The Ghost in the Electric Blue Suit (24 page)

Nikki eased herself up, and guiding the shaft of my cock with one hand she sank herself onto me. She gasped. She was a little dry. It took my breath away, and hers, too. Her black
pupils dilated, searching my own eyes as she lowered herself down the full length of me. She sat back and put her hands on her hips, rocking me right inside her. Then she yelped.

Someone in the next cubicle banged on the wall and shouted incomprehensible words. Nikki giggled and put her fingers in her mouth to stifle her own cries. Someone was still thumping on the flimsy wall, making it shake. It only made her laugh out loud and fuck me harder.

In all of this I had a sudden flash of the blue phosphorescent light rippling on the waves and of moonlight foaming on the glass bottle of vodka in Nikki’s hands. Fragments of the night’s events came back to me.

When we were finished she collapsed on me. I lay in a tangle of her raven-black hair. It made me think of the dark woods of fairy tales. Her sweat and the scent of her was all over me. As we lay there breathing hard I tried to remember more about the things that happened during the night.

“You okay?” she said in my ear.

“Yeh.”

“Hungover?”

“Very.”

“I thought I was never going to get you back here.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you remember any of it?”

“Some.”

She reached over to the cabinet and picked up the small travel clock I kept there. She sighed. “I’ve got to get back to my place, somehow, in these clothes. What a giveaway. I need to get my Greencoat outfit and get back here for the briefing.” I waited for her to get up. Instead she shimmied her way up
my body, pressing her nipple against mine. Then she soul-kissed me.

“Stay here,” I mumbled through mashed lips.

“I don’t want to get up, but I have to.” She hauled herself out of bed and found her dress on the floor. She checked herself in the small mirror behind the door and said, “Jesus, I’m a wreck. God, I need a shower but I’m not taking one here.”

Well, her hair was a thrilling mess. Her eye makeup was smudged, too. But as she stood there naked, holding her dress in one hand and running her fingers through her dark hair, she looked wonderfully happy. Her tawny skin glowed.

“You look beautiful, Nikki.”

She pulled her dress over her head and wriggled into it and then she climbed into her heels. “I can’t even find my knickers. They’re probably still on the beach, you animal. You threw them in the water.”

“I did?”

“Yes. And lots of things beside.”

“Oh?”

“I got a bit scared of you.” She looked at me oddly. “A tiny bit.”

“What happens now?” I said.

“What happens now?” She held up her left hand. “You put a ring on this finger, that’s what happens now. Joke. No, I’ve had my way with you and I’m satisfied. It’s done. Thanks. Ta-ra and all that. No, I’m still joking! Look at your face!”

What I wanted to ask her was: Are we a secret? Are we an item? Are we open to the others? This wasn’t just because that had been the absolute pattern with Terri. Even asking seemed such a statement, a declaration. The question itself seemed to
contain a promise. She sat on the bed and leaned in for a kiss, slipping her hand under the sheets and running her fingers along my thigh. Then she quickly withdrew. “No, I have to go. You need to get moving, too. I’ll see you at the briefing.”

Nikki went to the door, its lock still broken, and opened it just a crack. She peered through the gap and then opened it a little farther so she could check up and down the corridor. When she decided the coast was clear she blew me a kiss and slipped out, closing the door behind her. Almost instantly I heard another door open and someone else stumble into the corridor. Bad luck. I heard a loud wolf whistle.

I knew her head would be held high. “Good morning,” I heard her say loudly, in her bold Yorkshire accent. There was an ironic arch to her voice and her heels clicked noisily as she made her way out.

18

CAUSING NO DISTURBANCE AROUND THE JACK

There was a morose mood among the entertainments staff when I got to the auditorium for the morning briefing. Pinky sat on the piano stool at the edge of the stage with his hands in his pockets and his socked-and-sandaled feet crossed in front of him. The rest of the staff sat in the front row of the auditorium facing him. They had been joined by another figure in a blue blazer, who was perhaps responsible for the mood.

It was the office manager—the man with the pencil-thin mustache who had fed bread crumbs to sparrows on my first day. He also sat in the front row with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap.

Nobby started on me as soon as I walked in. He’d surpassed himself this morning. He was wearing his striped blazer apparently without a shirt. His scruffy, gray trainers looked like newsprint dissolving in the rain, and unlike Pinky, he wore no socks at all. “Christ, look at the state of
you! Dragged through a hedge backward forward sideways and head over heels or what and—”

“Give it a break, Nobby,” Pinky said sourly. It was the nearest I’d seen Pinky come to introducing a disciplinary measure.

Nobby was about to reply, then thought better of it.

“Anyone seen Nikki?”

Tony looked at me pointedly, folded his arms, then very slowly turned his head a hundred and eighty degrees away from me.

Gail, who shared a room with her, spoke up. “She’ll be on her way. She’s a bit off color this morning.”

Pinky blinked at her.

“Women’s problems,” Gail said.

“There’s been a few complaints,” Pinky said. He gazed glumly at the carpet and paused so that we could take it all in. He snorted, like an old coal miner putting a pinch of snuff up his nose. “Things not well organized. Equipment not laid out properly. Chaotic activities. Lack of attention to detail. People—”

The swing doors opened and Nikki bustled in. “Sorry I’m behind,” she said, taking up a seat next to Tony.

“Here’s the hedge,” Nobby said.

Nikki looked at Nobby. “What?”

“People turning up late for program duties,” Pinky said. Poor Nikki, who was normally never late for anything. “Certain activities not even being run. Appearance and personal hygiene. Nobby, you talk about other people but look at the state of you. You better get back to your room and get a shirt
on. You’re not going out like that. Get some clean socks on while you’re at it.”

Nobby’s jaw went into overdrive: “Right right right! You boys get me a shirt that fits not a piece of sailcloth or a winding sheet or a three sheets to the wind sheet one that actually fits as per collar size as per described instead of a Boy Scout’s fuckin’ Jamboree tent and I will—”

“Just get a shirt, Nobby, you’re a disgrace,” said Pinky.

“I’ll tell you what is a disgrace shall I? Shall I? Shall I?”

“You know what?” Pinky said. “You and I we’ve reached the end of the road, mate. End of the road.”

“So what you gonna do? Fire me? Eh? Eh? Eh?”

The man in the blue blazer stood up. “Come and have a word in my office, Nobby.”

Nobby was on his feet. “You know what you lot are? All of you? Blackshirt fascists. That’s what you are, Blackshirts. Sad little Nazi running dogs. Night of the fuckin’ long knives, is it? I’ll fuckin’ spill the beans. I will, don’t you worry.”

“Come and have a word in my office, Nobby. There’s no need for all this.”

Nobby turned to us. “Are any of you gonna speak up for me? Are you? Any of you?”

There was silence.

“There’s your answer,” Tony said. “And to be fair, you’ve been told about it time and time enough. You’ve had plenty of warnings, Nobby.”

“Come to my office, Nobby, let’s have a talk.”

Nobby stood with his hands on his hips. He turned and looked at me full on. His eyes were wet. Getting no response
from me, he shuffled to face Nikki. Then Gail. It was a serious situation but there was something comical about him shuffling from one position to another in his filthy broken trainers, getting in everyone’s face. Finally he stormed out of the theater, still babbling, followed by the personnel manager.

We all sat in silence for a couple of minutes after he’d gone. Then Pinky got to his feet. “Well I don’t know about you lot, but I’ve got work to do.”

He left Tony in charge of deploying us. Nobby’s responsibilities were reassigned. We were expected to double up. I asked if this was a permanent arrangement or whether Nobby would be replaced.

“I don’t think,” Tony said rather sharply, “that this is the time to be forming a trade union, do you?”

I never saw Nobby again after that.

I DIDN’T GET to work with Nikki that morning but I did see her for lunch. Gail joined us, and that suppressed the conversation we wanted to have. But when Gail returned her plates at the hatch, I said, “Tony seemed to know already. Nobby certainly knew, too, though I don’t know how.”

Nikki’s brow wrinkled. “Would there be any particular reason why it would have to be a big secret?”

The reason was, of course, Terri. I was thinking that if she reappeared she might still expect our relationship to continue. I didn’t want to hurt her even though I knew there could no longer be anything between us. I took a big breath. “No.”

“I mean I’m not proposing to hand out a press release to
everyone, but what we’re doing is not illegal or against any rules that I know about.”

“No.”

“If they find out, they find out.”

“Yes.”

“Only I would like to be able to hold your hand occasionally in public.” She touched the back of my wrist. I must have flinched. She took her hand away and sighed. “You do want to carry on seeing me, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’m ‘seeing’ you now.”

“You know what I mean.”

The truth was I did want to carry on “seeing” her. I wanted to see her naked in my arms right then, right at that moment if you want the truth of it. It wasn’t that I had no interest in her. It was just that I felt terrible about how Terri would take this, assuming she was still alive. I felt an obligation to work through this whole thing and find out what had happened. In reality Nikki was a relief to have around. She brought a lightness of spirit, whereas Terri was a brooding presence. The demons of a bad history weighed down her shoulders, through no fault of her own, it seemed to me. All the madness of what had happened between us was now thrown into stark relief whenever I thought about Terri, and I knew it always would be. If I’d been dragging chains, Nikki had come along and unlocked them.

“I do want to see you, Nikki, yes. I want to be with you. I want to pull your skirt off right now.”

“There are rules against that, I know.”

“Can we just keep it … low profile? I mean, like you say, we don’t have to advertise it, do we?”

“Okay. If that’s what you want.”

Gail came back to the table. “What are you two lovebirds up to?”

AFTER LUNCH I made my way to the bowling green, past the fortune-teller’s white caravan, to organize the old boys in their games of crown-green bowls. Before the backstage theater events, I’d been learning from the old boys about how to handle the woods and how to use the bias on the bowl to make it run in a curved path. Now that any and every distraction was essential to the balance of my mental state, I was determined to try to put my mind to it again.

I’d been astonished at how many forms of delivery there were in simply rolling a bowl along the grass to get close to the jack. But then nothing in life seemed simple anymore, not even bowling. “Draw shots” aim at causing no disturbance around the jack. A “finger peg” is initially aimed to the right of the jack and curves in to the left. A “fire” or “strike” uses speed and force to knock either the jack or a specific bowl out of play. A “block shot” is deliberately short to stop an opponent’s draw shot.

These elderly men were full of cunning. They enjoyed teaching me all their tricks—or had before I’d suddenly lost interest. One of the old fellows, a retired coal miner, hailed me. “Has ’ta played before?” he said, puffing on his briar tobacco pipe.

“Once or twice,” I said.

Many elderly men of retirement age like to teach young
men. They know that life is fleeting, that time is limited. They want to leave something behind. It was hard to keep my mind on draws and blocks, and on finger pegs and fires, but I did my best. The old fellow with the pipe was gently trying to improve my delivery style. He complained that I had no follow-through. And he told me that I should extract every advantage from having bowled the target jack.

When I said I didn’t know what he meant by that, he took his pipe out of his mouth and rolled his eyes. “Tha bowled the jack, so tha knows the weight and length and curve tha wants to bowl t’wood, don’t thee? Tha’s still got the memory of it in tha body, han’t tha?”

I felt a sudden jolt, like when you crack a knuckle, but somewhere in my brain. I stood there thinking about what he’d just said.
You’ve still got the memory of it in your body, haven’t you?
I looked at him like he was a puffing Buddha and he’d just given me a koan to figure out. He was right. Somewhere in my body was the exact memory of the delivery of the jack, and therefore I should be able to summon it to mind and replicate it. Somewhere in my body lay other memories, too.