8. Prelude to a Nightmare
……..…The statues are miserable ready to fall
Their mouths are closed unable to call
Today was Saturday; Mark did not have to work today. He occasionally did go in to work on Saturday mornings but lately, even before the fire, orders had been slack and although Mark could always find something to do; the overtime pay was not that great. Consequently, Mark never volunteered to work extra shifts so if the Fat Man did not ask him to go in by, he stayed away; he could find plenty to do to occupy his time. Today, Mark had a lot to do and he was on his way to the Central Library to find out all he could about the club scene and so-called designer drugs. He already had web-site addresses and reference points, he had listed them to save time and hoped to spend a profitable morning surfing the net.
The Central Library, so called because, funnily enough it was in the centre of the city, used to be a dance hall in the sixties when Chesford was really a place worth knowing. The music scene was vibrant; the pubs, and nightclubs were jammed packed with ‘Mods’, Lambrettas lined up outside raring to go. The decline of the town following the general malaise of the country and the demise of the motor industry in particular resulted in an exodus of people from the area. Fewer and fewer teenagers were going out, attendances declined and inevitably, the Rock House closed. Thus, the Palace of Dance where The Stones rolled and The Beatles rocked re-opened to house rows upon rows of books, cassettes, newspapers and other media following refurbishment. The once proud dance-floor became a museum of silence to quench the thirst for knowledge and betterment. As Mark entered, he tried to picture his dad on the balcony - girl watching or at the bar drinking, his father had told him all about this place.
“Johnny Hero was a name they all knew in the Rock House, son,” he had said. “Best dancehall and disco for miles round here” Mark considered how perverse life was; twenty years ago Johnny and his friends would travel down from Nottingham on their scooters to have wild soul nights in Chesford, and now if you wanted good night out the journey reversed and you went the other way, out of town to Nottingham, Leicester or Birmingham. Mind you twenty years seems like a lifetime when you are nineteen conceded Mark.
‘Methamphetamine hydrochloride’ Mark wrote it down. Street name ’Ice’ it produces a profound sense of euphoria by stimulating the release of dopamine and noradrenaline in the brain. Jesus thought Mark I’ll have to print this stuff off; too much to write down. The whole subject was very confusing. Common names that Mark had heard bandied about on the street: snot, junk, bombers, Miss Emma, White Lightening, sugar cubes. He read all about the numerous effects: extreme elation, alertness, self-confidence, aggression, talkativeness, loss of appetite and the withdrawal symptoms: severe cramps, deep depression, fatigue, inertia, paranoiac psychosis. His head was spinning; just reading about this stuff was mind numbing to him, but soon he began to realise why the ‘garage’ and ‘dance’ nights at the Rooster were so popular. The symptoms he had seen in action many times at the Roostertail; the Rave culture, which attracted the same intellectuals who drank lager straight from the can, wore string vests and partied all night in Ibiza, seemed to be rife with the ailments about which he had been studying.
Methodically Mark worked through all the web sites he had listed, and then linked on to others that he hadn’t. L.S.D, Heroin, G.H.B. Ketamine, and Ecstasy. This was heavy stuff, he judged. Schizophrenia and severe psychological problems brought on by bad trips. He printed off eight pages on the different substances associated with ‘club culture’ the effects and symptoms, and another four pages on the treatment diagnosis and rehabilitation. He was beginning to get a headache and feel nauseous .It was the same feeling he always got when Sarah insisted on dragging him to a ‘Rave’ night, Mark liked Melody and Harmony - they were nice girls - and in a funny sort of way he was very old fashioned when it came to music. Sarah-Jane on the other hand was deep into the 90s scene and all that came with it. If Sarah was taking something like this, he considered thoughtfully she was in a real mess. He paid the library assistant and went out to get some air, the three hours he had spent pouring over the computer and the sickening details he had uncovered made him, feel quite ill.
Out in the daylight the square was just beginning to fill itself up with the Saturday morning shoppers and the inevitable traffic that came with them. Buses swamped Chesford, they choked the city, with their fumes and blaring horns, and most of the drivers would not have been too much out of place at a stock car rally or bumper ride at the fair. Mark watched the to-ing and fro-ing of people as they dodged the polite motorists gesticulating violently through grimy windscreens, and was almost mesmerised by his thoughts. He would have to spend a lot more time systematically going through all the information that he had printed off. Sarah had to be on something, other than ‘cloud nine’, which was where she seemed to spend her days lately. The symptoms all fitted her volatile behaviour, loss of appetite, the words he had read could have written about his Sarah. He wanted her safe, he wanted her sane and above all, he wanted her back.
Floating on the clouds of marmalade ecstasy,
Drifting in dreams at the waters’ edge.
Laughing at the sound of icicles breaking:
Crying with tears of joy in her eyes.
Michael was awoken from a rather pleasant dream by Lucy offering him a cup of tea. He was standing at the altar rail of St Michael’s - standing mind you – just as he used to before his injury. Lucy was at his side, flowers adorned the aisles and pews of the old church, which was full of smiling faces. The ring was on Lucy’s finger split the golden sunlight into a myriad of rainbows, and sent signals to every corner of the cathedral. Everyone was happy! Michael was ecstatic, even the vicar was beaming; Michael could not quite see Lucy’s face as she stood turned slightly away from him, but he knew she was happy too.
“Michael are you awake?” Lucy raised her voice “It’s eight o’clock”
“Oh what!” he woke up with a start “Good morning my angel” He continued quickly regaining his composure.
“Smooth talking will get you everywhere” Lucy joked and bent over to give him a peck on the cheek, “Let me pull you upright so you can drink your tea, I’ve got to go to the hairdressers later so I need to get you up.”
“I’ll be alright, I’m happy to stay here, don’t be long though I’ll miss you” Michael dropped his eyes in that schoolboy pose of his, Lucy ignored his flirtations and puffed up his pillows Once sitting up Michael looked up at his Lucy, his eyes ablaze with passion, she had seen that look before
“There’s a little something for you in the top drawer of the dresser,” Michael said to Lucy
“A present for me, what’s that for?” she replied.
“Just fetch it over here and you’ll see” Michael had that wicked glint in his eyes. Lucy went over to the tall dresser unit, opened the drawer, and found the little package so neatly wrapped up by the jeweller. She started to rip off the paper like an excited child and by the time, she had reached the bed, she had discovered the little black felt box “Michael!” she exclaimed opening the delicate casket to reveal its glittering prize.
“Happy Birthday” he said “ I hope it fits, we borrowed one of your dress rings to try it for size, after all we can’t have an engagement ring that doesn’t fit”
“Engagement ring?” Lucy stammered “Michael what are you saying” She shot a glance at Michael holding out her hand to show him the diamond ring.
“I’m asking you to marry me,” he said stroking her long slender fingers “not today, not this side of Christmas, and perhaps not even next year, but I am asking you to spend the rest of your life with me. You must know how I feel about you?”
“Oh Michael, I don’t know what to say” Lucy was confused. She was very fond of Michael even loved him, after Bobs’ ‘wham-bang-and-thank–you-mam’ approach to the art of love-making, Michael’s’ sensitivity was welcome and refreshing. He had revitalised her life, she was drinking less, as was Michael, and things were much better, but was she ready for marriage? Really ready? She hadn’t got rid of her old one yet. She knew she had no intention of returning to Bob; that was over, she was sure of that, but she still needed time to think things through.
“Just say yes,” Michael added
“I .er… I need some time to think about it, it has come as a shock – out of the blue”
“A nice shock, I hope” Michael laughed
“Yes of course” she said, she put her arms around his helpless neck “I’ll always be here for you if you want me, you don’t need to marry me you know” Lucy took off the ring and offered it back to Michael.
“I may not need to but I want to, please keep the ring, it’s yours and think about my proposition” Lucy bent over him and kissed him full on the lips.
“Thank you Michael, thank you for being so kind and thoughtful, you even remembered my birthday” she sounded surprised.
“It’s my body that’s crippled, not my mind,” Lucy laughed, Michael was always contrasting his alert brain with his crippled body it was one of his favourite ploys.
“You have a fine mind Michael,” she said kissing him on the temple as she leant over him.
Michael smiled back at Lucy, he was confident that Lucy would eventually agree to marry him, he had been so much better since her arrival. He was in fact more than a little perturbed that she had not said ‘Yes’ immediately, although he didn’t show it. Lucy sat down beside him on the bed and leant over his body as she kissed him again to say thank you. She thought she felt his legs move under her, but then again perhaps not.
“You’re rather heavy on my legs” he said “and I’m responding if you know what I mean”
“I know exactly what you mean Michael. Percy has risen to the occasion, perhaps I should soothe his fevered brow until the swelling subsides” Deftly she undid his pyjama cord slipping her hand inside to caress his manhood. Lowering the garment to reveal its glory she kissed it gently rolling her tongue around its length. Enjoying the warmth and love, Michael responded with intimate caresses. Lucy locked in passion attempted to free her hands and struggled to lower her knickers whilst Michael positioned himself below her to carefully, but deliberately enter her.
Wave crescendo hits the shore, the canyon gates are breached
How silently the river flows, and fills her heart with joy
Sarah’s mum had already put the flowers into water by the time Sarah-Jane had decide to greet the new day. “Mmmm nice smell” Sarah said as she sniffed the bouquet.
“They are lovely aren’t they Sarah-Jane?” her mother said as she wandered aimlessly into the dining room. “That boy thinks a lot of you know” Edna said as she handed the little envelope to Sarah
“I know” Sarah replied dreamily as she opened and read Marks’ message
“I suppose you’ll be going out later on and not studying,” said Edna reverting to her school mistress voice and scowling at her daughter.
“No not till later, I might go shopping this ‘after though” Sarah yawned
“Good, you can give me a hand round the house I’ve got loads to do.
“Let me get up first Sarah complained.
“Tea’s in the pot – are you eating today” the sarcasm hid Edna’s real concern over her daughters health and well-being.
“I’ll get it, I’m capable”
“That’s debatable”
Sluggishly the slumber soaked shadow of Sarah-Jane settled into the kitchen chair to waken her mind and body to the world with a drink of tea. The flashes of light that shot periodically across her eyes were not painful but were annoying. Sarah put it down to a migraine – too much bookwork.
“That’ll be the day” Edna had said, “You should see a doctor”
“I’m alright; I just need rest and a couple of aspirin
Now, however, the flashes were getting worse and more frequent – blue, red and yellow streaks shooting from left to right interrupting her field of vision .It was like watching some distance firework display, but without the noise. It was spooky. Edna went out into the back yard to peg out some washing. Sarah fell back asleep at the kitchen table.
Floating dreams in azure skies. Opens wide her fiery eyes
from which all light and colour fade. Only love can hear her cries.
In the lounge of Mrs Green’s guesthouse, Robert Simpson sat perusing the telephone directory and the yellow pages, waiting for his landlady to serve him with a full English breakfast (you know the sort Danish bacon, German sausage French butter etc). He searched through the nursing agencies and care homes all to no avail, and then remembering the letter, he thumbed his way straight to the ‘Ds’. There it was, he found almost immediately, at the top of the page D.L.T. Disability Living Trust -that was it! –It had to be it. He shouted nearly loud enough for other guest to hear. He knew with Lucy’s nursing background she would be working in the same field and the banks’ letter specifically mentioned Disability Living Trust. It all fitted. He entered the number on his mobile and set about enjoying his breakfast. He would ring later.
Mark had spent the entire afternoon sifting through all the information he’d gleaned in the session at the library. He had methodically listed all the substances from Amphetamines through to LSD and Heroin on a spreadsheet in the second column he put symptoms – Sarah fitted every one – but as he knew once you start reading medical texts –books and the like you begin to suffer from every ailment listed. She could not possibly be on everything – could she? -but the effects were so similar and the treatments too. In a third column he put down street names and common terms for all the substances and finally in the last column he jotted down diagnostic signs and rehabilitation and treatment centres, making a careful note of any the withdrawal indications. He put the whole lot in manila folder to which he added press cuttings, gleaned from the local and national media about the death of John Simmons. The local rag had an article on that ‘mad bitch’ with the knife, as they so affectionately christened her, and one of the nationals ran a story on ‘Drug dealer attacked by one his victims’. Mark looked through his various notes and the press comments trying to make sense of it all.
It was like a huge jigsaw without a picture on the box to guide you. However, what Mark was sure of, was that the treatments involved were exclusive and expensive. That would not necessarily be the problem, the hard part was going to be persuading Sarah-Jane to go. He would have to talk to someone. Edna? No! - She would just go ballistic and hysterical. I really need to talk to a medical expert - No! - Mark could not trust Dr Patrick, he knew the Sullivan family too well, What about the church, Father O’Malley, he pondered. - Can catholic priests tell lies? - He didn’t want to take the chance. It would have to be Enoch; at least it would be a starting point. Tonight at the club, he decided to quiz Enoch and see what he knew.
The telephone rings its warbled song, a strangers voice is heard
Speak now or forever hold your peace. The timing is absurd!
Michael answered the phone; Lucy always put it onto speakerphone when she went out
“Hello,Michael Sands here”
“Hello, my name is Bob Simpson, can I speak to Lucy”
“I’m afraid she’s not here at the moment, can I take a message or leave your number and I’ll get her to call you when she comes in” Michael spoke in his business voice, he was calm even though he mistrusted strangers. The fact he did not recognise the name ‘Simpson’ was understandable, Lucy had reverted to her maiden name of Proctor, and only the Trust knew her married name.
“No; its okay I call back later” Bob was annoyed he had come two hundred miles and now she wasn’t in. She should have been waiting for me – But she wasn’t expecting you! – Perhaps she was, that why she’s gone out. Bobs’ mind engaged in a duel with itself. He had done well really he considered and smiled furtively, one call, one visit and superb acting skills at the Trusts’ office in Chesford “Oh I haven’t seen my sister in years. I’ve only just come back into the country” he had fooled the girl on reception quite easily and she had given him the number straight away.
Michael dialled 1471 he did not like strangers phoning particularly as it was the first time he could ever remember anyone asking for his Lucy. ‘Bob Simpson, Bob Simpson’ he muttered to himself as he scrawled the number on the pad. He wheeled himself through to his office started the cassette player and pressed record only to be disturbed almost immediately when Lucy arrived back. He managed a smile and commented on her hair as soon as she appeared.
“Thank you, nice of you to notice” Lucy responded. He hadn’t - he wasn’t that observant, but knew the correct response when a woman has just spent three hours and £30 at the hairdresser was to say how wonderful she looked.
“You’ve just missed a call by the way” he looked towards his intended bride
“For me, who was it -what did they want did they leave a message?”
“Numbers on the pad and the name Timpson I think Bob Timpson, Michael remembered the name perfectly well, he had been repeating to himself for last half an hour, he was just toying with Lucy to see if there was any reaction. There wasn’t! Lucy went to the phone pad. She looked at Michael’s scrawl:’ Bob Simpson and a local number’
“He’s here?” She said aloud
“Who’s here?” asked Michael
“Bob is my…” her voice trailed off not wishing to upset Michael, particularly in view of this morning she decided to lie “He’s an old friend, I wonder how he found me.”
“Northern accent, Georgie I think” said Michael helpfully
“Yes that’s right he’s from Newcastle”
“That figures” Michael was jealous without even seeing this stranger from the north. Lucy on the other hand was taken aback. Here she was on the verge of a new beginning and fate deals this scumbag back from the past. She would ring and tell him their relationship was over and not to contact her again, she was divorcing him. That was the theory anyway. What actually happened when Lucy rang back was that Bob using his inimitable charm arranged a face-to-face meeting in Caspers wine bar on Sunday night - to clear the air. Lucy did not think it such a bad idea; the air in this city was stifling, anyway what harm would it do, at least it was a public place hard to have an argument there, even for Bob “Great, see you there,” she said almost enthusiastically.
Bob was elated, patience was not his strong point, first day here, and he’d cracked it. I am good aren’t I’ he bragged to his inner psyche, but for now I’ll have to wait. He decided to use his time profitably by exploring this two-bit town, first of all I’d better find Caspers’ he told himself and he got down a local amenity booklet from the shelf. It contained a tourist guide map, listing not only local facilities but also showed the one-way system, and before long, Bob had planned a clandestine route across the concrete circle of ring road and into the inner sanctum of Chesford City Centre. He could hardly wait until Sunday.