“I don’t know,” said Neil. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll give it to you closed,” said the man. “Then you can always open it when you like.”
Carefully, the man wrapped Neil’s fish and chips in white paper, and then wrapped the packet again in a sheet from the local newspaper. He put the package in a white plastic bag with a little wooden fork.
“Three fifty, please,” said the man.
Neil paid him, took his change, and went out into the icy street. He thought maybe it had got darker. He turned back the way he had come and, without lifting his eyes from the pavement, walked home.
Returning to the kitchen, he realized how disgusting it was. Alice would not be impressed by all the detritus littering the surfaces: apple cores, banana peels, biscuit wrappers, soup cartons, abandoned mugs with the remains of milky tea beginning to solidify in them, empty tuna cans with bits of old tuna stuck and hardening on their edges. He was suddenly repulsed by himself. The bag in the bin was already overflowing, so, putting his fish and chips to one side, he pulled it out and tied it shut, then put in a new one and filled it with all the rubbish that was lying around. The broken jar of Marmite was still where he had left it on the floor, so he unwrapped the top layer off the fish and chips and started gingerly putting the pieces of broken glass into the newspaper.
That’s when he saw the picture. He froze. A cold hand squeezed at his guts.
It wasn’t from the front page. There was a caption—“Local Lunatic in Suicide Bid”—below a photograph, apparently taken with a long lens, of an old man standing on the roof of a house. He was completely naked and had long hair and a beard. He had one arm raised as if throwing something. The picture wasn’t too clear, as it had been taken in the pouring rain, but the expression on the man’s face was unmistakably livid. It was—and Neil was absolutely certain of this—the face that Neil had seen in the sky just before he and Alice had been struck by lightning. It wasn’t possible. Surely that had just been a trick of the light? But when he looked again at the picture, there was absolutely no way it could be anybody else. Neil knew it was him. And even more, Neil knew without a doubt that the decrepit roof he was standing on was that of the house Alice used to clean.
26
“YOU’RE LATE. DON’T you read the papers?”
The man who had come to the door was young and handsome, dressed in a close-fitting pin-striped suit that flattered his elegant physique. Neil had never seen him before in his life.
“I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else,” he said. “I’m here to see . . .” The naked old man on your roof?
“Are you Neil?” said the young man.
“Yes.”
“Then I’m Hermes. And you’re late. Wait here.”
Hermes shut the door firmly in Neil’s face.
It was cold. Neil shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and shifted from foot to foot. He had had a shower and a shave, washed his hair and combed it back, and dressed in clean clothes. And as he washed and dressed, and all the way on the bus and the Tube that had brought him here, he had puzzled over the image from the newspaper and the face he had seen the day that Alice died. It just didn’t make any sense, and now more than ever Neil needed things to make sense. Was it some kind of trick, he thought, was that why this man knew who he was? But he couldn’t see how the trick had been done. Or perhaps it was a hallucination—but then what about the newspaper article? That was real—he had it in his pocket. There must be some kind of rational explanation. Even though nothing that had happened to him recently seemed all that rational.
The door opened again to reveal Hermes and a woman whom Neil had also never met, dressed in a blue tracksuit with her hair tied carelessly back. This woman looked a lot like Apollo except with dark hair, and she was looking at Neil with a mixture of shock and contempt.
“Is this him?” she said to Hermes.
“I think so,” said Hermes.
“You mean you hadn’t met him before?”
“No,” said Hermes.
“He can’t be right. Look at him. What am I supposed to do with that? He’s so scrawny and mousy and short.”
“Odysseus was scrawny,” said Hermes. “And he was one of the best.”
“He didn’t look like a mouse,” said the woman.
“He was pretty short.”
“Yes, but he didn’t have such rodenty features.”
“Well, it was the best I could do at such short notice.”
“Short being the operative word.”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Neil, “enjoyable as this is, I really think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else.”
“No,” said Artemis, “we were definitely talking about you.”
“I’m here about Alice,” said Neil.
“We know,” said Hermes.
“Look,” said the woman to Hermes, “why don’t you go back in and I’ll see what I can do with him. You’re right, appearances can be deceptive. Occasionally.”
“Okay,” said Hermes. “Call me if you need anything.”
And he went back inside, slamming the door behind him once again.
“Right,” said the woman, “we’d better go.”
“Go where?” said Neil. “Who are you? What’s this got to do with Alice?”
“I’m Artemis, Alice was my cleaner, and we need to get away from the house before anybody sees you.”
“But I want to go in,” said Neil. “There’s someone I need to see.”
“You can’t go in,” said Artemis. “Nobody goes in.”
“I’ve been in before,” said Neil.
“You have?” said Artemis. “When?”
“The day before Alice . . . died.”
Artemis eyed him with new appreciation.
“And you’re still alive?” she said. “Impressive. Maybe I’ll be able to use you after all.”
“Use me?” said Neil.
“Come on,” said Artemis, “let’s go.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Suddenly feeling as powerless to resist as an iron filing confronted with a magnet, Neil nodded.
They walked to the Heath in silence. Artemis wasn’t running, but she walked so briskly that Neil had trouble keeping up. He noticed that every time they passed a dog, she would look at it with hopeful anticipation, before invariably turning away in disappointment and carrying on marching even more quickly than before.
“Did you lose your dog?” Neil asked her.
“They died,” Artemis said.
Because of the cold, Parliament Hill wasn’t busy, just a couple of people flying large, complicated kites, and a small yellow dog barking first at one, then the other. Artemis glanced at the dog with what seemed to be pity. She selected a bench from where they could see the view across the city but which also looked over the path.
“You never know who could have followed us,” she said, sitting down.
Neil didn’t reply as he sat down beside her. The hugeness of London, spread out in ashen miniature before him, filled him with such terrible sadness that he thought he might weep. What was the point of living here without Alice? There wasn’t a single building or street out there that he wanted to visit without her. He thought that maybe he would move away, start a new life somewhere else. A new life. The thought didn’t give him any hope. He pulled his coat tightly around himself against the bitter air.
“We can talk relatively freely here,” said Artemis. “The trees won’t tell. They’re on our side.”
“The trees?”
“Apollo’s taken terrible liberties with them over the years.”
“That I can believe,” said Neil.
“You know him?”
“We’ve met.”
“And still you live,” said Artemis, shaking her head. “You are tenacious.”
“Look, I have some questions,” said Neil, reaching for the square of newspaper in his pocket.
“Of course,” said
Artemis. “We should get down to business. Tell me, Neil. Have you ever done anything that might be described as heroic?”
“What?” said Neil.
“Please,” said Artemis. “It is important.”
“I thought we were here to talk about Alice.”
“We are,” said Artemis.
“I don’t see the connection,” said Neil.
“I do,” said Artemis.
Neil sighed. “Well, as it happens,” he said, “I did once try to do something heroic, and you’re right, it was about Alice. She asked for my help and I tried to give it. And now she’s dead. So, that went well. Aside from that, no, I have never done anything in my life that could even remotely be described as heroic. It’s not really the kind of thing you’re called upon to do when you’re an engineer. I always try to make the buildings I work on as safe as I possibly can. I suppose some people might think that was heroic, in the very loosest sense. I’ve given blood a few times; they say that’s heroic, but I don’t think it counts as real heroism if they give you a cup of tea and a digestive biscuit afterward. But if you’re asking if I’m the kind of person who would risk his life rescuing strangers from a burning building . . . Well, I don’t know. I’d like to think I was. But I’m not sure. I don’t think you can ever be sure until you’re tested.”
On the grassy slope beneath them, a toddler ran away from his mother, fell, and began to wail. The mother scooped him up in her arms and held him as he screamed. Alice would have been a good mum, Neil thought.
“Do you think Alice saw you as heroic?”
“What’s this all about, anyway?” said Neil.
“I was the one who hired her, you know,” said Artemis. “I liked her. She was a lot stronger than she looked.”
Neil glanced at her. She was looking straight ahead, at the view in front of them. He couldn’t read the expression on her face. He realized that she was beautiful, something he hadn’t noticed before. She seemed to be the kind of woman who didn’t want people to notice that she was beautiful. Like Alice.
“I liked her too,” he said. “More than she knew.”
“Did you love her?” said Artemis.
“Yes.”
“Good. That’ll help.”
“Help what?” said Neil. “It doesn’t seem to be helping much at the moment.”
“You’re having trouble getting over her.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think you could replace her with someone else?”
“You can be pretty blunt, you know that?”
“Well, do you?”
Neil looked away.
“You know,” he said, “that’s the thought that frightens me most of all.”
“Why?” said Artemis.
“Because how I feel about her is all I’ve got left.” Neil looked down at his hands. “I don’t know how to think about it,” he said. “I know how I feel about it—shocked, angry, devastated—but I don’t know how to think about it. I didn’t want it to happen and it happened. I don’t know why it happened. There is no reason.”
“Sometimes,” suggested Artemis, “there is a reason, but you just don’t know it.”
Neil shook his head. “I don’t believe in that kind of thing,” he said. “I’m here, and she’s gone. And I’m stuck. There’s no direction I can go in. If I met someone else, what meaning would there be left? If the pain goes, does that mean I never loved her? How can I get over it? I can’t, I mustn’t. But what else am I going to do?”
They sat in silence for a few moments. Neil noticed that his breath steamed in the cold air but that Artemis’s didn’t. Somewhere, he could hear the thin song of a bird.
“I’ve never had sex,” said Artemis suddenly.
“I’m sorry?” said Neil. He really hoped that she wasn’t going to proposition him.
“I’ve never had sex,” repeated Artemis. “Never wanted to.” It was her turn not to look at him as she spoke. “Not with a man or with a woman, or with an animal, though my family jokes about it. And I never will. The thought of it disgusts me. But the others—my family—they think that means I haven’t got any feelings. That I could never care about anyone, that I don’t know what love is, just because I don’t—” She shuddered. “But you know what?” she said, turning to him now. “I really loved my dogs. Everyone laughs at me for it, but it’s true. The time I spent with them, running, hunting, those were the happiest times of my life. They understood me. They were animals but they understood me far better than anyone in my family ever will. We shared something; we were the same. And they made me kill them.”
“What?” said Neil.
Artemis turned away again. “We couldn’t afford to look after them anymore.”
“That’s terrible,” said Neil.
“I do understand loss,” said Artemis.
Neil didn’t know what to say but he didn’t feel like he could just say nothing. He shifted uncomfortably.
“I’ve never had sex either,” he said eventually. “I wanted to with Alice but I was too scared to touch her.”
Artemis beamed. “I like you,” she said. “This could work.”
“What could work?” said Neil.
“Do you want to be a hero?” said Artemis.
Neil rubbed his forehead. “It’s too late,” he said. “I failed Alice. The night before she—she died, and all of that day up until it happened, Alice was really scared. As if she knew what was coming. And then, just before . . . She was about to tell me what was going on. But then it happened. Before she could. I couldn’t save her from dying.”
“It isn’t too late,” said Artemis.
“Yes, it is,” said Neil.
They both watched as a pair of red-faced joggers went by.
“Did she tell you she kissed Apollo?” said Artemis.
Neil’s head snapped round to look at her.
“How did you know?”
“She told Hermes.”
“Hermes?”
“Don’t worry. It was all Apollo’s fault. He’s very persuasive. She was never interested in him. If that’s what’s been bothering you. It was Apollo’s fault she died as well, that’s why we have to do something about it.”
It was as if all of the emotion had been sucked out of him, leaving only emptiness. There was something about her; he’d actually started to believe she could help him. But Artemis’s claim was insane. She didn’t know what she was talking about after all.
“But it wasn’t Apollo’s fault,” he said. “She was struck by lightning. If anything, it was my fault. If it wasn’t for me, she would never have been there.”
“Why did you come to the house?”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“What was it you wanted to show me?”
“Now you want to talk about that?”
“Just show me.”
Neil put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the small square of newspaper. He unfolded it and looked again at the picture: the face he had seen in the sky. He handed it to Artemis, who looked at it for several seconds in silence, her jaw tight.
“Not everything is as it seems,” she said eventually.
“I disagree. I think everything is always exactly as it seems,” said Neil.
“Then why did you keep that piece of paper?” said Artemis.
“I don’t know,” said Neil. “It was just a stupid thought. It doesn’t mean anything. Who is it, anyway?”
“That’s my father,” said Artemis. “I haven’t seen him in a very long time.”
Neil folded the paper up and put it back in his pocket.
“When you came to the house,” said Artemis, “you were looking for him, weren’t you? Because of what happened.”
“Okay. Yes, I thought that he might have had something to do with what happened to Alice,” he said. “But he couldn’t possibly have. It was just an accident, that was all it was. One of those cruel meaningless things that happen to people all the time, and this time it happened to Alice. It
happened to me. And at times like that you clutch at straws. And this was my straw. My last straw.”
“But why did you think he had something to do with it?” persisted Artemis.
Neil didn’t reply.
“You saw him, didn’t you?” said Artemis. “In the sky.”
“I don’t know what I saw,” said Neil.
“Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?” Artemis asked.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well, do you?”
“I’m not a big fan of religious stories,” said Neil. “Even old ones.”
“Orpheus was a young musician,” said Artemis anyway. “Long hair, a bit of what you might call a hippie. Eurydice was his wife, a very nice girl, very pretty. They were terribly in love. But she didn’t live long after the wedding. She was bitten by a snake and died.”
Artemis shot a glance at him. Neil gave her a quick, tight smile to show that he was following the parallels.
“Orpheus, as I’m sure you can understand, was devastated. So devastated, in fact, that he went into the underworld to get Eurydice back. He went to the palace where Hades and Persephone live—well, I haven’t been there, it’s described as a palace but it’s not like anyone can check—and he sang to them so movingly about his loss that they let him have Eurydice back. Can you sing, Neil?”
“Not at all.”
“Never mind. The tragic thing was that they allowed Orpheus to take his wife back with him to the upperworld—to this world, the world of the living—on the condition that he didn’t turn around and look at her as they were returning. But of course he loved her so much that he did, just to make sure that she was following. And so Eurydice was snatched away from him and sent back to live forever amongst the dead.”
“What happened to Orpheus?” said Neil.
“Oh, he was torn limb from limb and his head was thrown into the river Hebrus. But that’s not the point of the story.”
“What is the point of the story?” said Neil.
“The point is,” said Artemis, “that it establishes a precedent.”
“What are you talking about, a precedent?”
“Precedents are very important,” said Artemis. “It means if you’ve done it before you can do it again. You can do it, Neil.”
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