shared with a fellow student when reading how to rearticulate a dislocated shoulder. "Place a stockinged foot in the axilla," the text had said. "Cross-dressing for doctors," his friend had said. "I must remember to put a black silk stocking in my bag in case I come across a dislocation."
That was how to stay alive, he thought. Memory and movement. Now he had his arms for balance, he could move around. He could jog on the spot. A minute jogging, two minutes resting. Which would be fine if he could see his watch, he thought stupidly. For once, he wished he smoked. Then he'd have matches, a lighter. Something to breach this appalling blank darkness. "Sensory deprivation," he said. "Break the silence. Talk to yourself. Sing."
Pins and needles in his hands made him twitch. He took his hands out and shook them vigorously from the wrists. He massaged them clumsily against each other, and gradually the feeling came back. He touched the wall, glad of the sedimentary roughness of the sandstone. He'd begun to worry about permanent damage because of the circulatory cut-off. His fingers were still swollen and stiff, but at least he could feel them again.
He pushed himself to his feet and began to lift his feet in a gentle jog. He'd let his pulse-rate rise, then stop till it returned to normal. He thought about all the afternoons he'd spent hating PE. Sadistic gym teachers and endless circuit training, cross country and rugby. Movement and memory.
He was going to make it out alive. Wasn't he?
Morning came, and there was no Ziggy in the kitchen. Concerned now, Alex stuck his head round Ziggy's door. No Ziggy. It was hard to tell whether his bed had been slept in, since Alex doubted he'd made it since the beginning of term. He returned to the kitchen, where Mondo was tucking into a vast bowl of Coco Pops. "I'm worried about Ziggy. I don't think he came back last night."
"You're such an old woman, Gilly. Did you ever consider he might have got laid?"
"I think he might have mentioned the possibility."
Mondo snorted. "Not Ziggy. If he didn't want you to know, you'd never find out. He's not transparent, like you and me."
"Mondo, how long have we been sharing a house?"
"Three and a half years," Mondo said, casting his eyes to the ceiling.
"And how many nights has Ziggy stayed out?"
"I don't know, Gilly. In case you hadn't noticed, I tend to be away from base quite a lot myself. Unlike you, I have a life outside these four walls."
"I'm not exactly a monk, Mondo. But as far as I'm aware, Ziggy has never stayed out all night. And it worries me because it's not that long since Weird had the crap beaten out of him by the Duff brothers. And yesterday I got into a ruck with Cavendish and his Tory cronies. What if he got into a fight? What if he's in the hospital?"
"And what if he got laid? Listen to yourself, Gilly, you sound like my mother."
"Up yours, Mondo." Alex grabbed his jacket from the hall and made for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to phone Maclennan. If he tells me I sound like his mother, then I'll shut up, OK?" Alex slammed the door on the way out. He had another fear he hadn't mentioned to Mondo. What if Ziggy had gone out cruising for sex and been arrested? That was the nightmare scenario.
He walked across to the phone booths in the admin building and dialed the police station. To his surprise, he was put straight through to Maclennan. "It's Alex Gilbey, Inspector," he said. "I know this is probably going to sound like a right waste of your time, but I'm worried about Ziggy Malkiewicz. He didn't come home last night, which he's never done before?
"And after what happened to Mr. Mackie, you felt a bit uneasy?" Maclennan finished.
"That's right."
"Are you at Fife Park now?"
"Aye."
"Stay put. I'm coming over."
Alex didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned that the detective had taken him seriously. He trudged back to the house and told Mondo to expect a visit from the police.
"He'll really thank you for that when he walks in with that just-fucked look on his face," Mondo said.
By the time Maclennan arrived, Weird had joined them. He rubbed his tender, half-healed nose and said, "I'm with Gilly on this one. If Ziggy's fallen foul of the Duff brothers, he could be in intensive care by now."