Subway 4

by Violet Hunter

  When I left he said, “The world is still yours, remember that.”

  I thought about revenge. If Jimmy and Chris were the murderers did I want them dead? Even though I would hate them, I knew the answer was no. What I wanted was justice and that was different. I had to make them realise what was lost.

  * * *

  The piece of paper with Jimmy’s address was on the mantelpiece in front of the small mirror. Flat 1, 27 Lightwood Road, Deptford. I could tear it into small pieces and put it in the bin. I could get on with my life and let the police do their job.

  I put on the red coat that I’d bought at the beginning of the winter and still hadn’t worn. It was the red of poinsettia flowers, long and fitted, with a big collar. I slipped the address in the pocket, picked up my umbrella and went out. I took the bus to Deptford. If someone knew what I was doing they would think I was crazy.

  Lightwood Road was in the south of the borough. I found number 27, a run-down three-storey house. It had a lot of bells. Flat 1 must be downstairs. I walked past slowly then turned and went past again. The window had greyish coloured nets with a tear down one side. The curtains were half drawn and there was a light on. I thought about ringing the bell then decided it was a bad idea. Instead I went and stood on the other side of the road. I had a sense of being outside myself. It started to rain hard so I put up the umbrella.

  27

  JIMMY

  In the evening I dragged myself out of bed my stomach cramped with hunger. I pulled the curtains open and looked out. It was dark and pissing down. Someone was standing under the lamp post on the other side of the road. Colour glowing under the light – a black woman in a red coat, still as a statue. Something about the way she was standing was familiar.

  I drew back behind the curtain watching her. A van passed by at speed, sending out a wave of water that must have soaked her but she still didn’t move. I wanted to get rid of her but then she’d know for sure it was the right address so I watched TV and waited. After ten minutes I looked again but she was still there. It was like being under siege. I sat down again, trying to ignore her presence. The next time I looked she’d gone and I wondered if I’d imagined it all. Maybe I was really sick.

  I went to the King’s Head looking for Chris. I needed to know if she was after him as well. The pub was crowded, men talking at the bar, groups of young women crowded round tables, hair polished, showing flesh. Normally I’d want to chat one up but I had other things on my mind. I found Chris with a group of his mates and told him we needed to talk.

  Outside he said, “What’s up?”

  “That woman’s stalking me.”

  He laughed into his pint, which sprayed over my jacket. “You should be so lucky, look at the state you’re in, you couldn’t pull anyone.”

  “I’m serious. It’s that black woman from the meeting. She knows where I live.”

  “You’re getting paranoid.”

  “I swear it’s her. She’s watching my house. Have you seen her round yours?”

  “Nah mate – sounds like you’re imagining things. Get a grip – you’re falling apart. Remember what’s at stake. It’s your neck as well as mine.” He did a chopping motion with his hand across his throat. “Deal with it.”

  He turned and started walking back to the door. I couldn’t believe he was just leaving me with the problem. I grabbed his arm and pulled him round, forgetting our difference in size.

  “This is your mess Chris, you need to clean it up.”

  He looked surprised that I was standing up to him and for a moment I felt triumphant but then he lifted his fist and I saw it coming for my face; I tried to duck but he caught me on the side of the head and I spun round and hit the ground hard.

  I heard him say, “Not a chance in hell, Jimmy.” The pub door slammed.

  I lay on the ground, head throbbing, face in a puddle. I couldn’t go any lower. We were real enemies now. If things got bad he might even try to pin the murder on me. I still had the NER, without that I was fucked.

  I was paranoid at home, thinking the woman was going to be there again. I bought cans of lager. It helped me get to sleep but I woke up in the early hours with a dry mouth, head throbbing, my heart thudding in my chest. At work I was more and more knackered. One day I put grey gloss on a wall when it should have been emulsion. Ray went mad, making me stay back to sort it out.

  “What’s going on, Jimmy? You look like death. I thought you wanted to get somewhere in this trade?”

  I said the first thing that came into my head. “Me and Shelley are going through a bad patch. She keeps going on about wanting to get married and settle down, I’m not ready, it’s driving me mad.”

  For once he didn’t sound sympathetic. “Sort things out, I can’t have your personal life affecting my business.”

  * * *

  She was there again, this time standing at the bottom of the steps, looking as if she was going to come up and ring the bell. I had to stop her from talking to the others in the house. I pulled on my jacket and looked for my keys, which weren’t in the pocket. By the time I got outside she’d gone. I looked both ways and thought I saw her up near the shops. Trying to keep my eyes on her I followed at a fast walk. There were still quite a few people around. Outside the bookies an old man grabbed hold of my arm, breathing alcohol fumes all over me. I shoved him off me and looked to see where she was but there was no sign of her.

  I was outside the old cinema. Dead buddleia flowers were growing through the cracks; the domed roof looked like it was caving in. The window at the top was broken, a blue curtain hung through, wet and dirty. The ‘For Sale’ sign had been there forever.

  There was an entrance at the side with an overflowing bin and a metal door. It had been forced open. Maybe she’d gone in, she was weird enough to do anything. I pushed the door.

  It was pitch dark at first then my eyes started to make out rows of abandoned seats. Some were broken and the material stained with damp. At the back was a stage. The curtains that hung at the sides were torn and limp. Blue paint was peeling from the walls and ceiling and a chandelier was hanging down at a precarious angle. It stank of urine.

  I shouted, “You don’t scare me.”

  There was silence. All I could hear was dripping then a high-pitched laugh sounded from somewhere above. I looked up but there was no one on the balcony.

  “Leave me alone,” I yelled, louder.

  The voice called, “Alone, alone, alone, you’re alone,” like an echo, followed by another screaming laugh. I got out as fast as I could.

  * * *

  I was lying on the pavement – a full moon overhead. The woman was there, looking down at me. She began to speak. At first I thought she was speaking another language then I began to make out the words.

  “Your mind’s been stolen. You need to catch the thief. It’s not too late.”

  From behind her a man appeared. He took her arm and led her away. The ground was cold and hard. I woke up and the duvet was on the floor; my body limp as if all the juice had drained out of me.

  When I got to work two hours late Ray opened the door and stood blocking the hallway. Behind him was a young man stripping wallpaper.

  “Sorry Jimmy. I’ve given you enough warnings. I need someone reliable.”

  He handed me an envelope. “Here’s this week’s wages. You’re going to have to learn to get out of bed on time if you want to keep a job.”

  I could tell by his expression there was no point arguing so I took the money and didn’t say a word, just walked away. I went to a cafe and ordered beans and chips. While I was waiting I opened the envelope. There was an extra £20 on top of my wages but my rent was due, which would leave me £90 to last until I could get another job.

  When I opened the door to my room it smelt disgusting. I’d had fish and chips one night and left s
ome. The bin didn’t have a lid on it. I sat on the bed drinking lager, trying to figure out how I’d got in such a mess. Things went round in my head. I thought about calling Shelley and saying, ‘Let’s start again, go to Spain or Portugal, get a job in a cafe by the beach, forget about everything that’s happened.’

  I hurled the can across the room. It hit the wall, spraying lager all over the place. The bare plaster turned dark pink, like the inside of flesh. Nothing was going to work because the main problem, the one I couldn’t fix, was that I was involved in a murder.

  For weeks I’d been blaming Chris for everything. He’d killed someone and ruined my life but for a few seconds I’d hesitated: If I’d stayed to see if he was alive, phoned for an ambulance, waited until it came; if I’d done any of those things maybe he’d be OK, maybe I’d be OK.

  28

  VALERIE

  I knew Jimmy had spotted me. I crossed the road and jumped on a bus heading north. As the bus scudded past the park I smiled to myself. The fact that he knew I was onto him gave me a sense of power.

  Close to a bus stop was a large hoarding. While we waited for people to get on I gazed at a poster for the new production of Macbeth. The face of the lead actor stared back with a haunted expression.

  Back at the flat I picked up the bag of books that I’d left by the door, meaning to take to a charity shop, and emptied it out. I took up my copy of Macbeth, seeing how neatly it fitted into my hands. Pulling a chair close to the radiator I began reading, listening to the rhythm of the words, which sounded both familiar and exciting. I was gripped by Macbeth’s speech to Banquo’s ghost, the images perfectly conjuring the terror in his mind. I read and read, soaking up the story, like a drug that I’d given up and then succumbed to.

  When I got to the end I remembered Jimmy’s face at the window and how vulnerable he looked. Was he starting to feel guilty? Was his conscience beginning to torture him?

  Perhaps the tide was turning.

  * * *

  In my possession were a lot of pieces of information that, individually, weren’t much help but could add up to something substantial. I needed to try and use them.

  Leonard, who I’d met at Matthew’s, was writing about far right groups and might be willing to help but the only way I could get in touch with him was through Matthew and we hadn’t spoken since the night he’d asked me out. I couldn’t let my feelings get in the way though so I sent a brief but friendly text asking for Leonard’s email. I didn’t explain why I wanted it but he’d work it out. He texted back straight away with the address, ending with ‘hope u r ok.’

  In my email to Leonard I said something about the situation and that I needed some advice. He suggested a cafe in town where we could talk. When we met I was embarrassed at first and wondered whether I should trust him but he was friendly and I started to relax. He had a sorrowful looking face, with large bags under blue eyes, which made me wonder about his life.

  “I’m so sorry about Anton, your boyfriend, it is tragic and appalling.”

  I told him more about that night and what it had been like for me. He was a good listener and I said more than I’d meant to. I told him about the scarf, meeting Matthew and breaking into the NER meeting. I also said that I knew where Jimmy lived, but not that I’d been there because I didn’t want him to think I was crazy. He said he knew quite a lot about the NER and that they were capable of organising and covering up a murder.

  “The scarf sounds like a connection, though I agree that the police might think it’s fanciful. I do think they’d be interested in the email and the photograph.” He took a sip from his coffee. “I’ll consult a friend who’s a lawyer. She’s one of the best there is and will know how to proceed. The police will be following leads of their own but perhaps this extra knowledge will make a difference to getting a conviction. I promise to do everything I can to assist. I know how painful it is to not have justice.”

  For the first time in weeks I felt as if someone was really on my side.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m really glad I asked you.”

  He smiled, his face lifted and he looked quite different.

  I asked him why he did the work he did.

  “My grandfather sent my mother to England from Germany in 1938 when she was seventeen. They were working-class Jews and he didn’t have the money to take the whole family so he and my grandmother and youngest son stayed behind. They died in a concentration camp.”

  Although a part of me already knew what he was going to say I was still shocked. I’d lost Anton but not my whole family. Here was someone who understood about trauma, about loss, about being killed for who you were. He wasn’t just fighting because his head told him to but because his heart drove him to it.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I write about it because I want to make sure things don’t happen again on that scale but the current situation is also frightening. Again the government are blaming people, this time immigrants and the poor for the economic problems that they themselves have created.” He stopped and smiled. “I’m lecturing. Of course you already know this. Tell me some other things about yourself. I remember Matthew saying you were an actor.”

  “Yes, I am,” I said, forgetting I’d given it up. “I really love Shakespeare, that’s where I started, although I’m interested in contemporary theatre as well.” I told him about Wounded Home and he said he’d heard it was very good.

  “Next time you perform I would love to come.”

  When we left the cafe he said, “I’ll get in touch with Rosalind straight away and give you a call as soon as I hear back.”

  29

  JIMMY

  Light was coming through the tear in the net curtain. I didn’t know what time it was and I didn’t care. There was no point getting up. There’d be nothing at the Job Centre. I couldn’t get a job in a shop or a cafe because I was useless with money. Numbers always got jumbled up in my head. The doorbell rang and I heard voices in the hall. I thought they must be for someone else then there was a knock on my door. I didn’t answer.

  Shelley’s voice called through the keyhole, “Jimmy, it’s me, are you there?”

  I sat up. There were shapes of clothes everywhere. She called again.

  “Hang on.”

  I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. I could smell my sweat but there was nothing I could do about it. She came in, sniffed and wrinkled her nose. She stepped over the clothes, went to the window and drew the curtains.

  She was wearing a new purple coat and her hair was tied back. I’d forgotten how beautiful she was.

  “Sorry about the room, I’ve been really busy.”

  “I don’t care about that, I want to talk to you about something.”

  “What?” I said, licking my lips, which were dry as a bone.

  She turned to the side, her profile against the window, looking far away and grown up.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  It was the last thing I expected to hear. I thought maybe she’d figured out about the murder but not that. I stared at her and she looked back, holding my gaze, she wasn’t smiling.

  “You’re what?”

  She repeated the words.

  “You can’t be, we always used condoms.” Then I remembered that one had come off and we’d laughed about it.

  My mind was going nuts trying to take it in. I couldn’t imagine her pregnant. She was so slim and so young.

  “I found out two weeks ago. I wasn’t going to tell you but then I changed my mind.”

  It seemed like weeks since we’d had sex. I tried to figure out the timing of it but couldn’t even remember what day it was.

  “How do you know it’s mine?” I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to see her cry – that would be better than her coldness.

  She held her handbag across her stomach as if prote
cting herself.

  “You’re cruel Jimmy. First you threaten me, now you accuse me of going off with someone else. You used to love me.”

  I still loved her but I couldn’t have her, not after everything that’d happened.

  “Whatever you think I know that you’re the father and I came to tell you I’m keeping it. If you want to be involved I need proof you’ve changed. I don’t want any more violence with a baby around.”

  “I’ve got no money,” I said.

  “It’s not money I want, Mum and Dad will help out. I can live at home until after the baby’s born.”

  “When…?”

  “It’s due in September.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. My life was fucked up and this was the worst timing.

  “Well, anyway, I’m going now. You’ve got my number.”

  She went out of the door.

  I put my arms around my knees and rocked on the bed, imagining the baby. I’d never thought about having children. It was something that happened to other people; older, boring people. All those nappies and crying. I wondered if it was a boy or a girl, if she knew. Shelley was the sort of person who wouldn’t want to find out until it was born. It would have my blue eyes and her black hair. Then I thought about my dad and how he wasn’t there after I was eleven. I wouldn’t want that to happen to my baby. My eyes were burning as if the tears behind couldn’t be squeezed out. The eczema on my back itched and burned like it would never stop.

  30

  VALERIE

  I was on my way to Leonard’s place for a meeting. The lawyer had asked for everything I knew to be written in chronological order in a printed document, which she would then take to the police.