Timothy Gaunt and the Wigginton Grave (Teen Edition)

By Dominic Jericho

This is a dark story of brotherhood and betrayal set in a small North Yorkshire village in a damp cold winter in the late 1990s.

Tim Gaunt and Danny Canterbury take a summer trip to Ibiza to escape the shackles of full-time education, and the brewing crimes occurring at home in Amberleigh. Embarking on the summer holiday of a lifetime, these two proxy brothers cannot wait to explore the nightlife, booze and girls together. However at the end of the trip it becomes clear only one of them can be victorious in his romantic quest.

Back home, Tim becomes seduced by sex, drugs and rock and roll, and drops out of his university course to get a job and play in a band. However the new path he has chosen proves unpredictable. As his new, older girlfriend begins to dominate him, old ghosts start to reemerge and he come face to face with demons from his past. Unable to predict where this new path will lead him, and confused by the strains put on his friendship with Danny, Tim becomes persuaded to join forces with a group of criminals intent on wreaking havoc not just in North Yorkshire, but Amberleigh too. As Tim begins to fathom the enormity of the decision he has taken, is he able to resist the unwitting betrayal lying in wait to claim his future, or can he uncover the concealed road to redemption?

In the penultimate book of Dominic Jericho’s coming-of-age series, Timothy Gaunt and the Wigginton Grave leads Danny’s long-time best friend to an earth-shattering revelation about his present identity and his future fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dominic Jericho
• Release date: Dec 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463487501

Dominic Jericho

Dominic Jericho is a writer of young adult fiction. He's been writing stories since before he was a teen himself. He started with a pencil on a scruffy notepad before rapidly buying up multiple packs of empty exercise books so he could fill them with ideas, lists, concepts and illustrations. He now writes all his novels on a shiny new laptop, which unfortunately has the annoying distraction of an internet connection.Dominic lives in the South East of England.You can keep up to date with Dominic’s writing by visiting and following his blog. The blog is stuffed full of interesting book-related reading lists, reviews and lovingly flawed interpretations of literary classics. Visit now at: https://dominicjericho.wordpress.com/

Book preview

Timothy Gaunt

and the

Wigginton Grave (Teen Edition)

© Dominic Jericho 2018

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

The moral right of Dominic Jericho has been asserted.

First published in Great Britain 2018

Public domain works cited within text:

William Shakespeare: The Tempest (1611)

Robert Morris: Acacia Tree, The — Sacred Foliage (1818-1888)

John Keats: Ode to a Nightingale (1819)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Timothy Gaunt

and the

Wigginton Grave (Teen Edition)

by

Dominic Jericho

For M.H.

Contents

The Fox

Ibiza

Invisible Light

Elysium

Dirty Bass

Holly Sob

Chrome

House-Hunting

Arula Skwatt

A Small Vibration

Blood Lines

The Eye of York

Earthcliff

I Believe You

Fibbers

Skeletone

Burial Mounds

Digging

The Rare Acacia

The Wigginton Grave

Finger

Exhumation

Friends

Words

I Knew You Could Do It

Dead

Reverie

Valley’s Echo

Christmas

Promise

Begin Again

Epilogue

THE FOX

ONLY MOONLIGHT SHONE on the snow as he trudged along the clotted blanket of white. Beneath the carpet of crumpled ice rock-hard earth bore up his boots. Digging through this would take all night.

The lone tree stood leafless and isolated on the brow of the farm. A few yards behind, a wood and wire fence separated field from fallow field. Nothing would grow now.

Yet the grave was here somewhere. He reached in his wide pocket for the directions he’d been given and had to remove the bulky garden gloves he’d worn after disposing his recent opponent. Exposing tight flesh to the icy air, he read with speed before stowing the vital note and replacing his gloves. It would take a couple more minutes for his fingers to regain their previous temperature under the gloves’ precious protection. He could not begin digging until they did.

A few more metres and he would be there. A change was as good as a rest he told himself, and looked forward to the relief of not wading through metres more of the shin-high deluge. It would be supplanted by an even greater challenge. The hope that, beneath the crusty exterior soft pliant earth was waiting to be removed and tossed over his shoulder, drew him to his task. He had to bury it tonight. This was the perfect time. No-one would come.

The item for burial sat beneath his coat. He’d carried, along with the shovel, for about five miles after the drop-off point. There had been low noise and dim light on the walk. No commotion. He’d kept a good pace in order to stay warm. Owls occasionally hooted as he disturbed twigs or prey they hunted. Opaque grey clouds scudded across the black canvas sky, allowing starlight to sparkle temporarily before another cloud concealed them again. He lay the item on the soft earth and slung his shovel at the ground, clearing a patch from snow before he began the hard graft. When he attempted to pierce the mud the shovel merely bounced off the surface, as if the soil laughed at him. Only something sharper would penetrate. He withdrew a dagger from his coat and slowly tucked it in alongside frozen blades of grass which lay as crumpled as the snow. It jerked and scythed but gained more depth than the shovel ever could. After another two wiggles he cleared a lump of solid ground. As he hoped, the loam beneath was softer. Though still cold, it was not yet frozen. A tiny beetle crawled out from under the shovel. At long last, the real work had begun.

IBIZA

SOME DAY. ONE day. I’ll be back to this island again. This isle is full of noises. Let me dream again. As the plane began its slow rumble across the tarmac, wheels rolling and slowing, tyres bumping and grinding, potent clouds outside reformed and flowed across the sky. Engines ignited, spurting fire into the metal beast’s mechanical belly.

Tim wobbled on his seat, his vibrating legs too roused to be still. Beats thudded through his earbuds. Balearic rhythms with the crystal glitter of cymbals littering the soundscape. When he closed his eyes he saw lasers course through stage smoke. Emeralds sparkling criss-cross against jasmine beams, crimson rays and rich royals brilliantining down on the podiums and lighting up barely-naked club dancers. Subterranean drums and cavernous bass thrummed in his lobes amid lilting saxophone while a smattering of accordion caressed his crumbling wax. Ayia Napa. Laganas. Faliraki. Ibiza. That was where he headed. The island where it all started. Where dancing was a language. Where music was the only mode of expression. Where inhibitions disintegrated in cacophonies of alcohol and drugs and sex and sun and sea and into life.

Danny snored softly in the seat beside him. Convincing him to come had not been hard in the end. One party week before a year of hard work kicked in. He remembered when they had gone to visit the travel agent, before Danny’s full permission had been gained. They had had to wait for the agent to become free – a tall girl called Philippa with straight blonde hair and thick pouty lips – while she dealt with an indecisive anorak wearing teenager. When Tim sat down her smile covered him like a blanket of seduction.

I want to belong with you on the island always.

‘Now then lads,’ she beamed, ‘where d’you wanna ger?’

Danny moved to speak but Tim leant forward, resting his right arm on her desk, moving lascivious eyes down from her big soft eyes to the plumage of her rounded chest.

‘Spain. Ibiza,’ Tim said quickly. ‘One week.’ With a quick afterthought he added. ‘Can you recommend anywhere good?’

Philippa set her eyes on him full beam. He felt melted by her beauty. An Amazonian queen. He imagined her in an Ibizan club, gyrating and swaying, her neverending tanned legs sheening down to outrageous high heels. Her sashaying posterior curving like Einstein’s theory of relativity, marking the fabric of space-time, creating a black hole of delight in Tim’s groin.

‘Sure I can. I can help you plan the whole trip.’

She winked at Tim and he noticed her shimmering sapphire eyeshadow.

‘Hotel, beaches, clubs, the best parties. The Ibiza experience I can show you is one you’ll never forget.’

*

In the departure lounge, Tim watched as various louche tan-queens paraded through passport control with pink holdalls and soft lashes, fluttering at the ripped gents. It was a sight he’d never seen before. A copious abundance of funsters and youngsters and clubsters and sexsters crowded together with the same tribal aim. Between the grey walls of the airport it was just another flight, just another aimless plane driving into the atmosphere. But between their ears, in the beating tripping pounding minds of the travellers a resounding Balearic beat repeated and repeated and repeated.

Danny nudged him.

‘Are you going to let the stewardess past?’

In his reverie Tim’s had absentmindedly stuck his leg out in the aisle. It was blocking the drinks trolley.

‘Double whisky for me honey,’ Tim uttered at the air hostess.

Danny leaned across and apologised.

‘We’ll each have a coke.’

‘Ice?’ she asked.

Danny nodded.

‘Yeah. Ice ice baby,’ Tim said, vaguely melodically, allowing his tiny finger to lift the hem of the stewardess’ skirt to reveal sheeny black tights. ‘Nice ice,’ he murmured to himself.

‘Drink your coke,’ Danny said, ‘And be quiet. You’ll need your energy for the club we’re gonna hit tonight.’

Tim grinned and sloshed his plastic glass against Danny’s jubilantly.

‘Cheers!’

*

Two hours into the flight and Tim began drifting again. Thirty thousand feet above the ground, all he wanted was to plant his dancing shoes onto the Ibizan tarmac and begin the never-ending cycle of bars and clubs and music and dance and latex-covered parading women and trance DJs and ambient trip-hop and deep house and techno pumping round his bloodstream like a riot of fuck you. Save me and crave me and grave me and rave me and play me and wave me and flavour me and name me and blame me and dream of me all the time on our sacred isle on our sacred isle yeah yeah. Hands in the air salute the sky welcome the moonlight as we swallow our sapphire starlight. Simmering shimmering vocals like quartz rays skimming across a soprano range effortlessly. The satisfying twang of bass throbbed in the background while snares rattled and hissed into insistent piano. The noise of airplane engines mingled with the ambience of his headphones. Tim barely stirred when Danny spilled water on his jeans.

*

Consciousness was tricky to elucidate. This trip would be a challenge to let consciousness fade while instinct took the reins. All those opportunities. All those lurid tacky women lining up to be fucked. At the end he was sure he would look back and feel he had failed. Still, he had the experience of failure ahead of him to try to change. Tim was away, in the land of the dancing pixies. Danny couldn’t sleep on planes. Not since that flight, the one that had almost seen him and his passengers crash into the earth.

The earth.

He had no idea how Tim could do it now. He could hear the music emanating from his earphones. A remix of an eighties classic, heavy with drum and bass. It was a lie though. His life was anything but an ordinary world. That air hostess came back with another orange juice for him. Admirable how she put up with the gazing boys on their way to pop their cherries. Maybe she liked it. Maybe she was wild, once free of the restrictive uniform.

‘Thanks,’ Danny said, taking the plastic glass and sipping the contents while watching the clouds float past. Not long to go now. The Mediterranean awaited. Danny couldn’t wait. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of a wild sexual adventure on the party island. Party – that assumed it was a grouping of friends. Yet they knew no-one but themselves. Would they make new friends?

His cast his mind back to the day they booked it. Her tailored light-blue uniform sort of swam round her body in confident, definitive angles. Her smile, well-worn he was sure, still faded their doubts and prompted them both to book. That was why she was there. A gorgeous girl selling stunning holidays. An asset. She had two. Tim seemed fixated on them. She couldn’t find Ibiza in the list of holidays under Spain. Danny invited her to choose Balearic islands and she had commended him and smiled again. It was irresistible. The thought they would encounter a hundred more Phillipas, and they could be theirs. No limits, no restrictions, no inhibitions just one all night party lasting a week. His cock lurched.

Therez an animal parteh you juz ‘ave ter ger ter everyone dressus oop as arn arnimal I orwerz ger as er munker orr I orwers ger as er leppard orr I orwerz ger as a targa.

Danny had no idea how this would look but felt determined to find out. But how did it feel for the women? Dancing into men’s cocks. Feeling their sharp shoulder blades beneath their slim fingers. How did it feel having the protrusion of their groins resting on their rears, or their rippling chest on top of their delicate pertness. How did it feel with the bulk of masculinity on top of them underneath them around them inside them thrusting, knowing they can’t escape, knowing they’re trapped until the squirt of release? How did it feel to be a woman? Danny wondered and glanced at Tim.

*

They were descending. He could feel it in his feet. Feel it in his ears, despite the buds, despite the sleep. He could feel Danny nudging him, still he wanted to doze. He wanted to doze and be woken by the feeling of the edge of the sea tickling his toes, and the sight of a senorita bringing him a margarita. He wanted the sound of ambient trance drifting across a dazzling cerulean pool while waitresses wafted him with palm leaves and blew smooth kisses across his chest. He wanted the sight of a million copper lipsticked honeys at his feet dousing themselves in sun lifting a leg in the air as they lay on their ample chests on their sun beds reading a trashy novel about how a handsome stranger would sweep them off their feet and take their breath away. Ah, that would be sweet, to experience the bliss of cliché just for once. Stop fucking nudging me Danny.

‘It’s time Tim. It’s time to buckle up – we’re nearly there!’

One last reverie – Philippa arriving in the room next to theirs, taking them out, fellating them both, his thick rich sweet cum dripping from those sausage lips…

One sharp jab in his ribs and Tim bolted awake.

‘I want to have sex on the beach,’ he said, into the big soft eyes of the air hostess.

*

Lime coloured pine trees littered the mountains. Danny had not expected it to be this green. Lush verdant green. Jurassic park green. Isla Nublar green. Perhaps dormant dinosaurs lolloped along behind those mountains. Perhaps velociraptors awaited. The plane cruised across the runway before the moment of touchdown on party ground arrived. As the tyres dropped onto the tarmac Danny and Tim looked at each other and began grinning. Both knew the other was thinking the exact same thing. They high-fived.

‘Good afternoon this is the captain speaking. Welcome to Ibiza airport. The temperature is a pleasant twenty-six degrees. We’re just taxiing to our gate, and then we’ll let you all off to enjoy your holidays.’

*

Cuchet. Couchay. Cushit. They had no idea how to pronounce it, their new home for the next week. The coach wound its way through narrow semi-paved streets round white-washed hotels dropping fellow clubbers off. Palm trees studded the pavements offering brief shade from the insistent Spanish sun. As they waited outside another hotel, more got off, leaving just the two of them and the driver. Next stop cuchet couchay cushit.

*

Tim wore a black and grey t-shirt with trousers, Danny threw on a green speckled shirt with shorts. The evening sun had set beyond the pine-filled mountains but sultry heat lingered pleasantly. On their balcony Tim laid his beach towel for the following day while Danny pumped tracks from his portable stereo in their room. The air grew thick with deodorant and aftershave. When it mixed with the luscious pines it smelt of anticipation. Thick chunky keyboard chords echoed from somewhere. Somewhere down the line of hotels on their street the music melted in the air and the mountains filtering dissonant sounds and creating a panoply of auditory technicolor. It all happens when I get that lush feeling yeah. Tim leaned over the rail for a second and breathed. Everything that had happened. Everything that was past. It was nothing really. The future was still theirs. The future was still what they could make of it. Sometimes possibility was more frightening than inevitability. The opportunity to succeed scarier than the chance to fail. How did they get the chords to fade like that?

‘Are you nearly ready?’ Danny called from the bathroom.

‘Yes. I’m red-red-ready to go.’

*

One street from the strip they made their way through the evening. A narrow alley led them onto a paved terrace in front of San Antonio bay. As they emerged onto the promenade from a narrow alley swarms of tourists engulfed them. Danny’s eyes popped. Tim’s eyes bulged. Crowds of bikini-clad girls and butch bare-chested men strolled down the esplanade as if taking a walk in a park. The mascara was thicker and longer than their inconsequential skirts. It was not necessary to stare because the cycle of women walking along constantly refreshed and renewed itself like a kaleidoscope of fragrant hungry debauchery. Beyond the drooping palms and sweep of shore in the distance, towards the clustered buildings and throbbing neon, came a gentle hum. A bassline merging with the wind and air.

Tim and Danny walked slowly, occasionally glancing at each other but not too often because there was too much eye-candy to feast on. They came at the pair from all angles, from in front behind and each side left and right. They thrust toward and past them. Purple wet-look boulder holders competed with slim seventeen year-olds, torsos concave and convex in the right places. Long lustrous hair flowing as frequently as the shots into frosted ice-cold glasses. All as expensive as a meal in a fancy restaurant. Life seemed cheap compared to the industry of booze and music. As trash accumulated in the concealed gutters Tim could see the bright lights and flashy dance costumes mixed with the sleaze and energy of the desire for a quick fix.

The paved walkway led them past open-fronted bars, cafes and restaurants. In a gesture defiantly opposed to the bleeps and beeps and pounding drums of ambient trance, an Ibizan food establishment dared to blare rock music out in the bay where the sun was setting.

‘Here?’ Tim said, eyeing up huge burgers that a skimpily clad waitress was delivering to two equally skimpily dressed women. Danny didn’t know what Tim was salivating at more – the burgers or the women.

‘Okay then,’ Danny said, already feeling like he had worn the wrong clothes. They sat a rickety table in front of the sunset as a waitress with bulging bosom and wide smile seated them.

‘How are you both today fellas?’ she said, greeting them as if they were old friends.

‘Great!’ Tim beamed up into her cleavage. ‘We’re just great!’

*

The memory. There were so many memories to haunt him, he wished he could pick them daily rather than have them pressed in his mind by an unseen hand. Dreams. Whether you remembered them or not, your unconscious betrayed you with the reality of each and every single rejection. There was a part of him that enjoyed wallowing in the terrible horror of it. Through the crowds and pulsating throng the two men made their way towards a bar, respite from the visual and auditory onslaught.

As the darkness subsumed the fading crimson sun the neon of the fairground and Che Elysium twinkled brighter in the humid night. Danny drank sugary coke while Tim had his first beer of the trip.

‘This is fucking amazing. I can’t belie…can’t believe all the women here. It’s like, it’s like the line-up I always dreamed about. The ultimate way to pick a partner. Just sit on a wall watch them pass and then call the most fanciable one over.’

‘Except I don’t think they’ll come just cos you call them,’ Danny said.

‘Why not?’ Tim grinned back, watching strobes from the big dipper illuminate the metal of the construction site behind.

‘I’ve heard…I’ve heard that women are Ibiza are notoriously difficult to pull. There are so many…guys on the prowl out here they’ve all got their defences up. Might not be as easy as you think.’

‘Bullshit,’ Tim said loudly enough for two girls to turn their heads to see who shouted. He beamed back at them, holding up his drink and mouthing ‘Cheers’.

‘Honestly,’ Danny muttered, wondering if Tim might get them both arrested on their first night. ‘Where you wanna try first then?’ he asked.

‘How bout the West End. Supposed to be loads of pumping bars there.’

‘Yeah alright.’

They sauntered upwards, across the grass-verged road, past the docks where expensive yachts and speedboats bobbed on the moon-glistening pool. Through all the excitement of experiencing the assault on the senses, Danny found a kind of sadness about it all. The shriek of commerce bellowed from the cafes and bars and clubs. Everything was a few more euros than it should have been. It was okay because they were on their first night in a new place. But tomorrow it wouldn’t be the first night any more but the price would be the same. Tim watched as street prostitutes lurched at oncoming men, offering sex on the beach, while offering drugs at the same time.

‘Charlies, Ees, Weed,’ they called after the passive tourists. ‘Charlies ees weed. Charleezeezeweed. Charleezeeszeweed.’

The refrain would greet them every night, reminding them who controlled Ibiza.

Inside IndiePark they caught their breath back on recognisable rock and raucous grunge. Distinctive anthems. Melodies and vocals distinguishable from orchestral arrangements. Sounds with structure. Grooves with rhythm. Songs with meaning. Here older rockers and full-figured women rolled about the wooden floor, moshing and dancing, screaming at the intros to each new track. They sipped and sang and danced and finally found their feet in a strange land.

Outside crowds funnelled through the narrow uphill road. Promoters stood outside with varied inducements designed to fill the bars. Tricks intended to tank up the rowdy booze-jar tourists and secure a profit for the bar owner probably sitting somewhere in a cliff-top villa. Thick music boomed out of each place. As Tim and Danny progressed up the street they caught snatches of tunes popular that summer. Bruno Mars Grande The Wanted Sebastian Ingrosso Krewella Fergie Demi Miley Cyrus Will.I.Am Ke$ha Robin Ariana Pharrell Ellie Charli xcx Usher Lovato Thicke Underworld Rihanna Elvis Paramore Selena Gomez Justin Timberlake Maroon 5 David Guetta Britney Avril Taylor Derulo Avicii Inna Zedd Adelen Nicki Minaj Pitbull Christina Aguilera Icona Pop Daft Punk. Soundwaves from them all drifted in a hedonistic mix from the street amplifiers in a stream of decadence.

A few hours and several jars later Tim staggered through the streets, with the unfocused idea of discovering a couple of honeys to take back to the hotel. He possessed neither the coordination nor focus to make enough sense to the girls he attempted to chat up but they found him amusing all the same, giggling as they gently removed his hand from their shoulders. Danny stood off, sober, watching the scenes unfold with similar amusement and slight concern. Their plan to hit a club on their first evening was failing, but they had all week.

‘Come on Tim. Time for sleep.’

‘Nah mate we are gonna dance all night we can make it we can make it into…’

But his voice trailed off and in the end he was glad to be led by Danny. Led back across the green verged square, back past the harbour, back through the prostitute-laden boulevard of skimpily clad teens who still streamed forward. Eventually their hotel and Tim’s bed came like sweet relief. When Danny poured him onto the sheets he collapsed in a satisfying rumble of grunts and snores. It was two am, the clubs were just opening up. Danny wiped his eyes and debated whether to go to bed immediately or stay up and check his mails. He glanced at his phone. It was flashing with a message from Cerise.

Have fun honey xxx

*

Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz. What’s that. Fuck what’s that. It’s too early. Shit no clothes on. What happened last night. Buzz buzz. Fuck’s sake give me a minute. Fuck. Door. Sheet of blinding white eyes crumpled grit falling get towel cover up.

‘Hello?’ Tim said, opening the door a crack and spying a young blond chap wearing a familiar light blue shirt and navy trousers.

‘Good morning!’ he beamed, and Tim winced. ‘I wanted to let you know that the welcome meeting has moved. We’re going to be meeting in five minutes. That okay?’

Tim squinted at the boy.

‘What. What. No, no, it’s at eleven the reception gave us this letter.’

‘Ah, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. You’ve been given the wrong letter. Actually the meeting is in five minutes. I need to go out later so the meeting time has been brought forward.’

‘We’re not up yet. Can we catch up with you later?’

‘Afraid not, I’m on airport duty later so will be out of resort this afternoon. Can you make it in five minutes.’

Tim harrumphed. Danny lay prostrate, snoring.

‘We need to get up.’

‘Okay, we’ll wait for you. See you in five minutes.’

The boy disappeared. Fucking hell, Tim thought.

*

INVISIBLE LIGHT

BETRAYAL. HE SAID the word in his mind. Bestial ray of oblivion. The word was weak in the face of its meaning, in the realisation of the way it felt. Like one of those tray slot machines, with maybe hundreds of two or five pence coins sliding to the edge before eventually dropping to the next level, pushed over another edge by its companions. Until it finally dropped into the receiving tray. Sometimes the process was slow, sometimes it was speeded up, realisation at exponential discomfort. It was like the formation of a terrible jigsaw when the last piece fitted into place to reveal the cruel truth you’re subjected to. A deliberate mind-fuck, created to linger in the stores of the unconscious so it could replicate and duplicate and infest. Betrayal – too often there was no way back.

*

The youth had assembled another couple of girls. That was it. The four of them for the welcome meeting. Fuck, thought Tim. We could have done this anytime. Fucking bastard, he thought.

As the rep ran through a list of excursions and informing them they ‘simply had’ to go to the dance club a coach ride away that was like an indoor Wembley stadium and virtually ticking their names off before they consented, Danny pulled Tim to one side.

‘Heinz Heinrich are playing Ibiza Rocks at the end of the week. Let’s get tickets for that.’

‘Cool,’ Tim said, still hungover and willing to be led.

Danny eyeballed the rep and informed him they wouldn’t be taking any of the excursions he listed, but told him to book tickets for Ibiza Rocks on Thursday, and not to wake them up again before twelve.

*

Within the crystal blue décor of the interior pool, water shimmered silver beneath the Spanish sun. Chlorine rose with the evaporation, filling the air with its cleansed chemical aroma, fighting with the overwhelming pines that bordered the mountains behind. Tim had been reading for half an hour as the hotel’s tourist occupants gradually surfaced and claimed their sunbeds.

‘Hey brother,’ Danny said, kicking Tim’s sunbed playfully to nudge him awake.

‘What’s up,’ Tim replied languidly not looking up, his eyes fixed on the short red-haired girl lying on her front a few sunbeds away.

‘Whatcha reading?’

Tim lifted the cover of the book to show Danny. It was a book about the S.A.S.’s operation at the Iranian embassy.

‘Good?’

A DJ appeared behind Danny and took a position at a small white-washed alcove with a couple of decks. He lay a light blue bag down on the ground and proceeded to remove disc covers, laying each one down on top of the decks. Slim, unshaven, dressed in white linen and forbidding shades, he looked the epitome of cool. Within minutes he began rolling the music. Ambient deep house vibes mixed lazily with the dangling swimmers and ambling bathers floating on their inflatable lilos.

‘I remember that story. I watched a documentary on it once.’

‘Did you?’ Tim said, raising an eyebrow but still captivated by the short red-head.

‘Yes, it was very moving actually. There was a guy in there – a guy who faked that he was ill in order to escape. Then said he felt like a coward. But I don’t think he was a coward, do you? I mean anyone in their right mind, faced with all those balaclavas and guns and executions – anyone would want to run away from that situation as fast as they can.’

Tim could hear Danny’s voice, but it was like at the end of a tunnel. There were so many other thoughts competing in his brain. Monsters of doubt. Lurid sensations of lust. Desire for peace interrupted by an insistent beat. The ambient deep house preluding what tonight would be an evening of success: their first Ibizan club, rich with pussy and honey. The red-head was getting up. He saw her black bikini snake over her pale flesh as she walked to the pool. First she dipped a toe in the water and then stood gazing at it. Then she gingerly sat down on the edge, allowing her feet to dangle in the lilting water. From here, her profile showed off gorgeous red hair, bright as a traffic light, falling over slim pale shoulders. There really was nothing to her apart from that rush of red alive streaming from her head, and a small pursed mouth: pondering, wondering, sucking in air. Tim was thinking about going for a dip himself when Danny nudged his bed again.

‘So what do you think mate? Eden tonight?’

‘Yep. Sure thing.’

‘Tom West is doing Spannernight Live.’

‘Great,’ Tim said, wondering what the red-head’s vagina tasted like.

‘We can head over to Mambo after dinner, have a few there then hit Eden later.

Tim had stopped listening. Right now the red-head was slowly easing herself into the pool. It was like watching a fluid serpent devour her lithe body. She kept going until only her head and hair was above, and the rest of her body displaced pool water from beneath the surface. In the distance palm trees swayed in the light wind. Tim thought this place seemed driven by forces of nature. Danny was still speaking.

‘…Café Del Mar and then over to the rocks to watch the famous sunset then back into the West End for a few, as long as we can avoid that harlot with the feather from last night, and then onto Eden…’

Eden. A garden of lust, Tim thought, thinking how his moves could light up the black dance floor, alongside Danny, his adopted brother. Eden, an anagram of need. Eden a place where lusty serpents writhed and grinded, waiting for their sting.

*

Danny’s heavy lids closed over his eyes. Ambient noises from somewhere behind the pines repeated delightfully as sleep emerged from a hidden cave to claim him. The pillow felt inviting: warmer and cleaner than the one he used at home or in halls. It embraced his dreams easily. Softly. Images moved softly in front of his flickering eyes. A broken mirror. Shards of glass dropping to the floor. A figure standing behind him. In the space a trickling sound of flowing water. A cold shadow running through him, making him shiver. Wet stone beneath his feet. Trying to shout out but finding