Nora by Charles J Harwood

The lights rebounded against each side of the windscreen. The death-car’s fishtail battered her into a ragdoll state, but she barely noticed. The row of lights burned at the centre of her existence. Would these be the terminus? Would she be getting off here? How deep is the fall…? How deep? The pores of her body flew open in a creeping rash. The limo plummeted with majesty into its magnificent skid and the streetlights approached in a hypnotic dance. A nanosecond imprinted a vision of Leon wrestling the steering wheel; behind him, Vince pitched about like a showroom dummy. He seemed unimpressed…or entranced, she wasn’t sure. Another flicker. The chassis emitted a sickening roar. Scorched oil spiked the air. Would the floor open up beneath and suck her onto the bandsaw below? Pleaaase! The cab collapsed into a tilt. The streetlights vanished from view and streaked comet-like around the cab windows. Those infernal railings quivered on speeding past. Nancy’s neck pulsed against th...

The whirr of the engine masked the rain. The limo edged forwards and paused at the filters. From here, Nancy could see a convoy of break-lights delineating the contour of the A45. Vince’s quiet tone clipped the air. ‘I think it’s time we took a detour, Leon.’ ‘Sure.’ The limo got moving in spite of the congestion. Quadrangles of light shifted eerily across the seats, creating the illusion of a swirling exterior around a stationary cab. Nancy’s tailbone rocked with the shift in direction. The limo gained speed once Leon had cut into a narrow lane. Darkness now pressed against the windows. Nancy could sense no motion although the engine’s murmur conveyed effortless power. The windows of the cab became a mirror of the interior. She could see Leon’s profile on the reflection of the front passenger window. He could see him . That is if she looked. Nancy kept her sights diverted. That brief but burning scrutiny would come back to haunt her. He would never remember her face. She w...

A spasm seized her epiglottis as though lemon juice had passed through. Silently, Nancy retracted from the door. She stifled a cough. With increased urgency, she retraced her steps back to the restaurant. The diners had become faceless blurs; the music, discordant. In a split second, Nancy mapped the clearest route out of here. She didn’t care if she jarred a table or scuffed a shoulder. Those glass doors would see her through before Leon or Vince spotted her. The view outside drifted towards her too slowly. Her throat throbbed with palpitations; her breaths became shallow. After ten paces, she extended her arms. She pushed against the glass and glided through. And that’s when her oversight struck her. Her handbag. She’d left it in the limo along with her purse and mobile. Without looking back, she darted towards the passenger door and knew an instant before touching the handle that the central locking had engaged. ‘ Shit, shit, shit! ’ Beneath the hiss of the drizzle, Denni...

VINCE was posturing at the mirror combing his hair. Leon was fingering a cigarette at his side. A morsel of ash fell to the floor. ‘We could cut in on Dennis’s poker night. He’s got a circle goin’.’ Vince coiffed a forelock without replying. ‘…but that chick’s still waiting; in the limo.’ ‘What chick?’                     Leon emitted a guffaw that rebounded against the porcelain enclosure. But Vince retained his sobriety. ‘What sort of fuck name is Nora?’ ‘I keep tellin’ you, it’s Nancy.’ ‘She’s a yokel.’ Leon took drag. He held the smoke in his lungs before exhaling two streams through his nostrils like a dragon. ‘I was hopin’ to get one of the other two, you know, perhaps the one who flashed her tits, but they went off somewhere in a taxi.’ Vince’s expression remained sedate as he smoothed down the back of his hair. ‘Shame.’ ‘So what do you reckon?’ Vince inser...

Nancy speed-dialed. Bex’s ring tone commenced. Brian Ferry had now finished. A trance anthem from the Ministry of Sound now cannibalized the air. Nancy knew Bex’s ring tone now sang, ‘an idiot’s trying to call you, pick up, you jerk!’ Bex’s ring tone droned on. Nancy’s irk grew. Bex was a pathological poacher of male attention. She was probably snogging some creep from the bar right now. The ring tone kept on. ‘Come on,’ Nancy uttered between her teeth. ‘Stop head-butting the headboard and answer the ruddy phone.’ That’s when Bex’s ring tone cut to voicemail. Nancy ended the call, not bothering with Cora. Judging by her condition on leaving the Nexus, she would be cavorting a coma by now. Dennis’s frontage remained deserted. Rain began to fleck the windows. Suddenly, the idea of calling a taxi little appealed. At this time of night, the fare would be dear and she would have to walk alone on unfamiliar streets until she was out of range of the limo. The reality of talking ...

And then Menez’s dark brown voice monotoned through loud and clear. ‘Hey, Vincent, you got my message.’ Robbie Probert, devotee of the Church of Chelsea would be having a silent aneurysm if he could hear this now. Vince merely cocked a wry grin. ‘Hey, wanker, you’re lookin’ real good on the bench. Next time, I’ll get Leon send you some hot cocoa.’ Menez’s chortle bristled through the speaker. ‘I don’t need no cocoa to give me a nice, warm feelin’.’ ‘Well, maybe you should stop thinkin’ of the other players in that way. Ain’t it time you came out?’ Before Menez could reply, Leon cut him off. His timing suggested this was a little game Leon and Vince had played many times before. Their chuckles rippled in the air and Nancy fidgeted. She flexed her fingers and wedged her hands beneath her thighs. Her eyes skittered sheepishly in Vince’s direction. Vince’s mirth had already dropped from his face. ‘I need a piss.’ Leon’s voice remained dry. ‘We can stop off at Dennis’s restaurant...

THE limo moved off at a majestic pace. Jaywalkers skittered across the road. They darted towards the limo and veered into the shadows as the limo gained speed. The jazz funk was too soft. Discomfiture permeated every nerve of her body, rendering her rigid. Bex would have lowered the strap of her dress had she been sitting here now. And she would not have honored her oath of silence. She would be giggling or dishing out her daring cheek. Nancy had no doubt that Leon’s dry humour would commandeer; his guise for keeping the upper hand forever preserved. And Bex would never know. Cora would be quieter but no pushover. She could be sly, ingratiating herself into a longer ride. Her broken heel would be instrumental. She would say she’d sprained her ankle and get Vince to massage her feet. But how was Nancy any better? She was a pretender, saddled with a past she hated to contemplate. Bex’s drunken stints always forced murky memories to the surface and freeze Nancy up into a statue. Occ...

Stage-fright had seized her, that’s all. This apprehension was borne from self-doubt nurtured by a culture of hopelessness and low expectation. Nancy didn’t deserve to be in this shoot. She was an imposter, they would all see. The cameras would record her cheap cocktail dress and her plastic shoes. That’s Nancy, that is, she works at LossLess Insurance at the Parkway Industrial Estate. What is she doing next to Vincent Jonas? What right does she have to enter that limo? She’s a sneak; she’s a cheat and a fraud. Defiance propelled her forwards anyway. Bex or Cora would be here if not Nancy. Nancy’s mother, her neighbour or her boyfriend’s sister would be here if not Nancy. With that, she stepped onto the kerb. She smiled, gave a little wave and maintained her tenuous link with Vince via the lower joint of her small finger. The maw got bigger but her gut had begun to uncoil itself. She relaxed her finger and his dropped easily from hers. She raised her right foot and lowered he...

She stopped next to Vince, sneaking a sidelong glance. Vince continued to appraise the photographers at the foot of the steps. His jaw was set but not clenched, and the harsh light etched out his features. A small crowd had gathered around them. Security staff peppered the melee. Several others had cleared a path towards a large black limo ahead. Reflections rebounded from its mirror-like bodywork as the flashes pulsed. Leon coughed. She glanced back and saw him raise an eyebrow. He nodded meaningfully and then she remembered. She carefully brought her hand towards Vince’s and sought out his little finger. She entwined hers with his. She detected no reciprocation from him. His finger felt cool and lax. The tabloids may interpret this holding of fingers as something significant. Her doubtless star-struck expression may reinforce the notion a chemical reaction had been unleashed between them. In reality there was nothing, only a cool, lax finger. The small congregation was now enclosi...

SUCH an ordinary doorway did not represent the grandeur of Vincent Jonas’ dressing room. Mock gas lamps lined the walls casting an intimate glow over mocha panelling. An entire wall had been dedicated to a walk-in wardrobe. Within, Nancy glimpsed racks of shoes, suits, shirts and ties. A chaise lounge, Turkish rug and a drinks bar added decadence to a room she suspected served also for business. Movement to her right drew her eye. Vince was checking out his appearance in front of a mirror. She couldn’t see his reflection for the oblique view but guessed he was adjusting his tie. Leon had positioned himself behind the chaise lounge, hands clasped at the groin like an usher at a funeral. Nancy kept her reactions in check. She didn’t want to appear flaky in front of two men who saw this routine as just another day at the office. She pinched her lip between incisors and an iron tang blossomed over her tongue. She swallowed it down. Without warning, Jonas turned – not to face her, but ...

This bathroom could easily house the upper floor of her two-bed terrace in Glebe Hollow. And nothing in here could be found within a two-mile radius; the substance was too refined, other-worldly – and ideal nicking material for some of the frequenters of the Liberal club round the corner. Part of her would have too. She shoved this squalid part of her aside and confronted her reflection in a full-length mirror. She expected to see an intruder. Instead she saw a creature caught off-guard. Her brow cast angular shadows over her eyes and her mouth was firmly-seamed as though withholding a lie. Her dress at least looked good. The fabric clung pleasingly to her pert breasts, although her hips hung a little low. She had good ankles, slim, tapering. Ankles became a focal point in full body shots. At least she didn’t have fat ankles. And no ladders to be seen. Nancy fished out her makeup bag. She approached the mirror and brought her mascara brush to her lashes. Her hand tremored. She retra...