down the back of all the sofas and soft chairs. We’ll do a right Jamie Oliver!’ I opened their retro-trash cupboard and took out an armful of the pristine, unopened boxes of American cookies they’d practically wet themselves cooing over. ‘And then you can take a break. Only one biscuit from each box, mind you. And then chuck the rest on to the milk and stomp ’em well in. No slacking!’
I opened a few more drawers – ah, their Cybercandy stash! Cybercandy is like this amazing little sweet shop down in the North Laines where you can buy all sorts of softies and sweets and chocolate from all around the world, especially Japan and America. The only drawback is the prices – £4.80 for a Vodka Lix lollipop! I’d have to work close-on an hour just to earn the price of one of them – still, I reflected, as I poked around among the Skittles Littles, Mike and Ikes and Tart ’n’ Tinys, that was nothing that a five-fingered discount couldn’t take care of.
I called to the Dracules, who were stamping biscuits into the milky carpets with lip-biting concentration. ‘Get over here when you’ve finished and fill your boots. Look! – Snake Venom lollies, these could have been made for you two weirdies! Then you can bail – I’ve got private stuff to do. Personal. Cheers!’
I left them exclaiming over the Cybercandy drawer and broke open a very decent bottle of Bolly from the fridge. I needed to be alone for the next bit – and I needed it to be a celebration, hence the bubbly. A solitary celebration. I went into the workroom and closed the door behind me. I locked it. Then I poured Bolly all over the blade. To make it pure for the task that lay ahead.
Which was the not inconsiderable one of taking back my honour – an honour which I had, let’s be fair, spent the best part of seventeen years pissing away. But choosing to fritter a thing away is a far different thing to having it snatched from you – it’s the difference between having power and being powerless, which is just about the biggest difference in the world so far as I can tell.
And there, in front of me, was the skilfully-honed proof of the biggest and most professional shafting I’d ever had the pleasure of, worn by a docile row of dummies with their blank faces neatly labelled.
And the names of my dishonour were (as already established by the meeting with young Trulocke in Macky D’s):
WHITE-TRASH TINKERBELL
PRAM-FACED PRICKTEASE
LATE AGAIN!
PIKEY PRINCESS
CHIPSHOP CHIC
and not forgetting
MUM’S ABORTION
And as I stood there facing them, it was like looking at every dummy who’d ever disrespected me, all of them. I don’t know exactly what happened next – it was a bit of a blur.
And when I came round and was conscious again, the dummies were dressed in rags, just ribbons of cloth hanging off them. And the silver velvet chaise longue from Rume was slashed to ribbons too. And the big bottle of L’Heure Bleue was smashed all over it and the sour, sad smell beneath the first shimmer of the scent seemed to sum up my whole experience in that house.
I went into the downstairs toilet and I took out my special Stila ‘Sugar’ lipstick that Aggy had given me and I couldn’t help it, I wrote 1 OF YR YOUNG FRENDZ WUZ ERE! on the mirror. It was cheeky but not daft, I thought – it told them it was me, but also that I knew about Duane and that it wouldn’t be clever to go to the police. In fact I was congratulating myself so wholeheartedly on the way out that it wasn’t till I was halfway down Clifton Hill that I realized that not only had I wanted them to KNOW I was there – but even weirder, that I hadn’t even robbed anything! (Just soaps, like you would in a hotel, so it don’t count.)
What did the two things mean together, I wondered? By the time I got to the bottom of the hill, I thought I might have worked it out –
It must have been love!
12
Talking of which, what was it with Asif? Was it love, was it lust, was it killing
I opened a few more drawers – ah, their Cybercandy stash! Cybercandy is like this amazing little sweet shop down in the North Laines where you can buy all sorts of softies and sweets and chocolate from all around the world, especially Japan and America. The only drawback is the prices – £4.80 for a Vodka Lix lollipop! I’d have to work close-on an hour just to earn the price of one of them – still, I reflected, as I poked around among the Skittles Littles, Mike and Ikes and Tart ’n’ Tinys, that was nothing that a five-fingered discount couldn’t take care of.
I called to the Dracules, who were stamping biscuits into the milky carpets with lip-biting concentration. ‘Get over here when you’ve finished and fill your boots. Look! – Snake Venom lollies, these could have been made for you two weirdies! Then you can bail – I’ve got private stuff to do. Personal. Cheers!’
I left them exclaiming over the Cybercandy drawer and broke open a very decent bottle of Bolly from the fridge. I needed to be alone for the next bit – and I needed it to be a celebration, hence the bubbly. A solitary celebration. I went into the workroom and closed the door behind me. I locked it. Then I poured Bolly all over the blade. To make it pure for the task that lay ahead.
Which was the not inconsiderable one of taking back my honour – an honour which I had, let’s be fair, spent the best part of seventeen years pissing away. But choosing to fritter a thing away is a far different thing to having it snatched from you – it’s the difference between having power and being powerless, which is just about the biggest difference in the world so far as I can tell.
And there, in front of me, was the skilfully-honed proof of the biggest and most professional shafting I’d ever had the pleasure of, worn by a docile row of dummies with their blank faces neatly labelled.
And the names of my dishonour were (as already established by the meeting with young Trulocke in Macky D’s):
WHITE-TRASH TINKERBELL
PRAM-FACED PRICKTEASE
LATE AGAIN!
PIKEY PRINCESS
CHIPSHOP CHIC
and not forgetting
MUM’S ABORTION
And as I stood there facing them, it was like looking at every dummy who’d ever disrespected me, all of them. I don’t know exactly what happened next – it was a bit of a blur.
And when I came round and was conscious again, the dummies were dressed in rags, just ribbons of cloth hanging off them. And the silver velvet chaise longue from Rume was slashed to ribbons too. And the big bottle of L’Heure Bleue was smashed all over it and the sour, sad smell beneath the first shimmer of the scent seemed to sum up my whole experience in that house.
I went into the downstairs toilet and I took out my special Stila ‘Sugar’ lipstick that Aggy had given me and I couldn’t help it, I wrote 1 OF YR YOUNG FRENDZ WUZ ERE! on the mirror. It was cheeky but not daft, I thought – it told them it was me, but also that I knew about Duane and that it wouldn’t be clever to go to the police. In fact I was congratulating myself so wholeheartedly on the way out that it wasn’t till I was halfway down Clifton Hill that I realized that not only had I wanted them to KNOW I was there – but even weirder, that I hadn’t even robbed anything! (Just soaps, like you would in a hotel, so it don’t count.)
What did the two things mean together, I wondered? By the time I got to the bottom of the hill, I thought I might have worked it out –
It must have been love!
12
Talking of which, what was it with Asif? Was it love, was it lust, was it killing
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