Surface Tension - Chapter 28

Chapter 28

 

The touch makes me yelp.

            “Sorry,” Ellen exclaims, backing away.  “I didn’t mean…”

            “That’s OK,” I lie. In the half light I see a faint smile. It warm's me.

            “You...?” She moves back, leaving me balanced on the boot. “We should go in and assess the damage.” She reaches out placing her hand gently back on my ribs. She watches my face as she increases the pressure until it causes me to wince. She purses her lips and exhales, a puff of air condenses in front of me. “They're at least badly bruised, could be cracked.  There's nothing much to be done, put something on them, strap them up. I'm sure Josie will have some kind of liniment we can use.”

            The last time someone talked of liniment it was my Gran, it’s oddly comforting.  I smile.

            “What?” says Ellen.

            “Nothing. Anyway, who made you nurse ?”

            “Someone’s got to offer first aid, and I don’t see anyone else or a St Bernard. I can leave if you want.”

I don’t answer.

“I'm getting cold. Let's go in Tony.” She takes a step further away and suddenly the yard is thrust into brightness as the security lights respond to her movement.  She turns, heels crunching on the snow, and faces me.  Her face is shrouded in darkness, a halo of light round her shadowed face.  She reaches out:  “Come on Tony,” she speaks with the gentleness of the snowflakes that are beginning to drift silently down again. 

            “What about them, Ellen?”

            “Them?”

            I point vaguely in the direction of where the car had gone, “Them.”

            “Inside, Tony, I promise, when we're inside.”

            I pick up that the music has gone up a notch, there's the sound of laughter and raised voices, not aggressive, just having a good time.  I don’t want to join the throng.

Ellen senses my reluctance, “Come on. We’ll go in round the back. The party isn’t really our thing is it?”

            I lurch away from the car, twisting and reaching to slam the boot. The explosion of pain makes me regret this.

            “You need anything from the car?”

            I look back. It takes a moment. I decide to take the duffel bag. I hobble back, tentatively flick the boot open and reach inside. I can feel Ellen watching me. There's a shadow; she knows. I check the top of the bag. It's pulled tightly shut. Cautiously I place it on to my shoulder, gently close the boot and work my way back to her. Each action is deliberate

            “Hurts?”

“Yeah, like someone’s beaten me up.”

Ellen reaches round me, letting me lean into her. “Let's go,” she whispers.

            We trudge across the yard in silence. As we go the wind begins to pick up. It's fine whilst we're in the light but as we turn the corner of the house and slip through the narrow gate to the side of the farm house, we're back into darkness buffeted by the wind. The only light is reflected.  We stumble on the uneven path. I'm not sure if Ellen is hanging on to me or vica-versa.  The wind hits hard. And it’s snow hard, so hard it stings.  I imagine small, red welts growing wherever one of the flakes slams into us.  Ellen mouths something but the words are whisked away. 

We reach the porch gratefully, pause and tumble gratefully into the kitchen

It’s a sauna.  The stinging sensation that covers my entire body is slowly replaced by rising, burning warmth along with the dull ache of limbs stiffening after the beating. 

            Ellen gasps, collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs and kicking of her sodden shoes, flat pumps, in one motion.  I hobble towards the fire, dragging a chair behind me. I slump into it, thrusting out my limbs towards the heat. 

            It takes a moment but finally I feel I can speak. I swivel towards her. “So tell me Ellen, tell me.”

            “I could do with a whiskey. You?”  Ellen smiles conspiratorially and disappears into the larder.  It's one of those walk in affairs.  I can’t see here, just hear her rummaging.  The fire's roaring but suddenly I'm shivering.  The beating is taking affect. I close my eyes. I'm somewhere else, on my own, in world where everything is fine and it makes sense; I’ve not been beaten up, I’ve never come across £500,000, I'm still employed.

            My foot brushes something heavy and I know instinctively that it's the bag full of money. 

            My money.

            Bill’s and my money.

            Some psychopathic, murderous bully’s money

            Some student’s money saved and put away over years in the hope that this would be the start of some new life.

            Maybe Ellen’s money?

            “Here you go.” 

            I open my eyes slowly.  She's leaning over me, smiling. It's reassuring.

            “Sorry about the mug, the glasses must all be through in the party.”             She pulls up a chair next to mine.  She's poured a very generous dram into the chipped mug.  The first sip is pure heaven. It is a fine, fine whiskey; Islay, seaweed and salt permeate.

            “Good isn’t it?” Ellen sees the smile on my face.  “Richard had obviously hidden the best stuff. Why waste it on party goers, heh?” 

The noise from next door seeps through the walls as a reminder of what is going on just a few feet away. 

“Thank God they built these things so solid, the walls I mean.  I don’t think I could stand any more. You know you getting beat up was a good plan.”

            “Thanks Ellen, I’ll remember that as a get out in the future. Suppose it beats ‘I’m washing my hair.”

            “Not that you are that blessed in that department.”

            “Hey,” involuntarily my hand is running through my hair.

            “You're are so easy to tease!” Ellen carefully reaches over and places a hand on my arm.   “I can assure you that you have a full set of hair, it is one of the things I remember about you.”

            “You remember me?”

            “Yeah from that time in the pub?”

            “When I demonstrated how coordinated I was?”

            “No before that, in the bar, the faux jazz one – you were there with Bill.” She grins. I sit in silence watching her. She raises her glass and tips it to me, “Slange var.”

            “You know an awful lot about me Ellen. And you're here and...”

            She leans forward. “Coincidence? I know Josie, met her just after Uni. Was at the wedding. Were you there?”

            I recognise the distraction. “Yeah, amongst the 300 guests. But that's not it Ellen is it? You have a knack...”

            She looks down to her glass, slowly rotating it so the golden liquid rolls from side to side, a storm in a whiskey glass.

            “Are you good at pretend Tony, make believe? It's not something we do just as kids is it?” She brushes the hair away and looks at me squarely. “Richard and Josie, they're pretending, pretending everything is OK, yeah?”

            I shift in my chair, “Sounds autobiographical.”

            Ellen leans forward. I catch her scent. She tilts her head towards me. Her lips part and I feel her hot breach on my cheeks. She holds me in her eyes. I ready myself for the kiss.

            “I could say the same about you and Bill,” she whispers and then jerks away.

            I stifle the words that want to burst out lifting the mug to lips instead, tilting it forward, so that the liquid burns along my lips. I tip the mug back and let the whiskey flow, briefly holding it on my tongue before I let it roar down my throat.

            “What are you pretending at then Ellen?”

            “Oh, something's are real Tony, very real.”

            “The kiss?”

            She nods. “Perhaps not meant to happen and maybe that makes them more real.”

            “And?”

            “Isn't that enough?”

            “Enough for what?” I'm watching the fire. It splutters. It needs more fuel if it’s to burn.

            “Whatever happens next.” She lets it hang. I'm regretting emptying my mug. “What do you want to do with the rest of your life Tony?”