‘But?’ she coaxed.
I closed my eyes and, out of nowhere, heard a voice sounding remarkably like mine speak up.
‘Yeah, it’s like this: I met up with Paul Storer recently. You remember him, scruffy looking kid from school. Well, apparently he knows your employer so–’
‘–so he thought it would be OK to give you my details. I see. What do you want, Felix?’ From the firmness of her voice I got the distinct impression that a meter was running somewhere.
Hesitantly, I said, ‘I’m gonna be totally honest with you, Kal. Something happened to me recently – I guess you could call it a life-changing experience – and, well, it’s made me look at things in a whole new way, and although I appreciate that this must be a bolt out of the blue–’
‘Just ever so slightly–’
‘Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry, but I have this really strong need to see you again. And I know that if we don’t do it now, then we never will.’
I heard Kalila exhale thoughtfully.
‘What’s wrong, Felix? You having some kind of mid-life crisis?’
‘Possibly, though it’s hard to tell. If I’m honest, I think I’ve been having one ever since I was about sixteen.’
I heard the quick, rhythmic blow of laughter in the receiver.
‘Look, Felix, I’d love to catch up with you again, but it’s just not that easy. I have appointments to honour.’
‘Of course, I understand that, but–’
‘Hold on a second,’ her tone became clipped again. ‘Do you have my address as well?’
‘Well, Paul did mention something about Kensington. Why?’ The phone died a slow death. ‘Look, don’t worry, I’m no stalker.’ I ramped up the indignation. ‘I just wanted to see an old friend from school. Is that really such a big deal?’
‘No, of course it’s not, but I…let’s just say that I have commitments here, Felix, and I can’t just take time out of my schedule at a moment’s notice. Can we not meet in a few weeks time?’
‘No, because...’
I twisted around the tiny booth in search of an answer, but there was nothing there apart from an old burger tray someone had used to pick up a dog turd. Glancing outside, I spotted a billboard on which a cancer research charity was advertising.
Bingo.
‘…because I can’t guarantee that I can make it in a few weeks. I don’t have that long.’
‘OK, then why don’t we schedule something for early next week?’ I could hear pages turning in the background.
‘No, you don’t understand, Kalila.’ Now affecting a forlorn tone. ‘I’m saying that I don’t have that long.’
‘Oh,’ she replied, deflated. ‘Oh, I see.‘
I know, I know. I know exactly what you’re thinking; what kind of sick bastard pulls a twisted stunt like that, right? Well, you can say what you want, but that’s what desperation does to you. The end always justifies the means. If I hadn’t played the terminal trump card then I know Kalila would’ve bailed, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.
If there’s an ounce of compassion in her then she’s already feeling pity, and that means she’ll take the bait. The hook is in the mouth. Cut her some slack and she’ll snag herself.
‘Listen, Kal, if this is going to be diff–’
‘No, it’s fine,’ she said with sudden resolution. ‘Leave it with me. I can schedule you in just before I pick up the boys.’
Now all I had to do was reel her in.
‘If you’re sure.’
‘Of course, it’s no problem. Why don’t I meet you at the Queen Elizabeth gate in Hyde Park? Say 3 o’clock?’
‘Yeah, great. I’ll be there.’
Then, sounding hopelessly like a charity case myself, I thanked and re-thanked her until she eventually hung up.
*
Now, in much the same way that I don’t go in for live sports events or concerts, I don’t actually do shopping. For me, it’s another one of those activities that collects far too many people together into one mindless mass and therefore should be avoided at all costs.
That said, the walk I took along Oxford Street after my conversation with Kalila was divine. The pavements may well have been packed full of lemmings, all carrying bags seemingly loaded with bowling balls, but I skipped through them like a camp extra in a badly themed musical.
For a dying man, I never felt more alive. Nothing could bum my high. I even shrugged off the rain when it started to fall.
By the time I reached Speakers’ Corner, it was a quarter to three and pouring so hard it was as though the sky held a grudge against the ground. The park looked deserted, its afternoon strollers having long since darted for cover, and after a short walk I did the same.
Just down from the Wellington Monument, within sight of the meeting point Kalila had chosen, stood a large oak tree and using its moulting canopy as cover, I was able to take up my vigil in relative comfort.
I smoked a cigarette and watched the streams of water flood the nearby gutters. Lousy weather needed to ease up. There were only ten minutes left before she was due to arrive and I was beginning to worry. Still, I suppose it was ironic. It was raining the day Kalila and I first met. Come to think of it, I’d been forced into shelter that afternoon as well.
Spend time with any child and you soon learn that the days when it rains are the worst. Confined inside, and with no way to burn off their abundance of youthful energy, even the most lethargic child quickly becomes fractious and uncontrollable. Throw other children into the mix, place them within a school environment, and the effect is magnified exponentially. Break times become a painful extension of the child’s working day and the normally barren classrooms turn into temporary prison cells, filled with youngster’s hell bent on alleviating their boredom in any way possible. For me, that usually meant teasing everyone in the vicinity.
Rewind to a school lunch break, one Friday early in the spring of ’88, and with a small hurricane blowing outside, my little clique was forced to settle in a classroom that we’d never used before. I remember I was on particularly good form that day, prancing around the room, irritating anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with me. I was getting the better of the exchanges too. That was until I picked on the dark-haired girl reading in the far corner.
I didn’t pay much attention to her at first. With her head bowed over a book, she was just another over-enthusiastic swot who deserved all that was coming to her. However, when my provocation became too much to ignore, Kalila roused.
She inserted her mark, calmly closed the textbook and then, with her arms folded, leaned back in her chair, willing my best efforts on. I was only too keen to oblige and for the next hour I rained a volley of adolescent drivel down upon her.
But to my growing frustration, it made no impact at all. Time and time again she repelled my brutish advances, and no matter how witty or charming or coarse my jibes were, she always seemed to be one step ahead. She made me look the fool I was, and she did it with such style that it made her utterly fascinating.
By the time the bell sounded to call the students back to their respective form rooms, what little reputation I possessed was in shreds. There was only one thing for it. In a final impulsive attempt to leave the contest with some honour intact, I stopped at the doorway and, with the most arrogant grin I could muster, I asked her out.
Without flinching, Kalila said yes.
Her indifference threw me completely. One look at my stunned expression and Kalila would have known that the war between us was won after only one battle. I was hooked.
Of course, she didn’t really allow me to go out with her. It was just her way of showing me who was in charge. But with no one better to massage her blossoming, though still fragile self-esteem, she let me hang around. I became the first on what I’m sure was to become a very long list of doters.
I was never allowed to get close enough to cause her harm, but she always made sure there was just enough of an incentive for me to rem
ain hopeful. It was fantastic.
We played that game of cat and mouse for nearly two years. Until one day she witnessed me taking a beating from a teacher. That changed everything. Whether it was the sight of me being flung around a room by someone twice my size that made her realise how much she felt for me, or merely a sympathy vote, I’ll never know. But she dropped her guard and let me in. Kalila and I officially became a couple.
Nothing really altered between us. I mean, we kissed a few times, but it never went further. We were kids, after all. But that wasn’t important with Kalila. My rampant hormones took a back seat. I was happy knowing that, at last, she actually wanted me to be with her. Sounds soppy, but for the first and last time in my life, I knew what it was like to be at peace with the world. And myself, I suppose. Bliss really.
So elated was I, that I never once stopped to think about the danger I was in. I was punching so far above my weight and class, it was almost cruel.
In hindsight, a friend should've seen the harm I was doing to myself and stepped in, taking pity and putting me into my misery a lot sooner, before the damage went beyond repair. Maybe they did, I don’t remember. I certainly doubt I’d have listened. Anyhow, it continued for three painfully short months until one day Kalila vanished. At a time when my whole world hung in the balance, she upped and left me. Not a word or a hint of warning. Tore my fucking heart out.
Overnight my life turned from silk into glue. The way I saw it, she was the one influence that might have saved me from myself, and when she disappeared I fell off the rails completely.
What little interest I had in school disintegrated, until the incident with Paul and the stolen car took me out of it for good. The subsequent expulsion, combined with her apparent rejection, sent me spiralling down into a world of doubt and self-pity. In an attempt to cope, I dug myself a dark, whiskey-soaked foxhole, developed an appreciation for depressing music, and that’s where I spent the better part of my youth.
I still saw other girls during that time. But apart from physical relief, those relationships only proved how true the connection had been with Kalila. It took a decade before I finally took mercy on myself and called off the self-imposed siege. When I did, I emerged a bottle-hardened cynic.
However, it wasn’t until much later that I discovered how important Kalila’s leaving had been. It gave my life the purpose it so desperately needed. See, to lessen the pain I told myself that she would one day return, and when she did, I was determined Kalila would find in me the kind of man she could be proud of.
Under the guidance of this delusion, I ironed out a few of the more dangerous kinks in my character, studied relatively hard and finally qualified for the kind of occupation that could loosely be described as ‘professional’. Then a funny thing happened.
As if to prove my mission had been accomplished, Katharine wandered onto the scene. She waited until I wasn’t looking, and then dug her claws behind the crust that had formed around my heart. Before I knew it, I was in love again. A less immediate love, for sure, but love nevertheless. An adult relationship this time. One that taught me the true meaning of the word compromise.
When I eventually accepted I would never see Kalila again, my life had already packed up and moved on for good. Of course, the wound she left behind still bit from time to time, but by then there was a whole bunch of other aches to help take my mind off it. Not for one minute did I believe I would see her again.
Looking out over Hyde Park, I was afraid that might continue. The length of the horizon was a dark blush and the rain was falling so heavily even the brass ivy of the intricate gates seemed to sag under its weight.
This is crazy. There’s no way that a woman like Kalila would brave this. Who do you think you are?
Several times I stepped out from the tree’s cover to check if she was standing on the other side of the gates. Each time the only thing I found was a stream of traffic slicing noisily up Park Lane.
The second hand of my Breguet sauntered up to the eleven. Then the twelve. When it reached the five I braced for the worst. She wasn’t coming. At ten minutes past and I decided to admit defeat. Not for the first time, Kalila was leaving me out in the cold.
The sign for Hyde Park Corner tube station shone out above the surrounding wall. I set off in that direction. With just time for a quick cigarette before I got there, I reached into my pocket, giving one last look back.
And there she was!
Barely visible on the other side of the gates, a well-dressed woman was cowering underneath an umbrella.
It was no wonder I hadn’t seen her. With her back pressed against a supporting pillar for shelter she’d been hidden from the park side of the street.
‘Kalila!’ I cried out and started to wave.
She raised an arm, as if to answer my call, but then stepped out towards the road.
It took me a moment to realise she was hailing a cab. I panicked. Bolted forwards. But in the short time it took me to reach the gates, she’d already struck pay dirt, ducking into one of the black cars parked at the kerb.
Panting hard, I pushed my face into the cold metal.
‘Kalila.’ I called out again. It was too late. The traffic drowned out my voice as she slammed the door shut. A second later the black hackney chugged away, taking my life-long hopes along with it.
I slumped against the cold brass. A death rattle gurgled out of me.
Of all the ways to lose her!
I closed my eyes and did my best to twist the gates still further.
‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,’ a soft voice said.
Imagining my mind to be playing a cruel game on me, I looked up despondently at another one of the cars parked nearby. There, framed in one of the rear windows, I saw Kalila’s perfect face. Like in so many dreams. Smiling.
She looked incredible. Set against the darkness of the car’s interior, her slender neck and face stood out like a classical bust. Water poured into my gaping mouth. Try as I might, it plain refused to shut.
Kalila leaned forward and said something to her driver who immediately sprang from the front seat. He opened her door, mushroomed open a light taupe umbrella and a moment later she stepped out wearing a matching raincoat. The expensive fabric clung to her figure but showed no signs of creasing behind the broad belt that accentuated her waist.
She took a moment to adjust her scarf, pulled on her gloves and only when she was good and ready did she accept the umbrella. There was another short conversation, then she turned and walked confidently towards me.
Her driver was still standing alongside the car when she reached the park entrance.
‘It’s alright,’ she said, shooing him away.
He nodded obediently, but I felt his cold stare fix on me before he got back inside the thuggish-looking motor. I watched its broad taillights disappear and when I looked back, Kalila Bahar was standing in front of me.
I’ve been waiting my entire adult life for this moment.
‘You’re late, Mr Shill,’ she said, forcing a smile.
‘I’m not really, I’ve stood under that tree for the last twenty minutes. I couldn’t see you from over there.’
I winced like a child and pointed behind me, but Kalila’s line of sight never wavered. She was too busy trying to size up the waterlogged specimen that stood before her.
Had I become the kind of man worthy of her attentions?
Her eyes didn’t suggest so.
Strands of wet hair hung over my face and in an obvious attempt to look more creditable I dragged them back with my fingertips. Kalila picked up on my discomfort and made blatant small talk.
‘I thought we might’ve parked in here,’ she said, glancing along the road that ran through the park. ‘These main gates are usually open on a Friday, but I’m guessing they’ve been shut as a result of the Islington attack.’
‘Probably.’ I surprised myself by how apathetic I sounded.
Kalila looked away. Maybe she was checki
ng to see if her driver had left. Maybe not. My insecurities, however, were telling me she was desperately searching for some kind of escape. Needing direction, I resorted to the tried and tested techniques of corporate courtesy.
‘Listen, Kalila, I just want to say, thanks for coming.’
It was only when I held my hand out to shake hers that I realised how inappropriate my formality was. I looked down in horror, as if the open palm belonged to someone else. Then I snatched it back.
‘It’s my pleasure, Felix,’ she replied, stepping forward. She placed her hands on my forearms and then laid a kiss on both of my cheeks. As she did so, a lock of her hair brushed across my face, carrying with it the scent I remembered so well.
Of all the senses, none have a memory that atrophies so quickly, or is so difficult to resurrect, as the sensation of smell. Experiencing that concentrated reminder of her again felt like mercury flushing through my body.
Kalila stepped back. She was trying to smile, but her concern for me lay too close to the surface.
‘So, how are you feeling?’
Get a grip, Felix.
‘I’m good, thanks.’
Fighting to retain even the smallest measure of poise, but I’m good.
‘No, that’s not true, I am great – just great. How are you? I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you again, Kal. You look astonishing. Really you do.’
Stop waffling!
‘How are you?’
‘I’m well, Felix. Enjoying the weather.’ She looked up wryly. ‘So how long has it been? Sixteen? Seventeen years? It’s a surprise to hear from you after all this time.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine, but in a good way, right?’
She nodded warmly, though her eyes were full of sadness.
‘So how long have you got?’ We both asked at the same time. This drew a laugh, though for Kalila it was an uncomfortable coincidence. I grasped the nettle.
‘You’d better answer first.’
Kalila pulled a glove to one side and looked down at her watch. ‘I don’t know, about twenty minutes, I guess.’
‘That’s more than enough time.’ I pointed along the Serpentine Road. ‘You want to walk through the park?’
Felix Shill Deserves to Die Page 12