by Mike Bennett
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I?’
‘Yes. I sometimes think I hardly know anything about you.’
‘Well, there isn’t much to know.’
‘I don’t believe that. I think you have – I don’t know how you say it English – hidden deepness?’
David smiled. ‘Hidden depths.’
‘Yes. You have the hidden depths. But I think some things in there are not good. You know, at night you have bad dreams, you moan and wrestle with yourself.’
He laughed. ‘Sounds like I’m dreaming of you.’
‘No, I have to soothe you sometimes to help you relax.’
‘Really? I didn’t know that.’
‘You don’t remember your dreams?’
‘No,’ he lied. ‘Not usually.’
‘You twitch and fidget, you cry out sometimes also.’
‘Do I?’ he was beginning to feel embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not something to be sorry about, David, but I think that it is something you need to talk about, these … things, whatever they are that disturb you.’
He smiled. ‘I’m probably just dreaming of chasing rabbits or something.’
‘I don’t think so.’ She sipped her drink, then asked, ‘What is “Underwood”?’
David’s smile faded. ‘Underwood?’
‘Yes, you say it sometimes when you are dreaming. Is it a place?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘In your dreams you sound frightened of it, like it’s a bad thing.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes. You know if we ever got serious, we may have to have sleep in separate rooms. I’d never get any sleep otherwise.’
He topped up his own glass. ‘But we aren’t going to get serious, are we Lisa? You’re going to go back to Germany at the weekend.’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe I could come back again, I’ve been thinking about it. I could get a job here. My English is good enough.’
‘Your English is excellent.’
‘So, maybe I could stay with you here – at least until I found a place of my own.’
‘Stay here?’ he failed to keep the surprise from his voice. ‘In this flat, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘But, but you have a career in Germany. What would you do for work here?’
‘David, I’m only talking about the possibility.’
‘And then there’s your friends and your family? What about them?’
‘They are only a plane ride away.’
‘Yeah, but, you’d miss them, wouldn’t you?’
‘Perhaps not as much as I will miss you.’
‘Oh me,’ he waved a hand, avoiding her eyes. ‘I’m sure you’ll forget me soon enough.’
‘As you will forget me?’ There was a note of sadness in her voice.
David looked up, meeting her eyes. ‘No.’
She nodded. ‘I think perhaps, yes.’
‘No. I won’t forget you, Lisa.’
‘So, would you like me to stay?’
David shifted on his seat. ‘I – well, yes, of course. But you can’t, can you?’
‘Why? It wouldn’t be so difficult.’
David smiled, but his smile had difficulty reaching his eyes. ‘Well, that’d be great, if you did. I mean, if you didn’t mind giving up your career and … everything else.’
‘I wouldn’t mind. Not if we were together.’
David reached for his cigarettes. ‘So, you mean, in this flat together, or just going out together?’
‘Would it be a problem if I were in this flat with you?’
He lit a cigarette, drawing out the action to steal a few seconds in which to think, then he exhaled his reply in smoke, ‘Er, I, I’m not sure. This is a pretty small space, Lisa.’
She dropped her eyes and nodded. ‘Of course. That’s okay.’
‘I mean, I’d like you to move in, but, as you can see,’ he waved a hand around the room. ‘It’s tiny. And my dreaming, my fidgeting and stuff – ’.
She got up. ‘It’s alright, David. I understand, don’t worry. I go back to Germany.’ She walked into the bedroom and closed the door.
‘Lisa?’
‘I’m getting dressed,’ she called.
He looked at their plates; her unfinished drink; the closed bedroom door. ‘You’re not angry, are you?’
‘No,’ she laughed, though he heard no amusement in it. ‘I’m just getting dressed, that’s all.’
He sighed and looked at the ceiling. He took another drag on his cigarette then dropped it into the remains of his drink. He got up and started stacking plates.
‘Actually,’ she called. ‘I am thinking I might go to the party tonight after all.’
‘Okay.’
She walked out of the bedroom fully dressed, and there was a business-like air about her. ‘You were right earlier; I should make the most of my last days here.’
He put down the plates and nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘And so, I’d better go now.’
‘Lisa – ’
She turned and walked out to the hall. ‘I’ll see you, I don’t know, before I go, I suppose.’
He went after her. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to say we couldn’t share somewhere together, Lese, just – ’
‘Really, David, it’s okay,’ She opened his front door and started down the stairs. ‘I know you like to keep your life free of the clutter.’
‘Oh come on, Lisa. You know that’s not what I meant.’ He went out after her. ‘Lisa?’ He watched as she turned the corner on the lower landing before descending the next flight of stairs. ‘Shit!’ He looked down at his boxer shorts and bare feet, swore again, then ran after her. He lived on the third floor, and as he reached the last flight of stairs he was rewarded with the sight of the front door closing. ‘Bollocks!’ He hurried down and pulled open the door. He stepped outside into the cold April night to see she was already halfway down the street. He stood for a moment watching her go, hoping she might turn back, but she didn’t.
The sound of sudden laughter made him look round to where two teenage girls were approaching from behind him. ‘Nice pants,’ said one of the girls.
‘Thanks,’ said David flatly.
‘Not really!’ said the other girl, and they both laughed behind their hands.
David nodded. ‘Thanks again.’ He turned and went slowly back into the house. As he closed the door he saw the mail in the basket that hung beneath the letter box. He hadn’t checked it that day so he reached inside and pulled out the assorted letters and junk circulars, quickly riffling through for anything addressed to him. There were two things: a bill, and a plain white envelope with his name and address typed on it.
Back in his flat, he sat down on the sofa and opened the white envelope. It contained a single sheet of paper. He opened it out, and the first thing he noticed was the name at the top of the headed paper: Daventry and West Solicitors.
Solicitors? What had he done to merit a letter from solicitors? Anxious, he read on. It was short, only three paragraphs in length. But when he had finished, the letter trembled in his hands. ‘Oh my God,’ he whispered, his eyes filling with tears. ‘How did they find me? How did they fucking find me?’
2
LISA LEFT THE CRICKETERS’ PUB at just after eleven to return to David’s flat. She didn’t want to leave things they way they had done earlier, she hadn’t been able to relax and enjoy herself all night. As she walked, she wondered if he might have gone to bed already. He usually went to bed at about twelve, provided the students in the flat beneath him weren’t having one of their spontaneous parties, but that hadn’t happened for a while now.
She smiled as she remembered how David had gone down to put a stop to it the last time it had woken them up. It had been two in the morning; he’d wanted her to stay behind in the flat but she’d insisted on accompanying him. David had gone down and knocked, repeatedly but patiently, on their door. A short time later, a drunken man in his early tw
enties opened the door. He was immediately on the defensive; the music flowing out from behind him at an unmitigated level while he stood there in the doorway, with his chin out and his arms folded across his chest. David had smiled and begun to chat to him about the situation. Five minutes later they were back in David’s flat, the music had been reduced to an acceptable level, and David was pinning a piece of paper with the man’s telephone number on it to the kitchen notice board. The man, whose name was Nathan, had given it to David in the event he might need it in the future to call to complain about noise or anything else.
She’d been impressed and had told him so. He told her that disarming an enemy with diplomacy was something he’d learned in the army. Surprised, she’d asked him to tell her more, but he hadn’t. He told her he was tired and that he’d tell her later. She didn’t press him in on it. She figured he’d tell her whenever he was ready, though of course, he never had. She bristled as the feeling of rejection she’d felt earlier began to stir again: the unwelcome, though insistent thought that reminded her that while David may be fond of her, he apparently had no room in his life for her. Then her anger returned: Jesus, if he didn’t want to see her again, why couldn’t he just come out and say it instead of blaming it on his apartment?
‘Stop it!’ she said out loud. There was no use going over it again and again in her head, she needed to discuss it with him, not herself.
As she turned onto Lansdowne Place she was met with the sound of distant music; someone must be having a party. She looked up along the row of terraced town houses to David’s building. The music seemed to be coming from there. The lights were on in all the apartments. Perhaps the effects of David’s diplomacy had worn off and the students in the flat below had gone back to their old ways. She stopped outside the house: this was definitely the source of the music, the sound of drums and guitars radiated from the house like heat from a blaze.
She went up the steps and pressed David’s door buzzer. There was no response. She pushed it again, but still nothing happened. Maybe he’d gone down to try to reason with the guys downstairs and was involved in doorstep negotiations right now. She decided to check; she pushed the buzzer of flat two. A moment later, an irate voice came back through the intercom.
‘Yeah?’
‘Hello? I’m sorry to bother you. My boyfriend lives in the flat upstairs from you. I wondered if – ’
The intercom crackled and went dead. A moment later a buzz came from the door and she pushed it open. Inside, the very air of the hallway seemed to resonate with the beat of the music. She hurried up the stairs. When she got to the first landing, the door of the flat beneath David’s was already open and Nathan was waiting for her.
‘Thank fuck you’re here. Have a word with him will you, love? He’s gone completely fucking mental up there. It’s been like this for over an hour now.’
‘Yeah,’ said another guy, emerging from the flat. ‘And when we knock on his door, he threatens to kill us.’
‘Seriously,’ said Nathan. ‘We went upstairs, yeah? Knocked on the door, and your boyfriend flings it open – all mad in the eyeballs – and tells us we’re going to bloody die. Then he laughs and slams the door in our faces. Mad as a walnut whip, eh, Josh?’
‘Yeah.’
Lisa didn’t know what to say. ‘You mean, David? David said that?’
‘Yeah, him,’ said Nathan. ‘Your bloody loony boyfriend. We called the police, but they said it was a domestic matter and they couldn’t do anything about it. Fat lot of fucking good they are. I mean, listen to that.’ He cupped an ear in the direction of the stairs. ‘If that’s not a breach of the peace I don’t know what is, yeah?’ He looked to Josh for agreement, and found it.
Lisa looked up the staircase. ‘Okay, I, I don’t know what to say. I’m really sorry for the disturbance. I’ll speak to him now.’
‘I should bloody think so,’ said Josh. ‘Some of us have to get up in the morning, you know?’
Lisa hurried up the stairs. When she got to the landing she saw a woman outside David’s front door that she’d never seen before. She was barefoot and wore a pink velour tracksuit. The woman was knocking on David’s door with her fist in slow, rhythmic blows that were barely audible above the music coming from within. Lisa came up beside her and smiled. The woman turned to face her, her features knotted with rage.
‘Do you live here?’ the woman demanded.
‘No,’ said Lisa. ‘Not exactly. But my boyfriend does.’
The woman’s eyes narrowed and she pointed at the door. ‘This fucking wanker has been driving me out of my fucking mind for hours. And he hasn’t even the guts to come out here and face me.’ She pounded and shouted at the door. ‘Have you? You selfish bastard!’
Lisa opened her bag and fished out a single Yale key. ‘It’s okay, I have a key. I’ll go in now and turn it off.’
The lines that tortured the woman’s forehead softened and she closed her eyes with relief. ‘Oh thank God,’ she sighed. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘I’m so sorry – ’ Lisa began, but the woman raised her hands.
‘No, it’s not your fault. Don’t apologise.’ She pointed at the door. ‘It’s him in there, Mr Total Arsehole that should be fucking apologising.’ The woman touched Lisa on the arm. ‘Sorry love, but what the fuck is wrong with people these days?’
Lisa put the key into the door and felt the bass line of the song resonating under her fingers. ‘I know, I’m sorry. He’s never usually like this, you know?’ The woman nodded and walked wearily to the staircase. She managed a weak smile and then went upstairs. Lisa took a breath, and opened the door.
The air was thick with cigarette smoke. Lisa went in and walked down towards the lounge. ‘David?’ she called out, trying to be heard over the music. The lounge was empty, and so was the whiskey bottle on the coffee table.
‘Oh shit, David?’
She moved quickly to the stereo and shut it off. Silence fell almost palpably against her ears. ‘David?’ There was no reply. She looked around. The whiskey bottle stood in the centre of the coffee table beside an overflowing ash tray and a single glass tumbler that lay on its side. Scattered on and all around the sofa were papers and documents, his passport among them. ‘David?’
She turned and went down the hall to the bedroom. His drawers were all open and in disarray, his clothes lay strewn over the bed and for a moment it crossed her mind that perhaps David had been burgled. Then, she heard a familiar sound coming from the bathroom: a low moan punctuated by yelping noises. She went to the bathroom and pushed open the door.
David sat on the toilet with his trousers and underpants around his ankles. On the sink beside him a cigarette had burned down to the filter leaving a sticky brown burn on the porcelain. David yelped again and his legs twitched. ‘No,’ he moaned. His head was slumped forward with his chin resting on his collarbone; drool ran from the corner of his mouth and soaked into his shirt.
‘Oh my God, David.’ Was this her fault? Had her walking out on him earlier pushed him to this? She knelt down before him and took his face in her hands. She lifted his head up, ‘David?’
He made no response.
‘David!’ she said more sternly, patting his cheek.
His eyes flickered.
‘David, wake up!’
He woke suddenly, as if he’d been hit by a cattle prod, his legs scissoring her and causing her to fall sideways. ‘No!’ he cried. ‘I won’t do it!’
Lisa regained her balance and took his hand. ‘David? It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to do anything.’
He looked at her, confused, as if expecting someone else. ‘Lisa?’ His voice was slurry and his breath thick with alcohol.
‘Yes. You’re drunk. You fell asleep on the toilet.’
‘I,’ he looked down at himself, ‘I’m not shitting … I, I just didn’t want to miss … you know – the toilet … I miss when I’m pissed, see.’
‘It’s okay,’ she pushed his hair back from
his forehead. ‘You didn’t miss.’ She glanced down at the linoleum around the toilet and realised she was mistaken. She looked back to his face. He was deathly pale and a dew of sweat had broken out across his forehead. ‘Are you alright? You don’t look too good.’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, reaching down and trying to untangle his trousers. ‘Really I, I just didn’t want to miss, you know? See, when I’m pissed, I miss, and Sarah gets all angry with me. She makes me clean it up.’
‘Who is Sarah?’
‘She,’ he stopped his struggling with his trousers. ‘She’s dead.’
Lisa drew her hand away from his face. ‘Oh. I see.’
He looked up at her. ‘She was ... we, we were ... ’ He had tears in his eyes. ‘She died.’
Lisa moved forward and held him as he started to cry. His arms moved around her and he embraced her tightly.
‘I’m sorry, Lisa. I’m so sorry.’
‘Shhh,’ she soothed him, stroking his hair. ‘There is nothing to be sorry for.’
‘Yes there is. There’s everything to be sorry for.’
‘But you haven’t done anything wrong, David. You just got drunk. It’s not the end of the world.’
At that he seemed to change, his sobs became more erratic and she realised he was laughing. He looked up, but he wasn’t smiling – not properly anyway. It was if she had made a sick joke and he was laughing despite his moral revulsion at what she had said.
‘Isn’t it? I’m not so sure about that.’ His silent laughter was abruptly cut off as he turned and vomited into the sink.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a coffee?’ said Lisa, handing David a glass of water. They had moved into the lounge and he sat at the end of the sofa looking generally ghastly.
‘No, thanks,’ he took a sip. ‘This is the best thing,’ then he chuckled, ‘apart from more whiskey, of course.’ He managed a slack-mouthed smile. ‘Jus’ kidding.’
‘I hope so. I can’t believe you were drinking. What made you do that?’
He closed his eyes and slowly rubbed his face. ‘I got – I got a letter. I got some bad news.’
Lisa sat down beside him. ‘Oh my God,’ she lay a hand on his shoulder. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’