DEATHLOOP (49 page)

“I was a dick to Justin, he made me acid at Cambridge and he only did so - risking everything really the quantities he made - because I told him I was about to turn gay.”

“Nobody
turns
gay, Zack, they either are gay or they’re not.”

“A
joke
, Veronica… you know… a
joke
? Sam told him in the end which didn’t go down too well, as you can imagine.”

“And what about Sam?” she said, as though she had wanted to get to the bottom off all this for some time.

“Sam is my saviour, because I was his once. He was a laughing stock in the first term, a ludicrous little smurf with terrible taste in clothes, so freakish even the boffins would have nothing to do with him.”

“So why make him your crusade?”

“You’re not the first person to ask me that, and the answer is I don’t know. I don’t know why I engaged with Sam initially, I just did, but there was something else…”

“What?”

“I can’t put it into words, this need I had for him, I really started to get off on the little guy, and when he wasn’t around I felt bereft. We had a huge row once…”

“Another one?”

“We’ve had quite a few over the years, I beat a few guys up who were getting close to him, and he threatened one in particular that was getting close to me, but the most spectacular… well you won’t be surprised to hear that that one was about me not trusting, not opening up… I didn’t see him for a week and it felt like a death.”

Veronica frowned and cocked her head on one side.

“I know, I know…” said Zack, not wanting to go over this again.

“Your relationship is just so intense.”

“Yeah, it is, and you know what, I don’t care, and Sam doesn’t care. I appreciate the conundrum that a heterosexual guy finds it easier to say he loves his mate rather than his girlfriend, but there we are, make of it what you will.”

“So I am simply the most recent in a long line of conquests, is that it?” said Veronica, after a silence.

“I can’t do anything about the ones that went before.”

“But you don’t trust me, you told me you couldn’t trust…”

“Okay, look, if you want the cod psychology, my mother couldn’t function without the attentions of some cheap degenerate in her bed and I trusted her when she said that each one would be the last, and guess what happened? Have I ever forgiven her for that? No I have not, not at the last count, and you know what they say about mothers and their sons.”

“And all these drugs you take…”

“Took…” he said, correcting her, “all these drugs I took. I’ve been on the wagon for years… with just the occasional relapse. It’s recreational now, if at all, no big deal.”

“But that’s all it ever is, isn’t it, recreational?”

“Not with me it wasn’t, at Cambridge it was my chosen profession, it was a way of life.”

Veronica didn’t quite know what to make of all this. She had known all along that Zack was complex, but this was taking complexity a little too far.

“You asked for honesty and here it is: people don’t really change, we say we will and maybe we have every intention of so doing, but we don’t. I’m a bastard, particularly to women, and although I’m trying to do something about that… well, hey… let’s not hold our breath.”

“So I could be despatched soon, off into the void like Susan and like all the others?”

“You’re different, but I understand I might have trouble convincing you of that.”

“So you are asking me to trust you when you are unable to return the compliment, is that it?”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” he said. “Just as long as you know that there’s no telling what I’ll be up to this time next week, that’s the truth of it.”

“So what would you do if you were me?”

“Leave tomorrow, first thing, and find someone less screwed up,” said Zack, nervous of this huge gamble but rather excited by it too.

Not long after this Veronica went up to bed, saying she needed an early night. The jury had retired and it would be the morning at the earliest before Zack would hear the verdict, so he took himself over to Justin’s to get drunk.

Four hours later as Zack slid beneath the sheets, he felt Veronica stir. She set a lazy hand on his leg as it pressed itself against hers, but the movement was final, as though he should expect no more, not the beginning of others. He held her gently, his cheek laid against her back, waiting for her to change her mind, but she didn’t, within seconds he heard the unguarded breathing of sleep.

Veronica woke early, easing herself from Zack’s body that had settled round her like a sandbag. She crept downstairs to the kitchen, took the kettle and filled it at the sink. Already letters lay on the mat, she picked them up and shuffled through them, circulars and brown envelopes mainly, but one had her name scrawled across it, re-addressed from Tracy’s office. A little while later, clutching a mug of tea, she took the letter to the garden and pulled up a rusting old chair.

Already the sun was up and unobstructed by clouds. A few starlings waddled further along the lawn digging their beaks into the shady turf beneath two spreading oaks. Veronica took out the letter and started to read.

‘Dear Veronica, I was sorry to hear about your accident. I am so glad that you have fully recovered. I dropped round to see you simply to warn you, that’s all. Despite his immense charm, Zack Fortune manipulates people for his own ends. Although I had evidence to support an incident that took place between us, the police, for reasons of their own have decided not to proceed with the case. Although you will not want to hear this, I have to tell you that as long as you remain with Zack Fortune your life is in great danger. Yours truly, Susan M. Wilmot.’

Veronica read the letter twice more, then examined the large open writing that looped lyrically across the paper. The lines were set out well in composition, the violet ink making its own statement. Veronica put the paper to her nose thinking it might be perfumed, but it wasn’t, which was something of a disappointment. She put the note back into its envelope and gazed out into the trees, watching as sneaky little gusts of wind crept up, ruffling leaves.

Zack’s confession last night had done nothing to ease Veronica’s anxiety, and Susan’s note this morning only served to endorse it. Zack was the most beautiful man she had ever met or seen, but even that was unnerving. Everywhere they went people stared, men, women, children and animals. Shop girls gave him the wrong change because they were so distracted by how good looking he was, and no matter where he stood, someone always brought him up to the head of the queue. But what Veronica found most disturbing was a sense of him spinning round in his own orbit, out of kilter with the laws of the universe, and always this sense of danger that tagged along behind him like a blind old dog.

Either he was brutally honest in his dealings with her, or elusive and vague – no middle ground, ever. Last night he suggested she should leave, which of course guaranteed that she would stay, wildly curious, scared that she might miss something. Veronica didn’t believe Susan’s allegation, (she had clearly become deranged by losing him), but Veronica was encouraged that Susan’s note was at least civil, throwing blame onto Zack rather than her, although a note informing her of Susan’s imminent exile would have been preferable. As she was considering whether to tell Zack about Susan’s letter, she heard a knock at the front door and stood up to answer it.

“Is he up yet?” said Justin, as he followed Veronica inside, grasping Zack’s sweater and wallet.

“Not yet. You’ll join me in a cuppa?” she said, more a statement than a question as Justin trailed after her into the kitchen.

“Why not,” said Justin, “why not. He left these last night, his wallet stuffed with notes…”

“Was he that drunk?”

“We both were. Hey, I should be doing this, not you,” said Justin, grabbing the kettle.

“It’s good practice, I don’t intend to be an invalid all my life.”

Minutes later, with their mugs of tea, they headed out to the garden and sat down, Justin lighting up a cheroot. He glanced over at Veronica and she knew he was debating whether to say something.

“Have you got any idea what you have got yourself involved with here?” he said evenly, surprising her with his bluntness. “Zack Fortune will hang you out to dry, Veronica. Not straight away you understand, and the more interesting and desirable you are the longer it will take, but it will happen.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure I’ll manage,” she said, stiffly.

“You won’t tame him you know, no one can.”

“I have no intention of
taming
him,” she snapped, “he’d be someone else then, someone I wouldn’t necessarily like.”

“Just don’t expect to win, that’s all, because with Zack Fortune, no one does win, ever.”

Veronica was just about to tell Justin to butt out when Zack came stumbling into the garden, clutching his head.

“What are you doing here, Justin? Stirring it I expect.”

“Telling Veronica to have nothing more to do with you, of course.”

“I’ve told her, but she won’t listen,” said Zack, dropping a kiss on her cheek and smoothing back her hair.

“Well, if you’re both
that
insistent, maybe I should think again.”

“By the way we’re having a party here, a week Saturday, it’s Justin’s birthday.”

“Here? Why here?”

“You’ve got the garden,” said Justin.

“Yes, but you’ve got the house.”

“A joint thing, for us too…”

“And what’s the celebration?”

“Our engagement of course…”

Once Justin had gone, looking rather miffed at Zack’s news, Veronica sat Zack down and asked him what the hell he was playing at.

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“Well, maybe I’ve got this completely wrong but usually you ask first, don’t you? We’ve never discussed it, we don’t even know each other that well.”

“So? We’ll have fun finding out.”

“This is not what you really want.”

“No?”

“This is you being perverse. Only last night you told me to leave.”

“But you didn’t take me up on it, did you, you’re still here.”

“Yes, but only just, you horrible man…”

Zack put his hand over her mouth, took it away and kissed her.

“Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t joke about things like this, it’s not fair.”

“This is me, coming to my senses and not wanting to let you go.”

“I’ll think about it, and get back to you, how’s that?”

“Well don’t make me wait too long, I might just go off the idea,” said Zack, deflated.

“See! See what you’re like!”

“
It was a joke for goodness sake,
why so sensitive all of a sudden? Anyway, what did Justin really want?”

“He wasn’t joking when he said he warned me off you, he really did.”

“Just like Sam,” said Zack, with a chuckle, “they know competition when they see it, these boys.”

Jason had decided to fit two more locks to his door. That would be 6 in total, and he’d always liked the number 6. It was round and whole and solid. He once foolishly mentioned this to a kid in a pub. The kid asked him if he would prefer three 6’s which would be three times as good. Jason agreed, saying yes, he would. So the kid made the sign of the cross with his fingers and pretended to be scared, then he burst out laughing and went off to tell his mates. Every time Jason went near them again they shouted out “
666!
” and called him Damien, which was the last time Jason had admitted to liking anything.

Jason had a little tool box that he’d stolen from a garden shed which contained just about every sized screw driver you would ever need, cross threaded and straight edged too. The Asian boy had banged on his door again telling him to stop the noise and to stop the DIY, but Jason told him he’d drill his eyes out if he said another word which seemed to do the trick. Once all the locks were fitted, Jason set off for Claremont.

Jason checked the car park there every day just in case the Mercedes was back in the parking bay, but so far no luck. Jason spent most of his day hanging around there, or outside Nyman’s. He knew he wouldn’t get very far with Miss Betty, but he got to thinking that Patrick might be more approachable.

Patrick always looked forward to his lunch hour, it was a time to reflect on the events of the morning and a time to praise God for the gift of another day. There were no canteen facilities at Emerson Buildings which was a bit of a blow to Patrick, so either he brought sandwiches and ate them in the square, or when he felt in need of a decent meal, he went to Gianni’s, a small Italian café next to the tube station. Because of family commitments Patrick had to be careful with money so his trips to Gianni’s were infrequent, but during the summer months the square was more pleasant anyway. The benches were generally in great demand, so he would throw his old mackintosh down onto the grass and perch on it watching people come and go. Often he would read the Bible, or sometimes listen to the World Service on his transistor radio.

Once, Betty had walked past on her way back from a shopping expedition and spied him, and the following day hinted that maybe she should join him there later that week, but Patrick had implied that he was an infrequent visitor to the square and as the weather had become unseasonable for the time of year, his enjoyment of the amenities there was unlikely to be repeated. Patrick noticed that Miss Betty seemed quite cross with him when he had said that.

Jason managed to follow Patrick without being seen, and once Patrick had found a spot and got himself organized, Jason bowled up, squatting down beside him, saying nothing for a while, hoping Patrick would start the conversation.

Patrick was taken aback to see the mad boy here, imposing himself like this, hoping if he ignored him he would go away.

“Where’s he gone, Zack Fortune?” said Jason, finally.

“This is an affront to health and safety, be on your way, boy, without several moments to lose.”

“I can be here if I want…”

“This public amenity is for the benefit of respectable people to enjoy leisurely communication and social intercourse, you don’t belong here.”