Let me do one.
I
want to do one. And Xander had said OK. What was he thinking? If Paulie
had
done it it wouldn’t be his problem. But of course, useless shit that Paulie was, when the time came he, Xander, had had to take charge, because Paulie chickened out. Which made the whole thing his. Which meant there should have been a jug.
‘I should go in there,’ Paulie said. He was sitting on the floor in the kitchen gripping his injured knee. His face was wet with sweat. Xander – who, in desperation, was standing on one of the worktops and running his hands along the top of the wall cupboards, just in case for some reason there was a jug up there, maybe chipped or with a missing handle, that they hadn’t used for years – ignored him.
‘Xander?’ Paulie said.
Still no response.
‘Hey. I’m saying—’
‘Shut up,’ Xander said. Then, after a pause, ‘You hear the way I’m saying that?’
Paulie radiated silence. But after a few moments said, ‘That’s not right.’
Xander got a splinter in his palm. The small pain made his scalp hot. He got down off the worktop. There was no jug. This couldn’t be put right. The bit of ease he’d got from what he’d done to the cunt in the living room was all gone. All the knots were as tight as ever. He was trying not to dwell on how all this had cheated him. But it was as if the whole day were laughing at him.
‘Go get the RV,’ he said.
‘It’s not right.’
‘Go get the RV. I’ve said that twice. Do you want me to say it a third time?’
Paulie looked away. Xander examined the splinter. Now he was going to have to look for tweezers. The roaches darted under his skin.
‘I can’t fucking
walk
,’ Paulie said.
‘It’s not far,’ Xander said. ‘You’ll do fine.’
Paulie didn’t move. Then, quietly, he said, ‘When we’ve got her inside, then.’
Xander was wondering if he shouldn’t just do Paulie right here and now. But this whole thing was enough of a mess already. And he was bone tired.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘When we get her in there.’
Paulie struggled to his feet, wincing.
No point telling him yet that she wasn’t going in the RV, Xander thought. No point telling him that this couldn’t – since there was no milk jug – be fixed. No point telling him that they were leaving her and her son where they were and driving away. No point telling him until he’d fetched the vehicle. No point telling him much of anything any more, because soon he’d be dead.
SIXTEEN
Nell didn’t know if she was awake or dreaming, alive or dead. Nothing was certain. Something dragged her through the snow. When she was small Josh had terrorised her with talk of the Abominable Snowman. A monster – Nell had pictured a huge creature covered in long white hair with eyes like ragged black holes and a mouth filled with blood – who loomed up, suddenly, in the midst of a blizzard and just…
took
you. (Nell had had mixed feelings. To her it seemed the sort of creature so ugly and alone you could feel sorry for it – if only it weren’t
taking
you. To its cave. To lift you in its pure white hands and bite your head off and crunch your skull between its teeth.) Something dragged her through the snow and she thought:
Oh, it’s the monster.
It was a light thought. It came and went, not bothering her much. Many things came and went, snapshots that flashed in and out of complete blackness. Snow falling out of a dark sky. An old-fashioned iron stove like a dwarf with a pot belly. Someone’s hands touching her face. An old man crawling towards her on all fours, his face twisted. She hadn’t gone to heaven after all. But it didn’t feel like hell. Or she was having a fever. Her mother would be somewhere near: Poor Nellie, you’re burning up. Josh whispering: Is she going to be OK? Abominable Snowman got confused with Abdominal Cramps. Her mother had had those.
Hands undressed her.
This was in the complete blackness.
Vague shame when she felt her jeans
I
want to do one. And Xander had said OK. What was he thinking? If Paulie
had
done it it wouldn’t be his problem. But of course, useless shit that Paulie was, when the time came he, Xander, had had to take charge, because Paulie chickened out. Which made the whole thing his. Which meant there should have been a jug.
‘I should go in there,’ Paulie said. He was sitting on the floor in the kitchen gripping his injured knee. His face was wet with sweat. Xander – who, in desperation, was standing on one of the worktops and running his hands along the top of the wall cupboards, just in case for some reason there was a jug up there, maybe chipped or with a missing handle, that they hadn’t used for years – ignored him.
‘Xander?’ Paulie said.
Still no response.
‘Hey. I’m saying—’
‘Shut up,’ Xander said. Then, after a pause, ‘You hear the way I’m saying that?’
Paulie radiated silence. But after a few moments said, ‘That’s not right.’
Xander got a splinter in his palm. The small pain made his scalp hot. He got down off the worktop. There was no jug. This couldn’t be put right. The bit of ease he’d got from what he’d done to the cunt in the living room was all gone. All the knots were as tight as ever. He was trying not to dwell on how all this had cheated him. But it was as if the whole day were laughing at him.
‘Go get the RV,’ he said.
‘It’s not right.’
‘Go get the RV. I’ve said that twice. Do you want me to say it a third time?’
Paulie looked away. Xander examined the splinter. Now he was going to have to look for tweezers. The roaches darted under his skin.
‘I can’t fucking
walk
,’ Paulie said.
‘It’s not far,’ Xander said. ‘You’ll do fine.’
Paulie didn’t move. Then, quietly, he said, ‘When we’ve got her inside, then.’
Xander was wondering if he shouldn’t just do Paulie right here and now. But this whole thing was enough of a mess already. And he was bone tired.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘When we get her in there.’
Paulie struggled to his feet, wincing.
No point telling him yet that she wasn’t going in the RV, Xander thought. No point telling him that this couldn’t – since there was no milk jug – be fixed. No point telling him that they were leaving her and her son where they were and driving away. No point telling him until he’d fetched the vehicle. No point telling him much of anything any more, because soon he’d be dead.
SIXTEEN
Nell didn’t know if she was awake or dreaming, alive or dead. Nothing was certain. Something dragged her through the snow. When she was small Josh had terrorised her with talk of the Abominable Snowman. A monster – Nell had pictured a huge creature covered in long white hair with eyes like ragged black holes and a mouth filled with blood – who loomed up, suddenly, in the midst of a blizzard and just…
took
you. (Nell had had mixed feelings. To her it seemed the sort of creature so ugly and alone you could feel sorry for it – if only it weren’t
taking
you. To its cave. To lift you in its pure white hands and bite your head off and crunch your skull between its teeth.) Something dragged her through the snow and she thought:
Oh, it’s the monster.
It was a light thought. It came and went, not bothering her much. Many things came and went, snapshots that flashed in and out of complete blackness. Snow falling out of a dark sky. An old-fashioned iron stove like a dwarf with a pot belly. Someone’s hands touching her face. An old man crawling towards her on all fours, his face twisted. She hadn’t gone to heaven after all. But it didn’t feel like hell. Or she was having a fever. Her mother would be somewhere near: Poor Nellie, you’re burning up. Josh whispering: Is she going to be OK? Abominable Snowman got confused with Abdominal Cramps. Her mother had had those.
Hands undressed her.
This was in the complete blackness.
Vague shame when she felt her jeans
Similar Books
