Mesmeris (13 page)

I must have been there quite some time because my bum went numb on the uncomfortable wall. Going home seemed the only sensible option, if I could find my way to the train station. As I stood up to go, a minibus turned up – old and battered, with psychedelic patterns in bright colours all over it. It looked completely wacky in the classy surroundings and the kids that got out of it looked and sounded equally out of place. They were young, about my age, and scruffy, like me – jeans, hoodies, track suits. Normal kids. I couldn’t think what they would be doing there with those other people, but two guys in dinner jackets herded them in through the front door.

A group of four people, three guys and a girl, also in eveningwear, walked towards the house. The girl wore a scarlet satin evening dress that swished and swayed as she walked. The guy nearest me was big – six foot five at least and broad, with long, straggly blond hair. He looked all wrong in the too tight, too smart jacket and trousers, as if he should have been in shorts and t-shirt, surfing on a beach somewhere. As the girl fell slightly behind, I saw her short, spiky black hair. I caught my breath. I knew that hair. It took me a moment to recognise Jack. He looked so different, all dressed up in his dinner suit, bow tie, clean-shaven, hair combed and neat. If he hadn’t had the Crombie over his arm, I wouldn’t have known it was him.

‘Jack.’ He didn’t turn round and I thought for a moment I’d made a mistake. But the others turned, Lill, Nico and the surfer guy.

‘Hey, Jacko,’ surfer guy said, ‘looks like you’ve forgotten something.’

‘Fuck off, Dan.’ Jack carried on walking away.

I half-crossed the road towards them but then stopped, uncertain.

Nico smiled. ‘Well, Jack,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you going to invite your friend in?’

‘No.’ Jack didn’t look at me. ‘Go home, Pearl.’

‘Charming.’ Nico smirked, raised his eyebrows.

Jack didn’t stop. ‘Let’s go. We’re late.’

‘Jack,’ I moved towards him.

He spun around, his jaw set. ‘Go – away!’

Lill’s mouth dropped open. ‘That’s not nice.’ She ran to me, put an arm around my shoulder, and rubbed my arm. ‘That’s very rude, Jack – very rude. Pearl wants to come to the party, don’t you, Pearl?’

‘She doesn’t.’ Jack strode back, stiff and furious. He pushed Lill away. ‘Don’t touch her.’ He gripped my arm and dragged me towards the house, so fast my feet could hardly keep up. He hissed in my ear, ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’

‘I don’t want you to go,’ I said.

‘I don’t have any choice.’

‘Then I’m coming with you.’

He made a noise, something between a laugh and a cry. ‘You idiot. You just don’t listen, do you?’

We’d reached the stone steps. He let go of my arm and looked at me for the first time. ‘Now we’re both in danger,’ he said.

‘Immensely brave, remember?’ I smiled a wobbly smile.

The man I thought was a butler came towards us. ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Do come in, all of you.’

The door opened to a buzz of conversation and some kind of classical music – a dirge of violins. Lill, Nico and Dan pushed past us and disappeared. The hallway was full of people. Some stood in pairs on the stairs, chatting. A few cast curious eyes over us and looked away.

A huge chandelier hung above us, heavy, its crystals moving and sparkling as the door opened and closed. Paintings covered the walls, old-fashioned portraits and landscapes in enormous, tacky gold frames. Some people said hello to Jack. Someone offered him drinks on a tray. He took two and handed one to me. It looked like watermelon juice, red and soupy. Jack drank his in one, so I took a large gulp. It wasn’t any kind of juice, though. It tasted of herbs, thick, strong and sweet. It burned my throat as it went down. Just one mouthful and fire spread through my limbs. Everyone had the same drink, everywhere I looked.

I whispered in Jack’s ear. ‘Maybe you
should
recruit me.’

‘What?’

‘I . . .’ I backed off, frightened by the furious glint in his eyes. ‘I thought, well . . . then we’d both be safe.’

‘Safe?’ He said it too loudly. A couple of people turned to look. He lowered his voice. ‘If I recruit you, you’ll belong to Papa, be his property. We all belong to Papa, understand?’

I nodded.

‘So, don’t
ever
think . . .’

‘Okay,’ I said.

We came to a long room, lined like the hallway, with paintings. These were different - darker. The one nearest us showed a huge, naked man, staring, mouth gaping with the headless, bloody body of a child in his hand. I shuddered and looked at the next. A goat sat like a man in a circle of crone-like women. They held out babies to the goat. behind him, a pole stuck up in the air at an angle and from the pole, hung the bodies of children.

‘You like Goya?’ Jack said.

‘No.’ No pretty pictures here, no refined landscapes or aristocratic portraits. Every single one showed some kind of horror - murder, rape, torture or dead and mutilated bodies hanging from trees – heads impaled on branches.

Dreary music came from the corner, where a string quartet played. A massive Indian rug covered the floor, thick and soft, beige, pink and brown. People stood about in groups, chatting and laughing. I recognised someone from television – an evening news presenter whose name escaped me.

A group of middle-aged men were talking to the woman I’d first seen arriving. She looked what the magazines would probably call ‘luminous’ - perfect make-up, perfect hair. She threw back her head and laughed. There was something nasty about it, about her mouth as it twisted, which made her ugly.

A man in the group smiled at us. He looked about my dad’s age – forty or so. His hair was completely white, contrasting strangely with his black eyebrows and dark eyes. ‘Excuse me a moment.’ He said, and came towards us, his hand outstretched. ‘Jack.’

‘Papa.’

Papa smiled. ‘You must be Pearl - Howard Pitt.’ He took my hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘Enchanté,’ he said.

I smiled.

‘Very nice,’ Papa said. ‘There are bruises, yes?’

Jack widened his eyes at me – a warning. He brushed the hair back from my face.

‘Ah!’ Papa peered at my forehead. ‘So small. Your lack of enthusiasm disappoints me, Jack.’

‘There are more, Papa,’ Jack said, ‘but not on her face – it’s too beautiful.’

‘There’s nothing more beautiful than a bruise,’ Papa said. ‘You should know that.’ He lifted my hand. ‘May I?’ He pushed my sleeve back. ‘Ah, there.’ His eyelids drooped as his fingers traced the red, purple and blue lines and blotches. ‘The colours.’ His fleshy lips glistened. ‘The damage.’ He sighed. ‘Beautiful violence, no?’

‘Papa.’ Jack nodded.

Papa looked at me, tilted his head. ‘You disagree, Pearl?’

My body trembled with anger, made it hard to speak. ‘Violence is ugly,’ I said. ‘Vile - disgusting. There’s nothing beautiful about it.’

Papa laughed and patted me on the head as if I were a child. ‘Ah, there you are wrong – but you will learn. Yes, you will learn. Inflicting pain on another is . . .’ He licked his lips. ‘. . . true beauty. Yes, Jack?’

‘Yes, Papa,’ Jack said. He averted his eyes.

‘It is art, no?’ Papa said. ‘Like this Cezanne.’ He pointed at a dark painting of three figures. A woman lay on the ground, a terrified look on her face while another woman held her down. Above them stood a man holding a knife, his arm raised over his head, about to plunge it into the captive’s chest. ‘It is pure,’ Papa said, ‘like this music.’ He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his mouth slightly open, as the violins wailed and wept. We watched in silence. As the music reached a crescendo and died, Papa’s body juddered. He opened his eyes. ‘I should mingle,’ he said. ‘I shall see you and your bruises later, Pearl – when we welcome you to our little family.’ He patted Jack’s back. ‘Well done, my boy. Good work.’

‘Papa,’ Jack said, his eyes lowered.

Lill pushed between us. I noticed with a pang of jealousy how the backless dress clung to her perfect figure, how it shimmered in the light.

‘I want you to meet someone.’ She snaked her arm around Jack’s waist and led him away without a glance in my direction.

I thought about going after them but my pride wouldn’t let me. Instead, I hung about for five minutes or so, uncomfortably aware of how my scruffy Parka, jeans and Doc Martens stood out among all the expensive gowns and immaculate dinner suits. No one talked to or even looked at me. My glass was empty but the waiters, so eager to serve everyone else, managed to avoid coming anywhere near me. For someone so grossly underdressed, it seemed I’d become invisible.

I made my way towards the garden. The French windows stood open, despite the cold weather, and yet the room felt warm. Jack and Lill stood by the fireplace, talking with Papa and another man. The flames of the log fire flickered and lit up Jack’s face and, for a moment, I stared at him and thought how beautiful he was. Then he slid his arm around Lill’s waist and I looked away.

‘Crap music, eh?’ A red-haired boy stood next to me, one of those on the minibus by the look of his jeans and hoodie. He smiled at my nod. It was a relief to see somebody normal, the kind of person I recognised. A girl came through the French windows after him – dyed black hair cut in a bob with a blunt fringe. Everything on her face seemed to be pierced – nose, lip, eyebrow. Her eyes looked a bit like mine, except her black liner was no doubt deliberate.

‘Hi,’ she said to me. ‘Some fucking party, eh?’

I nodded. ‘Not quite what I’m used to.’

‘I mean,’ she said, ‘listen to this shit. How we meant to dance to this?’ She jerked her body as if dancing to some imaginary dance track. Weirdly, she made it somehow fit with the music. The boy and I laughed.

‘How did you guys end up here?’ I said.

‘That Jay Swift – you know, the one off the telly,’ the boy said.

The one I’d recognised. ‘You know him?’

‘No. We were just, you know, hanging out in the park and he came over - said he knew a party where we’d get free gear. Never say no to free gear, that’s my motto.’

‘He had a bus and everything,’ the girl said. ‘You should come in the garden –more lively than here.’

‘I’m with someone.’ I looked across at Jack. He still had his arm around Lill. His hand moved up and down her side, caressing her. He laughed at something and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

‘What, him?’

I nodded.

The girl looked from Jack to me and back again. ‘Right.’ She took my arm. ‘Come on. Let’s get something to cheer you up.’

The garden was the size of a football pitch, surrounded by a ten-foot high stone wall. Neat beds of hyacinths and daffodils edged a boring rectangle of grass. Wooden trestle tables were dotted about like a pub beer garden. Each table had a heated parasol above it. None of the posh guests were out there, only the other kids from the minibus. They sat around the table nearest the house, two boys and a girl.

They bunched up on the benches to make room for us and we all sat down. Someone passed around a bottle of vodka. I swigged some. It tasted foul, went down the wrong way, and made me cough. They all laughed. Someone passed me a spliff. I didn’t want to look even more of a dork so I pulled on it, held the smoke in my mouth for a bit and blew it out. I was sure I looked ridiculous, but no one seemed to notice. They were more interested in the stuff they’d been given than in me.

The red-haired boy handed pills around the table. ‘Not sure what they are, but worth a pop.’

One guy looked more serious than the others. Dark hair flopped over one eye and half of his face. He examined his tablet, turned it over and over in his hand and sniffed it. ‘You sure these’re kosher, Matt?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Matt waved a dismissive hand. ‘Everything in here’s kosher.’

‘Dyl,’ pierced girl said. ‘Stop askin’ questions and just take it.’

‘I don’t know,’ Dyl said. ‘I mean, why would they give us free stuff? Why would they even want us here? I don’t get it.’

‘Look,’ Matt said, ‘if you don’t want the gear, go home. All the more for us.’

Dyl frowned, looked up at the wall. ‘They got barbed wire up there.’

Everyone looked up. Sure enough, rows of barbed wire lined the top of the wall.

‘Yeah,’ Matt said. ‘To stop fuckin’ burglars, dickhead.’

‘Then why’s it hanging over this side?’

‘I’d better find my boyfriend,’ I said.

‘Good luck with that,’ pierced girl said. She and the red-haired boy exchanged a smirk.

The space by the fireplace was empty. I scanned the room as I walked through. On one of the sofas sat a grey-haired, overweight man with a drinker’s nose, red and swollen. A girl - who looked quite a bit younger than me - sat on his lap, her full-length sapphire dress cut to the navel, skirt slashed to the thigh. The guy put a knobbly hand on her leg. His red, gnarled hand stood out against her pale, childish skin as he slid it up inside her dress. I went out into the hall. Lill was there with Nico and Dan but no sign of Jack. I checked the empty cloakroom, went through another door into a room where a group of people sat in rows and listened to a young woman play the piano. They clapped politely when she finished. None of them looked like Jack.

I went downstairs to the huge kitchens. They stood empty and deserted. Everything was stainless steel - cookers, work surfaces, cupboards – like an industrial kitchen but there was no smell of cooking. A door at the far end stood ajar. Low voices and a chuckle came from the gap. I peeped through. A boy and an old man stood close together, both in dinner jackets, their backs to me, their heads bowed over a computer, watching something I couldn’t see. I tiptoed away, holding my breath and went back to the ground floor.

The only room left was the one nearest the entrance. Its door had been shut when we came in and still was. I sauntered over to it, pretending to look at the paintings, trying to look inconspicuous. I leaned against the door as if I was bored and tried the handle behind my back. Nothing. I turned sideways on and pushed against it with my hip. Rock solid. Unless Jack had locked himself in there, he could only be upstairs.

The people who had been standing on the staircase earlier had gone and only three people were still in the hallway. They wandered into the long room, so I put a hand on the white-painted balustrade and trod on the first step. My feet sank into the thick-pile carpet. I checked behind me but no one appeared so I continued up. The stairs curved at the top, ending in a small landing with three doors off, all of them closed. I hesitated, wondering which one to choose. A muffled cry came from the door to my right and blood banged in my ears. My first thought was Jack, that they could be killing him. I turned the handle, silently and slowly, and nudged the door. It opened onto a long, dark corridor with doors on either side. I crept along it, holding my breath, my tread silent on the plush carpet, my ears straining for any sound. Silence. Everything was black - carpet, walls and ceiling - matt black that sucked away the light. The door to the landing swung shut behind me and I was plunged into utter darkness - stifling, disorientating blackness. I could no longer see where the walls or doors were. I put one hand out until it touched the wall on my left and then felt my way forward. There could have been anything in front of me, a staircase, a hole in the floor, anything. My fingers felt a change from wall to wood – a doorframe. I felt along
it and pressed my ear against the wood - nothing. The same thing happened at the next two doors. Although my eyes should have adjusted to the lack of light, I could still see nothing and began to panic, imagining all kinds of monsters ahead of me. I decided to go back. The muffled cry must have been a noise from downstairs. Then it came again, a definite moan. The sound came from the other side of the corridor. I remembered the passage hadn’t been wide but it scared me to leave the safety of the wall. I put one tentative foot in front of the other, hands out in front of me, until I touched the other side. Then I felt my way along to the door and put my ear against it. Low moans, hushed voices, groans. I put my hand on the door handle.