The Last of the Kings by Newton Webb
A Contemporary Psychological Horror Short Story: Ten years after ruling their school the last two members of a privileged old-boy clique reunite for a drunken night.
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The Last of the Kings
Rain slicked the cobblestones, reflecting the amber glow of the streetlamps outside The Saracen’s Arms. Jeremy adjusted his cashmere scarf. He watched his companion stumble out of the pub’s rear exit.
Gregor leaned against the wet brickwork. He fumbled with a packet of cigarettes, his eyes glazed and his hands shaking. He blinked as he tried to focus on his lighter.
Jeremy took the lighter and held the flame beneath the cigarette drooping between Gregor’s sagging jowls. Gregor drew until the tip glowed.
“Absolute disgrace,” Gregor muttered. “Seven fifty, Jez. Seven fifty for lukewarm piss. It’s robbery, Jez.” He took a drag on his cigarette. “Absolute robbery. And you can’t say a word, or the barman gives you that look. You know the look. Like you’re the problem for wanting a pint that doesn’t taste like spaff.”
“Inflation, Gregor.” Jeremy checked his pocket watch. It was a gold heirloom piece. He preferred it to a phone. “There are three things you can rely on, G-Man: death, taxes and the spiralling cost of a bottle of plonk.”
“It’s the establishment.” Gregor spat on the ground. “Squeezing the life out of the working man. You can’t even get a proper drink any more. Modern life is all craft lager and pronouns. We are losing our identity, Jeremy.”
“Well,” Jeremy said, “strictly speaking, you are a commodities broker living in a townhouse in Fulham. I’m not entirely certain you fit the demographic of the downtrodden proletariat.”
Gregor waved a hand. Ash fell onto his brogues. “That’s not the point,” Gregor insisted. “Don’t give me that piffle. I had to sit through a two-hour seminar on ‘unconscious bias’ because some junior analyst overheard something at the printer and now feels sad.”
He pushed himself off the wall, swaying.
“Come along, old boy.” Jeremy took Gregor by the elbow. “The last train waits for no man. Not even a champion of the people such as yourself.”
They navigated the narrow streets towards Monument Underground station. The towers of the City loomed above them, their upper floors disappearing into the sky.
Gregor pointed at one of them. “Look, Jezz, that’s where I work. One of these days, I’ll have to show you around. My office has mahogany furnishings. None of that ghastly white metal and plastic stuff they foist upon the minions.”
“God, no. I had enough of that when I was an actuary. Father said I had to ‘earn my spurs’.”
Gregor looked at him with disgust. “What even is the point of having a father? New York sounds like a positively awful experience.” He raised a finger as another thought occurred to him. “Oh, oh, you know who I saw the other day?” Gregor tripped over a kerb and recovered with a grunt. “That bint from compliance. Sarah. Or Sandra. The one with the legs.”
“You will have to be more specific,” Jeremy said. “Given that I haven’t been to your office yet.”
“Yes, yes, quite. Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ve mentioned her, though. I know I have. I was thinking of dating her, but I saw her with some wet wipe who looked vegan. I told her, ‘Sarah, love, you need someone who can actually open a jar.’ She wasn’t impressed. So, stuff her. I couldn’t date a girl without a sense of humour.”
“Daft thing. I would have assumed she’d have immediately swooned into your arms.” Jeremy smiled. “Overcome by your raw masculinity.”
“Well, you’d think that,” Gregor said. “But these days, you can’t say a word without someone calling HR. What she needs, Jeremy, is a bit of rough and tumble. Just like back in school.”
“Ah, school,” Jeremy said. “Yes. Those were the days.”
“We were kings,” Gregor said. He stopped to take a drag. “Do you remember? We ran that place. Absolute legends. Well, until you sodded off to America.”
“New York.” Jeremy sneered. “A ghastly place. Finance in the US is all about the cocaine. What’s wrong with Scotch?”
“Exactly,” Gregor shouted. His voice echoed off the wet buildings. “We should have another Scotch, Jezz. We haven’t toasted the old gang.”
Jeremy looked around them. “Pubs are shutting, and I don’t really fancy a club. Too many of those young Essex lads.”
Gregor pulled in front of him. “Come on, Jezzer, let’s hit the office. You said you’ve never seen it. You’ll love it. There is a bottle of Scotch in my desk drawer. The good stuff.”
Jeremy shook his head. “No, no. Listen, mate, I’ve a better idea. We are right next to Monument station. We can walk through to Bank, then I’ll take you to the club. They have a whisky library to die for.”
“A whisky library?” Gregor narrowed his eyes. “You sly old fox! Consider me sold, old boy. Lead on!”
They reached the entrance to Monument Underground. The iron gates were still open. Warm, stale air rushed up the stairs to meet them. It smelled of ozone and dust and millions of passing bodies.
Gregor fumbled for his Oyster card. He slapped his wallet against the yellow reader with unnecessary force. The barrier beeped red.
“Useless piece of plastic! God, this whole city. Billions in taxes, and the bloody gates don’t even open. It’s a joke.”
“Try holding it still for a moment,” Jeremy said. “Rather than assaulting the poor device.”
Gregor grumbled. He tried again. The gates parted.
They descended the long escalator. The advertisements on the wall flashed past. They promoted West End musicals and vitamin supplements.
“Jezzer!” Gregor twisted towards him. “Are you ready for the reunion? It’s only a month away. Ten years. Christ.”
“It has crept up on us,” Jeremy said. “Tempus fugit and all that.”
“I’ll be honest, mate. I really needed this. I’ve been a bit lonely these last few years. I can’t believe what happened to Ben,” Gregor said. “Then all that business with Julian last year. We are the last of the gang, Jeremy. The Kings of Eton! We have to meet up more often.”
They stepped off the escalator. They walked down the long, tiled corridor towards the platform. Their footsteps echoed. Clack. Shuffle. Clack.
“Ben,” Jeremy repeated. “Yes. A terrible business.”
“What a ghastly way to go, tripping over a rock in Scotland. Poor man. Heart of a lion, brain of a spaniel. We should have one more for him. Ben wouldn’t want us sober on a Friday. He was a good man, better than the rest of us scallywags anyway.”
“Nature is a cruel mistress,” Jeremy said. “One moment, you are admiring the heather. The next, you are being digested by the peat.”
“Peat, yes! We should have a Laphroaig in his honour,” Gregor said. “He would have wanted us to have a good time. He wouldn’t want us moping about like a pair of wet blankets.”
They reached the platform. It was deserted. The electronic board showed that the next train was due in three minutes.
Approaching.
Gregor walked to the edge and peered into the dark tunnel. His tailored suit strained to contain his beer gut.
“Are we getting the Northern line or the Central line?” Gregor asked.
“Look, you are standing opposite the Northern line sign,” Jeremy said. “I should think that answers the question.”
Gregor laughed.
“You always were a sarcastic bitch, Jeremy.” Gregor leaned back against the tiled wall and looked at the advertisements on the opposite track.
“Hey,” Gregor said. “Do you ever think about that freak? The one from Year 11?”
Jeremy kept his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. He felt the cold metal of his house keys. “You’ll have to narrow it down.”
“The poof who thought he was a girl,” Gregor said. “Put on a dress for prom. What was his name?”
“Her name was Tess,” Jeremy said.
“His. His. There are only two genders, Jezza.” Gregor rolled his eyes. “Pete was his proper name. Before the name change. Remember flushing him, giving him the classic swirly? Oh, those were good times.”
“I was in France that week,” Jeremy said.
“We were just having a laugh,” Gregor insisted. “Boys being boys. And then he goes and tops himself a year later. Everyone crying at assembly. The headmaster giving a speech about bullying. What a load of old cobblers.”
“You must have been very proud.” Jeremy watched the digital display.
Two minutes.
Gregor’s face was flushed. “We didn’t bully him. We were trying to shake some sense into him. Tough love. Clearly, it didn’t work, and I regret that, but the intent was pure.” Gregor spat on the track.
Jeremy looked at him. “You never spoke about her afterwards.”
“What was there to say?” Gregor asked. “Everyone behaved as though we’d killed him.”
“Her.”
“Stop it. Enough of the pronoun nonsense, Jez. You are being a bore. We didn’t kill anyone.” Gregor gave Jeremy a long, lingering look of disdain. “Don’t tell me you care about all that nonsense. It was a decade ago.”
“I really do. I feel awful about the whole thing.” Jeremy sighed. “Ben apologised to her mother.”
“Did he?” Gregor gave Jeremy a sympathetic smile and clapped him on the back. “Jez, some people just don’t cut it in life. They can’t all be like us. Forget Pete.”
Jeremy took a step closer to him. The air in the tunnel began to shift. A breeze pushed through, carrying the roar of the approaching train. Jeremy leaned back to glance at the camera above the platform.
“What have you spotted?”
“Nothing important.”
Gregor followed his gaze, then looked towards the pillar. “That hides us from the camera, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed it does.”
Gregor laughed. “Handy! I need a piss and don’t fancy anyone having a peek. Good spot.”
He moved towards the edge of the platform again. He started to unzip his trousers.
“You really are a pig, Gregor,” Jeremy said. “A man of low breeding and lower character.”
“And you’re a bore,” Gregor shot back over his shoulder. “But you love me really. Who else would put up with your pompous speeches?”
The rumble grew louder. The headlights of the train illuminated the dust motes dancing in the tunnel air. Two bright eyes in the dark.
“There is a funny thing about Tess.” Jeremy’s voice was calm.
“Pete!” Gregor shouted as he swayed, his cock out.
“Tess.” Jeremy lowered his voice. “She was my cousin.”
Gregor froze. His urine stopped midstream. He turned his head slowly.
“You’re having a laugh.” he started urinating again, liberally coating the platform.
“My mother’s sister’s child,” Jeremy said. “We were very close. I taught her how to play tennis. She was brilliant and funny. I loved her very much.”
Gregor stared at him.
Jeremy watched as Gregor tried to process the information through the haze of lager.
“But...” Gregor stammered. “But you never said anything. You never stopped us.”
“I was worried that if I defended her, you would have turned on me, so I laughed when you mocked her. I stopped speaking to her at school. She thought I was ashamed of her.” Jeremy clenched his fist. “See, you call us kings, but all through school, I was a coward. We all were. Four cowards.”
The train was close now. The noise was a deafening roar. The wind whipped Gregor’s tie around his neck.
“Jeremy.” Gregor’s voice lost its bluster. “Jeremy, mate. I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t,” Jeremy said. “I made sure of that. I’ve been very patient, Gregor. For ten years, I have listened to the drivel you, Ben and Julian spouted. I have laughed at your bigoted jokes. And I have hated every single second of it.”
“Now, hang on, Jezzer.” Gregor took a step back from the edge. “What have Ben and Julian got to do with this?”
“It’s been absolutely tremendous seeing you, Gregor.” Jeremy smiled. “You really haven’t changed a bit. Now, I’m afraid you have a train to catch.”
“Jezzer?”
Jeremy stepped forward, placed both hands on Gregor’s chest and shoved.
For a moment, Gregor stared at Jeremy with the bewildered expression of a child. Then fear consumed him. His shoes skidded across the wet tiles as he clawed at Jeremy’s coat.
Jeremy knocked his hands aside. “Mind the gap.”
Gregor tipped backwards, his gaze fixed on Jeremy until he struck the tracks with a heavy thud, just as the train screamed into the station.
The driver slammed on the brakes. Sparks showered from the wheels like fireworks. The screech of metal on metal was ear-splitting. It sounded like the world being torn in half.
But physics is a stubborn old bird. Hundreds of tons of steel could not stop on a whim.
Then there was a wet crunch.
The train slid to a halt halfway down the platform. The doors remained closed.
Jeremy walked towards the escalator. The British Transport Police would reconstruct the evening soon enough.
Gregor had been easier than Ben. Ben had nearly dragged Jeremy from the Highland ridge with him. Julian’s scuba accident had required more patience.
As the escalator carried him towards the street, Jeremy touched the pills in his jacket pocket and considered one final single malt scotch in his favourite leather armchair.
By dawn, there would be no Kings of Eton left.
THE END
Tales of the Macabre
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