by Toby Faber
Still, better to end up back in front of Sergeant Atkins than with friends of the two thugs from earlier. Laurie felt the weight of her torch. Would it be any kind of weapon?
The light was growing stronger now, its source hidden only by the slight curve of the tunnel. Laurie held her breath and continued around the bend, blinking at the glare as she came out of the gloom. For a moment she was blinded, but her eyes adjusted so quickly that she realised the light itself was actually quite dim. It was wall-mounted, and looked like a permanent fixture – nothing to do with workers on the line, or with any kind of ambush. Beyond, Laurie realised, was another light, and beyond that another. In all, she counted six, regularly spaced along the left-hand wall, illuminating the track as it gently curved away.
Laurie looked around. She was as alone as she had ever been. That much was clear. More than that, the tunnel had opened out. It was as if she had arrived at a station, but this was like no Underground station that Laurie had been in before. To her right, where she would have expected a platform, there was only rubble and the occasional piece of rusting metal from long-defunct machines. There was no suicide pit in front of her: no need to worry here about crazies throwing themselves in front of trains. The whole area was covered in white paint, but it had flaked off in places to reveal the familiar red glaze of ancient tiling.
Of course! This must be a disused station. Laurie tried to think about the line between King’s Cross and Angel. Above ground it was a fairly straightforward journey up the Pentonville Road. Could she remember any building that might mark the site of an old ticket hall? Wherever it was, that would surely be an exit.
Laurie looked along the right-hand wall. It didn’t take long to spot where the platform entrance had once been. A false wall had been constructed out of some kind of chipboard to block the passageway, but there was a door set into it, at what must once have been platform level. Leading up to it was a short flight of steps with a tubular handrail.
The door was locked of course, but Laurie had not come this far to be frustrated by something like that. She was a hundred yards underground, goodness knows how far from the nearest person, out of sight of any security camera. Now was not the time for inhibitions. One of those pieces of metal would probably do the trick.
Laurie went searching and found the perfect tool. Long ago, presumably when they’d lost interest in shifting the rubble from the old platform, someone had abandoned a spade. Now the blade was so blunt that it could not have dug even the loosest soil, but it was still thin enough to be inserted between the door and its frame. Having done that, all Laurie had to do was lean against the spade’s handle.
However strong the lock was, the frame had not been made to take that sort of treatment. It buckled; there was a splintering sound, and the door swung free. Still holding the spade, Laurie stepped through the doorway and looked around. She was not sure what to expect: the feeling that she had stepped back in time, perhaps, or at least a hint that this had once been a bustling station. What immediately struck her, however, was the smell: stale urine mixed with damp – familiar from so many other parts of the Tube network, but somehow magnified here, where there were no competing odours. This was no place for loitering.
Laurie was in a short corridor, painted the same dingy white as the tunnel she had just left behind. At the far end her torch picked out another false wall and door, presumably leading to the other platform. Halfway along on the left-hand side an ancient grille blocked access to a lift that had presumably seen no service in at least fifty years. But before that, only two steps away, was another opening and the clear beginning of a flight of stairs. This would be her route back to street level.
Laurie took the stairs carefully, following the torch beam as it led her upwards. Once it illuminated a large pile of what could only be human faeces, slightly shrunken but fresh enough to make her reflect that she might not be alone even now. She stepped around it and carried on up, glad of the spade she still carried.
At the top, a short landing ended in another locked door. Laurie was about to wield her spade once more when a buzz in her crotch made her yelp in surprise. She pulled out her phone. For the second time in twenty-four hours, her arrival at ground level had brought a message from Paul. This time it was a text – Are you ok? He must be back above ground too, and presumably fine. Laurie’s mind lightened, relieved of a burden that until this moment, she had not even realised was there. This was no place, however, to be composing a response. She shoved the mobile back into her waistband and applied the spade to the door.
This door, however, opened outwards. Its frame was not susceptible to the crowbar treatment that Laurie had given its predecessor. There was nothing for her to get leverage against. She was locked in.
There was a time for science and there was a time for persistence. Laurie emptied the contents of her leggings onto the floor, placed her torch beside them, retreated to the top of the stairs, ran forwards, and put all her weight into a kick just below the door handle. The rubber soles in her trainers absorbed some of the impact, but she still felt it jarring through to her pelvis. Retreating back along the corridor, she repeated the manoeuvre. With heavy boots, she was sure, she would be out in an instant. At least her attacks didn’t make too much noise: the thud of wood, not the clang of metal. It must be worth carrying on. If the worst came to the worst, she could always call Paul and try to direct him to the far side of the door; surely it wouldn’t be too hard for him to break into a second Tube station.
That thought sustained Laurie as she continued with her running kicks. She imagined talking Paul through her whereabouts, gradually narrowing down his options until the only the door stood between them. It kept her mind occupied as she maintained her rhythm: retreat, run, jump, kick, retreat, run, jump, kick.
Then, without any warning, the lock gave way. Unable to adjust her stance mid-kick, Laurie found her legs moving away from her when they should have been meeting resistance. She came down heavily on her behind, squashing the hand with which she instinctively tried to break her fall. It left her wrist stinging, and she would have a juicy bruise on her bottom in the morning. At least there was nobody there to see her embarrassment. More to the point, she was through.
Sprawled on her back in the doorway, Laurie took a moment to get her bearings. She must have arrived in the old ticket hall. A distant street light visible through large arched windows on the other side of the room gave all the confirmation she needed that she was, finally, back at ground level. It did little, however, to illuminate the room itself. That reminded Laurie that her torch was still on the floor behind her. She picked herself up and went back to retrieve it, along with her other valuables.
Sweeping the torch’s thin beam around the vaulted room, Laurie could see that it had become some kind of storage facility, piled floor to ceiling with office furniture. Desks that must have been the height of fashion in the 1970s jostled for space with filing cabinets and swivel chairs. Enough of the floor space was clear to allow Laurie to move around, but with only the light of the torch to guide her, she felt like she was in some kind of labyrinth, complete with dead ends and false turnings, as she gradually worked her way across to the wall with the windows.
Laurie was so focused on making it to what she thought of as the front of the building, where she was sure there would be an entrance, that she almost missed seeing the side door. Then two huge towers of stacking chairs caught her attention. They were about three feet apart, but by some quirk the chairs had settled as they stacked so that the two towers leaned towards each other, touching at the top, some distance above Laurie’s head, to form a point. It was this Gothic arch that framed the door. What really caught Laurie’s eye, however, was that the door seemed to have no lock. Instead, there were two large bolts, top and bottom. In a matter of seconds Laurie had worked them back and found her exit.
The air outside wasn’t particularly cold. Even now, just before dawn, a balmy heat persisted from the evening before.
But it was fresh. For the first time Laurie became aware of the foetid atmosphere she was leaving. At the beginning of the day, she’d needed the distraction of Georgette Heyer before she could even venture underground, and now she’d just spent hours there. It had been a remarkable effort of will, and now her body rebelled. An uncontrolled shiver spread from her heart to her head, followed by a tightness in her stomach and a sudden panicky need to squeeze the muscles in her buttocks. Bile rose up through her gullet, filling her mouth with a bitter, teeth-rotting aftertaste. Unexpectedly light-headed, she dropped onto her hands and knees and spat. She was terribly, terribly tired.
Something was wrong. Pentonville Road would still have traffic, even at this time, but here the air was still. Laurie could hear the usual background noise of a London night, but it was in the distance, as if she was in some sort of backstreet. Gingerly, she sat back on her haunches and looked around.
Laurie seemed to be in some sort of open area, but it wasn’t a park; she was kneeling on concrete. To her right, she could make out the outlines of buildings, silhouetted against the night sky. There was a fence about twenty yards in front of her, and beyond that a road, dimly lit by the street light she had seen from inside the ticket hall. It was eerily silent, but a bus stop was a reminder of normality – that in daytime, at least, there would be vehicles. Laurie got to her feet, gave herself a moment to let the dizziness pass and stepped out towards the light.
It was all Laurie could do to stay awake on the 390 that, thankfully, arrived at the bus stop only moments after she did. As she got on, she looked across at the abandoned Tube station through which she had made her escape. It stood proudly alone in an area of what was little more than wasteland, its former purpose proclaimed by the arches and muddy-red tiles that she had seen on Underground stations across London.
The station’s name was across the top of the arches: York Road. It was enough of a clue for Laurie to work out where she was: York Way, perhaps a mile from where she had expected to be. The realisation was chastening. How could she have gone so wrong? It brought home the madness of her decision to go underground in the first place. She could so easily have ended up lost and electrocuted. The only consolation was that she was close to home. The bus arrived at Tufnell Park in less than five minutes: any longer and she would surely have fallen asleep.
As Laurie came up her street she sensed, rather than saw, a shadow detach itself from a tree. She was about to turn round, or run, or something, except that she was really too tired to do anything. Then the shadow spoke. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve got to get out of the habit of creeping up on you.’
‘Paul!’ Laurie leant her forehead on his chest, and as his arms wrapped around her, felt herself relax properly for the first time in hours. She tried to say that she was sorry she’d run away like that, that she’d been worried about him, that she’d got lost, that she was sorry (again) that she hadn’t returned his phone message, but her words were so disjointed that nothing seemed to come out in the way she meant.
Eventually, Paul spoke again. ‘Don’t worry about it now. We’re both safe. Let’s get you to bed and we can talk in the morning. OK?’ He stayed holding her until she nodded, then let her go.
Laurie approached the door. As she did so, she remembered where she’d put her house key. Paul was right behind her, and if she’d been any less tired she would have made something of it. As it was, however, she just reached down into the front of her leggings and drew out the key first time, flashing a nervous glance over her shoulder, but no more than that.
Through the door, Laurie was reassured by Paul’s presence as they climbed the stairs to the flat. One more key and one more door: Paul hesitated on the threshold, but, tired as she was, Laurie at least had enough energy to pull him through after her.
Then he was kissing her, urgent. passionate kisses that travelled from her lips along her jawline and down the curve of her neck. He unzipped her collar and carried on down, gently pecking the swell of her breast above her bra. His hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her towards him. They were all over her.
Laurie tried to respond, to generate the same passion that she could feel in him. But she was tired: so, so tired. Her mouth still tasted of vomit. All she wanted was to brush her teeth and go to bed. She put her hands on his chest and let them rest there, gaining his attention so that she could say her piece. ‘I’m sorry Paul. I don’t think I’d be any good to you right now, but stay, please.’ She led him into her bedroom and sat him on the bed, putting the stuff from her leggings on the table beside it. When she returned from the bathroom ten minutes later, he was already under the duvet and asleep. Laurie unwrapped the towel she’d put on after her shower and got in beside him. She just had time to think that she must be careful not to wake him, before she fell asleep herself.
Monday, 27 July – 9.40 a.m.
Laurie had not set her alarm. She was woken by Paul stroking her hair as he sat on the bed beside her. ‘Hi you. I’m afraid I think we’re late for work. I’ve just sent a text to say I won’t be in today.’
Laurie liked the implication that Paul now had a free day; it would be good to spend it with him. She might as well use some of that holiday she had banked.
Paul was still wearing the t-shirt and boxer shorts that he’d fallen asleep in. The memory of his behaviour the night before flooded into her. Laurie smiled and pulled him towards her.
It was some time later that Paul said, through a lazy smile, ‘That was lovely, but at the risk of seeming desperately unromantic, I feel I should point out that it’s already past ten o’clock.’
Shit! Laurie grabbed her phone from the pile of stuff on her bedside table and punched in the number for work, hurriedly thinking of what she should say: that she’d been sick in the night, that she hadn’t got back to sleep until four, that she thought it was best if she just took the day off and came in properly refreshed tomorrow. None of it was necessary. The office manager, Linda, was hardly going to make a fuss about the late request for a day off, especially with half the office already away. Laurie felt briefly guilty at the thought of Michael’s face when he learnt that she wasn’t coming in. Then she turned back to Paul. He lay on his side watching her. ‘So where’s the key?’ he asked.
The key! The original reason for the whole expedition. Laurie was startled to realise that she hadn’t thought about it since she woke up and was embarrassed to admit that, in the end, she’d had to abandon it. She could hardly blame Paul for the brief moment of irritation he displayed, quickly suppressed when she assured him that she should be able to find it again without another night-time expedition.
They compared notes about what had happened. Paul had been so busy following Laurie that he had hardly even seen the two men. When he lost her at the bottom of the stairs he had hidden in the shadows until they ran past him, each going in a different direction. Their shouts had soon made it clear that they had lost her, and he’d taken the chance to go back up to the top and retrace his steps to Mornington Crescent.
‘So who do you think they were?’ Laurie asked.
‘I don’t know. I thought at first perhaps they were official, but I don’t think they behaved like they had an official reason to be there. Chancers? God knows. I think we were just unlucky.’
‘Or lucky,’ Laurie said reflectively. ‘Did you hear them calling me an “unexpected bonus”?’
Paul fell silent. How would he have dealt with it if they had caught her? Laurie was glad that neither of them would ever have to find out. She changed the subject. ‘So I haven’t told you yet where I came out – some disused station north of King’s Cross. It was kind of weird. It all seems so unreal. Tell me I didn’t dream everything.’
Paul recovered his poise: ‘You didn’t dream it. Let’s find that key later to prove it.’
Paul made pancakes for breakfast. Although he tried to persuade Laurie to stay in bed, she insisted on getting up. Her excuse was that he wouldn’t know where to find anything; in truth she jus
t wanted to carry on watching him. She was not disappointed. He moved around Jess’s kitchen with unshowy competence, producing perfect pancakes (flipped, not tossed) with very little effort. He even did his own washing-up, brushing aside Laurie’s offer to help with something close to a statement of philosophy: ‘I always like to finish what I’ve started.’
Laurie was thinking that afterwards they might return to bed, but Paul now had an air of purpose about him. The shower they shared was lovely but brief. Soon enough they were dressed, out of the house and back on their way to Tufnell Park. Paul had to buy a ticket – a reminder to Laurie of how rarely he used the Tube.
The first train was to Morden via Bank: they would hardly even have to walk at the other end. Within ten minutes they were at Euston. Hours earlier, Laurie had been running along this platform in pitch blackness, desperately avoiding pursuit. A few days before that, she had witnessed a man fall to his death in front of a train from another platform only twenty yards away. It was amazing how different it felt now, in the light, with Paul by her side. In a week or so, surely, she would be fine.
There was the grille through which Laurie had shoved the key. Even in the light, she noted with satisfaction, the louvred slats made it very hard to see through. She could hardly have picked a better hiding place. Paul stood beside her, shielding her from any cameras as she squatted down and ran her hand along the bottom gap, coming across the disc almost immediately. She had to work it a bit with her fingers to get it out before she was back on her feet beside Paul and they were both looking down at the key and its numbered tag, lying in the palm of her hand.
‘So what do you think?’ Paul asked.
Laurie thought that was pretty obvious. ‘I thought it might be the key for a locker. There must be some here. That seems like the place to start.’