by Tony Salter
But something had changed inside him over the previous days and weeks. As he looked at Julie’s clenched fists and face flushed with anger and pain, he actually understood that she deserved an explanation.
‘I’m sorry, luv. I didn’t think you’d understand.’
‘What are you crapping on about?’ Julie’s nostrils flared wide as she took a step towards him. ‘Understand what?’
‘About the photography and everything. I thought you’d think I’d gone soft. Take the piss or something,’ Jim mumbled, unable to look Julie in the eyes. ‘… And there’s no way you’d have kept it to yourself.’
He staggered backwards, off balance for a second as she planted the flat of her hand into his chest. Once. Twice. Hard. Punctuating her words with the short jabbing pushes. ‘Are – you – fucking – serious?’ She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. ‘You think I married you because you were a hard man? You think I like it when you shout me down?’ She let go of him and took a step backwards, biting her lower lip. ‘Or slap me around?’
It probably hadn’t been the best moment for Jim to show his caring, listening side. Julie may have been slightly surprised to have the opportunity to say her piece, but she didn’t show any signs of slowing down.
‘I don’t know. I just thought …’
‘No … No … You fucking didn’t.’ Julie had stopped shouting and was looking at Jim as though he was something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. ‘If there’s one thing you didn’t do, it was think. God, you men are so bloody up yourselves.’
‘But …’
‘Do you really think I would have minded you having a hobby like that? Is that what you think of me? We’ve been together for more than forty fucking years. D’you really think I’d rather find out about your dirty secret from some smug copper?’
‘It’s not a dirty secret. I just take photos of waterbirds, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Blonde South African ones if the police aren’t lying.’ Julie looked as though she’d shouted everything out of her system and there was nothing left. She crumpled back against the wall, eyes blank and unfocused. Her face was sagging and Jim noticed the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth for the first time. ‘Honest, Jim,’ she said at last. ‘What do you fucking expect me to believe?’
Jim had never been lost for words, but, for the first time, he understood how this situation might look to other people. Even worse, he began to realise how frightened Shuna must have been in the taxi. Why should she have believed he really only wanted to talk? He’d locked her in for Christ’s sake.
He could remember the hostage and captivity training they’d had to do when he was in Belfast. It had been called SERE – Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape – and he’d hated it as much as anything he’d ever done, before or afterwards.
The real killer had been the feeling of powerlessness, of being trapped and at someone else’s mercy. It was something out of his experience and, for some reason, brought back thoughts of his father and the way he would suck up to Dave Vickers in the pub.
He’d failed the course twice before scraping through.
And he’d put Shuna through that! It was as though his brain had turned to mush and he couldn’t see anything properly any more. In just a few weeks, his life had changed completely, he’d changed completely, and, in a flash of clarity, he’d known nothing would ever be the same again.
Jim squeezed his eyes tightly closed; he could still relive that moment of revelation in high definition even though it had been almost a year earlier. Julie had stood sagging in front of him like an empty carrier bag, the anger gone and nothing left to hold her up. And it was all his fault. All because of his stupid, pointless male pride. All because he wanted to show everyone he was a real man.
Worse than that, after everything he’d done to his wife, the person who was dominating his thoughts was Shuna. As he’d watched Julie breaking down in front of him, all he’d been able to do was worry about a woman he hardly knew. He really was a git.
Since then, he’d done what he could to make it up to his family. The new Jim would carry on trying, but after so many years it was hard to change and the old Jim wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry; there were two men battling inside him and, despite the pills he was taking, trying to find a balance was wearing him down.
He looked around the hall which had emptied out again. He’d been right about one thing back then; it was after he’d picked Shuna up in his cab that his life had changed forever. That was when the hard shell which always protected him had been broken.
No sign of Shuna. What with everything else that was going on his head, it was definitely possible he’d imagined seeing her in the exhibition. During the weeks after the first tribunal, he’d seen her everywhere, in shops, pubs, on the street, in the West End, in the East End and even on the marshes when he’d been out with his camera.
That was why he’d decided to find out where she lived and started working that patch; once he began to see her in the flesh most days, the imaginary sightings began to fade away. As for the photos, he always had his camera in the car and it passed the time. It had seemed harmless enough.
Will caught his eye and waved to indicate he was off on his break. Jim gave him the thumbs up and watched as the young lad strolled out past the entrance to the exhibition. He really would have liked to have had a son. They’d decided to stop after the second girl – the pregnancy hadn’t been easy for Julie and the doctors had been quite clear it was time to call it a day. In spite of everything, he’d done his best for his girls but he was a bloke’s bloke and, looking at Will, he could imagine all the things he and his boy might have done together.
Spilt milk. Too much worrying about that these days. It didn’t help anything.
A man was standing by one of the stone pillars, a bit of a non-entity, mousy hair and a pale blue anorak. There was something odd about the way he was pressed against the wall, almost as though he was trying to hide from someone.
Jim had noticed him when he first came in and since then he’d been stuck in the same spot, looking around nervously; not interested in the dinosaur or anything else in the museum. For about ten minutes, the poncey little bloke had been jabbering into his phone and waving his free hand around like an overexcited hairdresser, but when he saw Will walking towards him, he seemed to panic, finished his call and started pretending to read some sort of leaflet.
As soon as Will had walked past, Jim saw the man’s shoulders slump, he smiled a smug smile and tucked the brochure back into his pocket. Jim didn’t give a toss about his job, but he didn’t like the look of him. Something wasn’t right and, as he didn’t have anything better to do …
He pushed himself up from the chair, stretched out his back and started walking across the hall.
Jim smiled as he saw the frightened-rabbit look in the man’s eyes. He was hiding something without a doubt. From closer up, the guy looked like even more of a loser than he had at a distance. It was difficult to imagine him being any sort of threat, but Jim had learnt to avoid making too many assumptions; you only had to look at some of those high school killers in the States to see what total nobodies could be capable of.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Jim, wondering why that particular floor tile was so interesting.
‘Oh. Good morning.’ The man looked up from the ground in a pathetically transparent attempt to pretend he hadn’t noticed Jim walking towards him. ‘Can I help you?’
‘It’s just a random security check,’ said Jim. ‘You know how it is?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said the man.
Jim looked at him and shrugged his shoulders, but the penny obviously hadn’t dropped.
‘Well, could I have a look in the bag, please?’
‘Aha. Yes. I see. Sorry. I’m really not with it this morning.’ He opened his brown leather shoulder bag – something designer by the look of it – and handed it to Jim. ‘Here you are. Just some medicine and a couple of books
.’
Jim took out the books and checked the bottom of the bag. Nothing else. No need to worry. He was just one of those sad, lonely blokes who were creepy and suspicious by nature.
‘Thanks,’ he said, as he put the books back in the bag and handed it back. Now that was strange – he was reading the Twilight books. Jim could remember Brooke, his youngest, being obsessed with them when she was thirteen or fourteen. Hardly standard reading material for a man in his mid thirties. He sighed. It really was nothing to do with him what the bloke chose to do in his spare time. After all, who was he to talk?
He’d not seen Brooke for over two years. She’d never forgiven him for the last time he’d whacked her mother. Brooke wasn’t supposed to be there and Julie hadn’t had a chance to tell him she was staying over. Jim had just pulled an all-nighter – the third on the trot – and everything had gone wrong. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a perfect storm of idiot punters winding him up one after the other.
The icing on the cake had come at after four. He’d been cruising somewhere around Harley Street hoping to get one last fare. There were loads of girlie bars and all-night drinking clubs hiding away in the basements of the posh houses and lawyer’s offices, and he’d been hoping to catch some pissed businessman staggering out of one of them.
Jim had been about to give up when he saw his man – sharp suit, but barely able to walk straight. A ten minute fare to some posh West End hotel, a decent tip and Jim could call it a night … until the guy had poured himself into the back of the cab and leant forward.
‘Tooting, please,’ he’d said. ‘Eswyn Road.’
Tooting! Bloody Tooting. At four in the morning! Jim couldn’t believe his luck. No juicy last fare for him. He’d have to dump the guy and go straight home.
‘Sorry, mate,’ he’d said. ‘I’m just finishing my shift. Can’t go south of the river at this time of night.’
‘Not my problem,’ slurred the man. ‘You’ve accepted the ride. You have to take me.’ And then he’d leant forward and taken a bloody photo of Jim’s ID.
Jim could remember the anger rising and was surprised he hadn’t actually broken the steering wheel. But it was only three weeks after he’d been put on probation. The last thing he needed was to be reported by some smug investment banker.
His teeth were still clenched tight by the time he got home ninety minutes later and the rage was pumping in and out of his nostrils in sharp bursts as he stormed into the house.
Julie worked an early shift on Thursdays and was sitting in the kitchen having a cup of tea. Jim had no idea what she’d said – if she’d actually spoken at all. It didn’t matter. He needed an outlet for his rage and there was no-one else around.
As she’d backed away from him, holding a finger to her bleeding lip, Jim had realised her panicked stare wasn’t aimed at him, but over his left shoulder. He’d turned to see Brooke standing in the doorway, holding baby Josie and staring at him with tight lips and narrow eyes. Since then, neither Brooke nor her big sister had wanted to have anything to do with him. Even after he’d written to them both, apologising and swearing never to do anything like that again.
Luckily Julie had persuaded them to let him see his grandkids – Kaylee was about the same age as Shuna’s oldest and little Josie was the cutest little thing imaginable. Jim was continuously surprised by the warm swelling glow in his stomach which appeared every time he saw them. It might be too late for his daughters to forgive him, but at least he had time to get one thing right.
Jim settled back in his chair and scratched his head. It had been a lively half hour what with the imaginary sighting of Shuna, that creepy guy and the old man who didn’t die. That was more activity than he could expect in an average week – and it was still only Monday morning.
The creep was slinking off down the corridor towards the cafe – something definitely wasn’t right with him – and the old man was still on his bench, now hugging an older woman like his life depended on it.
He should have stuck with the young Spanish girl. Much tastier.
This was what Jim’s life had become. Every day a pointless, pathetic routine where the most trivial action was a highlight. And it was all Shuna’s fault. If the stupid cow hadn’t been at the airport that day, things would have stayed in place. She’d humiliated him in front of the only people who mattered to him. Why couldn’t he stay angry with her? He wanted to be pissed off with her.
He could accept that locking her in his cab and driving off had been a bad idea, but he’d told her he’d stop, he’d explained that he only want to talk. She could have bloody listened. She wasn’t in the cab for more than a few minutes before he let her out. Nothing happened.
But, just like with the airport pickup, she wouldn’t let it drop. And then the police had turned up with a search warrant. It was her fault that his life had gone down the pan. She hadn’t needed to be so bloody vindictive. He felt the first stirrings of rage boiling in his belly. Screw keeping calm. Screw the doctors with their bloody pills. He wanted to be angry with her. She deserved every bit of it.
Hassan
The Natural History Museum loomed in front of him. The massive, monumental facade was no more than a symbol of colonial hypocrisy, a salmon-pink statement of Imperial might, built on the bones of millions of subjects across the colonial world, his ancestors included.
Hassan waited for a moment before slowly walking up the steps to the massive entrance door, his mind replaying everything he’d been taught over the past two months. He’d known for years that people like his father were foolish victims of establishment propaganda and he’d taken little convincing as the government’s lies had been exposed one-by-one like wriggling earthworms, pink-bellied and vulnerable in the light of day. He’d grown up; the boy had become a man.
But, for a moment, the small boy was still there, and he couldn’t suppress the feelings of awe which welled up inside him as he caught his first glimpse of the central hall. The architects had built the hall itself to impress and to intimidate but, for Hassan, the diplodocus skeleton at its centre was so much more overwhelming – a breathtaking reminder of what God can achieve without the meddling of man.
But, as they’d reminded him again and again, the age of the dinosaurs was no more. That was the way of the world and part of Allah’s infinite plan. Now it was time for the blinkered and hidebound imperialists to learn that all ages and empires are built on foundations of sand, and that they are destined to crumble away and to be replaced.
First, however, he needed to get through security. He had studied dozens of photos of the entrance set-up and knew the odds. The guards were poorly trained – ticket collectors really – but they had a policy to do a full pat-down search of one in every forty people in the queue. Odds in his favour of ninety-seven and a half per cent. He would have to live with that.
Nevertheless, as he approached the young girl in the purple fleece, he kept his right hand close to his pocket.
Just in case.
There was never an actual argument. After all the time he and Mona had been together and the humiliation of the proposal, there should at least have been a few screaming, arm-waving, coffee-cup-smashing attempts to apportion blame. But Hassan wasn’t like that; his new status of naïve, humiliated, single fool fitted him like an old, worn leather jacket. There was nothing to fight about. He should have known better. The world didn’t simply change overnight.
Even when the enormity of his failure had eventually sunk in, he’d held his rage and sense of loss deep inside as he’d done all of his life. In those first moments, however, as he’d stood alone in a sea of blue flowers, he was a mindless, emotionless zombie, unable to properly understand what had just happened.
He left the botanical gardens, went back to the flat – Mona’s flat – and packed his stuff. Two big sports bags were all he needed, and it took him less than an hour to cut himself out of her life. He took nothing to remember her by and left no letter or note – what would it have s
aid? He placed his keys carefully on the hall table and walked out, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he heard the solid thunk of the front door closing for the last time.
Hassan found himself homeless, broke and with a diamond ring worth three thousand quid in his pocket. His third-year exams were only two months away, and he was actually a long way beyond broke, but all of these problems could wait. He would take the ring back the next day and sort everything out, but right then, as he stood on the Cowley Road with his world in two bags at his feet, he needed a drink.
The barman at the Rose and Crown was a fellow biochem student. Not really a friend, but someone he knew well enough. He agreed to stash Hassan’s bags in the back room and had a generous heavy hand with the spirit optics. The hours passed, people arrived and left, and Hassan sat quietly in the corner drinking whisky after whisky without feeling a thing. He wasn’t drunk, and he wasn’t sad; he was trapped in a frozen slice of time where his mind was still protecting him from truly understanding what had happened with Mona that morning, and how his dreams had turned to slush.
By early evening he’d started to realise that the whisky was winning the battle, but he kept on drinking, regardless. It was a one-off. He needed to get it out of his system and would figure out how to rebuild what was left of his life in the morning. Eventually, drunkenness claimed him. Unfortunately it wasn’t a gentle slide into oblivion, but more of a retching, bile-filled collapse into pain and self pity. The barman found him passed out on the wet toilet floor and Hassan solved his accommodation problems by spending the night at A&E recovering from a stomach pump.