Good at Games (9 page)

“In that case,” Suzy assured her cheerfully, “I can cope.”

Emerging from the shower at six thirty, Suzy heard a knock on her front door.

Celeste held out a shopping bag. “I brought these over for you. Maeve said she managed to get the blood out.”

“Great, thanks.” Suzy took the bag.

Celeste didn't move. “Can I come in?”

“Why?”

“I'm sooo
booored
,” wailed Celeste, like a petulant six-year-old.

“Oh God, come on then.” With a sigh, Suzy moved to one side. “But I'm going out in twenty minutes.”

Brightening at once, Celeste said, “That's all right. I can help you decide what to wear.”

I'd rather die.

“I already know what I'm wearing.”

Celeste tilted her head prettily to one side. “Yes, but you don't always choose the right thing, do you?”

This was good, thought Suzy, coming from someone currently decked out in a sugar-pink baby-doll nightie, silver-flecked Barbie-size cardigan, and fuchsia-pink high heels with pompoms on the front. She made her way back through to the bedroom, where her black long-sleeved T-shirt and black jeans were laid out on the bed.

“See?” said Celeste with an air of triumph. “That's exactly what I mean. Dull, dull,
dull
.”

“Why are you bored?” Ignoring her, Suzy took off her toweling robe and began to dress. “Where's Jaz?”

“AA.” Celeste pulled a face.

“Shouldn't you be going with him?”

“God, I'm so fed up with AA meetings. They're the most boring things in the world. Anyway, I don't need them anymore.” Celeste threw herself onto the bed and watched Suzy ease herself into her jeans. “Have you ever thought of going on a diet?”

“I thought about it once, but I wouldn't want to end up like you.”

Pulling the T-shirt over her head, Suzy smoothed it down over her hips and tucked it in. She regarded her reflection in the mirror with satisfaction. “Anyway, I've never had any complaints. Why don't you go to the movies with Maeve if you're bored?”

“It's her night out at the Jumping Prawn.” Petulantly, Celeste pleated the edge of a violet pillowcase.

“She wouldn't mind you tagging along.” Eyeing the baby doll nightie, Suzy said, “They enjoy a good laugh.”

“What, and spend the evening being groped by a bunch of toothless geriatric Irishmen? No thanks.”

“How about Fee?”

“Evening class. Bloody archaeology. I ask you, how can she be interested in all that old stuff?”

“Have a nice quiet evening in then,” said Suzy. Honestly, this was worse than trying to deal with a six-year-old. “Paint your nails, have a bath, watch a video.”
Play with your dolls, make a necklace out of Cheerios, do some coloring.

Celeste stuck out her bottom lip. “Don't want to.”

Bending over, Suzy began vigorously brushing her hair. “You know your trouble, don't you?” She looked at Celeste, upside down. “You don't have any friends.”

Celeste sighed. “They all got jealous when I started seeing Jaz.” She rolled over onto her front and looked hopefully at Suzy. “So where are you off to?”

“Bowling.”

“Who with?”

“Lucille.”

“Can I come with you?”

“No.”

Standing up, Suzy flipped her hair back. She crossed to the dressing table and got vigorous with the bronzing powder.

“Oh,
please
.”

“No.”

“Go on,” cried Celeste, “let me come with you. I'm so bored I could die! Anyway,” she added persuasively, “Lucille would love to meet me.”

When Celeste got going, there was no stopping her. Freshly bronzed, Suzy leaned closer to the mirror and spun the top off her mascara.

“No.”

“Suze, don't be
mean
. I love bowling! Please say yes, please please please…”

“Oh, for God's sake.” Suzy sighed. “All right then.” She chucked the tube of mascara back into her makeup case and selected a lipstick. “You can come with us.” She looked sternly at Celeste's jubilant reflection in the mirror. “But not dressed like that.”

* * *

Celeste, in the passenger seat of the Rolls, had her bare feet stuck up on the walnut dashboard. Having changed into a sherbet-yellow microskirt and a sawn-off Little Miss Mischief top—clearly her version of dressing down—she was now busy repainting her toenails. The smell of the polish clashed violently with her perfume. Buzzing down both windows, Suzy glanced first at Celeste's toes, then at the rectangular Chanel bottle clamped between her knees.

“That's
my
nail polish,” Suzy said.

“I know.” Brush poised, Celeste sat back to admire her handiwork. She wiggled her Day-Glo pink toes happily. “I saw it on your dressing table. Pretty, isn't it?”

“I only bought it yesterday!”

Suzy was indignant. Borrowing things without asking was something of a specialty of Celeste's.

“Hey, relax. I'm not stealing it from you. I've finished now, anyway.” Celeste screwed the top back on the bottle and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, all this fuss over a bit of nail polish.”

Suzy slowed down as they reached the top end of Gloucester Road, where Bishopston bordered Horfield. She peered at the house numbers, squinting her eyes against the glare of the evening sun.

“That's the one. With the brown door,” Suzy announced at last.

“Yuck.” Celeste wrinkled her nose. “It looks horrible.”

“Lucille's got the attic apartment.”

“Even horribler.”

“Yes, well. It would be nice if you didn't tell her that.”

Suzy parked the car a short distance up the road and they made their way back to the house. There was a scruffy, overgrown front garden and the wooden gate was hanging off its hinges. She rang the bell for the top-floor apartment and stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

After what seemed like ages, Lucille opened the door.

“Good grief.” Suzy's mouth fell open. “What's going on? What happened to you?”

Lucille had been crying. Her eyes were red and there were mascara stains on her cheeks. Her white T-shirt was marked all over with big grubby handprints and badly torn at the neck.

“I'm sorry. I can't come b-bowling.” Her voice was low and unsteady. “Something's…come up.”

“Who did this?” Suzy pointed to her T-shirt, aghast.

“My landlord.”

“Jesus! Where is he? In your apartment?”

Lucille, her knuckles white as she clutched the peeling door frame, shook her head. She indicated a closed door in the dingy hall behind her.

“He's in there. Ummm…unconscious.”

Celeste let out a yelp.

“Did you shoot him?”

“No.”

“Stab him? With a kitchen knife?” Celeste's eyes widened. “Through the heart?”

Despite everything, Lucille managed a weak smile.

“No. Nothing like that. He's just drunk. Out for the count and snoring like a train. Look, I'm fine, really. I'm sorry about the bowling, but I'll call you tomorrow—”

“You will not,” declared Suzy, pushing the front door open. “Look at the state of you! You can't stay here.”

Lucille sighed and let them in. “I know that.”

Upstairs, her small sitting room was awash with shopping bags stuffed with clothes, piles of books and CDs, and a bundled-up duvet.

“I've spent the last hour getting my stuff together.” As she spoke, Lucille peeled a series of posters off the walls and rolled them up. “I'd offer you a coffee, but I've already packed the kettle. I want to be out of here before he wakes up.”

“I don't blame you,” said Celeste with a shudder. “This place is
grim
.”

“And speaking of grim,” Suzy announced, “this is Celeste.”

“I guessed.” Lucille spared her a brief smile before bending down to unplug the speakers from her stereo. “Jaz's girlfriend, right?”

“Fiancée,” Celeste corrected, smugly fluttering her left hand at Lucille. Three hefty diamonds sparkled in the dusty sunlight slanting through the attic window. “Twenty thousand pounds, this ring cost. I told him not to spend so much, but he said I was worth it.”

“Tell us what happened,” said Suzy.

“Oh, it was
so
romantic. We were walking down Princess Victoria Street, and I just
glanced
in the window of that jeweler's on the corner—”

“Celeste, give it a rest.” Suzy shook her head in despair. “I was talking to Lucille.”

“He's a fat drunken pig,” said Lucille, winding the wires from one of the speakers slowly around her fist. “He called me downstairs to his apartment, said we needed to have a talk about the rent. When I went down, he told me he knew I fancied him, he'd seen the way I looked at him, and why didn't we come to some arrangement that would suit both of us? Then he grabbed me and started trying to kiss me. The more I struggled, the harder he tried to pin me down on the sofa.” She shuddered at the memory. “His hands were all over me. He smelled awful. He told me he'd been fantasizing about me for months, and I was almost sick on the spot.”

Horrified, Suzy said, “Did he…?”

“No.” Lucille shook her head. “Thank God. I managed to break free and he tried to chase me around the room. He lunged forward, tripped over his case of lager, let out a roar, and crashed facedown onto the sofa. And that was it. He didn't hit his head or anything. He was just out cold.”

“God, how awful.” Celeste wrinkled her nose. “You didn't fancy him at all, then?”

“Funnily enough,” Lucille replied with commendable patience, “no.”

“So what happened next?”

“His face was squashed against the cushions. I turned him onto his side, so he could breathe.” Her voice began to wobble. “Then I came up here and started to pack.”

“Should have let him suffocate,” said Suzy. She briskly pushed up the sleeves of her black top. “Right, well, we'll help you—oh, don't cry, it's all over now.” She rushed on as fresh tears began to roll down Lucille's smooth brown cheeks. “I know it must have been terrible…”

“I'm not upset because of him.” Lucille was wiping her eyes and looking utterly bereft. “I'm crying because this was my home…and now here I am packing up all my stuff…and I don't have a clue where I'm g-going to
go
.”

Celeste, who had been admiring her reflection in the mirror hung above a cracked, glued-together bookcase, said brightly, “There's a Salvation Army hostel on Ashley Road. I expect they could take you in. Mind you, they might make you wear a bonnet and bash a tambourine.”

“I didn't want to bring her along this evening, really I didn't,” Suzy apologized to Lucille.

“What?” Celeste's pale blue eyes opened wider than ever. “All I did was make a sensible suggestion.”

“See the front of her T-shirt?” said Suzy. “What it should say is Little Miss Thick-as-a-Plank. Could you bear to have her as a next-door neighbor, d'you think?”

Lucille blinked. “You can't…”

“Look, you're my sister. And I'd really love it if you'd move in with me.”

“
You
might love it,” Celeste put in, “but what about Lucille? Why would she want to live with you?”

Suzy ignored her. She touched Lucille's arm. “Please say yes.”

“It's kind of you to offer, but I feel a bit…”

“Sick at the thought of it?” said Celeste.

“We can at least give it a go,” Suzy urged. “I mean, you do need somewhere to stay. And I've got a spare bedroom. If you'd rather have your own place, then fine, but you still need somewhere to sleep until you find it.”

Lucille shot her a look of gratitude. “This is really nice of you.”

“Then you will?” Suzy's face lit up. “Brilliant!”

But Lucille was still looking reluctant, shaking her head. “The trouble is…”

“Oh, please don't start worrying about money. I won't charge you rent!”

“The trouble is, it's not just me.”

“Who else then?” said Suzy, bewildered. “Oh my God, don't tell me you've got a baby!”

Lucille smiled weakly. “Worse than that, I'm afraid.”

“Blimey.” Celeste sounded amazed. “What could be worse than a baby?”

“Come see,” said Lucille.

She led them out of the living room, across the landing and into the minuscule kitchen.

“Look out the window.”

Together, Suzy and Celeste peered down into the tiny, unkempt back garden. In the center of the scrubby lawn stood a cheap yellow plastic sun lounger. And across the sun lounger was sprawled a large—actually a
very
large—dog. Sensing movement above, he raised his head from its resting place between his front paws, gazed up at them, and slowly wagged his tail.

“His name's Baxter,” said Lucille.

“He's huge,” marveled Celeste.

Leo's dog
, Suzy realized.

Hang on…

“So what was Baxter doing while you were being attacked by your landlord?” she asked Lucille.

“Sunbathing. He's the world's most useless guard dog,” Lucille admitted. “Violence isn't Baxter's thing at all. To be honest, he's a total wimp. I'm looking after him for Leo,” she explained, “until he gets back from the States.”

“Go on then,” said Suzy. “You've twisted my arm.”

Joyfully, Lucille said, “Are you sure?”

“Come along.” Suzy turned away from the window. “The sooner we finish packing up, the faster we'll be out of here.” She broke into a grin. “Good thing I've got a big car.”

* * *

It took them less than an hour to clear the apartment of Lucille's belongings. Finally, everything was loaded into the Rolls.

Baxter thumped his tail good-naturedly when Lucille opened the back door leading out into the garden and called his name. He climbed off the sun lounger, loped over to them, and—by way of introduction—tried to stick his head up Celeste's skirt.

“He's lovely,” Lucille assured them. She closed the back door, then hesitated. “I'd better just check on Les, before we go. Make sure he's still alive.”

In the front room, which stank of alcohol and BO, Les hadn't moved. He was snoring loudly, and his filthy green shirt was open to the waist, revealing a mountainous stomach that shuddered like a blancmange every time he drew breath.

“He attacked you,” said Suzy. “You should report him to the police.”

Lucille shook her head.

“More trouble than it's worth. I'm out of here now anyway. That's good enough for me.”

“Seems a shame, though,” said Celeste, “to let him get off scot-free.” Her expression thoughtful, she glanced out through the grimy back window.

“We could always trash the place.” As she patted Baxter's head, Suzy gazed without enthusiasm around the room, which was, frankly, disgusting. “Then again, who would notice?”

“Is he really out cold?” Bending over the back of the sofa, Celeste pinched the back of Les's pudgy hand, hard. There was no reaction.

“What are you thinking?” said Suzy.

“Wait here.” Celeste darted out of the room. They heard the back door open. Moments later she was back, dragging the grubby sun lounger into the living room by its wheels.

“Celeste, are you mad? We don't want his sun lounger,” said Suzy with a shudder.

“Come on, there are three of us. We can do it.” Pushing the sun lounger up against the sofa, Celeste braced herself behind his head and shoved her arms under Les's fat shoulders. “You two take a leg each. OK. One, two, three,
heave
…”

Les snorted like a rhino as they hauled him over onto the filthy groaning plastic. He waved one arm and muttered, “Not last call yet, issit? Giss another pint, mate.”

Then he subsided into unconsciousness once more.

“Now what?” whispered Suzy.

“I think the front garden, don't you?” Celeste grinned, reached for her bag, and fished out the bottle of Day-Glo pink nail polish.

Leaning over and undoing the last straining buttons on Les's shirt, she painstakingly painted
FAT UGLY BASTARD
in unmissable capitals across his white hairless chest.

Alarmed, Lucille said, “Can we do this?”

Celeste looked at the almost-empty bottle of nail polish, pulled a face, and chucked it over her shoulder.

Suzy, grabbing the bottom end of the sun lounger, discovered that thanks to the wheels it was surprisingly easy to maneuver. She smiled first at Celeste, then at Lucille.

“Oh, I think we should. Don't you?”

The finishing touch, once Les was installed in his front garden in full view of passersby, was inspired by Baxter. Watching him cock his leg against the gate, Celeste took a half-empty bottle of lukewarm Evian out of her bag and tipped it carefully over Les's denim-clad groin.

Envious that she hadn't thought of it herself, Suzy said, “You know, sometimes I could almost like you.”

A bus trundled past. They watched the passengers peer down at Les, nudge one another, and laugh.

“Funny you should say that,” Celeste replied cheerfully, “because I never think I could almost like you.”

The car was piled high with Lucille's belongings. Celeste, in the passenger seat, had shopping bags piled up beneath her feet and on her lap. Lucille and Baxter, together with a couple of dozen more bags, were squashed into the back.

“I love looking at other people's stuff.” Celeste, rummaging happily through one of the bags balanced on her knees, pulled out a cosmetics case. “It's so great finding out what they're really like.” She flipped the case open. “I mean, take a look at this…Rimmel, Miners… God, Lucille, why d'you buy such cheap makeup?”

“Set the dog on her,” Suzy told Lucille. With her free hand she snapped the cosmetics case shut, almost taking Celeste's fingers off. “And you, don't be so nosy.”

“All right, all right, don't get your panties in a twist.” Celeste was unperturbed. She peered into the nearest bag, poked about a bit, and dragged out a pocket-size photo album. “Hey, what about this, then? Your mother and Lucille's father—look at those hairstyles!”

“Put it
back
,” hissed Suzy, exasperated.

“And what are these?” Dropping the photo album back into the bag, Celeste grabbed a handful of tapes, all identical, and with just the name
Lucille
printed in uneven silver lettering on each of the cases.

“They're nothing. None of your business,” said Suzy.

From the backseat, Lucille said abruptly, “Could you please leave my stuff alone?”

“All my hard work”—Celeste shrugged—“and this is the thanks I get.”

Suzy looked at the cassettes, still clutched in Celeste's hand.

“Are you going to behave yourself, or do I have to stop the car and push you out?”

“You sound like the old bloke who used to drive our school bus,” grumbled Celeste. Splaying her fingers, she pointedly dropped the cassettes back into the shopping bag. “There. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” said Suzy.

Celeste waited until they turned onto Zetland Road. While Suzy's attention was taken up with avoiding a pensioner on a moped, she liberated one of the cassettes and slid it into her own bag.

It wasn't stealing, for heaven's sake. She was only borrowing it.