by Cally Taylor
Chapter Thirty
I was standing in the shower, singing to myself and lathering my hair with shampoo when Brian’s heavy footsteps reverberated on the stairs.
‘Lucy,’ he shouted, hammering on the bathroom door.
‘Yes?’ I mumbled, my ears full of suds.
‘Sorry to interrupt you, but could I have a quick word?’
‘Now? I’m having a shower. Can’t it wait?’
‘I’m afraid not. It’s a bit of an emergency.’
I sighed, dipped my head back under the stream of water, then turned off the shower and stepped out of the tub, wrapping a towel around me.
‘What is it?’ I said, opening the bathroom door an inch. Cold water dripped down my back and I shivered.
‘It’s Claire,’ Brian said, looking even more frazzled than normal. ‘She just called. Apparently she’s staging some kind of sit-down protest outside Keith’s house. When he threatened to ring the police she snatched his mobile and refused to give it back.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘I’m afraid not. Claire decided to ring us for back-up when Keith went into his house to ring the police.’
‘Back-up? What does she expect us to do?’
‘I’ve got no idea, but we need to get over there ASAP.’ Brian’s gaze slipped to my cleavage and he coughed violently.
‘Brian,’ I said, pulling my towel more tightly around me. ‘Why are you always so concerned about Claire? Do you fancy her or something?’
‘I most certainly do not!’ he spluttered. ‘She’s young and we’re all she’s got. If we don’t help her, who will?’
‘Good point.’
‘So, are you coming?’
I glanced at his watch. It was already seven o’clock. What if Dan and Anna were already at the restaurant? I didn’t want to miss them.
‘Well?’ Brian said. ‘Are you coming or not, because we need to leave now.’
‘OK,’ I said finally. It would be cutting it a bit fine, but there was still a good chance I could get to the restaurant in Swiss Cottage for eight o’clock. ‘Just give me a minute to put my clothes back on and dry my hair.’
‘Righto,’ he said, turning his back to me. ‘Be quick.’
I slipped past him, hurried back to my bedroom and reached for my clothes. What on earth was Claire playing at? Saint Bob had told me she was on her last warning and now she was risking her whole task just to piss Keith off. We had to stop her from making an even bigger mistake.
‘Brian,’ I shouted as I pulled on my boots. ‘I’m ready to go.’
Claire was sitting cross-legged on the weed-infested patio of an enormous house in Hampstead. It was bitterly cold and she was shivering, but she didn’t take her eyes off the black front door for one second, not even when we crunched our way across the gravelled driveway towards her.
‘Claire,’ I said, crouching down beside her. ‘Are you OK?’
She shook her head.
‘Do you want my waterproof?’ asked Brian, slipping an arm out of his coat. ‘It’s cold out here.’
Claire shook her head again, her eyes still fixed on the house. Thin curtains hung at the windows but you could make out the shapes of people moving around behind them.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked, easing myself onto the gravel. I gestured for Brian to sit down, but he shook his head.
‘Because,’ Claire said, inching away from me, ‘there’s no way I’m going to pass my task, so I thought I’d just take my revenge now, while I can.’
‘How is this revenge? You’re shivering your arse off and Keith is warm and cosy inside the house.’
‘He’s got a groupie in there with him,’ she said, pulling her crocheted jumper over her fingers. ‘She’s been with him since last night, the slut. I’m waiting for her to come out.’
‘You’ve been here since last night? Shit, Claire.’
‘What do you care?’
‘I thought we were past all that “I hate you” stuff now,’ I said, resisting the urge to snap back at her. ‘I thought we were friends.’
‘Great friend you are.’ She tucked an errant dreadlock behind her ear. ‘I haven’t seen you for days.’
She was right. What with everything that had been going on with my task and Brian’s, I hadn’t given her a second thought.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, shoving my freezing fingers between my thighs. ‘I had a lot on.’
‘Of course you did.’
‘So,’ I said, ignoring her sarcastic tone, ‘when did Keith discover you were out here?’
‘About half an hour ago. His slut opened the door to the pizza delivery boy and noticed me sitting here.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Keith came out,’ she said, pulling her knees to her chest and tucking her hands under her armpits, ‘and asked me why the hell I was sitting outside his house. When I didn’t say anything he pulled his mobile out of his back pocket and said he was going to call the police. That’s when I snatched it and called you guys.’
‘Ahem.’ Brian, who still had one arm in his jacket, the rest of it dangling behind him, had wandered over to the gate. ‘Talking of police …’
‘Run,’ Claire shouted, jumping up and dragging me after her. ‘Run!’
*
We were all panting as we piled into the White Horse and draped ourselves over the bar.
‘Dogs after you, are they?’ asked the barman, raising an eyebrow.
‘No.’ Claire said. ‘The police. Three pints of snakebite, please.’
The barman nodded as though he’d heard it all before, and reached under the counter for three pint glasses. I was about to protest and ask for a white wine instead, but Brian nudged me and shook his head.
‘Just drink it,’ he mouthed.
‘Did you really see a police car?’ I whispered, leaning closer.
‘No.’ He grinned. ‘But it got her moving, didn’t it?’
Wily old fox. He was a lot more clued-up than I, or anyone else, gave him credit for.
‘Come on,’ Claire said, pushing a pint across the bar towards me. ‘Let’s sit down.’
We settled around a table in the corner of the room and slouched into our seats. Brian and I sipped at our revolting drinks but Claire ignored hers and stared into space, her face even paler than normal.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked, tentatively touching her shoulder, half-expecting her to bite my fingers, and then my head, right off.
‘No,’ she said in a small, croaky voice. ‘No, I’m not.’
When she reached out for her pint, her fingers shook and her nails tap-tap-tapped against the glass. A single tear welled in her right eye and dripped down her cheek.
‘Claire!’ I said, horrified. I instinctively reached out and pulled her towards me. ‘Oh, Claire, please don’t cry.’
To my surprise, she didn’t push me away or tell me to fuck off or anything. She just lay in my arms and let me hug her while she sobbed. Brian, who was still sipping his pint, looked everywhere but straight at us. He wasn’t the only one weirded out by Claire’s vulnerable side. I was in shock.
‘It’ll be OK, Claire,’ I said, pushing her dreadlocks back from her face.
‘It won’t,’ she mumbled, pulling away from me. ‘I thought he’d miss me, but he didn’t even notice I’d gone.’
‘Who?’
‘Keith, of course. Who did you think I meant?’
Oh God. She didn’t just fancy Keith. She didn’t just admire his musicianship or care about him because he was a sensitive poet who volunteered at a dog’s home. She …
‘You love him.’ I said. ‘That’s why you decided to do a task, isn’t it? Not because you wanted revenge, but because you wanted to be near him.’
‘Yes,’ she said, pushing her hair back from her face and tying one of the extensions around the rest so they were all bundled together at the back of her head. With her make-up smudged, she looked impossibly young.
‘But he was so a
wful to you,’ I said. ‘He slept with other women and laughed at you behind your back. How can you love a man like that?’
‘Because he’s the only man that’s ever wanted me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Becoshewasonlymanislepwi’,’ she mumbled, hiding her face in her hands.
‘What?’ I leaned closer. ‘You’ll have to say that again. I didn’t hear you.’
‘Because he’s the only man I’ve ever slept with.’
‘Just going to the loo,’ Brian said, standing up suddenly and spilling our pints all over the table.
I watched as he crashed through the drinkers congregated in the middle of the bar and disappeared into the Gents’.
‘Claire,’ I said, looking back at her, a smile on my face. ‘I think you scared Brian of with the sex talk.’
Claire rubbed her face against her hands and sat back up. ‘You can laugh at me now if you want.’
What was there to laugh about? She was eighteen years old. She’d slept with one person, fallen in love with him, and then killed herself because he’d slept with someone else. It was probably the most heart-breaking story I’d ever heard and, for the first time since I’d died, I realised that if there was a time machine that we could use to rewind to before we died, I’d put Claire in it, rather than me.
I was seventeen when I lost my virginity. I was so keen to get rid of it I practically threw it at the first bloke who showed an interest in me. He worked on the ‘throw a dart, win a prize’ stall on Brighton Pier and had called out, ‘All right, gorgeous girl in the blue,’ when I’d walked past with some friends. I’d automatically turned to my friends to see which one of them he was talking about, but then realised I was the only one wearing blue. I was only seventeen and no one had ever called me gorgeous before. He was in his twenties, dark-haired and handsome, and cocky with it so I wandered over to say hello. He told me he was a Sports Science student from the university and was just working the stall to make some money during the summer holidays. We didn’t really go on any dates before we slept together, I just hung out at his stall in the evenings and chatted to him as he worked. After three weeks I was so desperate to kiss him and get rid of my wretched virginity, I happily agreed when he suggested we have ‘a bit of a lie-down’ on the pebbles under the pier. The act itself was over fairly quickly and, although he promised we’d go on a date the next day, he ignored me when I turned up at his stall the next evening. I returned the following day and he told me that he’d decided to go back to his parents’ house in Leeds for the last few weeks of the holiday and that, while it was lovely to have spent time with me, he couldn’t really see a relationship between a twenty-year-old and a seventeen-year-old working out long-term. I was heartbroken, of course, more by the rejection than anything else, but I got over it in time.
‘No, Claire,’ I said, shaking off the memory and smiling supportively at her. ‘I’m not going to laugh at you. But why did you lose your virginity to Keith? Why him, of all men?’
She smiled and reached for the pint Brian was holding out. He’d returned to the table with fresh drinks and was looking decidedly flushed. I strongly suspected he’d downed a couple of whiskies at the bar before coming back.
‘I heard the Lu$t Boys on the radio one night when I was at college,’ Claire said, taking a sip of her drink, ‘and the lyrics really moved me. It was like they’d been written just for me, you know? They were about being lonely and isolated and I really felt like, if me and whoever wrote them ever met, we’d understand each other.’
‘So what happened then?’ asked Brian, looking much more comfortable now the conversation appeared to have switched from sex to personal passions.
‘Well,’ said Claire, fiddling with the silver skull ring on her right hand, ‘there was a girl in the sixth form that I got on with, the only girl I got on with; she was a goth too, so I asked her if she’d be interested in going to a gig with me. She was, so we went along.’
‘And then you met Keith?’
‘No, not at that first gig, but seeing him in person was amazing. When he screamed out the lyrics to the song I’d heard on the radio, I felt like he was singing to me.’
‘So when did you sleep together for the first time?’ I asked.
She grinned. ‘After the fourth gig I went to. I told my friend I wanted to hang around outside and wait for Keith to come out, but she didn’t want to. We ended up having a massive argument and she stormed off, so I had to wait on my own. After twenty minutes, one of the roadies came out, so I asked him if the band was still around. He just looked me up and down and grinned.’
‘And?’ I said.
‘And’ – Claire swigged back her drink – ‘I said I’d give him twenty quid if he could arrange for me to meet Keith. He took the money, loaded a drum into the back of the white van that was parked outside the venue, and told me to wait inside.’
‘The van?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You didn’t get in, did you?’ I stared at her in disbelief. ‘Claire, he could have been some kind of twisted pervert.’
‘I didn’t care,’ she said, shrugging. ‘Anyway, after a bit the doors opened and there was Keith, swaying and grinning at me. He said, “I heard you wanted to meet me, young lady,” and crawled into the van and shut the doors after him.’
‘And then you had sex?’
‘Toilet,’ said Brian, fleeing his seat.
‘No, not straightaway.’ Claire paused to nibble her black nail varnish and then looked back up at me. ‘First I told him how much his song had meant to me and then I started gushing about how lonely I was and how no one understood me, and Keith just kept stroking my hair and telling me how lovely I was. Then we just started kissing—’
‘And one thing led to another?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh, Claire.’
‘What? I wanted him to. OK, so we were in the back of a grubby old van and my head kept knocking against the drum case, but it was special to me. I didn’t feel like fatty Claire. I felt beautiful and sexy. I was the woman the lead singer of one of London’s biggest up-and-coming bands wanted to sleep with. It was amazing. I thought if I auditioned for the band, I could be part of his life … ’ She tailed off and stared wistfully across the room.
I stared down at the table and traced a finger through the spilt beer. It wasn’t amazing, it was awful. I couldn’t help thinking that if Claire had just felt a bond with someone other than Keith, if she’d lost her virginity to someone who really was sensitive and caring and didn’t just put it on as an act to pull groupies, she’d still be alive.
‘What are you going to do now?’ I asked, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand.
Claire shrugged. ‘Dunno. I had an argument with the girl I was supposed to be teaching the guitar to and she won’t take my phone calls any more. Fat chance of getting her into a band now. That was my task, by the way, but I’ve failed it and no one’s ever going to love me or miss me now.’
‘That’s not true,’ I said, suddenly remembering the phone call I’d had with Saint Bob. ‘You’ve still got a second chance to find someone special.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her eyes wide.
‘In heaven. When I spoke to Bob the other day he told me people fall in love up there too. Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you have to spend eternity all on your own.’
Claire’s face lit up like a child’s on Christmas Day and we grinned inanely at each other for all of five seconds before she looked down and fiddled with the hem of her black jumper.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.
‘What for?’
‘For winding you up about Dan when you first got here. I was just jealous. I wanted what you’ve got.’
‘Had, Claire,’ I said sadly. ‘What we had.’
‘Yes. Anyway, I’m really sorry. I was a real bitch.’
I reached for my pint, my mind slightly foggy, and took a sip. Dan. She’d mentioned Dan’
s name and an alarm bell had gone off in my head. What was I supposed to be—
Shit.
Dan and Anna were meeting for dinner and I’d forgotten all about it. I glanced at my watch. It was half past nine.
‘Claire,’ I said, squeezing her hand quickly, then letting it go. ‘I’m really sorry but I’ve got to leave. I’ll explain it to you later, but there’s something I have to do.’
‘You go, Lucy,’ she said, smiling across at me with genuine warmth. ‘Really. Go. I can tell it’s important. Don’t worry. Brian will look after me.’
I stood up. I really, really needed to leave, but I was still worried about her. ‘Are you sure? You’re not going to do anything stupid?’
‘No,’ she laughed. ‘I promise. Now, bugger off, Toga Girl. And good luck.’
Good luck? I suddenly felt sick. I was only going to spy on Dan and Anna. What did I need good luck for? It was just two friends having dinner. Wasn’t it?
Chapter Thirty-one
‘Excuse me,’ I said, bursting through the door of Kung Po’s restaurant and grabbing the first waitress I saw. ‘I’m here to meet friends – Dan Harding and Anna Cowan. Have they been in yet?’
‘In a group or a table for two?’ the waitress said, twisting her wrist out of my hand and glaring at me.
‘Just the two of them.’
‘No couple here now.’ She held out her hands to show the empty seats all around us. ‘Last one just left.’
‘But—’
She dismissed me with a curt nod of her head and turned to go.
‘Are there any couples booked for later this evening?’ I darted in front of her, nearly knocking over the Chinese dragon that balanced precariously on a column in the middle of the room, and blocked her path to the kitchen. ‘Please check. Please, it’s important.’
‘No couple,’ she said, her black, beady eyes taking in my rain-damp hair and grubby shoes. ‘Table for eight booked for ten and that’s it.’
‘Can you describe the people who left?’ I asked desperately. ‘Was the man tall and dark-haired and the girl blonde?’