Strangeness and Charm cotf-3

by Mike Shevdon

  "He probably wouldn't approve of you having sex when you're supposed to be on duty," she said, releasing my hand and stroking across my chest so it brushed my nipple.

  "We won't tell him then, eh?"

  She released my other hand and leaned down for a long slow kiss. She whispered warm in my ear, "He's probably listening at the keyhole." She lifted my hands to her breasts so I could caress my thumbs over her nipples while she stroked down my arms. She wriggled on top of me in response.

  "I don't think so," I said.

  "He knows far too much of what goes on in this house," she said, sitting upright and reaching round behind her to stroke her nails up the inside of my thigh.

  "You're not serious," I asked.

  She stared at me wide eyed, while her hands did something far from innocent behind her.

  "We'd better give him something to listen to then, I suppose?" she said.

  The West End got more crowded as the light faded — party goers, mates out for a drink, people choosing from menus outside brightly lit restaurants. Alex floated past them. At the end of the evening they would all go home. Late buses and lastditch taxis would carry them back to their houses and they could crawl into their beds and dream of happy families.

  "You all right, love?" A bloke with his mate in tow staggered towards her. She caught a whiff of the alcohol on his breath.

  "Go away," she said. "Leave me alone."

  There must have been more in her words than a simple request, because he veered away, dragging his friend behind him. She changed direction and walked into Leicester Square, weaving between couples arm-in-arm, avoiding the crowds of lads out for a good time, staying clear of the girls who were less than subtly touting for business at the edge of the crowd. The cinemas were emptying out after the late showing, the uniformed staff guiding the stragglers out into the square.

  "It's your lucky night." The man approached her smiling, offering his card. "We're recruiting models and you have the look of tomorrow, you know that? Of course you do, a beautiful girl like you has her career ahead of her. Just take this card to the address on the back and they'll look after you." He proffered the card.

  She smiled, "You really think so?" She took the card and turned it over. The address was in minute print.

  He grinned at her. "Sure, you're a natural. You're gonna look great in pictures, Baby." He stepped in close, too close for her liking.

  She reached up and tapped him lightly on the forehead. He stepped back, unnerved by her odd reaction. "I don't think it's your lucky night," she said. "I fact, I think your night's going to take a turn downhill." She turned away.

  "Don't say that, Baby. You'll jinx me. I'm just doing my job."

  She called back, "And don't call me Baby." Walking on, she wondered how long it would take him to realise that the word "pervert" was now tattooed across his forehead. She changed course and headed into Soho in case it was sooner rather than later.

  As soon as she left the bright lights of the square she wrapped herself in glamour. These were streets she would be cautious around in daytime, even more so after midnight. Taxis rumbled down the streets and a garbage collection giant was grinding and squealing its way down the street, tipping containers of commercial waste out into its dark maw with mechanical efficiency while its minions ran around trying to keep the beast fed. She turned aside, heading vaguely towards Oxford Street and the lighted pillars of Centrepoint and the BT Tower.

  The streets grew quieter, punctuated by the chinking rattle of bottles as the pubs cleared out the empties and the occasional roar of a motorcycle taking a short cut down the back streets.

  The people out now were drunk, lost or lonely, and she didn't include herself in any of those groups. She walked down the edge of a square, a large patch of brown grass fenced off in the middle with park benches occupied by huddled shapes with draped newspaper, plastic bags and tins of cider. She'd a fair idea of how harsh that life could be and had no wish to join them.

  The sudden whiff of a foul drain caught her off guard.

  The tumbling rush of turning water, the gut-turning stench of shit, the gulped-off scream as one of them was dragged under…

  She shook her head, lifting her hand to push away the mental images that crowded into her brain as she stumbled off the pavement into a doorway. Not now.

  Leaning against the door to a swanky advertising boutique, pressing her forehead to the cool glass, she fought to control her breathing. The cold on her skin helped to calm her. She smoothed her hair back from her face, pushing down the memories, concentrating on the moment. She was OK. All that was past, and she had come through it. She could deal with it.

  Even so, she couldn't stay the night in a doorway. She had to keep moving.

  Despite the summer day, the night was chilling fast and she'd only the skimpy cardie to keep her warm. There was the momentary regret that she could have acquired something warmer, but then she pulled it close about her. She liked her new clothes. They made her feel better. She started walking again.

  A movement across the square caught her eye. Something large had just bounded across the grass. She scanned the open space for movement, but there was nothing there. A dog? No, too big, and where was the owner? Something else? In her time at Porton Down she had seen things that she did not want to encounter in the dark London streets. She wrapped her glamour tighter and cut down an alley away from the square, heading back towards the bright lights.

  She crossed over Shaftsbury Avenue, wondering whether to head up towards Tottenham Court Road or back down to Leicester Square. She'd been here in the day, shopping for a guitar when she'd discovered a boy she liked was into music and wanted to form a band. Her mum had suggested she sing, but she had balked at that. The kind of music he liked wasn't the sort of music you sang, and her enthusiasm for the guitar had evaporated when she'd discovered that you had to cut your nails and it made your fingers sore. They'd sold it on eBay for half what they paid for it.

  Turning away from the music stores, she headed back to Cambridge Circus towards Neal Street. There were some nice boutiques that way and even though they would be closed she could still window-shop. She paused as she crossed Seven Dials. There were a couple getting out of a taxi outside a hotel, the man making a big show of tipping the driver, and it occurred to her that there were places in London full of empty beds that were there for the taking.

  She ghosted past the reception where the couple were booking in and went to the lift. The buttons operated with a key-card, but that didn't stop her. She went to the top floor, opening out on a blank corridor with doors spaced along it.

  The ones with trays outside were obviously occupied. The problem was figuring out which ones were empty. The receptionist would have it all on the computer, but there was no way to access it without attracting attention. She went to a door and listened. Was that the faint sound of snoring? She moved on.

  Four doors down she found a room that was quiet. She put her hand on the door handle and the light blinked to green. The door opened easily. She opened the door and let herself in.

  "Who's there?" A voice came from the darkness inside.

  "Sorry Madame, it's… room service." The lie twisted on her tongue. "I've got the wrong room. My apologies." She slipped out again and pulled the door shut behind her, sliding sideways away from the viewport in the door. After a second she heard the lock behind her click shut and the rattle as the chain was put across. She slipped away down the corridor.

  The doors all looked the same. If only she could figure out which ones were empty.

  At the end of the corridor was a door with a brass plaque mounted beside it. The plaque said, The Seven Dials Suite. "In for a penny…" she whispered. She put her hand on the door control and it blinked green.

  Pushing through she found a hallway with low-level LEDs leading like runway lights into the room. She let the door almost close and then rested it against the latch so she could escape quickly if she needed to.

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nbsp; "Room service?" She called, experimentally, into the room. There was no reply.

  She edged forwards along the corridor and nearly jumped out of her skin when the latch clicked behind her and the door closed. Heart beating fast, she went to the end of the hall. It opened out into a room with floor-length glass windows looking out over the rooftops. The city light illuminated comfortable chairs with chic magazines arranged artfully on occasional tables, and doors leading off to other rooms. This was more like a luxury apartment than any hotel Alex had ever stayed in. She crept through the apartment, finding other rooms with huge beds freshly made and a marble bathroom with an enormous tub.

  "How the other half lives, eh?" she whispered.

  Satisfied that the apartment was empty, she went to switch on the lights, but they were dead. She tried another switch, but that was dead too. Maybe there was a power failure? The LED lights in the hallway still worked, though. On an impulse she went back to the door and found a slot where your keycard would fit to switch on the power. She placed her hand on it, but nothing happened. I wasn't that it was locked, it simply didn't work.

  On reflection, she thought that maybe it would be better if no one saw light coming from a room that should be empty. She could manage in the light from the windows and all she really needed was a bed. She locked the door from the inside and put the chain across for good measure. She went into the bathroom and washed her hands, then splashed her face in the sink, dabbing her face with the snowy towels. In the mirror her eyes glowed faintly blue back at her.

  She glanced at her wrist. Dropping the towel, she went back to the main window overlooking the rooftops. Unlocking the balcony doors, she stepped out in to the night and examined her wrists. The buds that had been there had opened into dark flowers, black petals folded back to reveal long stamen. What did that mean? She rubbed at them, but they were dyed into her skin. Tattoos were supposed to be fixed, weren't they?

  The night air was cool and it was somehow private up here. She tried to imagine herself staying here legitimately, but she could think of no circumstance where she would be accorded this kind of treatment. Maybe if she'd stuck to the guitar and been a rock star?

  Closing the door on the balcony, she rubbed at her wrists as she wandered around the apartment. She found a fridge in a cupboard and opened a pack of cashew nuts and a mineral water, eating them laid out on the huge sofa. There was champagne in the fridge, but she wanted to keep her wits about her. This was no time to get silly. She would save the orange juice for the morning.

  In the bedroom she stripped out of her outfit, telling herself she would need to acquire some clean underwear in the morning and that M amp;S in Covent Garden would be a good place to do that. She left the curtains open. Having spent so many days in rooms where it was always light, she liked sleeping with the curtains open. Climbing into the huge bed, she drew the light quilt across her and laid in the dark, listening to the city sounds filtering across the rooftops. She laid there, eyes open, long into the deep of the night, before sleep finally claimed her.

  TEN

  When I visited Alex's room the next morning, she was still not there. What with my argument with Blackbird and then the reconciliation, plus having to reclaim the baby to the knowing smiles of Lesley, I had convinced myself that Alex would return under her own steam and that she would be in bed this morning and I could take the opportunity to have a calm word with her.

  It was a shock to see that she hadn't been back. The room was exactly as she'd left it. I returned to the suite I shared with Blackbird.

  "She's not been back," I told Blackbird, who was feeding the baby.

  "Stop pacing up and down. You're distracting him from his feed. Maybe she's staying with her mother?" Blackbird suggested. The noisy sucking resumed.

  "If she is, then goodness knows what she's told Katherine."

  "Perhaps it would be a good idea to get in touch and see what the situation is. Alex must realise that she can't stay with her mother long term. It isn't going to work, Katherine must see that."

  "You don't know Katherine."

  Blackbird went back to feeding the baby.

  "OK, I'll call her. I'll go and find a mirror in one of the spare rooms and see if I can catch her at home."

  "Are you cutting me out?" There was a note of warning in her voice.

  "No. No, really. I just thought… Katherine may not be too pleased with me at the moment."

  "If you start excluding me from everything again, I won't be too pleased with you either." She smiled to soften her words. "Call her. It's OK. I'll be quiet as a mouse and your son has his mouth full."

  I went to the mirror and laid my hand on it. "Katherine?"

  Condensation spread out around my hand as the temperature in the room dipped. My son grizzled, but then continued to suckle. There was a hissing sound of random static, then a ringing tone.

  "Hello?"

  "Katherine? It's Niall."

  "Niall! Thank God! I've been ringing every number I have for you. None of them work! Don't you have a mobile that works any more?"

  "No… it's complicated. Is Alex there?"

  "That's why I was trying to get hold of you. She was here, last night."

  "Where is she now?"

  "I don't know. She ran out on me. I tried to call her back, but she'd vanished before I could find her. I've called Kayleigh's parents — they haven't seen her."

  "What did you tell them? She's supposed to be dead."

  "I'm not that stupid. I just asked them if Kayleigh was OK."

  One of the changes in my relationship with Katherine was that I could tell when she lying or being evasive, like now. I let it go. Now was not the time. "Has Kayleigh seen her?"

  "No, no one has. Where is she, Niall?"

  "She didn't come back here last night. Her bed's not been slept in. As far as I can tell, you were the last person to see her. What did you say to her?"

  If they'd had some kind of row, that would go some way to explaining Alex's absence. She was probably sulking somewhere.

  "I didn't get chance. She was in and out before either Barry or I knew she was here."

  The evasion in her voice was getting stronger. "What are you not telling me?"

  "I think… Maybe she got the wrong idea."

  "About what?"

  "After she… after she was gone… I just couldn't stand it, Niall. I couldn't bear seeing her room like that. It was like she was going to be coming home, but she never did."

  "What's that got to do with her being there last night?"

  "She was upstairs. She was in her old room."

  "I don't understand."

  "Barry's been working from home a lot. We'd converted it to an office for him. We had decorators in to do it."

  "What about Alex's stuff, her things? She was going on about wanting her own things around her."

  "I gave them away, Niall." Katherine sniffed down the phone. "I gave them to charity. I couldn't bear to keep them." She was crying down the phone now. I could hear her snuffling and making small noises of distress.

  "But then… Oh God, Katherine. What have you done?"

  "It wasn't my fault," she sniffled. "If you hadn't kept it all from me then I'd have held on to them for her. I'd have looked after them."

  "But she's only been gone, what, a few weeks?"

  "You didn't have to walk past it every day! You didn't have to see it every time you crossed the hall. You have no idea, Niall."

  I could hear Katherine snuffling and sniffling down the phone.

  "I've got to go," I said. "She may come back to you — there's just a chance — if she does, try and make it look like you want her back. I'll try and call you tomorrow." I dropped the call without giving Katherine chance to answer.

  "That wasn't very kind, was it? The woman is clearly upset," said Blackbird.

  "Oh she's upset all right. She knows full well what happened. Alex came back and found she'd been moved out. What's the girl supposed to think?"
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  "I don't think she meant it like that."

  "You think it matters to Alex how she meant it? For all Katherine knew, Alex was barely cold in her grave, and she redecorates! She even has a man in to do it for her!"

  "You don't know that, Niall. You're leaping to conclusions on precious little evidence."

  "I know Katherine."

  "Perhaps not as well as you think. It wasn't you having to walk past Alex's room every day, and you've had the comfort of knowing she was alive, even if you couldn't find her. Katherine hasn't had that luxury."

  "Yeah, well. I bet it wasn't long before she was getting quotes for the job, picking out furnishings…"

  "You're assuming the worst."

  "Maybe."

  "Either way, it doesn't help you find Alex."

  "I know how to find her. I've done it before and I'll do it again."

  I turned back to the mirror and placed my hand on it. "Alex? Where are you?"

  Alex woke with the thought that there was someone in the room with her. She blinked against the harsh daylight spilling in through the tall bedroom windows but kept still, listening. She went back through her actions the night before. She was sure she'd put the chain across the door before she'd gone to bed. Surely she hadn't slept through them breaking in?

  Under the city noise and hotel air-conditioning hum there was another sound, out of place. She lifted her head slowly and found the room undisturbed. She slid sideways from the quilt onto the deep-pile cream carpet and pulled her bra and top from the chair, slipping them on quickly. She crept to the door, scanning the sitting room beyond. It was empty. She went back, intending to slip into her knickers and skirt.

  "Alex? Are you there?"

  She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her father's voice. It was coming from inside the bedroom. She retreated, scanning the room, looking for the source. Above the dresser, the mirror was misted in the centre.

  "Alex, I need to talk to you."

  It was definitely her father, and his voice was coming through the mirror. How was he doing that? Come to that, how did he know she was here? Then she remembered, when she had first been at Porton Down she had heard his disembodied voice. With all the drugs and the treatment she had thought it was a dream, but maybe not.