Under a Watchful Eye(27)

‘Some things are the way they are for a reason,’ Ewan said. ‘And I can come back at any time. You know that.’ He nodded his oily head to emphasize the subtext.

‘And if I refuse your demands then you’re going to give me bad dreams and will keep appearing to me like some sinister creep, forever?’

Ewan laughed. ‘Now you’re being dramatic. Getting ahead of yourself. We’re not there yet and we’ve a lot to get through. If you really want me to leave, I will, but only after you’ve considered my proposal.’

‘No deals.’

‘If I find myself in a police cell, Sebastian, I promise you that I will return here every day and I will make your every night a living nightmare. And when you leave and find somewhere to hide and think that you are all safe and cosy, guess what? I’ll be standing at the end of the bed. And the more I do it, the worse it’ll get for you. That’s how it goes.’

Ewan’s voice softened, or lost its strength towards the end of the threat. He’d begun confidently enough but didn’t appear comfortable with what he’d just promised. ‘You have to understand that what I do is dangerous. It carries a grave risk. Not just for me. We’re in this together now, whether you like it or not.’

A strange, cold sensation prickled Seb’s skin. He shivered. ‘Why? Why are you doing this to me?’

‘I need help and you owe me. You know you do.’ Whatever Ewan decided was the truth would always be in his self-interest with no room for deviation. Nothing had changed on that count either.

‘What have you been messing around with?’

Ewan smiled as if acknowledging a long-overdue respect. ‘No one else would believe me. Though you might, because I’ve given you a glimpse of something truly miraculous. You have no idea just how incredible this is. And it’s going to change everything. Oh yes, for me and for you too, if you just stop freaking out over a few spills here and there. Maybe things will be different for everyone else too, out there, when we’re done.’ He stretched a long arm towards the balcony windows and spread his dirty fingers to encompass the world.

Again, nothing specific had been mentioned, nothing but hyperbole with a dose of self-importance. Ewan was playing the messiah in possession of rare and forbidden knowledge. Just like old times.

But Seb had no real idea who this person was any more. Ewan had never been so unstable. He looked even more primitive and dangerously delinquent than he’d done the day before. It was already pushing three p.m. and Seb was losing another round. But where could Ewan go at this time, in this state? He had no money. If Seb gave him some money, could he trust him to stay away? And he still didn’t know how Ewan did that.

‘You’ve still told me nothing. Do better. And I want you to give me your word that you will piss off once I’ve heard your spiel?’

‘Spiel! Oh dear. I think you may find it to be a bit more significant than that, my old mate.’

‘I am not your mate.’

Ewan flopped himself into the chair. The wooden feet dug into the varnished floorboards.

Seb closed his eyes.

Ewan stared at the bay in the distance and tried to keep his slurred words together. ‘You know, I once went to William Blake’s old house. And to Peckham Common. The place where he said the angels were in the trees. They’re still there. I could see them. That’s when it progressed to a new level for me. My gift was always there, even when I was a kid. But I have learned to see other things. In other places.’

Seb shivered. ‘Is that right?’ His voice sounded tiny in the silent room.

‘There’s plenty of things you can see without light.’ Ewan stretched his legs out, slurped from the can and gasped with satisfaction. ‘Even with your eyes closed.’

‘I bet.’

Despite his delusions about being a poet at university, Ewan had often transformed into a bully when drunk. ‘You’d better not be thinking of laughing at me.’ The subtext was obvious.

Seb stiffened.

Ewan grinned with the sadist’s cruel delight at another’s unease, offering a full reveal of his yellow teeth. He wanted to be feared and respected.

‘I’ve done a lot of thinking about you,’ he said, drawing Seb’s horrified eyes to that dark, wet mouth. ‘About what you have said about writing. And you were wrong. I was right.’

‘Make it quick.’

‘Tut, tut. That’s not the spirit.’

‘Just get it over with!’

‘What happened to you, Sebastian? You don’t even know how to enjoy all of this!’ Ewan threw his long arms into the air. ‘And as you will see, all this –’ he windmilled an arm – ‘hardly matters in the order of things.’

‘Order of things?’

‘Oh, yes. As you will see.’

‘What will I see?’

Smiling as if humouring a fool, Ewan knelt on the floor beside his chair and began rummaging through the bin bags. There followed a brief struggle with the contents until he pulled out a dirty collection of paper, held together with a rubber band. ‘I want you to read this. Just for starters.’

The ends of the paper were brown and dog-eared. Seb thought of the previous night’s dream and became queasy. The whole situation and its coincidences were unreal. It was as if he was being incrementally separated from the world. Even his thoughts were becoming ill-defined.