‘Everything in the flat working?’
Presumably Jody nods.
‘Can I come in?’
‘It’s a bit of a mess,’ Jody says. ‘Another time.’
There’s a silence, then the woman says, ‘You’ve lost weight. Are you taking your pills?’
‘I don’t need them any more.’
Another silence. I imagine the woman sighing unhappily. She seems very maternal, an aunt by marriage perhaps. What pills was Jody taking? I wonder.
‘Is there anyone you can spend the evening with, so you’re not on your own on your birthday?’
‘I’m fine,’ Jody says.
‘Why don’t you come round to ours for supper? Kieran’s got a friend over, but the more the merrier. We’ll all squeeze in somehow.’
‘I’m fine. Honestly. I’ll just have an early night.’
‘Well, OK. You pamper yourself tonight then, sweetie. You deserve it. And call me if you need anything.’
‘OK.’
‘Promise?’
‘Yes.’ She sounds so sad. ‘Thanks for the present.’
‘It was a pleasure.’ There’s a whispering rustle, as if the woman has leaned to kiss Jody, and then the door closes and the woman’s footsteps descend the stairs, faster on the way down than they were on the way up.
I head for the kitchen and unplug Abe’s phone.
Even though I’d expected it, I’m disappointed to find a lock code. I try a few numbers – his birthday, Jody and his flat numbers – but eventually it locks me out completely. Because it’s an iPhone it’ll probably be encrypted, so I won’t even be able to get the dodgy shop on the high road to have a look at it. Texts between him and Jody might have revealed if there were any problems in their relationship.
Tossing the phone in a drawer I make myself a coffee, then sit by the window and watch the children playing outside. The sun is starting to go down and I can feel the cold seeping through the glass. Gradually each child peels away, until one little boy is left alone on the roundabout. He looks Somalian and can be no more than four or five. The roundabout revolves slowly, casting his long shadow onto the scrubby grass. Then some youths climb over the low railing that keeps out the dogs, and go right up to him. Their hoods are pulled up and smoke coils around their heads from the joint they’re passing back and forth. I’m too far away to see his expression. Is he scared? Should I go down there? Call the police? I knock back the last dregs of coffee. Perhaps if I just come out of the building it will make them leave him alone.
But I’m too late. One of the youths stretches his arm out. The boy takes it and is pulled to his feet. They move towards the railing, with him trapped between them. But he has left his jacket on the roundabout. Then suddenly he breaks away, running back the way he had come. The youth that pulled him up turns to go after him. It is a Somali girl. The boy retrieves his jacket from the roundabout, then runs back to the group. The girl pulls him up on her hip and he lets his head settle on her shoulder, then they pass out of my sight.
It was just his sister come to collect him. I’m letting my imagination run away with me. It must be stress. I go into the kitchen and look through Abe’s booze collection for something to calm me down. As well a four-pack of lager and some hard spirits – I’m not at that stage yet – there are a few bottles of red wine. I open an own-brand Beaujolais and pour myself a glass.
As I drink, the last rays of the sunset throw an amber wash over the grass and the terrace beyond.
It’s Jody’s birthday, and her fiancé lies in the hospital at the edge of death.
How could I have imagined she had pushed him over the banister? She’s so slight even Abe could have fought her off. Abe, who never in our whole childhood laid a finger on – or even raised his voice – to anyone. Mira heard no sounds of an argument, just the screams of my brother’s lover as she ran down to try and put the pieces of his head back together.
Damn.
I promised myself I’d make more of an effort.
Jody takes so long to come to the door I think she must have gone out or fallen asleep but finally, when I have started down the stairs, she opens it.
‘Oh, hey,’ I say. ‘I was just popping out for groceries and I wondered if you were doing anything tonight.’
Her face is in shadow. I thought I could manage without hitting the light switch, but now I wish I had.
‘It’s just that I couldn’t help hearing that it’s your birthday.’
I wait for a response. Eventually she takes a great inhalation of breath, as if she hasn’t breathed for hours. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Twenty-five. What a granny, eh?’
‘Would you like to come round to mine – well, to Abe’s – for dinner? I’d love some company.’
‘Are you sure?’ It’s too dark to see her expression.
‘Of course. I’m a pretty shit cook but I might be able to rustle up pasta and pesto.’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘OK, great. What colour do you drink?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Wine. Red or white. Or pink?’
‘Oh, I don’t really drink much.’
So, I was wrong about the drunken row.
‘Champagne, then. Tonight, we’re going to forget our troubles and celebrate, OK?’
She gives a breathy laugh. ‘OK, but it’ll go right to my head.’
‘Excellent. I love a cheap date.’
We arrange for her to come round at eight and I head down the stairs and out of the building. The wind has dropped, but the door still slams shut when I let it go. Experimentally I open it again and this time I hold it as it closes, slowing the momentum right down, until the latch is touching the edge of the door. But when I let go it shunts into place at once. Unless someone’s fixed it since the accident there would never be any need to check this door was closed properly. And yet Abe managed to convince Jody that this was exactly what he was going down to do.
I sigh and zip my coat up. Not every tragedy is a crime. And maybe a sudden death always leaves unanswered questions. Abe told her he was going to check the door to get her out of the way. So she didn’t think to question him about that. She’s not a lawyer, and what the hell does it matter now anyway?
As soon as I step out of the shelter of the building I wish I had worn more layers. It very rarely hits freezing in Vegas, but here it must be a few degrees below. I walk quickly to warm myself up, stumbling over the bumps on the path. Beyond the path of light formed by St Jerome’s security light meeting the flickering street lamps of Gordon Terrace, all is darkness.
The wind has dropped, so I hear the rustle quite clearly.
It could be a cat. Or a fox, or a rat.
I think of the gangs Derbyshire mentioned and quicken my steps. I’ve just reached the relative safety of the terrace that leads on to the high road when my phone rings. An English number, so it can’t be the office. Could it be the police? I frown, let it ring, then on the last ring before it goes to voicemail I pick up.
‘Mags?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Daniel.’
I stop. A man is coming out of one of the nearby houses, so I feel safe enough to pause here. The traffic on the high road will be too noisy to hear him properly. ‘How did you get my number?’
‘The hotel. But don’t blame them; I was pretty sly wheedling it out of them. I just … I wanted to say hi, and find out how your brother is.’ He continues quickly, ‘I figured you might not have a chance to call me, and I thought I’d probably get your voicemail actually and was just going to leave a message. Sorry if it’s a bad time.’
This is brave of him, considering how I treated him at the hotel. It deserves some courtesy.
‘It’s fine. It’s good to hear from you. I’m just on my way to the shops. I’ve moved into my brother’s flat.’
‘How’s he doing?’
‘Not great.’ I pause as a souped-up turquoise Ford Escort with a spoiler starts up opposite me. The pasty-faced guy at the wheel gives m
e a leering smirk, then pulls away at ridiculous speed only to come to a jarring halt at the junction.
‘There’s been a lot of damage to the brain stem. He’s basically brain-dead.’
He inhales. ‘Mags, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s fine. Really. I mean, not for his girlfriend, she’s really cut up about it, but I hardly knew him – as an adult – so I can’t pretend to be, you know …’
‘You’d be surprised. It might hit you later. I only started grieving properly for my dad in my twenties and he died when I was twelve.’
‘I would be surprised. I’m sorry about your dad, but this is different. We were never close. I can’t pretend to have feelings just because I’m supposed to.’
There is an awkward silence, which I’m about to break by saying goodbye, when he says, ‘If you want to talk about it over a drink sometime, this is my number.’
The guy has serious balls, or else he’s too stupid to know when he’s on to a bad thing.
‘I might do that.’
He laughs, knowing full well that I’m just feeding him a line, which makes me laugh too. ‘No, really. I might. Before I head back home.’
‘I’ll be waiting by the phone.’
‘You do that. See you real soon.’
He laughs at my comedy Vegas drawl, then hangs up. I’m still smiling as I go into the Food and Wine.
It’s even darker by the time I make my way back and I find myself wishing I’d just brought my cash card, rather than the entire wallet bulging out of my jeans pocket. Several of the street lights on Gordon Terrace are out of order and the weeds in the front gardens are dense enough to conceal an adult male. Most of the windows are dark, and those that aren’t radiate a cold glare from eco light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. No luxuries like mood-lighting here. It’s almost a relief to reach the end of the street, but then the waste ground opens up before me, the path a bridge of light across a sea of darkness.
I take out my phone and shine the torch app into the gloom. Its pathetically weak beam just manages to pick up the weave of the metal fence, then a pair of yellow eyes flash from the darkness.
I start back, ready to bolt.
But it’s just a cat. With impossible agility it claws its way up and over the fence and disappears.
Can it really have been sitting there all that time?
Without pausing to ponder this, I hurry down the path towards St Jerome’s, now a jagged black shape cut out of the light-polluted sky.
There are lights in a couple of the windows, including Flat One, and as I approach the main door I’m sure I can make out a face behind the veil of netting. Despite the bitter wind racing around the building, I stop and stare.
A hand reaches forward and pulls the curtain aside.
She must be in her eighties or nineties. Her face is a ruin, folds of sagging, wrinkled flesh clogged with thick make-up, like a horror film clown. I wonder if this is a joke: kids trying to scare the newbie, but then the red slash of a mouth curves into a smile and the clawed fingers bend. She’s waving at me.
I can’t help it – I run the last few feet to the door.
Thoroughly on edge, I can’t even wait for the door to shut by itself and pull it closed with a bang that echoes around the building. The stretch of grass outside the little wire-mesh window is so black I wouldn’t see anyone’s approach until their face loomed up against the glass. I hammer the light switch and my own scared face jumps into the window.
Forcing myself to turn away (calm the fuck down, Mags), I blindly go through the post on the table. The banality of this activity eventually tricks my brain into thinking all is well. My heart settles back to its usual rhythm. I stuff the few bits of direct mail for Abe into the carrier bag and pass through the inner door to the stairwell.
10. Jody
Why did I say yes?
I crouch by the door after she’s gone downstairs, trying to pluck up the courage to run out and call after her that I’ve changed my mind, that I’m sick, or tired, but then the front door slams and it’s too late.
Maybe it won’t be so bad. The card upset me, but thinking about you made me feel better, and it might be nice to have some company on my birthday. I get so lonely without you, Abe.
I remember my last birthday, in the bedsit. The girl next door tried to get me to take drugs with her. It was kind of her, really, because she had to do all sorts of horrible things to get the money for her own habit. That’s why I’ve never taken drugs, even though sometimes I want that oblivion so much. I know what it costs.
I don’t drink much either. The smell of alcohol brings back horrible memories. Plus it makes you say things you wouldn’t otherwise. It makes you give things away that you shouldn’t.
It will be so good to be back in your flat again. I can stand your sister’s sharp eyes and loaded words for a while, just to be close to your things again. Perhaps I can bring home another memento.
She might be nicer, now that the shock is subsiding. I want her to like me, Abe, of course I do. She’s part of you. I’ll bring her something. A present. That’s what people do when they go to someone’s house for dinner, isn’t it? Chocolates or wine. But I don’t want to go out again now that it’s getting dark.
When the front door gives its characteristic squeak and slam, I get to my feet and creep to the spyhole.
A minute later she comes trudging up the stairs with a clanking carrier bag. She looks pale and drawn. At the top of the stairs she pauses, gazing down the stairwell as the lights on each floor click off one by one. Then suddenly she looks right at me and I am pinned to the spot by your dark eyes.
I know she can’t see me through the spyhole. I made Tabby test it out with me when we first got here, but even so I can’t move or breathe until the fourth-floor light clicks off and the landing is plunged into darkness.
I hear her letting herself into your flat and the door closing, then she turns on the hall light.
It still lifts my heart to see that line of yellow beneath your door.
I go into my bedroom and put on the rain dress, tying my hair up the way you like it. I even put make-up on, and when I look in the mirror another face looks back at me. A face I can hide behind.
11. Mags
The pasta is bland and gritty. I have to add far too much of Abe’s rock salt to make it palatable, and then I grate half a packet of parmesan over it and leave it covered with a plate to keep warm while I heat up the garlic bread. I haven’t eaten like this since university. At home I mostly get takeouts, or else I’m dining out. Sushi, usually, or Thai. My tongue pricks at the thought of wasabi and Szechwan pepper. I wonder if Jackson’s out with a client, or one of the other partners. His favourite restaurant is an Aussie fusion place on the strip. Last time we went I had tuna tartare with yuzu dashi, and a bottle of saki. We laughed so much that the next day I felt like I’d done fifty sit-ups. The sudden longing I feel to be beside him takes me by surprise. Could I be a bit in love with him? Or is it just homesickness? I should be careful. He’s made no secret of his attraction to me, but he’s married, with two adult kids from his last marriage, and twin seven-year-old boys from this one. Plus I’m not in the least attracted to him. He’s wiry and muscular from his daily sessions with the personal trainer, he works on his tan, and I’m pretty sure he’s had a brow lift. I like my men more natural, a little less prissy about their clothes and weight and ‘skin regime’. Like Daniel, I suppose. Poor old Daniel. He just caught me at a bad time. I knock back my first glass of wine. Poor old me.
There’s a Bose speaker on the kitchen window so I go in search of an MP3 player and eventually find one in a drawer. Some of the bands I don’t even recognise – British ones, I assume, who haven’t made it over the Atlantic. But there’s one female singer who’s as big back home as she is here. Her voice is low and smoky, and if you listen too closely to the lyrics when you’ve had too much to drink they’ll make you cry. Abe’s got all her albums. I programme them to run on a loop and plu
g the player into the speaker. The voice washes over me, warm and rich as melted chocolate, and I’m just tipsy enough to sway my hips.
According to the microwave it’s 20:00 on the dot when Jody rings the buzzer. The echoes reverberate through the flat, and I imagine all my neighbours’ flats.
She is wearing a grey tea dress sprinkled with clear plastic beads. Its ruffled sleeves are starting to fray where the overlocking has unravelled. Her hair is tied up, with curling fronds left to dangle by her ears, and her frosted pink lipstick suits her pallid colouring. For the first time I can see that she is pretty. My sour brain adds, if you like that ‘feminine’ look.
‘You look lovely,’ I say, feeling, absurdly, as if I’m on a date.
‘I brought you this.’ She hands me a tiny velvet pouch and stands in the hall, watching me expectantly. I tip it out onto my palm. It is a tiny silver fairy for a charm bracelet.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘It’s a guardian angel,’ she says.
I smile. ‘Sweet. Come on through.’
I put the charm in my pocket and forget about it immediately.
As well as a couple of wine boxes, I’ve splashed out on some Veuve Cliquot – for myself more than Jody. The diminutive Indian shop assistant had to get a set of stepladders to reach it down from on top of the soft drinks fridge, where it must have been gathering dust and grease for years. Jody ducks as I pop the cork and it pings off the metal lampshade over the table.
‘Happy birthday.’ I clink her glass. ‘To absent friends.’
Surprisingly enough, it’s drinkable. I close my eyes and think of the warm crush of gallery openings and awards ceremonies. Abe would have fitted in perfectly back home; he could have been PA to a producer or, if caring really was his vocation, some ancient celebrity. He might have been left a house down in Malibu. We could have stood by the ocean sharing a bottle of bubbly, toasting our astonishing survival, our success despite the odds.
But only one of us survived.
I moved the flowers from the bedside table to the dining table and now I thank her for them.
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