‘I’d love to,’ I reply, remembering the La Perla bag she’d mysteriously acquired after leaving me in Harrods’ Food Hall, with the challenge of finding something reasonably-priced for dinner. ‘Do you want me to draw the curtains?’ I call after her as she leaves the room.
‘Not on my account,’ she shouts back, laughing.
‘No, I didn’t think you would,’ I say to myself and get up and draw them anyway. After a few minutes, she calls to me from the bedroom.
‘Mickey?’
‘Yes Grace, what is it?’ My pulse is starting to quicken.
‘Could you do something for me?’ she calls in a girly voice of fake innocence.
‘Sure, what do you want me to do?’
‘Why don’t you come in here and I’ll show you?’
Opening the bedroom door, I find her lying across my bed – a vision in black and violet silk and lace. My last coherent thought as I enter the room and close the door behind me is one of relief that at least I’ve changed the sheets.
Developing Solution
Over an hour later we’re back in the kitchen preparing dinner, and not long after that the scallops, sautéed with bacon and garlic, have barely touched the plate and now, still ravenous, we’re tucking into fillet steak with Roquefort, and washing it down with Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Grace has showered and is wearing the new black dress she bought in Karen Millen. She looks so stunning I feel obliged to make an effort. It’s a bit odd sitting at my own dining table in a Ted Baker suit and purple Armani shirt, but she seems to appreciate the transformation.
If I wasn’t certain before, then our intimacy has convinced me I can probably trust her with some of my baggage, but I get the feeling she’s completely forgotten that I owe her a secret. Hopefully, she’s feeling relaxed enough with me now to let it go. She also hasn’t mentioned anything about the camera. But if I’m going to find out how she thinks she can help me, it looks like I’ll have to make the first move, which feels a bit unusual in our short and intense relationship. I decide to wait until we’ve finished eating the main course. I don’t want to ruin the meal and, more to the point, I need to clear the table on account of Grace wanting her steak rare. There’s just too much blood left on her plate for me to even think about where I got that camera.
‘Grace?’ As I say it, she stops swirling her wine around in the oversized glass and looks up at me. ‘You know this morning; you said you would help with my little challenge?’
‘Aha! The dare. I wondered when you would get around to that,’ she answers with a grin. ‘I said I may be able to help, remember.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. Well, what did you mean exactly?’
‘I suppose that all depends on what you need. I thought you said there was a long story. I’m in no hurry.’
‘Er… yeah. Okay. I mean… I would tell you the story...’ I look up and her beautiful blue eyes are now burning a hole in my forehead. Already I’m floundering. ‘I just… don’t want to drag you into something I’m not even sure I understand.’
‘Now I am intrigued,’ she says. ‘Why don’t you start at the beginning and we’ll see where that takes us?’
‘Okay. Well, my mate… he’s actually an old guy living on his own. His name’s Herb,’ I say, and Grace leans forward slightly, her brow creasing momentarily. ‘I knew him years ago but we lost touch. I thought his call came out of the blue, and then he already seemed to know I’d be available to help him. He said he was… worried about some photographs. I just had to help him.’
‘Worried?’
‘He doesn’t know what’s on the film…’ I say, choosing each word carefully, ‘but he thinks it could embarrass him.’
‘Is he being blackmailed?’ she says. The look on her face is probably reflecting my own anxiety. While hers seems to be genuine concern for some random mate of mine, the horror that’s no doubt crossing my features is in realisation that I’m losing control of the conversation. It seems too late to retreat and I find myself nodding back to her. ‘And he wants you to get the film developed?’
‘Er… yeah, in a manner of speaking.’
‘Who’s he being blackmailed by?’
‘Grace,’ I say and hold my hands up. ‘I really don’t think this is a good idea.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Well… it’s just… I hardly know you.’
‘Oh!’ she says slumping back in the chair.
‘What?’
‘Well it’s okay for me to tell you all my dirty secrets. And smuggle you into the changing rooms. And I didn’t get the impression earlier that anyone else has ever been quite so… giving, in your bedroom before. But when it comes to you sharing, suddenly you hardly know me.’
‘Grace… please… don’t be like…’
‘No Mickey. I thought we were getting on well.’ She suddenly stands up. ‘But if you’re not prepared to give and take, then maybe I’ve made a big mistake.’
‘Grace, no… please… sit down. Please.’ She does as I ask and I reach across to take her hand, which she passively allows me to hold. ‘Okay. Well it’s a good question: who’s the blackmailer? It’s one I probably should have asked… before agreeing to… get it for him.’
‘So…’ she says, instantly brightening again, ‘first you had to find it?’
‘Uh… he knew where it would be. It was just a rundown old place… a few miles from here.’
‘And then you had to steal it?’
‘It wasn’t… really like stealing, though…’
‘But you managed to get it, okay?’
‘Yeah. It was left out in the open and I saw it through the window before I went in.’
‘Even so, it must have been difficult for you.’
‘That was the easy part.’ I pause, remembering how strange it felt. ‘The side window was unlocked.’
‘No, I meant it must have been an awful thing for you to do. It doesn’t sound like your kind of thing; career banker one minute, cat burglar the next.’
‘No,’ I say and inwardly suppress an ironic flinch.
‘So, how long have you been holding onto the camera?’
‘That night… in The Feathers, I’d just got back with it.’
‘My God, no wonder you were so strung out.’
‘What was it you said? Bunny in the headlights!’
‘Yeah!’ She nods her head and grins. ‘I do seem to have a habit of catching you in awkward situations.’
‘Yeah!’ I say, like an echo.
‘Why don’t you just give it back to this Herb character, rather than try to get the film developed yourself?’
‘That’s the hard part,’ I say, not intentionally pausing for effect. ‘I don’t know where he is.’
‘What do you mean?’ she says, her anxiety level having suddenly ratcheted up again.
‘He didn’t answer my calls and wasn’t at home when I went back to see him the next day. I went down there again yesterday and the house was... deserted. I’m starting to worry that he’s either in hiding because someone’s putting him under more pressure after one of them saw me take the camera…’
‘Someone saw you? How do you know?’
‘Well, as I was about to leave I heard someone unlocking the front door. I managed to get out in time and, from the bottom of the garden, I saw a torchlight being pointed out of the kitchen window straight at me. They’re bound to have realised what I’d taken.’
‘Oh!’ she says and there’s genuine shock on her face. ‘You said you were worried… that Herb was either in hiding… or what?’
‘I just hope they haven’t already caught up with him.’
Grace is looking back at me open-mouthed. I’m feeling momentarily uplifted; my burden halved. She seems to be stunned. I can’t tell if she’s more shocked that I actually broke into the house or with the prospect that someone might have seen me. Then of course, she might be just as concerned as I am that Herb has seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet.
I wish she would say something, but she stays uncharacteristically silent. Now I’m feeling bad I’ve dumped all this on her when I was trying so hard not to. Maybe she doesn’t give a shit about me. Or Herb. Maybe she’s feeling like she’s just got to know Buddy Love, and then over a pleasant post-coital dinner, Mr Hyde has put in an appearance. Either way, I shouldn’t have blurted all this out.
‘Wow!’ she finally mouths silently.
‘Yeah, wow!’ I repeat back to her with a sigh. ‘And that’s why I’m carrying around a throwaway camera. I wish that’s what it was. Literally. And I could just throw it away. I’ve also thought about breaking it open and destroying the film, but I don’t know whether I’ll be helping or making things worse for Herb.’ I’m hoping if I keep talking she might give me a clue as to what she’s thinking. It seems to be working because the colour is returning to her face.
‘Well, well. Mickey Field. I would never have thought you had it in you. I’m really impressed. You actually managed to shock me!’ She’s shaking her head and smiling at the same time. ‘And I think I can help you. But you’re going to have to trust me.’
‘What have you got in mind?’ I ask the question that’s been bugging me – on and off – since she first said it this morning.
‘Simon has access to a darkroom at uni. He holds the keys because he runs some photographic society. He spends all night there sometimes, even at the weekends. And…’ she says, raising her eyebrows, ‘I know he’s printed dodgy stuff for his mates before.’ She looks up, as if to gauge my reaction.
With both elbows on the table and hands together against my lips as if in prayer, I breathe out deeply through my fingers and close my eyes.
‘What would you tell him about it?’ I say.
‘Oh, I’ll come up with something,’ she says far from convincingly. ‘I’ll tell him it’s mine. Chances are he won’t take a lot of notice, whatever comes out. He’s so wrapped up in his own little world and so disinterested in anything I do.’
‘I don’t know, Grace. It’s a big risk.’
‘It’s got to be a better bet than taking it into Jessops,’ she says with a wry grin.
‘Well that’s probably true,’ I say, and continue mulling the implications of something hideous on the photos being seen firstly by a complete stranger in a university darkroom and then by Grace, potentially exposing them both to whatever the hell Herb is mixed up in.
‘I could probably catch him tonight,’ she says, looking at her watch. ‘He’s bound to be going there at some point over the weekend.’
‘Oh, right.’ I struggle to suppress my disappointment that the evening would have to end here, but without any other plan, I reluctantly accept it’s probably the best opportunity I have. ‘So, you think he’ll be able to do it tomorrow?’ My head’s spinning and I’ve gone from reluctant to impatient in three seconds flat.
‘Well, I suppose I might be able to convince him it’s urgent. That all depends if I see him tonight though.’
I glance at the clock. It’s only just gone ten.
‘Okay,’ I say with a deep sigh. ‘I don’t suppose I’m likely to come up with a better idea.’
‘It’ll be okay. Don’t worry,’ she says with a glint in her eye. ‘The dessert will keep for another time.’
‘But do you really have to go now?’
‘If I go soon, I’ll probably catch him before he goes out. Otherwise, he won’t be back until the early hours.’
‘Right,’ I say reluctantly. ‘Should I call you a cab?’
‘No, I’ll be okay. I’ve only had a couple of glasses. I’ll take the car,’ she says, and I shift uncomfortably in the chair.
‘Are you sure? I’d feel much better if you took a cab. Your car will be okay outside.’
‘No really, I’ll be fine,’ she insists and stands there looking at me expectantly. ‘The camera?’
‘Oh yeah… of course.’ It’s still in the pocket of my coat that’s hanging on the rack by the front door. I help her to gather up all her bags and she follows me downstairs. I descend slowly, wracking my brain for a better option than handing the camera over to someone I’ve only known for three days. It seems like madness, but once I reach the bottom step, there’s no going back.
I retrieve the brown package and as she reaches out, there’s a second or two when we’re both holding it before I let it go. She strokes the back of my hand and puts it in her bag.
‘Mickey, I realise how important this is to you,’ she says. ‘And how serious it is we keep this close. I know I’ve not exactly painted Simon as a little angel, but don’t worry; I’ll deal with him. Trust me.’
‘Okay,’ I say, looking into her eyes. ‘I trust you.’
‘I’ll call you later to let you know if he can do it tomorrow. If he can’t, I swear I’ll bring the camera straight back to you in the morning. If he agrees, then as soon as I have the prints I’ll ring and we can decide where to meet later in the evening. Either way, I promise you’ll be seeing more of me again tomorrow.’ She gathers up her bags and we hug before she kisses me gently and leaves.
‘Thank you Grace,’ I say as she walks to her car. She turns and smiles. I watch her drive away, still wishing I could have persuaded her to take a cab.
Back indoors, my disappointment at the abrupt end to the evening and the separation anxiety I’m already feeling towards the camera gives way to a new energy. The night is still young and so part B of my plan is back in play.
In the bedroom I can smell a delicate hint of Grace’s perfume and, as I instinctively pull the bed together, I see her new lingerie under my pillow. The tooth fairy was never so good to me.
Bus Pass
Almost midnight and the street is deserted. Somehow, in the half-light, Bleak House isn’t quite so bleak. Don’t get me wrong, Happy House it ain’t, but from the front it could certainly pass for Ordinary-if-slightly-neglected House. If it wasn’t the only detached property in a street of semis, and if an unruly Virginia creeper hadn’t spread like flames to engulf the side fence and half the front wall, it would almost blend into its lacklustre neighbourhood. I walk straight past with only a casual sideways glance. I already know there aren’t any lights on from the fleeting view I had from the top deck of the bus.
Having decided last night to come back if I still hadn’t heard from Herb today, I’m no longer entirely sure what I was expecting to find. There’s no sign of any activity. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Still, I’m here now; I may as well see it through. I remember the access lane that leads to the gravel track, running along the backs of the gardens, and keep walking to where it joins the street. Soon I’m through the gap between the two houses and feeling my way along the dark side of one of the garden fences. The last time I came through here I was hurtling the other way in a blind panic, convinced I was being followed. My heart flinches with adrenalin and my neck goes clammy. I notice for the first time a chill in the night air.
As I follow the path round to the left, I stay close to the hotchpotch of walls, hedges and gates defining the ends of the gardens. This time it’s not so difficult to work out which house I’m looking for. Opposite is a row of assorted wooden garage doors in varying states of decay. Even in the darkness, the yellow one stands out fifty feet ahead. When I reach it I find the two breeze blocks I’d used before as a step up to the fence.
I take a quick look around. Everything is still and very quiet, the garage doors are all closed and there are no lights on in the upstairs windows of the neighbouring houses as far as I can see. I step up onto the blocks and peer over the fence. The garden below is a jungle, a conservationist’s dream, untouched by human hand for at least a decade. Beneath a tangled lattice of nettles and bindweed, a vague central pathway, defined intermittently by crumbling concrete, is the only discernible evidence of man-made order.
I look at the rear of the house and, but for the absence of a torch-lit shadow at the window, my déjà vu is complete. A shiver courses through my body. The pr
otruding wall at the side of the house draws my eye and I think about the two added chambers and wonder if anyone is locked inside. In particular I’m thinking about Herb.
With that in mind, I’m struggling with the non-negotiable condition The Banker insisted on including in the plan: under no circumstances go back inside the house. I’m bracing myself for an argument because just walking past for a quick look is telling me bugger all, and if I’ve summoned up the nerve to come back here, what the hell is the point if I don’t establish with any certainty whether Herb is inside? The Banker decides not to rise to the debate and, with his deafening silence ringing in my ears, I lift a leg over the fence and lower myself into the wilderness.
The scene through the kitchen window is the same as before, except for one notable difference. With its previous load now littering the floor, the table’s bare surface contrasts starkly with the rest of the room.
Around the side of the house, the sash window I was able to open last time is not only locked at the catch, it won’t even rattle in the frame when I push a gloved hand against it. On the inside I can see nail heads protruding haphazardly from the lower ledge as if from some medieval instrument of torture.
I continue around the perimeter. There’s no sign of any activity and, apart from the side window, everything looks exactly as I left it; it seems no one’s been here since Torchy made some quick repairs and left. The enthusiasm is draining like sap from my veins as I accept that the chance of Herb languishing in one of the cells is remote. And any sense of heroism to attempt a rescue of whatever damsel might have previously been in distress here is also fading fast. The place is deserted.
Keeping to the shadows, I pace back towards the rear of the house and estimate the distance to where the new interior is likely to be. On the outside, the wall remains original London brick, with no visible signs of alteration. A row of decorative airbricks runs just above ground level and I kneel down for a closer look. I must be so edgy that when I brush my hand along the line of ornate ventilation, I think I feel a cold breeze. Even when I convince myself that the chambers’ concrete floors wouldn’t have any airflow, the skin on the back of my neck won’t stop prickling. That’s when I hear a muffled humming and feel a vibration against my leg.
Mickey Take: When a debt goes bad... Page 11