Parables of Clippety (5) - Fudge

 

After Clare had gone, Marni went back to her holdall, removed a carton of Ribena, pierced it with a straw, took a long suck of liquid and placed it on the bedside table. Then she rummaged in the bag again, took out an organza bag containing some small, tumbled crystals and arranged them on top of the bed covers, loosely in the form of a circle. 

 

She felt a bit unsettled, all alone in a strange place, rather like a child who's been left by a parent. For some reason she found herself dwelling on the small possibility that Clare may never return and wondered what she may do in such circumstances. She fidgeted with her hands and sighed while she fought the urge to send her friend a message, after all, Clare had only been gone for five minutes and it was possible that she hadn’t even left the lift.

 

After a few deep breaths, she opened up Google images and typed in ‘Jurgen Klopp’, scrolling through, zooming in on certain photographs. Were his eyes blue? It was difficult to tell since they were usually hidden behind a trendy pair of glasses or the picture was taken too far away or in so many different lights. They appeared on the grey side of blue, definitely not muddy green like the Mersey. What was Clare thinking? It was obvious to Marni that it was she who knew the finer details of the man’s appearance far better than anyone. However it wasn’t worth arguing with Clare because she had a seasoned, domineering way of arguing and firmly believed that she was always right about stuff, even when she wasn’t. 

 

Anyway, it didn’t even matter because later that night, so long as everything went to plan, Marni was going to see those eyes close up, she was going to jump in, drown in them. That’s if she administered him the correct dose of drug so that he remained conscious; conscious but not quite compos mentis, that was the plan. It was important that he retain most of himself, his own character and personality, they certainly didn’t want to be dealing with a blow up Jurgen, they wanted to become acquainted with the real man and for him to become acquainted with them.

 

Marni was good with drugs. There had been various injections and hormone pills while she was undergoing fertility treatment, also tablets from the doctor for this and that and then there were all the alternative therapies she had tried over the decades. She was practically a pharmacist.

 

There was a man who lived near to her, he was known as Fudge, who could supply her with just about anything. He wasn’t a hardened drug dealer either, he was a regular guy, a friend, a neighbour, someone she’d known for years and who dealt in altered states of consciousness. Dried Brugmansia plant, that’s what she had settled on, after much research, otherwise known as Angel’s Trumpet, crushed to make powder called Devil’s Breath, and she planned to give it to Jurgen in the form of a sweet, a traditional Love Heart. She’d had them specially made, exclusively, emblazoned with his name and a very personal message, one which would surely touch his own heart.

 

Marny’s stomach was rumbling a bit now. She didn’t want to eat but feeling faint, she took the other half of the sandwich out of her bag, carefully removed the bacon and chewed it slowly with her ferret teeth. The bread she held in her fingers, squeezed into a pulp and discarded it in the bin, covering it with tissues. 

 

With Clare out of the room, she set about doing her make-up. It had become something she quite enjoyed since starting her make-up course. In fact she really regretted not doing it earlier in her life but the thing was her parents had been natural, bonafide snobs and had always looked down on certain professions, the beauty industry included. They had instilled in their only daughter a great pressure to steer herself towards higher status careers like accounting, marketing and sales but she’d never stuck at any of them and then Chris had sucked the life out of her. 

 

Her parents had adored Chris, forcing her to walk down an ever narrowing path, filled with nettles and briars, demons and doubts until she was exhausted, sad and itchy all over.

 

Marni was only part-way through applying highlighter when Clare burst into the room making her jump. ‘My god, you scared me to death. I thought you’d be longer!’

 

‘What? I’ve been gone for ages Marni. The shops are absolutely brilliant here. There was me, thinking you’d be worried about where I’d got to.’

 

‘Oh,’ Marni shook her head, glanced down at her watch and sighed, ‘these days, I sometimes get so confused about the passage of time. The afternoons can drag on forever or sometimes whole days just fly by, it’s so bloody confusing.’

 

‘Look I got you some nail polish.’ Clare held out a small red bottle.

 

‘Oh, it’s just like your colour.’

 

‘Yes. You could have just popped out and got them done professionally, it’s way cheaper up here. By the way, the car is gorgeous, shiny white and luxurious, it’s outside in the carpark. I found a space just in front of a big bush and I’ve already changed the plates. I’m quite sure nobody saw.’

 

‘Crazy. You’re such a bad bitch Clare,’ Marni said while pulling a strange face as she applied blusher in the mirror.

 

‘I’m not crazy, I’m normal, and I’m definitely not as bad as you.’

 

 

‘How’s that?’

 

‘Your eyeshadow for starters.’

 

‘What about it?’ Marni raised her eyebrows and peered closer at her reflection.

 

 

 

‘It’s a bit..you know, out there, I guess.’

 

Marni shooker her head. ‘Not really. This is what I learned on my course, it’s the correct way of applying make-up, it’s what the professionals do, you choose the colours which enhance the colour of your irises.’

 

‘Well okay, for seconders, you got the drugs from that…dodgy man. I’m proud of you but I can’t believe you did it.’

 

‘Fudge, you mean, he’s a very normal guy, a friend, it was nothing. Anyway, we need it, it’s an essential part of the plan. You couldn’t have got it, could you Clare, not with your normal nine to five job and your suburban house and…..’

 

Clare shook her head and said quickly, ‘No, I don’t know anyone that sells…’