‘Bring Seb along,’ Bel said on the phone, evidently distracted. ‘Hang on a sec, Johnno, can you?…The more, the merrier, I say. It is the bloody Last Supper, after all – might cheer things up … That one next, please … And I’m dying to meet him properly before I go … Oh my God, no, not that one … Look, sorry, Mag, but I think the removal men have just packed Hannah in a crate as a truly hilarious joke. I’ll see you later, all right?’
I put the phone down slowly. I wasn’t sure I was ready to introduce Seb to the curious throng at Bel’s farewell dinner. I was so dreading these goodbyes that I would have much preferred the Gershwin gig, but I couldn’t abandon my best friend on her last night in the country. Seb said he quite understood of course. I’d known he would, he just seemed that type of man. He said that rehearsals were over-running anyway, they were having problems with the blocking (whatever that was). I very nearly asked him to meet me when he finished but as I teetered Seb said, ‘I’ll call you soon’, and I said ‘Great’, when what I really meant was, ‘Wait’ – and by then he’d already gone.
When I left work the rain had stopped at long last, the pavements glistening like molasses under the streetlights. It was freezing again, a proper winter chill cutting through the air, and for once I was glad, my masochistic side craving the cold tonight. My head felt fusty, almost dirty, after the last few days’ events – the graffiti and the texts, the calls to Gar, coupled with creepy
Joseph and Donna’s missing book. The icy bite outside roused me again. It wasn’t far to the gastropub Bel had booked for dinner. I stuck my headphones on and set off for Clerkenwell.
I’d spent the afternoon in the office pretending to ignore that last text, although DI Fox’s sandy face kept popping up to chide me, my hand hovering over the phone constantly to call him until I decided not to be so weak. But now, tramping alongside the rush-hour traffic, the chill here thick with fumes, those vicious words resonated round and round my head …
SLUT, WHORE,
SLUT, WHORE
.
Who hated me enough to try to scare me witless? Whoever it might be, they were succeeding.
I crossed the road, squeezing between a minibus and a small lorry, a cyclist skidding past in a luminous vest like a raver from the nineties. With Elgar’s
Cello Concerto in E Minor
soaring in my ears, I was starting to feel quite trippy myself, my mind speeding from one suspicion to the next. Joseph? Charlie? Philip Lyons?
Don’t be ridiculous, Maggie
. I shook my head again, impatient with myself. None of them, surely. But – Alex?
I kept arriving painfully back at him.
Mesmerised by my own feet, their steadfast tread belied my fears as I reached the junction and hesitated, unsure of the right way through the maze of Dickensian streets. With a nasty lurch I realised I was horribly near Malcolm’s office; the office where I’d first met his son. It was painful to find that everything still reminded me of Alex. Shoving my numb hands deep into my pockets, I chose a small alley on the right and marched on. I was going to have to face facts sooner or later; Alex was obviously punishing me. He might be a clown when comedy appealed, but I knew he was deeply hurt. And I’d started to remember more clearly the events of that terrible summer night; often in the early hours now I’d wake sweating and a little more would have clawed its way into my consciousness. And I’d bite my lip against the painful memories, praying they were just bad dreams.
The signs that it was Alex were all there. I sighed hard, my breath condensing before me, and realised I’d have to phone Fox back.
Stumbling slightly on a jagged paving-stone, one of my earphones dropped out. About to slot it back in, I thought I caught distant footsteps somewhere behind me. I turned Elgar down and glanced behind me quickly. Nothing. I tried to laugh my fear off, but that wobbly laugh was interrupted by what were most definitely footsteps: they echoed eerily up the small cobbled street. The dark buildings loomed high above me and I had a sudden vision of Bill Sikes prowling after poor old Nancy with vengeance in his cruel heart. With a jolt, I realised how very quiet the street was, how utterly deserted – just how far the pub was, its lights barely visible at the far end. I realised I was completely alone – alone, apart from those footsteps. All I needed was a pea-souper and I’d be truly done for. I sped up.
So did the footsteps.
This was the point where the audience shouts ‘run’. My foot ached as I pushed myself forward; my teenage self blazing past me. Lord, I had been fast back then. Jacqueline du Pré’s cello bow flew with such valour, such vigour now, and with it the thought flashed through my head that this was a perfect score to die by.
I peered over my shoulder; a cloudy-edged figure was gaining on me now and I sobbed with something like real fear. And then the pub door came in sight, and I thought I’d be safe – until something shot out of the shadows at my feet and I went flying, landing heavily on my knees, losing my earphones so I could just hear du Pré’s crescendo rattling tinnily from the ground. There was a crash of metal beside me and I almost assumed the foetal position as a mangy old fox slid out of the dustbins beside me, his back scabby, his tail a pathetic wisp. Unblinking, he regarded me for a second, his eyes green glass in the streetlight, before he slunk off into the night.
The footsteps were so near now I couldn’t bear to look. I just jumped up quickly, my hands grazed and bleeding from where I’d blocked my fall. Abandoning the iPod on the floor, I started to run again.
‘Maggie!’
Did I know that voice? I didn’t care.
‘Maggie, stop! Please stop!’
But I couldn’t now. I couldn’t stop; I daren’t. I sprinted the last fifty yards up the alley and dived through the pub door, nearly taking Bel down with me.
‘Blimey!’ She took one look at me and started singing
Bat Out
of Hell
.
‘Yeah, all right.’ I tried to catch my breath. ‘I was just worried that I was late, that’s all.’ I attempted to smile; I didn’t want to ruin her night with my fears, but I kept one eye firmly on the door as she kissed me hello.
‘God, your cheeks are cold.’ Bel held out her hand for my coat. ‘I’ll hang it up.’
‘Thanks.’ I passed it over.
‘Oh, your hand, Maggie.’ Bel took mine in hers, frowning. ‘It’s bleeding. Ouch! They both are. How on earth did you do that?’
‘It’s fine, honestly.’ I cased the room quickly. ‘Alex isn’t coming, is he?’
‘No way,’ Bel was starting to say, and I was just relaxing a little – and then Joseph Blake walked through the door, his pale face flushed, his nose bright red from the cold. I felt like screaming, but I didn’t. I swiped a glass of champagne off a tray on the bar instead and drank it in one gulp, which made me cough. Bel was still talking about Alex as Joseph walked towards me. I realised he was holding my iPod.
‘I warned Johnno, anyway, Mag. Not to invite him this time, I mean. But what
have
you done to your hands?’
‘Nothing. I just tripped. You know me and coordination.’ I put my glass down and searched for another.
Joseph had almost reached us by now. I felt like my pet rabbit when I was ten, his run on the lawn being circled by the neighbourhood cats, crammed into one corner, praying for survival.
‘I was calling you, Maggie.’ He reached me. ‘Outside. You didn’t stop. You dropped this.’
‘Thanks.’ I held my hand out for the player. ‘I – I didn’t hear you.’
‘You’re bleeding,’ he said.
‘Oh God, not you as well.’ I looked around desperately for that drink.
‘Blood.’
‘Yes, I’m bleeding blood, Joseph. It’s quite usual, I think.’
‘Maggie!’ Bel reprimanded softly.
Joseph’s white face was even paler than normal. ‘I’m not very good with blood.’ He started to sway.
Brilliant
. ‘Well, let’s go and sit down, shall we?’
Bel’s brother Nigel crept up behind her, sweeping her into an enormous bear-hug. ‘Let me go,’ she giggled, kicking her legs like a toddler, and I caught the expression on Joseph’s face as he watched. Something I recognised as longing.
‘Come on, you,’ I said, propelling Joseph to a corner, pulling my sleeves over my still-stinging palms in an attempt to stop him from fainting. ‘Okay now?’
He nodded. We sat there for a moment in silence, two lost souls in a sea of revelry.
‘So?’ I prompted eventually. ‘I don’t mean to be rude – but why exactly are you here?’
‘It’s just,’ Joseph was murmuring, so quiet now I could hardly catch the words over the crowd’s babble. He was staring at his feet. ‘I couldn’t go home without – well, I just wanted to explain something.’ He looked like he might cry.
I took a big slug of wine. ‘Go on.’
‘I wanted to own up.’ He met my eye for practically the first
time today, and his forehead was all sweaty. ‘It was me. I did take Donna’s book.’
‘I see.’ I felt no emotion at all. ‘Why?’
‘I dunno.’ He picked at the bright label on his beer-bottle, droplets of moisture rolling down the brown glass, more droplets rolling off his head. ‘I was showing my initiative.’
‘And how was that then?’ And then the penny dropped. ‘Oh God, Joseph. That’s what you were doing the other night in Charlie’s office.’
‘What?’ He stared at his drink.
‘You were selling Donna’s numbers. Oh, you stupid, stupid boy.’
‘Don’t call me that.’
‘Well, weren’t you?’
‘I get a bit – a bit kind of confused sometimes.’
‘Confused?’ I stared at him.
‘I have a bit of a problem with depression. I have to take a – a medication, you know.’
That word: depression. How it stalked me.
‘What’s that got to do with stealing numbers? Who were you selling them to?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He shrugged. ‘I just mean sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing.’
‘It does matter, I’m afraid, Joseph. I’m sorry for you, really, if you’re depressed, but it’s hardly an excuse. What you’ve done is thoroughly dishonest, and highly illegal too, I’m sure.’
Behind him Bel and Johnno were preparing to go through to the dinner table.
‘Look, now is not the time. We’ll talk about it in the office tomorrow, okay? I just – I need to –’ I inclined my head towards my friends.
Joseph stood up, quick to grasp his reprieve. ‘Of course.’
‘Stay and finish your drink if you like.’ I stood too. Despite my pity for him, I couldn’t deny the fact he made my skin crawl.
‘No, seriously, I should get home anyway. My parents will wonder where I am.’ He put out a clammy hand to shake mine. My graze smarted where our flesh met. We both winced.
‘I can’t believe you followed me all the way here just to confess,’ I said, following him towards the door. ‘It was brave, though, I’ll give you that.’
‘I didn’t follow you.’
‘What?’
‘No, seriously, I didn’t.’
My blood ran cold. ‘That wasn’t you running behind me in the street?’
‘No, seriously. Don’t get cross with me again.’
If he said
seriously
again, I would scream. ‘How did you know where I was then?’
He dug deep in his coat pocket and produced it like a trophy, though the colour mottling his pale pudgy face belied his emotions. ‘This is yours, isn’t it?’
My Filofax. The Filofax that had disappeared last week. I took it wordlessly.
‘The pub address is in it,’ he explained. ‘I’m just a bit of a detective, that’s all, Maggie. Seriously.’
‘Right. A detective.’ My mind was flitting about like a demented dragonfly. ‘So you weren’t – behind me when I was walking just now? Trying to catch me up?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I got a cab almost right to the door.’
The thought my stalker was real and not just a figment of my overactive imagination, coupled with the knowledge that he had been so close to me, was nearly enough to send me into the loos with some of Bel’s more excitable friends; those who were rejecting food for other delights. But I restrained myself. I sat at the table and pretended fervently that everything was fine, all the while feeling flushed and panicky. I talked to Bel’s devastated mother Lynn about how cheap and easy, honestly, it was to fly
halfway round the world. At one point I thoughtlessly mentioned carbon footprints, but luckily Lynn thought they were a type of shoe. I chatted to Nigel about Bristol University and all the nice girls he’d met, and the fact he preferred the nasty ones.
From time to time Alex crossed my mind, but I just had another sip of wine and made my mind go blank; not letting myself dwell on him or Joseph Blake or pounding feet that got ever nearer. Or the fact that Bel was leaving England tomorrow for God knew how long. I sipped the wine and forced myself to think firmly of nice things like being at Pendarlin or seeing Seb, and after another drink I started to relax for the first time that day, until eventually I realised I was having a lovely time.
Then Charlie and Sally walked in, Sally in an ill-fitting wrap dress that strained over her generous bosom. I pulled a face at her.
‘He insisted on giving me a lift,’ Sally hissed on her way over to Bel. ‘Sorry.’
I thought about hiding, but Charlie, all blazer and tan loafers, intercepted me at the bar, where he redeemed himself a little by buying me a drink. I considered him over the rim of my glass for a long moment.
‘Why have you got it in for me?’ I was impressed by my own serenity, sipping my drink elegantly.
‘I haven’t got it in for you, darling, I really haven’t.’ Charlie smoothed back his hair, that bloody stupid signet ring catching the candlelight. ‘Don’t be so paranoid. I just don’t want to lose you, that’s all. There are so very bloody few who can actually do their job, Maggie. You’re the best I’ve got.’
‘Can you get me another drink then?’ I waved my half-empty glass at him. ‘It’s a nice glass, isn’t it?’ I gazed at it. ‘I think Alex and I had some glasses like this once.’
Before he threw them all
at me
.
‘I think you might have had enough.’
I gazed at him now. ‘Don’t be silly, Charlie. Silly-billy Charlie. I’ve only had about two. Most certainly not enough.’