Kate Tempest - The Bricks that Built the Houses

‘I didn’t know she was married when I met her,’ David tells him. ‘When I found out she was married, I very respectfully kept my distance. But I loved her very much, and when it became apparent that things were not going so well with you, and that she might be having similar feelings for me, well, I told her how I felt.’

Graham is expanding slowly. Becoming tight with air.

‘The thing is, Graham, I want only the best for her. And it would mean the world to her if we were able to be civil. She cares very much for you. And I would like it if we could one day be, well. Friends is probably a bit steep, but you see what I’m getting at?’ David finishes speaking, lays his eyebrows down.

Graham filters David’s words through a complicated lens of suspicion and booze. He thinks for a minute. ‘I don’t trust you, David,’ he says, swaying. ‘You’re not to be trusted. That’s all I have to say on the matter.’ He walks away to find Miriam and throw himself at her feet.

Outside, the wind blows hard and cold and the sky is angry. Harry smokes her cigarette and leans her head against the bricks. Thinks that Becky looks so lovely this evening. Nice to see Pete smiling too.

Ron steps through the doors carefully. Feeling the floor through the soles of his shoes. Concrete. Steady now. He walks up very close to Harry before Harry notices him coming. He stands beside her.

Harry smiles at him. ‘All good?’ she asks. Ron says nothing. Harry feels uncomfortable but waits it out. Stares straight ahead.

Ron looks up at the clouds, rolls on his heels and then back onto the balls of his feet, leans against the wall, speaks in a slow growl. ‘I know what you did, darlin’.’

His voice is as dark as the sky. Harry’s fingertips start tingling; the onset of simultaneous pins and needles attacks every digit. Her pulse picks up its feet and starts to run. ‘What you talking about?’ Harry looks at him out of the corner of her eye.

Ron turns to face her, places a hand on her arm, above the elbow, and stares at her with eyes like dirty water. Thick and oily. Full of dead things. ‘I know who you are .’

‘Leave it out,’ Harry tells him, her arm rotting beneath his touch. She tries to shake herself free but he clings on.

‘No more bullshit, missy.’

‘What is this?’ Harry asks him, speaking calmly. Gently. Ron stares into her face, looking for something, Harry meets his stare for as long as she can, but can feel herself weakening.

‘I work for Pico,’ Ron tells her, matching her tone.

Harry’s body is propelled through the air at great speed and lands in a heap at the bottom of a cliff. She can feel every bone as it breaks into a million splinters. His hand still on her arm, she waits out the initial shock and tries to engage her brain with what this means. She looks up into this man’s face. She can’t work out how this could be happening here . Her entire family are metres away. The care she’s taken all her life to keep things separate. The weird basement room looms before her. The shark swims in Ron’s eyes.

‘Pico?’ Her voice is strong as she pulls her arm out of Ron’s hand. Ron lets her go. She speaks Pico’s name like it means nothing.

‘Yeah.’

‘I ain’t seen Pico in a long time.’ Harry puts her hands on her hips, stares off into the middle distance, acts as casual as she can. Frowning slightly as she mimes trying to recall the last time she’d seen him.

‘Stop it, Harry.’ Ron holds up a finger. ‘I know what’s happened here, OK? We don’t need to fuck around.’ Harry straightens her back, looks about. Is Leon in the shadows? She can’t be sure. Ron carries on. ‘I know you came to have a party. So, no trouble right now, OK? But hear me, listen up good.’

Harry doesn’t move. She stares at Ron, his bulk held together in a perfect stillness, like an elephant on its tiptoes. Something around the cheeks, the chin, something there does remind her of Becky a little. Something. The prospect of a swinging blow that lays her body down, beneath a speeding car; it’s all very close now, the end. She feels it. Woozy as booze. Is he going to smash her face in? He is close enough for her to smell the cocaine in his nose. The beer on his lips. His aftershave. The money’s in the suitcase. The suitcase is in Leon’s hand.

‘You owe me, Harry. What you stole was mine. OK? And so we are going to need to talk about that.’ He leans down, his voice a quiet croak, his face as taut and pained as a chess master losing. Veins stand out all over his neck and head. He offers a smile but it dies on his lips and its corpse is too heavy to lift.

Harry says nothing, studies his face in enthralled disgust. Is he going to take all my money? Is he going to break my bones and take all the money I’ve saved and we’ll have to start again, with nothing? She looks at him, feeling very small. He looks pretty serious . Is he going to kill me? She feels light with excitement. Like something is actually happening and the prospect of danger makes her sure that she’s breathing. Alive at last. She runs her hand through her hair and scratches her scalp. Levels her gaze at Ron, her legs shaking.

Becky feels nothing but rage. She looks at Pete and doesn’t recognise him. Can’t see him. All she can see is disgust and guilt and blame and months of silent, moody control.

Pete is shrivelled up in his clothes, his body racked with guilt. He stares at his girlfriend, his eyes like open graves, and gesticulates his innocence wildly. Shaking his head, throwing his arms towards her as she backs away. ‘It’s not like that,’ he tells her. ‘It wasn’t like that, Becky,’ and his voice is so high it’s hardly there. A desperate scratch. The yell of ten stubbed toes.

‘You little fucking shit,’ she says, and her voice isn’t loud but her body is loud; her body is shouting. The party pretends not to notice as she rears up like a charging horse, stares down her nose at his simpering mess, and then walks away from him, taller with every stride.

‘Becky, wait?’ Pete tries to put his arms out for her, for her waist. He just had her in his arms, just five minutes ago. ‘Come back!’

She stops walking, turns, raises a finger and points at him. ‘You fucking liar . You set me up.’ She is shaking all over. She drops her finger. Balls her fists. ‘I’ve been SO HONEST with you. You fucking. ’ Her voice dies. She feels dizzy. ‘I can’t,’ she says, moving away from him as he moves towards her. ‘I don’t.’

Dale watches her shape, fascinated. Excited to be near her again.

‘Don’t you dare fucking touch me, Pete,’ she shouts as he reaches out for her. Chaka Khan is on the jukebox. I feel for you. . ‘I can’t look at you,’ she tells him. Shaking, holding her head.

‘Becky, look. Wait. Please.’ His arms are flailing, his forehead creased. She scowls at him. He feels himself becoming what she sees. ‘I love you, Becky,’ he says, but it sounds hollow. Hopeless. ‘PLEASE?’ he shouts.

She walks off. Fuming. Gloria runs out from the bar, follows her, but Becky shakes her head. ‘I need to be on my own,’ she tells her. Gloria stops following, Charlotte is behind them both.

Pete heads for the door, but hesitates. He turns, for Harry, for someone. Sees Dale, massive and still and grinning at him. Pete throws himself towards Dale. All of his strength shakes in his hands. ‘I’ll kill him!’ he shouts. ‘I’ll fucking—’

They collide, like a rock thrown at a bottle, and smash. Pete grabs Dale’s neck, but Dale is the bigger man and elbows Pete in the crown of his head and kicks him off him. Pete is skinny but drunk and full of indignant rage and charges at Dale again and throws two quick hard punches at Dale’s nose. Dale sits back into thin air and falls, dragging Pete with him.