Emptying her glass she stood up to get more, then changed her mind and undressed for her shower. In front of the mirror she paused and examined her body critically, as though the secret of how their love died might be found in that rounder stomach, or the heavier hips. She no longer had that lithe, girlish figure, but she was still attractive surely? The lines were softer, the breasts fuller… Men still looked at her.
But it wasn’t a physical thing, not only. What had gone was that unbelievable sense of belonging together, being made solely for each other to the exclusion of the rest of the world. If that could come back… But how? Never while he remained so taken up with those worms.
She turned abruptly away from the mirror and went into the bathroom. At least the shower was working efficiently since he’d fixed it. Pulling the waterproof curtain across, she adjusted the flow of water before stepping into the bath and letting it pour over her. Its force against the back of her neck and shoulders slowly released the tensions. She abandoned herself to it.
After some minutes she began to soap her body, moving her hands sensuously over her skin … her arms … sides … ribs … breasts … the way his hands used to in those first months when they took their shower together.
‘Oh, Matt…’
He’d been so ambitious at that time, talking about the sort of films he dreamed of shooting, critical of his own work but optimistic. But then the opportunities had gone to others, and with them the international prizes, the recognition he so desperately needed. He’d been left behind. Of course he’d said nothing, never spoke about it, but bottled it all up inside himself.
And now the worms. Even under the warm water, caressing and comforting her as it washed the soap away, she couldn’t help shivering as she thought of them. What were they doing to him? That fanatical look in his eyes whenever he enthused about them, the look verging on madness. They had such a hold on him; she couldn’t even bring herself to be jealous of that woman with the shop — Fran or whatever her name was. She couldn’t even imagine he was being unfaithful to her. They probably sat there and talked worms — for hours on end, nothing but worms.
A plan began to form in her mind. It would mean going back inside the shed for one last time. She’d need extra paraffin, several gallons of it, but that would be no problem; she could hide the cans under the tarpaulin at the side of the house. Then a generous dose in each tank, splash it over the floor and up the walls, throw in some extra wood — the logs he’d cut which they hadn’t used after all — and old newspapers. And the worms would know what she was about. They’d watch her. She’d have to avoid their eyes.
Then the quick roar of the flames as they surged through the entire shed, licked up the walls and along the shelves, until whoosh… whoosh … whoosh… the tanks ignited, each one separately…
She bent down under the shower to soap her legs with the rich white scented lather, and the water splashed on her back and streamed down off her shoulders Ever since they’d moved into the cottage he’d been going to fix that plug-hole, a round yawning outlet with no little chrome grid in it to prevent things falling through.
At that moment, as she stooped, she saw two hard little eyes looking up at her.
‘No!’ She caught her breath in a quick gasp of fear and stepped back.
Then she told herself it must be imagination, a trick of the light. Worms couldn’t possibly ooze their way up inside a narrow drainpipe — or could they? She forced herself to look again.
Purposefully and calmly, the worm was emerging from the plug-hole. It lay there on the white enamel of the bath, staring at her without moving.
Helen knew she mustn’t panic. She worked out what she must do: draw the shower curtain aside, step out of the bath carefully, quietly — no quick unexpected movements which might upset it…
The curtain was slippery with soapy water and her fingers couldn’t get a grip on it. It seemed ridiculous, but her hand slid over it. She backed towards the rear end of the bath.
‘It’s fear,’ she told herself, ‘and I mustn’t show it. I can’t close my hand but the worm mustn’t know that. Once they realize you’re afraid…’
A second worm was wriggling up through the plug-hole. It lay alongside the first and they both watched her.
‘Stay there,’ she begged them, ‘Oh, please, stay there. Don’t come any closer.’
With a great effort of will she grasped the shower curtain, but the wet plastic material seemed to cling to her arm and hamper her. She wanted to pull it out of the way, yet she seemed paralysed. A third worm had appeared at the plug-hole; the first two started slithering along the bottom of the bath towards her.
Desperately she tugged at the curtain; it ripped, falling down in folds around her. She struggled to escape from it, then felt her foot slipping on the soapy bath. Her arms waved wildly as she tried to regain her balance.
As she half fell, half slid into the bath, the first worm buried its teeth into the full flesh of her inner thigh. She shrieked in agony and tried to pull it away, but at the same moment the second worm began to feed hungrily on her calf.
‘No … no … no, don’t!’ she sobbed as she tried to defend herself, still thrashing around in the folds of the shower curtain. ‘I shan’t do it, I shan’t burn you, I promise…’
Once again she felt the first worm’s sharp teeth as it moved higher up her thigh. But there were more worms now. God, where were they all coming from? They squirmed all over her legs, her abdomen, taking their time as they selected parts they fancied. Hysterically she screamed for mercy, begged them, as though they could understand her.
Then one moved between her legs. She covered her vagina with her hand, shuddering with terror. ‘No, not there, not there!’ The worm bit into her wrist and another joined it, moving down over her belly.
They were exploring her neck. Reaching for her cheeks…
Again she shrieked out. And again.
Her mind snapped into insanity but she remained cruelly conscious as they devoured the flesh from her face, under her chin, her breasts, her stomach, buttocks, legs… The pain shocked through her body from every part.
Then everything became suddenly quiet. Vaguely she realized she’d been the one making all the noise. Now, as her blood seeped away, she lost the strength even to scream. They were still feeding on her, in silence. Only the champing of jaws. As their incisors ripped out each mouthful of her flesh, even the pain seemed less.
Distantly, she realized at least one worm had finished with her surface meat and was burrowing into her intestines. But she hardly felt it; her nervous system was practically paralysed already.
Then at last she slipped away into uncomprehending death.
15
Matt and Fran left Cy Steinberg at the Dorchester at about eleven-thirty that evening and continued on foot to their own hotel near Baker Street. The meeting had been more successful than either of them could have imagined. Steinberg, Inc. supplied most of the more exclusive New York fashion houses with accessories. They’d expected a single large order for belts and possibly handbags; instead, they were offered a five-year deal for as many items as they could produce. On a quick reckoning, Matt estimated this should bring his income up to four times his old Television Hall salary.
‘If only we can get hold of the skins,’ he mused as they went up the steps to the revolving glass door. ‘I phoned Angus this afternoon. He’s seen a few back in the sewers, but not all that many.’
‘They killed the golden goose, now they must lie on it!’ Fran declared, crossing to the desk. And giggled. ‘If you get my meaning. Matt, let’s not talk business any more. I think I had too much champagne. Did you notice our American friend’s technique? We did all the drinking while he drove the bargain. I wonder how much he stands to make?’