Free A Darkening Stain by Robert Wilson Page A

other...?’
    We laughed and I gulped some Johnnie Walker.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ I said. ‘An example of my over fascination, how I get over ... No, I know what I was going to say. Africa. What I’ve learned from Africa, from this work, is that I’m not indifferent any more. My life’s not set in aspic like it was in London. I don’t just work, play, sleep. I’m not protected from ugliness by my job. Reality isn’t TV I see the limbless poverty at every traffic light, the fat people in bars eating money sandwiches which, as you’ve probably gathered, means I don’t totally and unequivocally love the place. It drives me crazy. I go mad when the Africans decide not to do things, when they tell you everything except the one thing you want to hear, when they disappear off to their village without a word, but then I’m charmed by their innocence, the way they join their lives to ours. That’s Africa for me—not a whole lot between those two mood swings—wild anger and happy delirium.’
    â€˜Have I ever seen you on one of those deliriously happy days?’
    â€˜You were asleep last night so you didn’t see it.’
    She leaned over and kissed me and went for the watered down whisky while she was at it. I pulled it away.
    â€˜Just a smell,’ she pleaded.
    â€˜Seven months to go,’ I said, and let her have a sip.
    â€˜Longer than that. I don’t think babies like milk cut with Red Label.’
    â€˜This one will,’ I said, slipping a hand up her top. She pulled away.
    â€˜Don’t,’ she said, ‘we’re not finished yet.’
    â€˜We must be after all that crap.’
    â€˜Bagado,’ she said, flatly, ‘doesn’t think you’re much good at the work.’
    â€˜Don’t let
him
speak at my funeral.’
    â€˜He says you’re good at the business stuff—loading ships in the port, managing gangs and transport—but crime. Solving crime. Seeing what’s going on around you, making deductions, cracking problems ... no.’
    â€˜No?’ I said, lightly.
    â€˜That’s what he says ... and you know why?’
    â€˜You’re going to tell me. I can feel it in my water.’
    â€˜You get involved in events. You get carried away. No objectivity.’
    â€˜Very interesting. Is that it now? Can we...?’
    She came around my side of the table. I pushed my chair back and she sat astride me and put her arms around my neck and her lips up to mine.
    â€˜That’s it,’ she said.
    â€˜You know something,’ I said, pushing her top up over her head, finding no bra. ‘Talking about solving crimes. I solved one of Bagado’s yesterday. Five men dead in a ship’s hold. Suffocated, no sign of violence. How did they die? I came up with fresh timber. Then Bagado came within an inch of telling me he wouldn’t mind somebody taking Bondougou out of the game. What does that sound like to you?’
    â€˜Role reversal,’ she said, and pressed my head down on to her breasts.
    â€˜Thanks.’
    â€˜Now shut up.’
    I lifted her up on to the table and stripped her panties off. She tore at the front of my trousers. I sucked on her nipples until they were nut hard. She grabbed me and steered me into her and my knees gave at the feel of her soft, wet warmth. I drove into her lifting her off the table, my hands and arms full of her creamy back. She held my face to hers with the back of her hand round my head and rucked up my shirt.
    â€˜Turn the lights off,’ she said. ‘I’m not entertaining the whole street.’
    She wrapped her legs around me. I walked to the wall and lashed out at the lights. Half her face appeared in a corner of light from the street. Her head rose and fell against the wall. My trousers sank to the floor with the weight of keys and money and the jolt of each thrust.
    â€˜Just don’t go indifferent on me,’