want now, and I want it too, let me in and we can talk about it."
She stretched out a hand to stroke his cheek but somehow missed and ended up knocking his nose and nearly poking him in the eye.
" God, you're so drunk, how did you even manage to get here?" he sneered.
But Caroline missed the sarcasm and revulsion in his voice and took it as praise.
" Well, I did manage it and now I'm here so I'm coming in."
She pushed past him before he could stop her.
" Come back here… "
He reached to grab her arm, but she lurched beyond his grasp and collapsed onto a sofa. It was then that her eyes fell on his project, scattered all over the coffee table. Photos were strewn all over, spewing onto the floor. Black and white, colour, photocopies.
" What are these James?" she asked as her eyes finally focused and she suddenly recognized the subject matter. It was Ruth. Ruth shopping, Ruth with friends, Ruth at the swimming pool, Ruth leaving work, Ruth at home through a window, tiny but still recognizable.
" I know this girl," Caroline said " she's always at the café on a Saturday"
She suddenly felt completely sober. "What are you doing with these? What are you, some kind of sicko?"
Her eyes roamed over the photo's again. Ruth was obviously completely unaware in every photo. She looked up at James and was scared to see a smile flickering over his lips.
" There's no need to get upset, it's OK, she's mine." He said, proudly.
" This isn't OK, it's not right, I'm ringing someone, I'm ringing the police"
She reached for the phone on the table beside her, but before she could dial, James had her arm twisted in a tight grip, he forced it up behind her.
" Let me go, let me go you're hurting me" she shouted.
" Ruth is my new project, she's mine, there's no problem here and you're not going to tell anyone anything OK? Otherwise..." he began to push her arm further up behind her.
Trapped, Caroline realized, trapped here with him.
" OK, I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was a…a project. They're actually very good..." she picked one up and pretended to admire it. If she could just play his game, humour him, make him believe she seriously thought he was some kind of photographer or artist.
" Look, I'm sorry I bothered you, I was just… just.. .well, drunk." Good one, she thought to herself.
" No problem" James said " I'll see you at work tomorrow, make sure you drink plenty of water before you go to sleep, you wouldn't want a hangover would you?"
"No" she agreed and quickly made her way to the door. Looking at him, he seemed strangely satisfied that she had admired his work and believed him, and if she hadn't, well she knew what was coming to her. As he closed the door behind her, he smiled and walked through to the bedroom. Slowly he began to take down the huge collage of photos that adorned the wall.
" Sorry Caroline" he said, tearing a colour snapshot of her in half, " I need the wall space for Ruth now."
The four days until Saturday couldn't go quick enough for Caroline. She knew Ruth came in regularly, but would she come in today? Relief flooded through her, when she had seen the now familiar figure sink into a seat by the window. Walking back to the kitchen, she asked the cook for Ruth’s order. This was going to be so hard, and sound like she was out of her mind.
“ Hi, cheeseburger special with chips and a coke?” she began, “ Actually I have to talk to you, but not here. What are you doing this evening?”
Caroline heard herself, heard how strange this all sounded.
“ Do I know you?” Ruth asked. “ What is it that you want, because this really isn’t a good time.”
“ I have something to tell you, but I can’t talk here. Something important that you really ought to know about. I know this sounds weird but you have to trust me.”
James suddenly appeared from the kitchen, eyes narrowed, searching, obviously for Caroline. He beckoned her over with an extended forefinger.
“ OK, OK” Ruth sighed “ What time do you finish? Where do you want to meet?” They agreed to meet in the pub round the corner and Caroline hurried off.
“ What have you been saying to Ruth?” James asked, the anger in his voice making it jump.
“ Nothing I just took her order over to her.” Caroline tried to sound convincing but she was sure he could see right through her. However, he turned away, satisfied.
Finally six o’clock rolled around and only Caroline and James were left. The blinds were pulled down and the TV off. Caroline was finishing the last of the washing up at the back sink. Suddenly the lights clicked off.
“ James, the power’s gone.” She called. “ James?” There was no answer. A shiver ran down her spine and she felt her tongue thicken with fear.
“James where are you?” Her voice trembled slightly. Then she heard the lock of the front door click. He walked in, black shirt rustling. He got close enough that she could hear his breathing.
“ Ruth and I don’t want anyone interfering with this relationship, Caroline” He began.” I’m sure you understand. Things are just starting to happen between us now and the last thing we need is someone waltzing in and ruining it all for us.”
“ I’m not doing anything…” she began to protest. James slipped a strong hand round her throat. His thick, silver ring began to press into the side of her neck. Caroline could feel the blood pounding through her head. Her vision began to blur, her chest became tight and her whole body felt unbearably hot. “ James…” She heard herself say.
His grip tightened and she slipped slowly out of consciousness. James watched her with the same level of interest he had watched a lion kill an antelope on television. This level of power was completely intoxicating. He watched her face turn a deep shade of purple and her eyes roll back in her head. He watched the vein on her left temple throb as she gasped for breath. He watched her chest heave, fighting against him, until it finally stopped, and she sank, lifeless in his grasp.
Ruth sat waiting in the Pig and Whistle. This was so strange. Why on earth would the waitress want to talk to her? She had been planning to go and see Rupert in the hospital this evening. He had begun to get better, thank God and was now allowed more visitors. Instead, she was sat here waiting for what was obviously going to be a no-show. But the girl had seemed so frantic.
Ruth began to feel hot and panicky. It had been something important and now she was desperate to know what she had to tell her. Another half and hour passed when a familiar figure strode in through the doors. Ruth recognized him as the café owner. He was looking particularly attractive tonight and she felt a jolt of excitement as he headed towards her.
“ Excuse me but are you waiting for Caroline, the waitress from my café?” Caroline nodded in affirmation. “ Well she’s terribly sorry but she had an appointment she couldn’t break, she only just realized a couple of hours ago so I said I’d come down here and tell you. Sorry I’ve kept you waiting so long, can I get you a drink?” Caroline nodded again and smiled to herself as he headed over to the bar. Maybe tonight hadn’t been a complete waste of time after all.
She had temporarily forgotten how lovely she had found the café owner, what with Rupert and work and everything else. Funny how life turns out, she thought to herself, here I am having a drink with him. When he sat back down with a glass of red wine for her and a pint for himself, Ruth introduced herself.
“ So, do you have any idea what the waitress, Caroline was it, wanted to tell me?” James shifted uncomfortably, but Ruth didn’t notice.
“ No, she was in such a rush, she didn’t get time to tell me exactly what it was she wanted to see you about. I’m sure it can wait.” James gave a warm smile of reassurance and took a sip of his pint. Ruth thought back to the day that she had thought he was following her. How closely she had watched and now he was right next to her.
As the evening wore on James brought drink after drink and as her senses dulled from the alcohol, so Ruth’s attraction to James heightened. He seemed to be so like her. They shared so many of the same interests: swimming, shopping and most obviously, drinking. Soon, Ruth had forgotten all about Rupert and all she could concentrate on was James. At his offer to share a cab home she agreed, knowing full well what this would mean. She barely even hesitated to answer “ Yes.”
The moon was a tiny crescent shrouded by bright clouds as the cab made its short journey through the London streets. As they walked to his front door, Ruth noticed white frost clinging to the shrubs and a spider’s web, immortalized in icy beauty. James led her into the front room and offered her a drink. Perched on the sofa she surveyed her surroundings. He definitely had excellent taste. Everything was presented in a very minimalist fashion. Framed black and white photographs dotted the walls. Mostly of women, caught in an action. Going about their everyday business. Women through the ages, some dressed in glaringly eighties fashions, early nineties business suits. Women jogging, walking dogs, gardening.
“ These are really good shots James” She called. “ Did you take them yourself?”
“ Yeah I did, it’s just a hobby though.” His voice was muffled as it flowed through from the kitchen. Suddenly he emerged with a cup of coffee for each of them. He smiled as he sat down “ These are like series shots” he explained “ all concentrating on the same subject matter…”
“ Women” Ruth said, laughing.
James noticed how her eyes creased at the edges, laughter lines aging her face. He noticed how her make-up was slightly smudged from an evening of drinking. But he didn’t care, all he could see was her beauty and the certainty that they were meant to be together. He was completely enraptured and his mind seemed to slip off to another plane, another existence. His heart was beating so hard in his chest, he imagined it as a giant pump, sending the blood flowing round his body, up to his brain, to his lungs so that he could continue breathing, breathing and living just to be with Ruth. He was so distracted that when Ruth got up and said she needed to use the bathroom he didn’t notice.
Ruth walked down the dark corridor to the bathroom. More photos of women adorned the walls and she couldn’t help but feel that this obsession was a little strange. The door loomed white out of the darkness, the silver knob beckoned, each step took her a little closer. She grasped the cool knob in her hand and slowly turned it. And the second after she entered the bathroom she was hit with the sight of Caroline, blue in the face and awkwardly twisted, lying in the bath. She had been dead for a few hours at least. Hands frozen in claws of protest, her eyes bulged and Ruth could see the broken blood vessels, red against white. She gagged and then was sick in the pristine sink. A moment of horror shuddered over her again before James burst in.
“ Wait, I can explain Ruth, I can explain..”
She shook her head, stomach doing leaps and jumps of nausea, she swallowed hard and tried to take a deep breath.
“ Let me out, let me out now. How could you…I mean…why?”
Her mind had ceased to be able to comprehend anything. Then she realized how much danger she was in. She shoved past James as he continued to try to explain, mumbling and faltering. In her confusion she stumbled into the bedroom and a scream began to rise from her stomach as her eyes slowly took in tens, possibly even hundreds of photos of herself. Photos of herself doing things she could barely remember doing. Her life documented in a series of snapshots and stuck to someone else’s wall. Revulsion ran up and down her body like a creature possessed.
The door closed with a barely audible click as James prowled close to where she stood after locking the door. He turned on a bedside lamp “ Now you can get a better look.” A siren somewhere far off filtered in through the half open window. James’ face was obscured by shadow but she could see the frown and a smile flickering across his lips. He edged closer and she could smell the excited sweat on him. She jiggled her hands and cleared her throat, looking for a way to get out. The silence was deafening. Seconds ticked by, rolling slowly past like days. The clock said ten to eleven.
“ This is what I love most, the way we don’t even have to say anything. We don’t need words, you and I Ruth. Comfortable silences.”
He reached to stroke her cheek with the back of his hands. The hairs on the hand sent shivers running though her nerves. He seemed to be invading her body through one touch. Her eyes flicked back to the montage of her. Her at the newsagent, coming out of work, meeting Jess. She was fascinated by how a life could be recorded so simply. His breath rasped in her ear.
“ There is no ‘we’ James, you’ve fabricated this whole thing and I’m leaving, now” She felt his body stiffen as a flood of anger surged through him.
“ No Ruth, no, you don’t mean that, come here…”
He pulled her in close and her fear took hold of her. She could do nothing but scream. Scream because her life depended on it. At first it sounded foreign, separate from her, from another mouth, another body and it shocked her. And then she became at one with the scream, delved into it and found there a sharp blackness that swallowed her up whole until she felt a strong grip around her throat and her eyes flashed open to see James furious red face looming in front of her. His ring had caught on her throat and she felt hot sticky blood pumping out of the small wound. “ Let me go” she tried to say but her voice was somewhere else, someone else with something else to say.
The ringing of her scream ended and silence descended as her eyelids slowly lowered and sections of the room spun around. Her jogging, her outside her front door, her at the library. The waiting bed, crumpled sheets in disarray. Caroline’s face, blue and swollen, bulging eyes, broken veins. His grip tightened and sharp pain surged through Ruth’s lungs. She couldn’t hold on. Surrounded by her life, in a stranger’s bedroom she took a last breath and melted in James’ tight grip.
James released her bruised neck and she fell back on the bed, limp and lifeless, so different to how he had imagined. Her pale hand dangled off the edge of the bed. He slipped out of the room, turning the lamp off as he left.
Out on the street he took several deep breaths and ran a hand through his ruffled hair. He looked up at the blue dome, pinpricked by shimmering white lights, so far away. Yellow light streamed out of the shop fronts and restaurants. The camera felt solid in his had, solid and powerful.
An opening door caught his attention as two women stumbled out, laughing. The taller blond caught his eye as she tried to hail a cab. He moved to hide behind the corner of the bank. He raised the camera and flicked the flash button to on. He twisted the lens cap, freeing the rainbow lens.
He raised the viewer to his right eye and moved the dial to focus on the striking woman. He half-depressed the button and heard the click as the bulb flashed, immortalizing the woman as she pulled open the taxi door, her mouth open as she shouted to her friend, hair slightly displaced by the wind. Winding the camera on, he smiled to himself.
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excellent. The only thing
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