Attend

by West Camel

  Richard Patterson was optimistic, he told himself. But his mind leaped around, gathering up scraps. He knew this had to be to do with Nigel, with Mel. And while Derek had said he would manage the situation, as the afternoon tottered on, Sam began to doubt him. Perhaps he was a great actor – exuding all that honesty and loving heat when his intention was exactly what it had been all along: to harm Nigel.

  Sam wanted the bus journey home to last forever. He had a seat; it was warm; he leaned his head against the rubber seal of the window and felt the rumbling of the engine. He thought of the fat driver taking all these quiet individuals to their destinations: no questions, no expectations. In a seat close to Sam’s, a woman in early old age was knitting – it looked like a child’s cardigan; she counted the stitches, silently moving her lips. Sam thought of Deborah: how much easier it was to sit on the side, with only herself and her sewing to deal with.

  He did get off the bus, but dawdled in the High Street, unwilling to drag himself up the damp-smelling stairs to another evening of snacks and TV. His throat felt constricted, as if someone had pulled on a drawstring.

  As he was putting his key in his door, it dropped from his hand onto the step. He bent to pick it up with a loud sigh and when he stood up again he found someone beside him.

  ‘Are you Sam?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The man seemed familiar. A diamond stud in his ear shone against his deep-brown skin and the bridge of his nose swelled where it had been broken.

  ‘You know Derek, yeah?’ The man scanned the street and swivelled his head to look at a car pulled up near by.

  ‘Yes.’ Sam pressed the key into his palm.

  ‘You know he’s been nicked, yeah?’ The man couldn’t keep still; he paced on the spot and his shaved hair, large brown eyes and lumpy nose made him nervous and vulnerable. Sam almost wanted to help him. He shook his head at himself.

  ‘Yeah, I heard that. Have you seen him?’ He tried not to sound too eager.

  ‘No, mate. Look, it’s not good to chat here.’

  ‘You want to come inside?’ Sam put the key in the lock again and opened the door.

  ‘No, not here.’ The man stepped away towards the car, indicating it with his open hand; there was another man in the driver’s seat. ‘Can you, like, come with us? Please?’ He used the word like a child would.

  Sam was on the step, holding the door open. He could go inside, up to his room, pack a case and take a train home. Or he could get into the car with two strange men with busted noses, and find out what had happened to Derek. Find out if he’d broken his promise. He rocked on the step for a moment, staring at the man’s handsome, dark, boyish face. And then he was beside the car, opening the rear door as his street door clicked shut.

  The driver turned to look at him. ‘Sam, yeah?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The driver swung the car in an aggressive U-turn, so Sam had to cling to the seat.

  ‘Where are we going? Are we going to see Derek?’ The possibility made him sit forwards.

  ‘No, he’s still in the nick. We’re going to a flat over the way. We just want to see what you know about all this.’ The driver treated the road like a race track; Sam was slung around the slippery back seat.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know anything.’ He grasped the back of the seat in front. ‘Derek’s solicitor called me to say he’d been arrested. That’s all I know.’ He gnawed at the edge of his tongue; would they know he was lying?

  ‘Yeah, that’s how we found you. Sit back.’

  The black guy turned to Sam and placed his hand on Sam’s chest, exerting a little pressure. ‘Sit back.’

  Sam allowed the rough acceleration to hold him in his seat; his palms were wet against the vinyl. At the end of the road the driver spun the wheel and they swerved into a car park outside a block of flats.

  The men directed Sam up some stairs and along a narrow balcony; he almost expected tight grips on his arms, but they didn’t touch him. They knocked on a blue door, which was instantly opened by a thin, middle-aged woman, who twitched a smile at him. Her skin was smooth and unmade-up; her mousey, wavy hair was tucked behind her ears, but for a strand, which she tugged at.

  ‘Go through, they’re all in there,’ she said and followed him into the living room.

  The room was overheated and full of men in outside coats, some standing and some sitting in the oversized furniture. A teenage girl in skin-tight jeans and a stretch-top, out of which her bust and belly seemed to want to burst, sat on the edge of the sofa, holding a big baby, which she fed from a bottle. When she looked up at Sam, he saw that her huge green eyes were bloodshot.

  An older woman in a large baggy jumper and lots of gold jewellery stood up and examined Sam through the thick lenses of her large glasses. ‘You’re Sam, are you? I’m Rita.’ She put her hand out and shook Sam’s with a smile full of effort. ‘Thanks for coming up. You want a cup of tea? Get him a tea, Anne. How do you take it, love?’

  ‘Milk, no sugar, thanks.’ Sam relaxed a notch, but then tightened up again. He was in the centre of the room, standing on a gaudy rug with long, multicoloured tassels all around its border. It seemed thick, lifting him a centimetre above the actual floor. He had not been among people like this – in someone’s home, where everyone knew each other – since he had arrived in Deptford. The men were mumbling and glancing at him; the girl stared openly. Two men smoking outside on a small balcony leaned into the room to look.

  ‘Shove up, let him sit down.’ Rita took the mug from the woman she had called Anne and gave it to him. He sat on the end of the sofa and thought that among this group of people there was family.

  One of the men on the balcony threw his cigarette away and came inside, blowing a cone of smoke from his mouth. Rita fanned at it, but he ignored her and stepped towards Sam with his hand out. ‘I’m Bob; I’m mates with Mel and Derek.’ He gripped Sam’s hand in a shake Sam didn’t know, so Sam had to fumble with the crooked fingers. Then, keeping his eyes fixed on Sam, Bob sat on the arm of Anne’s chair; she had to lean sideways to see around his back.

  ‘Here’s what it is, Sam: you know Derek, yeah?’

  Sam nodded. His tea was too hot, but there was nowhere to put it down.

  ‘And Derek told his brief to tell you he’d been nicked, yeah?’

  Sam nodded again.

  ‘So you know what Derek was up to in that house?’

  Sam shook his head vigorously; what house?

  ‘Come on, mate.’ Bob shifted on the arm of the chair, taking a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket.

  ‘Not in here please, Bob,’ said Rita.

  Bob put a cigarette in his mouth, but didn’t light it. ‘Look, we’re not the law; you’ve got nothing to worry about. We just want to sort out this little mystery.’

  The whole room was staring hard at Sam.

  ‘I’m sorry, Bob, I don’t think I can help.’ He paused, unsure what tack to take to reach the truth without being found out. ‘I’ve not known Derek that long, just a few weeks. I think he had his brief contact me because we were supposed to meet tonight. I don’t know anything more than that.’ It was a long speech, and seemed to have taken a lot of his breath.

  ‘And what about Mel, were you going to see him too? I mean, it’s their business,’ Bob seemed to flush very slightly. ‘I’m not asking you to tell me what you had going on with them.’ There was some trepidation in his voice, and Sam realised he had a little more power than he had thought.

  He took a sip of his tea, and held it in his mouth while he decided what to say. Should he take the risk? He swallowed. ‘No, I wasn’t going to see Mel this week.’

  Bob took out his lighter and twirled it nervously in his fingers. ‘We’re all, like, totally confused. We’re, like, Mel’s people, yeah. And these,’ he flicked an irritable hand at the two men who had brought Sam, ‘they’re Derek’s. If there’s something going down, we’re the ones who help them, yeah. And now something’s gone down, and we knew nothing.
Nothing. Not until Mel’s brief called me. And you’re the only one Derek bothered getting a message to.’

  And older-looking man said, ‘Bob…’ It was a warning.

  Bob put the cigarette in his mouth, lit the flame of the lighter, but then took the cigarette out of his mouth again. He was affronted. The rest of the silent faces were sulky.

  Sam knew now that he had to front it out if he was going to get anywhere. He made sure he was sitting upright, his legs splayed wide. ‘Look, I saw Derek on Sunday. We had dinner. That was it. I don’t know anything else.’

  Bob slapped his leg, making Rita jump. Sam had to tell himself that he hadn’t jumped with her. ‘Mate, I’m not being funny, but it just doesn’t add up. No offence, but you’re not the kind of bloke Derek and Mel and me get involved with.’

  Sam clutched his mug tightly. Any second now Bob would call him a poof.

  ‘And burglary – what’s that about?’ Bob went on.

  Burglary? Sam had to keep his face still.

  ‘If Mel wants someone’s place done over, he doesn’t do it himself, one of us does it for him.’

  The older man spoke again: ‘Bob, if Mel—’

  Bob cut across him, flinging his hands out, almost hitting Anne. ‘I know, I know. But if Mel and Derek are up to something and don’t want us involved, they should tell us. I just want to know, that’s all.’ He held his hands up, the cigarette and lighter sitting between his fingers. ‘But it’s fucking dumb, isn’t it? First rule: don’t shit on your own doorstep – so why are they doing over a house in Albury Street?’

  Sam clunked his mug against his teeth. ‘Albury Street? They broke into a house in Albury Street?’ The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He had been half asleep when Derek had asked him for the address. He hadn’t considered why until now.

  Anne moved forwards, her shoulder pushing Bob aside. ‘You didn’t know they were arrested in Albury Street?’ she asked; her eyes drilled into him.

  Bob leaned forwards too, flicking sparks from his lighter. ‘Why are you surprised?’

  Sam gawped back at them. He had lost control – everything was flapping and pitching. He grabbed at the first thing to hand. ‘Albury Street’s just behind where I live. I can see the back of the houses from my window.’ He held his breath, trying to hold steady. There were several frowns around the room. He had made things worse.

  Then the boyish, broken-nosed man said, ‘Yeah, his place is just around the corner from Albury Street.’

  It was a pointless comment, but it was true. Sam was in clear water again. A couple of people got up; someone’s mobile rang and he went into the hall to answer it. The older man took the opportunity to murmur something to Bob, putting his hand on his shoulder. Only Anne kept her eyes on Sam.

  Rita stood and looked into his cup. ‘You finished, love?’ He hadn’t, but he let her take it. ‘You don’t know nothing more than us, then?’ She seemed to be trying to say this quietly, but Bob broke off his murmured conversation to listen to Sam’s reply.

  ‘No. It was news to me that they’d broken into a place in Albury Street. Derek didn’t say a word about that.’

  Rita tilted her head a little and blinked a magnified eye at him, like a chicken. ‘Mel’s her dad, you see;’ she slopped the mug towards the girl, ‘and he’s that littl’un’s granddad. We’re ever so worried – they’re keeping him in for questioning far too long. So if you know anything that could help, you’d say, wouldn’t you?’

  There was plenty, but none of it would help, Sam was sure. For a moment he wanted to reach up and hug her – for his own comfort as much as for hers. ‘I’ve never met Mel, I’m sorry.’

  Bob stood up, throwing his hands in the air. ‘Why didn’t you say?’ Lighting his cigarette, he went to the balcony door and blew the smoke outside, his body still in the room. ‘So it’s just Derek you’ve got stuff going on with?’

  Sam had to twist around to speak to him. ‘Yeah. Sorry, I thought you knew that.’ He was sure his voice was trembling, giving him away. Giving Derek away.

  Rita still stood in front of him with his half-finished mug. ‘So you don’t know someone called Nigel, then?’

  ‘Rita. No. He don’t know nothing.’ Bob was nearly shouting.

  Sam flushed at the name. But Bob stepped fully outside and the older man joined him in a whispered discussion. Rita checked them, then bent down close to Sam’s face and quietly asked again, ‘Did Derek say anything to you about a bloke called Nigel?’

  ‘Was he the bloke Derek was having some trouble with?’ Surely Rita could see he was bright red and sweating. He wanted to pull his jacket off – it seemed tight across his back.

  Rita nodded. ‘He’s a nasty bit of work, but a mate of mine is keen on him. And he’s gone off as well, so she’s upset. Derek didn’t say…?’

  Nigel had gone off? Sam wanted to regurgitate the milky tea. He shook his head, not daring to open his mouth. Rita blinked at him, then patted his shoulder and shuffled out of the room.

  Sam breathed heavily through his nose and stared at the crazy pattern in the carpet. He wanted to say that he hated Derek. He hated him. He hated the fucking bastard cunt fucker. The tears were hard lumps in his sinuses. He looked up, blinking, so they didn’t spill out. The group had broken up – he heard the front door open and cold air enter as people went out. Anne was the only person still paying him any attention; she was staring at him intently.

  And then Bob was in front of him, holding out his hand. For a moment, Sam couldn’t understand the gesture.

  ‘Thanks for coming, fella.’ Bob was carefully friendly. ‘Lots going down at the moment, and we thought you might be able to put us in the picture.’

  Sam stood up, taking Bob’s hand. ‘No worries,’ he heard himself saying. ‘I guess I’ll just have to wait until Derek gets in touch.’

  Bob pulled him into a one-armed hug and slapped his back, surrounding him with a warm smell of tobacco and leather. For a moment, he wanted to rest his forehead on Bob’s thick shoulder and sob, ‘They’ve killed Nigel, haven’t they?’ The words would bounce off the cream walls and soak into the hideous rug.

  But he was being directed towards the front door; several hands were laid on his back and were offered for shaking. Then, as someone smiled and called him ‘bro’, he looked back for a second and saw Anne pulling on her coat.

  Sam walked fast away from the block, not knowing which way he was going. He watched for buildings he knew, for main roads and buses, but all the time he was seeing Nigel, Mel and Derek in a nasty, wrestling bundle. He had seen Nigel and Mel only briefly, yet he could easily picture them – stupid, two-dimensional monsters in a horror story. Derek, however, was solid. Sam could feel his hug and smell his skin and breath. He didn’t hate Derek. He loved him. He had troubled the solicitor to contact him, above all of those others. He trusted Sam. Sam rubbed his sleeve across his wet face.

  But was Nigel really dead? Would Derek have sent that message if he had killed him? No. He had promised. The message meant he hadn’t done it. Surely.

  Sam came out onto Edward Street – a long way down from the High Street, but at least he knew where he was now.

  Derek had been inside 36 Albury Street. And perhaps he had got into the tunnel. Was this what he wanted Sam to know?

  He picked up his pace another gear; there was only one place he could go now – he had to see Deborah.

  Chapter 24: Anne and Sam

  As Anne went to put her coat on, Rita caught at the sleeve. ‘You’re not going, are you? I thought you could stay for your tea.’ Then she murmured, but with exaggerated lips, ‘For Julie. She’s so worried about her dad.’

  Anne looked over Rita’s head into the living room, her coat hanging off one shoulder. There was a time – Anne couldn’t exactly locate it in the mess of times that she had walked into or out of this flat – when Julie had stood where she stood now, a doll on the floor at her feet, staring at Anne, blinking and chewing her lips. Now,
though, she was on her phone, smoothing her already smooth hair back from her round forehead, blinking her large green eyes and pursing and unpursing her lips. Tom was on the rug, pushing his fat hands into the pile.

  Anne plucked the empty sleeve out of Rita’s grasp, wanting to say, ‘Sorting out whatever Mel’s done is the best I can do for Julie now.’ But Rita’s eyelids flicking behind her thick lenses prevented her.

  She took a chance. ‘Julie?’ she called out. ‘Julie. Don’t mind if I make a move, do you?’

  Julie shook her head and waved her hand, dismissing her.

  Anne turned back to Rita. ‘She’s alright, see? And this lot look like they’re leaving now. Just call if you need anything.’

  Rita wasn’t happy, but Anne had done worse.

  The delay, however, meant that she had lost Sam. She had hoped to catch up with him and question him – she wasn’t sure how, or about what, really. She stood on the balcony outside Rita’s front door; there were figures below in the car park and on the road; but none of them was Sam.

  ‘Damn,’ she said out loud. Without speaking to him, how was she going to unpick all this? When she had arrived at the flat a couple of hours before, she had been ready to announce, ‘Mel’s done something to Nigel. I know he’s been arrested for burglary, but it’s about Nigel.’ It would have been like a confession. But then Bob and the rest of Mel’s crew had turned up, filling the flat with their loud voices and the smell of their coats. No one had mentioned a word about Nigel. Perhaps she was wrong. Who knew with Mel these days?

  Bob had taken the floor and told them all that Derek had contacted someone called Sam. She could have bashed her forehead with the heel of her hand: of course there was someone else involved – someone who would make the whole baffling story knit together. Someone who knew why Mel had finally been caught after all these years – getting his fat arse stuck in a basement window in a house in Albury Street.