Surface Tension - Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The sleep is deep and refreshing, reaching into my bones, replenishing, revitalising.  It's in the half, grey light as I leave the darkness does the weight and worry of everything press in.  Through the dense walls I can hear music; crisp cadences of strings, dry rumble of timpani.  Lying still I let the music work around me. There's a percussive door slam, then muffled harsh words.  The music dips and then pours back louder than before.  
    The soft glow of the digital clock show I’ve slept for most of the afternoon. I grub for the bedside lamp, get it wrong and send it toppling to the floor.    I wriggle to the end of the bed and drop my feet over just as the music drops into a prolonged drum roll, sitting up I feel an involuntary smirk flick across my face; fourth movement, March to the Scaffold, Berlioz Symphonie Fantastique.  The drum roll ceases; executed perfectly and the music pauses and shifts in to the dance of the Witches Sabbath.  At the same time my feet touch a bag.  I reach down and pull it up on to the bed.  I run my hand over it, feeling its rough texture and its contents inside.  
    Would I guess what was in it if I didn't already know?  
    The last time I checked it was with Bill. My chest tightens. It's the first time that I've thought of her. I've been deliberately forcing her out of my mind.  But she's here now, anthracite hair, green eyes, head ever so slightly cocked looking into my face, questioning, concerned.  
I shudder, pushing the image away grabbing the bag at the same time, dropping it on to the floor.  It lands with a dull thud. The mouth opens and there's the cash.  The bag momentarily teeters and then subsides and rather disconsolately one of the wrapped sets of notes slides from it's the mouth as if it's just puked. 
    I reach down tentatively and touch the bundle. It makes me cringe. I don’t want to pick it up in case it will contaminate me. 
    For the first time I wonder if I really want this. The last few days have been a head long rush, a train crash. Things have happened and here I am caught between a Victorian melodrama and a B-movie.
    “What you goin' to do, Tony?”  I say out loud. In the dusk light it seems so clear: in the past week I’ve tried to end a friend’s marriage, got caught in a scam involving foreign students, somehow offended a crime lord’s son and ran away with what looks to be about £500,000 quid with the aim of starting again with a girl who's nowhere to be seen.
    I'm here because of Bill.  I want her to choose me.  I want her to leave Jonah, to cut him adrift and make safe passage with me. 
    From outside there's sound of car doors slamming and muffled greetings. The door opens, Richard guffaws. I can hear his bear hug.   There's a pause, more voices exchanging polite questions, checking the lay of the land, trying to re-establish whatever rapport existed all those years ago.  My heart tightens. I really don’t want to do this, not now.    
    I strain to see if I can hear Bill. There's nothing.
    A wave of panic breaks. I've got £500K at my feet, stolen. What am I going to do? There's no way it's legit. Who keeps half a million stashed in a locker?   Give it back? Surrender it? Surrender Bill?
    I'm going to throw up.
    I struggle to my feet and lurch to the door.  Holding the door frame I push my way forward feeling my along the hall to the bathroom.  The voices downstairs are more distinct. There's is a low, warm light emanating from down stairs. It gives me direction.
    Relieved, I stumble across the tiled bathroom floor, grateful for the cold that seeps up through my feet. I reach the sink and turn on the cold tap. The water gushes so fast that it spouts out soaking me.  I don’t care; the shock of the water is welcome.  I plunge my face deep into the cascade, letting it beat hard against my scalp.  I focus on the water. The rising tide of unease begins to dissipate. I drag myself back from the torrent, gasping for air. Immediately there's a clash of thoughts:
    Self justification: the money, this is nothing but what's rightfully mine given what's happened to me. The thought runs hard against a more altruistic view; maybe a chance to do something, make a difference. I plunge my head back under the flow. 
    And all the time the constant beat is Bill, Bill, Bill. What do I do that brings her back?
    The light goes on; twink, twink, bright; sun bright, full solar glare bright, cutting through even though my eyes are tightly closed.  Beneath the rush is a female voice, which has some resonance. I jerk up, banging my head hard against the tap.   Pain breaks across my skull, fireworks in front of my eyes. I stagger backwards from the sink. My hands go straight to my head, to the injured spot feeling for anything sticky.  I'm bent double, with my eyes still scrunched closed.
    “Are you all right?”
    I straighten, still madly rubbing my head, keeping it bowed against the brightness.  
    The gentle touch on my check surprises me.  I slide backwards. My eyes spring open but it's too much for them, darkness is so much easier to take.  Now I've fiery circles burned on the inside of my retina.
    “You all right?  I’m really sorry.”  The hand moves and rests on my arm. “Come on, let me.” 
    It now grips as it guides me from the bathroom.  
    “Yours is the open bedroom door? Yes?”  
    I'm too busy seeing stars and associated optical effects to answer.
    I'm guided to the bed and tenderly helped to sit down.  The hand releases me. I'm disappointed.  I loll forward cradling my head in my hands. There's a soft light, the bed side lamp I assume. Then the bed creaks and I feel a weight behind me and warm breath on my neck.  Two hands prise away mine and I feel my scalp being gently probed.  I let out one of those wincey-shush noises that you make when someone touches part of you that is sore. The hands drop away. 
    “OK soldier you’ll live.  You’ve got a nice bump, a small but very nice bump and that’s all.”  To confirm the point a small, sweet kiss follows on the exact spot.  It makes me wince again. This time I open my eyes and turn, only for Ellen to kiss me full on the lips.
    There's a pause.  Our lips break.  I look at her; her eyes are bright, fully switched on, glowing like the lights in a shop at night.  
    “Why'd you do that?” 
    “Didn’t you like it?” She rocks back away from me.
    “No, yes I mean,” Inadvertently placing my fingers on my lips, “I didn't expect...”
    “Me? The kiss?
    “Both, I suppose.”
    “It seemed more appropriate than a handshake.”  She sits up, perching on the edge of the bed. Her body twists towards me.  “Aren't you surprised to see me?”
    The question takes me by surprise, and yes, it is odd. Of all the people it could’ve been Ellen wouldn't have been even on my short list. “Yeah I am.”
    “Good surprise or bad?” she coyly cocks her head.
    My head's stopped hurting. “Good.”
    “Thank you,” she nods appreciation. I like the way her eyes have not moved from my face.
    “But what are you doing here?”
    “Shouldn’t I be here Tony?”
    “Er, well I thought this thing was a get together of old University friends.”
    “So?” She fold her legs up on to the bed so that they are pressing into my back.
    “Well, I think I’d have remembered if you’d been part of things.”
    “I think I shall take that as a compliment.”  Ellen stands and turns to face the mirror on the wall.  She runs her hand through her hair a couple of times in a way that I find oddly pleasing.  I sit up and as I do my feet brush something rough.  It is the duffle bag.  I try and kick it under the bed but there's no room.  I look around, the wardrobe's open.  In what I think is one seamless move I bend down at pick up the bag, whilst Ellen is still at the mirror, I catch the bag with one hand and as I stand chuck the bag into the wardrobe push the door closed, but too late I realise I've thrown the duffel bag too hard, it hits the back and bounces forward catching the door which springs back nearly concussing me, the bag rolls forward teetering on the edge so that I have to flick it with my foot to get it back in.  
    “What are you doing?”  Ellen spins round with an incredulous look on her face.
    “Er, nothing,” I feel like an errant teenager. On the floor is a wedge of notes that have fallen out.  I try and hide it with my feet.
    “I’d take it easy, the bump in the bathroom wasn’t that serious but I wouldn’t go after a second one.”
    “No, no you’re quite right,” I murmur, “just tidying.”   
    “You sure you're OK?”  As she comes round the bed I shuffle forward, back heeling the bundle, so that it disappears under the floral counterpane.
    “What was that?”
    “Oh, nothing”
    “Tony…?”
    “Dirty washing.”
    Ellen gives me the look, pursed lips, eyebrows raised. “Many thanks Tony for respecting my sensibilities but I've seen a pair of pants before.”
    For the first time I look at her properly.  Her hair is loose, bobbing round her shoulders, it has a glow, just like in the adverts. She is wearing a red shift dress, similar to the one at the wake, but with enough flesh showing to be the wrong side of respectable. 
    “You look pretty, dressed for a party.”
    “Again Tony, I’ll take that as a compliment, even though you sound as if you’re talking to your five year old niece.”
    “I don't have a five year old niece.”
    “I assume that's not what you're wearing?” I’m still in my jeans which are smeared with mud from this morning’s work.  “If it is, I think I may be overdressed.”
    “Give me a chance. I'm going to get dressed. Don't think I've got anything to match you though.”
    “I should hope not. I don’t think you’ve got the legs for it for a start. Besides it's a girl’s prerogative to dress up,” she smiles and steps into me so that we are almost touching again.  She kisses me gently on the lips, breaks away, smiles and places a kiss on my cheek. “What did you put in the wardrobe?”
    “Sorry, oh nothing.”  
    Ellen nods and her hair bobs pleasingly.  She cranes her neck again and kisses me.  “Don’t be long.  I don’t think I’m going to know that many here.  Keep me company.”