Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [134]
‘Anyway, I apparently appeared in Justine’s hallucination the way I’m appearing in yours now. In fact, it somehow paved the way for me doing this. As if by acquainting the universe with this notion, it made it more likely to happen.’
‘Are you saying that I’m having a drug overdose and I’m imagining this?’
‘Let’s just say that you’re in the perfect frame of mind for having this little chat with me.’
‘What sort of drug have I overdosed on?’
‘Do you know the word for a male witch, dear?’
‘You mean war –’
‘Don’t say it, thank you. I don’t want that name said aloud on this level of reality. It might cause… unpleasant phenomena to occur. But let’s not think of that. Let’s have a drink. What’s your favourite drink?’
‘My favourite drink?’
‘Yes. It will be the most richly imagined and the most vivid in your memory. And that’s where we are, after all. In your imagination. In your memory.’
‘My favourite drink?’ Shell tried to concentrate on the question. ‘Iced vodka with blackberries, I suppose.’
‘Marvellous. I was up at the bar and they just happen to have some.’ Shell turned to see Jack standing there holding a silver tray. She noticed for the first time that there were Christmas tree lights strung up over the bar. On Jack’s tray were three frosty glasses containing a clear liquid with a purple cloud of berries floating in them. ‘Blackberry vodka,’ said Jack.
‘What luck,’ said Mrs Woodcott. She scooped a glass off the tray and took a sip.
Shell took Jack’s hand as he set a glass in front of her. She held it tight. ‘Jack. I’m so glad you came back. There’s something I have to tell you.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Drink your drink.’
‘Jack, do you remember my story about the calves?’
‘How could I? I don’t know you yet. We’ve just met.’
Shell ignored the remark. ‘My story about hitching that ride? When I was in France?’
‘You don’t have to talk about it now, love.’ Jack set his drink down and tenderly stroked her face.
‘Do you remember?’ insisted Shell. ‘I told you how my boyfriend and I hitched a ride in a lorry? And we freed all the little calves.’
‘Shell,’ said Jack. ‘Shell, love, you don’t have to tell me anything.’
Shell ignored him. ‘I was lying,’ she said. ‘The whole thing was a lie. Well, not the whole thing. We did hitch a ride. I did slip out of the café and try and unlock the truck. And the driver caught me. But the rest of it was lies. Leonard, my boyfriend, rushed out of the café to save me.’
She paused for a moment. ‘Leonard was a sweet boy. He had these incredibly weak eyes. Surgery was no good. He had to wear glasses with lenses as thick as sandwiches.’ Shell smiled sadly and shook her head. ‘When he was looking at a painting in a book he’d hold it right up to his face.’ She shook her head. ‘He didn’t stand a chance. The driver took about a minute to finish him off. He left Leonard bleeding on the forecourt. And then he…’
She looked at Jack. He clutched her tattooed hand between his own. Shell liked his hands. They were like big hairy red paws. She swallowed and made herself go on with her confession.
‘He tried to rape me. But I managed to fight him.’ She looked at her long lacquered fingernails. ‘I raked his face. He was bleeding so much he could hardly see. I thought he was going to kill me. But instead he just went to the mirror on the side of his truck and he looked at his face for a long time. Then he looked at me very calmly. And then he said he knew what would fix me. He went back inside his truck and when he climbed back out he was carrying a tyre iron. I tried to stop him but he hit Leonard with it. He hit him here.’
She touched herself between the legs and saw Jack wince. ‘The metal bar made a wet sound when it hit him. I had to make him stop. He was going to kill Leonard. I had to do something. So I let him. I let him do it to me.’ She touched herself between the legs again. This time Mrs Woodcott winced. She picked up Jack’s glass of vodka and proceeded to drain it.
Shell sat back,