Fallen Skies Read online

  As Stephen grew more dangerous Coventry fell further and further back, scanning the crowd. When Stephen started a fight Coventry would be behind him, his quick eyes looking all around, watching for a knife to be pulled, for the quick crack of a broken bottle. When Stephen was in the centre of milling fists, his face alight with unleashed malice, Coventry would still be reserved and watchful on the fringe. Only when Stephen threatened to sink under the weight of other men, or when someone was coming up behind him, would Coventry move forwards and trip the man, and knee him sharply in the kidneys as he sank down. He would fight his way through a crowd towards Stephen, jabbing a punch into an unprotected back, a hard fist behind a man’s ear so he fell knocked out cold, or doubled up by a swift dishonourable kick to the balls. Stephen knew intuitively when Coventry was behind him, and Coventry’s touch on his belt was his signal to back out of the fight, still exchanging blows, while Coventry led the retreat to the door. Often they timed their escape to within minutes of discovery; they would be out of the door and walking down the road, catching their breath, as the MPs or the civilian police came running towards the pub past them. Once they were struck a passing blow from a truncheon, once they were threatened with arrest as they were bursting out of one door as the police came in the other. But mostly they disappeared before the arrests were made, and then for the next week or so they would steer clear of that area altogether.

  The violence purged Stephen. He fought, not like a gentleman, not even with the straight anger of a working man; he used his skills as a trained boxer but he set aside all the rules he had ever been taught at school. He used his knees, he used his feet. If he had a glass in his hand he would knock off the top of it and flash it, in and out, like a dagger. Generally he cut nothing more than cloth. Once he struck at a man’s face, and guessed, by the bitter horrified scream, that he had cut his eyes. If he knocked his opponent down he would kick him at once, hard-shod, in the soft vulnerable belly, or in his curved back. Once a man went down on his back, and Stephen, in a sudden rush of joy, raised his boot and stamped on the man’s face, hearing the sweet textured sound of the crushing of his nose bones, the collapse of the septum. Coventry laid hold of him then and drew him back. Stephen was trembling like a youth after orgasm. Coventry had to put an arm around his back to hold him up.

  “Damn legs are all weak!” Stephen exclaimed breathlessly. “Oh God, Coventry! Did you see that! Did you hear it?” He let out a little sob, he licked his lips. “Oh God! That was so good. That was so good.”

  They could hear a whistle and the sound of running feet. Coventry drew Stephen into a darkened doorway and they turned their faces into the shadows. The police ran past them, truncheons out. Stephen leaned back against the door frame.

  “Cigarette,” he said.

  Coventry took out a packet of cigarettes, put two in his mouth and lit them, then passed one to Stephen. In the brief flare of the match his face was neutral, noncommittal.

  Stephen inhaled deeply and then blew the smoke out. “Christ,” he said. “That was the best.”

  Coventry noticed that Stephen’s hands were still shaking with pleasure, his eyes dilated. They stood in silence until they had finished smoking and then they trod out the butts and walked quietly to the car. Behind them was the jangling bell of an ambulance. Stephen chuckled at the sound.

  The car was parked some streets away. There was a policeman standing beside it. Stephen spotted him at once and they both fell back, moving like one man, into the dark alleyway. They turned at once and began to groom each other, straightening each other’s ties, Coventry wiping a fleck of blood from the corner of Stephen’s mouth, Stephen rubbing a smudge on Coventry’s collar.

  “You’re OK,” Stephen said. “Me too?”

  Coventry nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his folded chauffeur’s cap. He shook it out flat and brushed it off. Then he placed it on his head and he and Stephen strode confidently out of the shadows towards the policeman, Coventry at a deferential half-pace behind his master.

  “Evening, officer,” Stephen said pleasantly. “Everything all right?”

  The policeman saluted. “Yes, Sir,” he said. “This your car, Sir?”

  “That’s right,” Stephen said pleasantly. “No trouble, is there?”

  “Nothing at all, Sir. We were afraid it had been stolen. Not often you see a car like this around here.”

  “Thank you,” Stephen said. He slid a crisp ten shilling note out of his pocket and held it at the ready. Coventry unlocked the car and opened the back door, holding it for Stephen.

  “Very vigilant,” Stephen said. “Carry on.”

  The man saluted again. Stephen flicked the note out at him. The man hesitated. “I couldn’t, Sir,” he said. “Just doing my duty.”

  Stephen winked at him. “For a little treat,” he said. “We all like little treats.”

  The policeman glanced at the darkened streets behind them and guessed that in one of them was a brothel where Stephen had been.

  “Oh yes, Sir,” he said. He took the note and tucked it away. “Very good, Sir,” he said. “Good night.”

  Stephen waited until the man had gone round the corner and then climbed into the front passenger seat. Coventry got in beside him and took off his cap.

  “Let’s go home to Hayling,” Stephen proposed. “Have a brew. It’s been quite a night.”

  Coventry nodded and drove the big car along the coast road and down the sand-blown lanes to where his little houseboat stood half-surrounded by lapping waters.

  Stephen went inside while Coventry fetched water from the standpipe. When he came back Stephen had the lamp lit, and was setting a match to the fire.

  They were silent as they brewed the tea and then Coventry poured Stephen a mug, sour and oversweet, and Stephen wrapped his hands around the hot enamel sides and sighed with pleasure. “That was the best ever,” he said. “This evening—it was the best ever.”

  Coventry did not nod, he was watching the flames. Stephen sensed his reserve.

  “Something wrong?” he asked. He glanced at Coventry. Still the man did not look at him.

  Stephen reached out a hand and gripped Coventry’s shoulder. Unwillingly the dumb man turned his face to his master. His eyes were sombre. Stephen shook him gently, lovingly. “Don’t you forget,” he said. “Don’t you forget. We’ve done an awful lot worse than that. We’ve done an awful lot worse than that.”

  • • •

  Stephen drove himself home in the early hours of the morning and crept into the bedroom as dawn was breaking. Outside the sea was up and the waves were soughing on the beach. A blackbird was singing.

  Lily stirred as her husband came in and leaned up on one arm. The peach shoulder strap of her nightdress slid down her arm showing the smooth line of her breast and neck. As soon as she saw it was Stephen she sank back to the pillows and shut her eyes, completely indifferent.

  Stephen undressed quietly, so as not to disturb her, and slipped between the sheets beside her. The memory of the man’s face beneath his shoes came back to him as he closed his eyes and waited for sleep. He heard again the extraordinary pleasurable crunch of the breaking nose, and the hoarse scream of pain. Stephen sighed with pleasure and put his hand out to touch Lily’s smooth warm shoulder in the darkness.

  She rolled over and moved away from him. Stephen wriggled across the bed and took her shoulder in a firmer grip. He could feel excitement mounting at the thought that she might resist him. He had hardly touched her in weeks, he had been so unmanned by his father’s return to health. But now, with the perverse thrill of the fight fresh in him, Stephen thought that Lily might resist him and give him adequate reason to force himself on her.

  She was a lady, he reminded himself. No-one could say otherwise; as cold as ice, she hated lovemaking. She usually endured it, but in these early hours, when she had been sleeping, after weeks of neglect, she might think herself justified in refusing him, and then he would be justified in forcing