Read Online The Hope by James Lovegrove - Free Book Online

know. It was funny, but Cas always seemed to come off worst from these deals. From the doorway came pulses of light and sound, shadows of poses and postures thrown out, frozen in neon relief. As people queued to get in and pretended not to be queuing, Angel saw an aimlessness in everyone’s movements that was matched by the drizzle and indifferent air of the lower decks, as if one bred the other. She nodded to Billy as she went by, then jumped the queue and flirted her way past the doorman. She wasn’t a very good flirt but the doorman was in a good mood. Billy hadn’t been his usual self recently, which he passed off to everyone as the result of taking part in the scrap to end all scraps, but that did not explain the hunted look he had about him occasionally. However, he managed to leer at Angel and she knew he was watching her backside as she went into the Trident, so she swung it around a bit for his benefit.
    Inside, the light and sound took shape, becoming the rhythms and patterns of songs from records so old that the scratches often drowned the music with rusty squawks. It had got to the point where the squawks and needle jumps were an accepted part of the songs and the boogiers would scream with pleasure at each one. To Angel the words were nearly incomprehensible, the tunes more so. In her current state of shellshock it all made her head ache. The colours were unnecessarily bright. Faces swam at her from the press of people, some known, some strange, all mouthing things at each other. She pushed through to the bar. Eddy was on tonight. There were rings of sweat beneath his armpits as he handed out glasses full of varying mixtures concocted from the bottles on the table behind him. Few customers actually paid for their drinks. The bar operated on a unique barter system: you drank there, you were likely to be called up by Riot to do some “business” for him, which meant fight if you were a man and keep the fighters happy if you were a woman (except in Delia’s case). Places like the Trident operated all over the Hope . Eddy greeted her, “Hey Angel!”, then turned quickly to serve a customer.
    She waited until he was finished and then said, “Eddy?”
    “Not now, darling,” he replied, fishing below the counter for a cloth. “I’m rushed off my feet.”
    “Eddy, have you seen –?”
    “Paolo!” yelled Eddy, as if he hadn’t seen Paolo for weeks instead of minutes, and grasped his hand. “How are you, mate?”
    “Eddy, have you seen Push?” He was not listening. She hung on for a moment, realised that the ranks had been closed, and pushed herself away from the bar with a cry of disgust. Hunger – for food, for drugs – was becoming imperative. She noticed for the first time how hot it was in the Trident. The girders in the ceiling were dripping with perspiration, the air was rank. She squeezed her way to the dance floor and looked out over the sea of bobbing heads. She saw the porridge-head, Walter, making his way through the boogiers, on the prowl for boys most likely. People thought it was cool to have Walter around and gave him celebrity status because he was a little bit simple and a whole lot creepy, especially when he went on about God and Jesus and all that jazz.
    “Angel, you look like death!”
    If Angel could be said to have a friend, it was Gilette. Years ago, although not as long ago as she thought, the two of them had been inseparable. They had been nicknamed the Twins, neither remotely resembling the other but neither seeming complete without the other. As children, one dark, one blonde, they clattered along walkways and gangplanks, they traced the length and breadth of their deck area, they held secret meetings beneath the tarpaulin of the lifeboat on the outer rim (thrilled with the danger of being caught, a delicious flush of terror). The two of them took on the Hope – best of all took on the boys – and won. With every confidence they shared they grew wiser but not older and,