She told us something about her family in Africa, but it was always small stuff, never anything personal.
‘My father worked in a field,’ she would say. ‘He used to grow cowpea and sorghum. My brothers helped him and my mother and my sister. I helped him sometimes.’
‘Hard work,’ Browne said.
‘Yes. Hard work.’
Or she would tell us about her teacher and the things she had learned at her school. Browne had the idea of fishing out an old atlas he had and showing it to her, getting her to show him what she knew. The atlas was a couple of decades out of date, still had the Soviet Union, Yugoslavia, that kind of thing. The girl pointed to places and told us what she knew.
‘The Mediterranean Sea is here, it looks like a crocodile’s head. And Italy looks like a foot. Paris is the capital of Italy where the Pope lives.’
Browne laughed at that, but he smothered it and didn’t correct her.
‘That’s very good,’ he would say. ‘You know a lot.’
‘Yes,’ she would say. ‘And Scotland is here, I think,’ she’d say, pointing to Ireland.
‘Near there, honey. Near there.’
We both realized pretty quickly that she couldn’t read much English. It didn’t seem to stop her. She must’ve been pointing to the places from memory or sheer guesswork. This is Africa, here is the Nile, like that. Here I was born, here I died.
‘What would you like to do when you get older, darling?’ Browne asked her one time.
‘I would like to be a doctor,’ she said.
For some reason, this brought a tear to Browne’s eye and he had to excuse himself and go get a drink or three. When he came back, he was carrying an armful of anatomy books and medical equipment. He showed the girl how to use a stethoscope, how to take a pulse. He gave her a book to look at, full of pictures of skeletons, organs, that kind of thing. He pointed things out to her and told them what they were, what they did. She listened, nodded, repeated it back, but we could both see she didn’t understand what he was telling her. He carried on, though, for some reason.
I watched all this, waited for her to talk about something useful. She didn’t.
Browne tried once or twice to talk to her about her family or about her time here, but she’d clam up. It was plain that she wanted to forget whatever had happened to her here, in London. Browne finally got the message. When he talked to her after that, it was about his sister’s cat or his boyhood in Scotland. Since he’d done his dance, she’d become interested in all that.
‘I did not know people danced in Scotland,’ she said.
Browne brought out his old kilt and told her about the tartan and the sporran and that kind of stuff. He tried to explain about the clans and the history of Scotland. She didn’t understand him, but she listened and he was happy with that. He showed her some of the dances, but he couldn’t go too long without needing to sit down and refresh himself, as he put it.
On the third day, or the fourth, or maybe the fifth, we went shopping, the three of us. Browne wanted to buy some more of that African food and he wanted the girl to show him what to get. Or so he said. He’d been scouring his recipe book and had made a list of stuff. The list was two pages long. He went to the library and used the internet to find a shop in Crouch End, so at least we didn’t have to trawl all the way over to west London.
The girl needed clothes, too, and other things. I needed some stuff, but Browne wouldn’t get it for me, said it would do me good to get out of the house. So we went shopping. I had to fork out the money for it all because Browne was ‘cash-poor’, as he called it.
Browne waddled out of the house first, I followed, still a bit weak, and the girl came last, running to catch us up. Christ knows what people thought when they saw us swaying down the road. Browne lurched right, I lurched left, and the girl ran between the two of us, holding our hands, trying to keep us from falling over completely.
We had to use a bus because Browne was about three thousand times over the limit and I still couldn’t drive. The girl told us she’d drive, but Browne wouldn’t have it. I suppose it would’ve looked a bit iffy, but I had the feeling that wasn’t Browne’s reason for not allowing it. I had the feeling he wanted to get the girl out in the fresh air, as if he was introducing an animal to the wild for the first time. I think that was the real reason for the whole shopping trip. Anyway, we went by fucking bus.
Browne got carried away in the African food shop and bought enough to feed us for a month. Every time the girl pointed to something, he bought it. What did he care? I was paying for it. I think he forgot about my arm, forgot I couldn’t carry all the shopping. By the time we’d finished getting everything, we had half a dozen bags between us. Browne struggled along with a couple of bags, his face red and shining with effort. The girl tried to help and ended up carrying his Scotch. Browne suddenly decided the buses were too unreliable and we got a cab which dropped us off at the corner of his road.
I saw the car as we neared Browne’s. It was opposite his house, too obvious to be law or Cole.
Browne and the girl carried on, not aware of anything, but I slowed my pace and crossed the street and halted by a bus stop, dumping the shopping bags on the seat, using the shelter to conceal myself as much as possible. I turned once and saw that Browne was looking around for me, slowing up. When he saw me, I glanced at the car and he got it. He switched the shopping to one hand, took a hold of the girl’s hand and carried on towards his house.
I saw a man get out of the passenger side. He was tall and thin and young, maybe late twenties. Then I saw the driver’s door open and I knew what was going on. A woman stepped out. It was that woman, Sue, that fucking nosy posh bint who worked at the old people’s home.
‘Doctor,’ she called out, waving her arm above her head as if he was a mile away.
When the girl saw her, she stopped and tugged on Browne’s hand and he leaned down and said something to her. I watched them walk towards the woman, who smiled at the girl and said something to Browne, introducing the man next to her. He smiled at them both, but there was something shifty about him, a tension in his body that his smile couldn’t hide. The woman pointed to Browne’s house and they all went inside. I picked up the shopping bags and walked off around the block.
By the time I got back, the car was gone. It was cold, but I was sweating with the effort of carrying all that fucking shopping and my right arm was about to drop off. I don’t know why I hadn’t dumped everything in the nearest bin. It never even occurred to me.
Browne let me in, blowing his cheeks out.
‘What did she want?’ I said as he closed the door.
‘To talk to me about Kid,’ he said, walking down the hall towards the kitchen.
I dropped the shopping by the front door and followed him.
‘Why?’
‘I told you,’ he said, as he sat down at the table and broke the seal on the Scotch, ‘she’s a damned nosy cow, wants to know everyone’s business, thinks she can sort everyone out.’
He poured a large Scotch and gulped half of it down. I stood by the table. For a moment it moved away from me, it all moved away, the table, the room, Browne and all.
‘What’s that got to do with the girl?’ I managed to say.
‘She said she was concerned for her well-being. Said it wasn’t a fit place for a child. I had to agree with her. She intimated that I had a drink problem. Bloody nerve. And she didn’t like you either. Told me a child shouldn’t be exposed to... well – ’
‘Thugs.’
‘More or less. Frankly. She said she’d formed the impression that Kid was becoming unsuitably influenced by such company.’
I heard the words he said, but they didn’t connect with any meaning. The room shifted again, I felt clammy.
‘Huh?’
‘You remember Kid told her she’d shot you.’
‘Right.’
My head started to swim around.
‘What’s wrong?’ Browne said.
‘Nothing. Who was the bloke?’
‘Her nephew. Apparently volunteers at a church in Croydon, Saint something or other.’
‘What did he want?’
‘Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t look very good. Is it your head?’
‘What did he want? The nephew.’
‘I don’t think he wanted anything. I think she just dragged him along. He didn’t seem happy about it. Poor bugger. Anyway, I told her I’d bring Kid to church next Sunday. I think that’s all she wanted to hear, frankly.’
‘Did they talk to the girl?’
‘Kid, for God’s sake. Her name’s Kid.’
‘Did they talk to her?’
‘They tried but she clammed up.’
‘Did she say anything? Anything at all?’
‘She asked for you.’
‘Me?’
‘I told her you weren’t here. She went up to her room. Now sit down, before you bloody fall.’
I slumped into the seat, sweat clinging to my body. Browne got up and filled a mug with water and slid it along to me.
‘Stay put. I’ll get us something to eat. You’ve overdone it. Don’t worry about Sue. I can handle her if I have to.’
With that he downed the rest of his drink and headed upstairs. I heard him wander about, go into the girl’s bedroom, come out, call her name, call it again. Then I heard nothing for a while. When I opened my eyes, Browne was in the kitchen again, by the back door. He was closing it.
‘Did you open this?’ he said. ‘This door. It was unlocked. Did you open it?’
It took me a few seconds to realize what he was saying. It took me a few seconds more to understand what he meant.
‘Where is she?’ I said.
‘I don’t know. I can’t find her. Joe, did you unlock this door?’
‘No. Did you see her go upstairs?’
‘I...’
He ran his hand through his hair, panic in his eyes.
‘How was she when the woman was here?’ I said.
‘She... she was scared, kept pulling on my hand, asking me not to let them take her back.’
‘Back? Back where?’
‘How the bloody hell do I know? Damn it.’
He burst into the garden. I could hear him bashing about with the bins, calling her name. I stood and the room spun. Had the girl come past me when I was out? I didn’t think so. The back door was unlocked, but that might have been Browne’s fault. He often forgot to lock it. I leaned forward and put my hands on the tabletop to steady myself. I had to think. ‘Back,’ she’d said. She’d asked Browne not to let them take her back. Back where? She’d been scared like that the first time that woman had called. Why? What was she scared of?
And if she’d run, hidden, where had she gone? Where would she go? I think I knew. I turned and staggered out of the kitchen and up stairs that twisted before me so that I had to stop and fall to my knees and hold on with all my strength.
When I got to her room, I went straight to the cupboard. I swung it open. There she was, curled up tightly, her knees up to her chin, just like she was when I’d found her in Dalston. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, her eyes were squeezed shut.
I put my hand out and touched her on the shoulder and she flinched. Then I heard a noise behind me. I straightened up.
‘Is she okay?’ Browne said.
My head spun and for a moment I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to do. There were dead men downstairs and here was a girl and she had a gun. And then I remembered and I reached out again.
‘No,’ she said.
‘There’s something wrong,’ Browne said. ‘She’s shaking.’
‘Hey,’ I said.
I grabbed her by the shoulder. She threw her hands up and pressed them against her ears.
‘No,’ she said.
‘She was in a cupboard when you found her,’ Browne said.
‘Hey.’
‘Christ, Joe. Leave her alone, man. Can’t you see she’s reliving it?’
Reliving it, reliving the past, stuck in it. Weren’t we all?
‘Good.’
‘Good? You bloody heartless bastard.’
He tried to push me away, but he couldn’t shift me.
‘If she’s reliving it, I can get some answers.’
‘Damn your answers.’
‘I need to know what scared her.’
‘You’re bloody scaring her.’
‘People are trying to kill me.’
‘Aye, and good luck to them. People are trying to kill you and you’re trying to kill Kid.’
‘I want answers,’ I said, knowing there was something wrong with that, with me, with what I was doing.
‘You don’t want answers. You want to vent your fury, your wrath, like some god who destroys everything, innocent and guilty, anything to serve your will.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said, but his words were catching somewhere.
Now he was trying to shut the cupboard door, his face dripped sweat.
‘For God’s sake,’ he said.
‘What is it?’ I said to her. ‘What can you hear?’
‘It goes bang.’
‘Bangs? Shots? You heard the shots? Did you see the ones who fired?’
Browne had given up with the door and was pulling at my right arm, trying with all his weight to shift me.
‘You’ve lost control,’ he was saying. ‘You’ve been used and you don’t like it. Do you, Joe? You don’t like being weak and powerless.’
I grabbed her hand and pulled it from her ear.
‘Joe,’ Browne shouted. ‘Joe.’
‘Did you see the shooting?’ I said to the girl, throwing Browne off.
‘It went bang,’ she said. She wasn’t answering me, she was just talking.
Browne was right, she was reliving it. I don’t think she even knew we were there. Something had scared her and she’d gone to a safe place.
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘Hey.’
She screamed and I realized I was shaking her arm, shaking her whole body. My hand gripped the thin black wrist and I knew I could break it with a twist. She was still screaming. Well, her face was screaming, but I couldn’t hear the sound of it.
Then something moved inside my head and the room shifted an inch and I looked around and it seemed like I didn’t know this place. It was cold and dark and I couldn’t understand where I was, and when, and that emptiness opened up inside me. I looked for Browne, but he wasn’t there and it was just me and the girl and we were like we’d been before, and I started thinking about the money I was supposed to get, about the money and the bodies downstairs and Cole and Paget after me. Seemed like the more I moved forwards, the more I got sucked back. Always back.
I had to remember that I was at Browne’s, but Browne was gone and I swayed for a moment.
Then I saw her, and her eyes snapped open and widened and she held her hand out to me and I thought, Christ, it’s happening again.
I felt the splintering pain run through my shoulder, into my arm and I was back in Dalston, and she’d just shot me and Beckett was sitting downstairs with a hole in his head. And I couldn’t escape.
Then something stung me and the floor came up and hit me. Again. I was getting to know that floor pretty well. We were old friends.
I opened my eyes a crack and saw smoke everywhere.
‘You must be getting old, Joe,’ Browne’s voice said from a long way off.
I opened my eyes wider. The smoke cleared; the blurring faded; shapes became clearer. Browne sat on a chair and looked down at me. I moved my head a little and saw the girl on the bed, legs dangling, watching me, her hands resting in her lap. I half expected to see a gun pointed at me.
I hauled myself up slowly, resting on my side for a moment.
‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘First you get floored by a small girl, then by an old man.’
I stood, sat on the bed, next to the girl, my wei
ght pushing the mattress down so that she ended up sliding towards me. She didn’t move, except to kick her feet a bit. My head felt like it was packed in lead.
‘What did you do to me?’ I said to Browne.
‘Gave you a shot. Knocked you out. Had no choice.’
‘My arm.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Sorry about that. I had to do something to get you away from Kid.’
‘Right.’
‘I’m afraid I opened the wound. But I’ve restitched it.’
‘What did you do?’
He raised his thumb.
‘Stuck this in it,’ he said. ‘Sorry. It must’ve hurt like a bugger.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Yes, well, you’ve only yourself to blame, you know.’
The girl said, ‘Bugger.’
‘Don’t say that, darling,’ Browne said.
‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘What happened to you? Do you remember? You were acting like a madman. Attacking a small girl, for God’s sake.’
‘I don’t know what happened.’
‘Know what I think? I think you had a panic attack.’
‘What?’
‘I’m serious. You were looking around you as if you didn’t know where you were.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Your head?’
‘Yeah. I... got confused.’
‘You panicked.’
‘Maybe.’
Browne sighed, reached down to his bag, opened it and then paused and closed it again.
‘Do you know what kind of damage you could have done?’
‘I’m all right.’
‘Not you, you bloody fool. I mean her. Kid. Know what kind of damage you could have done her?’
I looked at the girl.
‘What did you mean, bangs?’
‘Leave her,’ Browne said.
‘You heard the gunshots?’
‘Leave her.’
‘Bugger,’ the girl said.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Right.’
We sat there for a while like that, Browne in the chair, me and the girl on the bed, side by side, her leaning into me, staring vacantly at the wall. I made to get up once, but Browne snapped a stern look at me and I carried on sitting there until the girl fell asleep, then Browne carried her to her bed.
She came down a few hours later, when we were watching an international game on TV. She rubbed her eyes and looked at us, then at the TV. She sat on the floor, cross-legged, and watched England getting hammered and it was like the whole thing a bit earlier had never happened. She didn’t mention her fear of being taken away; she didn’t mention that bloody woman. She didn’t look at me as if I’d attacked her.
To Die For Page 16