by Stella Duffy
Too many lies.
But she didn’t see it like that. She thought it was exciting. The drugs thing scared me, I didn’t see how she could do it so much and get away with it, but she said she’d probably only carried drugs for two or three of the fifteen or so New York trips she’d made. All of the others were clean and the customs people began to recognise her, used to wave her through. Besides, she was so often at the airport, to pick up clients, parties of tourists. Sometimes they took the stuff from her. Sometimes they were real tourists. Sometimes they weren’t. I made more tea.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I knew you’d hate it.”
“Oh? Whatever gave you that idea? Cocaine, hostessing – just the sort of thing I’m really happy for you to be doing. Clever you – you’re right. I hate it.”
“And I didn’t want to stop.”
“Not even for me?”
“Not even for myself.”
“You’re mad.”
“I know.”
“So what does he want?”
“He thinks I owe him some money.”
“Do you?”
“Sort of. I mean someone else really owes him the money, but he doesn’t believe me.”
“What?”
“The accident – it wasn’t an accident. I’d handed the stuff over like I was supposed to, only this time they wanted to pay me.”
“Don’t they usually?”
“God no. It’s too much money. It goes through someone else, or a business. I’m not sure, I only deliver. Anyway, it’s got nothing to do with me.”
“Only this time it did?”
“Yeah, they gave me the money – cash. I told them I couldn’t take it, but they said that if I didn’t then they’d never get around to paying. So I took it. It wasn’t like I had a choice. Two hundred yards down the road I was knocked over by a motorbike. The ‘nice’ rider came to help me and took the cash. He knew where to get it from. He’d seen me put it in my bag ten minutes earlier.”
“I don’t get it. You put all that money away where someone could see you?”
“Yeah. In the house where they gave it to me. He was one of them. Watched me leave the house, got on his bike and knocked me over. Then he comes over to help – looks like he’s being a good Samaritan and going through my bag to get my name, when actually he’s taking the money. Then he goes off to call an ambulance. Only he doesn’t come back.”
“You should have got someone to stop him.”
“Oh yeah, right. ‘No luv, don’t mind my bruises and broken ribs, just stop that man from stealing from me. Yes, that’s right, the man who just nearly killed me.’ Yeah, that’d really work.”
“Well, why didn’t you tell the police?”
“What?”
“The truth.”
“That I’m a drug smuggler who needs help? Don’t be stupid – they don’t let you have secret Friday night dinners in Holloway. No, I worked it out for myself. I knew Simon would want the money and I arranged to borrow it from John. Or I figured I might offer to work at the club – for free, he could keep all my tips, I knew it would take a while but I’d do it eventually. And I’d tell him I wanted out of the couriering thing.”
“You borrowed the money from John Clark?”
“Yes. That’s what I said.”
“So why didn’t you give it to him then? To the American?”
“I was going to. But I wanted to talk to him first. Tell him I wanted to stop. Explain that I’d had enough. That this time was the last I’d carry for him. He didn’t want to hear that. We’d had a big fight about it already – in New York. He wouldn’t listen. And I don’t even know if he believed me about the bike rider or not. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew about it. Probably arranged it all himself as a way of making me stay with him. Anyway, that’s what we were fighting about when you came in.”
“Couldn’t you have phoned him? Did he have to come all the way from New York for you to tell him you’re quitting?”
“He’s in London on business. He has a business here too.”
“How convenient for him. And how nice of you to invite him over.”
“I’m not that stupid. He found out about the accident and got our address from the hospital.”
“They’re not allowed to give out information like that.”
“You’re not allowed to bring twelve ounces of cocaine into England hidden in a toy model of the Brooklyn Bridge either. People do.”
“Didn’t you get paid for all this drug smuggling?”
“Don’t call it that, it only happened a few times.”
“It’s still illegal.”
“Yeah sweetheart, so’s smoking dope and you’ve done that often enough.”
“It’s hardly in the same league. You must have been paid for it.”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“It went on flights back to New York. On our trips away, on presents for you – that rather nice antique silver ring you’re wearing for instance. It just went, all right? It went, money does. Now I’m practically broke, I’ve got to get this money to Simon and then find a way of paying John back.”
“How much did you borrow from him?”
“Too much.”
“Where is it?”
“In the bedroom. Between the mattress and the base. My side of the bed. Anyway, it doesn’t make any difference, he’ll come back for the money but he’s not going to let me go.”
“Don’t be daft, this isn’t the movies. In real life things like this get sorted out.”
“In real life people get killed for being late with payments.”
“In Columbia maybe.”
It went on for hours. Question, answer. Question, answer. Me trying to make it sound less scary than it was, both of us jumping at any sound outside. I couldn’t believe she’d been doing all this and I’d known nothing. But then it seemed I’d missed most things anyway. I realised we’d both been leading pretend lives. Hers and the “excitement” factor and mine with my belief that everything could be perfect if only we tried hard enough. Loved hard enough. We were standing in the lounge, watching the winter sun come up around the corner of the block opposite us and I had a sudden thought. A thought about how you can’t ever really know anyone. About how hard it is to even know yourself. About how easy it is to lie. And I asked her.
“Did you ever sleep with him?”
“Who?”
“The American.”
“Yes.”
“Since me?”
“Yes.”
I hit her. Just picked up my hand and hit her. Across the head. And as she fell – I watched it, watched it like it was in slow motion, frame by frame. I watched her crack her head on the side of the mantelpiece. I heard her crack her head on the side of the mantelpiece. On the side of the cast iron mantelpiece it had taken us three days to strip. Strip down to the iron. Hard, cold iron. She fell on to the floor. It was eight o’clock in the morning.
I ran out of the door, not stopping to double-lock it. I walked around town for the day. Just walking. I stopped once for a cup of coffee – McDonalds I think, or Burger King – one of those horrible places anyway, where even your coffee smells of ground beef. It had been dark for a long time by the time I came home. I think it was about nine or ten. She was still there but when I looked in the bedroom the bed was all messed up and the money was gone. She lay where she’d fallen that morning. Only now she was cold.
Now she is cold.
CHAPTER 26
Bike races
Saz was halfway through her third cup of tea before the subject of Maggie was even raised. She’d looked all through the house – the spare room, the one she was “interested” in, she’d met Keith’s kids as they ran out of the door to a party – and pretended delight at the prospect of sharing a house with three teenagers.
“No really, it’s brilliant – you just never meet young people otherwise, do you?”
She’d l
ooked at the garden – ad nauseum – Annie had told her the latin name of almost every plant there, not to mention their planting dates, the likely time of maturity and how she’d cook them. Saz admired the holly bushes and “organic” Christmas tree. She’d been so enthusiastic about the garden that Annie had even threatened to take her to their allotment until Saz confessed she was “dying for a cup of tea” and followed Annie inside, assured of a night suffering from more hayfever than she’d had since she’d been forced on a nature ramble in the third year. And over tea, no gingerbread, just Annie’s homemade fruit muffins, she’d managed to discuss Caroline with Keith.
“Oh, it was just a small fling really, hardly a relationship at all. It was not long after my wife had died, I was grasping at straws. We were together for about two months when Carrie decided she really was gay after all and I realised that a bit of grief was in order.”
“Grief for Carrie?”
“No, grief for my wife.”
“Oh, sorry. Mind you, I don’t think it’s just her sexuality, Carrie has trouble enough deciding to stay in the same place for three months, let alone with the same person.”
“Yeah, well, she’s young still, maybe she’ll grow out of it.”
The kitchen door slammed and Dolores streamed into the room, dressed completely in various shades of pink – bright pink gingham skirt, faded pink silk shirt and pale pink tights thrust into monkey boots – painted white with fluorescent pink flowers.
“Grow out of what?”
“Interrupting other people’s conversations hopefully.” Annie gave her a kiss.
“Darling this is Saz Martin – she’s come to look at the room.”
“Oh, right. Hi Saz.”
“Hello.”
“Are you a dyke?”
“Dolores!”
“It’s OK – if she is she’ll be charmed by my candour and if she isn’t, then she’ll know what to expect from at least a third of our friends.”
“Yes, I am gay.”
“Good guess huh? Mind you, things were so much clearer when lesbians wore the uniform.”
Annie pulled Dolores down by the long pink scarf she wore round her ponytail.
“You can talk! Ms Femme Fatale. And anyway, as I only advertised the room in Capital Gay, an advert that you paid for, it hardly counts as a good guess on your part, does it? Now shut up and be nice to our guest. You could put the kettle on if you want.”
Dolores jumped up from her knee.
“Can’t, I’ve got to get changed, I promised Maggie I’d go round and see her.”
Saz suddenly became very quietly interested in her tea cup.
“Why, have you spoken to her?”
“You know I haven’t, not for ages anyway, I’ve tried calling her but there’s never any reply and I’m sick of leaving messages on the answerphone. However, I did say I’d go over some time and this is the first night that I’ve had free and according to Time Out – she’s free too.”
Saz looked up.
“Your friend lists her free evenings in Time Out?”
“No, she’s a stand up, you might have seen her – Maggie Simpson?”
“Oh yeah, I saw her a few days ago actually. She was really funny. We had a drink together.”
“You were drinking together?”
“Well, just one.”
“Brilliant! Did she like you?”
“I don’t know.” Saz looked confused, the conversation wasn’t going anywhere near September.
“Dolly!”
“See Annie? Now if Maggie likes Saz …”
“Dolores! Maggie already has a girlfriend. Just leave them alone.”
Keith poured Saz another cup of tea.
“Annie’s right Dol, stay out of it.”
“Well it can’t hurt just to take Saz with me can it?”
“I’m sure Saz has got a lot more interesting things to do than tagging along with you. Anyway, maybe she’s got a girlfriend of her own.”
“Have you?”
“Ah, no, actually. I haven’t.”
“Are you looking?”
“Not really. Sorry. Look, I don’t want to be a bother, and it’s probably time I left anyway.”
“Well, where do you live?”
“Camberwell, why?”
“That’s settled then. Maggie lives in Stockwell, I’ll take you home via her place. Goody, I’m going to get changed.”
Dolores ran upstairs and the next thing they heard was the slamming of several doors and cupboards.
“Ah yes – another dressing trauma. It’s traditional around here. For her anyway. Sorry about that Saz,” Annie started to clear away the tea things. “Dolores used to go out with Maggie and she still feels very responsible for her. Maggie’s had a bit of a hard time with her girlfriend recently and Dol has this idea of finding her someone else.”
“What she doesn’t appreciate is that they love each other, even with all the crap they’ve had, I think those two are going to be together forever. I can’t see Maggie ever letting her go.”
Dolores strode back into the room and threw her arms around Annie, nearly causing her to drop the three tea cups she was taking to the sink.
“That Keith, is merely a myth maintained by one who believes in true love. Which as we all know is completely unobtainable – unless you happen to be called Dolores and Annie!”
Her hair was scraped off her face. New, even thicker black lines prowled under her eyes and she was dressed from head to toe in a black cat suit and black leather boots and jacket. She looked stunning.
“Look at you, you big butch thing.”
“Now, now, brother-in-law, don’t display your jealousy. You know I always dress down to cross the river. Coming Saz?”
Saz, spotting the best opportunity she’d seen in ages, readily agreed to the visit. She arranged to call Annie the next day muttering nice things about the house and about having to “think it over”.
“Yeah fine, it’s a shame that you’ve met Dolly now, Keith and I were hoping she’d stay out until we persuaded you to move in. Anyway, give me a call if she hasn’t done too much damage and let me know what you think.”
Saz followed Dolores out to the street where she was confronted by her transport – a gleaming Harley. Dolores threw a helmet at her and shouted,
“Get on! This is my favourite part of the day. Early evening sunset, cold wind – we’ll be there in no time.”
Saz sat behind Dolores on the bike, clutching at the leather thing in front of her as they roared through various side streets and across the river, sun just setting in the bend at Westminster and the wind sculpture on top of the NFT glowing like a beacon at the entrance to the South. When she got off the bike Saz reflected that while they did indeed get to Maggie’s flat in no time, she’d also had no time to ask anything about the elusive September, let alone her real name. She followed Dolores up the steps of the Georgian house, two baskets of well nurtured geraniums hanging on either side of the door.
“Is this a housing association place?”
“No. Good old-fashioned private sector – Maggie’s girlfriend has expensive tastes.”
“Must be hard for Maggie to keep up with?”
“I don’t know, but they seem to do very well – they’ve got all the ‘things’! Right, they’re on the second floor so she’ll have to come down to let us in.”
Just as Dolores put up her hand to ring the bell, the door opened. Maggie was obviously just leaving.
“Fuck! You scared me! What are you doing here?”
“Just come for the visit, babe. This is Saz, she said she met you the other day?”
“Oh yeah, ah – at a gig?”
“Yeah, I don’t mean to barge …”
“Look, I’ve got to go out, I wasn’t expecting anyone – I can’t … I’ve got to get some milk.”
“It’s OK, we’ll wait.”
“No, I … You can’t.”
“Perhaps you’d rather just see Dolores, I c
an go home, it’s fine.” Saz started to walk away.
“No, I don’t want to see Dolores, I don’t want to see anyone. Leave me alone. Go away. Leave us alone.”
Maggie started crying. Not normal crying, not the crying that went with her agitated words but a sort of soft moaning. She slid down the side of the door and Dolores caught her just before she fell to the floor. They held her between them and walked her up the stairs, Dolores alternating between comforting Maggie and abusing her for being so heavy. They went through the door to Maggie’s flat and Saz was blasted by the shock of cold air that came at her.
“This way Saz, this is her place, and through to the lounge, that’s it, just here.”
She pushed open the door to the lounge.
“God, Maggie, it’s bloody freezing in here. What’s happened, had the power cut off?”
But Maggie was in no state to answer her. The closed curtains were little protection against the cold wind blowing in from the open windows behind them and other than the little amount of street light, the room was very dark.
“The light’s over there, on the table. You get it, I’ll hold her.”
Maggie was still moaning slightly when Saz flicked the switch. She turned back to help Dolores.
Dolores who was white as a sheet and looked like she too was about to faint.
Saz followed the line of her stare to the armchair where she came face to face with September.
CHAPTER 27
Hoarding
And so we’ve just been staying, in together. Me and the woman I live with. The Woman with the Kelly McGillis body. We don’t go out, it’s cold and dark outside anyway. There’s no point.
It’s cold and dark inside too.