Lucky Break (27 page)

Nell slipped out of her own jeans and crept in beside him. There was no room to be aloof. She lay against his side, her skin slowly warming with the heat of him. ‘Night then,' he whispered, and she lay there, her heart racing, breathing in the familiar smell of smoke and sweat. This'll never work, she thought, but gradually she felt Saul's body soften, and the rhythm of his breathing lulled her into a wakeful, restless sleep.

 

‘Well,' Chrissie plumped down beside her in the mini-van, her voice rich with delight. ‘What happened to you last night?'

Nell looked away. She knew it was cruel, but she couldn't bring herself to offer up what was expected. ‘I didn't want to wake you,' she said. ‘I kipped down with the boys, that's all.'

‘Oh,' Chrissie looked deflated. She began to rummage in her cavernous bag and when she found what she was looking for, a packet of digestive biscuits, she didn't offer one to Nell. Be like that, she seemed to say, and once they reached the theatre Chrissie stared into her own reflection in the dressing-room mirror, spending an inordinate amount of time arranging her make-up, pinning up her cards. On stage, professional that she was, Chrissie was warm and twinkly, but as soon as the interval arrived she turned her face away again and didn't speak. Nell made a bed of chairs and closed her eyes, and allowed herself to relive the moment when Saul had appeared beside her in the wings. ‘How's it going?' he'd asked, and he'd slipped his hand under the hair at the nape of her neck and held it there. Now she imagined leaning back and being held for ever, and she thought of those first lonely weeks of rehearsal when the red tower of the phone box, the only colour in the endless grey and green of the Lake District, filled her with such longing for home that she'd sometimes pull back the heavy door of the booth and stand inside, breathing in the ash and dust smell, even when she had no one to call.

 

That night's bed and breakfast was on the outskirts of Newcastle, and after the pub they travelled there together in the van. ‘Hey,' Matthew put an arm round her shoulders as they stumbled in. ‘Come in here with us. You don't want to get mixed up with those hill walkers.' Blushing, Nell tried to quieten him.

‘Come on. Let's stick together,' he insisted.

Nell glanced across at Saul, but he didn't catch her eye.

‘OK, just for a minute.' But like the night before, as soon as he was in his room Matthew collapsed on to his bed.

Nell stared down at him, his shoes still on, a snore already rumbling in his nose. ‘Is he OK?'

‘He's gone to pieces since Bernard left. His job's on the line and he knows it.' Saul tucked him in. ‘That, or he's got some pretty disgusting habits. Unlike me, of course,' he grinned. ‘I'm perfect.'

Nell grinned back. He was perfect! She'd thought that the first time she'd seen him. With his ragged clothes and Doc Marten boots, and the quiet way he smiled. ‘Hey,' he put out his hand to her, and when she took it, he led her to the other bed. ‘ ‘It wasn't me, Inspector, honest,' he whispered as they lay down, ‘it was those bastards upstairs,' and as if he'd always known what was in her mind, he wrapped his arms around her and covered her smile with his own.

 

The hotel was silent when Nell woke. A pale grey light fell through the curtains and the smell of old bacon hung in the air. Nell craned to see her watch on the bedside table. It was after twelve, and Matthew's bed was empty. Very carefully she slid free, untangling herself from the weight of Saul's limbs, mindful not to look at him too closely as he lay, mouth open, black stubble already shadowing his chin.

The water in the bathroom was cold. Nell let it run, hoping to feel it warm, but when it wouldn't, she filled a basin and began to wash, soaping her armpits, rinsing between her legs, letting her mind run over and dissect the awkward, hushed and furtive choreography of last night's sex. How bony Saul's body was, how urgent his desire, the terrible moment when Matthew seemed to wake, half sitting, before he fell back with a snore. Nell shivered. The water ran in rivulets down her sides, collecting in grey suds on the floor. ‘Lovely girl,' he'd breathed into her ear, and now as she allowed herself to feel his hands on her again, the sweet searching of his mouth, the painful, exhilarating moment when he pressed himself inside her, she felt the air catch in the bowl of her stomach and she leant over the basin, her legs weak, and moaned.

There was a tap at the door. ‘Can I come in?'

‘Wait!' She panicked, grabbing a towel, wrapping it round herself.

Saul was already dressed. ‘Morning,' he said, looking much the same as always, and he leant over and splashed his face.

Nell's own face looked pale and bare, and she hadn't risked borrowing a toothbrush in case it was Matthew's. ‘I'll see if I can get into my room,' she told him, and holding her clothes in her arms she ran along the corridor and tapped at the door.

Chrissie smiled coldly. ‘Hi.' She blew on the fingers of one hand where new red polish was drying.

Nell unzipped her bag, and pulled out fresh clothes, aware of Chrissie's eyes on her. Aware too that now, through her desertion, this was Chrissie's room. ‘What are you up to today?'

‘Nothing much,' Chrissie was applying another coat of varnish.

Nell pulled on jeans and a silk blouse. Her clothes felt loose, her body slimmed down with the constant travelling and the regularly missed meals.

‘I think I'll have a pampering day here,' Chrissie stretched out. She had on a pair of feathery pink slippers, very much like the ones her character wore in the play, and beside the bed was a large packet of chocolate biscuits. For one moment Nell imagined lying down too. Telling her everything. Painting her own nails. Winning a biscuit as reward.

‘OK,' Nell said. ‘I'd better get going . . . I'll see you back here, or at the theatre.'

Chrissie looked up at her, and Nell remembered what it felt like to be lonely. ‘Bye,' she said, forcing herself away, and she ran back along the corridor to where Saul was waiting in his room.

 

Saul and Nell walked away from their Bed and Breakfast, through near-empty streets, passing the occasional bare-legged girl, her heels clacking, pinpricks of cold mottling her skin. ‘Any idea where we're going?' she asked, and Saul said yes, this was the way to the centre, the quayside, they'd find somewhere there where they could eat.

‘How do you know?' she asked, admiring.

‘We drove this way last night.'

He took hold of her hand, and they walked on, the smell of the river sharpening the air, gulls wheeling above them, cawing, heading back out to sea. ‘What do you fancy?' Saul peered into the dark interior of a pub.

‘Maybe there?' Nell pointed to a café, a hot white fug of steam flowing from its door. They pushed their way in and sat opposite each other. Pie and mash, sausage sandwich, ham, eggs, beans. Nell wanted everything. She ordered a cup of tea. ‘I'll have liver and bacon,' Saul decided and Nell looked up at the waiter, a large man with a tea towel draped from his pocket. ‘Shepherd's pie and peas.'

‘Reet you are.' He hollered their order through to the kitchen, and he swept up a teacup and a stack of egg-stained plates and carried them off on one brawny arm.

It was warm in the café. Nell and Saul sipped their hot drinks and stared out of the window. ‘So, um,' Nell started. There were so many things she didn't know. All they'd ever really talked about was the play. The play and the people in it, the unfolding drama of each day. She remembered Matthew telling them, excited, in rehearsals, how this play was a sensation when it first appeared in London. The audiences had responded to its themes of social injustice, of class division and corruption, and they'd stood up at the end and roared. But now, a decade later, the response was never more than polite. ‘They eased their consciences by voting in New Labour,' Bernard had snarled, when they still had Bernard, ‘and now they're happy to spend the rest of their lives shopping in IKEA.'

‘Sorry?' Saul leant towards her. ‘What were you saying?'

‘Oh yes, I was wondering . . . in London, Peckham, is it? What kind of a place do you have?'

‘Small,' he told her. ‘Ex-council. Not too bad.'

‘Right. I see. Do you . . .' she needed to know more. ‘Do you live on your own?'

Saul lit a cigarette. ‘No. I share. With Lorraine.' He blew out a plume of smoke and looked at her. ‘My wife.'

Nell nodded quickly to show she was unfazed. But even as she did so she saw that he was smiling. ‘It's all right. We got married one afternoon at drama school. We were best mates anyway, we just wanted to see how it felt.'

‘How did it feel?'

Saul squinted. ‘All right.'

All right? Nell felt her heart squeeze. But she thanked the waiter brightly as he banged down her plate of food. They ate in silence, the hot mush of food pinning Nell to the chair. They ordered more tea, and Nell dithered over pudding. Treacle sponge. Apple crumble. Custard with jam tart. She longed for them all, but at the same time she couldn't face it. Saul lit another cigarette. ‘I wonder what Bernard's doing now,' he said, and Nell pictured him sitting in a restaurant, as she'd once seen him in Kendal, a napkin tucked into his shirt front, waiting to be served. He'd been alone, with his newspaper and cigar, and Nell couldn't help but feel impressed by how seriously he took himself.

It was nearly three by the time they wandered out into the drizzle. What shall we do now? they asked each other as they walked aimlessly towards the Tyne. At the top of the road was a phone box. ‘Ahhh.' Nell hurried instinctively towards it. Her phone was out of credit again.

‘Use mine if you want.' Saul called after her, but Nell already had her fingers hooked inside the iron groove of the handle. ‘It's OK,' she needed to talk to someone from home. ‘I won't be a minute.' But as she swung open the door she saw a small orange wallet sitting on the metal shelf. She picked it up and there inside was a wad of ten-pound notes. Fifty, seventy, ninety pounds. ‘Look,' she held the door for Saul. There was nothing in the wallet except money. It must belong to someone very young, and Nell imagined a girl just back from collecting the dole. No bank cards, or travel cards, or library cards. Nothing.

Saul counted out the notes. ‘What do you want to do?'

Nell looked along the street both ways. What she wanted, and also didn't want, was that someone would come tearing round the corner to claim it. ‘What if we handed it in to the police?'

It seemed a ludicrous idea. Would anyone think of going there to ask for it? And would the police be honest enough to hand it back? Not if they were anything like the policeman in their play, corrupt and heavy-handed, and if their play was to be believed, they were the good guys, she and Saul, and all establishment figures were rotten.

‘If we left it,' Nell mused, ‘the next person who comes along . . .' and for some reason she imagined Bernard, his mean round mouth, his beer belly and dainty legs, taking the purse off to the pub.

‘How about we divide it up?' Saul hesitated. ‘But only if we spend it before the end of the day.'

‘That's it. That's brilliant.' They rushed on, their eyes straining for any suitable shop – passing wholesalers, ironmongers, bathroom showrooms full of fixtures and fittings. Eventually they came to a department store. Nell pulled the purse out of her pocket.

‘Surely there'll be something,' she handed over fifty pounds. ‘You take that.'

‘No,' Saul protested, ‘it's got to be fair,' and he unravelled a torn five-pound note from his pocket and pressed it on her.

At first they wandered through the shop together, subdued by the hush of its interior, the scent of perfume, the array of scarves, cushions and dried flowers. Nell stopped by a stand of necklaces. Round balls of different-coloured glass, or was it plastic? ‘Nice,' Saul smirked, and embarrassed, Nell turned away.

There was an escalator and a sign for Ladies Fashions. Nell knew she'd never be able to choose anything with Saul beside her, and now that she was here she felt an overwhelming desire to buy something, anything, as if that was the sole purpose of life.

‘Shall we meet by the main door at five?'

‘Sure,' Saul agreed, ‘right,' and he wandered off between the stands of neatly folded T-shirts, woollen V-necked jerseys, bath mats, towels.

Ladies Fashions was a sombre affair. Dark cardigans with gold buttons. Dresses with moulded shoulders and built-in slips. She looked at the underwear but that seemed wasteful. To spend so much on something that only someone who was already pretty damn interested was going to see. Anyway, when she got close, the underwear was frightening. Padded leopard-print constructions, pants the size of the moon. She raked through knitwear, but everything had one unnecessary detail – a bow, or a flounce, or a row of buttons, that needn't have been there. Her own clothes, when she caught sight of them, seemed oddly perfect in comparison. But there was one skirt that wasn't entirely horrible. It was navy, as was almost everything, with very fine bright yellow stripes half hidden in the gather. As she tried it on, an announcement boomed from a grill in the wall, the shop would be closing in ten minutes. She looked at herself in the mirror. The skirt was all right. She pulled up her shirt to reveal the waistband on her newly narrow waist. Yes, she decided and she rushed out to hand over the money, almost exactly the right amount, before it was too late.