When all the glasses were refilled and two more bottles of champagne put into the fridge, he went out into the hall, opened the cupboard and took a Chocorange from the pocket of one of his coats. He felt for it blindly inside the dark cupboard. It wouldn't have mattered which jacket; the day before, he had stocked up with the things, calling in at Superdrug, Elixir, Tesco and the shop kept by the woman in Spring Street, putting one or two into the pockets of every coat he had. In all he had bought fifteen packets. For he had given up resisting temptation. He could go on no longer in that state of deprivation. And all last evening and most of today he had sought to reassure himself. Why had he got into such a state? Instead of telling himself his habit was ridiculous and demeaning, he should have contrasted it with addictions to crystal meth or brandy or even nicotine. What harm did it do? They sold it in health food shops, for God's sake. It said on the packet it was 'tooth-friendly'. It stopped him eating real food, so helped to keep his weight off. Why, it was well known that Marcus's partner – even now happily drinking champagne in the drawing room – had been addicted to heroin for ten years. Did he castigate himself, lose sleep, agonise over his addiction? Did he, hell. Eugene savoured the Chocorange he was sucking, there in the half-dark of the hall, until Ella called out, wondering where he was.
The one he had helped himself to would last him for a good hour. The Moët tasted even better than usual after the bland chocolatey sweetness. He would take, he decided, six packs away with him to Como. Why on earth should he care what those who scrutinised checked baggage thought of him? He wouldn't be standing by to hear them or see their faces. Six would give him three a week, more than seven a day. That was nowhere like the number he had consumed since he had taken up his habit again, but it would do. It would get him through the fortnight. It would prevent those two important weeks, the start of his marriage, from being wrecked by enforced abstinence. He smiled at Marcus and asked him about his new play for which rehearsals had just begun.
Lance had given a lot of thought as to how he was going to get into Elizabeth Cherry's house. This time she would have failed to leave the laundry room window open. He had no hope in that direction. To cut out a pane of glass, preferably from a larger window than the one he had squeezed through before, was the plan he had decided on. To this end he had bought the requisite implement and been taking lessons in glass cutting from Gemma's brother Dwayne. This operation was a lot more difficult than Lance had supposed but once you got the knack it became quite easy and by Monday he had no doubt he could remove a pane, without cutting himself or making too much noise, in ten minutes.
Dwayne was now on bad terms with Feisal Smith and Feisal's best mate Ian Pollitt. He fancied Fize's sister Soraya, a girl whose beauty was striking in spite of its being largely covered up in a hijab and long black gown, but Fize had taken exception to his even speaking to her and got Ian to demonstrate with the knife he carried exactly what he would do to Gemma's brother if any advances were made. Dwayne had transferred his friendship to Lance and offered to lend him the van but driving wasn't among Lance's talents and there was no chance of Dwayne's affection extending so far as to drive a getaway vehicle.
On the morning of Tuesday 14 August Uncle Gib announced that this was the day of the Children of Zebulun's annual outing. They were going to Clacton in what he called a 'charabanc'. It would be the first time since Lance arrived in Blagrove Road that Uncle Gib had left him alone in the house for a whole day.
'You mind your ps and qs,' Uncle Gib said. 'I don't want no drinking and no women fetched round here. You see you shut the front door when you go out. Hard, mind. Give it a push to see it's properly shut. And keep an eye on that Romanian. He's not to have a bunch of East Europeans round. Right?'
'Right,' said Lance, not really listening.
Uncle Gib left for the meeting point where the coach would pick him up at nine in the morning. His worst fears were justified when the driver told him there was to be no smoking on the journey. But a sing-song was permitted and they started off with a favourite hymn, 'If I were a butterfly'. When they got to the line 'If I were a kangaroo, you know I'd hop right up to you', Uncle Gib was asleep. He had passed the night worrying about going away from home for a whole day, not being able to have a cigarette and eating strange food.
When he woke up the coach was moving sluggishly into a car park. It was raining and the place was already spotted with puddles. Putting up umbrellas or rainhoods, the Children of Zebulun made their way down towards a grey and glassy sea.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
All that Ella knew of the two carers from the agency who were looking after Joel was that they were called Linda and Noreen. She supposed that they would be middle-aged or older, so she was surprised when one of them arrived at the medical centre just as her surgery was over, to see a small waif-like girl in her twenties. No appointment had been made. Linda had come on the 'off-chance,' as she called it, not sure that Dr Cotswold would see her.
Ella told the receptionist that she could spare her visitor ten minutes. It was some time since she had heard from Joel and she had been thinking she must soon do something about him, if only to check that having a carer with him overnight had been beneficial.
'He told me you were his doctor, doctor,' Linda began. 'It was no good telling the agency. It had to be you.'
'But what's wrong?'
'It's no good beating about the bush, is it, doctor? I'm scared. It's very scary being in that place, let alone being with him.'
'You mean Mr Roseman?'
'Joel, yes. I mean, no one told me he was mental. Mentally ill, I should say. But he is. And that's scary, doctor. Not to you maybe. You're used to it. But for the likes of me, caring for the disabled is one thing. I've been with people so disabled you wouldn't believe they could be alive, let alone move themselves about in a wheelchair. But this is different. It's scary. If he just said funny things I could take it. I mean, I'd ignore it. But he's got a person he talks to. Not a real person, a sort of thing he imagines, and he talks to it, he shouts sometimes.'
'Mithras.Yes, I know,' said Ella and then wondered if she'd said too much.
'That's the name.' For the fourth time Linda said it was scary. 'I try to let some light into the place. I mean, it's getting dark when I get there so I turn on lights. That's the first thing I do. But Joel won't have it. He gets in a state. I can have the light on in my bedroom but if there's too much of it showing under the door he knocks on the door and tells me to turn it off. I can't sleep, not with him prowling about and talking to that Mith-creature.'