by Billy London
She pulled back the covers and shivered as the air chilled the sweat on her skin. She opened her bedroom door and padded into the living room. Maybe she'd put it on a timer. She'd done that before, left her stereo on and managed to wake up her parents at stupid o'clock in the morning. Given they woke up around half six every morning, they weren't impressed by being woken to the delicate strains of Basement Jaxx's “Hey U.” She switched off the stereo and took a wary look at her bedroom.
Nothing about this was very good at all. Maybe she could call Gabriel. At least then she would get good turned on rather than “fucked by a monster” turned on. If she were that sort of artist, she'd be straight on the Internet looking to see what that meant. Obviously the monster was Gabriel and she was afraid of being screwed over à la Richard Frost. Well if she was going to talk to Gabriel she'd better sort her face out. She switched on the kettle, rapidly cleaned her face, tidied her hair into a neat 'fro, and changed from her sweat-stained nightgown into a bandeau top and denim shorts. She examined her face in the mirror. “That'll do it.”
She swiftly made a cup of tea to take the croak from her voice, then went onto MSN and saw his available light was on. “Hey, hey. Video chat please!”
A moment later Gabriel's face lighted on the screen. “Hi, Angel.”
She grinned widely, then remembered he could see her. “Hi. How's it going?”
“Good, we've got a great vibe in the studio at the moment. It's like we've got space dust in our pants.”
He's not half perfect, she thought. Just what I needed.
“What time is it in London?” he asked.
“It's going three a.m.”
He frowned. “What are you doing up so early?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
His brow furrowed with suspicion. “You mean you wanted to check up on me? Trust me, we're on schedule,” he grinned, “which means I can hurry back and convince you to move north of the river.”
“Not happening,” she laughed. “How dare you? My allegiance is to the south.”
He gave a small smile. “I'll change your mind.”
“Oh really? You should have tried that before you left for the States.” She paused while he continued to laugh. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“No one has been collecting my chest sweat.”
“Stop that. What's with you and Michael Lee? He said something about you dating the same girl.”
Gabriel stared right into the camera, which made her deeply uncomfortable. “And when did you have this enlightening conversation with Mr. Lee?”
“Funny story,” she said, clearing her throat.
“Funny how?” Gabriel asked with a quiet that told her he was getting really quite annoyed.
“Funny unexpected. He's actually my upstairs neighbor. I had no idea when I was talking to him at the exhibition...”
“Really?”
Oh don't you dare pull any Neanderthal bullshit on me. “Branded already, Walker.”
He leaned back in the sofa chair he was sitting in. “I can't see your bracelet.”
Crap. “It's safe. So come on. Give up the goods.”
Gabriel's hand moved to his forearm, and his blunt nails traced over his tattoo, a series of numbers in four rows. The papers said it was either the number of women he'd slept with or his bank balance at certain stages of his career. “He's bad news. Just stay out of his way.”
“Why?”
He breathed out slowly. “Last week, I went to a funeral. An ex-girlfriend. Her name was Renee and she was a model. Militant about what she touched. She didn't drink, no dairy, no meat, she didn't even smoke. A sweet girl, obsessive about what she put in her body. The day after the photo shoot with Lee, she disappeared. She turned up a week later, dead from an overdose.”
Eva involuntarily shuddered, thinking of Kaylie Hancock. “And you think he's got something to do with it.”
Again he tapped his fingertips over the tattoo. “There's no way she'd touch drugs. So yes, I'm convinced.” His voice was firm.
“That's a pretty strong feeling to have about someone you don't know.”
“Why, what do you make of him?”
“A bit edgy. Like there are so many minefields around him. I asked him if he was from Leeds and he got a little defensive.”
He leaned forward. “Angel, do me a favor.”
“I'm sort of in the middle of the last favor you asked of me,” she reminded him.
“That wasn't a favor. This is. Just...stay out of his way.”
What in the name of sweet baby...? “He lives above me. He owes me sugar.”
“I'll send you as much sugar as you want. Just steer clear. Women get weird around him.”
Pot, meet kettle. “Women get weird around you.”
“All of whom are still alive,” he replied drolly. “Stay away, all right?”
He wasn't messing around, she realized. “Okay. I'll steer clear.” She caught the tail end of a look of wariness and tutted. “I'm not going to give him any!”
“You miss me,” he stated, another smile lighting his eyes.
She tugged at her 'fro in frustration. “You've left me in the weirdest state, man.”
“It's penance, Angel.” The camera flickered. “Angel?”
“I'm still here.”
A thin blue-white line singed across the screen before Gabriel disappeared altogether. The landline started ringing and she picked it up. Static roared in her ear. Well that's no good. Her mobile rang and she didn't recognize the number that flashed up. She answered it, thinking it was still Gabriel trying to get through. Again static hissed at her.
“Gabriel? Try again, I can't hear you.”
She ended the call. Both phones rang simultaneously. The laptop flared to life with a bright white screen, as did her television and all the lights in the flat. She frantically tapped all the keys on the laptop.
“Gabriel!” she yelled.
The phones stopped ringing, the lights reverted to their original state, and the television switched itself off. Gabriel's face came back on the screen and she sighed with relief.
“Someone with access to the fuse box is trying to piss me off,” she growled.
“Evangeline,” he asked slowly, not acknowledging her comment. “Has this ever happened before?”
He full named her. Why was he full naming her? What the hell just happened? “What? Everything cut out, went a bit Terminator 2, then you came back. What did you see?”
“Your face. You didn't move. But your face was distorted. Like someone else's altogether.”
He wasn't telling her something. “What else?”
“A voice said, 'Eva's not here right now.'”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “That is not funny, Gabriel.”
He nodded. “Look, it's all right. How's the temperature?”
“Not fantastic but not hot water bottle desperate.”
“Bedroom?”
“I don't want to go in there,” she said uncomfortably. “I'm staying on the sofa.”
There was a long pause on his end. “Can you go to Jo's?”
“At three in the morning? She will kill me.”
Eva needed a hug. She needed human warmth, and there was nothing except static, whispers and solitude.
“I'd feel better if you did,” Gabriel pressed softly.
“Just talk to me,” she begged.
“Angel, you don't want to know what I want to talk about.”
“Why, what do you want to talk about?”
“Bedroom etiquette.”
Eva started laughing. “You're right, we're not ready for that talk.”
He slung his guitar strap across his back. “How about I play you to sleep?”
That was a much better idea. She took the throw from the sofa back and curled up against the cushions as Gabriel started to tune the strings. “Foals?”
She breathed a laugh. “I'm going to ruin you when you come home.”
“Challeng
e accepted.” He tilted his head toward her screen. The graveled tones of his voice soothed her, like a hand stroking over her purring heart as she felt the tug toward sleep.
“Gabriel?” she murmured.
“Yes, Angel?”
“Thank you for not thinking I'm mad.”
“As I'm in the US, I take the Fifth on that. Just sleep, okay? I'm here.”
“You don't know how good it is to hear you say that,” she sighed.
“Really glad we're now on the same page.” He played a major chord in A. “What do you want to hear next?”
“The Temptations, please. ‘Just My Imagination.’”
“You little ironic romantic you.”
Chapter Five
She was awake by ten, and Gabriel was sleeping over his guitar. She sent him a swift e-mail telling him to go to bed then ventured into her bedroom. Everything was fine. As fine as hearing voices and her machines taking control of her home could be. There was an echoing stillness in the flat. She could hear the humming of the fridge and the creak of floorboards moving under the pressure of her own weight. Call Mum, she told herself. She dialed quickly and was connected to her mother.
“Hello, Mama!”
“Hello, my baby! Are you okay? You're up early.”
She sighed, and shifted a can of deodorant across her dressing table, then moved to draw up the blinds. “I'm okay. Not sleeping well.”
Her mother paused. “You haven't slept badly since... Coming up to fifteen years.”
Eva felt a shudder pass through her, and blinked at the sunshine that flooded through the room. Daylight. Thank the Lord. Nothing bad ever happens during the day. “I know. That's not it though, I...”
She had no idea what it was, but something large and black slammed into her window, cracking it. Eva dropped the phone. Not taking her eyes from the window, she scrambled for the phone.
“What was that?” her mother asked.
“Oh my god.” Eva stepped closer to the window and saw a crow twitching in the final throes of death, its beak twisted painfully.
Her mother was calling her name. “What is it? What's just happened?”
“A bird just flew into my window.” Her mother was so quiet. “Mama?”
“Same thing happened...around the same time... It's just odd. Are you all right?”
Eva couldn't tear her eyes away as the bird's chest ceased heaving. “I'll...have to get it replaced. Sorry, Mama, I don't know why I bothered you. I'll call you tonight, okay? I just need to get out.” She ended the call before her mother could argue.
She rushed through cleaning and dressing, snatched up her keys, and flew out of the flat. Outside the building in sweatpants and a hooded zipped jumper, she looked up to where the bird had flown into her bedroom window. She looked around. She couldn't see a single bird in the sky. She headed toward her local coffee shop, thinking that anywhere was better than home right now.
She called the maintenance man who looked after the building and told him about the window as a lovely young man placed a latte and a breakfast panini in front of her. Her hands were shaking as she picked up the cup, and it fumbled from her fingers completely as a shadow fell over her table.
“Hi.” Michael smiled. “Sorry, did I scare you?”
“No,” she said sadly, bending to pick up the cup and mop up the mess with the napkins she had. Michael swooped down as well to help her. “Thanks.”
“I'll get you another. What are you having, a latte?”
“You may upgrade to a mocha latte. I need more caffeine.”
Michael nodded and made his way to the counter. Sorry, Gabriel, she thought. Totally not my fault though.
Michael brought two cups over. “That's the double shot mocha latte.”
He tapped the rim of his cup to her own and his eyes were light with warmth. What was he so happy about? “Are you okay, Eva? You look tired.”
She put the cup down. “I am tired. I'm not sleeping very well.”
He looked concerned. “Can you still hear me? Upstairs, I mean? I came home pretty late last night.”
Another sip of the coffee allowed normality to seep back into her. She didn't even like coffee, but hell, it was the nearest thing to drugs she could find this early in the morning. “No, it wasn't you. Sorry, we were supposed to start the portrait this morning, weren't we?”
“I saw you legging it out of the building.” His eyes showed concern. If there was any opportunity to extract information from him, now would be a good time.
“How long have you lived in that building?”
Michael's eyes darted to the side as he thought. “A few years. Why?”
“Anything...odd happened?”
“Odd in what way?”
She glanced up into his face. Normal. Pretty. Michael. No way he'd understand. “Don't worry about it. What were you doing late last night? Another one of your model mates?”
He stared into his cup, biting on his bottom lip. “No, I went to see someone. They live up in Leeds.”
Eva's eyes narrowed warily. “I used to live in Leeds.”
“Yeah, whereabouts?”
She bristled. “Nowhere you'd know. How's your friend?”
Michael shrugged. “Doesn't matter. What are you up to today?”
“Going to stay outside and paint. Or draw. Just anything away from the flat.”
“Cabin fever?”
A shudder passed over her skin. “Something like that. Anyway Michael, nice seeing you. Sorry about the portrait. Another time.”
He caught her by the arm. “Why not now? Come on, we'll walk down to the Embankment, and you can convince tourists to part with their money for caricatures.”
She grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”
Michael jogged back to the flats while she finished her coffee. He returned in ten minutes with a pad of paper and some paints. “Just had these lying around from a shoot.”
Eva paid up and tucked her purse into her jogging bottoms.
Michael went to take her hand.
“Oh whoa, whoa, whoa! I don't...”
“Relax,” he said. “We're just friends. You can hold my hand, it doesn't mean anything.”
“Michael,” she said firmly, sticking her hands in the pockets of her jogging suit, “I'm fine.”
His eyes narrowed. “Wow. Gabriel is really possessive.”
Eva shook her head. “You don't understand. We went out last year. And for some reason or other I didn't see how it could be any better than that one night. So I left it. But I really want him to write songs about me. But not the 'she done me wrong' ones. Because I have a really bad feeling that 'Smoke' is about me doing a runner last year.”
Michael turned to her in shock. “You're that girl? You know everyone thinks he's gay because he hasn't been seen with a woman in the last year.”
She clapped her hands over her eyes. “Oh bloody hell! He and I are... Okay, you know when you take a shot with your camera and your stomach goes funny because it's perfect? That's me and Gabriel. And I freaked. And I ran. But I've got another chance to do something about us. All I need to do is wait two short weeks, and I don't want to risk fucking it up.”
Michael laughed. “That's, er...really sweet. But he's not the type of guy that waits around for a girl. I know.”
“I think he is.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well... I think he's got willpower. He reminds me of those Buddhist monks who are all about peace and restoring the balance. And he's not a liar. So if he tells me he's done something, I believe him.”
He shook his head. “You must be in love.”
She shrugged. “Probably am.”
“You've had one night together.” Michael said, a note of surprise in his voice.
“Because I went out with a back-stabbing twat for months on end. Gabriel has nothing to gain from being cruel or abusive toward me. He's not going to get any fame or kudos from being a bastard. He doesn't need the publicity, good or b
ad. He just likes me.”
“Just like?” Michael mocked.
“I'm not jinxing anything by saying he loves me, all right, pet?”
“Ahaa!” he said triumphantly. “I knew it! You've got Northern in you!”
“I was born in London. Then my parents moved to Leeds to be near my grandparents. Then...well, I had to move schools. Came back to London.”
“Why was that?” he asked quietly.
She gave a tight smile. “Stuff happened.”
He sensed her discomfort and changed the subject. “Well, your parents must be proud of you. Of what you've done with your art?”
Eva's mouth twisted. “I've got an older sister, Jo, who's done everything right. She's got the high-flying career, marriage, babies. I could mess up so badly but as long as Jo is all right, my parents have something to boast about at church on a Sunday.” She breathed through a decade of pained dismissal. “My mum thinks I'm talented, but wants to know when I'm getting married. My dad keeps asking me when I'm going to get a real job.”
“That's harsh.”
“Well. My dad's a traditionalist. If you're not a lawyer or a doctor or a banker or pharmacist, it's not a real job.”
“You do have a real job,” he said stiffly. “If they think your job is flimsy, they will have a fit when they meet Gabriel.”
Eva grinned. “Ah, it's a fight I'm not going to win. What about you, where's your family?”
Michael's mouth twisted. “They're all in Australia. Two brothers, two sisters. Lots of dogs.”
“When did you move there?”
“I wasn't there for long. Went to see the world.”
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Eva said bluntly, “If I'm going to paint you, you need to give me a better idea of who you are.”
His face dropped for a moment. She saw concern. And oddly, fear.
“Why don't you want to say? Is it because of that girl Renee? The one you and Gabriel knew? The one who died?”
Michael seemed to regain his composure. “A little. I just don't want you to think badly about me.”
“Why? You didn't take that overdose. She did. Why do you feel responsible?”
“Because I was the last person to see her.” He tucked his hands into his jeans and looked away.
“Maybe you should go to church with my parents. Pray that guilt out.”