by David Smith
*
Plucking up courage, I coughed and rehearsed my next line a couple of times in my head. Fortunately, before I had time to open my mouth, Eddie came over and joined us and, to my great relief, he, as usual, immediately became the centre of attention.
A tall red-headed girl dressed in black designer jeans, classy jewellery and a Peace top joined the group and greeted her girlfriends. She was in a completely different league from the others with a stunning figure. I didn’t see her face until she turned to talk with Eddie, who clearly knew her. Then it hit me that this amazing girl was none other than Alice’s friend Penny.
‘Hey Eddie,’ she said with confident eye contact and a broad smile that masked the slight hesitation in her speech. The other pretty girl with blonde curls frowned, realising Eddie knew her and that her attempts to get Eddie’s undivided attention had temporarily been thwarted.
‘Come on girls,’ the pretty one said rather shortly, ushering the other girls towards the ladies’ room. ‘I think we need to freshen up.’
‘Stay here and get some more drinks in, we’ll be back in a few minutes,’ the mousey one said, breathlessly touching Bas on the arm with a little too much familiarity.
‘He’s bloody hilarious,’ she whispered to her pretty friend as they walked away. Her friend just rolled her eyes at her. Fortunately Penny stayed with us.
‘Why do women always go to the bathroom together?’ I sighed.
‘To talk about you lot of course,’ said Penny, still smiling at Eddie, who now had her perching on his knee.
*
The other girls returned and we all drank another round of shots and then agreed it was time to hit the clubs. No one wanted to go to Sahara, ‘the music is just too cheesy’ the girls said. In any case, they added, it was normally full of acne-faced teenagers and had the most obnoxious bouncers in town. So we started off in the Cloud Bar across the street with Birds Nest cocktails and the DJ playing a selection of what I was informed by Eddie to be hip hop. Bas complained before long that the place was too full of students; this was true as there were a whole crowd of them gathered in a last fling before they returned to uni, so we decided to move on to one of the dance clubs.
There wasn’t much choice, having rejected Sahara and Rimini’s. It was a short walk up the hill to the club that had been rebranded Spice in its latest incarnation. The combination of the giggling girls’ heels, alcohol-unsteady legs, parked cars and other inebriated pedestrians meant that we made slow progress. There were many groups of youngsters marauding through the streets, watched over by bouncers and policemen at the main venues.
We walked around the back of some shops and through the multi-storey car park that backed onto the supermarket. There were only a few cars in the car park and the orange safety lighting there was far too dim to light all the shadows, creating a somewhat menacing atmosphere that dampened our high spirits. Of course, with my security training, I was naturally concerned and suggested we go back and stick to the street. But Bas said that seven of us, four of whom he knew were policewomen, should be enough to see anyone off. The girls’ heels clicked on the concrete as they giggled away. Bas and Eddie laughed with them, arms tight around the girls’ waists to steady the effects of the shots.
The pretty blonde had now regained the initiative vis-à-vis Penny and had Eddie to herself again, while Bas guided the other two girls through the parked cars. I wasn’t too impressed to see that the blonde girl now had her hands around Eddie’s waist. Penny dropped back a little to talk to me. I continued to be circumspect: that place had a reputation for drug-pushers and addicts. We followed a yard or two behind the rest of the group, with me nervously looking around for any threat.
I heard the ricochet echo of a car door slam at the far end of the car park. I turned and saw a man walk towards the boot of the black cab that was parked there. I could just make out the registration number in the gloom and made a mental note of it. He was short and tanned, with thick silver hair and gold-rimmed glasses, dressed in an expensive looking business suit and raincoat. He was speaking into his mobile. Another man got out of the driver’s seat of the cab and opened the boot of the vehicle. A turbaned Sikh – the minicab driver, I assumed at the time.
Two more figures emerged from the shadows by the pay machines, both short and poorly dressed, very dark-skinned and swarthy. Our friend the businessman passed them a parcel from the back of the car, which they opened and inspected wordlessly as far as I could tell. Whatever it was, it seemed to pass muster; they nodded to each other but did not shake hands. The man and his driver got back quickly into the cab which sped rapidly towards the exit and off into the night. By now the two darker figures had also disappeared into the shadows. It was all over in a matter of seconds. Of course I did not realise the real significance at the time.
‘Did you see that?’ I asked Penny but she shook her head. She had been busily tapping away at her phone looking through her contacts list and had not noticed anything. I told her exactly what I had just seen. We discussed for a second what kind of seedy transaction I might have just witnessed but didn’t wait around longer, hurrying on quickly to catch up with the rest of the group.
*
When we got to the club there was a queue and we had to negotiate our way past some fearsome bouncers before paying the exorbitant entrance fee. There seemed to be a random process of selection to determine which clubbers the bouncers would let in. For whatever reason, we seemed to pass the inspection. After I’d got over the shocking size of the entrance fee, Spice proved as far from a cup of cocoa as I had expected. It was pitch black inside, packed and sweaty with only a few red lights, like a devil’s lair. The DJ was playing more hip hop downstairs and you could hear hardcore dance music playing at several decibels above the human pain threshold upstairs.
The cheap vinyl seating did not encourage sitting around to talk. Even I had to get onto the dance floor. The beat drilled through my body like continuous electric shocks. I tried to make conversation by remarking to Penny about the marbles set into the floor and walls, presumably to prevent the dancers from hurting themselves in the dark. She couldn’t hear me. Having given up on that, I tried my best to enjoy myself in my own private cocoon of sound, watching the strobe lighting flash across the dancers, catching their movement in staccato bursts, keeping as close to Penny as I could. She proved to be an amazing dancer and soon attracted a posse of admirers. It was impossible to talk to anybody in the crush. When Eddie eventually signalled to me that it was time to leave I have to say I was glad to go.
When we got out, it was as if my normal hearing had been replaced by a dull ringing pulse. It was probably over twenty years since I’d done anything like that. It was a long way from Earth, Wind and Fire at a 90s student disco.
*
‘So, did you two pull?’ I asked when Eddie and Hugh eventually got back to our flat past 1.30am, looking drained and even more sheepish than usual. I was still working away at the court papers at the kitchen table. The bottle in front of me was empty, and Eddie could probably see from my smudged mascara that I’d been crying. I was absolutely shattered. He put his arms round me and attempted rather pathetically to give me a hug before kissing me on the back of the neck.
‘Sorry we’re so late.’
I shied away from him. I had no intention of letting him get around me that easily. Hugh wisely seemed to decide that discretion was required and went off to use the bathroom leaving us alone in an awkward silence. While Hugh was out of the room, Eddie clearly decided his best course of action was to confess all, well nearly all as it turned out. He told me that after visiting a couple of pubs and bars, they had gone on to Spice to dance, just for a couple of hours (he mentioned bumping into Penny but not the other girls they had met and gone to the club with). Understandably my response became somewhat emotional and tearful.
‘For heaven’s sake, when will you grow up, Eddie? You know how much pressure I’m under, I could have done with some more help this evening. You r
ealise you and your mates are probably old enough to be the fathers of most of the girls who hang around that place. I told you before I don’t trust Bas, but Hugh should have known better,’ I sobbed. I admit a little theatrically to make the point.
‘Yes, well, don’t worry. Hugh kept us out of trouble. Look, love, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I’ll book a table at the Regency, I’ll invite some friends and we can get a babysitter. Penny said she’d be up for it.’ I decided to ignore the sop that was being offered to me.
‘I’ve a good mind to make you sleep on the sofa, Eddie.’
‘But I can’t, Hugh’s got that. Come on; let me give you a cuddle.’
‘And what happened to Bas?’
‘Hmm. I think he had other plans,’ he winked.
‘Honestly Eddie, I told you I don’t trust him,’ I said quietly, but this time I relented and accepted his embrace, kissing him back.
*
When Hugh returned he seemed pleased to see that I had relented. I offered them both cocoa, to which they laughed and smirked at each other; there was obviously some private ‘cocoa’ joke going on between them. I made up the couch for Hugh. He looked like he would fall asleep on his feet if he didn’t lie down straight away.
Your lover’s doubt written a world ago,
A dragon slain blatant and still forlorn,
Endured, enjoyed in persistent shadow.
Man’s tame pleasures guiltless but newly torn,
Love’s precious gift seen through blue cautious dawn.
Ambitious, audacious, clouds rise with light,
Burning schism, from sad silence still born.
Blown away by the sweet breath of your might,
New veiled by simple faith, becalmed, becalmed till night.
That night I slept fitfully though. It wasn’t so much that I objected to their little bit of fun. I could forgive them that and was fairly sure it was all perfectly innocent. After all, I had my own girls’ nights out occasionally where we probably got up to far worse than the boys. It was just so inconsiderate of Eddie; I had so much to do and he never seemed to notice how tired I was. All I wanted was a bit more support, that was all. Was it too much to ask?
The next morning, despite the lack of sleep, I rose at my usual time and prepared breakfast for Carrie and myself; muesli with almond milk and scrambled tofu. Eddie and Hugh were still sleeping off the previous night. Hugh was half-wrapped in a sleeping bag on the sofa; he looked ten years younger asleep. He was still an attractive man and would be a really good catch for the right woman. I was more determined than ever that I would find a suitable partner for him and had been hatching my own plans overnight. I thought about making them tea but decided to leave them to sleep it off instead – it gave me a chance to get out of the house for a while. I switched on the TV for Carrie and donned my cycling kit, emerging from the front door with my bike and climbing awkwardly up the steps from the flat.
*
It was a cool but bright morning outside but I could smell something odd immediately. There was blue, oily smoke in the air. As I got to the top step, I could see the same two dark-skinned guys from the subway again, skulking with a scooter a little further down the road by the post box. I looked around. There was a taxi with its engine running a little further down the square but apart from that, and the guys with the scooter, the street seemed deserted. It was still too early for the Saturday traffic to have started.
I put on my cycle helmet and then swung open the little wrought iron gate, hearing at the same time the door of the big house next door being opened. The Napoleon House they call it, on account of the blue plaque on the wall honouring Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte who lived there once. I saw an unfamiliar man step out with two yelping dogs by his side. He nodded politely at me; I noticed immediately from his somewhat colonial clothes and demeanour that he was foreign and smart, grand even. I didn’t think I had seen him before so he couldn’t have been staying there that long. Perhaps he was a weekend houseguest of Sir William Flyte, our next door neighbour. That was not unusual as there were always lots of visitors to that house.
Before I could get on my bike, one of the Tamils began to walk up the road toward me and the other started his scooter. I saw again the glint of the fish knife from the night before in his hand as he started to run.
*
Suddenly this became threatening. I flinched instinctively to avoid him, but he ran straight past me and lunged instead at the poor businessman on the steps. It was all over before I even realised what was happening. I heard the businessman gasp softly and then he went down, silently to his knees.
The dogs went wild, snarling at the attacker, who swung his knife in their faces. Without thinking, I dropped the bike and ran at the Tamil, kicking the knife out of his hand, using my ten-year-old remembered Taekwondo. Yes, I know it was a stupid thing to do, but the attacker was so shocked that it worked. His accomplice had already mounted the pavement behind me, revving the engine of his scooter; back tyre screeching as he came up the kerb. The other man did not tackle me further. Instead he abandoned the knife and jumped on the rear seat, the two of them racing off down the pavement with the dogs giving chase. My heart was pumping; I was unsure whether to give chase and hesitated as they sped off down the street. I decided against this and instead turned to the man bleeding at my feet.
As I knelt by the man’s side, I heard a loud bang and looked over my shoulder to capture the image of the body of one of the Tamils flying through the air. The black vehicle that had hit them paused for a couple of minutes and then raced off. I thought I heard a shout and a man running. My mind couldn’t compute what I had just seen but luckily my triage training cut in and I slipped effortlessly into work mode. I realised that I couldn’t deal with the RTA right away, the man in front of me was too badly hurt. His blood was already seeping on to the pavement through his rapidly reddening white shirt. I asked him his name, but there was no response.
He had a Roman sort of face, aquiline features with yellow-olive skin creased into deep ridges, maybe slightly Arabic or Iranian in appearance. He was in his late 60s or 70s but despite his age he was still quite handsome; his silvering hair swept back into a ponytail, bushy eyebrows shadowing eyelids, which were already closing. He wore an old-fashioned tiepin, a smart silk handkerchief in his suit pocket and a single gold ring, with three letters picked out in scarlet red – APX.
I spoke to him again but he still didn’t reply. I proceeded straight into first-aid 101: airway, breathing, circulation. There was no obstruction and he was still breathing, but I could hear something hissing in his breath. I put my ear to his mouth and felt his chest. I opened his eyelids – the pupils were turned up towards the sky. I continued to talk to him, unable to tell if he was aware at all of what I was saying. I opened his shirt quickly to see the wound better, a neat slit but evidently deep into his chest. Alongside the cut there was a tattoo, and another older scar carved into the surface of his skin, rapidly being obliterated by the new blood. All this took no more than seconds.
I shouted to a passer-by to phone for an ambulance. By now, the man’s dogs had returned from their chase and were barking loudly by my side, stopping me from thinking properly. Without the knife in the wound, he was already losing a lot of blood. From somewhere deep in my training, however, I remembered a trick I had been taught. You could use a credit card to seal the wound. I did not have one but instead felt for the library card in the pocket of my cycling shorts. I used the rest of his shirt to pad the open wound.
*
By then, Eddie and Hugh had heard me shouting to them for assistance and were alongside me.
‘Alice, what happened?’ they both asked at the same time as they hunched over me, beside the bleeding man.
I quickly told them about the knife attack and then asked Hugh to go over and help the motorcyclists, while I got Eddie to help me pull the businessman up the step a little, so that his heart would lie above the puncture wound. I reminded Eddie a
bout his first aid training, how to apply pressure to the wound, telling him to be careful to keep clear of the fluids.
Once I’d sorted Eddie, I decided there was not much more I could do for this one but wait for the ambulance. I ran over to where Hugh was checking the motorcyclists. Dottie was already there with him.
In his wakeful inebriation, Eddie apparently did not immediately notice the red dot on the man’s forehead. But as it caught his eye, he was entranced by the way it began to move and dance, caressing the man’s brow. The explosion of the old man’s temple into his face as the bullet hit home surprised him even more.
I had already reached the motorcycle accident, so I heard nothing of the shot except Eddie’s surprised cry. The silencer reduced the sound of the bullet to that of a bird gliding through the air. Hugh was with one of the Tamils who was lying across the central reservation in the recovery position; the other was spread-eagled across the road, hit full on by the car. Probably already dead I thought, but I checked him over first to be sure. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Hugh pulling at something. That taxi was back, pausing for a second while someone got in.
*
Hugh was fiddling with the strap of the helmet of the man, trying to remember his army training. Although the man was clearly struggling to breathe, he was unsure whether he should release the strap or not. The answer came not from me but from another more authoritative source.
‘Stop!’ Dottie shouted as she ran over, seeing what he was about to do.
‘But he can’t breathe,’ he replied.
‘Don’t release the strap; you could break his neck.’
We were joined by another man; an off-duty Sikh policeman. Hugh knew him. He used to shoot skeet with him at the Wedgnock shooting range, a very spiritual man, another ex-soldier, who observed all the articles and prohibitions of his religion and was an excellent marksman.
After a couple of minutes, I joined them and freed the scarf from around the motorcyclist’s mouth. I was sure he was one of the Tamils from the subway in the park I’d seen the night before.