Weirdo (33 page)

When Sean looked in his mirror again, the monkey was long gone.

“You two are at school together, aren’t you? Mr Pearson’s class?”

Smollet’s mother stood between himself and Samantha, a glass of Asti Spumante in her hand. Samantha, who had been talking to her grandfather, turned her head, casting her eyes over Mrs Smollet with a quizzical expression.

“Oh,” she said, flicking a glance towards Dale, “yes, that’s right. Are you …?”

“Karen Smollet,” the woman with the Alexis Carrington shoulder pads offered a hand encrusted with gold and diamonds. “Dale’s mum. And you’re Samantha, aren’t you?”

Samantha’s smile was incredulous. Dale felt the colour travelling up his neck. He couldn’t believe his mother had just dragged him all the way across the crowded room just to embarrass him like this. He already felt stupid enough in the black tuxedo she had insisted that he wore for the occasion, the little dickey bow she’d tied around his neck.

“That’s what a black-tie dinner means,” she had said. “Remember that. It won’t be your last.”

He stared down at his Italian leather slip-on shoes, the only
piece of clobber he was not ashamed to be wearing.

“Eric!” Karen blabbered on. “Happy birthday, darling!”

Eric leaned across to kiss her on the cheek. “Karen,” he said, “looking glamorous as ever.”

“Oh,” said Karen, mock coquettish, “this old thing?”

She did a twirl, so that her red sequinned dress swished around her hips.

Dale closed his eyes, wishing the floor of the Lodge would open up and swallow him. Almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a soft voice beside him say: “God! I didn’t realise your mother was as embarrassing as mine.”

Opened them to see Samantha standing there, grinning at him mischievously.

He started to laugh and she winked.

“Which one is yours, then?” he replied,
sotto voce
.

“That shameless old bitch over there,” Samantha motioned with her head towards a woman who could have been Karen’s blonde twin, except for the fact that she was wearing a layered black chiffon creation that didn’t completely hide the bump in her stomach. “With her toy boy,
Wayne
.” She pronounced the name with disdain.

Dale took in the sight of an uncomfortable looking guy with curly brown hair, sideburns and an ill-fitting tuxedo that made his own look like the razor’s edge of suave. Wayne appeared to have left style behind some time in the middle of the last decade.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Underneath that jacket, he’s got a tattoo of an anchor on his arm. Underneath where it says your mum’s name.”

Samantha’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect “O”.

“How’d you know that?” she said.

“My uncle Ted,” said Dale, motioning his own head backwards, “is just the same.”

Samantha strained her neck, then put her hand over her mouth and giggled delightedly as she caught sight of the only other man in the room wearing flared trousers.

Dale didn’t think he had ever seen her look more lovely. Her hair had grown out of that stupid style that Rowlands kept taunting him about. It was long and feathery, quite sophisticated. And the simple, long black dress she wore did everything for her figure – although he quickly moved his eyes back up when she had stopped laughing at Ted.

“Well,” she said. “We’ve got more in common than I thought.”

* * *

“I say,” Edna leaned across to whisper in Amanda’s ear, “who’s that nice-looking boy talking to our Sammy?”

Amanda followed her mother’s gaze. “I don’t know,” she said, “but he does look smart, doesn’t he?”

“Much more like it,” Edna agreed.

* * *

“You see,” Rivett slipped alongside Eric, “what did I tell you? Make a handsome couple, don’t they?”

“He scrub up all right, I s’pose,” said Eric, grudgingly.

“He’s going to go far, Eric,” said Rivett, “right to the top. He’s got all the qualities I need to make an outstanding policeman and a model member of society. And in the meantime, something to put a smile on your face, even before I do my speech. I’ve found you a lovely new ingénue for your next production.”

“Yeah?” said Eric, not taking his eyes off Samantha. “She won’t be as good as the last one.”

“I don’t see why not,” said Rivett. “She’s a chip off the old block. And,” he leaned closer, whispered into Eric’s ear, “she’s only sweet fifteen.”

* * *

“Corrine,” Gina yelled up the stairs, “get down here now. And,” she added as an afterthought, “make sure you look decent.”

Corrine looked down at the collection of talismans she had spread across the surface of the pink plastic dressing table, given to her long ago by a grandmother she barely recalled. She had no idea how much of it was down to what Noj had taught her and how much of it was the absence of Rat, but in the weeks since she had been back here, Gina had not come into her room to steal, destroy or disturb any of the items from what she now thought of as her altar.

Corrine’s eyes ran across the red and black crushed-velvet scarf that served as her altar cloth. Noj had bought her the candles and the highly patterned little Indian brass dishes in which they sat from the head shop in Norwich, impressing upon her the need to keep things tidy and in order for the spell to continue its work.

Two white candles, which she had first rubbed with sandalwood oil while saying the incantation, were burning between a brass bowl containing sea salt, dissolved in hot water. Beside each one, joss sticks smoked from lotus-shaped brass holders, filling the room with the scent of frankincense and myrrh.

Protected by the candles were her prize possessions, the books and the pack of tarot cards that her mentor had given
her.
The Goetia
and
The Necronomicon
. The first one, the one that had saved her from Gina that night in the police station, was the one she treasured the most. Without Noj’s guidance, she wouldn’t have been able to pronounce it, let alone understand a word of it. But Corrine felt that this book in particular, radiated a protective power all of its own.

“Corrine!” Gina’s voice got louder and there was an ominous banging from under the floor. “I said get down here, now!”

Corrine stared at her face in the mirror, imagining a white light all around her. Repeated the lines that she now knew off by heart. Said them three times and then bowed her head to the altar, stood up and went downstairs.

There was a man standing in the kitchen with her mother.

A man she didn’t think she had ever seen before, but at the same time, seemed so familiar she did a double-take as he turned around to face her.

A tall, broad shape in a sheepskin coat and a black trilby with a feather in the side of it. Dark, almond-shaped eyes deep-set under black brows in a wide, weather-beaten face. A broad smile cracked across it, revealing pointed canine teeth. Corrine put a hand up to her own face as she looked at him, a question forming in her mind.

“This,” said Gina, before Corrine could find her voice to ask it, “is your Uncle Len.”

Corrine frowned. Her first thought dissolved into a lurch of fear. Was this, then, Rat’s replacement?

“Hello, Corrine,” said the man, offering her a huge paw of a hand. Gold rings flashed on his every finger.

Corrine took it gingerly and he gave her palm a little squeeze. The funny feeling came back as she looked back at him. The
strangest thought hit her: was it possible that Gina was actually not lying for once? That this man really
was
her uncle?

“I in’t seen you,” he said, as if reading her mind, “since you were a little girl, asleep in your pram.”

Corrine looked to her mother for verification.

Gina nodded. “That’s right, Corrine. Uncle Len in’t seen you since you were a baby. But now he want to make up for lost time.”

* * *

Corrine sat on the passenger seat of the black Rover.

“This is a really nice car,” she said, impressed with the leather seats and the smell of Uncle Len’s cologne. She had been studying his face all the while he’d been driving, was almost certain about him now. Uncle Len was funny. He made her laugh.

“Glad you approve,” he said. “A man should only drive the best of British.”

Corrine took her gaze away from his profile and looked out the window. They were cruising down the seafront, towards the big hotel where Julian worked for his summer job, waiting tables in the restaurant. The Albert, it was called.

The indicator began ticking as Uncle Len pulled across and into the car park at the rear of the building. Corrine looked up at the high walls, the little slits of windows, the rows of tall, wide steel bins for the slops. The hotel didn’t look quite so nice from this side.

“We in’t goin’ here, are we?” she asked.

“Why not?” said Uncle Len. “That’s supposed to be the best in town. I’ve got a friend work here, got us a special deal,” he winked. “That’s why we have to go in round the back way.”

“Yeah, but,” Corrine said, “I got a friend who work here an’ all. He say there’s cockroaches all over the place. He say one even fell off the ceiling into an old lady’s bowl of soup one night.” She giggled at the thought of it.

Rivett stopped the car. “He must have been exaggerating,” he said. “Like all boys do. But I tell you what, if there are any cockroaches, I’ll slay ’em for you. Come on.” He saw Eric’s face appear at one of the narrow windows in the stairwell.

“You better,” said Corrine, still laughing, unclasping her seatbelt.

They had got about halfway to the back door when Rivett saw Eric shake his head and make a cutting motion with the side of his hand across his neck. He frowned.

Eric repeated the gesture more vehemently, then ducked his head out of sight.

“What?” Rivett said aloud, halting in his tracks.

Corrine, who had been chattering away beside him, kept on walking for a few paces, until she realised he was no longer at her side. She turned around. “What’s up?” she asked.

“I don’t rightly know,” Rivett said. “Go wait back by the car a minute, while I find out.”

Corrine stuck out her bottom lip. “OK,” she said.

Once she was out of earshot, Rivett leant against the back door, knocking softly.

It opened the merest fraction of an inch.

“Get her out of here,” hissed Eric.

“Why?” Rivett whispered. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s fucking mental, that’s what. That’s the bitch what shaved Edna’s dog, frightened the stupid thing to death. Get her out of here, Len, and don’t ever bring her anywhere near me or my family again.”

The door slammed shut in Rivett’s face.

He turned around slowly. Corrine was standing next to his car, or more accurately, dancing next to his car, immersed in some little dream world of her own, a song she could hear in her head. Despite all her war paint and her ridiculous hair, she didn’t look fifteen, really. She looked like a little girl, skipping on the pavement. A little girl who had always been left to play on her own.

“Oh dear, Gina,” he said to himself. “One more blot on your copybook.”

He walked slowly back towards Corrine.

“Sad to report,” he said, “but my mate’s been taken sick. We can’t have that table tonight after all.”

“See,” she said, shrugging. “I told you it weren’t safe to eat in there.”

Despite himself, Rivett found himself laughing. Heard himself asking her: “Well, what would you like to do instead?”

Corrine cocked her head to one side. “Hmmm,” she considered. “Well, I did used to like going up the Leisure Beach,” her eyes drifted in the direction of the brightly lit turrets and towers, the spinning wheels going round. “But,” she screwed her nose up, looked back at him, “I’ve gone off it. I think, what I’d most like to do now is … Get a big bag of donuts and then go play on the ’musies.”

Her face lit up expectantly. For the life of him, and for all the experience he had of those that were quite capable of doing such things, Rivett could not imagine her hurting Edna’s dog. “All right, Corrine,” he said, taking his car keys out of his pocket, “you show me your favourite ones.”

* * *

He took her down to The Mint, bought her five ring donuts for a pound and a can of Coke, watched her guzzle down the lot like she’d never been fed before. Then he changed a couple of quid at the entrance of the amusement arcade, dropped the coins in her hand and followed her to her favourite machine.

Corrine couldn’t believe her luck as she pushed the pennies into the slot. She was on a high – from the sugar, from the fact that Uncle Len was so nice and now, because she had finally got all the way to Level Three of Pac-Man – something that, despite all her practice, she’d never achieved in her life before.

“Uncle Len!” she whooped delightedly. “Look at this, Uncle Len!”

She turned around to show him. The smile fell from her face, to be replaced by a frown, as she searched around the machines for a man in a sheepskin coat and a trilby. The machines whooped and trilled, oblivious. Uncle Len had gone.

* * *

“Yeah?” Gina lent against the doorframe, looking tired, looking bored. She’d been letting herself go, Rivett noted. Her perfect skin was blotchy, her face bloated from drinking too much and sleeping not enough. Her once shiny raven’s mane looked dull and unwashed. “Something else you want?”

“She weren’t no good,” said Rivett.

“What?” Gina frowned. The bourbon was strong on her breath. Rivett pushed past her into the hallway and shut the front door on the street outside.

“Your little Corrine,” said Rivett, “in’t no use to me. My partner din’t want to use her.”

Gina shrugged, a slothful mirror of her daughter’s favourite gesture.

“So?” she said. Her black eyes were out of focus.

“So you wasted my time,” said Rivett. “Wasted my partner’s time and all. Which all mean, it’s not looking good for you again, Gina. And so soon …”

Gina exhaled a stream of smoke in his face. “D’you know what?” she said. “I really couldn’t give a fuck.” She opened her arms theatrically, stumbling as she did so, having to catch herself against the wall. “You want to fuck me? Fuck me. You want to beat me up? Beat me up. Whatever you like. It’s nothing I in’t took before. Just get it over with.”