INCARNATION (47 page)

‘I won’t be long. I promise.’

He set off, skirting the tall dune and coming out into more open country. He’d memorized the terrain that he’d seen from above; but here on the ground, it all seemed confusingly different. He began to wonder if he would, after all, be able to find Mehmet and his charges.

The flags stood up reasonably well in the soft sand. The sticks were made of light wood, and the flags themselves were of flimsy material. David found himself glad that Nabila had had the foresight to bring them in the first place. Looking back the way he had come, David realized that even a moment’s inadvertence could cause him to lose the way.

He thought he recognized the dune ahead. It was white, with a row of camel-thorn bushes bristling across one side. He made a turn at it, praying he was making better speed than Mehmet. When he looked round again, the view back to his starting-point was blocked. If another storm came, he would never make it back to Nabila.

S
uddenly, some distance ahead, he saw them - a curving line of tired-looking camels plodding stoically across a burnt landscape. Their foreshortened forms shivered in and out of focus in the waves of heat that bounced off the hot sand. David focused his glasses on them. Mehmet was walking at the front, hunched and weary, his damaged arm dangling by his side like a lump of dead wood.

Glancing round quickly, David saw that he could reach them much more quickly if, instead of pushing on along the trail they’d left, he were to climb the dune on his left and slide down the other side. That way, he’d come out more or less facing them. It was a monstrous mistake, but there was no way he could have known it at the time.

His legs were still weak and rubbery after his recent climb, and they bore him to the top with great reluctance. When he got there, he found himself thoroughly out of breath. Looking down, he saw Mehmet and the camels at roughly the position he’d expected to find them in. They were heading for a clump of tamarisk bushes in the middle distance, probably with the intention of digging for water. David was facing them: the dune had brought him round ahead of them.

David thought at first of calling, but he still felt too winded to do more than pant for air. He started to slide down slowly, less anxious now, and aware of the danger that lay in spraining or breaking a leg or an ankle. He wondered if Mehmet could see him yet.

At the bottom, there was still some little distance between himself and the front camel, while the cut of the dune had placed David at an angle to his quarry, with the result that he was approaching them from in front rather than behind. He walked slowly towards them, knowing there was now no way Mehmet could miss him.

The first tamarisks came in sight. Even here, the heat haze lay over the ground, twisting everything into false and deceptive shapes. David squinted for a first sight of Mehmet.

Suddenly, there he was, a black figure walking unsteadily towards him, now visible, now concealed by the flank of the camel he walked beside.

‘Mehmet! Mehmet! It’s me, David! I’m over here! Can you see me?’

The camel-driver did not respond at once. He just kept trudging on. Then, as David’s voice grew more insistent, he raised his head and opened his eyes, shading them with his good hand. When he caught sight of David, he leapt into the air and called out exultantly. Next thing, he was haring towards him with as much speed as his tired limbs could muster.

David glanced around with satisfaction. He’d found Mehmet, and it looked as though he’d found a substantial reserve of water at the same time. He started to walk forward. They were about two hundred yards apart. David waved again, and Mehmet, suddenly animated and full of energy, ran as fast as he could across the flat bed of the little arroyo.

What happened next was so frightening and so unexpected that David refused at first to believe it was happening at all. He blinked and looked again.

One moment, Mehmet was clearly visible, the next, it was as if he had slipped or fallen to his knees. David squinted, then lifted the glasses to his eyes.

Mehmet had sunk to his waist in a bed of quicksand. He was struggling to regain his balance in the hope of being able to swing back to the firm ground he’d just left, but the more he struggled, the more he was pulled down. Had he fallen with his good arm facing back to solid land, he might - just might - have succeeded in pulling himself back to safety. But his left arm, with its swollen and almost useless hand, would not give him the thin purchase he needed so badly.

David started to run towards him, then stopped. He’d just realized it would be the height of stupidity to blunder forward in a straight line without knowing where the pool of quicksand ended. The edge might be only feet away from him. There was no point in killing himself along with Mehmet, and leaving Nabila to die alone. Her words echoed in his head: ‘Make sure you come back to me.’

He started walking more slowly, using one of the flags to prod the ground a couple of feet ahead of him. Mehmet was screaming now, yelling at the top of his voice for help, now calling on David, now on God, now on his mother. David reckoned he was the nearest, then remembered his own mother reading from the Koran when she prayed: ‘God is closer to you than your neck vein.’

The stick sank suddenly into something very liquid. David almost overbalanced headlong into the waiting pool, then caught himself by executing an awkward twist at the hips that left him sprawling on firm ground. He struggled painfully to his feet and checked the distance between Mehmet and himself. Fifty yards at least.

Mehmet was up to his armpits.

‘Try not to struggle, Mehmet,’ shouted David. ‘I’m coming round to get you.’

But how wide was the pool? For all David knew, it was irregularly shaped, with side-pockets extending on either side of him. Would he be faster going to the left or to the right? Did tamarisk bushes grow on dry land or quicksand? Or both?

He headed right, prodding to the side and front in the hope of telling where the quicksand began and ended. Mehmet was babbling rather than screaming now. David was glad he was too far away to see the man’s face. Every time he looked, the camel-driver was in deeper than before.

'I'm coming, Mehmet,’ he called, ‘just hang on!’ But he didn’t know how he was going to get the man out, even if he did reach him in time. And his progress was so slow, he was beginning to doubt whether he could make it in time.

Mehmet responded with a series of frantic cries. David trained the glasses on him and saw he was already up to his shoulders. Not much more than three or four very short inches separated the sinking man’s mouth from the surface of the quicksand.

David quickened his pace, desperate to get to Mehmet before he was wholly engulfed. The thought that he might be late by a matter of minutes or seconds lent urgency to his efforts. Urgency and a touch of recklessness.

He’d reached the side of the pool and was free, or so he thought, to head directly for Mehmet. He started to run, forgetting to use the flag to test the ground in front. Just as he came within range of Mehmet, the sand beneath his own feet gave way. There was a sucking sound, and David found himself dragged down into something that felt like wet porridge. There was a second slurping noise, and when he looked he saw that he was already up to his armpits in the stuff.

H
e’d given her a direct hit of cocaine in the taxi, making up the solution with mineral water he’d taken from her bedside table. By the time they reached their destination, she was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and madly in love with Calum and his wonder-drug. She hadn’t felt as good as this in years.

‘Well,’ he drawled, smiling at her, ‘well.'

She looked at the red mark on her forearm and grinned.

The cab left them in a cul-de-sac behind Paddington Station. Calum had an old friend there, a Hibs fan called Malcolm who allowed him to put up on his floor any time he was in London.

He let them in with a front-door key. This was where he always stayed whenever he was in London. He’d slept there the night before, and breakfasted heartily before setting forth for Knightsbridge. The living room was as he’d left it, the sofa-bed open, spilling sheets and a thin duvet on to the floor. His friend was the house DJ at a small club two streets away. He didn’t have a girlfriend, just a string of nubile one-nighters, all aged about twelve, all spaced on E and wide open to his blandishments.

Calum glanced at his watch. Almost four o’clock. He wouldn’t expect Malkie back for another hour or two.

‘C’moan in, hen. It’s no’ the Ritz, but the way you feel, it’s no’ the Ritz you’re after, is it?’

‘Fuck the Ritz. Mother’s always going there. Stupid place. Not as nice as this at all.’

He led her in, holding her lightly by the hand as though she was a precious substance he’d found and brought home. In her way, that was exactly what she was. He didn’t plan to let her out of his sight until he had her tucked away safe and sound at their final destination. Given several more doses of cocaine, she’d never leave his side, not as long as he controlled all access to the drug. And where they were going, he’d be the only medicine show in town.

'Is this where we’re staying?’ she asked. He wondered if, in spite of her high, he’d seen her upper lip lift ever so slightly as she looked round at Malkie’s faded walls and dingy furniture.

‘Just for the night. We’ll be oot o’ here an’ on our way agin tomorrow.’

She looked at him in surprise.

‘Where to?’

‘Better Ah dinnae say, likes. Careless talk could fuck us all. There’ll be polis on the streets already, your face’ll be on the telly before Richard and Judy hit the studio.’

‘They’ll think I got out myself, won’t they? I mean, they’ve no reason to think there was anybody there but me.’

‘Ay, likesays, more than likely. But when they have a wee think aboot the key an’ the lock and all that, they’re very likely tae reach a different conclusion. Now, will you be all right on the sofa-bed?’

‘Oh, I don’t feel like sleeping.’

‘Me an’ all, doll. But Ah want us tae get an early start. We’ve a long trip ahead tomorrow.’

‘Oh, come on, we’ve plenty of time. The mood I’m in, I could stay up all week. We could go to a club, find a place playing Garage, do some serious dancing. How about it? There’s Pure Silk - have you been there?’

Something was racing inside her. He could sense the imminent instability, the dangerous flux of mood and manner, the urgency that could lead to a crash if it were not controlled.

‘Ah’ve been tae them all, believe me. Ah wis a DJ masel’ once, back in Embra. That wis years ago, mind. Fir the moment, let’s just concentrate on gettin’ you tae sleep.’

He reached into his right-hand pocket and brought out four diazepam tablets. From the other pocket he took the small mineral water bottle he’d brought from her room.

‘Look, doll, Ah dinnae have time tae argue. Ah want you relaxed an’ fit fir the mornin’. So do me a big favour an’ slip these doon.’

He handed her the tablets. For an extended moment, she hesitated, and he thought she was going to throw them in his face. But the chemicals lent their blessing to him, and she downed all four tranks in one go.

He helped her to the bed.

‘Where are you sleeping?’ she asked. ‘Would you like to sleep with me?’

‘Thanks very much, hen, but it’s been a long day an’ Ah’m bushed. Maybe another time, eh?’

‘You may never get another offer.’

‘No need tae worry, doll: Ah’m not aboot tae die fae sexual deprivation. Just you lie doon an’ sleep.’

Unwillingly, she put her head on the pillow. He spread the duvet over her. Her feet stuck out at the other end, exposing a pair of Doc Martens that she’d been wearing when she turned up at Rose’s clinic. He removed the boots and slipped her feet back under the cover.

He thought that he’d have to be careful about the drugs he was giving her. Drugs could have unwanted interactions, and the last thing he wanted was to turn her manic or violent. He’d just have to play it by ear until he saw which way she was bouncing.

He found a sleeping bag in a cupboard in Malkie’s room. By the time he’d arranged it on the floor, Maddie was starting to drift off. Calum was worn out, but there was one thing to do before he too fell asleep. He went over to a large table that served Malkie as dining table and desk. A small PC took up one end. Calum turned it on, then located the ink-jet printer that lived on a nearby windowsill.

He quickly typed a letter, printed it on plain paper, and slipped the result into a white envelope. All it needed now was a stamp, and in a few days Calum Kilbride would be a rich man.

When he woke, Maddie was still out. That suited him perfectly. He got up and checked in Malkie’s room: his friend was sleeping soundly in the company of two very naked young objects of desire whose warm and willing bodies seemed to have been moulded in a Japanese plastics factory. Calum, his exhaustion vanished, was greatly tempted to make himself known to them, but this morning his priorities had changed. He closed the door and left the flat.

He found a car-hire agency next to the railway station. It made things more difficult that he wanted a camper.

‘You’re sure you wouldn’t like a Ford Sierra, sir? We have the complete range. Or a Mondeo? Any colour you like today

‘What fuckin’ use is a Ford Shitemobile tae someone who wants a camper? Will ye tell me that? Just make a few phone calls an’ get me a camper roond here inside the hour.’

He whipped out a very large wad of money, his own supplemented by a packet he’d found at Maurice’s the night before. Several notes passed over the counter in silence and disappeared in silence.

‘I’m sure we can find a vehicle to your satisfaction, sir, if you’ll just be patient a few minutes longer.’

He gave the address that was on his driving licence, paid in cash, and took delivery of a brand new Spacecruiser half an hour later. The girl behind the counter waved to him as he drove away. He smiled back at her as though she was somehow complicit in his plan.

Maddie was awake and waiting for him when he got back. Malkie still had not emerged from the bedroom. One of his naked conquests was sitting at the table munching on a slice of toast with marmalade.