The Tied Man

‘I didn’t think you ate.’

‘I don’t.’ Finn started rifling through the freezer compartment.  ‘I’m after ice cubes.’  He found what he was looking for, sat down at the table without meeting my gaze and pressed a cube to the back of his hand. He gave a soft exhalation of breath that sounded strangely like relief.

Without waiting for the question he explained, ‘Coping strategy.  Apparently if you hold ice to the parts of your arm where you’d normally stub out your fag, it sends a similar message to your brain without making you smell like a barbecue.’  As I watched the silvered droplets fall and soak into the table top I finally understood the long-faded scars and pitted skin that covered his hands.

‘Does it work?’

‘Nah.  Not really.  I just don’t want to waste a smoke.’ He finally looked up, now that I had passed this latest test by not running a mile.  ‘So, now you know how I spend my nights off, what are you doing here?’

‘Nightmares.’

‘What, like real, normal people get?’ Finn asked, amused.  ‘Jesus, you’ll be telling me you fart next.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.  And even if I did, they’d smell of roses.’ I rubbed at eyes that felt as though they were full of grit.  ‘Look, I know it sounds pathetic but I don’t do nightmares, Finn.  I’ve spent years sorting out my demons during the day specifically so I don’t have to deal with this kind of shit at night.’

‘Ah, but Albermarle Hall has that effect on its staff.’  Finn lit a cigarette and blew pale smoke into the gloom.  ‘Relaxes its guests and fucks its workers.’

I was perversely proud at being counted as part of the latter group.  ‘So it would seem.  Anyway, how come you’re awake? I thought you self-medicated yourself comatose.’

Finn gave a thin smile.  ‘Lilith, I take eight temazzies a night just to stop me crawling the walls, and half-a-dozen most mornings.  It’s what keeps me the nearest approximation to normal I’m ever going to get, and I need to get my hands on at least fifteen in one throw if I really need to mong out and sleep through.  If I’m not working, like tonight, there’s not a cat in hell’s chance of that.’

‘Shit.’ The only response I could manage.

‘Shit indeed.’  The kettle began its shrill whistle, and he stood.  ‘Tea?’

I watched as he poured a quarter of a pint of milk into his own drink and added six sugars.  ‘What the hell is that?’

‘Junkie’s tea.  Keeps you going when you can’t be arsed to eat.’  He dredged a layer of sugar syrup from the bottom of the mug and licked the residue from his spoon.  ‘Old habits and all that.’

‘I guess you didn’t inject.’

Finn shook his head.  ‘Nah.  Only real benefit of my big girl’s phobia.  I just chased more dragons than Saint George.  Well, that and smoked the occasional rock if I fancied splashing out.  Good job I suit the ‘crack whore’ look.’  He sucked in his cheeks.  ‘Like that.’

I laughed, and his whole face broke into a boy’s wide grin at my reaction.

‘Y’know, that’s what’s so fucking crazy.  When I met Blaine I was just starting to clean up my act.  I’d found this project, run by a couple of decent fellas – ex-trade –  who didn’t try to counsel the very arse off you.  Then Her Ladyship turned up and made me an offer that sounded like heaven, and… well, you can guess the rest, huh?’  He’d had enough of talking about himself, because he suddenly asked, ‘So, what do you usually do when you can’t sleep?’

‘Usually I can sleep.  That’s the bloody problem.’  I gave him a sideways glance.  ‘Other than that, I find masturbation to be effective.  Why, what about you?’

‘A good Catholic boy like myself?  You must be joking.  Anyway, it kind of changes things when your equipment’s used for business instead of pleasure.’  The grin returned.  ‘Fuckin’ hell, it’s three in the morning and I’m sitting in a kitchen having a conversation about jackin’ off with the Future of British Art.’  He took a drink of his disgusting concoction.  ‘Lilith Bresson.  Ice Princess.  Wanks and farts.  Possibly at the same time.’

I narrowed my eyes.  ‘You think you’ve got it bad?  It’s three in the morning and I’m having a conversation about jacking off with some cheeky Irish pikey bastard.  And I’m bloody freezing.’  It was then that I came up with the most stupid suggestion in the world.  ‘I don’t suppose you’d be willing to walk me back to my room?’ I asked, and watched the barriers rise faster than I could count.