Authors: Graham Hurley
When I was back in control of myself, I asked what had happened.
Brendan said he
’
d found her on the doorstep. I called him a liar.
Gaynor intervened.
‘
She
’
s back,
’
she pointed out.
‘
And she
’
s intact.
’
True. Gaynor and I left with Billie minutes later. Billie didn
’
t seem
the least bit hungry, and I was already convinced that a search of the
house would turn up feeding bottles, Ostermilk, the whole gig.
Brendan stole my baby. I
’
m sure he did. I put the thought to Gaynor,
outside on the pavement. Wasn
’
t the theft of a baby a criminal
offence? Wasn
’
t Brendan guilty of third degree harassment? Couldn
’
t
she march back into the house and arrest him? Gaynor gave me a
funny look and held open the car door while Billy and I ducked inside.
‘
Where to?
’
she asked, eyeing me in the rear-view mirror.
For the next couple
of
days we were back with Nikki, exactly where I
started. She, as ever, was quite brillian
t. She promised to help me hunt
for a flat and when the time came, she s
aid she
’
d be there to help with
the move as well. Staying at Napier Road
, we both agreed, was out of
the question. Nikki made a huge f
uss of Billie, who seemed quite
unharmed by the whole experience, and on the second night we
celebrated with champagne and a small mountain of smoked salmon.
I was still hungover, the following afternoon, when Gaynor phoned.
The boys from the Anti-Terrorist Squad had nearly finished at Napier
Road. She knew I
’
d never been upstairs into Gilbert
’
s flat and she
wondered whether I
’
d like to take a look.
After some thought, I said yes, and she drove round and picked us
up. Since the reunion at Brendan
’
s house,
Billie and I were inseparable.
I wouldn
’
t let her out of my sight.
At the far end of Napier Road we found a white van that evidently
belonged to the forensic people. We got out of the car and crossed the
road. The front door to number
3
1
was still hanging off its hinges from
the early morning raid and I stood by the gate for a moment or two,
staring at the splintered panels with their broken grin. Had I really
lived here for more than a year? Was this the house where - for most of
the time — I
’
d been so happy?
We mounted the stairs, Billie in my arms. I was aware at once of an
overwhelming smell, deeply chemical, which Gaynor blamed on the
forensic people. They
’
d spent a day and a half tearing the place apart.
Out on the top landing, there was no floorboard unlifted, no pipe
unexposed. Even the residues in the kitchen soakaway, Gaynor said,
had been carted off for analysis.
We went into the flat to find more c
haos. The main room looked like
one of the blitz photographs my fath
er used to show me when I was a
child, the ribs of the house plainly visibl
e, and I stepped very carefully
from joist to joist, raising dust as I we
nt. The murals caught my eye at
once, huge purple planets, hand-painte
d, cratered, wreathed in cloud.
Dominating another wall was a line of colour photos, beauti
fully
framed shots of a girl windsurfing on a
choppy grey lagoon. I stared at
the photos, one by one, my throat t
ightening with the dust and the
memories. That
’
s me, I told Billie. That
’
s Mummy.
I gazed around at Gilbert
’
s few sticks of furniture, the handful of
items that must have softened this bleak, cold world he
’
d made his
own. The chairs had been torn apart, their stuffing ripped out, and the
cheap MFI sofa had been mauled as well. Beside the audio stack,
abandoned, was his flute. I asked Gaynor if I could pick it up. She
called out to the man we co
uld hear working in the kitchen
and he
appeared in a dirty blue overall, his hand
s
clad in latex gloves.
When I asked about trying the flute, he nodded. Gaynor took the
baby. I tried to coax out a note or two but nothing happened.
‘
It
’
s a real art,
’
the man grinned ruefully.
‘
We
’
ve all had a go.
’
He
’
d been here throughout the search and I asked him what else
he
’
d found. He glanced at Gaynor who said it was OK to show me
round. I followed him through into the narrow hall. Wherever we
walked, there were empty egg boxes under
foot. At the end of the hall, I
found a small lavatory. The door was
open. The forensic man gestured
inside.
‘
That
’
s where the egg boxes came from,
’
he explained.
‘
And this
stuff as well.
’
He stooped in the gloom and picked up a length of felt. It was the
same material Gilbert used for his curtains: thick, absorbent, heavy-
duty. Gilbert had spread layer after layer of it on the floor.
‘
And the egg boxes?
’
‘
Glued to the walls.
’
‘
Why?
’
He looked at Gaynor again. Gaynor nodded. With the door closed,
he said, the loo would have been virtuall
y soundproof, an acoustic cell,
utterly sealed off from reality. He
thought the guy must have had a
thing about privacy, about shutting hi
mself away. That
’
s where they
’
d
found the mobile. That
’
s where he
’
d taken his phone calls.
Phone calls? We returned to the wreckage of the main room.
Underneath a pile of bedding, the forensic man found the mobile
phone he
’
d been looking for.
‘
The guy had two phones,
’
he said.
‘
One on a socket, and this one.
’
I
stared at it. I
’
d just noticed the Mothercare catalogue, half-hidden
beneath a pile of old newspapers.
‘
What
’
s the number?
’
I asked him.
He glanced at Gaynor again and then disappeared towards the
kitchen. When he came back he was carrying a clipboard. He began to
look for the number, his finger working down a typed inventory.
When his finger stopped he looked up.
‘
0831
?
’
I
asked him,
‘
306708?
’
‘
That
’
s right.
’
Gaynor was looking surprised.
‘
You used to phone him? When you lived downstairs?
’
‘
Yes. Sort of.
’
‘
What do you mean, sort of?
’
I was still looking at the phone.
‘
He had a brother,
’
I faltered.
‘
At least, I thought he did.
’
It was
weeks
before I saw
Bre
ndan
again. He called me at the new flat, a sunny
conversi
on in Chiswick two streets away
from the Thames. A carpenter was sti
ll busy putting up cupboards in
the kitchen,
hammering and sawing,
and I had difficulty making sense
of what Brendan was saying. Something about his new company.
Something about a project. Something about the need for us to meet.
‘
Tomorrow morning,
’
he said.
‘
Ten o
’
clock. I
’
m sending a car.
’
The car arrived at the appointed hour. Billie and I settled into the
back of a dented Shogun which delivered us to a newish-looking
building in a street off the Tottenham Court Road. Brendan had
rented a suite of offices on the third floo
r. The logo of Solo Productions
was a lone sail. Sweet.
We waited for several minutes in the little reception area. The place
felt exactly like Doubleact - the framed production stills, the pile of
bagged video rushes on the desk - and I was half-tempted to gather
Billie up and run. Even the sound of Brendan
’
s voice on the phone had
upset me.
At length, a rangy American redhead took us to Brendan
’
s office. He
was sitting behind a huge desk, looking pleased with himself. The
redhead didn
’
t leave.
‘
This is Varenka,
’
he said.
‘
She
’
s from LA.
’
Varenka and I exchanged wary smiles. I began to wonder about
their relationship but Brendan spared me the trouble.
‘
I
’
ve asked Varenka
to sit in,
’
he grinned.
‘
There
’
s
not much we
don
’
t discuss.
’
‘
I
’
m
sure.
’
Brendan ignored me. He was looking at the baby. It was the first
time he
’
d seen Billie since I collected her that afternoon from
Barnsbury.
‘
We must fix some kind of schedule,
’
he told Varenka.
‘
Weekends or
something. You
’
re supposed to be good with babies.
’
I pointed out that Billie was a bit young
to lead a life of her own. Did
Varenka breastfeed? Brendan and Varenka exchanged looks. He
’
d
obviously warned her about how difficult I could be, and the sight of
her trying to rouse a smile from Billie made my blood run cold. These
people are beneath contempt, I thought. Brendan owed me some
answers, and I wanted an undertaking that he
’
d leave us both alone,
but
all of that could wait until
Billie and I were out of there.
Just being in his office, just
looking at him, soiled me.
‘
Gilbert
’
s been released,
’
I said.
‘
Did you hear about that?
’
‘
Yes.
’
‘
Seems he wasn
’
t a terrorist after all. Surprise surprise.
’
Brendan returned my icy smile.
‘
You
’
re saying he
’
s normal now?
’