Robin came back from the toilets wanting to talk to Ashley properly. He walked back down the dim red corridors in The Healthy Fly Club and crossed the dance floor, on his way back to the bar area.

Penny Spellbound was coming to the end of her short set on the raised platform next to the DJ booth. "I will always, always love you," she sang. There was a small star-shaped light on her mouth; the rest was darkness. Robin imagined she was mostly oblivious to everyone, including himself.

Penny watched him walk past her again.

Ashley was still talking to Daniel, the blonde man with close-cropped hair. He was wearing an expensive looking pinstriped suit which was tight on his muscular body. He wore a large lizard necklace over his black shirt, and was leaning into Ashley's face when Robin returned.
Robin's face twitched slightly as he looked around at the small crowd.

He spotted a secluded looking bench through the stone archway.

"There's a table over there. I feel like sitting down," he said.

"You're pretty much free to do as you wish," Ashley said.

"Sorry?" Robin cupped his hand to his ear.

"Someone was buying me a drink." She looked at Daniel.

"Wish they'd turn the fuckin' singer down," Robin said, trying to laugh.

"I like her," Ashley gave Daniel an apologetic look. She frowned as she gathered up her bag and coat.

Robin followed her towards the corner tables, past the remaining individual dancers on the black floor.

She let Robin brush past her to sit near the wall. He surprised himself by throwing his leather coat violently against the corner of the bench and brick wall. A nearby man in a wheelchair glared back at him. Then, Robin saw there were three fair-haired children sharing their shaky table, sitting in a neat row opposite them - the wall had hid them.

"This is a good spot," Ashley muttered.

"Sorry."

She was clinging to the edge of the hard bench seat.

"He's a friend," she said.

"What? Who's a friend?"

"Daniel."

"I can't hear very well. He's army isn't he?"

"Off-duty."

The wheelchair bound Gothic man was now being deeply kissed by a standing woman with deep red open lips painted over her eyes – this was the current fashion. Robin glared at the man's fat powdered face in the woman's hands. It was the open-mouthed adoration between them he found unsettling.

"I'd better get my drink," Ashley said.

She waited for the song to end before clapping, a bit too eagerly, Robin thought. But he joined in, feeling more perturbed about the violent gaze coming from the three kids: two boys and a girl, all under ten, in identical white sailor blouses and short jackets.

He waited a moment before putting his hand next to Ashley's on the table. He touched her. She pulled away, like she'd had an electric shock. He noticed she was breathing heavily. It was quiet for a moment.

"Sometimes… you realise you want it to end," she eventually said.

"Move in with me," he said.

They both looked across the table into the children's eyes.

She stayed overnight in his mother's house only once and she never stopped commenting on the stale, pungent air. It left a bad taste in her throat. After his mother died, he promised to do something about the damp, fetid smell she had left behind; he said he'd clear out the old clothes, and most of the looming dark furnishings. That would help. He promised, many times.

She leaned forward and put her mouth against his ear: "I am quite prepared to forget you and everything about you," she said.

She left him to the table with the three children.

He couldn't control the twitching now. The children were still watchful, and then the barmaid loomed over him, questioning him about his unfinished drink. He barely acknowledged her. She looked affronted.
He noticed Penny Spellbound putting on her dark violet suede coat, next to the DJ booth. She looked away when he caught her eye.

Then it happened: a low humming sound, followed by the sound of thousands of exploding bottles and car windows outside. It was a colour bomb.

Alarm bells came on with the harsh overhead lights. Steel cages descended furiously all around the bar. Robin could only think of Ashley. He banged his knee on the table and squeezed it in pain, looking across the floor to see Daniel's hands were now guiding Ashley's red figure past the cloakroom, into the office doorway. Robin noticed the strong steel door on the way back from the toilets.

"It's a fire trap in here!" someone shouted.

The scrawny, pony-tailed barman watched Daniel and Ashley go into the office before locking the steel door shut behind them.

Robin hobbled over.

The barman signalled to the bouncer.

Robin backed off. They were starting to notice him. He decided he needed to examine Ashley's unfinished glass of white wine, which still had her red lipstick traces. Powder was settling around the bottom.

They were coming for him. He crossed the floor going back to the table. His coat was not on the end of the long bench; he searched the floor.

The bouncer was upon him, effortlessly pulling him away.

Robin knew the three children had taken his stuff, but, as usual, Ashley was the main thing on his mind.

"Her drink's been spiked." He looked at the barman who was clearing a few stray people away from the exit. "You saw it."

Then the weary looking barmaid arrived. "Is he ours, Steve?" she said to the bouncer.

"What's over there?" Robin said, pointing to the steel door at the edge of the corridor.

"That's a door," the barmaid said.

He soon found himself emptied out into the unprotected streets without his coat, wallet or phone.

*

An African woman with a carrier bag fell over just outside the tube station. Robin was listening to a hollow tune coming from the gated off entrance: "…the moon is high, and I don't see a thing in the sky…and I only have eyes for you…"

His mother used to sing this to him.

Penny Spellbound was trying to help the troubled woman into a sitting position on the ground.

Robin approached, and instantly regretted opening the top of the plastic bag next to the fallen woman. Inside, submerged in a dark pool of liquid was a tiny baby's face. He could see withered and bony legs and wondered why the skin was so rippled. He scrunched the top of the bag up very tight and left it beside her. Fluid leaked upwards on the pavement.

"I forgotten who the father is," the woman said, pushing her round wiry spectacles further up her nose. She seemed more concerned about her amnesia than anything else.

Feverish looking, worried faces were starting to congregate outside the tube station. Robin looked back to the main road.

"Let's get off the streets," he said.

Penny was as adrift as Robin. She sensed the danger, and silently accompanied him past a row of derelict black tower blocks on Southampton Road. There was no night transport now.

"Poor, sick lady," Penny said.

Robin appeared to be changing direction again as he tried to identify the nearby street names.

"Do you know where you're going?" she said.

"My brother lives nearby."

"Didn't you see me on stage? At The Healthy Fly?"

He looked over at the shadow she made on the low wall.

"I saw you," she said.

He was genuinely surprised she had noticed him. He introduced himself, giving her an awkward smile. They resumed en route along Southampton Road. He recognised the row of terraced houses.

"You didn't look very happy. Did you enjoy yourself?" she said.

"Best night of my life."

"You're being sarcastic. I can tell. You don't have to say you liked me or not – you don't have to. I invited some friends along but they'll say you're brilliant anyway, won't they?"

"I'm not sure about my brother's," Robin said. He was looking from one unlit high-rise to another. Then he saw something on the edge of the kerb.

"What is it?" she said.

He crouched down and picked up a small, rectangular-shaped piece of broken glass. He observed the way the amber light passed through it, like an expensive jewel.

"This?" he said.

She kept her eyes on the small, seemingly insignificant object.

"This is the beginning of the root of all evil."

His eyes were moist. He pictured the last time he watched his mother enter his shrouded bedroom. She shuffled in carrying the tray with the black and white illustration of the cat. She'd made him a sandwich: thick homemade bread, chicken and French mustard. She put the tray down shakily on top of the chest of drawers. Her skin was a dirty yellow colour.

"I don't think I'll be able to make your sandwiches anymore," she said.
She didn't mean to hurt him; she was genuinely broken-hearted because she couldn't cook for him again. These were her last words. She had been speaking about her dreams of Tiny Tim, the dead singer. It was strange how she dreamt he was some sort of angel. She was now ready for his visit; he would float towards her window one of these nights, bringing sunshine with him as he sung.

He couldn't stomach the food after seeing her. Tiny Tim came to her room the next morning. As the months past after her death the plate remained there, and the sandwich went bad.

They passed more pebble-dashed council houses. They didn't even look over at a broken bedroom window as fire and black smoke poured out. The flames were rising as they continued on to the next street.

He looked at her again and he wondered when she would form into her own shadow against the tall dark-stained wooden railings, and disappear into one of the parallel alleyways of the local Crystal Hill Estate.

"I want a chile burger with cheese," Penny said.

*

She pulled long strings of melted cheese from her mouth in the chip shop.

"They know all about good chile burgers here," she said.

She bought him a small portion of thin, dry chips, and they sat at the window. She turned her stool towards him when she noticed a lonely looking man outside staring at her openly through the window. He also picked his nose unselfconsciously. Penny was used to this.

"You're thinking about her all the time, aren't you?" she said. "You're not happy are you? You can use my phone."

"I have a feeling, if I do call her…" he trailed off. "The sad thing is, I can't remember her number."

"I really think you should go back to her. You really should. I mean it. I think you should go back to her and find her."

"I'm nearly home."

"Where do you live?"

"Up on Hattersley Road."

She wiped her hands and mouth with two white napkins. Then she took a small pencil from her shiny gold bag and started scribbling on another clean napkin. It looked like she was writing down a phone number, in case they parted. He looked at Penny's sparkling skirt, high up on her thighs. She folded the napkin up neatly and gave it to him.

"Put this in your pocket," she said.

*

"A couple more streets," he said, pointing at the old painted sign of the typewriter shop. "It's just on the tippy-toes of the estate," he said.

She laughed to herself. "Tippytoes." She started humming. He heard her singing that song, "And I only have eyes for you…"

It was possible that he may have misheard her. A luminous cloud appeared.

"It's raining," Penny said.

He recognised the strange, human ‘ohmmm' sound, like an approaching plane. Red and purple colours sprouted from above.

Penny instinctively buried her face in her hands.

"What's going on?" she said. She started bumping into the corrugated iron fence. He had to drag her away. Light bulbs flashed and burnt out in nearby houses; some street lamps flickered off and on as mist enveloped them.

"I want to go home," she moaned into her hands.

They sheltered under the desolate dual carriageway bridge. He brushed ash from her hair.

"I can't go home. My house – my real house – it's not the same. It's like it's invaded by aliens," she said.

They watched fiery droplets fall into a pool of dirty rainwater. Some of the sparks floated in the air. Robin brushed Penny's shoulder. He froze when she looked up at him. Her eyes were red.

"Put your arm around me," she said.

He clutched her arm. Suddenly everything seemed so simple.

"I like your shyness," she said.

The glass fragment had been cutting into his buttock so he took it out of his back pocket. He considered throwing it into the water. He handed it to her.

"It's an inexpensive gift. But thank you," she said.

Penny touched his face and kissed his cheek. She looked over his shoulder at a torn fly-poster showing hundreds of missing people. They waited quietly; holding each other, until they felt it was safe to go out again.

*

The strange pink and red cast had almost cleared, but now the rain was lashing down. There had been recent warnings about the dangers of rainwater. Robin's shirt and trousers were clinging to his heavy frame. He didn't care.

It can be easy. It's not all preordained, he thought.

They passed a chipped wall on the corner of his street. "A tiny dog jumped up and bit me on the lip here when I was four," he said.

Penny's walking pace was slowing down. Something was wrong. There was a clear upside-down human shadow on the front of his house. It seemed to disappear in small horizontal blocks. She was pretending to be strong, but her body was rigid.

He wanted to keep going, yet his eyes were fixed on the small smoke-stained window wedged into the brickwork on the upper floor. He could see the bathroom window was the same and his own bedroom window next to it; but there was a small window.

There was never a third window there.

The darkened excavated brickwork seemed an unstable looking construction.

He turned to Penny. "Why did you sing that song before?"

Suddenly, his small jaw looked tight and uneven. Red patches appeared on his plump white cheeks. She let go of his arm, letting the contaminated rain fall straight onto her unprotected face.

"Why did I sing what song?"

"How did you know my mum sang it to me?"

"Are you joking? What did your mum sing to you?"

A moving light caught his eye as something crossed the room upstairs. Penny didn't see it at first. She was near to the living room's parted curtains. She looked inside and could see thick dark flies hovering above the oranges near the windowsill. In the direct sodium streetlight the oranges appeared to be blue, dusty and grey in the pretty black and gold ceramic bowl.

She sobered up quickly and looked back to where Robin was standing. She remembered seeing someone next to him in the club. It could have been the spotlights leaving weird images on her eyeballs. But the cold atmosphere from the club had followed them home. The thing she saw in The Healthy Fly was always a few steps behind Robin, wherever he was; now the ‘familiar' was up there in the small window, with its head wrapped in something.

And Robin was definitely not the same person she had seen at the club.
He was captivated, watching the figure moving a silver torch through the dirty glass and then pointing it at her own body. Everything else was dark as the torchlight floated into her shiny bathrobe, showing her torso.

He wasn't aware of time passing as he watched. He suddenly wanted Penny to see this, but she was gone. He looked up and down the long street, suspecting she had gone back to the bridge or into one of the tall, winding alleyways for shelter. He could have tried to find her and explain, but he found himself approaching his front door.

*

Now he was more fearful than ever of the massive dips which had been forming in the floors. He avoided the widening pit in the living room. His mother warned him about the deep holes in the garden when he was a child: "They suck little boys under the earth."

He scratched the dusty grey orange with his sharp fingernail and the finger went inside. Steadying himself, as if in a capsizing ship, he started climbing the stairs. At the top of the landing he peered over the banister rail and counted the number of doors along the right side. It was a relief to find there was no third door, no new room in the weak light.

He looked into his mother's room next. There was the familiar small hill of dresses in the centre of the floor; more objects which seemed to exist only to make more sinister shadows, accumulated over the past half century.

His brother Morgan once said he would help with the massive task of sorting through their mother's possessions, but he was too preoccupied with his own problems. He'd been talking a lot about suicide and was very jumpy about newspapers. Robin shuddered at the thought of the assessments Morgan was undergoing with various doctors and experts, with their suggestions about moving his brother to a "place of safety."

He stepped into his own room and switched on the fringed lampshade near to his bed. The room was unoccupied. But the woman in the window had been so vivid.

What does the lamp know?

For every dark shadow in the room there seemed to be an even deeper crevice awaiting him. He looked at the stacked boxes of videotapes, the unread books, and the unfinished college course work as if for the first time.

Then he noticed the bed was not aligned to the wall as it had been when he left to go to The Healthy Fly earlier this evening. He checked the floor and there were light indentations on the carpet from the base of the bed, telling him that someone had shifted the end of the bedframe away from the wall by about three feet.

He turned on the radio, trying to revert to some sort of normality. There was a news report about escalating missile strikes. He took off his damp socks. His toes were sore. He needed to cut the nails, and see about his aching gums, and his bad breath. No wonder they deserted him. Ashley spent one night in this room. He remembered how she was startled out of her sleep, all disoriented.

"What are you doing?" she asked him.

"Watching."

He couldn't sleep that night. He loved her strong features. It was enough for him just to rest his lips on her closed eyelids. She was too beautiful for him - he knew it. He liked to tell her he could watch her even if his own face was on fire. He doubted that she'd do the same for him.

These thoughts brought the anger on: a chemical wash throughout his nerves. He was still feeling raw about tonight's events. Ashley was with Daniel now, he was certain. They were probably doing it right now. Like pigs in shit.

Looking outside, as wreathes of smoke clung to the distant street lamps he tried to pinpoint precisely where he was standing when he saw the extra window in the house. He wondered where Penny Spellbound was now. He liked the way she wanted to hold on to his arm. Her clothes were sparkling. Now she was out there like a lost animal.

The sodden napkin was still in his pocket. He held it out in his fingers. He grasped for ideas: how could he account for his behaviour if he ever did call her again? He could just make out the faint pencil marks Penny had written:

‘LOOK AT THE WALL YOU FUCKING BITCH' it said.

The bomb report continued as he turned to the closest wall, searching for an answer: but he just saw the same blue and white thin, striped pattern.

He switched off the radio. The wall moved. Or, maybe the bed moved?

His weight on the floorboards was drowning out all sound so he stood still for a moment.

It was coming from the wall. A long thin vertical indentation had appeared in the striped wallpaper. He ran his thumbnail down the long line, cutting into it. Then he followed the line up above his head and across. It was the shape of a door.

That familiar muffled tune was coming through the wall. His heart was beating fast as the paper stretched. Someone pushed again from within.
There was no noise or movement for a moment, so he took a biro from the nearby bookshelf and began stabbing downwards at the gap between the door and wall. He peeled off a small section of the wallpaper to reveal a more jarring and hypnotic dark red and green floral pattern underneath.

He used to run his hand over this pattern when he was a child; he thought the flowers looked like lady's dainty petticoats and dresses.

"Robin…"

She was calling him inside, just like when she used to call him off the street for his dinner.

Next to him, the black and green spots on the moulded sandwich on the top of the chest of drawers started to bubble. Robin flinched and vigorously attacked the outline of the door.

There was the slight hissing sound of a hand now, smoothing over the other side of the door. He had to step back. He realised he was a man with monsters; he had scabs and sores, and his food had scabs. He looked at the lacerated wallpaper, the human waste on the floor. There were moving things, crawling, in his house, and it was all kept too dark. Flies were reassembling around him every time he stood still.

The door was opening.

He understood why the bed had been repositioned earlier: it was to make room for the door to open out. Just enough space. He moved away quickly from the rotten food and the door as the flies jumped off him, louder and more agitated.

His mother entered. The light from the bedside lamp failed to reach her upper body properly. She was crooked as she shuffled over to the sandwich she had made for him. She lifted the tray and began to take it back to the haunted doorway. Colour was drained out of her completely.

He hadn't touched his food.

The faint "boom" sound from the street made him move away from the window and towards the doorway. He put his outstretched hand out first, then found he was actually too large to squeeze inside. Noisily, he shifted the bed back further and slipped through the doorway.

He could just about see her. She sat down on a wooden chair, and waited for him. She spread her legs wide apart. Her hair moved very slowly, independently of her own head.

His bedroom was through the black doorway far behind him; he could see the light from the fringed lamp.

He looked down at the frostbitten edges of his mother's fingers. She was drawing her gown apart showing grey, papery skin and lower down, he saw the frayed edges of her reinforced suspender belt. Black stockings were tied to the suspenders; they were damaged and loose, low down on her creased thighs. Even though he was bending back into his nightmares, he felt aroused.

There was a strong smell when he saw the long dark opening running from the crest of her thin elongated breasts down to the middle of the abdomen. It was surrounded by black hair. She opened her arms and drew him closer to this strange opening.

She gave birth to me. Is rebirth possible? Is she really dead? Does the tree die first or the banana on the tree die?

Unlike with Ashley, there was no electric shock when he touched her. There was no stress, or fear. Sex with Ashley had been like trying to break a dog's neck, always a strain. And he had to admit: he felt nothing when he was with Ashley; it was just flesh and bones. She must have felt the same way, barely moving her lips or head, or changing her expression when they kissed.

As poisonous bursts of colour filled the night skies he felt safe now. He had been a part of her body at one time, and now he felt their organs should become one. He knew he was only ever going to be a mere extension of her and he was only a pale shadow. He was never going to survive without her.

Colour bombs landed in his old bedroom in a pink and purple gas attack. Men were crying and screaming in the street. The shaky brick walls that had divided him from this third room were about to bring down this crumbling old house forever.

He gently lifted her from the hard chair and onto the cold floor. She showed him her cut and bloody tongue and rolled it around provocatively. Through her moving hair he smelt his own lingering saliva. He held her tightly as he merged with her. Smoke enveloped them.

"I can love. I can love," he said to her.

He knew he was going to stay there. Maybe this was where his little story would begin.

THE END

Copyright © Paul Synnott 31.5.12