Barker, Clive – Imajica 01 – The Fifth Dominion. Part 4

“Can’t I help?”

“There’s some things I still need Clem for. Thanks anyway.”

“No problem.”

“And for listening.”

She threaded her way to where Clem was chatting and discreetly informed him of Taylor’s request.

“You know Simone, don’t you?” Clem said by way of an exit, and left Jude to talk.

She did indeed know Simone, though not well, and after the conversation she’d just had with Taylor, she found it difficult to whip up a social souffle. But Simone was almost flirtatiously excessive in her responses, unleashing a gurgling laugh at the merest hint of a cue and fingering her neck as though to mark the places she wanted kissed. Jude was silently rehearsing a polite refusal when she caught Si-mone’s glance, ill concealed in a particularly extravagant laugh, flitting towards somebody elsewhere in the crowd. Irritated to be cast as a stooge for the woman’s vamping, she said, “Who is he?”

“Who’s who?” Simone said, flustered and blushing. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just some man who keeps staring at me.”

Her gaze went back to her admirer, and as it did so Jude was seized by the utter certainty that if she were to turn now it would be Gentle’s stare she intercepted. He was here, and up to his stale old tricks, threading himself a little string of gazes, ready to pluck the prettiest when he tired of the game.

“Why don’t you just go near and talk to him,” she said.

“I don’t know if I should.”

“You can always change your mind if a better offer comes along.”

“Maybe I will,” Simone said, and without making any further attempt at conversation she took her laugh elsewhere.

Jude fought the temptation to follow her progress for fully two seconds, then glanced around. Simone’s wooer was standing beside the Christmas tree, smiling a welcome at his object of desire as she breasted her way through the crowd towards him. It wasn’t Gentle after all, but a man she thought she remembered as Taylor’s brother. Oddly relieved, and irritated at herself for being so, she headed towards the drinks table for a refill, then wandered out into the hallway in search of some cooler air. There was a cellist on the half landing, playing In the Bleak Midwinter, the melody and the instrument it was being played upon combining to melancholy effect. The front door stood open, and the air through it raised goose bumps. She went to close it, only to have one of the other listeners discreetly whisper, “There’s somebody being sick out there.”

She glanced into the street. There was indeed somebody sitting on the edge of the pavement, in the posture of one resigned to the dictates of his belly: head down, elbows on his knees, waiting for the next surge. Perhaps she made a sound. Perhaps he simply felt her gaze on him. He raised his head and looked around.

“Gentle, What are you doing out here?”

“What does it look like?” He hadn’t looked too pretty last time she’d seen him, but he looked a damn sight worse now: haggard, unshaven, and waxy with nausea.

“There’s a bathroom in the house.”

“There’s a wheelchair up there,” Gentle said, with an almost superstitious look. “I’d prefer to be sick out here.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was virtually covered in paint. So was the other, she now saw; and his trousers, and his shirt.

“You’ve been busy.”

He misunderstood. “I shouldn’t have drunk anything,” he said.

“Do you want me to get you some water?”

“No, thanks. I’m going home. Will you say goodbye to Taylor and Clem for me? I can’t face going back in. I’ll disgrace myself.” He got to his feet, stumbling a little. “We don’t seem to meet under very pleasant circumstances, do we?” he said.

“I think I should drive you home. You’ll either kill yourself or somebody else.”

“It’s all right,” he said, raising his painted hands. “The roads are empty. I’ll be fine.” He started to rummage in his pocket for his car keys.

“You saved my life; let me return the favor.”

He looked up at her, his eyelids drooping. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

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