The Acid House Read Online Free PDF Page B

the bar, otherwise she'd have struck me. — TAKE YOUR FUCKING LITTLE SLUT AND GO! A REAL WOMAN'S TOO MUCH FOR YOU, YOU FUCKING JUNKY VERMIN! HAVE YOU SHOWN HER YOUR ARMS YET?
    — Chrissie ... I said weakly.
    — FUCK OFF! JUST FUCK OFF! BANG YOUR SILLY LITTLE GIRL YOU FUCKING PAEDOPHILE! I'M A REAL WOMAN, A REAL FUCKING WOMAN . ..
    I ushered Anna out of the bar. Cyrus flashed his yellow teeth at me and shrugged his broad shoulders. I looked back to see Richard comforting Chrissie. — I'm a real woman, not a silly little girl.
    — You're a beautiful woman, Chrissie. The most beautiful, I heard Richard say soothingly.
    In a sense, it was a blessing. Anna and I went for a drink and I told her the whole story of Chrissie and Richard, leaving nothing out. I told her how fucked up and bitter I was, and how, while I'd promised her nothing, I'd treated Chrissie fairly shabbily. Anna understood, and we put the episode behind us. As a result of that conversation I felt even better and more uninhibited, my last little problem in Amsterdam seemingly resolved.
    It was strange, but as Chrissie was such a fuck-up, I half thought of her a few days later when they said that the body of a woman had been fished out of Oosterdok, by Centraal Station. I quickly forgot about it, however. I was enjoying life, or trying to, although circumstances were working against us. Anna had just started college, studying fashion design, and with my shifts at the hotel we were like ships in the night, so I was thinking of chucking it and getting another job. I'd saved up quite a healthy wad of guilders.
    I was pondering this one afternoon, when I heard someone banging at the door. It was Richard, and as I opened up he spat in my face. I was too shocked to be angry. — Fucking murderer! he sneered.
    — What... I knew, but couldn't comprehend. A thousand impulses flowed through my body, fusing me into immobility.
    — Chrissie's dead.
    — Oosterdok... it was Chrissie ...
    — Yes, it was Chrissie. I suppose you'll be happy now.
    — NAW MAN ... NAW! I protested.
    — Liar! Fucking hypocrite! You treated her like shit. You and others like you. You were no good for her. Used her like an old rag then discarded her. Took advantage of her weakness, of her need to give. People like you always do.
    — Naw! It wasn't like that, I pleaded, knowing full well it was exactly like that.
    He stood and looked at me for a while. It was like he was looking beyond me, seeing something that wasn't apparent from my vantage point. I broke a silence which probably lasted only seconds, but seemed like minutes. — I want to go to the funeral, Richard.
    — He smiled cruelly at me. — In Jersey? You won't go there.
    — The Channel Islands ... I said, hesitantly. I didn't know Chrissie was from there. — I will go, I told him. I was determined to go. I felt culpable enough. I had to go.
    Richard examined me contemptuously, then started talking in a low, terse voice. — St Helier, Jersey. The home of Robert Le Marchand, Chrissie's father. It's next Tuesday. Her sister was here, making arrangements to take the body back.
    — I want to go. Are you?
    He scoffed at me. — No. She's dead. I wanted to help her when she was alive. He turned and walked away. I watched his back recede into nothingness, then went into the flat, shaking uncontrollably.
    I had to get to St Helier by Tuesday. I'd find details of the Le Marchands' whereabouts when I got there. Anna wanted to come. I said I'd be a poor travelling companion, but she insisted. Accompanied by her, and a sense of guilt which seemed to seep into the body of the rented car, I drove along the highways of Europe, through Holland, Belgium and France to the small port of St Malo. I started thinking, about Chrissie, yes, but about other things, which I would generally never concern myself with. I started to think about the politics of European integration, whether it was a good or bad thing. I tried to marry up the politicians' vision