Cloud Cuckoo Land Page 7

  ‘I’ll be a while, Raymond, but you’d better wait here, we have something to talk about afterwards.’

  He turned and led Jennifer into the sitting room, kicking the door shut with his heel.

  Raymond’s nerve endings were frayed. He tried to shrug off the feelings of guilt by walking over to the big window and taking in the view of the city. It was raining and the daylight was phasing out, dropping the streets into deep shadow. There was a muted yellow haze above the horizon, a dozen industrial buildings with grey smoke trailing from chimneys. The evening traffic was circulating down below, people walking underneath umbrellas, and city life carrying on, almost as usual.

  It seemed, for some reason, that Jennifer wasn’t able to feel that the Warden’s hand had been squeezing and un-squeezing the soft skin between her legs. She was kneeling on the sofa, her back to him. She remained silent and distracted until he redoubled his efforts. Then she felt she had to say something.

  ‘What are you doing down there?’

  She giggled and wriggled. Warden’s blood was pumping, he wanted a quick hit, so he could get back to business. He lifted her waist, reached around under her skirt and pulled her knickers down to her bent knees. He undid the knot in his training bottoms and fished around for the almighty rod. Not quite there though, was it? He’d had this half-baked trouble before, too much tension in his shoulder blades; he only ever had a short window of opportunity, a few split seconds of green light before he remembered that he was a farcical old fool.

  Jennifer asked again, ‘What are you doing now?’

  Warden hated to hear them, he hated it when they said anything, so he lubricated himself with spittle and fed the flaccid thing in, but she buckled at the knees and fell forward leaving him way behind. Shit! That was all it took to turn the tide, it made the whole circus too real, seeing her so young and remembering that he was so bloody old. Warden knew that he wouldn’t be able to manage it, not now the spell had been broken, not now that he was on the wrong side of desire. This was the downhill slope, and well, he couldn’t pull it off any more, could he? He thought it better to change tack, so he yanked up his jogging bottoms and yelled out.

  ‘Raymond! Get in here, will you!’

  Raymond was examining the condensation patterns left by his lips on the windowpane; he was being intimate with himself, he was trying to absolve his own sins. His breath had left a fat ‘X’ shape with a thin lip line and a nose dot. He turned to the sitting room door, knocked and entered the room, still wearing his overcoat. He saw the girl rolling around on the sofa and watched as Warden tucked in his shirt and patted his wild hair flat.

  ‘Ah yes, Raymond, I’m finding that she’s not really my type. Would you step in, there’s a good chap?’

  ‘Step in?’

  Raymond was afraid of this, it was not the first time and he knew he would have to do as asked; he was not at all happy. He thought quickly back to those soft porn epics, where the copulation is mimed, maybe he could get away with some sleight of hand and make believe. He took his trousers off and sat on the arm of the sofa. Warden lit a cigarette and sat into an easy chair.

  Jennifer was wide eyed and completely stoned, she was groping around for a body part, and finding Raymond’s leg, she began to kiss his skin. Raymond wanted in some way to save her, to reduce harm to her if he could. The problem was that now, she was completely out of her mind, she wanted a conclusion to what fear and drugs and sexual contact had started. Raymond saw, with some concern, that she had one single purpose in mind: she wanted to fuck, and anybody, even his body, would do. She kept hauling away at his limp genitals and he felt very uncomfortable, knowing that the old man was seeing all the nasty, uncouth angles of his bare arse from the chair beside the sofa. He turned Jennifer around so that her head was pointing towards Warden, then he got himself in between her legs and started to thrust at a pathetically unconvincing rate. Jennifer was pissed off, she turned to look back at Raymond and he watched as pure anger tightened the pale skin around her eyes. Raymond stopped and she whispered softly in his ear.

  ‘What are you doing, you useless fuck?’

  She hit him hard across the face and he rolled off her. At that point Warden yelped with laughter, he snorted and cackled, kind of jumped up and smacked his hands together like a golfer sinking a long, tournament-winning putt.

  The only saving grace for Raymond was that he fell right next to his trousers, so he slid into them and belted up. Jennifer bundled up into a foetal position; she moved to the corner of the sofa and started to rock herself to sleep. Warden was tap-dancing across the room, grinning as he opened the bar.

  ‘Bloody hell, that’s a laugh eh, Raymond? Pathetic pair of old bastards, aren’t we! Come on, let’s have a drink!’

  Raymond stood and joined Warden, watching passively as the malt whisky was poured out.

  ‘Ice?’

  ‘No, no thanks.’

  Raymond buttoned up his shirt and sipped the whisky. He felt like a low-life.

  ‘Why do you keep on with the girls, Warden?’

  ‘One of the perks, isn’t it?’

  ‘But what if they don’t like the way you carry on? What if they take away your place on the vessel?’

  ‘I won’t be taking my place.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look, forget I said that.’

  ‘But I don’t understand…’

  ‘I’m ill, Raymond, not long to live sort of thing. My blood has become a brackish sludge, it runs around my body like ditch water. I’m sort of beyond help, but I don’t want you telling anyone, you hear? You should also bear in mind that I have been thinking very carefully about who I’d be leaving my place to.’

  Jennifer mumbled something; Raymond knelt down next to her and checked her pulse.

  ‘OK then, “stunt-cock”, on to further business. I need you to keep close tabs on a new arrival.’

  Raymond stopped counting and nodded.

  ‘I want you to find out about one Leonard Gopaul. I quite liked him at interview, but I don’t think he’s going to be a very good citizen. Something tells me that he’s not here to play by the rules and I don’t want to allow the boy too much freedom to do whatever he’s planning to do.’

  ‘I know who you mean, I made first contact a few days ago, I served him a certificate of debt.’

  ‘So from now on, you follow him. Can you do that?’

  ‘Of course I can.’

  The telephone rang. Warden finished his glass and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello? Yes hello, Max… I know but I’m a busy man.’

  Warden waved his hand at the glasses and the whisky; Raymond got up to do the refilling.

  Warden despised the voice on the other end of the line, it was whining, paused and mannered, a sort of newscaster-inflected plea. It was Max, a fifty-year-old ‘fixer’ who made his living by ‘brokering’ seats on the survival programme for high profile clients.

  ‘OK Warden, but hey! These are top of the tree people, I’m just here to tell you that the offer still stands. You’ve had time to consider, so what do you think, do you accept the bid?’

  Warden yawned.

  ‘Money don’t count anymore, Max, you know that. What can you offer instead?’

  ‘Hey, this asteroid impact, it’s not one hundred percent either. Money still matters, and when that thing sails by, all the poor bastards, buried in caves and under mountains, are gonna come flying to the surface and pick up where they left off!’

  ‘I’m not a betting man, Max. I’ve watched all the documentaries about the asteroid, I’ve seen the trajectory forecasts and it doesn’t look good.’

  ‘Yeah, well Vicky and Eddie have asked me to tell you that they’ve got this art collection, and well, I told them you’d be considering the offer. I need to know what your thoughts are, I’ve got to get back to them today. So what can I tell them?’

  ‘You tell them you can’t help them. I don’t need a pop singer and a bloody footballer. The peo
ple I’m taking on board have survival skills, they are reconstruction experts, engineers and all-round wise guys.’

  ‘Bollocks they are! I know the way things work up there, they’re all bloody crooks and back-stabbing politicians, so that’s enough crap from you, Warden! I’ve listened to that kind of bull long enough! Now you can shut the fuck up and start saying yes to me. If you think you can cut me out, you’ve got another thing coming. I have contacts too, I can apply pressure if needs be. Think about what I’m saying here, you jumped up shit face!’

  Warden laughed; it was refreshing to feel no fear. Ever since his terminal diagnosis, he’d felt this kind of aloofness: the future would be getting along without him. Anybody who threatened harm did not know that they had come up against a brick wall. They had no idea that they were trying to inflict the fear of death on someone who was dying anyway.

  There was a knock at the door. Raymond set off to open it but Warden waved him back to the bar. Max was still shouting in Warden’s ear, so he put the receiver gently back down, cutting the line. Warden left the room and walked along the hall, with Raymond trailing behind. He got his eye up to the spy hole and squinted - nothing? He raised himself up on his toes and looked again.

  ‘It’s my grand-daughter.’

  Warden turned.

  ‘Shit, Raymond, it really is my grand-daughter! Go back into the sitting room, tidy up the girl and get her dressed! If Lena spots her, say she’s your wife or something!’

  Raymond grimaced.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Of course it matters! I’m not keen on the idea of Lena finding out that I’m such a sordid old sod. Plus the fact that she tells her grand mother everything and I don’t want to give that old bat anymore rope to hang me with!’

  Raymond nodded and did as he was told.

  Warden opened the door and there stood Lena, wearing blue jeans and a red turtleneck. She smiled and he smiled.

  ‘Are you ready, granddad?’

  ‘Ready?’

  She understood that he had forgotten, but would that mean ‘go home’ or ‘come in’?

  ‘Bugger, lunch! Yes, I’m supposed to take you to the “Chrome Caravan”, right?’

  ‘But you’re not!’

  Her arms had been hanging at her sides but now she folded them. Her hair was longer than last time, straight and reddish-fair, her skin not good for the sun or for hiding her feelings either; she reddened.

  Warden started to offer some excuse.

  ‘Well, see, you know I’m…’

  He stopped, reached for her hand and led her in. She was twelve, or was it thirteen, and she was becoming immune to tall stories.

  ‘I simply forgot!’

  After shaking off Warden’s hand, Lena walked into the room and sat on the window-sill. She was a very pretty girl, but you could see how she would be plump and plain by the time she was eighteen, and not beautiful again until forty or so, when her cheekbones would return. She looked around the place, logging every detail, especially the whisky bottle standing on the hall table. Lena saw all, she noticed and she absorbed everything. The place was cluttered with paperwork, but it was also stuffed full of Warden’s things like pieces of gnarled wood, pictures and furniture. Not like grandma’s basement workshop, which was dominated by the boiler and the printing press.

  Jennifer laughed loud enough to be heard through the wall.

  Lena pointed toward the sitting room.

  ‘Who’s in there?’

  ‘Well, that’s why I forgot our lunch, Lena, I’ve got a business meeting and I…’

  ‘You should have a secretary, someone who writes it all down.’

  ‘Yes, I know but look, I’ve got to get back to it.’

  Warden led her through to the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll finish up as soon as I can and then I’ll see if we can get booked in at the restaurant, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ◊

  Lena stood on her own in the kitchen, a bright and white fitted kitchen, with underused appliances. It didn’t smell of cooking, of food; maybe the kettle and the microwave saw some action, but that was it.

  Beryl had explained to her that if she was left alone, she must follow her instructions to ‘go through any desk or cupboard, especially if it’s locked or unusual-looking’.

  If she was discovered prying, Lena was still young enough to use ‘just looking’ as an excuse; she was, however, old enough in her head to understand what she had to do. She knew what to look for, she would know it if she found it.

  In between the sink and a tall freezer there was a door, a black door with a long aluminium handle. She went through and found herself in Warden’s study. The room was arranged around the desk, the desk arranged to make the best use of daylight, which angled in through a skylight. There was a computer on the desk, so Lena sat in her grandfather’s chair and moved the mouse. A blonde girl appeared on the screen, wearing a shiny, red bikini. She bit her bottom lip, and then stripped her clothes off. She did some stretchy floor exercises, then the screen flickered and she was dressed again. Lena watched the loop of video play one more time, but she didn’t touch the keys, she had been told not to touch the computer.

  She scanned the room by swinging herself round in the swivel chair; a ceramic fruit bowl, fired a deep, glossy red, was sitting on a side table, filled to the top with green apples. A CD cabinet stood beside a music centre, a black box sat on the floor. The alcoves each side of a small chimney-breast had shelves stacked with books. She pulled the sleeve of her sweater over her hand, so it covered her fingertips, and then she pulled open the right hand desk drawer. Floppy discs, sunglasses, the computer manual, brown envelopes, bank statements and a pipe. The left-hand drawer: insurance documents, two watches, some photographs, string, keys, paper clips and clothes tags.

  Lena walked to the corner of the room and knelt down next to the black box. Its lock was undone so she flipped the lid back and found a tight stack of records inside; Barbara Streisand, West Side Story, Brahms, Chopin, Mozart and ‘The War Of The Worlds’. He must play them a lot, but why didn’t he use CDs?

  She walked over to the music centre, it was stuck on the wall and had flat blue speakers attached to the same unit. She opened the CD cabinet, but there were no CDs inside, just a flat, metal box with heavy hinges. She lifted the box out and flipped open the lid; there was a gun inside. It wasn’t a metal revolver, it looked more like a pistol-grip for a garden hose, but this was it, the thing she’d been told to look out for.

  She was exposed now; this was not something she’d be able to explain away. She ran to the side table and took an apple from the fruit bowl, held the gun up against it and fired. There was a snap of compressed air and the apple rolled out of her hand, intact. She gathered it up and inspected the puncture marks in the green skin. Lena felt sick in her stomach now because she had promised her grandmother that she would do as she was told. She pulled her top lip away from her teeth, held the pistol up against the wet and tender underside. Her heart was racing but she squeezed the trigger anyway. She felt like she’d been slapped in the face; a focused tingling spread up through her nose and made her eyes water. She held her hand to her lip as she put the gun back into its box and placed the box inside the CD cabinet. Then she stuffed the apple into her pocket, went through to the kitchen and sat down at the table.

  ◊

  Warden was trying to help Raymond lift Jennifer off the sofa; her limp body was a dead weight.

  ‘Gonna break my bloody back, this is useless!’

  Raymond lowered her back down.

  ‘Why don’t you just leave with Lena and I’ll wait for Jennifer to get her breath back?’

  ‘Don’t say Jennifer, you know I don’t want to know their names.’

  Warden lifted the girl’s legs back into a more natural position; her calf was warm and soft to his touch.

  ‘My idea is that you could take Lena to lunch and leave me to take care of things here.’

  Ray
mond didn’t like the idea of leaving Jennifer alone with Warden.

  ‘Look, Raymond, I love my grand-daughter, but she makes me think of my “x” wife!’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And well, alright, I’d like to take another crack at this Jennifer girl.’

  Raymond picked his coat up off the floor and started to slip it on. He spoke up, it was time he spoke up.

  ‘I’m taking her home.’

  ‘Who?’

  Raymond pointed at Jennifer.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s for the best. You’d better take your grand-daughter out or she’ll never forgive you.’

  Warden was staring into Raymond’s face; it wasn’t common for anyone to disagree with him. He felt confused, deflated.

  ‘Get her out of my sight!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Jenni-bloody-fer!’

  ‘Right you are, sir.’

  ‘Give me something before you go.’

  Raymond took a pillbox from his inside pocket and handed a couple over.

  ‘Thank you, Raymond.’

  Warden slammed the sitting room door shut behind him. He paused to grab his glass and swallow the pills then he headed towards the kitchen. When he stepped inside, he saw that Lena was standing on a stool and going through his cupboards.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Lena turned; she looked scared but covered up with a quick smile.

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  Warden walked across to Lena, took hold of her waist and lowered her to the floor.

  ‘Come on, let’s go and eat.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Adeline felt stupid standing in the kitchen and doing this stuff. It worked in Drohobycz, her mother insisted that it did, so maybe Slavic Sorcery would work here too. The first thing she had to do was to pour water from a jug into a bowl that she had to hold above her own head. It was not easy to do and it felt odd; as she listened to the water filling the bowl, she felt a pressure on her scalp.