One Small Step

by MA Binfield

  The bookstore was not too busy, and she browsed the biography section for half an hour, treating herself to a book about Barbara Ehrenreich, before decamping to the café to browse through it. She was halfway through her latte and had demolished most of a huge slice of walnut cake when a wave of decisiveness overcame her. She pulled out her phone. What harm would a text do? She typed out a quick message. Hey, I’m in your/our favorite bookstore. If you’re free this morning, come join me for a bit of cake. Or actually a lot of cake. The portions are deadly here, as I’m sure you know! Cam x

  Cam put her phone facedown on the table. She tried to calm herself. No one in their right mind would think a casual offer of coffee was coming on too strong. Friends texted each other all the time, right? She and Iris might not be at the texting each other to hang out at the weekend stage yet, but Cam was determined to be there for Iris if she was suffering. She remembered the pained look on Iris’s face as she spoke about Amanda when they’d sat outside the pub and could already tell that Iris was not the kind of person who found it easy to reach out when she needed to talk.

  Cam’s phone buzzed and she picked it up seeing the message from Iris. The portions are indeed huge. I was going to suggest splitting a cake with you, but I can see I’m too late ;)

  Cam frowned at the text. Why was Iris too late? A cough and then a chuckle made Cam look up. Next to the table, books under her arm and a phone in her hand, stood Iris.

  Tall, dark, and handsome. They were the first words that came to Cam’s mind, and they were spot-on, if more than a little surprising.

  “Hey.” Cam felt strangely nervous.

  “Hey back,” Iris said, smiling at her. “Are you following me? I mean, I know I’m adorable and all, but this is the second time you’ve followed me to this bookstore, and stalking is actually a crime here in the UK.” Iris flopped into the chair next to Cam, piling the books she’d been carrying onto the small table.

  Cam couldn’t take her eyes off Iris. Seeing her so unexpectedly made her feel a little giddy.

  “Actually, it’s good you’re here.” Iris pointed at the books. “You can save me from myself by helping me whittle down this pile of books into ones I should buy and ones I should regretfully put back. I’m completely unable to resist splurging here. Too much good stuff.” Iris picked up some crumbs of cake from Cam’s plate and licked them from her fingers, smiling at Cam, seeming to dare her to object.

  Iris seemed to be full of energy, happy, playful even. Cam was a little surprised in the circumstances but also relieved. Iris at work was thoughtful and generally serious, Iris in the pub was witty and guarded, but this Iris—weekend Iris—was even better. She was wearing a thick burgundy hoodie with the words The Dogs Trust emblazoned across the front above a logo of a cute spaniel. It was worn over tight but faded black jeans and black Converse sneakers. She looked kind of…Cam knew the right word was “hot” but she made herself replace it with “cute” which seemed like a much better word to use about a friend.

  “Let’s see.” Cam pulled the pile of books toward her and began studying them one by one. She was happy for something to do that wasn’t simply staring at Iris. Iris pointed at her coffee.

  “Do you want a top up? I’m gonna get myself a tea.”

  Cam shook her head, watching as Iris chatted and laughed with the server, then making herself look away as Iris turned to come back to the table. She returned her attention to the books. A couple of poetry anthologies, a couple of novels, a biography about a war poet Cam had heard of but never read, and a big colorful Sicilian recipe book. The last one surprised her and she held it up with a quizzical look as Iris slid back into the chair next to her.

  “I didn’t have you down as a cook.”

  “No, I’m not. I can barely manage cheese on toast. Though I probably should be offended you wrote me off on that so quickly.” Cam enjoyed the teasing tone in Iris’s voice.

  “It’s for Casey actually. A little gift to thank her for always cooking for me. They went to Sicily in the summer and loved it.” Iris ran her fingers across the cover.

  “I can’t help you then. That was the only one I was going to tell you to put back.” Cam sat back in her chair, waving her hand across the pile of books. “I think you’ll have to spring for all six.” Iris groaned playfully.

  “Do you think Graham will spot it if I put them on my expenses?” Iris was clearly joking. Cam frowned.

  “I’m pretty sure he would. He seems to pay attention to anything that relates to you. If I didn’t know you better, I’d suggest he’s one of those vengeful brokenhearted paramours you’ve left in your wake.”

  Iris shuddered. “God help me. I’m not even sure I know what a paramour is, but I do know that I don’t ever want the words Graham, me, and ‘amour’ in the same sentence. Ugh.”

  She pointed at the bag next to Cam changing the subject. “What did you get?”

  “A biography. She’s a journalist, very political, an activist really. Bit of a heroine of mine.” Cam fished out the book and passed it across so Iris could read the cover. She passed it back to Cam after a few moments, nodding as she did so.

  “And books involve words not numbers, so I approve.” She smiled shyly at Cam. They were both silent for a moment.

  “How do you know Hazel and Casey?”

  “Met them both at university. Casey first and Hazel a little later. I like to say that I brought them together. Sort of. Though Hazel always refuses to give me credit for it.”

  “So you’re a secret matchmaker?”

  Iris laughed and threw her head back. Cam noticed, as if for the first time, her perfect white teeth and wide smile.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. They’d probably have got together sooner if it wasn’t for me.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “And anyway, Hazel reckons that anything I had to do with bringing her and Casey together is more than made up for by her introducing me to Amanda years later…though of course she keeps a little quieter about that one since we did the whole crash and burn thing.” A slight furrow appeared on Iris’s brow.

  Cam wondered whether a bad memory was passing through.

  “You actually seem in a much better mood about the whole Amanda thing than I expected.” Cam had been waiting for an opportunity to ask Iris about it. “Half my reason for texting was to see if you wanted some company and the chance to talk about it.”

  “That’s nice of you, but I only have to see her twice a season, once now that the home game’s already been played. It’s not like we have to hang out all that much. How bad can it be?”

  Damn, is it possible she doesn’t even know? Cam really didn’t want to be the one to tell her, as cowardly as that felt.

  “Did you…I mean, I know you weren’t in work yesterday, but did you get to speak to Megan? Or Jess?” Cam tried to keep her voice level.

  Iris sat up a little straighter in her chair. “About what? What do you mean? Has something happened at work?”

  Cam had no way out. “Oh, Iris, I’m sorry. Jess told me. She told everyone actually. Maxine doesn’t want to keep playing. She can’t fit it in with her studies and everything so…” Cam knew she was making no sense. Iris was looking at her in confusion.

  “Megan told Jess that Amanda is taking over in goal for Cottoms. To replace Maxine for the rest of the season. She’s playing tomorrow. She’ll be playing every week. I can’t believe no one told you. I thought Megan would call you at least.” Cam waited for Iris to react. She didn’t. Her face was closed, a complete blank. They sat in silence for a few moments.

  Cam had no idea what to do or say. Iris stood up, and Cam felt a little panic settle on her chest, assuming Iris was heading home. She really didn’t want her to.

  “Iris, don’t go. Stay and talk to me about it.”

  “There’s really nothing to talk about, Cam.” Iris sounded calm enough, but there was something uncertain underlying her words. “We were together and then we weren’t. She chose to be with someone else,
and now she’s not. She stopped playing football, and now she’s back. It’s really got nothing to do with me.”

  Iris sat back down. She was silent for a beat or two, tracing the outline of her teacup. “If anything I’m just embarrassed. It’s a little harder to put a breakup like that behind you when the person who knows better than anyone what an idiot you are is back in your friendship group. Not that Jess ever lets me forget my part in it.”

  Cam wanted to ask Iris about being an idiot, needing to know what had happened between them, but this wasn’t the right time. Cam felt a little spellbound sometimes when she was with Iris. It was a strange feeling, one that she hadn’t felt for a very long time.

  “Amanda’s single again?” Cam asked.

  “She is. According to Hazel anyway. I don’t know the details. I guess it’s why she’s playing again. At a loose end or something.”

  “I don’t want her to hurt you again.” Cam placed her hand over Iris’s.

  “She won’t, she can’t. She doesn’t mean anything to me now. Whatever hold we had over each other was broken a long time ago.” Iris blew out a breath. “It’s just going to be weird, that’s all. We spent a lot of time playing together. It’s going to be hard sitting across from her in the changing room or in the pub and not think back to those days. They were—mostly—happy ones until…” Iris hesitated. “For a long time we were good together. But now it’ll be awkward, a little, I think. Maybe not for her but for me.”

  “Isn’t that just because she hurt you when she went off with what’s-her-name?”

  “Gina.”

  “I think she should feel more awkward than you about coming back.”

  “It’s not like that. It’s never that simple when two people break up. There’s usually blame on both sides. She hurt me, but I sometimes think that maybe I deserved it somehow. And I didn’t exactly behave well.” Iris pulled her hand away. “And I don’t want to be judged for my part in it. I want to forget all about it. I’ve spent the last nine months trying to do just that to be honest. Actually, can we talk about something else? Split another piece of cake and maybe talk about the weather.” There was a sadness in Iris’s eyes, and Cam felt bad for making her recall painful memories when all she’d wanted to do was let Iris know she was there for her.

  “Hey, I can do better than that.” Cam said. “Pork scratchings. In a riverside pub. Hopefully with a roaring fire. I…well…I don’t have anything to do today, so I was going to go to the South Bank, go to the Globe, and go to a pub that used to bait bears. Though if I’m honest I don’t really understand what that is.” Cam smiled at Iris, trying to lighten the mood. “Come with me if you’re free. I mean, I’m sure you have plans so don’t worry if you can’t. Bit last minute on my part obviously.”

  Iris leaned forward. “My plans involved cleaning the rug in my lounge and then trying, and probably failing, to finish one of the poems I’m struggling with so I’m definitely up for not doing either of those things. I tell you what though, the South Bank will be mad busy on a Saturday, so how about I show you some of the East End like I said I would? It’ll be quieter and just as interesting. I’m sure we can find pork scratchings somewhere, but if you want, we could try that curry place I was raving about.”

  “Sounds fantastic,” Cam replied. And it did. Cam felt happy—happy that she’d chanced the invitation, happy that Iris had said yes, and happy that Iris seemed able to manage the news about Amanda.

  “Oh, I forgot.” Cam pulled a flyer out of her bag and handed it to Iris. “I picked this up for you downstairs. End of next month, they’re doing a ‘first-timers’ poetry event for those new to performing.” She paused. “I’ll come with you if you want to give it a try. Get one of those poems finished and I’ll sit on the front row and clap proudly.”

  Iris looked at Cam, holding her gaze for a beat.

  “I know you’re nervous about it, but it would be so cool and I figured that if I encouraged you to perform, I’d finally get to hear one of your poems.”

  Iris carefully folded the flyer and tucked it into her back pocket. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise. It’s such a terrifying thought.”

  She hadn’t said no and Cam nodded as if satisfied with that.

  Chapter Nine

  “When you said you’d show me East London, I was imagining museums and historic houses, not the back alleys of Whitechapel in the twilight,” Cam mock chided Iris. “Are we going to get killed here? Because I’ve got a really good book in my bag that I was hoping to finish.”

  “Two more victims and I promise we’re done.”

  They rounded a corner and walked along a narrow passageway to the back of a tall office block that sat on a square courtyard. The courtyard backed on to a small park—no more than an enclosed patch of grass really. The courtyard housed half a dozen large trash cans, one of which had been pushed over and spilled its contents onto the gravel. The smell was not appealing, and the overall air was one of squalor, though it was still just about light enough not to feel afraid. Iris beckoned Cam across the courtyard and they skirted around the side of a small park. Give it an hour and the place would be dark enough to lure out the local drug dealers and their customers.

  Iris and Cam had taken their time getting here, chatting in the bookshop café while splitting a cake, dropping the books off at Iris’s flat, and giving her the chance to pick up the guidebook she wanted.

  Iris had made them get the bus rather than the Tube from Hampstead, and they had sat happily on the top deck, crawling along in the traffic, with Iris pointing out random landmarks along the route, including Cam’s favorite, a pub called the Blind Beggar where someone called Jack “The Hat” McVitie was shot by one of the infamous Kray twins, apparently for calling him a homosexual. It wasn’t at all funny yet it somehow made them both giggle like children.

  Now they were in Whitechapel, in what even Iris described as a bit of a rough neighborhood, wandering around alleys behind office buildings and between shops, overlooked by endless low-rise apartment blocks. Iris stopped and pointed at a bollard—a stout iron bollard about eighteen inches high, quite ornate and old-fashioned looking. It was painted black with gold lettering etched around the top.

  “And this,” Iris pointed at the bollard, searching for the right paragraph in her guidebook, “was where Elizabeth Stride’s body was found. She was also a local prostitute, originally from Sweden—which is kind of random—and understood to be Jack’s third victim in London. Historians think that Jack was interrupted while murdering Elizabeth because, while he killed her with a scalpel, he—” Iris stopped and looked at Cam. “Maybe I’ll skip the description of how she was killed. You went a bit green the last time and I’m still hoping for that curry.”

  “Thanks. It’s all a bit gruesome.”

  “You did say you liked scary movies. I figured you’d be able to handle it.”

  “Yeah, I do, but scary movies are on a TV screen in the safety of your own house, and there’s popcorn and cushions to hide behind and you can scream without worrying you’re going to scare up the ghost of Jack the Ripper.” She took Iris by the arm. “I don’t care if you mock me all week for being too scared to carry on. I’d rather suffer that and get out of here alive.”

  Cam pulled on Iris’s arm, leading them back toward the lights of the high street, wanting to leave the alleys behind.

  “Don’t know why you’re worrying. He mainly only severed the arteries of prostitutes y’know, so you’re safe unless there’s something you need to tell me?”

  “You’re funny, Iris. Very funny. And now you’re definitely making it up to me by buying dinner. I’m going to recover my appetite just as soon as we get somewhere where there’s streetlights and actual living people and I stop thinking about Jack and his scalpel.”

  “No problem. The curry place is only a fifteen-minute walk from here, so start recovering quickly.”

  They fell into stride next to each other, Iris leading the way up Brick Lane and steeri
ng them through the crowds with the movement of her body. The street was thronged with people moving in both directions. Many, like them, looking for somewhere to eat. Groups of tourists, blocking the street with their matching backpacks, were joined by couples out for the night. Both sides of the street were populated with Indian restaurants, their lights and colorful frontages jostling for attention. Most had young men standing outside, dressed as waiters, holding menus and promising discounts or free drinks. Shouting over each other to compete for the attention of passersby. Would-be diners occasionally stopped in front of them to consider the menus offered.

  Cam loved the bustling atmosphere of the place. Iris had not paused once, had met all the entreaties they had received to try out individual restaurants with a polite, “No, thank you.” And then, a few minutes later, at the door of a restaurant with a huge vertical neon sign spelling the word Dawat in purple lights, Iris stopped. A middle-aged man stood outside the front door. He was holding menus but not offering them to passersby with quite the same enthusiasm as the others they had passed. He smiled when he saw Iris.

  “Iris. Goodness me, it’s been ages.” His voice was deep and sonorous. He stepped forward and pulled Iris into a hug.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I moved away, the most northern bit of north London. It’s too far and I’m too busy. Rubbish excuses I know. Sorry.” Iris was smiling just as broadly.

  The man released Iris and turned his gaze toward her.

  “And this is not your Amanda.” It was a statement, not a question though he looked with a raised eyebrow in Iris’s direction as he spoke. The man was still looking at Cam, and she felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze. Iris spoke up.

  “No, of course not. This is Cameron. She’s a…” Iris looked at Cam, biting her lip. “She’s a friend. We work together. She plays on the team too.” He said nothing but simply nodded in Cam’s direction.

  “Cam?” Iris touched her on the arm. “This is Devam. Dev to his friends. He manages this wonderful place.” She waved her arm in the direction of the restaurant.