The soul bank, p.1
The Soul Bank, page 1
The Soul Bank
Adam Eccles
Contents
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Also by Adam Eccles
Copyright © 2021 Adam Eccles
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Even if they seem like things you have actually read online.
Created with Vellum
For Robin & Willow
About the Author
Adam Eccles is a sarcastic, cynical, tech-nerd hermit, living in the west of Ireland for the last couple of decades, or so.
www.AdamEcclesBooks.com
Chapter One
Excruciating, awkward, stressful and generally weird. Dinner parties…
Willingly inviting other humans into your home to consume nutrients and alcohol in your presence. Why do we do it?
Kirsty has been fussing in the kitchen all day, and I awoke to a text message containing a long list of chores to complete.
Why the upstairs en-suite shower needed to be scrubbed for a dinner party, I’ll never understand. But that, among many other seemingly pointless tasks, has been my Saturday so far. The prize at the end of it; having to endure Kirsty’s obnoxious friends all evening as they get louder and drunker. Fabulous.
The only saving grace is that my best mate, Dave, was allowed to be invited, as long as I took responsibility for him behaving himself.
That restriction is in place since one time Dave came over and perhaps partook of slightly too many beverages, and we found him asleep in the bathtub the next morning in nothing but his underpants. I say we, but it was Kirsty who found him and then screamed blue-murder. A bit over the top, if you ask me. I mean, who hasn’t found themselves semi-naked in someone’s tub after a heavy night? At least he hadn’t puked or shat himself.
Taking responsibility for Dave is like trying to stop a speeding train with a rolled-up newspaper. It’s an impossible and thankless task, but my secret ingredient in the mix is his current girlfriend, Michelle. They’ve only been going out a few weeks, so he might tone it down a bit for her benefit. Then again, he could go all out crazy and end up pissing in the plant pots. You just never know with Dave.
Laura and Nathan… They have their own brand of bad behaviour, but theirs is more socially acceptable, according to Kirsty, as they have money and status. Knob-heads, the both of them, if you ask me. Still, Laura is Kirsty’s best mate from school days. What can you do?
Laura got with Nathan a couple of years ago now, and I’ve hated the twat since the first time I met him. An accountant, but all modern and edgy. Hair carefully messed up, jeans ripped in all the right places. Bright-red Tesla. Always vaping something fruity. By that, I mean banana or apples or forest-berries, not weed. Mind you, I’m pretty sure he’s dabbled with some pharmaceutical powders in his time. There’s something about him that sets me on edge. Gives me a shiver thinking about him.
Laura isn’t too bad, I suppose. If you can get past her constant judgemental looks, which are likely the cause of Kirsty’s panic and fluster all day. She’s some kind of consultant for god knows what high-paying malarkey. I never paid attention.
The menu tonight was carefully chosen; not too expensive, not too cheap. Artsy, but not fartsy. Kirsty is making something from a Jamie Oliver cookbook. Supplemented, of course, with several twenty-quid bottles of wine. Costing us a bloody fortune, this dinner.
Why do we do it? Well, I know why Kirsty does it. She says she enjoys the company, that we barely ever socialise and go out any more. She reckons a dinner is a grounding and wholesome thing, and that we need to get out of our shells and mingle. But mostly, I think she likes to show off at any excuse.
This particular dinner excuse is to discuss our impending group holiday with Laura and Nathan. Two weeks in Portugal with those knobs. I’m looking forward to that as much as a dog looks forward to the castration anaesthetic at the vet.
Why do I do it? As I plod into the kitchen and catch sight of Kirsty stirring a pot of something, done up in her party dress, heels and stockings, low cut and skin tight, I’m reminded of exactly why I do it; Kirsty.
She’s bloody gorgeous, always was, always will be. Ten out of ten and way out of my league. We’ve been together for six years now, and I don’t know how I managed it. So putting up with this dinner and holiday is a small price to pay. Well, the holiday wasn’t a small price, I can tell you. But it’s Kirsty’s thirtieth birthday present, and she chose all of it and paid for half of it. I can’t complain. No, I can and do, but she doesn’t listen.
For my thirtieth, we went to the local Chinese and then watched some crap on Netflix.
“Smells good.” I peer over her shoulder into the saucepan, catching a glance of her cleavage and a grope of her pert bum as I do.
“Oi, you. Keep your hands off the merchandise!” She laughs and passes me a teaspoon. “Taste this, will you?”
“What is it?”
“Marsala gravy for the duck.”
“Very fancy.” I take a spoonful and taste it. “Not bad, not bad at all. Maybe just a pinch more salt?”
“Salt isn’t good for you, Andy.”
“Tastes good, though.”
“So does chocolate. Doesn’t make it good for you.”
“Whatever you say, my darling.” I leave her to it with a casual look back at her delicious arse. “You know best.”
“Too right!” She wiggles her behind a little for my benefit. “Put my playlist on, please.”
I wander into the living room and flick on the stereo. Obviously, I’m not allowed to play my choice of music as it would be ‘inappropriate’ for the evening. ‘Kirsty’s Dinner Tunes’ it is, then. I tap the iPad and mellow notes seep into the room.
I flop down on the couch and check my phone. All my chores are ticked off and done. I’m dressed, showered, cologned and ready for the onslaught. Might even have time for a sly can before they all show up to ease the stress.
A text message buzzes into my hand from Dave. ‘Soz, mate. Gonna have to cancel dinner. Something has come up.’
Seriously?
I reply. ‘What! You are meant to be my buffer here. What are you doing?’
A photo arrives, and I wish I hadn’t asked. A blurry picture of his protruding middle finger, on top of what looks like… A pair of tits. Lovely. He’s doing ‘it’ right now while he’s texting. How romantic.
‘Well, hurry and finish and get over here.’
Another photo arrives; a forest of empty and squashed Heineken cans on the coffee table, spilling onto the floor. A pair of knickers haphazardly draped across the cans. ‘Never mind.’ I sigh. Now I’ll have to cover for the dickhead and listen to Kirsty’s wrath and ‘told you so’
I get up off my arse and go back to the kitchen.
“Need a hand?”
Kirsty scoffs at me. “Everything is taken care of now. Could have used your help earlier, though.”
“I was scrubbing the shower and wiping the upstairs windows, for some reason.”
“Hmm.”
I can’t tell the intention of that mumble, but I carry on, unfettered. “Bad news, I’m afraid.”
She looks over at me, still stirring on the stove. “What?”
I motion with my phone. “Dave can’t make it.” She looks blank. “He got called into work at the last minute. Some support issue in Boston.”
Kirsty raises an eyebrow but says nothing. She pauses for a moment, then looks at me dead on. “I hope you are hungry. There’s two spare meals now.”
Smooth, Andy. Smooth. I think she swallowed it and I get extra dinner.
“Bloody starving, as it goes.”
“Good. You can have a night off the diet, then.” She smiles. “I can’t say I’m surprised, honestly, but you could have come up with a better lie.”
“Hey?”
“I can read you like a book, Andy. Dave isn’t doing support for Boston, is he?”
I turn away. “Umm, well, no. Not strictly speaking.”
“What’s he doing, then?”
“Banging Michelle.” I assume it’s Michelle, anyway. Hard to tell as I’ve never seen her tits before.
&nb sp; Kirsty tuts. “Why do you bother covering for him, Andy?”
I shrug. “He’s my mate.”
“Well, it’ll just be us and Laura and Nathan, then.” She smiles. “Nice and snug.”
“Yeah.” I sigh inside.
“I was just admiring your knockers.” Nathan and Laura appear at the door, fifteen minutes early. I shoot a sideways look at Kirsty, who blushes a little, then switches to a scowl and looks up at Nathan expectantly. “On the door.” He points to the brass door knockers, one above the other, rather than my girlfriend’s ample and unsubtly exposed bosom. Crisis averted.
A flurry of hugs, triple-cheek-kisses and manly handshakes ensue, and Laura gushes over how fabulous Kirsty looks, downplaying the seven-hour stint she’s no doubt been on at the salon before she arrived. The way she says it hints at sympathy, rather than awe. ‘Wow, despite your minuscule income and plain looks, you’ve managed to look great!’ I internally roll my eyes and try to be patient. The nuance seems to be lost on Kirsty, who returns the compliments.
“Where did you get them, if you don’t mind me asking? The knockers.” Nathan, towering at six-four, in a pink shirt and faded, ripped blue-jeans, stoops down to address me.
“Err, I’m not sure. They sort of came with the house.” I raise an eyebrow.
“Strange that there’s two of them.”
“It is a bit, but maybe they had a BOGOF deal at the time?” Nathan looks blank. “Buy one, get one free.”
“Ah, yes. Maybe.” Sarcasm is apparently below Nathan’s level.
“Come through to the living room,” Kirsty ushers everyone in. “Andy, fetch some drinks if you please.”
“Yes, Madam.” I turn to Laura, “Would the lady prefer red or white?”
“Glass of white would be lovely, thanks, Andy.”
“Nathan?” I turn to the jolly pink giant. No point in offering him a beer.
“Yes, white… Please.” His pause duration before adding the ‘please’ feels like a kick to the stomach. A perfunctory addition, rather than a pleasantry. Glass with the chip in it for Nathan, coming right up.
I already know what Kirsty wants. She’ll have exactly the same as her friends, so as not to draw attention and seem odd. I slope off to the kitchen, leaving them to mingle.
“There’s only the four of us tonight, Dave and Michelle couldn’t make it, I’m afraid. They called him away for a work thing.” We sit down at the table to beautifully arranged starter plates of salad, and tiny spring rolls that Kirsty made from scratch this morning. Drizzled with something pungent, dark and tangy. I’m thankful she went with my excuse plan, but it’s probably out of embarrassment rather than any loyalty to me or Dave.
“That’s a shame.” Laura looks at me with her sympathy grin.
“And why I don’t work in support.” Nathan pipes up, chuckling and slurping four quids’ worth of wine in one gulp.
“Dave is the global escalation manager for IT systems, not really support.”
“Well, you know, that kind of thing.” He waves vaguely.
Yeah, can’t wait to spend two weeks away with these people… I smile and pick up my glass. “Well, a toast to Kirsty for creating this wonderful spread. Looks amazing, babe.”
Kirsty blushes and smiles. Laura and Nathan spring into action, wine at the ready. “Absolutely. Looks wonderful.”
“Thank you. Well, tuck in everyone.”
I’m permitted to scarf down my seconds, but only if I do it surreptitiously in the kitchen as I take empty plates back. Otherwise, it may seem crass, so Kirsty said. Whatever. I sneak a duck-leg and a spring roll and return with a fresh bottle of wine. None the wiser. To be honest, they probably didn’t even notice I was gone from the table.
The discussion is around the best restaurants that no one knows about in Lisbon, discovered only by Laura on previous trips. I’m getting tired of hearing about it, and I wonder if our budget for meals is going to last more than three days into the holiday. I hadn’t bargained for the extravaganza that Laura seems to be planning. I’ll stick to the salad, I guess. Two weeks of rabbit food for me, and booze snuck into the hotel room from whatever passes for an offy out there.
The urge to pull my phone out and fart around on Reddit is almost overwhelming. I instinctively reach down to my pocket and have to stop myself many times. If Kirsty caught me browsing now, I’d get the silent treatment for days, and no chance of a ride for weeks. Best behaviour, Andy. Don’t forget we’re living in the moment.
I wouldn’t be tempted to drift off if I was part of the conversation, but they’ve moved on to art and museums and this entire trip sounds like an expensive stint in Yawnsville. Lying around on a secluded beach, then browsing through dusty museums. If I wanted to be bored to death, I could stay at home and go to work.
Memories of our first trip, just me and Kirsty, come flooding back, and I feel a grin spread across my face. We’d only been seeing each other a few months, and it was a rare occasion that we got time to ourselves. I lived with my sister, temporarily, and Kirsty shared a flat with two other girls. A long weekend away together in Bruges was like having a taste of heaven. Granted, I mostly only saw the hotel room ceiling, but when we made it out of the room for mulled red wine and waffles, it was like being in a fairytale. The taste of snow as I kissed the flakes from Kirsty’s nose was better than anything in Jamie Oliver’s repertoire.
Good times, those. I remember we walked by a jeweller’s shop, and I was that close to going in and buying her a ring, then and there. But my bank balance stopped me, and the moment never came up again since. I think about marriage occasionally, but Kirsty has never once mentioned it. I keep quiet because once you go down that road, there’s only one logical conclusion. Babies. I’m not ready for that. I can’t even adequately look after myself. Responsibility is for adults, isn’t it? Not thirty-five-year-old kids.
“You are very quiet, Andy.” Laura, the droopy side of tipsy, reaches over the table and grabs my arm. “Are you looking forward to the trip?”
Stunned, I glance at Kirsty, but she’s midst some animated discussion with Nathan. “Err. Yeah, course. Be a laugh.”
“Anything particular you want to see or do?” I can’t tell if she’s flirting or just drunk and unaware. Her hand on my arm remains, a finger gently stroking up and down. Do I pull away now, or ignore it? The longer I don’t make a move, the more awkward it will get.
What I’m mostly looking forward to is sleeping in every day and catching up on some reading. But I don’t think that’s what she wants to hear.
“I wonder if there are any gigs on? Some live music is always good.”
“I’m sure we can find something to keep you entertained.” Laura brushes back her hair and leans forward, granting me a view of her tanned cleavage. What’s going on here?
I take the opportunity to pick up a wine bottle and offer her a top-up. Not that I think she needs more booze, but just to break contact.
“You trying to get me drunk, Andy?” She grins. “Go on then, but I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
I laugh, trying to defuse a potential bomb. “Right, yeah. No, just being polite.”
Laura pushes her glass over to me with a subtle lick of her lips. Bloody hell.
“Laura, what’s the name of that…” I’m thankful for the interruption from Nathan.
“Columbano.” She replies without even looking over at him. Her eyes fixed on me. I’ve known her for years now, but this has never happened before. She’s always been standoffish and fake. I thought she didn’t even like me.
