Christopher Fowler - The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror. Volume 10

“That sounds ideal. Give me ten minutes.”

“No more than that, I hope. And I shouldn’t bother troubling your mother if she needs her sleep.”

“Don’t worry, I’m with you. Softly does it. I’m all in favour of not disturbing anyone who doesn’t have to be.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Claire said with a sweetness she imagined she could taste. It made her sick. She heard him terminate the call, and listened to the contented purring of the receiver, the sound of a cat which had trapped its prey. When she became aware of holding the receiver for something to do while she risked growing unhelpfully tense she hooked it and went to pour herself a necessary drink.

She loaded ice into the tumbler, the silver teeth of the tongs grating on the cubes, then filled the remaining two-thirds of the glass almost to the top. More room needed to be made for tonic, and she saw the best way to do that. The tumbler was nearly at her lips when she opened the gin bottle and returned the contents to it. She mustn’t lose control now. To prove she had it, she crunched the ice cubes one by one, each of them sending an intensified chill through her jaw into her skull until her brain felt composed of impregnable metal. She had just popped the last cube into her mouth when she saw Gummer’s glossy black Rover draw up outside the house. She bit the cube into three chunks which she was just able to swallow, bringing tears to her eyes. They were going to be the last tears Gummer would cause her to shed, and her knuckles dealt with them as she went to let him in before he could ring the bell.

Whether his grin was meant to express surprise or pleasure at her apparent scramble to greet him, it bared even more of his lower lip than usual until he produced a sympathetic look. “I’m glad you felt able to call,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, indeed,” he said as though to compliment her on being reasonable, and she had to turn away in order to clench her teeth. “Close the door,” she said once she could.

The finality of the slam gave her strength, and by the time he followed her into the front room she was able to gaze steadily at him. “What’s your taste?” she said, indicating the bottles on the sideboard.

“The same as you’ll be having.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a large one,” she told him, and managed to hitch up one corner of her mouth.

“You’ve found me out.”

Whatever answer that might have provoked she trapped behind her teeth as she busied herself at the sideboard. Perhaps after all she would have a real drink instead of pretending a tonic was gin; his presence was even harder to bear than she’d anticipated. Already the room smelled as though it was steeped in the aftershave he must have slapped on for her benefit. When she moved away from the sideboard with a glass of gin and tonic in each hand she found him at the window through which she didn’t know how many times he might have spied on Laura. “Please do sit down,” she said, masking her face with a gulp of her drink.

“Where will you have me?”

“Wherever you’re comfortable,” said Claire, retreating to the armchair closest to the door. As she’d handed him his glass she’d touched his fingertips, which were hot and hardly less moist than his underlip. The thought of them on Laura almost flung her at him. She forced herself to sit back and watch him perch on the edge of the nearer end of the couch.

“Strong stuff,” he said, having sipped his drink, and put it on the floor between his wide legs. “So it’s a financial discussion you’re after, was that what I understood you to say?”

“I said profitable. Maybe beneficial would have covered it better.”

“Happy to be of benefit wherever I can,” Gummer said and showed her the underside of his lip, which put her in mind of a brimming gutter. “Do I recall the word company came up?”

“Nothing wrong with your memory.”

“I wouldn’t like to think so. Not like my mother’s,” he said, and glanced down between his legs while he retrieved his glass. Once he’d taken another sip he seemed uncertain how to continue. She wanted him in a state to betray himself by the time Wilf came back. “So what kind of company do you prefer?” she said.

“Various. Depends.”

“Whatever takes your fancy, eh?”

“You could say that if the feeling’s mutual.”

“Suppose it isn’t reciprocated? What happens then?”

“Sometimes it is when you dig a bit deeper. You think there’s nothing, but if you don’t let yourself be put off too soon you find what the other person’s feelings really are.”

Claire brought her glass to her mouth so fast that ice clashed against her teeth. “Suppose you find you’re wrong?” she said, and drank.

“To tell you the truth, and I hope you won’t think I’ve got too big a head, so far I don’t believe I ever have.”

“Would you know?”

“I’m sorry?”

Claire lowered her glass with as much care as she was exerting over her face. “I said, would you know?”

“I hope so this far.”

His gaze was holding hers. He still thought they were discussing a possible relationship. While she swallowed an enraged mirthless laugh she won the struggle to form her expression into an ambiguous smile. “So what are your limits?”

“There’s always one way to find out,” he said, and revealed his wet lip.

“You don’t think you should have any.”

“As long as one takes care, and we know to do that these days. It isn’t as though one’s committed.”

“Wouldn’t it come down to not being found out even if you had a partner? I know you’re good at not being.”

“As good as I need to be, right enough.”

That was almost too much for Claire, especially when, having planted her glass on the carpet to distract herself, she looked up to be met by the sight of his dormant crotch. Wilf ought to be home in a few minutes, she reminded herself. “And what age do you like best?” she managed to ask.

“Nothing wrong with a mature woman. A good deal right with her, as a matter of fact, and if I may say so — ”

“Nothing wrong about younger ones either if you’re honest, is that fair?”

“I won’t deny it. Teaching them a thing or two, that’s pretty special. There again, and you’ll tell me if I’m flattering myself, sometimes even when it’s a lady of our generation — ”

“You bastard.”

“Forgive me if I expressed myself badly. It wasn’t meant as any kind of insult, I do assure you. Mature was what I meant, not so much in years as — ”

“You swine.”

“I think that’s a little much, Claire, may I call you Claire? I’m sorry if you’re touchy on the subject, but if you’ll allow me to say this, to my eyes you —”

“I remind you of a younger woman.”

“My feelings exactly.”

“A young girl, in fact.”

“Ah.” He faltered, and she saw him realise what he could no longer fail to acknowledge. “In some ways that’s absolutely true, the best ways, may I say, only I suppose I thought that under the circumstances —”

“You loathsome filthy stinking slimy pervert.”

She saw his lip draw itself up haughtily, and was reminded of a snail retreating into its shell. “I fear there’s been some misunderstanding, Mrs Maynard,” he said, and rose stiffly to his feet. “I understand your being so upset still, but my mother will be wondering where I am, so if you’ll excuse me — ”

Claire was faster. She swung herself around her chair with the arm she’d used to shove herself out of it, and trundled the heavy piece of furniture into the doorway. Having wedged it there, she sat in it and folded her arms. “I won’t,” she said.