A wriggle of warmth pulsed through Lenina’s belly as the stranger turned his smile on her. Warm and welcoming, it promised all manner of pleasures if only she would move closer. The band of fear around her chest loosened. She lowered her arms to her sides.
‘That’s right,’ he murmured. ‘Look at me.’
A straggle of ginger hair fell over his shoulder, not curly like Ramona’s, just untidy.
She touched it. ‘So soft.’
The man smiled. ‘Come.’
Lenina leaned in, closing her eyes as the distance between them narrowed. She felt the hot rush of his breath slide over her forehead, tickle her nose, caress her jaw. Lower . . . to the side of her throat. She smiled. All fear gone.
Nick’s voice pealed out of the dark. ‘Get off her!’
Lenina hit the floor. She hadn’t realised the stranger had her cradled to his chest until he let go.
Pressure built behind her eyes and made her head throb. Clutching the ache, she rolled over and saw Nick standing at the edge of the tree line, his mobile held out like a torch.
It lit the scene between them like a macabre shadow puppet show and she saw again the man to whom she so wanted to give herself.
Grey eyes, yes, but not the colour of diamonds. More like muddy snow. Thin lips surrounded by ugly salt-and-pepper stubble and four deep gouges in his cheek.
She heaved.
Nick lowered a trembling hand towards her but the hideous stranger slid between them with the grace of a figure skater.
‘You must be the lucky boyfriend.’ The man grinned. ‘You took your sweet time.’
Nick stepped to the right, where his path was blocked yet again. ‘Move!’
The stranger’s feral smile flashed those yellow teeth again. ‘Right looker, ain’t you?’ His voice resembled the brush of velvet, mixed oddly with that strong aura of East London. ‘I like blonds.’
Lenina’s stomach writhed. She swallowed the rising taste of bile and tried to stand, but her knees refused to hold her. ‘Nick . . . ?’
‘I’m here, babe.’ Again he tried to reach her.
Once more the stranger blocked him, this time laying a hand on his shoulder.
Nick smacked it away. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you? I’ve called the police.’
‘Liar.’ The low voice held smug confidence.
‘How would you know?’
‘I know you . . . Nicholas Harrison.’
Nick flinched. ‘How do you know my name?’
A mocking smile in answer.
‘Have we met?’
The man shrugged. It meant everything and nothing.
Hands shaking, Nick put his mobile away. Never once taking his eyes off the stranger and his weapon, he extended his hand. ‘Nina?’
When the man advanced again, Nick spun about and shoved him in the chest. He might as well have pushed a brick wall.
The stranger cocked his head to the side, tangling grubby fingers in his knotty ginger hair. ‘That was rude.’
‘Yeah? Get the fuck out of my way. How’s that for rude?’
The man snarled. There was no other word for it.
Then Nick screamed.
Lenina blinked – she must have – because when she next looked, Nick lay prone, the man on top of him, both hands circling his throat. The dagger lay forgotten on the ground.
Nick struck out with his fist but the blow swung wide and caught nothing but air.
Braying laughter, loud and gravelly, filled the night air.
The sound shivered all the way through Lenina’s body and left her trembling.
Nick strained to bring his legs up and lever the clawing stranger away from his face. Lenina watched him flail and urged her leaden limbs to move.
‘Run, Nina!’ he cried. ‘Run away.’
She hugged herself. Shook her head. Fought to block out the screams ringing in her ears. Her aching throat and rasping breath made clear who the screams belonged to.
She peered through her fingers.
Nick’s arms flailed. His back arched off the ground. Gold hair fanned across the dirt, a pale splash in the darkness.
Lenina scrambled to her feet and rushed at the shabby stranger. ‘You’re hurting him. Please, let go.’
The man ignored her, leaning over Nick’s face and shoulders. He gave a low moan and opened his mouth.
‘Get off him.’ She grabbed his face from behind and dug in. Her sharp, polished fingernails found the soft orbs of his eyes.
The stranger reared up with a shriek. Lenina realised she was airborne a split second before her back hit the tree. Stars of purple and gold danced before her closed eyelids and cold numbness crawled down her back and shoulder. She bounced and hit the ground on her face. Grass tickled her nose, its fresh scent a stark contrast to the festering reek of the man above her. He flipped her over and straddled her hips. Blood trickled down his cheeks.
‘You first, love,’ he snarled. ‘Then him.’ He bent close, wrenched her head to one side and fastened his lips to the side of her throat.
An instant later his teeth sank in. White hot. Piercing. Burning. Different descriptions whirled through Lenina’s mind but none matched what she felt. The teeth tore through her skin with a wet, meaty crunch. An eager tongue swirled over her earlobe, then hot drool dribbled over her skin, mixed with something smoother and thicker.
The world dipped in and out of focus. Low buzzing filled her ears. Time stood still, one eternal moment stretched out into forever. Then sound came rushing back; the greedy gulp of a parched man slurping water on the banks of earth’s last oasis. Feral grunting. Moans of pleasure.
Lenina whimpered and pushed at the stranger’s chest.
He responded by tightening his thighs on her hips. His body pressed flush to hers. Both hands tangled in her hair and pinned her in place. Without lifting his face, he rolled his hips, pressing an unmistakable bulge against her hip. The sensation sent fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.
Familiar images danced before her mind’s eye. She saw her father, gaping at the second adjustment to the wedding quote; her brother glaring at a suit hanging in the bridal boutique, shaking his head; her mother fingering the delicate lace of a traditional ivory wedding dress while sneaking covert glances at tiny christening robes.
Fresh moans from the stranger broke the procession of memories. He pressed his erection harder against her body and mumbled. Lenina thought she heard the word “tribute”, but the rest drowned beneath the sounds of her pain-wracked sobs. The coppery scent of blood overpowered every other, even the stranger’s mouldy meat smell. It slid down her neck and pooled in the hollow of skin between her neck and shoulder. More gathered in the curve of her ear. The scratchy wool of his hat grazed her chin. She saw a beetle crawling across it, shiny carapace glinting in the moonlight. It paused then crawled back the other way, ambling away from the scene of agony with an ease Lenina envied.
She blinked. When her eyes next opened she saw clouds over the moon again and knew, in a distant way, that time had escaped her. Her hands stopped shoving. She lowered them to the grass.
A fresh image filled her mind. Nick dropping his shopping bags to kneel in the middle of the High Street. He ignored her embarrassed protests and held up a purple jewellery box, teasing it open while watching her face. The ring inside glittered in the watery sunlight, the diamond at its apex gleaming with star-like brilliance.
‘Marry me,’ he said.
No more than an arm’s length away, the present-day Nick sprawled on his back, eyes closed, breathing shallow.
‘Nick, help me.’
He moaned and clutched his head. His hands shook.
‘Please.’
The man sucking her throat laughed through his pursed lips. Renewed ferocity made Lenina shriek and grind her heels into the grass.
He jabbed his free hand between her lips. ‘Shut up.’
His hairy skin tasted foul, but the intimacy of this intrusion brought life back to Lenina. She bit down and ground her tee
th together until fluid burst on to her tongue with the taste and smell of old pennies.
The pleasured moans turned into a yelp of surprise. He punched her, hard enough to rattle her skull and Lenina slackened her jaw. Pain exploded across her face. Blood ran down her lips and chin. Some touched the back of her throat and kept going, burning a trail down her throat and beyond. She felt every drop as it went and each one sent a fresh line of fiery pain coursing through her body.
Her heart beat harder, hammering her ribs with such force that she jerked forward. A tingling sensation prickled at the ends of her toes and travelled through her body like the march of tiny ants. With it came a rush of agony that bunched her muscles into painful knots before letting go. She threw herself to the side, gripping her stomach as it fought to eject every piece of food it contained.
‘Bitch!’ The man cradled his hand to his chest. ‘You’ll regret that.’
Lenina had just the time to realise that she already did, before vomit clawed free of her mouth. Blood-streaked ribbons of bile and food splashed the grass. Some caught her hands and knees, but violent convulsions rendered her prone and helpless. A sensation like the prick of a thousand hot needles pierced a trail down her spine. It continued along each limb and billowed out until even the tips of her fingers felt ready to burst. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Wiping them away left pale smears of pink against her fingers and palms.
At her side, Nick finally sat up. He swayed and faced her. ‘Nina?’
The man chuckled, shaking his injured hand. ‘You’re both gonna die.’
The words barely left his mouth before Nick lurched across the grass like a drunken rugby player. He caught the stranger around the knees and pulled him down to the ground. ‘Nina, run,’ he begged.
She longed to do as he asked. But cold now replaced the heat in her body and dark mist crawled across the edges of her vision. She shivered. ‘Help me . . .’
Though not a wrestler by any means, Nick used his broad shoulders and strong hands to good effect. His crooked nose told the story of past fights and he wasted no time in taking charge of this one, pounding his fists into the stranger’s mid-section. ‘Can you hear me, babe? Stand up. Please.’
She reached towards him, but her vision clouded with more featureless darkness that finally obscured him and everything else. Her hand fell on something long and hard. Something sharp that pricked her fingers and added fresh pain to the growing catalogue.
When the cloudiness cleared, what Lenina saw made her heart make one last desperate bid to beat free of her chest cavity. Instead of the park she saw stone statues. Long corridors filled with golden sunlight. In place of grass and the stranger’s sickening scent, Lenina smelled blood laced with the sweet tang of cinnamon and cumin. Sand compacted beneath her feet: hot, dry and coarse. Replacing the taste of blood, there was beer, strong and yeasty. The imagined taste washed down her throat but couldn’t begin to touch the roaring thirst she felt.
Loud voices took over from the wind in the park, clear and jubilant, raised in song and prayer. All of them spoke a language utterly foreign, though strangely comforting to the ear.
Weary, confused, Lenina tried to touch one of the statues. When she raised her hand, she saw not her own familiar fingers but a square, thick-fingered, scarred hand. A hand with chipped fingernails caked with dirt and sand. A hand with dark hairs bristling from the knuckles. The hand wore no engagement ring.
From behind a stone statue with a carved falcon’s head, a woman approached, dressed in white. She had large eyes, ringed with thick, black make-up and full, pouting lips. ‘Good to see you, Saar,’ whispered the ghostly form.
No sooner had the woman spoken than the images vanished.
The park returned with a rush like howling wind, and Lenina felt the ginger stranger sprawl beside her, crushing her extended hand. Dark smudges ringed his thin lips which hung open in a silent ‘O’ of surprise.
Lenina heaved again, scrubbing at her eyes. With effort she pulled free and scrabbled away from him.
Nick stood two steps away, his chest heaving, hands bunched into fists. A lump of blood dribbled from his left nostril. His clothes hung off his body, ripped and bloody. ‘Get lost,’ he hissed. ‘I’ve got more where that came from, I swear to you. Touch her again and I’ll break your legs instead of your nose.’
The stranger narrowed his eyes. Snapped his mouth shut. ‘Fine,’ he grunted. The word emerged thick and laboured. ‘Fine!’ He scooped his dagger from the grass and leapt to his feet in a move so fast and smooth it might have belonged to a dancer. He rushed forward, slashing with the weapon.
Lenina screamed, curling her hands over her head even as Nick dived towards her. He crashed against her, shielding her body with his own as he took them both to the ground.
Pounding footsteps reverberated through the grass.
Silence.
It seemed like hours before Nick allowed her to sit up. He gazed at her, blinking away the blood dripping into his eyes from a cut on his forehead. A swelling on his cheek signalled the start of a bruise. His lower lip swelled.
‘You okay?’ He touched her cheek.
She whimpered.
Her last clear thought before unconsciousness claimed her, was that neither of them would be in any state to pose for wedding photos.
Maybe she would wear make-up after all.
Chapter Three