by Ayre, Mark
“We can’t do this.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s pretty dark, but still worth a try.”
A playful slap followed, and despite what she said, and what she was thinking, she leaned in, kissing him lightly on the mouth once more.
“It’s wrong. We can’t do this like this. We need to do it right.”
“Right?”
“If we want to do this, it’s with a clean slate. With nothing hanging over us.”
James closed his eyes, stressed by the prospect of doing the right thing.
“I need to end it with Nina.”
Megan nodded. Her eyes filled with apprehension, as though worried he might laugh and ask how she could believe he might want her as anything other than a bit on the side.
“I do that,” he said. “Then I can ask you on a proper date?”
“Yes.”
“What if you say no?”
“Then you will have learned a valuable lesson about risk.”
He kept his arms around her waist, pressed his forehead against hers and their eyes met in the gloom.
“This will be hard,” he said, and she resisted making the joke.
“It will,” she agreed. “But I can’t stay anyway. I have to meet my friend.”
“Or we could—“
She bopped him on the nose, as though he were a naughty dog, shocking him into silence.
“We’re being good. We’ll go on a date, but with nothing hanging over us.”
James neither nodded nor gave any sense he approved of this plan, but she was not about to hang around and wait for him to be on the same wavelength as her. She didn’t have eternity. Turning from him she made it several metres before rushing back and throwing her arms around his neck.
“Oh, just one more.”
After she was gone, he had to slide back into the party, pretend he had needed some fresh air, and try to act as though it was another typical night while watching his soon to be ex-girlfriend get increasingly drunk and flirt with a smiling Lars and an annoyed Tahir.
When it was over, James took a cab with Jane and Nina, having left his car at theirs.
Nina was giggly and clung to him the whole way, breathing wine tinged whispers into his ear. Jane sat with her arms folded, staring at the back of the driver’s seat but not seeing it. She had been off the last couple of hours, and James got the impression she had wanted the party to end some time ago. Had it not been her own, she would have snuck off.
Back at Jane’s four bedroom townhouse, James utilised chivalry that conflicted with his earlier cheating, offering to carry Nina to her bedroom like a groom carrying his new bride over the threshold and to bed.
Her room was in sharp contrast to the dark decor of the rest of the house, and James carried her from dark wood to a soft, white carpet. From chocolate walls to sky blue ones. From dimmable lighting forever at their lowest setting to a naked bulb so bright it was unwise to look at it without sunglasses.
In the centre of it all lay a Kingsized bed with plain blue sheets and pillows, dotted with soft white cushions and one huge white teddy bear wearing a blue bow and the ironic name of Mr Black.
Carefully as he could, James placed Nina on the bed, Mr Black tilting towards them as she landed.
“Thanks, baby,” she said. A hand snuck out, searching for the zip of his jeans but he caught it before she could find the mark. Squeezing her fingers he crouched onto the balls of his feet, reaching out and brushing hair from her eyes with his free hand. A gesture more loving than he had intended it to be.
“I need to get undressed,” she whispered. “Want to help me?”
“Not tonight.”
The hurt crossed her eyes, knocking some of the drunk from her expression. She withdrew her hand as though he had hurt her. Maybe he had.
“You still thinking about earlier?”
He is with Megan. His arms around her waist. Her lips on his. They press their foreheads together, and he stares into her stunning eyes. Falling in love.
“Earlier?”
“The river.”
The river. Funny to think what effect that had had on him before Megan dropped back into his life and cleared his head like a lobotomy that only targeted the bad stuff.
“No,” he said. “It’s not that. It’s—“
Now could be the time. The clean break. The escape. Then off to bed and he’d wake in the clear. Run to Megan and ask her on that date. Start his new life. That could be perfect but—
“James? Tell me.”
Her eyes were a mix of fear and tipsiness. Bad news could push her from worry to anger and if she ran to her sister—
James didn’t want to speculate what Jane might do to protect her little sister. Also, was it right to break up with someone when they were drunk and you near sober?
Sounded like a good enough excuse.
“It’s nothing,” he said, hating his cowardice. “You’ve been drinking. I’ve not had anything in hours. I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”
Her hand came out again.
“I wouldn’t mind.”
He caught it. Kissed her head.
“Get some sleep. We can meet tomorrow. Grab lunch at that horrible cafe you like.”
“Sounds good.”
Worry was etched across her face, but she didn’t want to seem weak. Didn’t want to ask. He felt the guilt course through him for what he was going to do, but there was no choice. Maybe if it weren’t for Megan, he wouldn’t be doing this now. Definitely wouldn’t, but that didn’t make it wrong. Nina had been a distraction. It had been false from the start. It was time to fix that.
Well, almost time.
“Night,” he said, stepping back, stopping at the wall by the door, and flicking the light switch, sending the room into darkness.
Downstairs, Jane sat in the dim light, eyes on her phone, tumbler of some spirit in front of her. Neat. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked to her. That absence was still in her eyes—that worry. Her phone went down, and she stared for a few moments at a blank television screen, then to him.
“Thank you,” she said. “For—“ she gestured upstairs. “My sister can be a pain. Difficult to please, too. But she seems to like you.”
Her eyes went back to the telly, and James felt the discomfort of a sense of obligation. Jane was not happy. She needed someone to talk to.
James did not want to be that person.
“Goodnight,” he said, and took a couple of awkward steps towards the door before she called him back.
“James, I wonder if you could spare me a moment of your time.”
He closed his eyes. How did one say no in a situation like this?
He wasn’t sure about one, but for him, it was reasonably straightforward. He didn’t.
She rose as he stepped across to the living area. Replacing her drink and sliding her phone into her pocket she approached him. Her arms twitched, and he got the strange premonition she was going to hug him.
Proving James was no fortune teller, Jane stopped some distance away, her arms as stiff by her side as a soldier's on a march.
“It’s been eight days now,” she said. James did not have to ask what she was talking about.
“Must be weird,” he said.
“Very. Just getting used to being able to walk out the front door whenever I want is something.”
She looked towards the window as though she could see through the dark, thick curtains. She gave an odd, distant smile, then came back to James.
“There is plenty to loathe about prison,” she said. “Violence, boredom, food, and more besides. But do you know what the worst thing is?”
James did but wasn’t sure he was supposed to answer. He waited several seconds, then said: “being away from your son.”
She clicked her fingers.
“Spot on. I missed my friends, my father. The little sister who is more like a daughter to me anyway—“ she looked at the ceiling and smiled. “But my
son, that was what hurt the most. Were you close to your mother?”
“In proximity, sometimes.”
“That’s sad.” She looked as though she meant it. “Harris’ dad never met him, and I’ve no other children. It’s been him and me from the start. Funny thing is the eighteen years I had before he went to university seemed to last minutes, and the three years I’ve spent unable to see him seemed to take thirty. Well, maybe that’s not funny. Maybe it isn’t even surprising.”
James didn’t know what to say. Here was a woman he’d met twice opening her heart to him, and he didn’t know what to do with it.
“I’m sure Harris had a good reason for missing tonight.”
It was all he could think of. She gave a warm smile, and he realised the reason it was him she was confiding in made the whole thing sadder. He had seen her tonight, surrounded by many people and connecting with none. Her father had gone, her sister had been late, her son hadn’t bothered to show. Who did that leave?
Jane found her glass, draining it, then withdrew her phone, checking something.
“You’ve met my son, haven’t you?”
“Once,” James said, for some reason feeling as though he was confessing a crime. “He seemed nice.”
“He is. Far nicer than he has any right to be.”
Jane looked at the clock on her wall, although her phone would have told her the time. When she looked from it to him, James felt his heart sink.
“I know it’s late.”
This was it. He should have run without saying goodbye. Maybe she was going to offer him a drink.
“I was hoping I might ask you a favour.”
Maybe he was a better fortune teller than he thought. He withheld the sigh of resignation.
“My son has not been himself recently,” she held up a hand, although James hadn’t tried to interject. “I know what you’re thinking. You go to prison for three years then come out and your son’s weird—big surprise. But it’s not that. I have had reports. My going to prison did affect him, badly, I believe, but a couple of months ago, Harris’ closest friend vanished. Since then, he seems to have entirely disappeared into depression. I fear for him.”
Although he wanted to speak, James could think of nothing to say, so kept quiet. Jane waited a little, then looked at her phone again.
“He’s at the bar. God knows why. He has an office, of course, but at this time? I’ve spoken to Tahir. He sometimes stays half an hour after close, but never longer than that.”
She put the phone down, and he saw the screen before it went black.
“You’re tracking, uh—“ he stopped, wishing he hadn’t started. Luckily, she was willing to help him out.
“The expensive phone I bought?”
“Um, yep.”
“Well, it’s only sensible. Thieves everywhere these days and it’s the phones they go for.”
James nodded, and they pretended they believed what she was saying. Fiddling with her pocket, Jane made uncomfortable, nervous eye contact with James. He wondered if she would have been like this when asking a favour pre-prison.
“You’d like me to pick him up?”
He hoped she might shake her head and say she just wanted someone to talk to, but her face brightened as he voiced the question.
“I know it’s strange. I’ve only met you twice but you seem such a nice boy, and you know what it’s like. If his mother goes down there who knows how he might react, but a friendly face—“ she gave a pleading look. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
Again, he bit back a sigh. This was not what he wanted to be doing with his evening. He wanted to be at home, in bed. He wanted to be thinking about Megan and planning tomorrow’s painful breakup.
The simple answer, then, was to say no, yet five minutes later he was in his car, wondering whether he had had too much to drink and driving not towards his bed, but Jane’s bar.
She had given him a key. The worried mother suspected her son would have entered through the back and would be in his office—a supposition James didn’t doubt until he approached the bar and saw it lit up.
Slowing as he passed, James peered in but saw no signs of movement. He carried on and parked further up the road, past the clutches of the double yellows, then exited his car into the fresh evening air and made his way back towards his quarry.
This end of town, all was quiet, the bars having closed at eleven. From the other side of the high street came the steady beat of the bass from so many clubs, thumping through the air like a drum announcing the march to war.
Reaching the front door he pressed his face to the glass, looking for signs of life within. From here he could see the bar and the downstairs area. At the far end of the room were doors that led to the kitchen and toilets. To the left, a set of steel stairs led to a mezzanine floor populated with tables and an entrance to the staff area.
The lights were on, but he could not see that anyone was home.
He wanted to call Jane and tell her Harris was not there. Might have done, had her GPS not been able to rat him out.
Closing his eyes he listened, trying to make out any movement from within, but he could hear nothing. Taking the cold handle of the door, he waited a few more seconds, in case anyone should present themselves, then tugged it, letting himself into the bar.
Once inside the door swung shut, cutting off the outside world. Now even the whip of the wind and thump of the bass units were cut dead. Silence reigned. An ear popping, disconcerting silence. James had never been good with horror films, but he’d seen a few. They invariably began like this. Some unsuspecting fool walking through a quiet establishment late at night. They were always disconcerted, but convinced themselves everything was going to be alright until—
Stop. Stupid. This was no film. Harris had come to do some late night work. James would head to the office, poke his head in, confirm he was okay. Feed that back to Jane and let her decide how to proceed. Whatever she said, James had no intention of trying to force Harris into any action he was not willing to take.
For the sake of thoroughness, James stepped towards the bar and glanced over it. No reason Harris would be hiding here, but it didn’t hurt to check.
Nothing. He glanced towards the door into the toilets and kitchen, but the office was his best bet.
Crossing the room, James stopped with one foot on the metal steps.
Upstairs, someone moved. It was distant, barely audible, but James was tense. Attuned to any slight sound. Was that a door opening?
“Harris?”
James’ voice was hoarse, broken. Pathetic, but fear crept in even as he tried to persuade himself there was nothing to be afraid of. No point having that conversation. Fear was in his nature.
Forcing himself on, James began to ascend, each step clanging with a metallic ring as his foot landed. The sound echoed and drowned out any movement from upstairs. He forced his pace to quicken, not stopping until he was on the bare metal floor of the mezzanine, glancing over the empty tables.
Or, almost empty.
On a table against the balcony, James saw a bottle of what looked like whiskey, and two glasses. One was near empty, the other almost full. But this wasn’t all. Over the back of the chair by the nearly empty drink was a black men's jacket. James stepped towards this and kicked something, sending it flying across the metal floor and watching as it stopped under the balcony railing, teetering and almost toppling over the edge.
He looked down, saw the other shoe and a pair of socks, not balled but lying one over the other to form a cross. James glanced across the metal floor. Maybe Harris liked to take a drink before he began work. Maybe he didn’t want to work with shoes and socks on. Fine, but that didn’t explain the second glass.
James stepped over the shoe he had not kicked and reached for the bottle of whiskey. Stopping so close he could feel the cool of the glass.
He got the sense it would not be bright to disturb anything. His hand retracted. He tried to imagine what had ha
ppened here and found the scene arose quickly enough.
The bar closes. The punters go home followed by the staff. Harris leaves but later returns, this time with a young woman—or man—in tow. Harris had poured two drinks, but one of them had been thirstier than the other, and one of them had hot feet. Feet that needed liberating.
Now, beyond the second glass, there was no sign there had been more than one person here. Odd in itself.
It didn’t matter, he supposed. Interesting though it was, he was not here to examine or analyse, only to locate.
Turning from the table where one of two people had enjoyed a drink, James stepped to the single door that led off the mezzanine to the staff area. Metal, again. Reminiscent more of a fixture in a Bond villain’s lair, than a bar.
Through the Bond villain door and into a short corridor. Two doors on one side and one at the far end. This last he knew led into a small staff area with a couple of seats, a tiny TV, a fridge and a microwave. There were lockers for staff members, but these were downstairs by the kitchen.
The door before this guarded Tahir’s office, and would no doubt be locked. That left the door closest to James, and it was this he approached.
Before Harris had taken it on, the office had been occupied by his mother. Vacated when she went to prison and left that way until Harris had returned from university. James wondered if the boss’ son pulled his weight. He had seemed a nice enough guy, but that did not make him an efficient assistant manager. Did the staff resent him? Did Tahir hate having to keep him around? Was James stalling because he didn’t want to open the door and potentially annoy Jane’s boy?
Only one of these questions could he answer.
Resigning himself to having to enter, James pressed his ear against the door. This was not him being nosey. Rather, a necessary step in ensuring he did not walk in on Harris doing something sexual with a date. Or even himself. He listened for grunts, moans, heavy breathing or shouted advice. Maybe an old favourite like “don’t stop,” or, “oh, like that.” Even the ever simple and ever encouraging: “yes.”
There was nothing. If Harris was in there, he was working quietly or was asleep. If it were the latter, James would be tempted to leave him. But he wouldn’t know until he opened the door.