Buck Along the River Run

1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-913513-05-4
Verlag: Prototype Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 220 Seiten

Drinking to excess is living when you're young. But what happens if living becomes rape... assault... death?!! Lisbon: that city at the mouth of the Tagus, that city that whispers, licks and seduces its visitors, that city that haunts those seeking refuge or its pleasures. Who would wish to escape? It is the start of the millennium and two 'lads' from South-East London are trapped in Lisbon among people and experiences set to push them to the limits. Attempting to lie low after a fateful night back home, the friends find themselves navigating an unfamiliar and unnerving new reality. A crime novel inspired by a real-life incident, and distinguished by its sensitivity to subtleties of language and dialogue, Along the River Run is a story of guilt and retribution played out amid the streets, sounds and sights of this bewitching city. Just as the undercurrents of Lisbon's Tagus are ever present, so the literary undercurrents of the capital as written by Pessoa, Saramago or Sa-Carneiro are there to enrich and pervade the evolving narrative. The novel follows the author's much-praised earlier book on Lisbon, a cultural exploration in a 'Cities of the Imagination' series, setting up authoritative background research for this haunting story of psychological destruction.

Paul Buck has been writing and publishing since the late Sixties; key titles include Violations, Lust, Walking into Myself... His work is characterized by its sabotaging of the various forms in order to explore their overlaps and differences. Through the Seventies he also edited the seminal magazine Curtains, with its focus on threading French writing from Bataille, Blanchot, Jabès, Faye, Noël, Ronat, Collobert and a score of others into a weave with English and American writers and artists. While editing and translating are still a daily activity - in partnership with Catherine Petit, the Vauxhall&Company series of books at Cabinet Gallery is their responsibility - he also continues to cover new ground: Spread Wide, a fiction generated from his letters with Kathy Acker; Performance, a biography of the Cammell/Roeg film; Lisbon, a cultural view of a city; A Public Intimacy, strip-searching scrapbooks to expose autobiography; Disappearing Curtains, an exhibition catalogue that collides with a 'journal'; Library, a suitable case for treatment, a collection of essays. In recent times he helped Laure Prouvost to write her film Deep See Blue Surrounding You, around which her Venice Biennale pavilion, representing France, was based. Further ventures through textual issues around transgression, perversity, and intimacy to appear include: Indiscretions (& Nakedness), a set of prose narratives; Street of Dreams, further essays, and Without You, a fiction that voyages through film essay.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Buck, Paul

Leseproben

‘Fancy another?’ Lee asked. It was more a statement of intent than a question for he’d already swung open the fridge and was extracting two bottles of Stella from the bottom shelf.

He scooped the opener from the table and carried them through to the lounge. Jake was already collapsed in the armchair, already starting to snore.

Lee opened both and stuck one on the floor beside Jake. He fell back on the sofa, took a swig directly he’d settled, then cradled the bottle to his chest.

Time slipped again. He thought he’d put his bottle down, but it was only on the sofa beside him, tilting, emptying some of its contents into the fabric. He was soon asleep too.

Since leaving the club, time had been lost in the haze called drunkenness. A few hours of surrender to sleep would help them to regain their faculties.

Lee came back to the surface, vaguely. He thought to stretch out. I should go to bed, am I bothered? He smiled, thought to switch on the tele as the screen looked black, then started to lie down. He realised the bottle was at his head. He grasped it, swigged again. He half-opened his eyes once more and saw Jake flat out in the chair, his legs extended across the carpet.

He was at home. He pulled himself together and sat up. He tried to recall… anything. He shook his head. Yes, he remembered. That girl. He remembered her. He looked at his trousers. His zip was not fully drawn. Yes, no, he’d pissed in the park. He recalled. No, it wasn’t a dream. He’d had sex with her, that tart who was coming towards them. By herself at that time of night. Rather stupid of her. She was gagging for it anyway. Not that it happened. Nothing happened. Pissed him off.

‘Jake, wake up.’ He leant across, re-caught his balance, and prodded his mate with his bottle.

‘Jake, wake. Wake Jake. Jake Jake wake wake.’ He fell silent. It sounded dumb to go on.

Jake appeared from his slumbers.

‘You okay?’

Jake looked around. He recognised where he was. ‘Need a slash.’

He made it up the stairs and back.

‘When’s she coming home?’ Jake asked as he bumped open the door.

‘Week after next, next week, a while yet… I don’t know.’ Lee tried to recall when she would be back. His mother was away with Mike, her boyfriend. Abroad, he thought. He wasn’t sure. They might have gone up north, Mike came from Bradford, or somewhere near there. She was away. ‘It’s on the calendar, in the kitchen.’

‘It was so dark upstairs.’

‘Would be. We’re here.’

‘Should go home. Feeling better now.’

‘We should go away. Fancy it?’

Sounded good. ‘Why not?’

‘To clear the air. Let things blow over. You know. You know what I mean.’

Jake knew what he meant, even if Lee hadn’t voiced it in plain terms.

‘Stupid tart. Slag. What a slag.’ There. He’d expressed it.

‘No fucking good anyway, was she? I didn’t think she was.’

They both fell silent for a minute. Both were thinking of what had happened, but neither felt obliged to add any further comments for the moment.

Lee was the first to cut the air.

‘Shall we go then?’

‘Where?’

‘Away.’

‘Yeah, s’a good idea.’

‘We could go see Marvin in Brighton. He’s got room. Bit of sea. Good fresh air. Change of scene. Let things blow over.’

‘Silly mistake, Lee. Silly silly.’

‘She’ll be okay.’

‘Didn’t know her, did I? Did you?’

‘Who? Oh no, never seen… yes, don’t think I know her.’

‘She won’t blab. She’d know better.’

‘No. Why should she? Nothing happened.’

‘Let things blow over. You’re right. Got to let things blow over.’

Lee stood. ‘No time like the present.’

‘What, now? What’s the hurry?’

‘No hurry. Just, let’s go.’ Though he tried to sound decisive and snappy, he was far from it. Sluggish would be going too far, slowish would be more appropriate.

Lee went upstairs to his room. He pulled a few clothes from the cupboard, from the floor, mainly shirts, and a pair of trousers. He’d keep what he had on. No, change his shirt. No, keep it on. Change later. Shirts, trousers, socks and pants. He looked in his drawer for the stash of money. He was going to count some off, decided instead to just pocket the bundle. His passport was there too. He closed the drawer, opened it, picked out the passport and stuffed it in his pocket. Never know.

He went in the bathroom for his toothbrush and things.

There was no hurry, but there was. No time like the present was all he could come up with to justify it. No time for thought, real thought. Only enough to clear his head from the haze and get himself together basically. Get them together.

‘Okay, let’s go.’

Jake was dozing, but he snapped out of it as Lee entered. He stood, after a little effort.

‘Where we going?’

‘Brighton. Let’s go Brighton.’

‘Hadn’t you better leave a note?’

‘Be back before her. No, you’re right.’ He took some writing paper from the top drawer, located a biro among the odds and ends and wrote his mum a brief note saying he was off to Brighton, for a bit of a holiday… and would probably do a bit of work too, as his mate needed a hand with a flat he was decorating. Back soon, week, two weeks max. Then he signed and added a kiss. Two kisses.

He picked the pen up again, added on the bottom: Hope you enjoyed yourselves, didn’t get up too much mischief. He added a ‘to’ then changed it to ‘too’ too, then crossed it out, looked all wrong.

He took it out to the kitchen, left it on the table with the salt cellar to hold it in place. He should have done some clearing up. Sink was piled a bit. Not up to it now. Dawn was coming and he wanted to set off, had to go to Jake’s anyway.

The streets were still quiet, they were used to moving around at this hour, usually at weekends. With Lee’s mum away, and them having finished an extension job, and not feeling like rushing into another, they planned to rest up for a few days, perhaps even go away. Seemed like a good idea, let’s do it. They had voiced that again the night before, having hinted at it periodically over the previous week as the job’s end was in sight.

Jake’s parents were asleep. The lads crept into the house round the back way. Lee told Jake to only pack a few things, enough for a fortnight. Not a lot. It wasn’t going to rain or be cold. Keep it light. ‘Oh yeah… do yer have a passport? Just in case.’

Lee said that, but he had no real idea why. He was thinking Brighton, sure. Brighton. But he had pocketed his, so why not take Jake’s too.

‘You do have one?’

‘Yeah. It’s in that drawer I think.’

Lee scrabbled around in the drawer while Jake went to pack a bag. He checked to make sure it was Jake’s. He laughed at his mugshot. He looked just like his dad in this one, Lee thought.

‘Got some cash?’ he asked when Jake returned.

‘A little. I’ll draw some later.’ He checked his card was in his pocket.

‘You got everything?’

‘Better leave mum a note. She ’eard me, but she didn’t really, if you get what I mean?’

‘Tell her we’re going to Brighton to do a flat. Some work. Say, bloke was at my place tonight, so we’re going back with him. Before the morning traffic.’

He wrote that and added: Remember told you we might have work in Brighton, well it’s come. Phone you. No probs.

Then he added a string of kisses, just like on her birthday card. He didn’t know when to stop.

The trains were already running, but the ticket office had yet to open. It was still not 6. It was a long time since Lee had taken an early morning train to go fishing. Not that they didn’t go out early most days, but usually that was by van, when they were picked up to do building work or decorating, or sometimes, even earlier, to help out at a market.

Lee shoved a couple of coins into the machine outside, and waited for the machinery to grind noisily and churn out its ‘permit to travel’ receipt. They’d get a cheap one and pay the difference at the other end, in Brighton. They had to change at London Bridge, Lee had done it quite a few times over the years. It was dead easy to get there.

No sooner had they switched platforms at London Bridge than the train for Brighton appeared at Platform Five. It was a fast train, just the crucial stops: East Croydon, Gatwick, Three Bridges, Haywards Heath…

It was after Croydon that Lee got the idea. They didn’t actually have tickets for Brighton, just a nominal charge to be riding on the train. They wouldn’t be wasting anything. Why didn’t they get off at Gatwick and take a plane to somewhere? They had their passports. Psychic. That’s what he was. He knew he was right to take them.

‘Let’s go abroad.’

‘Thought Brighton’s in England?’ Jake was slow to latch on.

‘We get off next stop, at Gatwick, and go from the airport, go somewhere… somewhere...