Free Beauty by Raphael Selbourne Page B

thriller that had started the day before.
    Peter stood up and went back to the computer.
    Mark found himself with nothing to do
.
If it had been Wednesday or Thursday
The Bill
would have been on. He brought the iron and board in from the kitchen and ran upstairs to fetch a discoloured and misshapen jumperfrom the cold spare bedroom. He sniffed at it but couldn’t tell if it was mildewed. He’d know when he ironed it, and if he left it in front of the fire it should be ready for later. He thought about knocking on that bloke Pete’s door to see if he wanted a smoke. Pay him back for earlier on.
    The file was building up as Peter passed through Peeing Lesbian Secretaries (English sites mostly), Rope Bondage (alarming and Japanese), Shemale Blowjobs (Brazilians with perfect breasts, large hands and Adam’s apples), and Weird Insertions (painful-looking German gynaecology and pictures of feet up men’s arses). Ignoring some of the more disturbing elements, he reordered the pictures to build up to a finale. Satisfied with the arrangement, he settled back to watch the slide-show. He’d finish off at the second viewing. After two hours he was aching and the relief would be huge, heightened by the light-headedness from smoking.
    The doorbell rang as he reached the last three slides and his final throes. He looked round as the release came, his enjoyment of the delicious relief wrecked by the interruption. He cleaned up hurriedly, slammed the laptop shut and went to the door, breathing heavily and stuffing himself back into his trousers.
    He looked through the spyhole and recognized – Mark, was it? Jesus, what did he want?
    ‘Oright Pete! Thought you said you were coomin’ rowund.’
    ‘Oh … sorry, I didn’t realize.’
    ‘I fetched some weed jooss. You skinned up earlier, so I thought I’d offer. If you want.’
    ‘Actually … erm, I’m sort of falling asleep on the sofa. I’ve got to get up early in the morning.’
    ‘Oh well, I won’t stop for long in that case. I’m off upthe town soon anyway.’ Mark looked at Peter, waiting for him to stand aside and let him in.
    ‘Sure. Come in,’ Peter said. He’d need the weed.

8
    Beauty lay on the sofa, exhausted and aching. Her arms and wrists hurt where she’d been pulled and punched. They hadn’t hit her as much as in the past, because now she had to go out every day. She’d got two hard slaps across the face, but the stinging would be gone by the morning.
Bhai-sahb
had done most of the shouting and hitting, while the old man stood at the door, his eyes shining as they always did when she got beaten. She’d have to go back to Bangladesh, Dulal said, marry the mullah legally and bring him back to this country. She only had to live with him for a year to make it look good for the Home Office. Once he was allowed to stay in Britain she could divorce him.
    That’s what they said, but would it be like that? And if she didn’t want to marry him then they would send her to live with the old man’s brother in Saudi Arabia. His sons were looking for wives, too.
    The choice was hers.
    Beauty had refused, and got the first slap across the face. The old man told his son not to hit her where it would be noticed. Like at primary school when Miss McKenzie had asked her about the bruises on her back
.
Beauty saw the anger in her brother’s eyes. She tried not to flinch at the blow, but she knew they would probably hear her sobs that night when the fight had ended. Andhe did slap her face again, harder, catching her cheek with the ball of his open hand. The blow knocked her sideways, but the sideboard was there and she managed to stay on her feet.
    Beauty’s mother screamed from the open doorway for him to stop.
    ‘Ar ita horissna!’
    The old man cursed his wife and slammed the door in her face.
    ‘Ama!’ Beauty cried. But what could her mother do?
    The old man stood at the door, trembling with rage.
    ‘Which is it going to be?’ Dulal Miah asked her.
    She refused