Dance of Ghosts pjc-1

by Kevin Brooks

  I closed the door.

  As Bridget slipped her lock-knife into her back pocket and turned her attention back to the plump old woman, I wandered around the shop looking at things. One wall was packed with pet food and pet accessories, while the other side was reserved for the animals. There were racks of birdcages full of budgies and canaries, there were mice and hamsters in glass tanks, scurrying around in their toilet rolls and sawdust, and on the right-hand side of the shop the entire wall was lined with four tiers of fish tanks. The tanks bubbled and hummed, giving off a wonderful smell of pond water, and as I stood there watching the fish, breathing in the smell of the living water, I remembered the rivers and streams of my childhood — the jam jars full of bullheads, the newts, the frogspawn …

  ‘Wanna buy a fish, mister?’

  I turned at the sound of the voice to find Bridget standing behind me, wiping pet-food dust from her hands. The plump old woman had gone and the shop was empty.

  ‘I’m just looking, thanks,’ I said, smiling.

  Bridget put her hands in her pockets and smiled back at me. Dressed simply in a jade-green jumper and jeans, she looked quite wonderful.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I asked her.

  ‘Not bad.’

  ‘Are you on your own?’

  She nodded. ‘Sarah doesn’t work Saturdays, and it’s been so quiet today that I told Melanie to go home.’

  ‘Who’s Melanie?’

  ‘She works here part-time. You know, weekends, school holidays …’

  ‘Right … so what do you do about lunch?’

  ‘Sandwiches, usually. Why?’ She grinned. ‘Are you offering to buy me dinner?’

  ‘Well, yeah, if you want …’

  ‘Why don’t we just stay here?’ she suggested. ‘I’ve got enough sandwiches for two.’

  ‘I’m not really all that hungry, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ she said quietly, stepping closer to me. ‘But why don’t you stay here for a while anyway? I can close the shop for an hour or two.’ She reached up and gently ran her fingertip down the side of my face. ‘We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,’ she whispered. ‘We can just talk.’

  I nodded. I didn’t want to talk.

  Bridget smiled at me for a moment, then she cupped my face in her hands and kissed me lightly on the lips, before turning round and crossing over to the door. As she put the CLOSED sign up and locked the door, I said, ‘Where’s Walter?’

  ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘What’s upstairs?’

  ‘I’ll show you,’ she said, taking my hand and leading me through a doorway at the back of the shop.

  The doorway took us into a small room that seemed to double as a kitchen and a storeroom. There was a sink, a water heater, a kettle and cups on a counter, and everywhere I looked there were stacks of cardboard boxes piled high against the walls.

  ‘This way,’ Bridget said.

  I followed her up a narrow wooden staircase that brought us out onto an equally narrow landing where, halfway along, Walter lay curled up in a cushion-strewn dog basket.

  ‘Hey, Walter,’ I said.

  He looked up at me and thumped his tail a couple of times, but he didn’t make any effort to move. And given how warm and comfortable he looked, I thought that was fair enough.

  ‘What is this place?’ I asked Bridget, looking around. ‘Does anyone live here?’

  ‘Not at the moment. Sarah stayed here for a while after she left her husband, but she’s moved back in with him now.’

  ‘Why did she leave him?’

  ‘He used to hit her. Still does, probably.’

  ‘So why’s she gone back to him?’

  ‘God knows. She says she loves him …’ She shook her head, dismissing it from her mind. ‘Anyway,’ she said, opening a door, ‘this is the sitting room.’

  I followed her through the door into a cramped but cosy-looking room. There was a small gas fire in front of a small settee, an armchair, a half-moon dining table, rugs and cushions on the floor, and at the far end of the room, a small bay window looked out onto the street below. The whole room seemed to have an air of timelessness to it.

  ‘Very nice,’ I said.

  ‘Would you like to see the bedroom?’

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  She led me across the room to an adjoining door, opened it up, and ushered me into the bedroom. It was about the same size as the sitting room, and it had the same haunting sense of timelessness to it, but there was something else about this room, something else altogether. I didn’t quite understand it, but as the pale autumn light filtered in through the curtains, illuminating the whiteness of an old-fashioned bed beneath the window, I felt as if I was in another country.

  ‘Are you OK with this?’ Bridget asked softly, closing the door.

  ‘Yeah …’ I said. ‘Are you?’

  She didn’t say anything, she just took me by the hand and led me over to the bed.

  She was pale and beautiful and she smelled of straw.

  Afterwards, lying together in the waning light, we both retreated into our own quiet thoughts for a while. It was a good silence, a silence of breaths and comfort, and I felt no need to break it. Although the street was only a dozen or so feet below, the room seemed muted and still. There was no traffic noise, no footsteps, no human sounds at all — just a faint, indefinable whisper, like the hush of a coming wind.

  I listened to a clock ticking, not caring what time it was.

  My head was empty.

  Thoughtless …

  I was close to happiness.

  After a while, Bridget nudged me with her foot. ‘I’ll have to get back to the shop soon.’

  ‘Why?’ I said, smiling at her.

  ‘Because if Sarah finds out that I closed up, she’ll kill me.’

  ‘How’s she going to find out?’

  ‘You don’t know Sarah …’

  I rolled over and reached down for my jacket, patting the pockets until I found my cigarettes. ‘Do you mind?’ I asked Bridget, taking one out.

  She shook her head. ‘There’s a bottle of whisky somewhere. Sarah’s always liked a drop of good malt … I think it’s in the cupboard over there. Just help yourself if you want.’

  ‘I’m all right, thanks,’ I said, lighting the cigarette.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She smiled again.

  I looked at her. ‘I haven’t done that for a long time.’

  ‘What — refused a drink?’

  ‘No, I meant — ’

  ‘I know what you meant, John,’ she said, laughing gently. ‘And I kind of guessed you hadn’t.’ She half sat up, looked me in the eye for a moment, then she lowered herself down, resting her head on my chest. When she spoke, I could feel the whisper of her words on my skin. I never thought this would happen.’

  ‘Neither did I.’

  ‘But it did.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you glad?’

  ‘Very.

  ‘Good.’

  I felt her hand moving down my body.

  We slept for a while, half-slumbering together in the late afternoon stillness, and for the first time in years I didn’t feel the need to be somewhere else. I didn’t feel the need to be anything at all — someone else, something else, anything but me …

  For now, I was perfectly content with who and what and where I was.

  For now.

  But the clock was still ticking, and I knew that nothing lasts for ever.

  It was around 4.30 when Bridget sat up in bed, endearingly covering her breasts with the duvet, and nudged me with her elbow.

  ‘I really have to get up now,’ she said. ‘If I don’t cash up and get the money to the bank, Sarah really will kill me.’

  I sat up and lit a cigarette. ‘I’d better get going too.’

  She looked at me, not saying anything, but I could see the question in her eyes.

  �
�I have to meet someone,’ I explained. ‘My nephew-in-law.’

  She smiled. ‘Nephew-in-law?’

  ‘He’s called Cal. He works with me sometimes.’

  ‘Oh, right … so you’re working tonight?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m just being nosy. You don’t have to tell me — ’

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ I assured her. ‘I don’t mind you asking … it’s just … well, it’s not really work, as such. It’s just something I need to sort out.’

  ‘Is it to do with that man?’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘That policeman … what’s his name? The one who came round to our house.’

  ‘Bishop?’

  ‘Yeah, him.’

  ‘What makes you think it’s about Bishop?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘I just got a feeling about him, that’s all. When he came to the house, and when I saw him on TV …’ She shivered. ‘I don’t know … he just didn’t seem right, if that makes any sense.’

  ‘It makes a lot of sense.’

  ‘Yeah, well … just be careful, OK?’

  I smiled. ‘OK.’

  She kissed me, ruffled my hair, then got out of bed and started to get dressed. I lay there and watched her. In the dusky light, her hair was edged with a dust-pale shine and her skin was creamy white. There was a faint scar low on her belly and a small bruise just below her left breast. Her shoulders were broader than I’d imagined, spanning the ridge of her back with a delicate strength that mirrored the curve of her hips, and her backside was full, like a pale sun on a winter’s morning. It was a body that deserved to be naked. And as she slipped into her underwear, then pulled on her jumper and climbed into her jeans, I wondered if I’d ever see it again.

  ‘Have you seen my socks?’ she said.

  ‘Try under the bed.’

  She found her socks and pulled them on, then went over and examined herself in a mirror on the wall. She ran her fingers through her hair, then leaned in close and plucked something from her lip with a hooked little finger.

  ‘What time are you meeting your nephew-in-law?’ she asked.

  ‘Six o’clock.’

  She came over and sat on the edge of the bed and bent down to put on her shoes. ‘Are you going to be busy all night?’

  ‘I don’t know. It depends …’

  ‘Sorry,’ she smiled. ‘I’m being pushy again.’

  ‘No, it’s all right. It’s just that I really don’t know how long I’m going to be … why don’t I ring you later on?’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be nice.’ Still bent over, she tied her shoelaces in a double knot, brushed at the toes of her shoes, then lightly stamped her feet. Finally, she sat back up and looked at me. ‘If it’s not too late,’ she said, almost shyly, ‘maybe we could go out somewhere?’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Good.’

  I smiled at her.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I thought you were getting up?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘I thought you had to go downstairs to cash up?’

  She shook her head. ‘You watched me getting dressed, now it’s my turn to watch you.’

  I stared at her, stupidly embarrassed, not sure what to say.

  She smiled. ‘It’s all right, I’m only joking. I’ll let you get dressed in peace.’

  She glanced over her shoulder at me as she left the room, and the look on her face — a carefree smile of intimate amusement — sent a tingle through my heart.

  It was quiet in the pet shop downstairs. The daylight was fading outside, shops were closed or closing, shoppers were on their way home. It was that time of day when the town gets a chance to rest before the bedlam of the night begins. In the shop, Bridget was cashing up, birds were fluttering softly in their cages, and the fish tanks were bubbling quietly in the evening light. I stood by the door, breathing in the musty smell of straw and grain, the rubbery tang of dog toys, the fresh leather scent of collars and leads …

  I didn’t want to leave.

  I wanted to stay here.

  I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  ‘You’ll ring me later then?’ Bridget said.

  ‘Yeah … I don’t know what time it’ll be — ’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she smiled. ‘Just call me when you can.’

  I looked at her for a moment, remembering the scent of her skin, the touch of her lips, the breath of her whispered words …

  ‘Go on,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  I unlocked the door and stepped out into the twilight.

  26

  There were no reporters waiting outside my office when I got there, and my illegally parked Fiesta was gone. The building looked dark and empty, and as I let myself in and started climbing the stairs, I could feel the silence all around me. It was everywhere — in the air, the dust, the empty offices, the worn old wood of the banister … a sleeping silence.

  My keys rattled far too loudly as I unlocked the office door and went inside. I didn’t turn on the light. I moved quietly through the darkness, opened the door to my private office, and made my way over to my desk. I poured myself a large drink from the bottle in the drawer, then went over to the settee beneath the window. The blinds were open, the dark glass of the window glazed with the faint glow of streetlights, and as I sat down on the settee and lit a cigarette, a shadow of my stupid smoking head fell across the floor.

  Stupid …

  The blue-eyed animal.

  Stupid and pure.

  I wasn’t pure. I was faithless and stupid and weak.

  ‘I’m sorry, Stace,’ I muttered. ‘I’m really sorry …’

  It’s OK.

  ‘No, it’s not.’

  You can’t be sad all the time, John. Not for ever. It’ll kill you. You have to be happy sometimes.

  ‘I can’t — ’

  Yes, you can. You were happy with Bridget just now, weren’t you?

  ‘Please don’t — ’

  She’s nice.

  ‘Yeah, but she’s not you.’

  It’s all right, John. Really, it’s all right. Don’t cry any more.

  I sniffed hard, wiping snot and tears from my face.

  I’m in your heart, John … always. No matter what.

  ‘I know.’

  I love you.

  I thought I might just sit there in the silent darkness and sink down into a drunken nowhere for the rest of the night, but after five minutes or so of not drinking, not thinking, just staring thoughtlessly at nothing, something made me put down the untouched whisky glass and get up off the settee.

  It was almost six o’clock.

  I looked over at the wall safe, imagining the 9mm pistol inside, and just for a moment I thought of my father. I thought of him alone in his room, putting the gun to his head … and I remembered Leon’s question: If you’re going to kill yourself, why make a point of locking the door first? What purpose does it serve? And I wondered if there was a meaningful answer, or if — like almost everything else in this life — it was just one of those things, as purposeless as life itself.

  I guessed I’d never know.

  Cal was waiting for me outside his house when the taxi dropped me off. Dressed in a long black overcoat and a battered old trilby, and with his tousled hair sticking out wildly from beneath the hat, he looked like some kind of mutant Sam Spade.

  ‘You’re late,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, sorry — ’

  ‘It’s quarter-past six already.’

  ‘I know — ’

  ‘And why don’t you answer your fucking mobile? I’ve been trying to call you for hours.’

  I pulled out my phone and checked it. ‘Sorry,’ I said, switching it on. ‘I must have turned it off by mistake.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, John …’

  ‘What were you trying to call me about?’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘I�
��ll tell you in the car.’

  It was fully dark as we left Cal’s house and headed north out of town. The Turk’s Head, the pub where Bishop was supposedly meeting the man called Ray, was about two miles west of Stangate Rise, the estate where the Gerrishes lived. It was a large, family-friendly pub, with a restaurant and a beer garden and a children’s play area, and although it was a fair way from town, it was usually pretty busy.

  Traffic was sparse at this time of night — too late for going home, too early for going out — and Cal was making the most of the open roads, gunning the Mondeo along at well over 60 mph. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, his eyes were alight, and he was talking as fast as he was driving.

  ‘Listen, what I was trying to tell you about, the search … it came up with something about Bishop, something really weird … well, it might not be anything, and it might not be really weird, but the thing is, it found this archive someone’s set up on a private site, like a local newspaper thing, a local history site or something — ’

  ‘Hold on,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘First of all, I can’t understand a word you’re saying. And second of all, you’re driving too fast.’

  ‘We’re late — ’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Just slow down.’

  ‘But if we don’t get there — ’

  ‘If you carry on driving like this, we won’t get there at all.’

  He nodded, licking his lips, and eased off the accelerator.

  ‘OK,’ I said calmly. ‘How much speed have you taken?’

  ‘Not much. I was just — ’

  ‘You need to get on top of it, Cal. Right now. OK? If you can’t control yourself, we’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘I can control myself.’

  ‘Yeah, well, do it then.’ I looked at him. ‘I don’t want to hear another word from you until you’ve got your head sorted out. All right?’

  He nodded.

  I lit a cigarette and gazed out of the window. The moon was full, hanging low and pale in the sky, its cold light greying the night. We’d left the town behind now and were driving steadily along an unlit dual carriageway through a dying landscape of small villages and farmland. Ash trees lined the roadside, their branches almost bare, and beyond them lay the remains of an old forest. There wasn’t much left of the forest now, and most of it was scarred with litter-filled ditches and the mindless rut of motorcycle tracks, but it was still just possible to imagine the primitive heart of the forest as it once must have been. Colourless in the cold of night, a tableau of dark earth and grasses and shallow black waters melting in the starless sky. Bones, scraps of beasts, like bleached jewels of winter scattered on the slopes of black hills. It would have been a desolate place, proud and savage and out of time …