Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 1

Part 1
Chapter 1
Ramsgate

A gleaming dove-grey Jaguar slid into the shabby row of Victorian terraced four-storey
houses. Not all of South-Eastern Road was shabby. There were some fine modern buildings
in amongst the larger, older ones that had not been converted into cheap flats. They had
owners with mortgages who cared about them and spent their disposable income on their
upkeep. The Jaguar pulled up outside one of the older and shabbier of the Victorian terraced
four-storey houses, where it looked the most unlikely to belong. Its engine hummed
expensively to silence.
The occupants of the house may have been living proof that dilapidation starts from
within, but the girl who stepped so gracefully from the expensive car, who seemed so at home
with the style it implied, appeared unbothered by its lowly aspect. Her few steps to its front
door were as precise and measured as her knock upon it.
She seemed so out of place standing there. The fresh perfection of her makeup, the
soft rippling waterfall of gold hair that fell down her back almost to her tiny waist, the tasteful
addition of accessories that enhanced and contrasted her figure-revealing black leather skirt
cut just above her knee, black lace stockings and black suede stilettos, the simplicity of black
angora of the sweater cutting a wide arc from shoulder to shoulder: all were paradox to the
front door this girl knocked upon. Small as she was, she seemed a gem of perfection, out of
time, and definitely out of place, where she now stood.
Moments later her knock was answered by a woman who was indeed living proof of
inner dilapidation.
“Hello Maggy!” she said cheerfully as the woman peered suspiciously round the door.
“Is Gerry in?”
“No! He’s--”
“Shame. I’ve got something I think he might have liked.”
The woman, middle aged and more haggard than her years, appeared as sharp as a
hawk at the words of the other. The girl, not waiting for the reply, simply stepped inside the
door, forcing the woman to move backwards along the passageway as she did and shut the
door behind her, answering the unspoken question in the older woman’s eyes.
“I think you might like it too, Maggy.”
There was no surprise in response to the girl’s actions, or words. More a greedy relish
of inevitability, which had not escaped the girl’s notice. She smiled knowingly at the back of
the woman as she followed her into the house.
She let the woman lead her up a badly decorated flight of stairs and along another
passageway, dimly lit and stale smelling, before entering a sitting room at its end. Here the
girl confidently seated herself in an old leather armchair, the knowing smile still on her lips,
unconcerned that no more words had yet been spoken, expecting none.
“Got a nice bit o’ powder you might like to try, Maggy,” she said smoothly.
“I didn’t think you’d come ‘ere to score done up like that!” The other woman’s voice
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 2

was thick with sarcasm and loathing. “Wha’ d’you want wi’ Gerry now then?”
“Turn ‘im on to a nice bit ‘o powder, that’s all. Maybe go for a drink? You know, for
old time’s sake. Why? D’you object?”
“Why should I? He only lives ‘ere. Not up to me what ‘e does.”
“Here! Get this up yer nose an’ tell me what you think.” She slid a small mirror out of
her handbag, and with a little silver spoon tipped a small mound of white powder onto it. She
handed it to the other woman with the same tiny curve of her mouth that expressed anything
but a desire to please.
Every dog has its day, she said to herself as she watched this hag-like woman trying to
keep the greed out of her actions and the powder inside the five pound note, now rolled up
and pressed to each nostril in turn, as it ate the substance on the mirror. The envy, she knew,
would be almost tangible, once the goods had been snorted.
“Gerry shouldn’t be long, as it goes. You gonna wait for ‘im?”
“Only as long as it takes to drink a cup o’ tea. Then I’ll disappear, an’ you can tell ‘im
what ‘e missed.”
“Pretty sure ‘e’ll want to see you, ain’t ya?”
“I can always be sure o’ Gerry. You gotta admit he’s nothing if not predictable.” There
was still the same knowing little smile on her lips.
“Predictably what? Un-fuckin’-reliable?” Did her reaction contain more bitterness
and letdown than she intended? Was this powder that good, already?
The girl laughed inwardly to herself, glad that she was no longer a participant in this
game of cat and mouse, just a spectator with a desire to be entertained. And this was
entertaining.
“Oh, he’s reliable enough, when the payment’s right.”
“I’ll make some tea, shall I, seein’ as you hinted so subtly?”
“Cheers.”
She felt the discomfort in the woman’s voice, felt the unspoken accusation hanging in
the atmosphere between them, and respected this woman’s pride in not voicing her chagrin
aloud. There was no need to speak, each knew the other’s mind. It was all part of the
masquerade, the keeping up of appearances.
The older woman left the room with dignity but reached her kitchen seething with
rancour. What does that bitch wanna come flaunting her prosperity round ‘ere for? As if I
don’t ‘ave enough problems of me own! And to come armed with that big bag o’ powder, too!
Bloody cheek of it! It’s good, though, damned good. The internal dialogue calmed her
frazzled nerves until all that fuelled her was the question, where’d she get whizz that good? Do
I swallow me pride an’ ask, or just hope she tells me anyway? Yeah, as if. Gerry, where the
hell are you, ya bastard. Never around when yer needed! Jus’ wish I ‘adn’t bin so ‘igh an’
mighty with ‘er las’ time she came to score off of me.
The sound of another engine outside brought her out of these ramblings, and, just as
they had done earlier, the sagging eyes became hawklike with precipitate gain once again,. A
car door slammed and she breathed a sigh of relief as the front door opened.
“Gez! Here!” Her voice a rasped whisper from the kitchen at the other end of the
passageway.
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 3

“Wha’s the matter?” He sounded more irritated than curious.

“Elaine’s here!”
“What?”
“Shut up an’ listen! She’s got some blinding powder. Don’t leave ‘er side ‘til you find
out where she gets it from! I’ll ... we’ll make a sodding fortune from these prats round ‘ere
with that. I’m telling you,” she continued, thinking out loud. “I could cut it double an’ double
again an’ they’d still get off on it more’n the stuff I’ve had lately. Don’t leave ‘er side now, you
hear me?”
“You’re a sly bitch, Maggy.” His contempt was unmasked. “If I stick by ‘er it’ll be
because I want to. Not that it sounds such a bad idea.” The glint in his eye was as greedy as
hers, but maybe for different reasons.
The girl, still upstairs in the living room, laughed again to herself as she heard the clink
of cups on a tray being carried upstairs. She knew almost word for word how the
conversation in the kitchen would have proceeded since she had seen Gerry arrive and heard
the front door closing behind him. Predictable, always so predictable. She could play them,
like living chess pieces, so easily. The game was almost too easy to be fun, but it was the end
result that would be so satisfying, surely.
Maggy entered the room bearing the tray, Gerry close on her heels.
“You’re in luck! The wanderer’s returned.” She looked askance at him, willing him
not to let her down.
“Orright!” It was a statement rather than a question. He hadn’t seen her for almost
two years, yet he seemed to accept this meeting with a strange sense of the inevitable, no
element of surprise in his demeanour at all.
Perhaps there genuinely was no surprise. No! She knew better. The motivation of
personal gain overrode the element of surprise. This was a man seasoned with the dirt of the
gutter, and gutters held no surprises, only other rats, and with every one the opportunity to
exploit them. Survival took many different paths, but in the gutter none were decorated with
surprise, only cold calculation. Yes, reliable enough when the payment’s right, she thought.
“Wanna line?” She already had what she knew he’d want, ready and waiting in her bag.
“Silly question I suppose!”
“Got any works? I’m all out.”
“Even better. Here’s one I prepared earlier.” She flourished it with a big smile. “I’ve
always wanted to say that.”
“Don’t change, do you Elaine? Always know the right way to a man’s heart.” He took
it from her hand and quickly emptied the contents into his vein.
She watched him closely as the rush from the concoction in the syringe hit him,
knowing how good it was making him feel, savouring her own thoughts. Some people were so
gullible it was unbelievable. You could give them water in a syringe and they’d get off on it.
But this had more than just plain water in it. Oh, yes, she thought, a lot more.
He bent over double, gagging as he did so, then straightened up again, eyes very wide
and bright, laughing roundly. “Fuck me! That’s good powder! Ain’t had nothin’ like that in
years!”
“Fancy a drink?”
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 4

“You bet, babe!”

She cringed at this term of endearment he tagged onto his reply so glibly. So, all the
love is not yet dead, she thought. He could still get to her. She’d have to do something about
that, stick up another defensible barrier better able to keep him out.
“You coming, Maggy?” She offered the older woman the choice, knowing she’d refuse.
It wasn’t part of the game for her to accept, they both knew it.
“No. You two go together. You must have a lot to talk about.” The sarcasm was
barely contained behind powder-induced integrity.
“Make sure you bring the bag,” Gerry quipped, giving Maggy a crafty wink.
As if I’d go anywhere near you without it, she thought. Only, there were three bags,
and all for his pleasure, each containing a different substance.
“Plenty more where that came from,” she answered, leaving a wrap on the table as she
smiled that knowing smile again at Maggy.
The bitch, Maggy thought, as she watched the two of them leave the room. What’s she
up to? She’s cleverer by far than she ever makes out! Scheming little tart. But as she heard
Gerry shout goodbye from the front door her mind was on other things entirely. Must ‘ave
another line o’ that powder though. Wonder where the hell she gets it? Do yer stuff on ‘er,
Gez.

Chapter 2
On the Road

“You ain’t doin’ so bad then!” Again stated rather than questioned, envy displaced by
ignorant pride. “Where we goin’?”
“Thought you might like a drive in a beautiful car.”
“Yeah, why not. Nice piece o’ machinery, this.”
The girl smoothly manoeuvred the Jaguar out of the shabby surroundings of
South-Eastern Road where it looked every bit the temporary visitor it was. She drove along
London Road where neatly tended grass verges, long lavish gardens, and dark timber beams
belonging to large luxurious houses were more in keeping with her kind of style now.
She watched him, his reactions reflected in a carefully positioned wing mirror, as she
drove through Lord of the Manor and out of Ramsgate. She saw the envy etched into his face
plain as day and smiled to herself as the car sailed on past Manston airport’s long grassy
plateau. He may well be a past master at hiding his feelings face to face, but even his practiced
duplicity couldn’t hide from her mirror. The car seemed to sing with satisfaction as she
opened it up once they were on the Thanet Way and bound for the motorway.
First phase down, like clockwork, she thought. This is turning out to be fun. How
about a little conversation to lengthen the odds of predictability? Give the hare a fair chance
of eluding capture quite so conclusively.
“You could’ve written while I was inside, you know.”
“How did I know where you were?”
“Not exactly hard to find out. Grapevine an’ all that.”
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 5

“Well, you know me, Elaine, not exactly a letter writer.”

“Considering how I looked after you all the time you were away, I would’ve thought--”
“You know how it is. Got any more o’ them little babies done up, babe?”
Getting edgy now, eh? Can’t take the guilt, so opt out of it! Same old story. She’d
heard it a thousand times. If the powder was right Gerry was there. If not, then elsewhere,
where it was. Nothing else mattered. The man’s obsession for a bag of powder lent
predictability to his nature like air lent life to his body, a speedfreak first and foremost.
“Yeah,” she answered. “I’ll stop at the next pub.”
“I can shoot it while we’re driving.”
“I don’t doubt that, but I wanna drink!”
“Ok, good idea.”
She turned off the motorway between Ashford and Maidstone, taking a country road
through some of Kent’s prettiest scenery. Time for a more calculated strike at his heart.
“Remember this road, Gez? Last time I drove down this way was in a pixie van from
Holloway to Ramsgate Magistrates. Time before that? Well, I think it was some time in ’84.”
“November!”
“You must have a better memory than me.”
“Blowin’ a gale, it was, an’ the bonnet on that big Rover flapping about in the breeze
where you smacked it.” He laughed at the memory of her once rotten driving. “Can’t say I’m
sorry you learnt ‘ow to drive.”
“It was you. You made me so damned nervous all the time, I never knew what I was
about.”
“The powder, more like. You was off yer box on it, an’ don’t say you wasn’t.” He was
still laughing. He looked good when he laughed.
“You weren’t exactly straight most of the time yourself.”
“Look!” He pointed out of the window at a light in the darkening gloom. “That’s the
garage we stopped at to tie the bonnet back down.”
“Yeah, the one where you nearly put brake fluid in the steering column. Tell me you
wasn’t off yer ‘ead then!”
“I wasn’t. It was that idiot bloke there givin’ me duff info.”
“If you say so.” She too was laughing now.
She pulled the Jag in at the next pub, making it seem a random choice rather than the
result of calculated planning it really was, using her mirror to gauge his reaction once more.
She thought she saw just a flicker of nostalgia pass across his face before he repelled the
indulgence with any distraction he could find.
“This car got sounds?”
“Yeah. I’ll stick a tape on when we come back,” she said, snapping the seatbelt from its
catch and stepping out onto a gravel path.
“How d’you lock this thing?” He was studying the door, desperate for further
distraction.
“You don’t! It’s central locking.”
“S’pose it would be.” He sounded more irritated than impressed as he tried to settle
the turmoil that was beginning to churn up inside him.
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 6

Oh, yes. The pub was definitely more than just any old pub.

* * *

While Gerry was in the gents, shoving what he thought was very good speed up his arm, she
wondered if he would remember his promise. Four years ago, almost to the day, they’d come
to this pub. It was etched vividly into her memory as a little bit of something good in an
altogether bad world, like ointment to her battle wounds. He’d promised to take her back
there. It had been closed that day at only six o’clock, but to her it had looked so enchanting in
a white painted olde worlde, wonderfully romantic way, with pretty little fairy lights strung up
on the whitewashed walls. An illusion in their odd reality. The disappointment that night
had seemed only to reflect all her other disappointments. He had never taken her back there.
Is there any room for remorse in your heart Gerry Fletcher? If there is I’ll find it. But,
ironically, she’d given him the one thing guaranteed to shake loose any lingering grains of
contrition from consciousness and bury them so deep in his emotional graveyard that they’d
not see the light of day for quite some time. Just as ironically, he wouldn’t be here if the
powder wasn’t. Ah well, she thought, at least it lengthens the odds and intensifies the
challenge. Swings and roundabouts. The thought receded as she watched him approach the
bar from the door to the gents, wiping his mouth on a piece of brightly coloured bog roll. So
elegant, Gez, always so elegant. If only you knew what I’ve got in store for you.
“Jesus! I feel wonderful.”
“You been sick?”
“Only a bit. Fuck me, but tha’s some good stuff.”
“What you drinking?”
“Pint o’ Stella, babe. “Ere, gimme the money! Don’t look right the bird paying.”
She handed him a twenty pound note, with that knowing smile back on her lips as she
prepared to continue watching his reactions.
“An’ I’ll have a Perrier water please.”
She watched as he handed the money over to the barman, eyes shining brightly, all
confidence and smiles. She watched as he glanced at the change in his hand and then slipped
the tenner into his pocket and led her over to the fruit machine.
“Might as well make use o’ this,” he said, feeding the remaining coins into the slot.
“C’mon, I’ll win you a fortune if you’ll be my lucky mascot, babe.”
She knew there was absolutely no logical basis for the way she felt. The man was a
loser, worse, he was a predatory loser. So, why the fuck do I still feel so attracted to you. She
thought a whole host of thoughts in the split second it took her to react as if his proposal were
the most exciting offer she’d had in years. After all, it suited her purpose to let him think he
was calling the tune. At one time it had been that way. It might be different now, but only for
as long as it escaped his notice. But couldn’t you be just a little less predictable, Gez?
“We never did come back here, did we?” She noticed a split second’s panic on his face
as she began the conversation she knew he dreaded.
“Well, you know how it is, Elaine. Time gets away from ya.” He stuck the last of the
coins in the fruit machine then steered her towards an empty table by a window. The touch of
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 7

his hand in the small of her back sent little involuntary shivers up her spine. She tried to
ignore them.
Why were you such a complete fuckhead that day? That’s what she really wanted to
ask, but the game had rules if she wanted it to turn out her way, and putting him on the spot
was not what was called for. Subtlety and a cool head were what she needed, so she rephrased
the question in her mind before it reached the point of no return. “You never could be ready
on time, could you, Gez?”
“Well, like I said--”
“Yeah, I know, time gets away from you. How much time d’you think got away from
me while I was planning for it not to? Here, I’ll tell you. Whole nights sometimes. Then
you’d just ruin it all the next day by making maddening demands, doin’ too much powder and
gettin’ off your head, so we never got anything done an’ ended up driving around the
countryside gettin’ lost. An’ then you’d go blaming me when it all went tits up on us an’ we
were back where we started, with nothing to show for it.” She might be laughing, but he knew
when a woman’s hysteria should be heeded. “I’m not sorry I don’t have to shoplift to order
any more. What was it we called it?”
“Rip an’ reef. You was very good at it, as I remember,” he chanced, hoping to score at
least some points.
“No, Gez, I was good at the refunding without receipts bit, but only because I looked
less like a speedfreak than you and could string a whole sentence together in decent English,
you know, like normal people. Those refund desk assistants would’ve hit the alarm button if
you’d gone anywhere near their tills. You were good at the ripping bit, as I remember, until
you lost your bottle.”
“I never did,” he laughed.
“No? Always the inherent problems of amphetamine abuse with you. Always.”
“Where were we goin’ that day?” He was deflecting, trying to steer her aspersions in
another direction, like away from him. “And please answer me in a language I understand.”
“Oh, ha-ha,” she laughed. “I’ll ignore that. Maidstone, Gez, that was where we were
going. Big shopping centre. Good pickings. Only it never worked out that way, did it?
Especially when you took the wrong turning on the way there an’ led us out here to the middle
o’ bloody nowhere. And how cruelly did you rebuke me on the way home for your mistakes?”
She pointed her finger a lot, he noticed, although technically she was still laughing.
“Nah, not me, Elaine. You’re mixin’ me up wi’ some other nutter,” he quipped,
hoping to keep the mood out of the argumentative range.
“I know it’s not a lot, but I don’t wanna lose what little we got,” she sang. He looked
puzzled, then it clicked.
“Alison Moyet.”
“That was what was playing when you shouted at me an’ said all those horrible things.”
“How d’you remember stuff like that?”
“Hard not to. You said some really cruel things an’ it was playing in the background
while you were sayin’ ‘em. Mostly I remember thinking that there wasn’t a lot left to lose, an’
wonderin’ how much more I could take. You said we’d stop at the next pub. But it was
closed. Then you went an’ promised me we’d come back one day when it wasn’t. This was
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 8

the pub.”
“I’m sorry, babe. Really I am.”
Now she wondered how much the big bag of powder in her handbag was in there
doing the talking for him. Now that she didn’t need to hear him say that stuff any more, it
really didn’t matter. “Not necessary, Gez. Over an’ done now. No goin’ back, is there?” She
paused to cause an awkward moment just for dramatic effect, looked around her at the
interior design of the pub, then continued. “Well, we came back here one day, after all, didn’t
we Gez.”

Chapter Three
Charlton (A Few Surprises)

I want you, I need you, but there ain’t no way I’m ever gonna love you... The words of the song
haunted his memory as they sped along through the Maidstone countryside. Images flashed
by in abstract ...
Their first arrest had been in Folkestone. He remembered how naive she’d been, really
green to the ways of the law, but still managed to keep him out of the picture. Seven days in
custody they’d been. Sweating in separate, stuffy cells, with only minutes together each day in
a tiny, high-walled courtyard the custody sergeant called an exercise yard. Cheques this time,
not shop-lifting, TDA or burglary as his previous form had always been. For her it had meant
a blotted copy-book of unblemished record.
Should’ve stuck to lifting, he had thought at the time. But she had been so damned
good at those cheques, like she’d been writing them all her life. And it had made him feel so
good watching her, knowing that it had all been for him, that he’d had her just where she
could benefit him most. And how pleasant it had been for a while to give his love, truly, to
this material angel. But the old insecurity, the doubts that giving his love had always wracked
him with, had soon returned to plague him, violence and viciousness adding to the ugliness he
felt inside.
“Where have you been? Three days! I was so worried that you’d never come back.”
Her face had been tear-stained as she lay there on the bed, waiting for him, on her own.
“I’m sorry, babe,” he’d said, and maybe he’d even meant it at the time. “I bin leaving
you alone too much. I’ll try to change.”
Then they’d gone to the cop-shop to sign, as their bail conditions required. The flat
was in Effingham Street, conveniently just behind the police station. Snow lay thick on the
ground and they’d been running, sliding, throwing snowballs at each other, hiding, dodging
and falling over. Just like normal people did. There’d been an empty shop, he remembered,
that he’d been sizing up to break into later, but he’d hurled the thought from his mind and
replaced it with a new one. “No, babe. For you I’ll go straight this time. Maybe we’ll even get
a little shop of our own, an’ run it together.” He’d caught her as she slipped in the slush, held
her as she looked up at him, breathless and laughing. “I will, babe, honest. I promise you.”
That look of sheer delight and relief in her face had told him all he needed to know.
Then came their second arrest, in Canterbury this time. He’d forced her almost to the
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 9

point of brutality to write cheques she didn’t want to write, just because he’d wanted her to.
What had it all been for? Was it absolute proof of her love that he’d needed?
Hell, who knows? Maybe she’s right, he thought, as Meat Loaf continued to fill his
ears, maybe I was off me ‘ead. She dropped me right in it that time though. Two bloody
years-worth, an’ no parole. Yeah, the car’s got good sounds alright. Why’d she have to put
that track on though?
The speed of the car, the speed in his system, much better than he was used to,
combined with the music, all crowded his mind. Thoughts were whirlpooling themselves into
distorted images of shadowy truths. But always this calm undercurrent of complete control.
That’s some good powder, he thought, relaxing into total enjoyment of its effects, still
unaware of the careful placing of the wing mirror in which she watched.
She watched his rugged, manly face, nose a little too large, perfect jaw with the one
day’s growth he always seemed to have, eyes so penetratingly blue under wild, dark, wavy hair
that curled out so bewitchingly where it touched his collar. She watched them all,
remembering how on occasions, when he’d let her, she’d brush his hair back off his forehead
where it fell so naturally. He looked like a film star whose name she could never remember,
and she would laugh as he ruffled it all up again, not wanting to look like anyone other than
himself. Vanity she could never accuse Gerry of. He seemed unconscious of his impact on
women to the point of ignorance. Never exploiting his potential with good clothes, he always
preferred the baggy sweatshirt and blue jeans look of the clothes he wore now. He stooped
just enough to reduce the appearance of his true six foot, and carried himself in an oddly
suspicious, almost nervous way, as if he’d rather be on his way to somewhere else. And the
way he constantly darted looks this way and that gave him the appearance of perpetually
awaiting someone’s arrival, like he expected a squad car to be following them. It was just the
effects of the speed, always had been, that and his previous extensive entanglements with the
boys in blue, that made him look like he was imminently ready to do a runner at a second’s
notice. Fifteen years-worth of speed-induced encounters, she concluded, trying not to fall
into those blue, blue eyes.
Bat Out of Hell wound to a nostalgic end.
“Elaine, where we goin’?”
“London! Light us a fag please, Gez.”
He took two Rothmans’ from a packet on the dashboard, trying to look unimpressed
with the solid gold case of her lighter. Passing her the lit cigarette, he kept seemingly careless
hold of the lighter, flicking the cap distractedly back and forth, before pocketing it alongside
the tenner placed there so deviously earlier on. If he hoped she hadn’t noticed, he was wrong,
but this was neither the time nor the place to disillusion him. Oh no! There’d be time enough
for that later.
“So, wha’s in London, then?”
“Jus’ thought you’d like a change of scenery. And I live there. Any objections?”
She came off the motorway, heading for the South-East of London, Charlton.
“Almost there. Good timing. Only took an hour and a half, if you don’t count the
time we spent in the pub.”
“Yeah, it would be. You was hittin’ well over a ton back there on the motorway.”
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 10

“Worried?”
“Nah, not me. Jam sandwiches might o’ bin though.”
“Didn’t see any. Did you?”
“Lucky, tha’s all.”
“Since when you been worried about traffic coppers, anyway?” Since you been green
with envy over this little baby, she thought, giving the steering wheel an unnecessary little
flourish with her left hand as she rolled it to take the corner she was heading for. She let it
spin through her fingers to straighten up, conscious of his eyes upon her.
The ivy-covered church on the corner of St John’s Park looked big and imperious,
flood-lighting raised the gravestones so they stood out in relief like crooked teeth around its
edges. On each side of the winding avenue trees framed in neat grass verges, separating the
road from tall hedges, gave an aspect of august formality to an exclusive suburb.
“Well, here we are!”
If he was expecting the kind of place he was used to, again, he was wrong,
monumentally wrong! He caught glimpses of the bigger houses, hiding behind their green
limits and standing in their own gravel driveways, quickly estimating their market worth and
almost choking on his cigarette, as she drove slowly past them. He could just make out the
smaller, semi-detached houses still almost out of sight around a wide bend in the road and
assumed she would keep going towards these. She turned into a gap between the hedges long
before all the big houses ran out.
The Jaguar did not look out of place in the driveway it ground to a halt in this time!
Opulence ran a close battle between car and surroundings now. The house, gabled on one
side, bay-fronted on the other, won out. Dark timbered and red-bricked, with a wide
mahogany door, it created an appearance of wealth that stunned. His jaw was on the floor.
“This is home?” There was no mask of duplicity on his face now.
“Yeah. Makes a change from boring old Ramsgate, doesn’t it?”
“You ain’t wrong.”
“Just hope Jimbo’s got the kettle on. I’m dry as a ... oh well, never mind what I’m as
dry as. You comin’ in? Or staying here with your tongue hanging out?”
“Jimbo?” Surprise was the only mask he wore now.
“Yeah. He’s sort of a butler-cum-minder, if there is such a thing. Can’t leave a place
like this unminded, can you now?”
“S’pose not. But--”
“Save ‘em, Gez. Plenty o’ time for questions later. The only ‘but’ you need worry
about is the dogs.
“Dogs?” More surprises by the second!
“I wish you’d stop repeating everything I say. Makes you sound like a parrot.” She
was enjoying this. “Yes, the dogs! Belle and Sebastian. Original, eh? They’re supposed to be
guard-dogs, but if you ask me I don’t think they’d know what to do with an intruder if one hit
‘em in the face with a crowbar. Soon enough know if they like you.”
Worried...he thought...am I worried? To hell I am! But, Jesus, I could do with another
line! All the resolve he needed was hidden in a little plastic bag somewhere in her handbag.
Sure he wasn’t worried. Just as far as that bag went, so far would he go! Dogs with an identity
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 11

crisis, he told himself, or alligators in the snow, what’s in that bag is worth the risk.
As she opened the door two mean-looking Rottweilers bounded across the hall
towards her, yelping excitedly, slipping on their rumps on diagonal black and white check
flagstones as they came to a stop at her feet. They jumped up at her, then stood stock still,
growling, as they spotted a stranger.
She’s on a windup, he thought. These brutes’d make mincemeat of the SAS, never
mind one burglar! Sooner ‘ave the alligators!
“Down, Belle! Down, Sebastian! There’s good doggies.” She patted each of them and
turned to him. “They like you.”
“Yeah? Looks that way!” He was not convinced. “Then why are they growling like
that?”
“You haven’t shown ‘em you’re friendly, that’s why! Give ‘em each a pat on the head
an’ they’ll shut up. They’re very much like men in that respect, just say the right things an’
they respond. Only they’re a bit cleverer than most men.” If this was intended as a dig at his
intelligence, it worked, in that it went completely unnoticed. She laughed.
Subtlety was lost on him, and he figured she was laughing at his nervous attempts to
placate the monstrous brutes. She knew he hated dogs. Maggy knew he hated dogs, but she
still kept one of these mealy-mouthed monsters too. Was there no getting away from them?
Why couldn’t people just keep cats? He’d been bitten by one of these rabid creatures when
he’d burgled one of those big houses along the London Road and disturbed it. He’d never got
over the shock. The law never got over laughing, and he couldn’t remember what was worse,
being pinned to his crime scene or the constant jibes every time he’d been arrested since.
“See? They’re quiet now.”
“Yeah. Nice doggies,” he said, continuing to pat them as one would a stick of gelignite
on a lit fuse.
“Jimbo!” she shouted. “His name’s James really, but I think it sounds daft, too formal
like,” she said, more softly and from behind her hand.
As if these two canine terrors weren’t enough, he now had to face this Jimbo as well,
and he turned out to be anything but a bouncer for Mothercare. He was built like a winner of
the World's Strongest Man! Hands the size of footballs, and size twelve boots for sure. What
was this place she lived in? A menagerie for Britain’s unwanted ogres, or what?
“Jimbo!”
“Yes, Miss?”
“I’m back.”
“I can see that, Miss.”
“And I’ve brought an old friend.”
“I can see that too, Miss.”
“This is Gerry.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, looking anything but. “Shall I make some tea, Miss?”
“I thought you’d never ask. We’ll be upstairs in the drawing room.” The tension of
this brief exchange broken at last, she added further instructions, with a conspiratorial smile
she knew Gerry wouldn’t see. “And could you sort Belle and Sebastian out too, Jimbo? Much
as I love them, I don’t want them following me around like they’re lost at the moment.”
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 12

“Yes, Miss.” No smile in return, just a butler’s expressionless care to duty, deadpan
and obedient. “I’ll bring the tea up presently, Miss.”
“You’re a darling!”
“If you say so, Miss.” And with that he caught hold of two collars and disappeared
somewhere into the back of the house.
At last Gerry could feel at ease to take stock of his surroundings, over and above the
diagonal chessboard cut in marble upon which he had been standing since entering the house.
Under normal circumstances he had a good eye for assessing what he would refer to as a haul,
quickly placing antiques and mentally evaluating with enviable precision. But then under
normal circumstances any evaluation would more than likely preclude theft!
The mahogany of the front door continued into the hall, panelling and doors alike,
making it difficult for him to distinguish one from the other, until he noticed the antique
moulding fashioned into the frames of the doors. A hall such as this, created from the finest
raw materials that nature could provide a craftsman with, needed only the barest of
adornment to offset it. Just one carefully chosen painting. He couldn’t immediately recognise
the artist. It wasn’t a work by one of the more famous painters. But he could instantly detect
that it was quality, that it hung alone on the panelling facing the the entrance to the house for
a tailored effect. Nor could he appreciate the rich palette of colours, ochres and siennas,
vermillions and scarlets, the many vivid shades of green, that blended with the red darkness of
mahogany, that contrasted the stark black and white of the chequered marble floor. He could
never fully experience this richness of texture and hue as anything more than his endless
shades of grey. But even the colour blindness of monochrome vision didn’t hinder him in
estimation of how much this creation of richness and taste must have cost. A staircase with
every step rodded in brass and finished with tiny fleur-de-lis finials, promised to take him to
the rest of the house. And take him quickly. Elaine was already halfway up it and beckoning
him to follow.
“Come on, I wanna get by the fire, where it’s warm!”
Yeah, an’ I wanna line o’ that powder in your bag, he thought. The thought pushed
out any further plans for evaluation this side of another hit.

Chapter Four
How Strange is Love?

A high-end hi-fi played at a comfortable volume, Aztec Camera caressing rather than
bombarding his ears as Meat Loaf had done in the car. He liked the peace. In the car there
had been no possibility of conversation without shouting, and although he wasn’t much of a
talker he did have needs that he wanted to communicate.
An open fire warmed him, its heat penetrating to the bones. He felt composed and
relaxed, a feeling so alien to him that it caused him discomfort. He wanted what was in her
bag to counteract it.
“Gi’s a line, Elaine?” He shouldn’t have to ask, he thought. But a lot of water had
passed under both their bridges since he considered it her duty to feed him the stuff without
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 13

prompt.
He remembered another night he’d had to ask. One of the last nights he’d spent in
that flat of hers he always liked so much. The one with sea views from three of its rooms and
loads of space in all of them ...
“I shouldn’t have to ask!” he’d said indignantly.
“Yeah? An’ I shouldn’t have to give. I gotta sell this stuff, y’ know.”
“Like one line’s gonna hurt so much.”
“One line here, one line there, an’ before I know it you’ve done a quarter o’ my profits
an’ I gotta nick stuff just to pay for it. An’ wha’ d’you ever give me, besides a headache?”
“Used to give you plenty when we was at Effingham Street. Forget that did ya?”
“No, Gerry. We worked together, remember? That was just sharing the profits. An’
we both did time for it. Things are different now. Since you bin out you ain’t lifted a finger to
help me with anything, an’ still you expect me to be the kind o’ mug I was back then.”
“Well, I’ll be out yer way soon. Then ya won’ ‘ave to worry, will ya?”
“An’ how many times’ve I heard that story, I wonder?”
“Jus’ bin waitin’ to find somewhere, tha’s all.”
“Oh, an’ I suppose you ‘ave now then?”
“Yeah! Matter o’ fact I ‘ave.” Why did she always have to be so damned direct, makin’
me tell lies like that?
He remembered the thoughts he’d had at the time, thoughts he hadn’t liked that had
made him do things he liked even less. You bitch, if you wasn’t always on the point of
providing me with all my pleasures, if you wasn’t so good at earning, I wouldn’t’ve sat back an’
enjoyed it all, wouldn’t’ve got lazy. An’ maybe, jus’ maybe I’d’ve ‘ad the bottle to earn a little
bit here ‘n’ there meself. It’s your fault! You made me lazy! Made me dependent on you. An’
now you don’t like it. Wha’ d’you want from me? Blood? And when he thought them,
usually when he’d been up for three days on the powder or those little yellow pills, they made
him react, violently.
“Gez, all I ever wanted was your love, and it took me three years too long to figure out
that you haven’t got any to give. Now I don’t wanna look for it any more. All I am to you is a
meal ticket, an’ I ain’t havin’ no more of it. Sooner you’re gone, sooner I can get my life back
together.”
Ah well, he’d thought, all good things must come to an end, I s’pose. But this one had
been the best of all and he’d been sorry to lose her. Maybe there had been some love there
somewhere, but how the hell was he supposed to learn how to show it, when he’d spent most
of his adult life inside?
He’d followed her around for weeks after that, trying to figure out how to get her back,
not really knowing how. Then eventually she’d run off to break his best mate out of a
maximum security prison in Suffolk. Of course, it’d all ended in tears, as well as back behind
bars, but then most things Millsy had a hand in did. What had he turned her into? She’d
been so straight when he’d met her. So perfect, almost.
And she seemed so together again now. It never occurred to him to ask why. Why
she’d visited him with her huge bag of powder and ready prepared hits just for him. Why
she’d brought him back to this amazingly expensive house in her very luxurious car.
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 14

As she put a spoon under a heavy alabaster ashtray to anchor it firmly, she too was
remembering. The table was long and low, dark wood with a map of the world embossed in
gold on leather across its length. She liked to look into this map. It conjured up pleasant
fantasies in her head of exotic places, with its rich gold outlines bold against the darkness of
wood and leather, kind of Arabian Nights meets James Bond, with her as the latest Bond girl.
It made her dream of such things as driving across the desert in a powder blue Corniche,
perhaps to save a starving nation, or an Arab prince, fallen among cut-throats and bandits
who held him hostage, seem more real. But tonight there was only one very real thought, and
the memories that made its creation necessary.
She drew deeply on a cigarette before laying it in the ashtray, leaving both hands free
to complete her task, and thought of how things had been before getting nicked again. Before
she fell foul of the justice system once more, sentenced by the courts to waste more valuable
time, and become another small number in a large organisation she knew it was possible to
lose her identity in without much effort.
It all seemed much more cut and dried to her. Actions that caused reactions, whether
for good or bad, were neatly catalogued in her mind, almost like pages in a book. Something
might ignite a spark in her memory and whole chapters would come crowding to the
forefront of her life’s stage. When she unfolded these gems from memory it was with a
remarkable ability to reproduce minute detail with superlative precision, liberally seasoned
with satire. Each story was the fruit of a highly articulate mind and a natural talent for
painting the words that brought the tapestry of her experience to life.
Gerry was another matter. She knew how his mind worked. Shady images were all he
could claim for memory, abstract reminders that got more blurred the further through his life
they had to travel with him. The powder consumed him physically and emotionally, leaving
precious little behind: a record here, a fruit machine there, and police stations everywhere.
His memory had never experienced the kind of stimuli this relentless onslaught of familiarity
through music, places and conversations was subjecting it to. His old life with Elaine was all
opening up in front of him, when in reality it should be behind, long gone. Something told
him it ought to make him feel uneasy, but then there would be this wonderful undercurrent of
control that would take over and make it feel so good that he couldn’t stop the past from
flooding in to fill the present. What it was all about he neither knew nor cared, all that
bothered him was that it felt good and he wanted it to keep on feeling like that. How could he
know that it was all the result of very careful planning and execution to make him feel the way
he did? That he felt just the way she wanted him to.
The little silver spoon in her hand tipped out a small heap of powder from one bag
into the bigger spoon wedged under the ashtray.
“Sod it,” she exclaimed in irritation. “No water! Gez, there’s a loo down there on the
right by the stairs. Get us a glass o’ water, will ya?” She pointed to the door he had entered
the drawing room by, indicating the direction.
“Sure.” It was the least he could do after being put in the position of having to ask.
When his back had disappeared through the door she took another bag and spooned a
much tinier amount of another white powder into the larger spoon. And just a pinch of
vitamin c, she said to herself, totally absorbed in these preparations. Do him the world of
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 15

good, she thought, rubbing her hands together as he came back with the glass in his hand.
“Cheers,” she said, taking it from him.
Next she took a new syringe from a leather-bound box on the table and, pulling back
the plunger, filled it half full with the water he’d brought. Minute particles of the powder flew
upwards with the force of the water as she emptied the syringe onto it in the spoon, and all
became a sodden white sediment resting at the bottom of a clear pool, silver edged, in the
weighted spoon. So many memories opened the pages of their books before her with this so
familiar ritual.
“You remember that night you thought the law’d set up an obo outside the flat in
Lyndhurst Road, Gez?”
“Couldn’t o’ bin me,” he laughed. “I never suffer from paranoia that bad.”
“You’re such a bad liar!” she laughed right back.
“Well, go on, then. Remind me.”
“You was out yer ‘ead on those yellows. An’ you came home - three days later, I might
add - about the most paranoid I’d ever seen you. ‘There’s a car sittin’ over there clockin’ this
place’, you said, ‘bin there ages’. It was pitch dark outside an’ you threw the curtains open an’
stood there, right in the middle o’ that big bay window like a Belisha beacon. Nobody could
fail to see you, especially old Bill if they really were watching, which they weren’t. ‘It’s the law!
You’re gonna get busted!’, you said. You didn’t like it much when I was pissing myself
laughing, I remember that.”
His drug use and subsequent behaviour had always fitted into a clearly defined
pattern. Cycles of four days, during which the patterns repeated, like clockwork. The first
line, or pill, then he’d get bored and off he’d go, wherever it was that a speedfreak went, for
three days or so, then he’d come back, when everything was so distorted with lack of sleep that
nothing made any sense, his coordination shot to pieces and his mind so twisted by the drug
that his behaviour became irrational. If he’d been doing yellows it also became violent. Then
came the big sleep. For twenty-four hours she’d know she was safe, and so was he. She knew
that when he woke up he’d be so loving, remorseful and resolute, that it would all be a thing of
the past, that he’d had enough of powder and pills, that he’d treat her decently and never hurt
her again. Until the next line.
She remembered it all. How he’d tried to frighten her with his goading. And when
that hadn’t worked he’d changed his tactics to something a little more violent that had. She
remembered that alright. Just another stupid bloody windup. He’d been like one of her worst
migraines at times like that. She could see the build-up to one of his silly mind games like a
flashing neon sign announcing it, and the pattern had always been the same. Always so
predictable. She’d blamed the dexies for it ending worse than usual that particular night,
although she wasn’t going to remind him of how just now. No, the buildup was all that was
necessary. He could remember the violent details for himself and let his own conscience do
the work for her.
The music stopped. Roxy Music sat on the top of a pile of carefully selected records on
the heavy oak cabinet that housed the expensive hi-fi. She knew he’d be too filled with
anticipation, maybe even a little regret too, to bother muddling them up.
“Do the honours, Gez!”
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 16

She pointed to the hi-fi and without a word he changed the record. In the Midnight
Hour soon filtered through the speakers, filling the space between the two Chesterfields sitting
opposite one another either side of the fire, every note crystal clear, as she knelt at the low
table between them on a deep red velvet cushion.
He wished she’d get a bloody move on with those hits she was preparing. Everything
was slowing down and he needed to block the emotion...the memories...and quickly. He
looked around him, again seeking any distraction from the midnight images of days gone by
that were reaching steely fingers into his mind and almost touching his heart.
He recognised many of the furnishings and much of the decor from magazines she
used to come home from a day’s shop-lifting with. He knew how much the stuff in those
mags had cost too! The room was large, twice as long as it was wide, originally two rooms
with dividing doors that would have matched the panelling, he surmised. It was all too
overbearingly warm-looking and comfortable for him to feel completely at home in himself,
but it certainly had that wow factor he knew she used to crave. A William Morris hanging of a
mediaeval scene with hunters and women in long dresses was draped across the entire wall
behind his missing dividing doors and a huge, grandiose, gilt-edged mirror covered most of
the opposite wall with an elaborate and very long sideboard for it to rest on while providing
mirror images of an exquisite Arts and Crafts dining suite that sat in the middle and matched
everything else perfectly. There was a large and ornate desk that fitted nicely into the deep
alcove made by the back window. It had an expensive gold frame with a picture of some
blonde guy on it, he noticed, angled kind of askew. The floor was of intricate dark wood tiles
with large William Morris rugs covering most of it but for the edges around the outside of the
room. The part of the room where they sat on the chesterfields in front of the open fire, was
panelled with dark wood and a wide and deep bow window went almost the entire length of
the far wall. Tall bookcases sat in recesses on either side of the fireplace and intricately carved
cabinets lined the lower panelling on the opposite side, one either side of the door he’d come
in by. The one nearest him held the music centre. And above these hung paintings that he
recognised. But...surely...they couldn’t be...could they?
“Those are Breugels, ain’t they? They real?”
“Good, aren’t they?” She looked up from her task and grinned as she watched him balk
at the thought of how much they must be worth. “Nah, not originals, if you mean were they
painted by the Master himself. These are far better. Go an’ ‘ave a closer look, while I’m
finishing off here, an’ tell me what you think.”
Very nice, he mused upon overall reflection, very nice indeed. Wonder how the hell
she managed to get this gaff together? Can’t o’ bin out long either. Some’at to do with
Blondie on the desk over there, I shouldn’t wonder. She always did go for blondes, wonder
where that leaves me?
He wandered over to the desk, trying to look nonchalant enough not to make it seem
like he was looking out of anything more than curiosity. The picture in the gold frame was of
a young, very attractive man with large blue eyes. His hair was curly and fell over his
shoulders and onto an expensive black leather jacket, a strand or two straying into the open
neck of his white shirt. A sensual smile played around the edges of his perfect lips. He
reminded Gerry of Roger Daltrey. He’d seen The Who play at Charlton football ground once
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 17

years ago, and his enduring memory of the lead singer was an uncanny match for this picture
here on her desk.
Gives you the creeps, good-lookin’ geezers like that watching you hit up a line, he
thought rather prematurely. And how I need one right now. Almost like he’s laughin’ at me.
She taking this long deliberately, or what? I’ll ask her about him some time. The green edge
of jealousy muddling his thoughts was gradually seeping inwards, although he couldn’t yet
recognise it for what it was, just thought he needed another hit.
Yeah, you bastard, take good stock of my obvious success! It’ll never be yours. She
had her own thoughts running parallel as she knelt there stringing out the preparations for his
next pleasure as far as she could without arousing undue suspicion. Take stock of this little
baby too, Gerry Fletcher, you’re gonna enjoy a few more of these before I throw you back
among the rats where you belong.
“Where’s my lighter? Did you bring it in with the fags when we got out the car?”
She knew exactly where it was. The tenner didn’t matter, but he’d assumed ownership of
that pretty little shiny thing about as long as he was going to now.
He hesitated, faking thought on the matter, then apparently decided against the idea of
prolonging the ownership. After all, she is keeping me very nicely thank you, he concluded,
even more thoughtfully.
“Yeah. Brought the lighter with ‘em too. In me pocket, habit like,” he grinned,
handing it over. She didn’t seem to have noticed as far as he could tell. No harm done, he
thought, relieved. Mustn’t do anything that might seal that bag up, must I now! Keep ‘er
sweet like.
God only knows why you haven’t been done more times than you have, she thought.
You broadcast your intentions. Might as well have a megaphone round your neck. If it
weren’t for you I’d never ha’ done time at all, you bastard. Well, you won’t be dropping me in
it again, tha’s for sure. Just being around you, seeing your calculated actions for what they are
again firsthand is enough to know that.
The flame licking around the edges of the spoon seemed to cement her resolve even
further. Like some kind of strange refining process, the steady yellow heat made her more
determined than ever to carry out her plans to their ultimate resolution. How could I ever
have been so blind? How strange is love?
“Pass us them fags, Gez!”
He passed them in silence, as if conversation would only prolong the agony of waiting
further, and walked over to the paintings as she’d suggested to take a look for himself. He
wished she’d just give him the bag, the works, the spoon and let him get on with it himself.
He’d be more generous with her bag than she would. Then he could be speeding his bollocks
off and forget all these pictures in his head that were making him think about things he’d
rather not.
She tore off the filter from a cigarette and ripped a piece of the white gauze off.
“That’ll do for a joint later,” she said, putting the filterless cigarette into the leather-bound
box.
The tiny piece of filter she dropped into the centre of the spoon, to draw off the
impurities, stuck the needle into it and pulled back the plunger. Warm, clear liquid rose up
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 18

the barrel in splutters and bubbles until it filled almost to the halfway mark.
“Bit o’ cold,” she said, drawing a fraction more from the water in the glass and
handing it to him. “There you go!”
“Cheers babe.” He took the syringe from her and returned to his appraisal of the two
Breugels on the wall behind him. “These hunters’ve got pump action shotguns. That ain’t
right. And is that a tiny power station...look, behind the church, there, in the distance? Don’t
think they ‘ad them in 15-some’at-odd.”
“Well done! I’m impressed. You must’ve been listening to me at least some o’ the
time, then? And, no, there were no nuclear power stations in 1565,” she laughed. “Have a
look at the other one, it’s even better.”
“Yeah, yeah, I see it. Lines of coke on the table instead o’ food, an look, there’s even a
little syringe an’ a spoon! These’re good. You’d never notice from a distance.”
“Like you’d notice at all if I hadn’t gone on about them so much.”
“It’s in my line o’ work to know these things,” he retorted, pompously, pulling back his
sleeve.
“Yeah, right. So’s you’re better equipped to burgle people!”
“Who painted them?” He ignored her taunt. “And, what’s more, why?”
“If I told you that I’d have to kill you.”
“Ha, tha’s so funny you already ‘ave!”
He hesitated, sat back down on the Chesterfield and held the syringe up level with his
face, looking at it strangely. “Will you do this for me...please, babe? Had a bit o’ trouble with
the last one.”
He’d had no trouble at all with the last one, in the gents at the pub. What was
happening in his head? That old familiar stirring in his jeans as he watched her natural
elegance, the prettiness of her features, and the slim curves of her body. That was what was
happening. But why? Was it all these images of things they’d done together that had
insinuated itself into his consciousness since she’d walked, driven, back into his life? The
effect of this blinding powder perhaps? Or the thought that she was no longer his property
any more, which made her seem all the more appealing? Whatever it was, he wanted her close
to him, and this was the way he always got close.
“Yeah, if you like,” she replied, plainly. “Might shake a bit, though.”
“Why?”
“Gerry, I haven’t seen you for nearly two years. Remember how I used to shake
carrying those tea cups on visits? Same sort o’ thing ain’t it?”
Yeah, she thought, I’ll play your little game. For as long as it suits me. Even play it to
your rules, if you like. But don’t believe I don’t know it’s just that, a game! Fits in with my
plans, that’s all, she added to herself, smiling her most innocent smile, the cunning kept under
wraps behind her eyes. He never could read her eyes, so caught up in his own little world of
crime and drugs and prison as he’d always been.
“Go on wi’ you! Next you’ll be telling me you still care.” He stated it, but the question
was out there, probing for her reaction.
She smiled again, and there it was. At least that’s what he thought, what she wanted
him to think.
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 19

Yeah, soon ‘ave you just where I want you again, Elaine, he thought. Easy, always so
easy to love.
“Well, stay still, then!” She knelt in front of him. “Look, cross your legs and put your
elbow on your knee. Yeah, tha’s easier.”
For all the practised ease she exhibited he found any case of nerves hard to believe.
Deftly, she pierced the skin on the back of his arm and found the wide vein underneath. He
didn’t feel a thing. Nerves be damned! And the way she looked into his eyes, holding his gaze
so sensually once she’d pulled back the plunger to make sure it was in the vein and was
pushing it home. So erotic it just wasn’t real. It made that rush, that surging of red hot blood
through every part of his body, forcing itself through the soles of his feet and out through the
top of his head, seem all the more stimulating, almost climactic. She even remembered his
junkie obsession with flushing, which made the whole experience seem to last that bit longer,
before taking the needle out of his arm. Oh, what a little baby she is! How could I o’ bin so
careless as to lose her? Must o’ bin bad powder, he concluded. Off me ‘ead on it I s’pose.
He darted from the room like it was on fire.
If only you knew why, Gez. If only you knew why!
“Chuck up again, eh?”
“Yeah! An’ don’t laugh, it ain’t that funny. Tha’s some blindin’ gear. Do us another!
Ain’t you avin’ none then? Ain’t seen you do none all day. Still doin’ it secret, or what?” he
prattled, all in one breath, almost.
“Don’t need it like some. Anyway, I got some’at better’n that.”
“Nah, don’ gi’ me that. What could be better’n this? Ain’t had nothing like this since
at least ’76. Fuck me, I’m buzzin’. Wanna be doin’ some’at.”
“Well, have a bath, then, ‘cause there’s nothin’ to knock in shape round here, ‘less you
fancy a tug o’ war with Belle or Sebastian! Talking o’ which, where the hell’s Jimbo with that
tea?”
He’d forgotten about that little threesome. And now, at the height of this buzz, the last
thing he wanted was to be reminded of them, much less be in their presence. No lost dogs and
ogres floating around, please, he thought with horror. It’s gonna be kinda risky movin’ in on
her with them around!
“Yeah, think I could just get into a bath as it goes.” He’d surely be safe from invasion
in the bathroom.
“Yeah, I think it’s a good idea too. Wash off that puke from around yer chops. What
girl would welcome that too near her?”
Would he be that near her? Both were wondering, but for entirely different reasons.
“Well, where is it, then?”
“Where’s what? Oh, the bathroom! Yeah, come with me an’ I’ll show you. I’ll sort
you out some clothes too, if you like. You look like you’ve seen decidedly better days in
those.”
“Oh, cheers,” he said indignantly. “I guess you’re right though, babe.”
She led him through her bedroom and into the en suite bathroom the other side of it.
If he’d thought the living areas in her flat were a touch Arts and Craftsy the bedroom
could have defined the original movement. Again the space appeared to have been created
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 20

from two rooms, this time the division had been widened to provide a panelled walk-in
wardrobe and dressing room between the bedroom and its bathroom, either side of an
archway that all but hid the entrance to the bathroom, that had been carefully handcrafted in
dark wood with fancy carving. The bedroom walls were almost entirely covered with fabric
printed with a mediaeval design he recognised yet again, with a lady and a unicorn and a
circular tent with its entrance draped open. A picture rail ran all the way around the room
and the fabric stopped when it reached it. Above this and over the ceiling was a painted scene
of the heavens on a bright, moonlit night with a half moon and half sun interlocking with each
other to form a chart for stargazers. It reminded him of her passion for astrology and made
him smile. Hell, it was probably her own natal chart that was painted there. An intricate
brass chandelier extended out of the centre of the circle and little brass flower heads threw
pools of light onto another William Morris rug underneath it. Either side of the bed were
elegant matching cabinets in dark wood upon which stood sensual figures each holding their
own globe of light above their heads. He’d seen small copies of this type of lamp before, but
nothing as magnificent and probably costly as these. The room was large enough for the bed,
a huge four poster with exquisite wood carvings and beautiful drapes, to look completely at
home in, neither dwarfed nor over-sized. Double doors either side of the archway opened in
to her wardrobe and dressing areas. The overall effect was classy and expensive, and he took it
all in as he passed through.
I feel happier than I have in a long time, he concluded, once he was splashing about in
the bath. An’ this is some fuckin’ bathroom an’ all.
The bathroom was the only room he had seen so far that made every use of very
modern conveniences that it could. As he lay back in the sudsy water he saw that the ceiling
had been lowered and was studded with tiny, bright little bulbs that looked like diamonds
shining in a night sky. The bath itself was near enough round and had been sunk into a
built-up platform that covered almost a third of the floor space. This platform was carpeted
with a very thick and luxurious kind of carpeting that his feet had sunk into, and mirrors
covered the two walls of the corner it occupied. The rest of the floor and the opposite wall,
with double sinks, stripped pine cupboards under and more mirrors over, were tiled in
marble. Had he been able he would have marvelled at the many shades of green that perfectly
complemented a Victorian jardiniere that stood between the two tall, sash windows in the
outside wall. There’s even a bidet in case I need to wash me feet, he chuckled to himself.
Yeah, some fuckin’ bathroom right enough. Elaine, I never knew I missed you until
now.

Chapter Five
The Bathroom

“You was right about him being predictable. Like clockwork the geezer is. A scruff though,
an’ no mistake. Don’t seem like your type at all.”
“I know Charlie, but we all make mistakes, don’t we? My only mistake was falling in
love with the bastard, an’ having the wool pulled so far over me eyes that I couldn’t see the
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 21

sheep.
“You don’t mind being Jimbo, do you Charlie? Shouldn’t be for much longer
anyway.”
“Keep it up long as you like, Lainey. I ain’t never been a butler before. Done some
things in me time, but ain’t never been a butler,” he chuckled.
“Charlie, the jobs you’ve done I should think you could employ every real butler in the
business without ever having to be one yourself.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, it’s different. An’ I’m sort o’ gettin’ to like this acting lark.”
“Maybe we should make a real movie one day?”
“Are you Roger Moore?” he answered in rhyming slang. Let’s just stick to makin’ ‘em
pay an’ makin’ a mint for now.”
Yeah, well, it might not make us millionaires, but phase two’s down, so maybe we ain’t
so far off, eh?”
“Sure you wouldn’t rather stick to forgery?”
“Quite sure. The sentences’re too long, an’ I’ve done enough time for lesser evils to
last me a bloody lifetime. No, it’s just not worth the bother. Next one’d be a five stretch for
starters if I ever got caught again. Besides, this writing lark looks like it’ll pay much more in
the long run.”
“That’s my girl. Just keep talking like that an’ you’ll stay free.”
“Ah well, now for phase three, You’d better absolve me now for the sins I am about to
commit,” she said in mock gravity, leaning over to accept his blessing.
“In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit,” he replied, making the sign of the
cross that priests use on their congregations and keeping up the pretence. “You’re not on the
fast stuff again, are you?”
“Who knows what’s about to happen now, Charlie?”

* * *

She knocked lightly on the bathroom door.

“Who is it?”
“Who were you expecting?” she asked as she walked in. “Father Christmas, or Alice in
Wonderland?”
“Well...” he looked as if his eyes would fall out of his head as she approached him,
“...looks like Alice, don’t it? Bet Santa wouldn’t mind a peep at her an’ all if she looked like
that!”
She was wearing a black silk kimono that brushed her stockinged toes where it slipped
apart as she moved. Colourful butterflies were embroidered from close to the hemline, larger
at the bottom and decreasing in size as they spiralled up towards her thighs, red tendrils
trailing up to her waist, which was cinched in a broad crimson sash emphasising its neatness.
Smaller, more sporadic butterflies and flowers adorned the top and sleeves in little splashes of
colour, like small rainbows against a midnight sky. Her hair was caught up loosely into a large
comb, a strand escaping here and there around her face. A face that looked as fresh and
perfect as if she’d walked straight in from a Hollywood film set.
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 22

“What is this, the ‘let’s slip into something more comfortable’ bit, or what?”
“Don’t you like it?”
“Yeah, it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. Amazing!”
“I’ve been reading Shogun, an’ they all wear things like this in it, even the men. You
ever see it on telly?”
“Can’t say as I did. Think I’d remember women looking like that.”
“Look at the back!”
She turned around and he saw that the sash was tied in a large bow at the back, the
ends trailing near the hem. A large, beautifully embroidered butterfly, covered the whole of
her back, red tendrils reaching to the nape of her neck where her hair tried to escape the
clutches of the comb to meet them.
Erotic in the extreme. And no amount of thinking about hobnail boots or granny’s
budgie would arrest the arousing process in his groin. Thank fuck for the bubble bath, he
thought, swallowing hard.
She flicked a switch buried deep in the pile of the thick carpet surrounding the bath
and the water suddenly started propelling itself about like it was trying to get out, making him
jump. A jacuzzi in the bath he had not expected. Whatever next? It only increased his
excitement all the more. Was he in heaven, or was he in hell?
“That’s one surprise,” she said. “And here’s another.”
As he adjusted his shocked gaze from the gyrating water back up at her he saw that she
was holding two syringes, one in each hand, and had a broad smile on her face. Where about
her person she’d taken them from was anybody’s guess. He could see her back in the mirror
above the wash basins, but no hidden pockets could he see.
“One for you, and one for me. An ace of hearts and an ace of clubs. Now that’s my
idea of slipping into something a bit more comfortable!”
As she spoke she put both syringes down on the step up to the raised platform. She
was still standing on the marble floor tiles and from where he lay at the head of the bath he
could see both her front and back, with the aid of the mirror, so when she turned and slowly
began to pull on the ends of the sash, he could see it fall both front and back as it fell from her
waist and the kimono fell open.
This was too much for a man. His groin ached so much he glanced automatically
down. Fuck me! I never knew I had that much. Must be the powder, he thought. Must be!
When he looked up again the kimono too was lying on the floor and the syringes were back in
her hands.
“Oh no,” he groaned, “this is too much.”
She was wearing a skin-tight black lace basque with just a hint of red embroidery at its
edges, and plain black silk stockings.
He was about to burst.
“No, this’ll be too much! Told you I had something better, didn’t I?”
Whatever was better than this feeling he was experiencing right now had to have been
manufactured for the pleasure of none other than the Fallen Angel, surely!
Kneeling down now on the carpet directly in front of him, legs ever so slightly apart,
she tied the sash around her upper arm, tensing it as she did and pumping her fist once or
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 23

twice. With the needle poised between the forefinger and thumb of her right hand she pierced
the skin in the crook of her left arm and pulled back the plunger. Her blood, bright red and
healthy, mingled with the clear liquid in a shade of iridescent pink for a moment while she
removed the sash, then gradually disappeared as if by magic as the plunger displaced it into
her bloodstream.
Oh, that rush, she thought. It’s just incredible on this stuff. Why did I ever waste all
those years on speed alone? Cost, maybe. Availability, perhaps. I wonder why it always
sounds like bees buzzing down dirty great long metal tubes? Don’t give into it though, Elaine!
Girls on film type stuff, like! Jesus, I could reach for the stars right now. And catch ‘em.
He could not take any more, could he?
She held his gaze steadily as she took the needle out of her arm and replaced its orange
cap, smiling calmly, but her eyes were sparkling far more brightly than was natural.
Her memory slipped back to a Friday night long ago when they were first together in
the flat at Effingham Street. She was five years younger and five years greener. Greener to the
systems of justice and greener to the caprices of amphetamines administered by the needle.
They’d just got home from a successful day’s lifting and had also just scored. She’d been
getting ready to go out to paint the town a pretty shade of speed, whatever colour that was.
“Wanna line, babe?” he’d asked as she was fastening her stockings. He’d been sitting
on the edge of the bed watching her as he prepared her hit. “Here, kneel at my feet and put
your arm across my knees. Tha’s it, easy.”
She’d felt slightly ridiculous kneeling there in front of him in only her underwear.
He’d taken her while she could still feel the rush coursing through her, and that had been the
most unforgettable experience of her life. She never felt even the tiniest bit ridiculous in that
situation again.
The memory of that night, and the discovery of his fetish for jacking up girls in sexy
underwear, made her smile all the more. That was the theme she’d chosen for this little treat
now, only this time she was in control. Knowing that it would drive him mad with an ecstasy
only she knew how to arouse, that her control would force him to the edge of predictability,
gave her immense satisfaction.
“You’d better do this for me, babe.”
“How can I reach from here,” she said, smiling coyly.
“Best you get in ‘ere, then!” He grabbed her arm before she had time to think about it,
laughing like Lucifer himself.
She sat opposite him in the roomy bath, with the water still gyrating around, drenched.
“You bastard! Just you wait!”
She was laughing too. But then, why shouldn’t she? I’ve got the devil right here in this
needle. And he’s goin’ up your arm in just one second.
“Well, put your arm out then,” She tapped the bubbles out of the barrel. “Jesus, your
veins look like drainage channels in this heat.”
“That ain’t just the heat.”
“Well, for fuck’s sake don’t hughie all over me, Gez!”
The needle slid in and she plunged her concoction of the devil’s own nectar into his
bloodstream, flushing it once, and watched his face with growing delight as she capped it and
Tally Pendragon Just Another Winter's Tale 24

threw it on the floor by her kimono.

“Fuck me! What is that? That ain’t speed. Tha’s coke! An’ it’s fucking amazin’. Oh,
my little baby, come here!”
Soaking wet, dripping underwear clinging to her soft, milk-white skin, looking so
femininely vulnerable, and so bloody erotic, she was more than any man could resist. And he
did not intend to try.
He entered her there and then without waiting for any reaction, brutally and totally
selfishly. If she had screamed no it would have been technical rape, whether she deserved it or
not. But of course she didn’t.
She’d waited a long time for this natural act of impulsive animalism. Planned for it.
Built his body up with chemicals, worn down his resistance with every nostalgia-evoking trick
she knew. Now she held the ultimate ace of all aces in her hand. And it was going to stay
there.
He lay, half-submerged, on top of her. Her moans flooded his ears as the bees faded
away at the ends of their metal tubes. He was spent, but strangely still in control. And
wanting more.
“Sorry, babe, I couldn’t ‘old it any longer.”
“Plenty of time,” she said, fixing him with a seductive eye that said far more than her
words.
“Yeah, come ‘ere!”
Her hair had fallen loose from the comb that held it. Dripping strands tangled in his
hands as he unhooked the wet basque from around her glistening body to run them over its
beautiful contours.
“I’ll take me time now.”