Apocalypse Cow (34 page)

‘I’d rather not sleep alone either,’ Lesley replied. ‘Do you want to come in?’

Terry thought he saw a smile play across her lips, although it could just have been a shadow caused by the shifting torchlight. They entered the office, which in a previous life had belonged to Operations Manager Tom Forbes. Clearly Forbes was an important man. The sofa was grand, all leather cushions and comfy pillows. Yet it was only big enough for one, or two very intimate people, to sleep on.

‘You can have the sofa,’ Terry said.

Lesley made a noise of frustration deep in her throat. ‘Oh for God’s sake. Are you going to make a move or what?’

There was a beat of silence, in which Terry’s heartbeat drummed in his ear.

‘Doesn’t the smell of meat put you off?’ he asked, stepping closer.

She kicked him on the shin, hard.

‘You don’t smell of meat, idiot,’ she said as he hopped around. ‘You know what I think? I think the smell is a manifestation of your guilt about working in the abattoir.’

Terry stopped hopping.
Ping!
went his brain.

He had only started noticing the smell when Kirsteen mentioned it. The supposed stink was just an excuse for her not to sleep with him as she underwent her adulterous transformation to a vegetarian. The smell wasn’t real, but the guilt was.

Ping!

The nostril-twitching was nothing to do with the stench of death. He remembered the array of aftershaves, scented shaving creams, and overpowering deodorants he had slathered on to cover up the imagined smell. It was no wonder Dorota and all the other women wouldn’t come near him. He must have smelled like a teenage boy who had raided his father’s bathroom cabinet.

Ping!

All of Lesley’s confusion when he had mentioned the smell of meat returned – her disavowals of the foul body odour he was sure had accompanied him throughout life and his belief that the smell of meat David detected came from him, when in fact it had come from within his cousin’s own demented mind.

Ping!

The dream he’d had when concussed came back to him, overlaid with the memory of another: thousands of imploring bovine eyes blinking at him in the darkness, disappearing one by one until only one set of accusing eyes remained, before they too winked out and left him in absolute blackness. It rushed at him, almost overwhelmed him. He had to steady himself by putting a hand on the wall. He thought of all the mornings he had woken up in his bed, the sheets dishevelled and soaked in sweat, unable to remember what had left him so unsettled. Now he knew.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘You’re absolutely right. I’ve been such an idiot.’

He took a deep breath just as Lesley stepped in, put a hand on his cheek and proceeded to suck his face off.

There was another
ping!
, lower down this time. They fell back onto the sofa, shedding clothes frantically in the process. Lesley’s slight frame squirmed on top of him. Already his back was moist with sweat. As he moved to get a better purchase on her hips and grind against her panties, he produced a long, rasping leather sofa fart.

‘It was the couch!’ he exclaimed.

Lesley laughed.

‘Sure it was,’ she said, and licked his nipple.

He wrestled her over until he lay on top and pulled off her knickers. ‘Let me prove it.’

He entered her and they gasped together, although he was pretty sure Lesley wasn’t gasping because this was her first shag in ages and she was trying not to come before the serious action began. Somehow he got himself under control and began to thrust. Each time he pushed forward, a soft chuff poofed out from beneath Lesley.

They burst into hysterics, and Terry thrust harder and faster. Lesley pushed back with equal vigour, and soon the office was filled with rhythmic rasping, giggles and moans that climaxed with one simultaneous long, shuddering screech of the sofa. The sweat-slicked leather clung to their backs as they lay side by side, Lesley snuggled up against Terry’s chest.

‘I’ve had a contraceptive injection, by the way,’ she murmured into his chest. ‘Just in case you were thinking about asking at any point.’

‘Oh. Sorry. I got a bit carried away.’

Terry lay in a daze, looking up at the perforated tiles on the office ceiling. He felt renewed, as though he had just showered naked under warm summer rain. He hadn’t felt so content in years. It struck him he owed it all to the millions of zombie animals rampaging across the country. He laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘I’m just thinking: we would never have met if it hadn’t been for all this madness. Maybe I should go thank Brown.’

‘That would be taking it too far.’

Terry’s smile drooped, remembering David and the boys. ‘You’re right. But I think it really is going to be OK. For us, at least. Tomorrow we’ll be in France and—’

He wanted to say ‘and can start a new life together’. He
managed
to stop himself, instead asking, ‘So what are you going to do once you get the story out?’

Lesley tilted her head back to look up at Terry. ‘I’ll probably retire to the South of France, where I will lounge by the pool all day and hire a muscular manservant to feed me grapes from my own vineyard.’

‘Are you taking applications?’ Terry asked.

‘Oh, you’ve just had your interview. What about you? What will you do if you don’t get the job?’

‘You mean my interview wasn’t very good?’

Lesley pinched his thigh. When he tried to pull away he found the sweat had dried in and glued his back to the leather. He pulled himself upright with some difficulty. Lesley propped her head up on the armrest and stretched her legs across his lap, gloriously and unashamedly naked. The light from the torch was bright enough for him to examine every detail of her body, from the light veins on her thighs to the hollow of her neck, in which a small puddle of sweat lay like seawater left in the rocks by the receding tide. Lesley’s green eyes were focused on him and he remembered he was supposed to be answering her question.

‘I’m not sure. But I’m definitely done with abattoirs.’

As he spoke, he felt a warm bubble of relief rise up in his throat. He took in a deep breath through his nostrils. The only thing he could smell was the tang of sex. He dipped his finger into the hollow of her neck and licked up the sweat.

‘Maybe I’ll write my own book about our escape and use the profits to buy a yacht and take tourists out, when I’m not feeding you grapes of course. What do you think, can you handle a rival author writing the same story?’

‘Are you a good writer?’

‘I struggle to write a birthday card,’ Terry admitted.

‘Then I can handle it.’

He hit her with a cushion. ‘Funny. Whatever happens, I know one thing. I’m now a vegetarian.’

Even thinking about meat, propped up on the sofa with a gorgeous naked woman in his lap, made him feel slightly ill and conjured up those blinking, pleading eyes. He shuddered and instead concentrated on Lesley’s face. She was grinning.

‘So, are you ready for your second interview?’ she asked.

Terry was ready.

Geldof slept badly – in fact, he wasn’t sure if he slept at all or just hovered in the murky space between sleep and wakefulness. Mary had lain down as soon as they got in and, with his hand clutched tightly in hers, fell into the deep slumber of someone escaping a reality too awful to face. He edged his hand out when her clawed fingers slackened, and tried to settle on the scratchy carpet.

Even though the floor was uncomfortable, he had thought he was tired enough to nod off. He hadn’t counted on Terry and Lesley choosing that moment to get it on. Even Geldof, as inexperienced with the ladies as he was, had known that was coming. While it seemed he was doomed to listen to other people having sex while remaining a virgin, the noises were oddly comforting. Terry and Lesley were not as loud as his parents and their style was more small portions taken often than one long, leisurely meal. But it was similar enough that he could pretend he was at home, curled up in his bed and wishing Fanny wasn’t such a sex fiend.

Then there were the stomach pains: the insistent sting of
indigestion
brought on by the nine sausages he had eaten, and the dread ache lower down that told him he had done something wrong; that Fanny, dead or not, would leap out from behind the sofa with a stomach pump and a reproachful look on her face.

To take his mind off the nagging thoughts and discomfort, he turned his attention to his father’s apparent personality transplant. He had seen what James was capable of in the destruction of the driver who had knocked him down all those years ago, but this was a different level completely. His father was a real soldier: taking out armed henchmen without hesitation and wielding a gun on the battlefield as casually and expertly as Geldof wielded a pen in the classroom. After a lifetime of being shown only the placid, peaceful side of his father’s nature, Geldof felt a little betrayed. The skills James possessed, had they been passed on, would have nipped all the bullying in the bud. The twins would have been thoroughly pummelled long ago – he felt another flash of guilt at imagining beating the dead boys – and the combination of a capacity for unbridled violence and his sparkling intellect would have given him the pick of the cute girls at school.

Still, it wasn’t too late, he reasoned. Once they were out of the country, he would have plenty of time to learn the trade. He settled into a happy fantastical montage of combat training: scrambling over tall walls in camouflage, shooting off impossibly large weapons at distant targets and defeating opponents in a blur of swordplay – he suspected his father didn’t have much in the way of sword skills, but he had always wanted to be a samurai, and figured that since it was his fantasy he could do whatever he liked. At some point, he
crossed
over into the dream world, where he continued to overwhelm foes with a bewildering array of techniques.

Just before dawn, the overhead strip light buzzed into life, its relentless glare penetrating his eyelids. He sat up, rubbing his reddened eyes, and looked over at Mary, who shifted a little. He walked out onto the stairs leading down to the factory floor. Red and green LEDs blinked on starter buttons and computer monitors all across the vast production area. The fact that the power was back meant the army was probably regaining control, which Geldof supposed was a good thing.

Figuring sleep was beyond him, he went to the loo. He lingered there, washing himself as best he could and inspecting his half-naked body in the mirror. He had lost weight over the last few weeks. Each rib poked through his chest even more acutely and his collarbone protruded like that of an anorexic catwalk model.

‘I need more protein,’ he told his reflection, thinking even Fanny wouldn’t have been able to argue with that had she seen her emaciated son.

He left the toilet with the intention of going to the kitchen and opening some corned beef. A flicker of movement caught his eye on the far side of the factory: Mary entering the stairwell that led to the roof. He ran between the conveyor belts and took the stairs two at a time. When he burst out of the door, Mary was about to reach the edge of the roof, her movements slow and deliberate.

‘Mrs Alexander!’ he yelled.

She half turned her head, but did not stop. Geldof was sprinting in his flapping way, ignoring the pain from the rough surface ripping at his bare feet, closing in as Mary got one foot up onto the wall and prepared to launch herself into
the
air. Geldof reached her just as her supporting foot left the ground, and grabbed a handful of her cardigan.

Mary toppled backwards, landing on Geldof and knocking the air out of him. She kicked her legs furiously, trying to regain her feet. Geldof ignored the searing tightness in his lungs and put both his arms firmly around her stomach, holding her until she stopped fighting. Her shoulders began to heave as she hiccupped for enough air to let out great whooping cries of anguish. Geldof let her roll to the side, now trying to soothe rather than restrain. The sobs became whimpers.

‘It’s OK,’ he whispered. ‘I’m here, I’m here.’

She twisted her body round to look at him, her face a puffy mess. ‘They’re gone, my boys are gone.’

‘I know,’ he said.

‘They were little monsters, but they were all I had.’

‘I know,’ Geldof replied reflexively, before he realized his agreement could be taken as saying the twins were monsters.

Fortunately, Mary didn’t notice.

‘I don’t want to live,’ she moaned, her body tensing up again as she prepared to wring out some more tears.

Geldof squeezed for all he was worth. ‘Don’t say that. People still need you.’

‘Who?’

‘Me,’ he said. ‘I need you.’

Mary rolled over onto her back. The tension left her and her mouth half opened. For a moment, Geldof’s dick wrested control again, telling him she was inviting a kiss. His brain got its hands back on the steering wheel in time.

‘God, I’m so selfish,’ Mary said. ‘You lost your mother and all you’ve been doing is comforting me.’ Geldof allowed his
head
to be pulled onto her shoulder. ‘You poor boy. I’m here for you, of course I’m here for you.’