Ecstasy (3 page)

– That would do it right enough, Yvonne smirked. – You gonna see if she’s got any freebies?

– Aye, ah’ll dae that, said Lorraine. – Aye, and she’s really fat as well. That’s how she had the stroke. She’s a total pig now!

– Yeuch! Imagine looking like that and letting yourself go!

– Right but, Yvonne, Lorraine looked at her watch, – we’d better be makin a move, eh no?

– Yeah … Yvonne conceded, earmarking a page and rising to get ready.

7 Perk’s Dilemma

Rebecca was crying. Just as she had been every day that week he had gone in to visit her. This gravely concerned Perky. When Rebecca cried it was because she was depressed. When Rebecca was depressed she didn’t write, couldn’t write. When she didn’t write … well, Rebecca always left the business side of things to Perky, who in turn painted a far glossier picture of their financial situation than was actually the case. Perky had certain expenses unknown to Rebecca. He had needs; needs, he considered, that the self-centred and egotistical old bag could never comprehend.

Their whole relationship was about him indulging her ego, subsuming all his own needs in the service of her infinite vanity, or at least that’s what it would have been had he not been able to lead his private life. He deserved, he reasoned, some recompense. He was, by nature, a man of expensive tastes, as extravagant as her blasted heroines.

He looked at her clinically, drinking in the extent of the damage. It had not been what the doctors would term a severe stroke. Rebecca had not lost the power of speech (bad, Perky considered) and he was assured that her critical faculties had not been impaired (good, he thought). But it certainly appeared nasty enough to him. One side of her face looked like a piece of plastic which had been left too close to a fire. He had tried to keep a mirror away from the self-obsessed bitch, but it proved impossible. She’d insisted, until someone had furnished her with one.

– Oh Perky, I’m so horrible! Rebecca whined, gazing at her collapsed face in the mirror.

– Nonsense, my darling. It’ll all get better, you’ll see!

Let’s face it, old girl, you were never much in the looks stakes.
Too
gross, always stuffing fucking chocolates into your face, he thought to himself. The doctors had said as much. Obese was the word they had used. A woman of only forty-two years of age, nine years his junior, though you would never think it. Three stone overweight. It was a fantastic word: obese. The way the doctor had said it, clinically, medically, in its proper context. It hurt her. He noticed that. It cut her to the quick.

Despite this recognition of the change in her face, Perky was astonished that he couldn’t really ascertain any real aesthetic decline in Rebecca’s looks since the stroke. The truth was, he reckoned, that she had repulsed him for a long time. Perhaps, indeed, she always had: her childishness, her self-obsession, her fussing, and above all, her obesity. She was pathetic.

– Oh darling Perks, do you really think so? Rebecca moaned to herself rather than Perky, then turned to the approaching Nurse Lorraine Gillespie, – Will it get better, Nursey?

Lorraine smiled at her, – Aw, ah’m sure it will, Mrs Navarro.

– See? Listen to this lovely young lady, Perks smiled, raising a bushy eyebrow at Lorraine, and maintaining eye contact for a flirtatiously long time, before ending it with a wink.

A slow burner, this one, Perky thought. He regarded himself as a connoisseur of women. Sometimes, he considered, beauty just bit you straight away. You went
wow!
, then you acclimatised yourself to it. The best ones, though, the ones like this little Scotch nurse, they just crept up on you slowly but resolutely, showing you something else every time, with every mood, every different expression. They allowed you to form a vague woolly neutral perception of them, then they looked at you a certain way and ruthlessly mugged it.

– Yes, Rebecca pouted, – my darling little Nursey. She’s so kind and gentle, aren’t you, Nursey?

Lorraine felt flattered and insulted at the same time. All she could think about was finishing. Tonight was the night. Goldie!

– And I can tell that Perky likes you! Rebecca sang. – He’s such a terrible flirt, aren’t you, Perks?

Perky forced a smile.

– But he’s such a darling, and so romantic, I don’t know what I’d do without him.

His personal stock with Rebecca seemingly higher than ever, Perky instinctively placed a micro-cassette recorder on her locker, along with some blank tapes. Maybe a bit heavy-handed, he thought, but he was desperate. – Perhaps a bit of match-making with Miss May might take your mind off things, my darling …

– Oh Perks … I couldn’t possibly write romance now. Look at me. I’m horrendous. How could I possibly think of romance?

Perky felt a sinking fear hang heavily in his chest.

– Nonsense. You’re still the most beautiful woman in the world, he forced out through clenched teeth.

– Oh darling Perky … she began, just before Lorraine stuck a thermometer in her mouth to silence her.

Perks looked coldly at what he saw as this ridiculous figure, his face still moulded in a relaxed smile. Duplicity came so easily to him. However, the nagging problem remained: without another Miss May Regency Romance manuscript, Giles at the publishers would not cough up that hundred-and-eighty-grand advance on the next book. Worse, he would sue for breach of contract and want back the ninety grand on the last one. That ninety grand; now the property of various London bookmakers, publicans, restaurateurs and prostitutes.

Rebecca was getting bigger and bigger, not just literally, but as a writer. The
Daily Mail
had described her as the ‘world’s greatest living romance writer’, while the
Standard
referred to her as ‘Britain’s Princess Regent’. The next one would be the biggest yet. Perks needed that manuscript, something to follow up
Yasmin Goes To Yeovil, Paula Goes To Portsmouth, Lucy Goes To Liverpool
and
Nora Goes To Norwich
.

– I’ll really have to read your books, Mrs Navarro. My friend’s a big fan of yours. She’s just finished reading
Yasmin Goes To Yeovil
, Lorraine told Rebecca, taking the thermometer from her mouth.

– Then you shall! Perks, be a darling, do remember to bring in some books for Nursey … oh and, Nursey, please, please, please, please, please call me Rebecca. Of course I shall keep calling you
Nursey
because I’m used to it now, although Lorraine is a most lovely name. You look just like a young French countess … in fact, you know, I think you look just like a portrait I once saw of Lady Caroline Lamb. It was a flattering portrait, as she was never as lovely as you, my darling, but she’s my heroine: a wonderfully romantic figure not afraid to risk scandal for love, like all the best women throughout history. Would you risk scandal for love, Nursey darling?

God, the sow’s ranting again, Perks thought.

– Dinnae ken, eh, Lorraine shrugged.

– Oh, I’m sure you would. You have that wild, ungovernable look about you. Don’t you think so, Perks?

Perky felt his blood pressure rise and a layer of salt crystallise on his lips. That uniform … those buttons … removed one by one … he forced a cool smile.

– Yes, Nursey, Rebecca continued, – I see you as a consort of Lady Caroline Lamb, at one of those grand regency balls, pursued by suitors eager to waltz with you … do you waltz, Nursey?

– Naw, ah’m intae house, especially jungle n that likes. Dinnae mind trancey n garage n techno n that, bit ah like it tae kick but ken?

– Would you like to learn to waltz?

– No really bothered. Mair intae house, eh. Jungle likes. Goldie’s ma man, eh.

– Oh, but you must, Nursey, you really must, Rebecca’s swollen face pouted insistently.

Lorraine felt faintly embarrassed as she was aware of Perky’s eyes lingering on her. She felt strangely exposed in her uniform as if she was something exotic, something to be held up for inspection. She had to get on. Sister Patel was coming on soon and there would be trouble if she didn’t get a move on.

– Where about in Bonnie Scotland are you from? Perks smiled.

– Livingston, Lorraine said quickly.

– Livingston, Rebecca said, – it sounds perfectly delightful. Are you going home to visit soon?

– Aye, see ma mother n that.

Yes, there was something about that Scotch nurse, thought Perks.
She
had an effect on more than his hormones; she was helping Rebecca. This girl seemed to ignite her, to bring her back to life. As Lorraine left, his wife drifted back into a litany of self-pitying whines. It was time he left as well.

8 Freddie’s Indiscretion

Freddy Royle had had, by his standards, a tiring day prior to his late afternoon arrival at St Hubbin’s. He had been in the television studios all morning filming an episode of
From Fred With Love
. A young boy, whom Fred had sorted out to swim with the dolphins at Morecambe’s Marineland, while his grandparents were brought back to the scene of their honeymoon, was all excited in the studio and writhed around on his lap, getting Freddy so aroused and excited that they had to do several takes. – Oi loike em still, he said, – very, very still. Barry, the producer, was not at all amused. – In the name of God, Freddy, take the rest of the fucking afternoon off and go to the hospital and shag a stiff, he moaned. – Let’s see if we can dampen that bloody libido of yours.

It seemed good advice. – Oi think oi moite just be doin that, me ol cocker, Freddy smiled, summoning a commissionaire to order him a cab from Shepherd’s Bush down to St Hubbin’s. On the ride through West London, frustrated at the grindingly slow pace of the cab in the traffic, he changed his mind and requested the driver to drop him off at a Soho bookshop he frequented.

Freddy winked at the man behind the counter of the busy establishment before sauntering through to the back. There, another man, wearing strange, horn-rimmed glasses, and drinking tea from a Gillingham F.C. mug, smiled at Freddy. – All right, Freddy? How you going, mate?

– Not baad, Bertie, moi ol mucker. Yourzelf?

– Oh, musn’t grumble. Here, I got something for you … Bertie opened a locked cupboard and rummaged around through some brown-paper packages until he saw one marked FREDDY in black felt pen.

Freddy didn’t open it, but instead nodded, over to a display bookcase on the wall. Bertie smiled, – Quite a few been in today, and moved over to the wall. He grabbed a handle and pulled open a door. Behind it was a small, narrow room, with metal shelving stacked with magazines and videos. Two men were browsing, as Freddy walked in and pulled the bookcase door shut behind him. Freddy knew one of them.

– Alroight, Perks, me old sport?

Perky Navarro averted his gaze from the cover of
Long-Tongued Lesbo Love-Babes No.2
and smiled at Freddy. – Freddy, old boy. How are you? He did a quick double-take to the rack, as he was convinced he saw a likeness of Nurse Lorraine Gillespie in
New Cunts 78
. He picked it up, studied it closely. No, just similar hair.

– I’m foine, me old mucker, Freddy began, then noting Perk’s distraction, asked – Zeen zumthin interestin?

– I rather thought I had, but, alas, no, Perky sounded deflated.

– Oi dare zay you’ll foind zumthin that takes your fancy. And what news of the Angel, ow’s she farin?

– Oh, she’s doing a lot better.

– Well, she’s in the roight place. I’m going to drop in and see her today, cause oime headin down to St Hubbin’s for a fund-raisin meetin.

– Well, I can see a huge difference, Perky smiled, perking up again. – She’s even talking about starting to do some writing soon.

– Crackin show.

– Yes, that young nurse that’s been looking after her … little Scotch girl … she’s been good for her. A stunning little bird as well. In fact I’ve been scouring the wares for a likeness …

– Anything interesting in?

– There’s some new stuff that Bertie tells me just came from Hamburg yesterday, but that’s over there, Perks ushered Freddy to one of the racks.

Freddy picked up a magazine and thumbed through its contents. – Not baad, not baad at all. Oi got moiself a noice little vist-vuckin magazine the other week there. Ow zum of them there girlz an boyz can take one of them vists up their doo-daas oi don’t know. Oi be
bad
enough trying to shoite if I’ve gone a vew days without spendin a penny!

– I think some of them must be full of those muscle-relaxant drugs, Perks told him.

This seemed to intrigue Freddy. – Muzzle-relaxint drugs … hmmm … that open them up noicely now, would it?

– Yes, that would do the trick. Read about it. You’re not thinking of trying some, are you? Perky laughed.

Freddy turned a toothy grin his way and Perky found himself recoiling from the television star’s pungent breath. – Oi rulz out nuttin at no toimes, Perky me boy, you knows me.

Slapping his friend on the back, the television star picked up his package and left the shop, hailing another taxi outside. He was off to see Rebecca Navarro, a woman he, like all her friends, indulged shamelessly. He had playfully, and to her delight, nicknamed her ‘The Angel’. But after seeing her, Freddy would spend more time with some other friends whom most people would describe as ‘absent’, but who, for his purposes, were very much present and correct.

9 In The Jungle

The night before his life changed, Glen had had to plead with his friend Martin, – Come on, mate, give it a try. I got good pills, those Amsterdam Playboys. The best ever.

– Exactly, Martin sneered, – and you’re gonna waste them on this fuckin jungle shit. I don’t go for that shit, Glen, I just can’t fucking well dance to it.

– C’mon, mate, as a favour. Give it a go.

– A favour? Why you so desperate to check out this club? Keith and Carol and Eddie, they’re all going down to Sabresonic and then on to the Ministry.

– Look, mate, house music’s at the forefront of everything, and jungle’s at the forefront of house. It’s got to have a capacity to surprise, innit, otherwise it just becomes affirmation, like country-and-western, or like rock’n’roll’s become. Jungle’s the music with the capacity to surprise. It’s where the cutting edge is. We owe it to ourselves to check it out, Glen implored.