Watching the Wheels Come Off (8 page)

S
oon after Snazell’s departure, nervous exhaustion finally catches up with Mark. His efforts to get the reward and then his rapid retreat from Emily Block and the late Mrs Cross has depleted his core energy. He collapses on to his collapsed sofa. The two seem to be made for each other.

Sleep arrives with the inevitable nightmares in its wake. Hare looms large for much of Mark’s restless catnap only to be replaced by something worse. In this dream Mark becomes a maggot among a moving mass of maggots in a tin.

The tin is opened and a fisherman’s weathered face peers into it. His great callused fingers reach inside. A fish eye lens distorts the fingers as they feel around for one special maggot. Ignoring all others, they finally select Mark. He is picked up with great care and taken towards a barbed fishhook. At this point Mark rolls off the sofa, sobbing and crying out, as he wriggles to escape. For a while he sits on the floor, rubbing his eyes. This is a recurring nightmare and Mark knows the source.

One night a long time ago, while on a bad trip, Mark found himself watching TV. He was channel-hopping and ended up with a programme on human procreation. Sperm, tens of thousands in one ejaculation, zoomed into the womb, squirming, dodging, diving, determined to be the one that survived.

It was then that his hallucinogenic craziness took a sudden nasty jump, and he became convinced there was one of the sperm in his brain.

No, not sperm, a maggot.

Yes, there was a maggot in his brain, in all our brains. Unseen, it eats away at reality, keeping it at bay, making sure it never disturbs our cosmetic surface.

A huge rosy apple ballooned in his imagination. Redness filled his mental screen, until a maggot’s head gnawed its way into sight.

He started to cry.

But now there were no longer any maggots found in apples. The rosy apple with a maggot inside, once the perfect metaphor for the flawed human condition, was a thing of the past.

Crocodile tears cascaded over his cheeks as he remembered a world before the supremacy of the supermarket. How these corporate colossi had managed the final solution for maggots would probably surprise even the Nazis.

He consoled himself with the thought that maggots may no longer be necessary as a metaphor, because reality itself had been destroyed.

All this non-sense made sense when he was out of his skull, and it should have been forgotten by the morning.

But it wasn’t.

Deep down he knew the maggot was there.

Doing its job.

After all we can’t take too much reality.

No wonder it was an apple that Eve got to bite in the Garden of Eden. That was the original sin. She had swallowed a maggot, that’s how it got into our brains.

Eureka.

Mark murmurs ‘Eureka’ to himself and barks a bitter laugh. He wipes away his tears, stands and crosses to the hatstand. In its faded mirror he reflects on his reflection, before shaking his head violently, trying to dislodge the flashback from his brain.

No such luck.

M
ark passes Snazell as he reaches the Grand Atlantic Hotel. The investigator is on the esplanade, feeding bread to some particularly vicious-looking seagulls. They exchange glances and Snazell smiles when he realises his strategy is being executed.

Outside Room 13, Mark pauses to contemplate his cosmetic surface. He roughs up his gelled hair and removes a fleck from his trousers. As he knocks on the door, he feels the maggot move and he shivers.

‘Who is it?’

‘Mark.’

Alice flings the door open. ‘Where the hell did you get to?’

‘My accountant’s wedding. Remember?’

‘So?’

‘Alice, I’m here to apologise. I’m really, really sorry about your suspender.’

She eyes him suspiciously but Mark appears to be suitably repentant.

‘No problem.’ She lifts her skirt to show him the black lacy replacement. ‘Look.’

Mark looks and, yet again, wanton lust renders him helpless. Confused, he can’t suss whether she’s an accomplished coquette playing sex games or just plain dumb.

He struggles to regain the initiative. ‘Alice, I was wondering if we could try again.’

‘Try
what
again?’

‘To be friends. I’d like to show you our beautiful British countryside: green fields, duck ponds, thatched cottages, four-poster beds, cream teas.’

‘I never touch cream.’

‘Do green fields appeal? Duck ponds? Thatched cottages?’

‘Four-poster beds?’

‘We could end up in one, if you so desire.’

‘Forget it, Mark.’

‘It’s hard.’

‘I can
see
that. You just run along now, boy. Go take a cold shower. And if you should jerk off with
me
in mind, I’ll sue you for breach of copyright.’

She laughs and slams the door in his face.

A bowl of voluptuous red apples stands on the sideboard of the hotel’s Dining Room, and Mark casts a despairing look at them as he is leaving. They are uniformly perfect in shape, their redness evenly spread and unblemished. He selects one and rubs it hard against his thigh before taking a bite.

Tasteless and pappy.

Even so it opens his eyes to a fresh approach.

The door to Room 13 flies open.

‘Can I tempt you?’

Alice stares at the apple resting on his outstretched hand and is clearly impressed.

‘“Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made.” Genesis 3. I was brought up on the Good Book. How about you, Mark?’

Mark takes the apple by its stalk and dangles it before her.

‘“And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat.” Also Genesis 3.’ The Bible had been drilled into Mark at school. Much to his surprise, it had proved extremely useful in his business dealings, especially when he wanted others to trust him.

‘You can trust me, Alice. I’ve seen the light.’

She looks into his unblinking eyes as intently as a clairvoyant into a glass ball, then impulsively snatches the apple, wraps her red-lipsticked lips about its red skin, and takes a large bite.

‘Delicious.’

‘Like you, Alice.’

He watches her devour the fruit.

‘Time to transport Herman Temple’s drum majorette away from this hermetically sealed, thermostatically
controlled cell that passes for a hotel room. So pull on your star-spangled panties and synthetic jackboots, button back your eagle wings, and fly with me across the green pastures of England to a far-off pagan place.’

Alice holds out the apple core for him to dispose of.

‘You have such a cute voice, Mark. It’s so English.’

‘Would that I were some English knight of old who, by a daring deed, could win your fair hand.’ Adding with a lewd smile: ‘And
all
that comes with it.’

‘Now, stop that.’

She smiles and this time, he knows she isn’t dumb. The chivalric card has turned out to be trumps, and the game is on.

The Yamaha penetrates the narrow country roads. It corners gracefully, sweeps up hills and under bridges, passes green fields, duck ponds and thatched cottages.

But it’s the four-poster beds that play on Mark’s mind.

With Alice clinging to him like he was a horse on a carousel, he is frantically thinking how to capitalise on their unexpected intimacy. Where to take her? If he was a Bedouin, he could take her to his tent and feed her sweetmeats. A knight of old would ride her into his castle and raise the drawbridge.

Then he remembers Old Nick.

Their leathers creak as they dismount.

Alice looks good in Ursula’s gear. He’s retrieved it from his office, where it had hung, unused, for years. Even the helmet has fitted. They could have been sisters. She shakes her hair into shape and surveys the scene.

They are parked at the foot of a hill, with a path winding steeply towards the sea fret that hugs its summit. Distant waves can be heard crashing against the rocks beyond.

‘Where now?’

Mark pulls a white handkerchief from his pocket.

‘A mystery tour. A
magical
mystery tour.’

‘Cut it out, Mark.’

‘Trust me.’

‘Why should I?’

With a sweep of his arm he encompasses the craggy peak ahead, and the mist swirling about it.

‘Imagine this is Camelot, Alice. A sacred place where virtue and virginity remain forever untarnished.’

She stops him as he tries to blindfold her.

‘What are you up to?’

‘I’m taking you to see a giant.’

‘A giant? A giant what?’

‘
That’s
the mystery.’

Alice giggles, and the handkerchief flutters like a flag of capitulation as he knots it about her uncertain eyes.

‘You’re crazy.’

‘And single-minded.’

He spins her around as if they were playing blind man’s
buff, before taking her hand and leading her up the path like an innocent in a nursery rhyme.

William Snazell stops outside Room 13. He checks the empty corridor before inserting a skeleton key into the lock, completing his illicit entry with ease.

Mark should be so lucky.

Mark and Alice climb the hill like Jack and Jill. The fog, as damp and clingy as candyfloss, soon swallows them up. Silence envelops them; even the surge of the waves is lost. Alice shivers and stops in her tracks. A distant eerie sound has penetrated their silent bubble. It’s not a human sound; yet it somehow carries human pain and melancholy with it. Her blindfold swings about in alarm.

‘What the hell was that?’

‘A foghorn. There’s a lighthouse just up the coast.’

She tries to take back her hand, but Mark won’t let go.

‘No. We’re nearly there.’

‘Nearly where?’

‘The giant’s lair. A penthouse cave with a pool the size of the Atlantic Ocean.’

Alice laughs and he leads her on.

‘What’s the giant’s name?’

‘Old Nick.’

‘How old?’

‘He would have been even older if he hadn’t upset the local goblins.’

‘Oh?’

‘As you might expect of a giant, Old Nick had an enormous penis. Unfortunately for the little goblins, he used it to taunt them. Old Nick was literally a cock swinger.’ Mark watches her reactions closely as he unfolds his raunchy story, surprised that it hasn’t apparently shocked her. On the contrary.

‘You mean he used his cock as a weapon?’

‘He sure did. He terrorised the goblins by employing his member as a pendulum, knocking them over like skittles. His laughter was thunder in their ears, rattling the windows of their little goblin houses. The little goblin men were helpless. Worse, their wives came to mock their little goblin dicks. There was eventually unrest and dissatisfaction in the little goblin world.’

Mark is grateful Alice can’t see his shifty eyes, but he needn’t have worried. She could be a little girl listening to a fairy tale.

‘Something had to be done?’

‘Too right. The little goblins had to come up with a big plan. They sent out messengers to all the goblin communities across the land, asking them to convene right here.’

Mark and Alice have reached the top of the hill, and can now feel a breeze coming off the sea. The mist has rapidly vanished and the horizon is clearly visible. Mark looks
across the bay at a rocky promontory where the lighthouse stands. Just then the same eerie sound that so unsettled Alice when they first arrived intrudes again. Closer now and coming from the fields behind them, it’s definitely
not
a fog horn. Mark quickly tries to blot it out by raising his voice.

‘It was the night of the summer solstice when the goblins, thousands of them, crept up on Old Nick as he slept. Each of them had brought little bed sheets which they tied together. They then swarmed as lightly as ants over the giant, passing these improvised ropes across his chest, legs and hands.’

Mark stops to listen. Whatever that sound was, it’s stopped.

Alice impatiently interrupts the silence. ‘Then what?’

‘They castrated him.’

‘They WHAT?’

Mark smiles to himself. He hasn’t forgotten his own emasculation in her bedroom.

‘They cut off his giant cock.’

‘Oh, my god.’

‘And his big balls.’

‘Stop it!’

‘Old Nick rent the air with a volcanic bellow and died. The goblins, with the help of winches and cranes, stood his penis, still miraculously erect, on its severed end as a memorial to their great victory. Over hundreds of years it has calcified, and it stands erect to this day.’

With that he whips off the blindfold.

‘Meet Old Nick!’

An ancient standing stone towers above Alice. Her jaw drops as her head tilts back to take in its size. She gasps then screams with delight.

‘Oh, my god! Phallic… so phallic.’

She embraces the stone, running her arms up and down the soft yellow lichen. It seems to grow more fulsome the further she looks up towards its cap-shaped peak. With the clouds speeding above, it even appears to be steaming.

Mark points towards a pair of huge round stones on the horizon.

‘And those are said to be Old Nick’s testicles.’

He can hardly believe their tryst is progressing so smoothly and so rapidly towards a conjunction he hadn’t anticipated even in his most lustful dreams. Even so, he proceeds with caution.

‘As one might expect, Old Nick is still worshipped as a god of fertility. The fecundity of the local crops and animals is supposed to depend on the preservation of this standing stone.’

He pauses, choosing his words with even greater care.

‘Maidens still come here after dark, strip naked and offer themselves to him. Several reliable sources have told me that by dawn’s rising they always feel replenished, both physically and spiritually. One source described it as
virtual
intercourse.’

Alice is so involved with hugging Old Nick’s calcified cock that he fears she didn’t hear him. He holds his breath and chews his lip, curious to know just how naive she can be.

Very
is the answer.

‘Why don’t we stay the night?’

Mark doesn’t want to appear too enthusiastic. ‘Are you sure? We don’t want you catching a cold, do we?’

‘I never catch colds.’

Mark’s smile is like the moon rising.

‘So be it. Old Nick will be pleased.’

The tiny spot on Mother Earth, now occupied by Mark and Alice, spins into darkness and a full moon appears to climb in the sky. Owls sound territorial hoots. Rabbits graze the grass, running in and out of their burrows. Determined badgers pass along their well-defined tracks.

Alice sits with her back resting against the stone phallus. Mark has positioned himself some way off, anxious not to cause her fear or fright or even the remotest suspicion of his hopes and desires. He looks across at her and tries to remember how he used to access Ursula in her leather jumpsuit. Was there a zip up the front or at the side? His problem is about to be resolved.

‘Mark.’

‘Yes.’

‘Nothing’s happening.’

‘You know why?’

‘Why?’

‘Old Nick won’t approach until you strip naked.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely sure. The maiden must be naked and stretched out in supplication.’

‘You said it was
virtual
sex?’

‘It is. But Old Nick’s spirit still has to be encouraged.’

‘If you’re putting me on I’ll beat the shit out of you.’

He sees her stand up.

Unfortunately a bank of cloud, until then scudding unnoticed across the sky, finally reaches the moon and plunges them into darkness. Mark muffles his curses. He can see nothing, but he can hear plenty. Alice is hurriedly removing the leather jumpsuit.

Above him the infuriating cloud seems to become stuck. Then suddenly the moon reappears in a small gap and he can see her laid out on the ground, white as a lily flower on its pad. It’s a magical moment but sadly a fleeting one. Another cloud quickly skids into place like a blackout curtain.

Mark curses when, out of the ensuing dark silence, he hears the sound that’s been haunting them ever since they arrived. Now it’s right up close and while its primal nature is even more clearly evident, it stops before he can actually locate it.

Silence follows.

This quiet interlude is abruptly breached by Alice moaning, softly at first but speedily gathering momentum in both volume and pace. Mark can see nothing but darkness. His confusion grows as quickly as Alice’s apparent and unexpected ecstasy. Her culminating mixture of alternating groans and screams sound to him very like she’s having an orgasm.

At last the cloud moves away, and moonlight settles like a diaphanous sheet over the writhing Alice. Mark’s attention is grabbed, not by this sensual sight, but by the dark shape hovering so close to her. He can just make out four cloven hooves glinting in the harsh light. From the curvature of its head Mark deduces that the creature, whatever it is, is quietly grazing the grass. Only when he sees Alice stroke its bowed head is this illusion brutally shattered.