Tubing

by K. A. McKeagney

  ‘Charlotte?’ Polly couldn’t hide her shock. ‘How does Charlotte know?’

  ‘Enough of all this,’ he said, grabbing her by her wrists and pulling her into the corner. ‘We’ve our own business to get on with.’

  Polly was repulsed. Crispin had suddenly morphed from Oliver’s best friend into this drooling, sweaty perv in front of her. She had to get away from him as quickly as possible.

  ‘Get off me, Crispin,’ she said, her voice low and deadly serious.

  He ignored her and carried on pulling her into the corner.

  ‘Get the fuck off me!’ she exploded.

  Everyone in her immediate vicinity turned to look at them.

  ‘This man is a pervert,’ she shouted, pointing directly at Crispin.

  Crispin’s face flushed red.

  The train was just pulling into the station. She quickly moved through the commuters to the nearest exit. Crispin tried to follow, but the crowd moved in around him, preventing him.

  ‘Why don’t you leave her alone, mate,’ she heard someone say.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Crispin said, exasperated. ‘She’s not serious. I know her. Polly, come back here,’ he shouted after her.

  The train came to a halt and she was out of the door as soon as it opened.

  Forty-two

  Polly stumbled on to the platform and made her way to an empty bench. Her head was buzzing; she needed a couple of minutes to try to get things straight. She slumped awkwardly down on to the metal seat, her hip hitting the armrest first. How had she been so wrong about Oliver? He had nothing to do with tubing, yet she’d been so convinced. And Charlotte? How the hell did she know about Polly being on the scene? She stared blankly, not seeing the hordes of people filing out of the platform exit.

  ‘Polly? Hon?’

  She didn’t hear the voice at first; she was lost in her own confusing world.

  She felt a hand touch her shoulder and jumped, looking round to see who it was. Alicia was standing beside her.

  ‘Are you OK, hon?’ Alicia asked.

  Polly stared at her, eyes glazed. She was still feeling so bewildered, she couldn’t answer.

  Alicia knelt down in front of her, taking her hand. ‘Polly, what’s going on?’ she asked, concern in her voice. ‘I’ve not seen you in ages. They said you just upped and left at work. Hon, what happened?’

  Just then a guy clipped Alicia’s back with his briefcase and tutted loudly at her for blocking his path on the busy platform. ‘Fuck you, moron,’ Alicia shouted at him. He looked at her, startled, then put his head down and quickly went on his way.

  ‘Let’s get out of here. Do you want to go for a drink or something?’ Alicia asked.

  Polly didn’t answer, so Alicia looped her arm around her waist and gently guided her along the platform.

  They were just approaching the exit when Polly suddenly stopped and turned to her. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked. Paranoia was getting the better of her.

  ‘On my way home from work,’ Alicia replied.

  Polly looked up at the blue and red sign on the platform wall just above the track; she was in Holborn.

  They went into a coffee shop next to the station. Alicia pulled out a chair at the first table they came to and pointed for Polly to sit. ‘You’re shivering,’ she said, taking Polly’s jacket out of her hands and putting it round her.

  The place was almost empty this time of the evening – everyone was too busy fighting their way home from work to stop for coffee. Polly sat back, suddenly feeling much calmer in the ambient-jazz-infused atmosphere.

  Alicia got the waitress’s attention and ordered two coffees. Two steaming mugs were placed on the table a minute later. Polly immediately started emptying packets of sugar into her drink.

  ‘Right, lady, talk,’ Alicia demanded.

  Polly looked up absently.

  ‘What is up with you?’ Alicia asked exasperated.

  Polly didn’t answer.

  ‘You are such hard work, hon, always keeping secrets, never telling me nothin’. For once will you just tell me what is going on with you.’

  Alicia struck a chord. It was half-truths and omissions that had got Polly into this mess in the first place. If she’d told James and DS Watson the whole story, Sebastian would probably be locked up right now. And if she’d trusted herself, and stuck with the people she knew cared for her, she’d be safe right now. She wanted to cry.

  Polly started talking. She talked for an hour non-stop, telling Alicia everything – absolutely everything. Alicia listened silently, engrossed in what Polly was saying. When Polly finally stopped, Alicia let out a long, slow whistle.

  ‘Fuck,’ she said shaking her head. ‘You have been through it, girl. What you gonna do now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Polly. ‘I’ve got to stop him somehow, I can’t spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.’

  ‘No, but he sounds hardcore. Go back to the police, let them deal with it.’

  ‘Last time I spoke to the police they said they’d do me for wasting their time. There’s no way I can go back to them.’

  For the first time Alicia was lost for words. She just sat across from Polly, shaking her head; she couldn’t offer anything.

  But Polly’s mind was racing. Telling Alicia had allowed her to reflect on the whole thing from a totally new perspective

  ‘The thing I really don’t get is Charlotte,’ she said.

  ‘Oliver’s sister?’

  ‘Yeah. She keeps cropping up in all this, especially after what Crispin just said.’

  ‘The guy you just met on the train, right?’ asked Alicia, trying to keep up with the story.

  ‘Yeah, how could Charlotte possibly know?’

  ‘Maybe she’s into tubing too.’

  ‘I doubt it – if you ever saw her you’d know what I mean. Too perfect.’

  ‘No offence, but there’s no way I would have thought you would have been into this kind of kinky stuff neither.’

  But Polly wasn’t listening any more. It suddenly occurred to her that Alicia had probably seen Charlotte.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Polly a little too loudly.

  The few occupied tables looked round to see who had interrupted the gentle hubbub of their conversation.

  ‘What?’ asked Alicia, surprised by her sudden outburst.

  ‘That night,’ said Polly, eyes wide and head nodding as if Alicia should know exactly which night she was talking about.

  ‘What night?’

  ‘You know, when we went for a drink after work. Where was it?’ Polly paused trying to grasp her thoughts. ‘Oh, I can’t remember. It was a new place on Chancery Lane.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I remember.’

  ‘Charlotte was there.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When I went to the loo I bumped into her.’

  ‘Was she?’ Alicia paused. ‘Oh, that skinny white girl you were talking to by the bar. That was Charlotte?’

  ‘That was Charlotte,’ Polly repeated far, far away in thought. She was suddenly up on her feet, ready to leave.

  ‘Hey, where you going?’ asked Alicia.

  ‘There’s something I’ve got to do.’

  ‘Wait, let me come with,’ said Alicia, grabbing her bag.

  ‘No,’ said Polly vehemently.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ said Alicia firmly. ‘Let me just pay for the coffees.’

  The second Alicia’s back was turned, Polly was out of the door. She was halfway down the road when she heard Alicia shouting after her. Polly started running. She had no intention of stopping.

  Forty-three

  Polly had only been to Charlotte’s flat once before, but she could still just about remember the way. She got off the tube at Hammersmith. She went under the flyover then down Fulham Palace Road. She pulled her coat around her and put her hood up as the September wind pressed in against her. She knew Charlotte lived close to Charing Cross Hospital so she headed there and pray
ed she’d recognise her road when she got to it.

  It didn’t take long to find. She stood outside the large converted town house. It felt imposing in the dark, lumbering down on her. After several deep breaths, she made her way up the small flight of stairs to the front door.

  Charlotte lived in the ground-floor flat. Polly pressed the buzzer. Charlotte answered the door straight away, as if she was expecting someone. The broad smile on her face soon disappeared when she saw Polly standing there.

  ‘Oh, Polly,’ she said, the smile back on her face, remembering her manners. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were a hoodlum for a moment with that hood up.’

  Polly couldn’t think of anything to say, so just barged her way in.

  ‘Come in, why don’t you?’ said Charlotte, stepping aside.

  Charlotte’s flat was warm. Polly gave an involuntary shudder when the heat hit her. She pulled back her hood and unzipped her jacket. Sharp, spicy smells came from the kitchen. The elegant dining table was set for dinner.

  ‘I’ve guests coming,’ Charlotte said as she led her through the dining room to the lounge. The table was set for six. ‘A little dinner party.’

  ‘Sebastian maybe? Or Ed, perhaps?’ Polly didn’t know why she said it – the names came out without her thinking.

  Charlotte stopped and turned sharply to look at her. ‘Sorry, I don’t understand,’ she said sweetly, but her face gave it all away. She pointed to the sofa, indicating that Polly should sit. She didn’t. ‘Suit yourself,’ Charlotte said, walking over to the antique dresser by the fireplace. She took out two wine glasses and filled each with red. She handed one to Polly as she took a deep gulp from the other.

  They both stood in silence.

  Eventually, Charlotte spoke.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you, Polly, but did you come here for any particular reason?’

  Polly wanted to laugh. Charlotte knew exactly why she was here.

  ‘What do you think, Charlotte? Why do you think I’m here?’ she said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said, taking another large mouthful from her glass.

  ‘A lot of odd things have been happening to me lately, Charlotte, a lot of weird coincidences.’

  ‘Ri-i-ight,’ replied Charlotte slowly, as if Polly were mad. But the air between them had taken on a sudden sharpness.

  ‘I’m not really a believer in coincidences. I believe there’s a good reason behind most things,’ she continued.

  Charlotte was pulling her best confused face. ‘I really don’t see what — ’

  Polly ignored her, talking over the top of her. ‘The thing is, there’s one person in all this whose name keeps coming up.’

  She looked straight at Charlotte.

  Charlotte’s face flushed. ‘I have no idea what — ’

  ‘Your name, Charlotte. Your name keeps coming up.’

  Polly noticed that Charlotte’s hands had started to tremble. She suddenly looked very small and frail. After a few seconds she put down her glass and looked at her dainty gold wristwatch. ‘My guests will be here any minute, so I really must be getting on.’

  ‘No,’ said Polly, slamming her glass down on the small nest of tables next to her. The delicate stem broke, spilling red wine all over her hand and on the table. Polly let the drips from her hand dribble down. Charlotte winced as each droplet splashed on to the cream carpet, but she didn’t move to clear it up. ‘I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Polly, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  She wasn’t going to make this easy. ‘Tubing. I’m talking about tubing.’

  A quick smile snaked on to Charlotte’s lips at the mention of the word, then disappeared just as fast. ‘Oh,’ was all she said.

  ‘What did you do, Charlotte?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘You set me up.’

  ‘Set you up? Set you up? Polly,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘I simply gave you the match – you lit the flame. What happened between you and Sebastian was your own doing. I didn’t make you do anything.’

  Polly was floored – she’d admitted it, she’d actually admitted it.

  ‘Why?’ Polly asked breathless, the wind knocked out of her. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’

  ‘It was a joke,’ Charlotte said dismissively.

  ‘A joke? A fucking joke?’ Polly said, her voice getting louder.

  Charlotte looked genuinely scared of her. ‘Well, not a joke. I mean … ’ She broke off.

  Polly just stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘I didn’t mean it to go so far. I knew what was supposed to be happening the night of your anniversary; Oliver had already shown me the ring. It wasn’t right. When I saw you out getting drunk with that horrid girl, I just thought … I don’t know … it wasn’t right for you to be getting engaged.’

  ‘Not right for me? How the hell do you know what’s right for me?’

  ‘Oliver, you and Oliver – you’re not right together.’

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ said Polly. ‘You don’t think I’m good enough for him.’

  ‘You said it,’ Charlotte replied smugly.

  ‘But how … what … what did you do?’

  ‘I texted Sebastian with a description of what you were wearing and what tube station you’d be at.’

  ‘But … wait a minute … I mean, how did you know where I’d be?’

  ‘It hardly takes a genius to work out which tube line you’d get home.’

  ‘You fucking bitch. You horrible, evil little fucking witch,’ Polly knew she wasn’t making sense any more and that throwing random swear words at Charlotte would achieve very little, but she didn’t care, she was so mad, so incensed by what she had done. ‘Do you have any idea what Sebastian’s up to? What he’s doing to those women?’ she managed after gaining a small amount of composure.

  ‘Spare me the details, Polly.’

  Polly couldn’t believe how unaffected Charlotte was by all this. She almost seemed to be enjoying herself.

  She could feel her blood bubbling up through her veins. ‘Just because tubing fucked up your relationship, you thought you’d do the same to your brother. Nice.’ She spat the last word out.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Polly had clearly hit a very raw, precise nerve. ‘Ed. That’s why you and Ed broke up, right?’

  ‘Who told you?’ Charlotte’s eyes were suddenly wild, the hurt and jealousy still all there.

  ‘It’s obvious.’ Polly paused for a moment. ‘I’ve been with him.’

  ‘Who? Ed?’

  ‘Yes, Ed. Your fiancé – sorry, your ex-fiancé.’

  ‘You’re vile. This is why I had to stop Oliver proposing, I couldn’t let him marry a cheap little slut like you. Tubing – it’s perverse, nothing but frottage.’ Speckles of spit flew from Charlotte’s mouth, as if she were a rabid dog. Polly half expected her to fly across the room and attack her, but she didn’t, she stayed put, although from the way she was trembling it was taking every ounce of energy.

  They looked at one another long and hard, then Polly said, ‘Well you’d better get used to me, because I’m not going anywhere.’ She didn’t know if she really meant it, but she knew it would be her choice and hers alone.

  ‘Oh, really?’ The snake was back in the room. ‘I think once Oliver hears what you’ve been up to, you won’t be hearing wedding bells any time soon.’

  ‘And once he hears who set me up in the first place, I can’t imagine you’ll be seeing your brother again, ever. I’ll make sure of that.’

  Charlotte shrank back a little.

  ‘Boyfriends come and go, and yeah, I’d be sad to lose Oliver, but to lose a brother, to lose your Olliepops because of what you did – wow, that really would be shit for you.’

  Charlotte opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it again.

  ‘Give me Sebastian’s number,�
� Polly demanded.

  ‘What?’ asked Charlotte. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve got to put a stop to all this.’

  ‘I did try to warn you. I told you he was dangerous.’

  ‘A bit too fucking late, though. Just give me his number.’

  Charlotte paused for a moment.

  ‘OK. I don’t suppose it’ll do him any harm. I’m not sure about you, though.’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  Charlotte walked over to the coffee table and picked up her phone. She started slowly scrolling through her numbers. Polly didn’t have time for this. She marched straight up to her and snatched the phone from her hand. Charlotte flinched, cowering back away from her. Polly copied the number into her phone then threw Charlotte’s down on to the floor.

  She turned to leave, then stopped. ‘Charlotte,’ she said, facing her again.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Stop bothering me and Oliver. You really get in the way.’

  With that, she left.

  As soon as Polly was through the front door, she sent a text to Sebastian’s number.

  Lancaster Gate 10.45 tonight. Eastbound platform.

  Forty-four

  ‘We have some breaking news just in,’ said the newscaster directly to camera. ‘Police in London have cordoned off Lancaster Gate tube station after a person was hit by a train late last night. The police have so far refused to comment, but speculation is rife that there may have been a second person involved in the incident and it is being treated as a murder investigation. Our reporter, Sally-Anne Devlin, is live at the scene.’

  The picture cut to a busy Bayswater Road. Morning traffic was piled up behind a slim, plain-looking woman with a bobbed haircut in a red jacket. She took up the story.

  ‘Yes, Colin, the police have shut down Lancaster Gate tube station in light of last night’s events, causing major disruption to the Central Line. As of yet we have no official word to say what exactly happened here. So far, all we know is that a person was hit by a train on the eastbound line at this station just before 11 p.m. In a statement released by Transport for London … ’ Sally-Anne glanced down at a bit of paper in her hand out of shot ‘ … a full investigation is under way and Transport for London are co-operating fully with the police. They’re unable to comment further at this time. She looked up directly to camera. ‘Our sources tell us that a statement will be read out by the Met shortly, but as yet we’ve had no official word as to what happened, nor has there been any indication as to when the Central Line will be back up to speed. The best way to describe the situation here in this part of London is turmoil. Back to you in the studio, Colin.’