Page 55 of Lost Souls

Melisande just scoffs. “Hey, pal, nothing I ain’t seen before.”

Big Louie shrugs and drops the towel. The woman simply nods. At least now she knows how he got his name.

Chapter Thirty-Three

If you do not travel, you will marry your own sister.

(Mozambican proverb)

Noreen and Arnieare fast asleep on each other’s shoulders in their second cab of the morning. When they finally arrive at the address Arnie had yelled at him, the driver wakes them up by screeching onto the kerb and smacking his horn.

Noreen, who has changed back on the plane into her old Lakeland attire (which, frankly, she finds far more comfortable, albeit a bit sweaty) is quite confused. She has absolutely no idea where she is. Arnie knows exactly where he is but is just as confused, because he still hasbarely an idea in his head as to how and whether he is ever going to survive this unholy celestial shitstorm.

“So, this isn’t your house, Arnie?” says Noreen, trying to puzzle it out as they approach the apartment block.

“No. It ain’t anyone’s house. They’re what you call apartments. But my old bachelor pad is being made over. I’m having the prayer room reconsecrated.” He can feel the scepticism like a chill Cumbrian breeze. “Little faith-based producer joke. Got a ton of them.”

“So, whose is this – apartment?”

“This place? Well… it belongs to… to my sister. Yeah. I called sis from the airport. You’ll love her,” he says, pressing the button. “She’s a nurse.”

“Hello?” barks the sisterly voice out of the entry phone.

“It’s me. Everything tidy?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Mother-visiting tidy?”

“Oh. Ohcrap!”

Arnie decides that he and Noreen should ignore the elevator and walk slowly up the stairs. Very slowly. Especially, he enthuses, as she loves hills so much. Whilst he explains to his companion that he also needs the exercise, Arnie Garth is quite aware that the current occupant of the apartment to which they’re ascending is frantically doing what has become known in the industry as ‘pressing the ESC button’ – ESC being Erotica Spring Clean.

Posters that once boastedSchindler’s Lust,The 400 Blow-JobsandGlad He Ate Herwill now, with a quick swivel on the picture hook, hopefully feature CleopatraCleaves inThe Life of Marie Curie,The Amelia Earhart StoryandMother of God!

When she finally opens the door to Arnie and Noreen, the aforementioned star is unsurprisingly flushed and panting. She skilfully manages to turn these features into delirious enthusiasm for whoever has just shown up at her door.

“Arnie!” she screams, a touch over-effusively. “Welcome back! We were so worried.” She hugs him affectionately and slips a sisterly tongue down his throat. At the same time, she swiftly sizes up the curiously woolly person he has brought with him but unusually finds herself completely stumped.

“Er, Cleo, this is Noreen. Noreen Millwheel. From England, somewhere. Noreen – say hi to Cleo. Short for Cleopatra. Noreen needs the bathroom.”

“No, I—”

Arnie shoves her towards a room down the hall. “There you go, baby. American plumbing.”

“Well, maybe I will just spend a penny,” says Noreen, with a shrug. “Then you must tell me – Cleopatra – if there’s anything I can do. Ironing, cleaning, blood transfusion…”

Noreen has barely closed the bathroom door when Cleo grabs Arnie by the wilting Hawaiian collar.

“You’ve got some nerve, Arnie Garth! You fire my ass, have a double coronaryanda stroke, skip town, I don’t know if you’re alive or dead, then suddenly you turn up on my doorstep—”

Arnie is about to interrupt.

“Alright, technicallyyourdoorstep – expecting what?Travellers aid! And who’s that person – my replacement?”

“She’s… well, she’s… see, she…”

Arnie pauses and takes her hand, which feels so incredibly soft and smooth compared to that of his recent, hard-weathered companion. Yet there was something so – how could he put it? – so real and, well, honest, about the earthy Millburn extremity. No! He can’t go there. This is too important. Here goes.