Blood Bonds: A psychological thriller (10 page)

Carl closed the glass-fronted cabinet door and bent to one of the cupboards beneath. He unlocked it, flicked open the mahogany door; it caught the light and appeared to blaze with a syrupy glow. He put his white-gloved hand on the cardboard file that was enclosed within and drew it out. He assured himself that the papers were still in place, and then returned them to their dusty sanctuary. We all have our secrets, he thought, a few of his own springing to mind; a few sordid ones that he didn’t like to dwell on for too long.

But best of all he now knew Gavin Miller’s secret, and that was potentially a better financial return than ‘Spot the Ball’ any day, he thought, exhaling a soft, satisfied chuckle and locking the door.

*  *  *  *

Probably it’s the same for you. It has to be really.

There are certain occasions in your life that stand out like beacons because of their import, because of their significance. Sometimes they are markers of change, a point in time when your life is shunted onto an altogether different and unforeseen track. They act as anchors, valuable reference points, when we recount, in our heads, our existence. One night in particular is glued permanently to the forefront of my memory. A night when I began to fully appreciate the meaning and mystery of love; and a night when I would look deep into the face of death.

I can hear it now. Yes, if I close my eyes the memory echoes clearly inside my pained skull. Noddy Holder’s gravel-flecked throat was belting out
Get Down and Get With It
. The disco lights flashed in time to the thump-thump-thump of the music and endowed the school hall with something of the magical, a fairy kingdom of sorts, for I was still at an age when brightly coloured lights held a divine magnetism, the senses drawn to and ignited by them. The school had gone all out this year, the Christmas disco complemented for the first time by two innovations. The first was a mirror ball, the hundreds of pieces of light it spat out onto the wooden floor causing a great deal of interest among the pupils. But by far the biggest draw, that which brought forth gasps of delight and amusement, was the ultraviolet light under which our white items of clothing appeared to blaze with an unbelievable blue-white radioactive intensity, and beneath which crowds of gaping young people gathered to spot each others glowing dandruff.

In spite of
Slade
encouraging us to
‘Get Down and Get With It’
the entire evening remained tight knots of boys, and tighter knots of girls, the former leering and catcalling the latter as they took to the dance floor. The few boys who did attempt to dance did so only to parody and mock the girls and for the most part looked like demented puppets operated by an inept puppeteer. The boys laughed, joked and hoped they looked and sounded cool before joining their respective clans again. They were young men, and men did not dance, because their fathers and uncles did not dance at the wedding parties they’d attended, even though the sight of those attractive young females caused fiery rushes in them they did not fully understand, and which urged them to join them on the dance floor in spite of their cultural shackles.

The teachers on duty did their best to stir up the festive fun. Mr Brunswick – teacher of English – was surrounded by four or five girls for most of the evening, egging him on to dance, which he did badly; and he, swayed perhaps by their striking nubile bodies wrapped in tight clothing, high heels, maxis, midis, hot-pants, tank-tops, strong cheap perfume and makeup, felt obliged to jog and jive till his red face was wreathed in sweat.

Max was already at a point in his development when he had overcome the timidity of youth and he was sitting in a darkened corner with a girl on his lap, their mouths joined and neither coming up for air. He drew the attention of other young men, who, though nearly sixteen and having bragged of masses of pubic hair and having had sex with numerous partners, were undoubtedly as innocent and as partially bald as I. I read curiosity and jealousy in equal amounts in their expressions. Janet Daily was one of those young women who was a young woman before her time, and who no doubt now looks far older than her years. But back then she was the catch of the evening, and as always Max’s net was full. Like the others, I admit I felt pangs of jealousy and curiosity.

He saw me, and casually pushed Miss Daily off his knee, rising to his feet and wiping his mouth of lipstick smears. The young woman, to my astonishment, didn’t bat an eyelid at his brusqueness, but floated to another table and another possible partner. Max strolled over to me through the flotsam of jiggling bodies, through a soup of flashing and flickering lights and under the ultraviolet light that caused his teeth to gleam. He shouted something at me, but I didn’t catch it over the gale of booming music. He laughed, obviously enjoying himself, so I laughed too, not really knowing why. The atmosphere of the place had gotten to me, I suppose, and I was a little giddy with it.

Sadly, as friends we were moving apart. He realised it and so did I. When we stood and looked at one another it was the past we saw in each other’s eyes, not the present, not a future. I found it difficult to relate to him now; or rather I didn’t know which Max to relate to as there seemed to be so many of them in that head of his. He’d begun to terrify me at times. But there it was again, that strange pull that drew us together, as it always would. I was always ready to forgive Max anything.

He put an arm around my shoulder as if we were firm friends, as if we would always be bonded so. “I’ve got something,” he shouted above the noise close to my ear.

“Oh yeah, what?” I shouted back.

He winked, but before he could say more we were both drawn to a figure wading through the shifting lights towards us. His face fell when he saw that it was Ruby. And then as quickly as it had darkened his lips spread into that familiar, disarming smile. He faced her, nodding a greeting as she approached. I was captivated. Her hair was bathed alternately in red, blue, green and yellow, with the glitter ball sending showers of sparks to accompany the colours. She wore a tight V-neck T-shirt in bright-red, a pair of flared jeans enhanced and widened at the base by
Bay City Rollers
tartan and sweeping tent-like over her platform shoes. I had never seen hips rock that way before, except perhaps on Connie Stone. With the raising of one eyebrow she dismissed Max and stared at me purposefully. She wore bright-blue eyeshadow, dark mascara and a thick layer of lipstick whose colour looked like a muddy-brown under the lights. I stared back, speechless.

“Want to dance?” she said.

I shrugged, grinned, shrugged again, coughed. “Yes,” I blurted.

She took my hand –
took my hand!
– and dragged me to the centre of the pool of lights.

Ah, the softness of those small fingers curling around my own. I swear I shall
never
forget that first touch. And I shall never forget my awkwardness, for I had never danced before, though I had watched others performing their leg and arm swinging and thought I could do as well, if not, I boasted in the privacy of my head, far better. I did my best to jig along to Marc Bolan and
Jeepster
, but I must have looked a pretty absurd sight, having no clear sense of rhythm. It didn’t appear to bother Ruby who continued to smile warmly as she, hugely accomplished as she was, gave an extremely polished performance. But I was torn between staring at her captivating face and avoiding looking at her swinging breasts when she exerted herself at the music’s wilder parts. I was gasping, breathless, but more from pure undiluted excitement than my energetic but pitiable attempts at dancing.

“What’s your second name?” I asked self-consciously.

She cupped her hand to her mouth to shout above the music. “Deane,” she hailed. “Ruby Deane.”

“Mine is – ”

“Calder, I know,” she grinned.

I was desperate to ask her why she’d chosen me to dance with, but I didn’t want to break the spell of the moment, for that’s how it appeared to me, as something otherworldly, wholly magical. We danced together in a hot colour-splashed void, other people melting into nothing, their voices rendered inaudible by the blanket of music that wrapped itself around us, the entire universe represented by that tiny piece of school dance floor.  And when she came close during Hurricane Smith’s
Don’t Let it Die
and slid her arms around my neck, rubbed her cheek against my own so that I grew drunk on her perfume, and when I felt her young body press firmly against mine so that we seemed to fuse together perfectly, I knew then that no heaven conceived could better this unique moment in space and time.

We retired eventually to one of the tables they’d arranged around the hall’s perimeter and we talked energetically and knowledgeably about the music; about how this was the best time ever in the history of pop and that it would never ever be equalled; we talked about the teachers, about other people in the hall, about Christmas and New Year and how utterly amazing pocket calculators were. We moved quickly and effortlessly from one inane subject to another with as much passion as a couple of revolutionaries, sipping orangeade and crunching crisps from the tuck-shop, she preferring cheese and onion, to which privileged flavour I immediately swore unwavering allegiance from that night forth.

When Max came to the table I was peeved at his intrusion into my euphoria. He sat down, inviting Janet Daily to do the same. But I found it impossible to be angry, for I was far too happy. We laughed and joked, all four of us together, and even took to the dance floor and showed the rest of them how you could really enjoy yourself, playing ridiculously bad air guitar to
Roll Over Beethoven,
stomping to yet more
Slade
, or simply so high on good humour that we made fools of ourselves with our screeching, shouting and puerile antics. A net of balloons dropped from the ceiling towards the end of the night and we jumped like kangaroos over them, accompanied by loud pops and bangs and squeals of laughter. Ruby rescued one of the balloons and tied its streamer around her wrist, where it remained dangling from her arm for the rest of the evening. I was so deliriously happy. And I was in love, love, LOVE!

Max called us over to one side. “Look, I’ve got something.”

“Oh yeah,” said Janet. “So we heard.” Everyone laughed.

“Get your coats and come outside with me,” he insisted.

I was reluctant to leave, but the girls followed Max to the door, picking up their coats as they did so from the backs of chairs. My ears were ringing once we were outside the hall and out in the quiet of the corridor, the music now reduced to a dull thudding in the background. After the darkness of the hall the bright corridor lights were harsh and cold, but Ruby took my arm and my excitement returned in a rush when I felt her warmth pressed against my side.

“This way,” Max insisted.

We walked down the corridors, passing no-one else until we reached the toilets. Max ducked inside and returned moments later with a carrier bag, inside which something clinked. He took out a bottle of Guinness. “Eight of them,” he exclaimed. “Courtesy of Bernard,” he offered by way of explanation.

“That’s stealing!” I said.

But Janet had already plucked the bottle from Max’s grip, and Ruby put her hand into the bag and took a bottle out. “How do we open them without an opener?” she asked.

Max laughed and took one out of the bag. “The Boy Scouts teach you everything,” he said. He flicked off the top of a bottle and put the neck to his mouth. I watched as he glugged down about half of it before gasping for breath and wiping his lips. The smell of alcohol was strong. “Let’s go in here,” he said, strolling over to a darkened classroom and opening the door. He disappeared inside and we followed, closing the door behind us then sitting on the floor in a circle. He shared out the bottles and flicked off the tops one by one.

I was new to alcohol. My parents were non-drinkers, except for wine at Christmas, so I put the bottle of Guinness to my lips with trepidation. The taste surprised me, for it was not strong, and certainly more watery than I expected. Plus it was rather distasteful. But as I ran my tongue across my wet lips I thought that perhaps it wasn’t all that bad and took another couple of swigs. I emptied one bottle and had another thrust into my hand. The effects were strange and alien to me. I became light-headed. I felt warm, comforted, relaxed and sleepy. I remember laughing at anything that was said, rocking back and forth in humour-induced paroxysms. Max started to kiss Janet, and before I knew it Ruby had launched herself at me and I was on my back with her alcohol-soaked lips playing passionately over mine.

Eventually someone looked at a watch and someone said we had to be getting home, and someone opened the door to leave, and we staggered blindly after that someone. The frosty night air hit me like a hammer. Once outside in the schoolyard I clutched at a wall to steady myself, and I was aware of arms supporting me, and laughter aimed at me. I grinned foolishly, shouting out something to the effect of, “I’m going to burn down this bloody school!” I turned to seek out Max’s approval, but was confused to see only Ruby standing there smiling at me, her cheeks flushed red, her eyes bright with flecks of sodium light sparking in them. I went over to her and kissed her. “Where’ve they gone?” I said, slurring my words, and proud of myself that I’d gotten a little drunk.

“Home, I think,” she said. She lifted her arms to my neck and the balloon tied to her wrist bumped against my head. “I think you’re a bit tipsy,” she remarked unnecessarily.

“I’m in full control of everything!” I cried, taking her in my arms with uncharacteristic bravado.

She fought me off and took my hand, leading me away from the school. We walked for long minutes heading in goodness knows what direction, her body pressed to my side, her arm snaked around my waist, our breath escaping in white clouds that were caught by a slight breeze and mingled, appropriately I thought, in the frozen air around us. I became aware of grass under my feet, crunching with frost. We arrived at a tree and she put her back to it and we kissed again. We remained wrapped in our tight little world in total silence for an eternity. Oh, the touch of those velvet-cushioned lips! Her warm breath! Her softness! If I were to die now, I thought, I would die perfectly contented.