I thought Charlie would be pleased I’d cleared the bedsit for him. I gave him the box of things I’d saved.
‘Where’s everything else?’ he said.
‘There wasn’t much. It was only rubbish.’
‘I wanted to look through myself,’ he said. ‘There may have been things.’
‘There wasn’t.’
‘But I wanted to see for myself.’
‘I’ve given the keys back now,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’
He took a deep breath in but instead of speaking he went out of the room and banged the door. I heard the jingle of keys, then the front door slam, the car start and roar off down the road. It was the first time we’d ever come anywhere near a row. I stood frozen for a moment and then I began to wash the floor. Cleaning can be soothing and it’s never a waste of time. The grey suds squeezing from the mop showed how dirty it had been even though it had looked clean. I screwed the fronds of the mop into a tight grey topknot and put it outside to dry. I polished the taps until I could see wispy little me’s reflected there.
While I was scrubbing the sink he came home, his arms full of files and papers from work. There was a peculiar, almost exhilarated look on his face. Before he could speak I got in first. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie,’ I said, ‘I was only trying to help.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s done now,’ he said. ‘But another time …’
‘Walk on the newspaper,’ I said. He stepped on to the sports section by the door. ‘Another time I’ll ask you first,’ I promised. Though of course there could never be another time like that.
He went upstairs to his study and I went down to the basement to ask Fay to dinner. She usually has dinner with us on Sunday but this was a Friday. I was worried about her grieving away down there with only her budgie for company.
Photographs show that Fay was beautiful once, and there were still traces of it between the lines. She’d had her children late and seemed more the age of Charlie’s granny than his mum. She’d always dress and get made up for dinner, her cheeks fierce pink, her eyelids silver, like metallic shutters when she blinked.
I knew she wasn’t keen on ‘foreign cuisine’ and on Sundays I always did a traditional roast – but Friday night was curry night so I compromised. I ground cumin and mustard seeds, marinated chicken, mixed dough for fresh naan bread. I concocted a mild dish for Fay, cauliflower in a gentle coconut and coriander sauce, but I saw her nostrils twitch when she came up the stairs and surveyed the table.
Still, I hugged her. I always hugged her though she’d be stiff in my arms as a bunch of Coty-scented twigs.
‘A nice mild curry especially for Fay,’ I said. I lifted the lid of the casserole dish, ‘And something hotter for us.’
‘Curry, is it?’ she said. ‘When you and Nicky came back from India, Charlie, I remember her saying she’d had enough of that to last her a lifetime.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘You know Nicky sent a lovely card, Nina, when she heard about Dave? Those two were like this.’ She twisted one finger round another.
‘Mum.’ Charlie gave her a warning look. ‘This looks great, Nina.’ Though he’d lost his appetite he tried to sound enthusiastic. I thought this meal would tempt him. All his favourite tastes and I’d even bought some Indian beer.
Fay took a teaspoonful of cauliflower and a few grains of rice and chased them round her plate. ‘Very nice,’ she said, ‘though a simple cauliflower cheese would have sufficed.’ She put down her fork and her eyes went far away. ‘He loved that, didn’t he?’ A tiny vein fluttered in the silvery dampness beside her eye. ‘Both of you did, a lovely milky cauliflower cheese. You used to fight to scrape out the dish.’
Charlie clattered down his fork. ‘Today I was made redundant,’ he announced.
Fay and I both stared at him. I thought I’d misheard or maybe it was a joke but it was no joke. ‘It’s been looming for a while,’ he added. ‘The firm’s gone bust.’
I put down my fork.
He gave a strange bleat of laughter. ‘Don’t look like that! It’s probably for the best,’ he said, ‘I was thinking of a change.’
To lose a brother, and then a job, all within the space of a week, I could not imagine how that felt. All I could think was that love might make him better and in bed that night I put my arms around him – but as my hand slid down his back I remembered Rupert. Maybe Charlie sensed or even smelt the sudden bolt of shock and guilt that went through me. He pulled away and got out of bed.
‘It feels wrong,’ he said. He was standing by the window and I could see his silhouette against the streetlight filtering through the curtains, the bunched shapes of his fists.
‘What feels wrong?’ I said.
‘I don’t know. Something’s changed.’
‘Something has changed,’ I said. ‘Dave … it’s just the shock of that. And what with losing your job … But it’ll be all right. Come back to bed.’
But he continued to loom there against the curtains, petals of streetlight catching in his curls.
‘Are we OK?’ I held my breath till he said, ‘Okey-dokey.’ That’s what we said when we were just checking. I did think then that it could still, somehow, be OK. After a moment he came back to bed. His skin was cold and I wrapped myself around him, tried to warm him up.
I was almost asleep when I heard him take a breath as if to speak.
‘What?’ I said.
He swallowed, but said nothing, turned on to his side. I spooned round him and my hand felt the scattered beating of his heart. I held my breath but he was quiet. A car passed and I watched its lights glide like oil across the ceiling, listened to its engine growl off down the street.
Chapter 16
^
Got straight on to Directory Enquiries, found the Blackpool Astoria, got the last available room. I booked from the Sunday so I could get there before her, get a proper lie of the land. First time I’d stayed in a swanky hotel like that, en suite bathroom, TV with round-the-clock porn if you were so inclined. I had my scrapbook in the new briefcase. The pictures and the clippings, the best one has their two faces side by side, the blonde and the dark. Under one the caption: ‘The Killer …’ and under the other: ‘The Victim’. They look more like they should have been setting off on a picnic or pyjama party or somesuch.
I didn’t get more than a glimpse of her on the Monday. They had their meal off a buffet in the Connaught Suite and they were busy in the evening. I asked at reception for her room number but the snotty cow said, ‘We can’t divulge that, sir, but you can leave her a message,’ which needless to say I did not do.
Monday night I watched the porn and I had to let go when there were two girls, nothing like the two of them but still, long hair, one dark, one fair, shaved whatnots and huge tits, though, which is a turn-off, but it passed the time, listening to them and looking at my scrapbook.
In the morning I got a good look. There she was at breakfast all on her own. I watched her help herself from the buffet – grapefruit segments and a croissant, which she picked at and pushed away. She drank coffee which she refilled three times and kept her eyes down reading from a stapled handout. At one point she took out a mobile and tried a number, listened, frowned and put it back in her bag. When she got up I went towards her, hoping to catch her eye, but she walked straight past, unaware. She was so shut in to herself, you could see that. It seemed to me then that this might not be as straightforward as I’d thought.
Her course was taking place in the conference suite so I knew where she’d be all day and from five-thirty onwards I walked up and down the corridor waiting for them to finish. Then, after six, the door opened and out they came. Couldn’t see her at first but then she followed, another woman trying to talk to her but her body language made it plain that she preferred to be alone, thank you very much. You could actually see the other woman get the hump and give up on her.
The lot of them got in the lift, going down, and I ran down the stairs but my mistake because
she didn’t come out. She must have gone back up to her room. The rest of them went into the bar. I waited in the lobby where I could see the lift door and the passage that led from the stairs to the bar where their buffet was going to be served, according to the sign, at seven-thirty. I thought it would be just like her, the little I knew of her, to stay in her room all night and nothing I could do. All that money on the hotel gone up in smoke for no result.
But then the luck changed. She came into the lobby at six fifty-five, hovered about outside the bar for a bit, then went in. I followed, thinking I’d intercept her before she joined her group, but she played right into my hands. She got herself a drink, then instead of sitting with the others went back out into the lobby and sat on a sofa, twiddling with a spoon. I watched someone come and clear the table in front of her. She swigged back her wine and looked as if she was about to go. I could see it was now or never so I made my move. I offered her a drink to which she said yes.
I fetched the drinks, sat down beside her, looked into her eyes, dark hazy blue. I couldn’t come to terms with her grownup face, still pretty but thin, with shadows under the eyes – what you might call haunted. She looked away and took a gulp of the wine, foot jiggling up and down fifteen to the dozen. I turned it on then, gave it to her full throttle, the voice, the looks, the ‘Rupert, don’t laugh’. I wondered if she’d get the significance but there was not a glimmer.
Isobel had loved Rupert Bear, had all the annuals lined up in her bedroom. And she wore a little enamel badge on her jacket that she’d sent for with jam labels. She’d been wearing it when she died, there was even a mention in the paper. I’ve got it now. Rupert with his famous scarf trailing out behind him, legs apart as if running.
It was hard for me to contain myself when she said her name was Nina. It was hard for me to look at her and I had to hold on to the part I was playing, relax back into Rupert’s way of sitting, lounging back, legs crossed.
‘Nice name, it suits you,’ I said and then I asked her out to dinner. To do her credit she did hesitate for a moment, said she’d been thinking of having room service. I’d got her right then, not the sociable type. Enough socialising when she was inside to last a lifetime, I should think. But after consideration she said yes. She had a sweet smile though you could tell she didn’t use it much. She got up, made a phone call and then we set off to a restaurant I’d checked out during the day.
It was not difficult to get her back and into bed. Her body when we got the suit off was a bit thin for my taste, small boobs, all right for some but nothing to write home about. Not your Page Three type. What was strange was that I couldn’t think of her as Karen – after all the times I’ve pretended that it was. I had to shut my eyes and imagine she was a pro I was pretending was Karen in order to get it up. But she wasn’t Karen to me then. If she had been all I’d have had to do was squeeze.
Chapter 17
*
On Friday I went back to work. Christine was away. I looked at her desk. A picture of her parents and a dog; a Good Luck for your Driving Test card (she’d failed); and the white bear. His eyes peered at me, bright and blind. I moved him behind her computer out of my sight and went to my own desk. On my screen there was a sticky note saying ‘Rupert, urgent’ and a mobile number. I screwed it up and threw it in the bin.
I worked hard all day to try and catch up. Each time the phone rang – I had twice as many calls to deal with since Christine wasn’t there – I answered, making the greeting come out friendly and interested as I had been taught. A smile in your voice is the key.
I worked straight through my lunch-hour and Gary called me to his office in the early afternoon. I sat down and he plaited his fingers together and looked at me for a minute without speaking. I saw his eyes rest on my flapping foot and forced it to stay still. He had one of those Newton’s cradles that I thought went out with the ark. I longed for him to click it. He saw me looking, bent his mouth into a smile, pulled a silver ball up and we watched the matching click and swing for a moment till he stopped it.
‘If object A exerts a force on object B then object B exerts the exact opposite force on object A,’ I said.
‘Quite,’ he said. ‘Now then, what’s been the trouble?’
‘Tummy.’
‘Doctor’s note?’
‘Oh sorry!’
‘That is the usual procedure.’
‘I didn’t go to the doctor’s,’ I said, ‘it was just a horrid bug. Sickness and diarrhoea and that.’
‘Spare me the details,’ he said.
‘Another time I’ll get a doctor’s note. Sorry.’
‘How are you finding the job?’ he asked. ‘I’m aware you’re working well below your capacity – but prove yourself reliable and who knows?’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
Almost as soon as I got back to my desk the phone rang. ‘Good afternoon,’ I said, ‘Nina speaking, how may I help you?’
‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘What time do you get off?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Five? Six?’
‘Not sure.’
‘See you then.’ He broke the connection.
I could have signed my flexi-form and walked out before he got there – but Gary was looking, his office door propped open, and I didn’t dare. My heart was beating hard against my ribs. The columns on the screen turned to gibberish but I sat in front of it in imitation of someone working while I thought what I should do. I opened my drawer and looked at Charlie’s calm blue eyes. I really mustn’t let this happen. There was nothing I could do but wait till five o’clock, go outside and meet Rupert. Tell him that there was no chance. Eventually he’d have to get the message.
He seemed even taller than I remembered, his eyes a brighter brown. In my mind he’d become something like a fiend but face to face, still, he had the sort of looks girls pin up on their walls to moon at.
‘Anyone would think you were avoiding me,’ he said.
I looked round to see if anyone was watching. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘let’s get away from here.’
‘I’ve got strawberries,’ he said.
‘Strawberries?’
He opened a Marks and Spencer’s bag to show me a punnet of strawberries and a pot of cream. I almost laughed.
‘Where shall we go?’ he said.
‘Come on.’
I walked fast with my head down till we got to the overgrown churchyard, which teetered with monuments to the steel magnates of the city. When I’d first come to Sheffield, before I’d started work at Green’s or met Charlie, I’d spent ages there, making out the chipped and lichen-encrusted inscriptions, picking over the lumpy ground, between the brambles. I didn’t know if the lumps were only root and broken stone or if they were bones, but I walked softly just in case. It was a peaceful place and, except for birds and dog-walkers, very quiet and private.
‘You could nearly call this harassment,’ I pointed out. ‘Or stalking.’
He sat on the edge of a raised grave. In Loving Memory of Isaiah Braithwaite were the words beneath a wreath of stone. 1855–1949. The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away.
‘Sit down,’ he said, ‘have a strawberry.’ He ripped the Cellophane off the fruit and opened the cream. He took a big berry between his finger and thumb and dunked it, then he held it out to me. I shrugged, took it and put it in my mouth. He licked the cream from his fingers as I licked it from my lips. The strawberry was too cold between my teeth and had a watery taste.
He dunked another but I shook my head. He put it in his own mouth and gazed at me, while he chewed.
‘Look, this is ridiculous,’ I said. ‘Can’t you get it into your head? I’m with Charlie.’
‘Have you told him?’
‘No.’
‘That’s not very honest.’
‘What would be the point? Have you told your wife?’
‘I’m willing to,’ he said.
‘Don’t. Please.’
‘She’s a bitch.’
‘Well, you’re not exactly a model husband.’
He frowned at me, expressions moving like clouds beneath his skin.
‘I hate her,’ he said.
‘Hate?’ I said. ‘What does that mean?’ The corner of his mouth pulled up a fraction before he looked down. ‘Leave her then,’ I said.
He put the strawberries down and pressed his hands together. ‘What kind of music do you like?’
‘What?’
‘Your favourite film? I don’t know anything about you – I want to know. Your favourite food?’
‘Soup,’ I said.
‘Soup?’
‘Tomato from a can or home-made vegetable.’
‘Do you support a team?’
I shook my head. ‘There’s no point in this, Rupert.’
‘Just have dinner with me tonight. Whatever you like, wherever you want? What do you like?’
‘No.’
‘Come here …’ He took my chin in his hand and tried to touch my mouth.
‘No,’ I said and jerked my head away.
‘A bit of cream,’ he said.
I scrubbed it off myself.
‘Where were we?’ he said.
‘Sorry?’
‘In the park the other day, where were we?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘We were discussing the possibility of goodness.’
A woman was walking towards us. At first I thought it was Maisie. I flinched and, turning away from her, allowed myself to be pulled against Rupert’s chest, so that she couldn’t see my face. As soon as she’d gone past I saw it wasn’t Maisie, but she could have been someone else that Fay knew. Fay had lived in Sheffield all her life. The woman had gone and Rupert held me tight.
‘That’s good,’ he said into my hair. ‘That’s better.’
His arms were strong. My breath was muffled against him, my nose squashed against the crisp, new texture of his shirt. He smelt clean, biscuity. Just for a moment I let myself relax. His heart beat against my cheek. I felt a rush of tiredness. It reminded me of how I used to be with boys. I thought of Charlie and pulled away.
Nina Todd Has Gone Page 6