by Kevin Brooks
“Loosen up,” Candy said.
“What?”
She jiggled my arm. “Loosen up…You’re as stiff as a board.”
I tried to relax my arm, but it didn’t seem to belong to me anymore. Not that I knew what to do with it, anyway. Walking arm in arm was another new experience for me. It wasn’t quite as perplexing as the drug thing, but it still posed a lot of tough questions—What should I do with my arm? Should I stick my elbow out? Should I hold her arm? Should I put my hand in my pocket?
“Where are you taking me?” I asked her, just for something to say.
“Wait and see. It’s a surprise.”
We walked on in silence. Candy seemed to be enjoying herself, smiling quietly at everything around us—the passing enclosures, the animals, the signs, the people on the pathways—but there was something about her, some weird sense of detachment, that made me wonder what she was really seeing. It was as if she was living in her own little bubble, all wrapped up and warm inside, and everything outside the bubble was nothing more than a passing curiosity.
“Are you all right?” I asked her.
“Hmm?”
“Are you OK?”
“Fine.” She nodded.
“Do you want to…uh…Do you want to talk about anything?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know…anything. Where you live, what you do…that kind of stuff.”
She smiled. “That kind of stuff?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded again, and again, then blinked her eyes once or twice, then looked at me and said, “OK…yeah…I can do that kind of stuff. Let’s see…” She looked straight ahead, deep in thought, then started talking. “Right…where do I live? OK…I live about ten minutes’ walk from King’s Cross station in a nice little third-floor flat in a refurbished Victorian house.” Her voice was flat and expressionless, as if she was reading from a script. “My roommate’s called Sophie. She’s a dancer in a West End nightclub, which is where we met.” She stopped talking and looked at me. “How’s that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing…” She smiled. “I was just wondering what you thought.”
I shook my head.
She tightened her grip on my arm. “You must have wondered about me…where I get my money from. What I do…”
“Well…yeah, I suppose.”
“And?”
“I don’t know. I just…I don’t know…”
She didn’t say anything for a while, and neither did I. We just carried on walking. I was feeling more comfortable with the arm-in-arm thing now. I was beginning to appreciate that it’s actually a pretty good way of walking when one of you knows where you’re going and the other one doesn’t. You don’t need to ask questions or guess which way to go; all you have to do is get used to the other person, and after a while you can sense where they’re going through the feel of their body.
We were near the main entrance again now, heading off toward a little tunnel that leads through to the canal side of the zoo. As we went down into the shade of the tunnel, Candy started talking again, this time in a more natural voice.
“It’s just a bit hard to talk about personal things,” she said. “There’s all sorts of family stuff…you know…complicated stuff. D’you know what I mean?”
“Yeah.”
She shook her head. “There was all kinds of crap going on at home…I couldn’t stand it. Then they kicked me out of school, and things just went from bad to worse.” I felt her shoulders shrug. “So I just left. Got up one morning, called a friend, left a note, and came down here.”
“To London?”
“Yeah…I knew a girl who had a place in Bethnal Green. I stayed there for a while, then I got myself this dancing job…and that’s about it, really.”
“Dancing?” I said.
“Yeah…I’m a dancer.”
“Really?”
She stopped walking and turned to face me. “I just dance, Joe. Nothing else. I don’t take my clothes off. I’m just a dancer. No poles, no stripping, just a flashy little top and a miniskirt. It’s nothing—you see more naked flesh on Saturday morning kids’ TV.” She shrugged again. “It’s just a job.”
“What about Iggy?”
Her face tensed for a moment, then relaxed again. “Like I told you,” she said, “he’s just a friend of a friend…not even that, really. He’s just some guy that hangs around.” She tapped the side of her head. “He’s a bit whacked—too much crack, probably. He lives in his own little world. One minute he thinks he’s a pimp, the next he’s an undercover cop. It’s best to just humor him.”
“Is that what you were doing in McDonald’s—humoring him?”
She nodded, looking away. “He can get a bit funny sometimes…he’s a big guy—you saw him. He doesn’t mean to be scary…”
“He doesn’t have to.”
She laughed. “He wouldn’t hurt you.”
“No?”
“Well, not much…”
We looked at each other then—a long, close look. Candy was smiling, but I couldn’t work out what kind of smile it was. It seemed real enough, a smile fit for a joke, but jokes—and good lies—are usually based on the truth, and I could see some kind of truth in her eyes. It was a truth that invaded her, like a dark disease, a truth too painful to talk about. And I was beginning to wonder if all I was doing was making it worse.
Candy was still looking at me.
I smiled.
She sighed.
I breathed in deeply, tasting the scent of her breath, and a moment passed between us—a silent agreement to put the truth on hold—and then she took my hand and led me down into Moonlight World.
“It’s my favorite place,” Candy said quietly, guiding me down the dimly lit stairs. “It’s always empty and quiet down here, and the air feels nice and cool. Mind the steps.”
I stumbled slightly in the darkness. She tightened her grip on my hand and pulled me toward her.
“Close your eyes,” she said. “Then open them again. Like this…” She turned to me with wide-open eyes, looking like a startled owl.
I smiled at her.
“Seriously,” she said. “It lets more light in.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if they just turned up the lights?”
“It’s supposed to be dark. These are nocturnal animals. If the lights were turned up, they’d be asleep all the time.”
The steps led us down into a twilight corridor, and as we started to walk along it, looking in at the glass-fronted enclosures, I could feel the hush of the night seeping into my skin. The silence, the emptiness, the cool of the underground air. It smelled earthy and fresh.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Candy whispered.
“Yeah…it’s good.”
“I used to come here on my own sometimes…I’d stay down here for ages.” Her voice was barely audible. “It’s a good place for sadness…”
I wasn’t sure what she meant. Good for making you sad? Or good for taking the sadness away?
“Look,” she said.
We’d stopped in front of a rain-forest scene, a moonlit world of mossy branches and waxy green leaves and strange-looking ferns, all of it misty and dark and dripping with moisture. I moved up closer and peered through the glass, but I couldn’t see any animals.
“There,” Candy said, pointing to a corner. “On that little branch at the back. See?”
I looked closer. A pair of huge yellow eyes was staring curiously at us through the darkness. Behind the eyes I could just make out a small furry animal, no bigger than my hand, sitting quietly on the branch.
“What is it?” I said.
“I don’t know…come on, I’ll show you my favorite.”
She took my hand again and led me down to the end of the corridor. Her fingers felt so fine on my skin…so light and slender, pressing coolly into the palm of my hand…sending her touch all over me…
It was more than anything I’d ever felt before.
>
“Here we are,” she said, stopping in front of another display. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
I didn’t have to search for the animal this time; I could see it straight away. The inside of the enclosure was a lot starker than the other one—just a sandy floor, a stone-colored background, and a solitary bare-branched tree. Perched uneasily in the tree was a russet-colored animal with a dopey-looking head and a long thick tail. It was about the size of a small dog or a big cat, but it didn’t look like a dog or a cat—it looked like a small kangaroo. Small front legs, large hind legs, a roundish triangular head…
“It’s a tree kangaroo,” Candy said.
“A tree kangaroo?”
She nodded, her eyes glazed with pity. “It never moves. It just sits there all the time, like it’s too scared to go anywhere.”
She was right—it did look scared, scared and wobbly, as if it was going to fall off the branch at any moment. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it did. It was a kangaroo, for God’s sake. Kangaroos aren’t designed for climbing trees. And this one seemed to know it. Its face was filled with a sad-eyed bewilderment, a pitiful look that seemed to say, I know I’m a tree kangaroo, and I know I’m supposed to climb trees, but I’m just no good at it, and I really don’t like it.
“Poor little sod,” said Candy. “Stuck in a tree all day…”
The kangaroo blinked sadly.
Candy sniffed. “Come on…let’s leave him alone.”
I followed her back down the corridor toward the exit, feeling quietly moved by what I’d just seen. The sadness, the silence, the darkness, the loneliness…all of it held in a simple little moment. It was just so…
I don’t know.
Just so much.
If nothing else had happened then, if we’d left Moonlight World with only the memory of that sad little moment, it still would have stayed with me for years to come.
But something else did happen.
Something that made the moment eternal.
Without so much as a word, Candy led me down to the end of the corridor and into a dark little alcove beside the exit door. I thought she was going to show me something else, another animal or something, but instead she took me by the shoulders and pushed me up against the wall and, before I knew it, we were kissing ourselves to death. Hot kisses, wet kisses, long hard kisses that lasted forever…lips and tongues, hands and bodies, everything groaning out of control…
God…
It burns me up just thinking about it.
The heat of her mouth, her lips, the rush of her body touching mine, the naked thrill of her skin…
I don’t know how long we stayed there, moaning and sighing against the wall, but if a couple of young kids hadn’t come around the corner and surprised us with a sudden shriek of giggles, I’m sure we’d still be there now. Lost in the dark desire, lost in each other…
As it was, though, the kids brought us back to our senses. We stopped kissing and looked at them for a moment, none of us moving, and then their parents appeared around the corner and the spell was suddenly broken. The parents didn’t know what to do. At first they were wary, a bit suspicious, wondering what we were up to. Then the kids started telling them what we were up to and their parents got embarrassed and that got us giggling, which helped to cool things down a bit.
Not a lot, mind you, but enough to let us open the door and walk out into the late afternoon without feeling too conspicuous.
“That was fun,” Candy said, still giggling.
My skin was flushed, tingling in the open air, and I felt as if I hadn’t breathed for a month. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a throaty sigh.
Candy smiled at me, her dark eyes gleaming. “Are you all right?”
“Uh-huh…”
She grinned again, reaching into her bag for a cigarette. She offered me the pack. “Sure you don’t want one?”
“Nuh-uh,” I said.
She stopped to light the cigarette—cupping her hands against the breeze, clicking the lighter, then flicking her head back and blowing out smoke with an irresistible look of delight on her face.
“OK,” she said. “What’s next?”
Next? I thought. What’s next?
I was just about ready to lie down and die.
“Come on, Joe,” she said, grabbing my hand. “It’s only early yet. There’s still a lot to see.” She grinned at me. “Come on… I’ll buy you a Coke—boost your energy levels.”
My legs were still quivering as she dragged me away, and the ground was an alien surface ten miles beneath me.
Except for one little hiccup, the rest of the day was a nice downhill ride. Candy bought me a Coke—and a bottle of water for herself—and then we just strolled around in the paling light, ambling slowly along the pathways, arm in arm, not really caring where we were going, just walking. The zoo was gradually emptying out, the schoolkids and tourists heading back home, and as the skies began to dim and the afternoon made way for the evening, the atmosphere took on that nice quiet feeling you get at the end of the day—animals slumbering, shops getting ready to close, zookeepers with wheelbarrows preparing for the night.
It felt good to be part of it.
Tired and happy, wandering quietly in a cooling breeze, birds whistling and animals grumbling, growling, shuffling, yawning…
We were on the far side of the zoo now, the quiet side. All zoos have their far sides: those places farthest away from the restaurants and the souvenir shops, where the less popular animals are housed, the animals that are hard to see, or don’t do very much—wolves, deer, small brown things that live in burrows, birds that are not quite ostriches. They’re lonely places, these quiet sides—the kinds of places where secrets can be shared. Secrets or truths.
Or nothings.
With us, it was nothings.
I told Candy about my parents; she listened. I told her about Gina and Mike; she said she’d like to meet them. I told her about school and exams, and she drifted away, strangely saddened, or maybe just bored. But when I told her about writing songs and playing music and being onstage with The Katies, she perked up again. “It must be fantastic,” she said, “doing something you really like.”
“Yeah,” I told her. “It’s pretty good.”
“What’s it like onstage, you know, with all those people watching you? Don’t you get scared?”
“Not really. I mean, we don’t get that many people watching us, and when the lights are down you can’t see most of them, anyway. Besides, I’m usually too busy trying to remember the songs to think of anything else.” I looked at her. “What about you? Do you get scared?”
“When?”
“When you’re onstage—when you’re dancing.”
“Oh, right,” she said quickly, lowering her eyes. “Yeah…I don’t know…I don’t really think about it, I suppose. I just…” She raised her head and stared emptily into the distance, her face strangely sad again. When she spoke, her voice was cold. “I just pretend I’m not there. It’s the only way…” She sighed into silence, but only for a moment. With a self-dismissive shake of her head, she turned back to me with her smile restored and said, “Maybe I could come and see you play sometime?”
“Yeah.”
She grinned. “I could stand at the front and scream your name and throw my knickers at you. What do you reckon? Would you like that?”
“As long as you washed them first.”
She laughed.
“Actually,” I said, reaching into my pocket, “I just happen to have a poster here…” I unfolded the poster for our London gig and showed it to her. “It’s this Friday,” I said as she took the poster from me and looked it over. “I mean, I don’t know if you can get there…”
“The Black Room,” she said, reading the poster.
“It’s a club in Hammersmith.”
“Yeah, I know it.” She looked up at me. “You’re playing there?”
“Nine o’clock,” I said. “This Friday.�
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She nodded, smiling. “I’m impressed.”
“I can put you on the guest list if you want.”
“Access all areas?”
“I don’t see why not. Can you make it?”
She chewed her lip, thinking hard. “I think so…I’ll have to see. It’s just a bit…”
“What?”
“Nothing…it’s all right. It’s just a bit complicated, that’s all. I might have to sort a few things out…” Her eyes went back to the poster, and I could see her weighing things up—imagining this, imagining that, balancing out the complications.
“I don’t want to get you into any trouble or anything,” I said. “If you can’t come—”
She shut me up with a sudden kiss that was almost painful in its passion. I thought I was going to fall over for a moment, but then she broke off, and I managed to steady myself, and she looked into my eyes and said, “I’ll be there—OK?”
“Right…”
She moved closer, bringing her face up to mine, until I could feel her whispered breath on my lips. “I’ll be there.”
Then her phone rang.
“Shit!” she said angrily, reaching into her bag and pulling out her cell phone. She checked the caller ID, swore again, then moved away to one side.
“Sorry,” she said to me. “I won’t be a minute.”
She put the phone to her ear and kept on moving away. I heard her say, “No—I told you…” then, “I know, but you said…” and then she was too far away for me to hear anything. I could still see her, though, and although she was standing with her back to me, I could tell she wasn’t happy. Her whole body had tensed up, giving her a strangely retracted appearance. The way she was moving—nodding her head and gripping her fists—reminded me of the hunched and withered gestures of an angry old woman.
It wasn’t nice to see.
I turned away.
Burying my head in the sand.
When she came back, she didn’t tell me what the phone call was about and I didn’t ask. All she said was, “I’m sorry, Joe, I have to go.”