Love You Dead

31 Friday 27 February

It was Angi’s birthday. Shelby told her he’d been given the night off from his warehouse job — by agreeing to work tomorrow, Saturday night, instead — so he could take her out to celebrate.

Angi had only recently moved to Brighton, from landlocked Coventry, having split up with her partner, and she was enthralled by the novelty of living in a seaside resort. So although he had no appetite today, he treated her to a fish and chip dinner with champagne at the Palm Court restaurant on the pier.

As she sat opposite him eating heartily, dousing her batter in salt and her chips in vinegar and ketchup, he sipped his glass of champagne and pushed his food around the plate, barely managing a couple of small mouthfuls.

‘What’s the matter, my sexy man — not hungry?’

‘My appetite’s for you,’ he said with a forced smile. ‘You’re making me so crazy for you I can’t eat!’

He felt her foot, minus shoe, pressing between his legs.

‘I like you being crazy for me,’ she said. ‘I want you always to be crazy for me.’

He smiled again. He wasn’t actually feeling that great, but he didn’t want to spoil her big day. He finished his glass of champagne, called the waiter over and ordered a pint of lager, hoping that alcohol would make him feel better. Hell, he’d splashed out on a taxi here, so they could have a proper celebration, so might as well get his money’s worth, he figured.

He’d woken that morning to find a small swelling on his ankle. But nothing that bothered him too much. It didn’t seem to have grown any bigger during the day. But he definitely wasn’t feeling right tonight, not one hundred per cent, not firing on all cylinders. He was a little giddy and a bit clammy, as if he had a touch of flu.

Of course, that was probably thanks to the horrible ride Angi had insisted he take her on, the Booster, before going to the restaurant. It had soared them up in the air, flipped them over and then over again. And then, when he thought he couldn’t take any more, they’d gone over yet again. And again. His brain still felt as if it was revolving.

Angi looked at him and frowned. She took a tissue out of her handbag, leaned forward and dabbed his chin. ‘It’s still bleeding.’

Shelby touched his chin where he’d nicked himself shaving earlier. He’d put a styptic pencil on the cut, which normally did the trick. But as he removed his hand he saw fresh blood on his finger. He pressed the tissue to his chin, called a waitress over and asked if she could find a small plaster for him.

Then he downed the lager fast and ordered a second pint. Angi’s plate was clean, he realized, as she picked up her last chip, mopped up the blob of ketchup on her plate and popped it in her mouth.

‘Was it the ride?’ she asked, chewing, looking at his huge, barely touched portion of cod.

He nodded, forlornly. ‘’Fraid so. Never been very good with them.’

‘Feeling queasy, are you?’

‘A little,’ he admitted.

‘I know a good cure for that!’

He felt her foot pressed into his crutch, stroking from side to side.

‘Hmmmmn,’ she said. ‘I’m sensing some improvement.’

He gave her a weak grin. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m sensing that too.’

‘I think I need to take you home to bed,’ she said.

‘The night is young,’ he said, evasively, unsure he could manage anything right now.

‘My point exactly.’

She wiggled her foot.

He downed his second pint, hoping that might do the trick. It didn’t. It sent him running to the toilets where he threw up violently.