‘More like a habit to feed,’ replies Kev.
Carla must react because Kev says, ‘You’re such a classy lady.’
‘And you’re a fat bastard,’ she replies.
‘I thought they caught the guy,’ says Tuba.
‘Yeah, but they’re still sniffing around. We’ll give it a week – ten days tops.’
‘And what are we supposed to do?’
‘Take a holiday. Go somewhere warm. You’re dressed for it.’
‘What about our customers?’ asks Tuba.
‘When we get back on track, we’ll offer them a discount.’
I step back from the door and wrap my arms around my chest, shivering but not from the cold. I don’t trust any of these people. I should have stolen the pizza money from Keeley and caught a bus to London. I should have gone back to Cyrus. Even if he sent me to Langford Hall, it wouldn’t be for ever. What am I afraid of? I’ve spent most of my life in one box or another. Waiting.
The meeting is breaking up. Tuba and Kev leave together, filling the corridor with their laughter and bulk. Carla ignores me as she passes, disappearing in a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Keeley is wrapped around Felix, almost dry-humping his leg. He pushes her away and reaches into his pocket, removing a tiny plastic bag, which he shakes against his thigh and gives to her.
‘Now piss off. I’m busy.’
Keeley looks at me with a mixture of disgust and loathing, but also a strange emptiness behind her eyes, like she’s already left the building.
I hover in the open doorway until Felix tells me to sit down. He gets another beer from a chest fridge, removing the top by hooking the cap on the edge of the counter and thumping the bottle with his fist.
‘You want one?’
I shake my head. ‘I thought I was delivering stuff.’
‘Not tonight.’
‘But my money.’
‘Chill. You’ll get it.’
He turns on a stereo and cranks up the volume on an electro-pop track with so much bass it shakes my insides.
‘What sort of music do you like?’ he asks.
‘Not this.’
He grins and sits on the stained sofa whose fabric has been worn thin by squirming arses. Beer at his fingertips, he takes a small glass pipe from his pocket, which has a bulb on one end like a pregnant test tube. It reminds me of the science lessons at Langford Hall where we distilled salt water into fresh water using a Bunsen burner and two flasks.
Felix takes another clear plastic bag from his thigh pocket and holds it up in front of his eyes, examining the contents that look like tiny granules of rock salt. He pinches some of the crystals between his fingers and drops them into the glass pipe where they settle at the base of the bulb. Taking a cheap lighter from his pocket, he triggers the flame and holds it under the glass, filling the room with a soft crackling sound. Smoke, as white as cotton wool, appears in the pipe. Felix draws it deep into his lungs, puffing out his cheeks and letting his head loll back. The same smoke slowly leaks from his lips, lifting the corners of his mouth into an odd smile. It’s like a chemical reaction – cause and effect – flooding his eyes with bliss.
He hands the pipe to me. I shake my head.
‘Relax. Lighten up.’
‘I’ll have a beer.’
Felix collects one from the fridge, turning his back as he removes the top. I’m still staring at the glass pipe and the darkened crystals in the bulb. I have smoked weed before, but nothing like this. Maybe I should try it. What harm could it do? It’s not as though my life has been a picnic up until now. The opposite is true. All questions and no answers; a real shit show.
Counsellors and therapists have always told me to accept my reality, but none of them has ever explained why. In a world full of suffering and sadness, why should anybody ‘accept their reality’ when they could change it? That’s why those makeover TV shows are so popular – they feed on people’s compulsive desire to be someone else; to swap their boring, shitty life for something better. To avoid, to deny, to forget . . .
Felix hands me the open beer. I wipe the top with my sleeve and take a drink, filling my mouth, cooling my throat. I don’t stop until the last drop falls on my tongue. Another beer is pulled from the cooler. This time I hold it between my knees, telling myself to drink more slowly.
Felix picks up the pipe and thumbs the flame. Smoke curls along the glass tube as he inhales.
He holds the pipe towards me and turns the lighter upside down.
‘Don’t be afraid. Relax. Let it happen.’
I lean forward, opening my lips.
‘It’s like riding a dragon,’ he says. ‘It’s like drinking in clouds.’
My stomach spasms and the walls of the room suddenly bulge and suck away.
He gave me something. He spiked my drink. I know about such things – roofies and date rape drugs – but I didn’t think . . . should have thought . . . Stupid girl! Foolish girl!
Felix is talking. His features seem to morph and transform into Halloween masks and monstrous creatures, all lips and teeth and multiple eyes.
‘What did you give me?’ I slur, not recognising my own voice. When did the music change?
He pulls me up. I stumble. He catches me, putting his arm around my waist. I try to speak, telling him I want to lie down, but my words are garbled and make no sense. He’s leading me along the hallway, holding me up as he fishes for the keys. The door opens to reveal a bedroom, a bed, a camera, a tripod . . .
He lets me fall backwards onto the mattress, where I curl up, wanting to sleep, but a bright light blasts through my closed eyelids. He puts his hands on either side of my face and kisses me; his tongue pushing into my mouth, ammonia on his breath. I gag, turning my face away and grabbing his shoulders, trying to push him off, but he has wedged his knee between my thighs, forcing them open. Fingernails scratch at my skin, pulling elastic aside, rummaging like he’s searching for a lost pound. I beg him to stop, but my voice won’t make the sounds.
In slow motion, Felix leans back and unbuckles his trousers. He grabs my head, pressing his thumbs into the soft flesh beneath my ears, guiding me towards him. I understand. I fight. I pull at his fingers, pleading for forgiveness or for mercy, although I don’t know what mercy means. This is my life. Who I am. What I’ve been. That person. Used. Abused. Unloved. Unlovable.
My stomach spasms and guts erupt.
Felix rears back uttering a sharp cry.
‘Bitch!’
He’s holding his arms out, looking at the masticated mush of cheese and pizza dough clinging to his shirt.
‘This cost me a hundred quid.’
He goes to the bathroom and takes off his shirt, scrubbing it under the running water.
I know I have to run. I try to stand but topple over. I crawl on my hands and knees until I reach the corridor and heave the remaining contents of my stomach onto the carpet.
Getting to my feet, I stumble down the passageway, swaying from side to side, bouncing off the walls. I take in gulps of air, trying to focus.
Somewhere behind me the tap is turned off and light spills past me.
‘Hey! Where are you going?’
I’ve reached an unlit exit sign. I push down on the horizontal bar, shouldering the door open and lurch across a landing to a short flight of stairs. Felix is close behind, reaching for me, clawing at my face to stop me screaming. He slams me against a brick wall, but his thumb has found my mouth. I bite down hard, feeling his skin break, reaching bone. He curses and releases his grip. I lash out with a boot, finding his shin.