Mo Hayder - The Devil of Nanking aka Tokyo

I started dreaming about my skin a lot. In the dreams it would be loosening and lifting up from me, unsticking from my body, unpoppering along seams down my spine and under my arms. Then it would drift upwards in one piece, like a ghost on an air current, ready to sail off. But there’d always be a jolt. Something would shudder and I’d look down and see that the beautiful shimmery parachute was tethered and bloodied, tacked in a puckered criss-cross to my stomach. Then I’d start to cry and rub frantically at the skin to loosen it. I’d tug and scratch at myself until I was bloodied and shaking and-

‘ Grey? ’

One night I woke with a start, sweat streaming from me, the images from my nightmare scuttling away like shadows. It was dark, except for the light from Mickey Rourke, and I was lying on my side, clinging to Jason, my heart pounding. My legs were clamped as tightly as possible round his thighs, and he was looking down at me in surprise.

‘What?’ I said. ‘What was I doing?’

‘Rubbing against me.’

I groped under the covers. My camisole was crumpled and damp with sweat. I yanked it all the way down over my hips and put my face into my hands, trying to steady my breathing.

‘Hey.’ He pushed away the hair that was sticking to my forehead. ‘Sssh. Sssh. Don’t worry.’ He put his hands under my armpits and gently encouraged me higher up the futon, so I was level with him. ‘Here.’ He kissed my face, stroked my hair, smoothed my skin calmingly. We lay there for a while, until my heart had stopped thumping. ‘You okay?’ he whispered, putting his mouth to my ear.

I nodded, pressing my knuckles into my eyes. It was so dark and cold. I felt as if I was floating. Jason kissed me again. ‘Listen, weirdo,’ he said softly, resting his hand on my neck, ‘I’ve had an idea.’

‘An idea?’

‘A good idea. I know what you need. I’m going to tell you something that you’re going to like.’

‘Are you?’

He pushed me on to my back and gently nudged my left shoulder up so that I rolled away, my back to him. I could feel his breath on my neck. ‘Listen,’ he whispered, ‘do you want me to make you happy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Now concentrate hard.’ I lay there, staring blankly at the chink of light coming from under the door, at all the hairs and balls of dust collecting there on the tatami mat, and concentrated on Jason’s voice. ‘Listen carefully.’ He shuffled himself up behind me, his arms round me, his lips on my neck. ‘This is how the story goes. Years and years ago, long before I came here, I used to fuck a girl in South America. She was a little crazy, I can’t remember her name, but what I can remember was how she liked to be fucked.’

He reached down between my thighs and parted them, running the flat of his palm along the inside of my left thigh, carefully raising my knee, cupping it in his hand and bending it up to my chest. I felt the hard, cold node of my knee brush my nipple as he moved behind me.

‘What she really liked was for me to put her on her side like this,’ he whispered into my neck, ‘like I’m doing now. And lift up her knee like this, so that I could get my cock in her. Like this.’

I took a sharp breath and Jason smiled against my neck.

‘Do you see? Do you see why she liked it so much?’

Winter was creeping into spaces in the house. The few trees were bare, only the occasional papery leaf clinging to a branch, and the cold seeped up through the pavement. In public places they planted ornamental cabbage in Christmas colours of red and green. The heating in the house wasn’t working and Jason was too preoccupied with me to fix it. The air vents in the rooms rattled and whined and stirred the dust, but they gave off no heat.

I was never sure if it was normal, the way all Jason’s ex-girlfriends came into bed with us. I didn’t like it, but for ages I didn’t say anything. Listen, he’d murmur in the dark, listen. I’m going to tell you something that you’re going to like. Years ago I used to fuck this Dutch girl. I can’t remember her name but I do remember what she really liked… And he’d manoeuvre my limbs, choreographing a private dance between him and my body. He liked the way I was always ready for him. ‘You’re so dirty,’ he told me once, and there was admiration in his voice. ‘You are the dirtiest woman I’ve ever met.’

‘Listen,’ I blurted one night. ‘This is important. You keep telling me about those women. And I know it’s true because every woman you meet wants to do it with you.’

He was lying between my legs with his head on my thigh, his hands resting lightly on my calves. ‘I know.’

‘Mama Strawberry. All the other hostesses.’

‘Yes.’

‘Fuyuki’s Nurse. She wants to.’

‘She? Is it a she? I can’t help wondering.’ Distractedly he pushed his nails into the flesh of my leg. I noticed he was pressing fractionally too hard. ‘I’d like to find out. I’d like to know what she looks like naked. Yeah, I think that’s mostly it, I’d like to see her naked and-’

‘Jason.’

He swivelled his head. ‘Mmmm?’

I propped myself up on my elbows and stared at him. ‘Why are you sleeping with me?’

‘What?’

‘Why are you sleeping with me? There are so many other people out there.’

He seemed about to answer, but instead paused and I could feel his muscles tighten minutely. At length he sat up and groped for the bottom of my camisole. ‘Take this off-’

‘No. No, not now, I-’

‘Oh, for Chrissake.’ He pushed himself away, jumping to his feet. ‘This is-’ He got a cigarette from his jeans, which were lying on the floor, and lit it. ‘Look,’ he said, drawing in a lungful of smoke and turning to me. ‘Look-’ He shook his head and blew out the smoke. ‘This is turning into a long story.’

I stared at him, my mouth slightly open. ‘A long story?’

‘Yes – a long, long pain-in-the-ass story.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve been patient but you’re… It’s going on for ever. It’s not funny any more.’

A strange feeling came up through me, a horrible feeling, as if I was being swung round and round in a vacuum. Nothing looked right. The galaxies on the wall behind him seemed to be moving – drifting slowly across the sky over Tokyo like necklaces of light. Jason’s face looked dark and insubstantial. ‘But I…’ I pressed fingers to my throat, trying to stop my voice wobbling ‘… I wanted to – to – I wanted to show you. I really wanted to. It’s just I…’

I got to my feet and fumbled on the dresser for my cigarettes, knocking things over. I found the packet and shakily pulled one out, lit it and stood facing the wall, smoking in tight, feverish bursts, pushing the tears out of my eyes. This is stupid. Just do it. It’s like jumping off a cliff, like jumping off a cliff… There’s only one way to find out if you’ll survive.

I stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the dresser, and turned to him, breathing fast. There was a lump in my throat, as if my heart was trying to squeeze out of my mouth.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘what is it?’

I pulled the camisole up over my head, dropped it on to the floor, and stood, facing him, my hands covering my stomach, my eyes locked on a point above his head. I took deep, deep breaths, imagining my body through his eyes – pale and thin, laced with veins.

‘Please understand,’ I whispered, mantra-like, under my breath. ‘Please understand.’

And then I dropped my hands.

I don’t know if it was me who gasped, or Jason, but there was a distinct intake of breath in the room. I stood, my hands in fists clenched at my sides, my eyes on the ceiling, feeling as if my head was going to burst. Jason was silent, and when at last I dared to look down at him I found his face was very still, very controlled, nothing in his expression as he studied the scars on my stomach.