by Toby Faber
Laurie had bought her coffee and spent a good few minutes searching for the stairs before she realised her mistake. A quick conversation with the barista confirmed it: this Starbucks had no upper floor. Sitting in the window as she downed her cappuccino, Laurie tried keeping a watch on the building opposite, but soon had to give it up as a bad job. The traffic was already building up; the view of number 28 was intermittent, at best. She really needed a higher vantage point. What was that seating area she’d seen?
Outside the building, Laurie looked back up toward the first floor. Those weren’t sofas, she could see now. They were rows of exercise equipment: treadmills, running machines and bikes. So there was a gym directly opposite Dominic Sanderson’s office. She thought back to her conversations with ‘Paul’. Hadn’t he said that he worked in a fitness studio? Was that a total lie? Was this just a coincidence? There was only one way to find out. Laurie checked her phone to make sure there was still no message from Dad and headed for the doorway to the right of Starbucks, beside which a small silver plaque said Portland Fitness.
The layout at the top of the stairs had a familiar set-up: pass-reading turnstiles for members and a gate operated by the receptionist for the likes of Laurie. Encouraged by her smile, Laurie stepped up to the desk, still uncertain as to what she was going to say. Then she stopped, her eye drawn to the frame hanging behind the desk, from which four smiling faces stared back at her: the gym’s staff.
There, among them, was Paul, except Laurie couldn’t call him Paul any longer, nor Dominic. He was, apparently, Simon Egerton, Centre Manager. The photo looked as if it had been taken some time ago; this version had longer hair, and there was something about the tracksuit in which he was posing – was it the cut? – that made her think of her school PE teacher a dozen years ago. Nevertheless, there was no doubt about it. She had found him in the place where she had least expected him, doing the job he’d always told her he had.
What did it mean? Laurie gazed at the picture, willing it to reveal its secrets. As she did so, her eye was drawn lower, to the picture just below: shaven-headed, thirtyish, Brian Smith, Fitness Consultant. Laurie could feel her skin crawling as she returned his mocking gaze. Some atavistic response from deep within made her want to vomit, to run, to scream, to give some acknowledgment that this was the man, who, barely thirty-six hours earlier, had fondled her breast – made use of it – in a way that had left her feeling utterly helpless and vulnerable, even before his boss had put a skewer through her eardrum.
How could she be so sure? She had never really seen him properly: a hurried glimpse in the ticket hall of Euston Underground; his face battered almost beyond recognition as he lay dead on the kitchen floor. Nevertheless, it was him, she was certain.
Laurie brought her eyes back down to the receptionist’s, to answer the question she must have been asked some time ago. The woman sat there, alert and welcoming, still prepared to treat Laurie as a potential customer. ‘Er, hello,’ Laurie began, before pausing to lick her lips. Her voice wasn’t normally that squeaky, surely? ‘I’m wondering if I could have a look around.’
The answering smile brightened a notch, as if Laurie had passed some little test. ‘We’re a little short-staffed at the moment. One of our consultants hasn’t come in, but I’ll see if I can get someone to help you. Would you like to sit down?’ She indicated a couple of low chairs in the corner, in front of a table carrying an arrangement of magazines, and tapped into the computer in front of her.
Laurie acquiesced in the process she had started, to the extent of sitting at the table, but managed to resist the lure of the back issues of Men’s Health without too much difficulty. So she was able to witness Paul’s expression when he came through to the other side of the turnstile and saw her. What had she been expecting? Speechless shock? Anger? Some smooth and controlled attempt to pretend he didn’t know her? Not, surely, this schoolboy embarrassment, indicated by a blush that put even Laurie’s worst moments of excruciation to shame. He was stammering, too, ‘L-L-L —’ to the extent that the receptionist was starting to show curiosity.
Laurie decided to put him out of his misery. She stood up and walked over to him, holding out a hand to shake over the barrier. ‘Hello. Are you the manager? I was wondering if I could have a look around.’
Paul found his voice. ‘Of course, I’d be delighted, Miss er …’ He looked at the receptionist for the name, but Laurie wasn’t going to let a chance like this go to waste. ‘Collingwood, Pauline Collingwood.’
‘Er, right, yes. Won’t you come this way?’
Tuesday, 11 August – 8.15 a.m.
They began in the room that Laurie had seen from the street. One of the running machines and an exercise bike were already occupied, but their users, sweaty, red-faced, were both plugged into headphones that presumably played music to match the videos playing on the screens in front of them. They were oblivious to the pair standing in the doorway. It was as good a place as any to begin their conversation.
Laurie was determined to retain control. ‘So, I guess I’ve got to learn to call you Simon.’
‘Er, yes. Sorry about that. It just seemed … well, that is to say, I was told it would be … wiser.’
‘Wiser?’
‘Well, I was just meant to, you know, to get to know you. He said it would be better if you couldn’t track me down afterwards. Paul Collingwood was just the first name that popped into my head.’
‘He?’
‘What?’
‘The “he” who said it would be wiser.’
‘Oh – Brian.’
‘You mean the Brian from the wall there?’
‘Yes.’ Paul/Simon caught her eye and blushed once again. ‘I’d no idea he was going to follow us down there. Honestly. It was horrible.’
Laurie studied the face of this man she’d almost loved. When she’d thought he was Dominic, at least it all made sense, in some perverted, horrible way. Now what was she meant to believe: that he was some sort of bit player, a pawn being given his directions by that shaven-headed creep?
‘Is there somewhere we can talk properly? Your office perhaps?’
‘I don’t have one. This is it really, apart from the weights area and the changing rooms. It’s really just for hardcore fanatics.’
‘No swimming pool then?’
‘Er, no. That was another lie. I’m sorry. To tell the truth, I’d never expected to see you again. When I did, I had to come up with a reason for being out of touch.’
Tuesday 11 August – 8.30 a. m.
Paul/Simon made no attempt to demur when Laurie suggested the Starbucks below the gym. His double espresso was being prepared even as they approached the counter. Laurie got a professional but brittle smile when she ordered a mint tea: she had no need for another caffeine shot. Simon looked at the brownies as if to think about ordering one. Surprised at the rawness of the memory they evoked, Laurie refused to catch his eye when he looked back at her, but accepted his offer to pay with a nod. Meanwhile, the girl behind the counter looked at Laurie with barely concealed hostility, as though Simon was her special friend, with Laurie a potential rival. There really was something about him.
The knowledge added to Laurie’s determination as she followed Simon downstairs to the basement, and it gave her an opening line. ‘So what are you, some sort of gigolo?’
‘No!’ Simon’s reply was forceful enough for a couple at the next table to break their gazes from each other and look towards them – then, more quietly but equally insistently, ‘No.’ Laurie let the silence rest there as the colour rushed into Simon’s cheeks. His third ‘no’ was quieter still, tailing off as his eyes slid around, looking for escape. Finally, almost grudgingly, he produced the muttered answer that Laurie was looking for. ‘It was a bet.’
‘Go on.’
‘We’d gone out for a drink after work. Brian said that you’d think that what with us being so fit and all, we’d have no problem pulling girls. I said I’d never had a problem, that his
problem was the way he dressed. Who’s going to fancy a guy in trackies? He said that was ridiculous, was I really saying I could pull anyone I fancied just because I wore a suit? Well, that wasn’t what I was saying, but I’d had a bit to drink by then, so I just repeated that I’d never had a problem. He said tell you what, let’s go to Euston station; I’ll choose the girl; you show me what you can do. I said OK, but she’d have to be fanciable.’
Were men really that shallow? The story was unbelievable, wasn’t it? ‘So what was the bet?’ Laurie found herself asking.
Having briefly found his voice, Simon seemed to be almost silenced by embarrassment. His response was small, and full of shame. ‘Fifty quid. I had to spend the night with you within two weeks.’
Laurie could feel her jaw clenching in response, but this was not the time to give way to rage. She had to get the full story. ‘So what happened at Euston station?’
‘We wandered around outside for a while. Brian kept suggesting ones who were too old, or too fat, or too obviously married, if you know what I mean. You were the first likely prospect.’
Laurie could just about guess the rest, but it was worth getting confirmation. ‘So what did you do?’
‘Well, you were just walking up to your bike. I thought it might indicate a bit of solidarity if I put on my bicycle clips. Then I went up to see if you needed any help.’
‘But then you let me cycle off without exchanging numbers or anything. You were taking a bit of a risk, weren’t you?’
‘Well, Brian said I shouldn’t give you my real number. He said he’d get me one of those pay-as-you-go mobiles, in case you turned out to be a bunny boiler. Anyway, I’d got your number from the label on your pannier. Not that I needed it, as it turned out. I only had to wait for about ten minutes the next morning before you turned up.’
‘Was Brian with you then, too?’
‘No. He wasn’t at work that day. The first he knew of it was when I told him about our date the next morning.’
Simon fell silent. Laurie guessed that he, too, was remembering that ‘date’: the kiss; the revelation about his first marriage; that business with the missing text message. She had to know. ‘So how much of it was true?’
Simon lowered his eyes and then raised them again to meet Laurie’s. ‘By the end, all of it. I realised I didn’t want to lie any more.’
Was that what Laurie had been hoping for? Was it far too late? Was it even believable? ‘So what does that mean?’ she asked.
Simon took her question entirely at face value. ‘So, I am divorced; I do have two children; their names are Aidan and Mia; I did take them up to my parents the next day. I have even tried to make dhosas.’ He looked up. ‘But that whole business with the phone; well, that was earlier on. I was still following Brian’s advice. The trouble was, things had happened so fast I hadn’t even got around to getting myself a new handset like Brian said I should. I’d left that to him. Found it waiting for me when I got back to London on Sunday.’
‘When you called me?’
‘When I called you,’ Simon confirmed.
Laurie thought this through. It still made no sense. He had to be lying. ‘But Brian and his sidekick were at Euston station that evening. How did they know?’
There was only one possible answer. Simon gave it. ‘I told him. I mean, I didn’t know he was going to turn up like that.’
What? Laurie could feel the pressure building inside her. Was it anger or just disbelief? But she didn’t speak. Let Simon hang himself with his lies.
‘He called me that evening. Asked how things were going. I didn’t see any reason not to tell him. Well, not until I saw him coming down that escalator after you. That was when I realised things were going to get nasty. I mean, the two of them just ran past me, but the look Brian gave me as he passed – I knew that wasn’t the end of it. I just ran, I’m sorry. I did what I’d told you, retraced my steps to Mornington Crescent, got back to the top, caught my breath, and there was Brian and the other guy waiting for me.’
Simon was almost crying now, with shame, or remembered fear, Laurie wasn’t sure. ‘They must have come up from Euston on their motorbikes, got a head start. They’d found the bolt-cutters. They put them around my finger. Said they’d go through them one knuckle at a time. I had to tell them what you’d found. All I knew was it was a key. They told me I had to find it.’
Laurie had a sudden memory of Simon’s behaviour when they’d met again, of the way his hands wandered to her pants like he was some oversexed teenager. She’d been so caught up in the moment, in relief, that it hadn’t seemed odd then. Was he really only looking for the key? What can he have thought when he realised she didn’t have it? No – hang on. This still wasn’t right. She still didn’t have to believe him. ‘But that whole night …’ she countered, then faltered. ‘The next morning …’ she began again. It had felt so natural, so … right. But she couldn’t say that. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – admit that.
‘Well, I really was that tired,’ Simon began. ‘And, well, in circumstances like that, you, er, well, you don’t say no. I ended up having a lovely time. It felt so odd, being able to spend time with you like that, but also knowing that I had to get that key.’
‘But you didn’t get it.’
‘No, but I didn’t need to. I recognised it the moment I saw it, when you fished it out by the platform at Euston. Do you remember me telling you about getting too close to a client?’
Laurie nodded, hardly trusting herself to speak. Hadn’t this whole conversation been as good as an admission that he’d got too close to many clients over the years?
‘She was some sort of Chinese expert, spent years there. Companies used to pay her for advice. She based herself at the British Library. I always thought it was a bit odd. She wasn’t the library type, if you know what I mean. She’d do things like the Great North Run. But she said that there were all sorts of people there, and if she needed to look up some bit of research, then that was easy too. Anyway, we used to meet at the Travelodge opposite. Often as not, she’d have one of those keys with her.’
Simon fell silent for a moment, surely allowing himself a moment of private reminiscence. Laurie resisted the urge to follow her imagination in the same direction. She had to decide what she was going to do next. In the meantime, she refused to catch his eye, so she was taken by surprise when he continued. ‘Anyway, there was one afternoon when we … well, when she didn’t get back there until the next morning. It turned out her locker had been emptied by the security guards. She had to jump through all sorts of hoops to get her stuff back, describe exactly what was in the locker, show her ID. The moment I saw the key properly in your hand, I knew I had all the information Brian needed, or that’s what I thought, anyway.’
‘So you just left me there, in Euston station?’ Laurie challenged. She looked up at Simon, wanting him to feel the force of her stare. Now, however, he was the one who avoided her eye. He lost the poise he’d recovered over the last few minutes and seemed to shrink back into himself. Laurie let the silence rest there. She wasn’t going to relieve his discomfort by filling it.
It was probably only a minute before Simon finally spoke. ‘I think I’d better show you something.’ With that, he withdrew a mobile phone from his pocket and placed it on the table. Laurie recognised the model: it was the same as the one Dad and Jess had brought home the day before. She looked back at Simon, and this time he did meet her gaze. ‘It’s the one Brian gave me.’ With that, he took off the back and removed the battery to reveal the SIM card underneath – or that was what it looked like, at first glance. Then Simon removed that too from the phone. Now she could see that it was some sort of adaptor; the real card was smaller, and slotted into it.
‘I don’t know if you’ve ever looked inside an iPhone,’ Simon started to explain. ‘Their SIM cards are smaller than the standard size. This is one. If you want to use it in another handset – like this Samsung here – you have to use an adaptor. It looks l
ike this, except I don’t think this is just an adaptor. I think it’s more than that.’
Inwardly, Laurie shrugged. What did it matter? All she could do was ask, ‘What are you trying to say?’
‘You remember how I came round the next Saturday morning? The time I brought croissants?’
Laurie nodded. How could she forget?
‘Well, the thing is, I’d decided I wasn’t going to see you again – that it was too dangerous. I thought if I just didn’t return your calls then, well, you know, we’d just drift out of touch.’
‘I’d get the message, you mean?’ Laurie returned sharply.
Simon flicked his eyes up to meet hers for a moment, nodded, and continued. ‘So that morning, I went into work and Brian’s there. It wasn’t one of his days. He made no bones about it. He was there to see me.’ There was a moment’s silence while Simon swallowed. Laurie had no difficulty imagining how Brian had made his purpose plain, before Simon carried on. ‘He said he knew you’d been calling me, that you’d found out more about the man who fell, that I had to find out what you knew, and that if not … if not …’ Simon stopped, looked Laurie full in face, so she could see the anguish in his eyes. ‘He showed me a photograph of Bethan’s house, texted through to his phone that morning. He told me I had half a day.’
Laurie shut her eyes. She wanted to hit him, to say he still didn’t have to follow Brian’s instructions so well, to sleep with her, to make her want to see him again. ‘Go on,’ she eventually replied.
‘Well, you know what happened next. After you left me – by the canal – I called Brian back, told him that I’d seen you but that you’d gone off to work without telling me what you’d found.’