They were in the dining-room of Stephanie's apartment. Under the paralysed tears of a chandelier the table had pulled in its midriff to accommodate just twice as many people as were dining. The hint of a chill kept surging through the window, outside which the park waved its trees. The walls bore menus that had amused Stephanie so much she'd had them framed, from a restaurant that offered Hot and Spicy Rabbi, a specialist in dishes from another Chinese region that apparently included Human Ribs, a French restaurant that promised Bee Bourgignon, which had prompted David to suggest that was why bees were disappearing... He didn't feel like finding any jokes now, but raised his glass of Rioja towards the casserole on the table. "And there's a reason why you should feel good."
It was one of her signature dishes, a Portuguese pork and bean stew to which she added herbs he'd never been able to guess. Having several signatures could suggest she had a hidden personality, an idea David supposed might occur to a writer, which meant it didn't appeal to him. As he dunked a chunk of her sourdough in his bowl she said "I hope Mrs Mick shares your enthusiasm."
"I'm sure she'll see your customers do when she opens up again. Does she really call herself Mrs Mick?"
"No, that's what I just did." Too late David saw that Stephanie had been trying to lighten the mood. "Her name's Rhoda Magee," she said. "We'll be staying closed until at least after the funeral. I'll have time to think up dishes for your stunt if you still want me to."
After dinner David cleared the table while Stephanie emptied the dishwasher. Once it was loaded she replenished David's glass and hers. "I may as well start thinking of your dishes," she said.
"You won't need me, will you?" His mind was elsewhere, and he needed to be. "I'll just walk off my dinner," he said. "So good I ate too much."
He gave her a quick kiss and then struggled into his fat unwieldy coat as he hurried along the hall. A piano on the ground floor accompanied his descent with a jolly variation on a sombre tune, which was interrupted by an electronic stutter as he let himself out of the house. He didn't look back until he was beneath the trees at the edge of the park. Although Stephanie's windows were curtained, he put more trees between him and the house before taking out his mobile. He thumbed the key to call a number in his contacts list and turned his back to the wind, which brought him a rumble of thunder—no, the sound of roller skates in the depths of the park. The trees overhead were growing frantic with the wind by the time his father said "Alan Botham."
"Hi, dad. It's David."
"David. It couldn't be anyone else."
"Why couldn’t it?"
"Calling me that. There certainly couldn't be now." David's father sent away a hint of wistfulness by adding "Have you called to say you're coming to see us?"
"We will soon. I'll talk to Steph."
"Have a word with her now if you like."
"She isn't here just at the moment." In a bid to approach why he'd called David said "How are you both? How's work?"
"There are pressures. I'm sure you have them in your own job and Stephanie's. How is she getting on with that fellow at the restaurant?"
"She isn't any more." David was nervous of continuing until he thought to say "She said he had an accident. A fatal one."
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, as I would be about anyone. How will it affect her?"
"We aren't sure yet. She's working on some recipes right now and she didn't want me in the way." However far this deviated from the truth, David hadn't time to care. "Speaking of accidents," he said, "I understand mother's client who we were talking about had one."
"Which client would that have been?"
"The one who attacked the policeman. The girl at work who knows about him said—"
"Let me apologise, David. I should have asked how life has been for you since your previous lady took the reins where you work."
"I can still do my job, that's what matters." David's effort to recall a name felt like drawing on someone else's memory. "Moorcroft, that's what he was called," he declared. "What happened to him?"
"As you say, he had an accident. I'm not sure what else you'd want to know."
"How bad was it?"
"How bad would you like it to have been? No, that's not fair to you. Blame the pressures I was mentioning. We know you're not that sort at all."
David felt unworthy of the observation. Before he could persist his father said "Sounds violent, I must say. Where exactly have you gone?"
"What do you mean, violent?" David had wandered down a side path in a vain attempt to avoid the gusts that were roaming the park. "What is?" he demanded.
"Whatever's there with you. Is it the wind?"
"That's what you'll be hearing. Anyway, what can you tell me about Moorcroft? My friend at work would like to know."
"You can assure her that he isn't likely to be a threat to anyone for quite some time."
"I will," David said and was afraid that his father might think this was all he wanted to know. "So what did happen to him?"
His father let out a sigh that contained a generous helping of patience. "He fell down an escalator not far from where you work."
"How did he, do we know?"
"From the top to the bottom." David couldn't tell how sardonic this was intended to be until his father said "It was quite a fall."
"No," David said and had to work on taking a breath, since the wind snatched half of it. "I meant what made him."
"Carelessness, if you believe someone who saw what he did."
"Who else is there to believe?"
"Well, precisely." As David parted his lips in frustration his father said "Not Mr Moorcroft, certainly."
"Why, what did he say?"
"Does it matter?" David was on the edge of admitting that it might when his father said "He insisted somebody was waiting at the top for him."
"Anybody," David said and was tempted to let the wind steal his words, "anybody in particular?"
"You really ought to ask Susan. He had her number on him when she was in town at the time. She stayed with him till the ambulance came, but she says he was making even less sense than usual."
"As you say, perhaps I'd better—"
"She thought at first he was saying he'd been lucky."
Perhaps it was just the chill wind that set David's teeth clacking. He managed to control his jaws so as to ask "What was he saying instead?"
"Something about someone else who was, as far as Susan could make out. And then he said—what was it, now? Do you really need me to wrack my brains like this, David?"
"I needn't trouble you with it if I can speak to mother."
"Just wait a moment." The pause was more than long enough for David's father to have handed her the phone, but the next voice that spoke was still his. "I remember now," he said. "She thought he must have been talking about himself this time. As far as she could make out he said someone had been clueless."
A shiver travelled through David's body before finding his mouth. Though it jerked most of the breath out of him he succeeded in asking "Could I have a word with her?"
"Not just now, David."
He felt childish for demanding "Why not?"
"She's lying down upstairs. As I said, there are pressures in this job. She's under quite a few at present. Well, one in particular."
"I'm sorry," David said, not least in case she was worried about Moorcroft. "Can you say what it is?"
"Another difficult client. I do believe some of them are getting more so, unless it's our age creeping up on us." David's father seemed suddenly grateful to talk. "This one makes Mr Moorcroft seem as straightforward as you are, David."
David almost laughed, though it wouldn't have involved mirth. "Who is he? What's his problem?"
"We shouldn't give out names, you know. Still, if we can confide in anyone it's you. We know you won't be doing anything about it. Perhaps he took David's silence for confirmation, because he said "The name's Luther Payne and he lives up to the last part, believe me."
&nb
sp; David felt as if he meant to emulate his parents by asking "Does he have any excuse?"
"Susan thinks so. His father's a headmaster and his mother runs the Blackomplishment arts festival. And she put on that exhibition of female Dadaists last year, the Mama show." As David wondered what kind of an excuse any of this was his father said "His parents stayed together till he went to university, and Susan thinks he blames himself for splitting them by growing up. It's her theory that he's trying to reverse that, being adolescent ten years after he should have been. She thinks he was too anxious to conform back then, too eager to impress them."
Trees bowed towards David as if they were intent on the conversation, and the wind brought a rumble of wheels out of the dark. "So what's he doing now?" David said.
"Taking every street drug as soon as it's invented. I very much doubt he knows what he's doing to himself any more. He hasn't had a job since he dropped out of university without finishing his degree. His parents seem to be competing to subsidise him whenever his benefits don't meet his needs."
"Then they should take all the responsibility for him, shouldn't they?"
"That's what I've told Susan, but she feels it's hers since he's her case. The real trouble is he's fixated on her and she blames herself for it. The way I see it, he's rebelling against her as if she's his mother. It's part of acting out his adolescence."
"You still aren't saying what he does."
"Maybe I've already said too much." In a moment David's father resigned himself to adding "He rings her up whenever he's at his worst on whatever he's taken, and half the time that's in the middle of the night. He knows she can't switch her phone off. I won't tell you the language he subjects her to or what he says about her. And when the drug's worn off he calls her again, so full of apologies it's embarrassing. They say that kind of drug isn't addictive, but it seems to me he's addicted to the personality it lets loose."
"Can't she have him stopped from calling?"
"She won't, David. The police know about it, but she'd have to bring a complaint. She won't even let me talk to him when he calls, because she thinks it would undermine their relationship she's built up. She won't admit how much all this is wearing her down."
David could hear it was having the same effect on his father. "Isn't there anything you can do?"
"I wish—" More audibly his father said "No, I mustn't say that. I shouldn't even think it."
"You can say anything to me, dad. You said so."
"She's made it clear I mustn't intervene. If I try she'll want nothing to do with me, and I don't believe she's exaggerating. Between ourselves and nobody else, David, I rather wish it could have been Payne on that escalator."
The admission dismayed David as much as anything he'd heard, and yet he felt as if another part of his mind had a secret response. "Look after her, dad," he urged. "Situations change, don't they? Maybe this one will."
"I'll do my best, and you do the same with your lady."
"I'll speak to her about visiting," David said and was reminded of Dent in hospital. He pocketed the mobile and was turning purposefully towards the dark when a skater hurtled at him, missing him by inches before racing up a slope and down the far side. "Fucking retard," he shouted, not necessarily at David. "Some stupid cunt standing on the path."
"I still am. I don't need to move." This felt more like a threat than anything David had ever previously said, but he didn't want to waste it on the skater. "Luther Payne," he murmured, "I know you can find him," and strode fast out of the dark.
TWENTY-ONE
"Why are you listening to that, David?"
He'd hoped the radio was on too low to waken Stephanie. He managed to find an innocent smile before he faced her. "Just for something," he said, "something to do while I'm making us coffee."
"Why the local station? You don't have it on normally."
"Maybe I'm not normal, then."
"I don't know anyone who's more so."
He could tell she was still puzzled, and he'd no sooner made up an explanation than he let it out. "That's why. Listen to the language."
The news bulletin had begun. The guvvament was gunner bring in a bill to help struggaling families, and a minister would be interviewed in the next ow-er. A mum accused of neglecting her chiyuld had been released on police bayil. Fiyer crews were dealing with a blaze at an oyil refinery. A leading athalete would be retiyering from sport next yee-ar. The overnight rayin was moving north to leave a cleyar but cold day for the region... That was the end of the news, and David switched it off before he realised how this might betray why he'd had the radio on. "I didn't know words bothered you so much," Stephanie said. "Maybe you're shaping up to be a writer after all. I'll have to watch my language."
"It's me that ought to. I need to stop my words getting away from me."
The gurgle of the percolator gave him an excuse to turn his back. Once he'd handed Stephanie a mug of coffee he took his to the bathroom. A version of himself came to meet him, though it didn't seem eager to look him in the eye. The shower felt harsh on his skin and yet remote, so that he found it hard to judge what temperature he could bear. He saw off most of a bowl of muesli topped with yoghurt to prevent Stephanie from wondering why he hadn't more of an appetite, which seemed to be somewhere else as well. "You aren't coming downtown with me, are you?" he said.
"Not unless you want me to talk Ms Randall through my dishes."
"You know where I am if you need me," David said and felt as though he was trying to reassure himself.
As he left the house the inert sunless morning fitted its chill to his hands like frozen gloves, to his face like an icy mask, but that wasn't why he shivered. What had he done last night? Had whatever he'd brought about happened yet? Had he made Newless more real? His doubts and fears had caught up with him while he'd lain in bed, afraid to stir in case Stephanie wasn't as asleep as she'd seemed. Could he take back the wish that he'd hardly even put into words? Wouldn't that be like wishing the worst for his mother instead? How could he be less concerned for her than for somebody he would never meet and, by the sound of it, wouldn't care to? How fearful did he need to be when Mick's fate had been so unlike the deranged account on the blog? But he didn't know what he'd set loose or might be responsible for, and the longer he waited to hear, the more nervously uncertain he was growing. Even if it wasn't on the news, his mother might have heard by now. He'd reached the bus stop, and he moved away from the queue to make a call. Surely it wasn't too early, and he only had to tell his mother that his father had left him anxious on her behalf.
She was waiting to answer, or at least her voice was—her detached voice. "Just seeing how you were," he had to say. "Give me a ring if there's any reason." A bus was approaching the stop, where several people had taken his place in the queue, and his sudden rage took him off guard until he controlled himself. He had to stand in the aisle and cling to a chilly pole as the bus lurched and swerved and abruptly halted, often for no reason he could see. The woman seated closest to him had a lapful of bags and a collapsed umbrella that kept poking his thigh. "That's all right," he heard himself keep saying, and wondered what Newless would have said.
People were already hawking magazines and distributing leaflets in the streets. They reminded him of his first encounter with Kinnear and his altercation with the man on the mobility scooter, but he had an uneasy notion that he should remember something else. Perhaps he preferred not to, because he made for work fast enough to leave the thought behind.
Andrea was filing brochures in the racks while Helen counted out foreign money customers had ordered. Bill and Emily were fixing holiday photographs to the wall behind the counter. David had forgotten that idea of Andrea's, and he could have thought her glance was convicting him of having let the firm down. When he returned from the staffroom, however, she said "I've had the list for the promotion."
"From Steph, you mean. Did she tell you about her manager?"
"All I've had from her are her ideas for fo
od."
David found he had been hoping not to need to say "He died."
"Dear me." After a pause possibly intended to denote respect Andrea said "How will that affect the restaurant?"
"She doesn't know yet. If we'll be advertising it I expect that'll help."
"I'll need to speak to head office about that," Andrea said, having loosed a pointed cough. "They may not want to be associated with a business that's in trouble."
"Maybe Steph won't want to be involved if we don't push her and the restaurant."
"I hope she won't let us down after she undertook to help. It wouldn't reflect too well on you either, David."
He sensed how all his colleagues were pretending to be unaware of Andrea. It felt like a denial of animosity, so oppressive that it seemed to steal his breath. At least some customers had arrived to end the discussion, and he tried to concentrate on dealing with them. When he was able to retreat to the staffroom he checked the Newless blog, but the last posting was the one he'd previously read. Once again he felt there was something he ought to remember—and then he thought of the street preacher and Norville from the council. Might their inclusion in the blog imply they were in danger? He couldn't say when he had so little sense of how it worked.
The question and everything it revived in his mind brought him close to panic. As soon as Andrea sent him for lunch he grabbed his coat and hurried downhill, feeling watched. A childish sketch of a man blazed red to halt him at the foot of the hill, and he could hardly wait for its sibling to shine green before he dashed across the road. He was disconcerted to be able to recognise a voice somewhere ahead. It led him straight to the preacher, who was surrounded by a few spectators in the midst of the uninterested crowd. "Every one of us is a sinner," the man was assuring all those within earshot, "and the worst is he who says he has not sinned."
As David ventured closer the evangelist's discontented gaze found him. "Every one of us has sinned in thought, word and deed," he said like a greeting, and David felt provoked to argue, even if not aloud. He'd had none of the thoughts on the Newless blog, and he'd never used some of the words it did. He certainly hadn't committed any of the deeds it gloated over; in fact, he was here to forestall another of their kind. He took a step forward and held out a hand to the preacher, "Excuse me...
Think Yourself Lucky Page 13