by Mark Edwards
‘What about the snow?’ I asked. ‘Do you really want to go out in it?’
She laughed again, throaty and, yes, dirty. ‘I’m from Romania,’ she said. ‘I’m used to it.’
She hung up.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
An hour later, my door buzzer sounded. By this point, I had downed four, possibly five, shots of vodka in an attempt to deaden my grief, but I still felt sober. Sober enough to walk across the room in a straight line. Sober enough to feel pain.
I went downstairs, wondering if my neighbour would be listening. I hadn’t seen her since the incident with the dog.
Camelia stood on the doorstep in a black coat and hat, soaked through and pink-faced, but smiling. Snow clung to her clothes. God’s dandruff, we used to call it when we were kids. Even in this state, she was beautiful, with her vivid blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and plump lips that some women would pay a lot of money to attain. Something about her reminded me of Laura when we had first met, though this woman seemed far more sure of herself. I handed her the phone. She glanced at it and stuck it in her pocket.
‘Thanks, Daniel. Um, do you mind if I come in and use your loo?’
‘Of course, come in. I was going to ask if you wanted to come in anyway . . .’
She raised an eyebrow, a little smile on her lips that made me wonder if this was a good idea. ‘Really?’
I waited while she used the bathroom and, when she came out, said ‘Do you want a drink?’
She looked me up and down. ‘You seem like you’ve already had a few.’
‘I’ve had a bad day.’
‘You want to tell me?’ She had taken her hat off to reveal her blonde hair, which she combed down with her fingers as she spoke. I noticed details I’d missed when we’d first met: her long fingernails that looked fake and the chunky silver rings on her left hand.
‘Maybe.’
‘Make it a double and I’ll happily listen,’ she said. I poured a drink for both of us and she downed hers in two gulps, exhaling with pleasure. ‘Ah, that’s what the doctor ordered. Cheers.’
I smiled at her use of English idioms. ‘Another?’
I refilled her glass, and this time she took a smaller sip. ‘Good vodka.’ She looked around the room. ‘And you have a very nice flat. Do you live here alone?’
‘At the moment.’
‘What about the girlfriend you told me about?’
Shit. ‘We’re not . . . together right now.’
Another smile. ‘Oh. Really?’
I swallowed. The vodka was definitely having an effect now. I felt woozy, the pain in my chest less acute, and brave enough to suggest that Camelia take off her coat and sit down.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I won’t stay too long.’ She hung her coat on the back of a chair. She was wearing a tight-fitting sweater and equally tight jeans. I imagined what Jake would have said about her. ‘Hot, Danny. Extremely fucking hot.’ It wasn’t just how she looked, but the air of confidence and ironic humour that radiated from her. She had a feline way of moving. She licked her lips before taking another sip of her drink. I took a big gulp of mine.
‘It’s fine. Stay as long as you want. I’m glad of the company.’
‘Because of your shitty day?’
My eyes prickled. Now it came to it, I found I couldn’t talk about Jake and what had happened. The words wouldn’t squeeze past the obstruction in my throat.
She didn’t speak, just looked at me, waiting.
‘Let’s just say that it’s nice not to be on my own.’
She raised her drink. ‘OK. Here’s to the end of a shitty day.’
We clinked glasses.
‘I’ll stay until the snow eases off, yes?’ she said.
We both looked towards the window. The street light outside the flat illuminated the snow as it fell. There was no sign of it stopping.
‘That might be tomorrow morning,’ I said.
She lifted her glass to her lips and took another sip. ‘Then I hope you have plenty of vodka.’ She paused. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump on you.’
The atmosphere in the room shifted, something crackling in the space between us. I felt nervous and excited. Camelia stood up and moved over to the bookcase, hips swaying as she walked. She examined the spines of the books, pulling out a guidebook that I’d bought before my and Laura’s trip. The Rough Guide to Eastern Europe. She flicked through it.
‘So tell me what happened to you in Romania. You had a bad experience?’ She came back towards me, leaning against the fireplace, the light catching the liquid in her glass. I was sitting on the sofa, looking up at her.
‘I can’t tell you,’ I said.
‘Can’t?’
I really felt drunk now, my head tight, the room tilting slightly. ‘It might be too dangerous,’ I said. ‘For you, I mean.’ In my drunken state, there was part of me that believed this. The police had told me Dr Sauvage hadn’t been murdered, but I felt uncharacteristically superstitious, Laura’s words from earlier haunting me. What if there was something supernatural going on? A curse that meant that bad things happened to anyone I talked to about Romania? The moment I thought it, I dismissed it. A curse! It was ridiculous.
‘That sounds intriguing,’ Camelia said.
‘Ignore me. I’m just kidding.’
‘It didn’t sound like you were joking. What was it?’ Her tone was light, playful, but there was a serious look in her eye.
‘Honestly, it doesn’t matter. I wasn’t being serious.’
‘OK . . . if you say so.’ She went over to the window. ‘This weather. Did you go to Bucharest? I was there two years ago, when we had so much snow it buried houses. I hope that doesn’t happen here.’ She turned and there was a wicked glint in her eye. ‘We’d be stranded—stuck here together.’
The breath felt thick in my lungs. ‘That would be terrible.’
‘As long as we have enough vodka.’
I laughed. ‘I think we’re going to run out soon, the rate we’re going.’
‘Too bad, Daniel.’
‘And what would we eat?’ I asked.
She crossed the room, putting her almost-empty glass down on the side table with a soft clunk. She stopped for a moment and then climbed onto the sofa. Her eyes searched my face and, drunk and craving human warmth, I reached out for her. She straddled me, kissing me, her tongue slipping between my lips, her hands holding my face. I kissed her back. Like before, there was the faintest trace of cigarettes in her mouth, plus the smell of perfume lingering on her skin. I slipped my hands up the back of her sweater and pulled her closer, her breasts pressing against my chest through the fabric of our clothes. She felt warm now, heated from the inside by alcohol. I was so drunk that I didn’t stop to think about how surreal this was.
‘Hmmm,’ she said, smiling into my mouth.
I felt breathless. ‘Bedroom?’
‘No, here is good.’
She pulled her sweater off over her head, revealing a red push-up bra and a tattoo on her upper arm. She unbuttoned my shirt and I shrugged it off, then took off my T-shirt. My erection strained against my underwear. She reached down into my lap and unbuttoned my jeans, shuffling back slightly and freeing my cock, wrapping her fist around it. She leaned forward and kissed me deeply, raking my chest with the fingernails of her free hand. I closed my eyes, and found myself imagining that she was Laura. We had made love on this sofa many times. Lost in the drunken moment, lips against mine, I could believe that Laura had come back to me.
‘Tell me your secrets, Daniel,’ she whispered into my mouth.
I tried to keep kissing her but she pulled back so our lips were barely touching.
‘Have you ever broken the law?’
‘What?’
Her hand still stroked my cock. I was close to coming already. She
must have sensed this, taking her hand away and wriggling closer, the fabric of her jeans pressing against my naked flesh.
‘I want you to talk to me, Daniel. Tell me. Something illegal. It excites me.’
She kissed me again, quickly, then broke away. I opened my eyes to find her peering at me intently, a smile on her lips.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
‘Come on. Don’t be shy.’ She pulled back, examining my face. She pressed her crotch against my cock. I could feel how warm she was through the denim. She stroked my chest and leaned forward again.
‘You must have done something to break the law,’ she said, breathing into my ear.
Was this really what turned her on? I wanted to comply so she wouldn’t stop but I couldn’t think of anything. I had stolen a pencil once from Argos but I doubted that would turn her on.
She rubbed against me and kissed my neck, raked her fingernails across my chest again. ‘Come on. Something illegal. You must have broken the law, Daniel.’
‘No.’
‘I don’t believe you. Come on, tell me.’
I could feel Jake’s presence in the room, laughing, telling me to make something up. But I felt so pissed, so confused. All I wanted was oblivion, for this woman to keep kissing me and touching me. I wanted to lose myself in her, in my fantasy that she was Laura. But suddenly I felt cold, my erection waning. She felt this and reached down, touching me again.
‘Come on,’ she said, sounding impatient now. ‘Tell me something bad . . . maybe something you and your girlfriend did together. Or maybe something you haven’t done yet.’
I was thoroughly confused now.
‘Camelia, I don’t think . . .’
She looked into my eyes intently, like she was trying to search my brain. Then she sighed and climbed off me, standing up and peering down at me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘Whatever.’
She picked up her sweater and put it back on. She looked at me with contempt. I hurriedly buttoned up my jeans, looked for my T-shirt. I was freezing now, and felt sick.
‘Where did I put the phone?’ she said to herself, scouring the room.
Outside, a car alarm went off, and the noise shook me out of the almost-fugue state I was in. I stared at her. There was something familiar about her, something I’d seen since our first encounter. ‘What was all that about?’
She shrugged.
‘Have you been here before? In my flat?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I think you’re paranoid, Daniel. Of course I haven’t been here before.’ She found the phone and tucked it away in her jeans pocket. She headed towards the door. Before she went, she turned towards the window and took in the snow that continued to pummel the city.
‘Fuck this country,’ she said, and left.
Chapter Thirty
Laura noticed the man watching her on her second circuit of the park, but as soon she looked towards him he turned his attention to a woman walking her greyhound.
She had needed to get out of the house, to get some air. Not only were the walls of her room closing in on her but the inside of her head itched like there were hundreds of baby spiders crawling about in her skull, feathery legs tickling her brain. She couldn’t sit still. She went into the garden to look for Alina but she wasn’t there. Since that night at the hospital, Alina had visited her here several times, shimmering between the bare trees. But she only came at night, it seemed.
Although the path around the park was mostly clear of snow, patches of black ice lurked like land mines, and Laura had watched a fellow walker thump to the ground before her, eliciting a chorus of laughter from a group of children having a snowball fight nearby. Laura had paused to help the fallen man to his feet before pushing on, feeling his eyes on her back.
On her third circuit, she tried not to look directly at the man. He was a pensioner, in his sixties, or perhaps a fit-looking seventy. He was broad and ruddy, wrapped in a wool coat and wearing a black hat and gloves. And he was definitely watching her, but in the same way she was watching him, surreptitiously, pretending to be looking past her.
She stole another glance at the man. The air around him appeared to waver, like he was giving off heat, and something struck her like a punch in the chest, making her gasp. He wasn’t a man. He was a devil.
She entered a thicket of trees and he was obscured from view. She stopped and caught her breath.
‘Are you OK?’
She looked up. A young woman in a black woollen hat was regarding her with concern. ‘You were talking out loud. I just wanted to check you’re OK.’ She had an accent—German, Laura thought. A native Londoner would never have asked if she was all right. They would have assumed she was a nutcase or a drunk and given her a wide berth.
She beckoned to the German woman. Follow me. The woman hesitated but followed Laura to the edge of the thicket.
‘Over there,’ she said, as they emerged from between the trees. ‘There’s a devil sitting over there.’ She pointed over to the bench. The German gawped at her with alarm.
There was no one there.
‘You need me to call someone?’ the woman asked.
Laura couldn’t react. She stared at the empty space where the devil had been sitting, tuning out the woman’s questions. She felt dizzy.
What if he was another ghost? Only yesterday, on her way home from the Tate Modern, when she had felt the need to get away from Daniel, she thought she’d glimpsed Beatrice again for the first time in twenty years. She had been standing beneath a lamppost in the snow, and Laura had stopped dead. Beatrice looked so unhappy, her face accusatory. It was the expression of someone who had been betrayed. But when Laura stepped towards her, she vanished.
Was this what was going to happen now? She had unlocked the doors of perception; was she going to start seeing ghosts and devils everywhere? Was she going to become a magnet for the unliving?
She scuttled away from the thicket of trees, leaving the German woman standing open-mouthed, and hurried towards the park gates. She needed to get to the safety of her room before any other ghosts came looking for her.
As soon as Laura unlocked the door of Rob and Erin’s home, Erin called out, ‘Rob?’
‘No, it’s me.’
‘Oh.’
Laura went into the kitchen, casting a glance over her friend’s shoulder, hoping that Alina would be waiting for her at the end of the garden so she could tell her about the devil in the park. Her attention snapped to Erin, who was pacing up and down alongside the table, blowing out breaths like a two-year-old attacking the candles on a birthday cake. Laura wanted to go to bed, to wait until dark so she could talk to Alina. Wanted to pull the covers over her head and block the world out.
‘I’m in labour,’ Erin said. ‘I’ve been trying to call Rob but he’s not answering.’ She gasped. ‘Fuck. I knew this baby was going to come early.’
Erin’s words seemed to come from a great distance away.
‘Laura? Wake up! Did you hear me?’
‘I . . .’ Laura tried to stay calm. ‘Have you called the hospital? Are they going to send an ambulance?’
Erin’s laugh was cut short by a contraction. ‘Ah. No, they don’t do that . . . unless it’s an emergency.’
‘Isn’t this an emergency?’
‘Not yet. Oh, shit, I’ve been waiting for Rob. He wants to be the one to take me to the hospital. But I can’t wait any longer. I called a cab but they said it would take an hour because of the fucking inclement weather.’ She grimaced and blew out air. ‘I’m assuming you don’t want to be the one to deliver the baby.’
‘No! God, no!’
Erin studied her curiously. ‘My God, you should see your face. It’s all right . . . But you’re going to have to drive me.’
‘I . . . But I don’t have a car.’ Laura fe
lt like she was being dive-bombed by black birds. They swooped about her, screeching, drowning out Erin’s words.
‘Well, duh.’ Erin snatched her own car key from the hook on the wall. ‘We’ll take mine.’
Laura stared at her.
‘Come on. My bag’s in the hallway.’
Still, Laura hesitated.
‘For fuck’s sake, Laura. If we don’t get a move on, you are going to have to deliver the baby.’
Erin ushered her out the door and they headed for Erin’s Golf. The front and back windows were covered with snow, but the road was clear. Erin handed Laura a scraper and a can of de-icer before getting into the back of the car. As Laura removed the snow and ice, she told herself repeatedly not to panic, to ignore the birds that flapped about her head. They weren’t real. This was real. She needed to help her friend and her baby. OK, she hadn’t driven a car for over a year. The streets would be liable to bear the same patches of black ice as the path in the park. And snow had begun to fall lightly again, the sky dimming like someone had thrown a muslin square over the sun.
What if they crashed? What if Laura killed Erin and, even worse, the baby inside her? She thought of her bed, the cosy darkness. That’s where she wanted to be. Where she needed to be.
She opened the door to tell Erin she couldn’t do it. Erin was lying on the back seat, her face scrunched up, timing the gaps between contractions on her iPhone.
‘I can’t—’ Laura began.
Erin glared at her. ‘Just. Fucking. Drive.’
Laura got behind the wheel and started the engine.
Chapter Thirty-One
Baby arrived at 10.15 last night! Oscar James Tranham, 8 lb 4 oz. Erin was brilliant! Oscar is amazing! The text from Rob was accompanied of a picture of a tiny, pink-faced infant in a transparent plastic cot, wearing a crocheted white hat. Then a separate text arrived a few seconds later. Mate, Laura was a hero. She drove Erin to the hospital through the snow. Got there just in time.