Something You Are (13 page)

I received another text as I was coming out of the underground but I didn't recognize the number. An hour and a half had proved a tighter deadline than I had thought, after trying to find a parking space as close to the city centre as I could before taking the tube. It pissed me off that so many of the most urgent moments in my life were dictated by London's fucking transport system.

I was fifteen minutes early when South Bank came into view through the misty rain, past the myriad of heaving chain restaurants. For a while I'd struggled to remember what Matt looked like. I remembered that he was a screamer. That, and he had bad skin.

I stopped by the shallow steps to the National Theatre. People were streaming inside for a performance. Someone took the back of my arm and I started walking without any resistance, my heart quickening for only a second.

His grip was tight, but there was no power there. He was walking with a slight limp.

We walked to the edge of South Bank where there was a wall, a steep drop, and then the Thames.

‘I wanted to show you something,' he said.

I looked at him. What I could see of his face, the part that wasn't obscured by the hood of his coat, was swollen and yellow with stale bruising. I remembered him now, but with the marks and the rough cut across his top lip he looked older.

He handed me a photo.

The younger Matt, the one that I remembered with the spots and without the bruising, was sitting next to Emma Dyer on a leather sofa. Their eyes were red. From the cans of beer down by their feet and the uncomfortable flash reflecting off Emma's legs it looked as if they were at a party. Kyle sat on the back of the sofa with his feet on the cushions next to Emma. All of them were smiling, but looking in different directions; Matt was looking at Emma, Kyle at Matt, and Emma at the camera. There was something a little uneasy about it.

‘Kyle carried this around all the time,' Matt said, swallowing. ‘I know you don't believe me, but I wanted to say… we didn't kill her. I promise we didn't.'

I noticed that one of his arms was held awkwardly across his chest in a makeshift sling.

He followed my gaze and raised his eyebrows. ‘You don't get all the credit.'

I looked at the photo again. Emma had her hair tied back, bringing Pat's heavy eyebrows and aggressive stare into prominence. They looked striking on such an angular face. There was something about her that reminded me of Harriet and I wondered whether that was where she had been going. Fast-forward a few years and would she be the girl with the heart tattoo I had seen in Kyle's house? Slumped against a headboard with a used needle sticking out of her arm…

Like I give a fuck.

When I looked at Matt again he was watching the people going into the theatre, casting his eyes up and down the walkway.

I handed the photo back. ‘How did you get like this?'

He sniffed, turning away from the wind so that the rain
stopped hitting his face. ‘I jumped out of a window. Or… y'know, through a window. You wouldn't believe how fucking solid they are. In films people just sail on through like it's nothing, but fuck, it…
really
hurts.'

‘Why?'

‘To get away.' His lower lip trembled and he put the photo back in the pocket of his coat. ‘I know I acted like I didn't know what was going on with Hudson… But there's no point keeping that up now, I suppose.'

‘Did Felix do this to you?'

‘What do you think?' He sniffed. ‘Kyle's dead. I suppose I got off pretty easy.'

I looked up and down the walkway. I couldn't help it; his anxiety was infectious.

‘How do you know he's dead?'

He ignored the question, leaning against the wall and putting his face in his hands. ‘Man, we all fucked up so bad.'

I almost put a hand on his shoulder, but remembered that it was broken. I stood in front of him instead, shielding his tears from passers-by. As always, when I was on to something big, I started to worry about him making a run for it.

‘What happened?' I said.

The rain intensified and the roaring wind almost drowned out our voices. Across the water an empty tourist boat was rocking, floating atop the waves like a bloated carcass.

‘You know what Felix is into?'

‘Drug trafficker, right?' I said, now glad that the wind was protecting the discussion from eavesdroppers.

‘Well, yeah, he gets drugs in and then distributes them. That's what me and Kyle did for him, just dealing and picking the stuff up sometimes. We never got paid much, just got to keep some of the gear.'

‘And Emma did this too?'

‘Ah, she was great, she was a great person… She was just… fucking stupid sometimes, like Kyle… well, like everyone else. She had problems.'

‘What kind of problems?'

‘At home, with her parents or whatever. It doesn't matter. She hung around with us, took drugs, we all had fun. I…' His mouth distorted the words. ‘I can't believe they're both… Both of them, fucking dead.'

It annoyed me when my cynicism was so easily diluted with pity. He just looked like a kid; an inexperienced, broken and lost fucking kid incapable of telling a lie. All the same, his grief was almost irritating to me. It was too melodramatic, as if he was mimicking something he had seen on TV but didn't really feel himself.

‘She started coming to a few pick-ups, cos she said she found it exciting and it would piss her parents off. I don't think Felix cared. He knew her dad and thought it was kinda funny… It sounds bad, but at the time it was just a laugh. We had nothing better to do.'

Was that it? I thought. Was it that simple? Was all this shit for boredom? Did I end up in juvie and Emma in the ground because life wasn't offering anything more interesting?

‘It was OK for a few months, then this one time we all rock up, coked out of our minds… We were getting the gear out of this container, talking nonsense, and then the bint just freaks out. I mean, screaming, crying, fucking mental. We all come running, Felix is telling her to shut the fuck up, but…'

He looked up and scanned the walkway over my shoulder. Apparently spooked by something, he took my arm again and we started walking. His left leg was stiff, and he was leaning on my arm more than leading me by it.

‘There were these… bodies. They looked Filipino or something… And they were all just dead, in this container. Not a mark on them, nothing weird, just like they'd starved or suffocated or something. And… fuck…' He put a hand up to keep the rain out of his eyes. ‘She just wouldn't stop… bitch, she just wouldn't stop!'

We approached the steps leading up to the Royal Festival Hall and he pulled us to a halt underneath them, sheltered from the weather. It struck me that he hardly ever said Emma's name.

‘We were all telling her to shut up and Felix was telling her to shut up, but she was going crazy…' He spread his hands, as if that explained everything. ‘And Felix… He just shot her.'

The silhouettes in my head. Emma. Felix. Head shot.

‘And?'

‘We were told to fuck off.' He shrugged but his face was strained. Even where his skin wasn't swollen it was red with pent-up fear. ‘That was it for us. No more drugs, no more money, just… shut the fuck up and don't ask questions.'

‘So you just
left
her there?'

‘She was already dead, man. He said he'd deal with it – I didn't know what else we were meant to fucking do.' His hands went to either side of his head again. ‘Neither of us thought… It just couldn't have fucking happened.'

The idea of regaling this story to Pat and Clare was making me uneasy.

‘Well, it did happen so get it together,' I said, trying to jerk him out of his self-pity. ‘Look, when you said Emma had problems, what did you mean?'

‘What?'

‘You said something about her parents?'

The silence went on for a little too long.

‘She got on all right with her dad, I think,' he said. ‘But I don't think she liked her mum very much. I never met them, so I don't know.'

‘What did she say? I mean, specifically?'

He looked at me as though I was deviating from the script, an expression that made me tense, but he thought it over anyway, as if to humour me.

‘Well, she used to say she was fed up with her,' he said, glancing at his watch. ‘She said she was a… freak. Weird word, I suppose. “My mum's such a fucking freak,” or “I'm sick of her head-fucks.” She used to say that a lot; she would say her mum was on one of her “head-fuck trips” or on her “head-fuck routine”. I didn't really get it, to be honest.'

‘Thanks,' I said. ‘I just wanted to know.'

In my mind I could see Clare looking at me and feel that strange sensation, of someone scraping away at the inside of my head. Matt may not have got it, but I did. Or at least I was close. Every time I thought I could see the full picture, the family portrait, something blurred it.

‘Do you think…?'

Matt had looked at his watch again, and I spoke faster.

‘Do you think that Felix was the one who raped her? Beat her up?'

He was shifting from foot to foot, fighting the urge to pace.

‘Matt, come on, stay with me.'

‘Felix, he's a… He's a freak. Fuck, I… I don't know. I don't know, we just didn't ask questions. He left a note for us… “Don't ask questions.” Don't—'

Someone passed a little too close to us and I saw Matt's eyes following them, the colour draining from his face and hugging his arm to his chest. The footfalls dissipated but he was verging on panic.

Don't ask questions
didn't sound typical of the Felix I'd encountered. That sounded amateur compared to the carefully selected literary quotations I'd come across.

‘But Felix caught up with you?' I said.

‘Didn't I tell you he would?' Matt backed away from me, came forwards again, unsteady on his feet, and pressed something into my hands that felt like a slip of paper. ‘This is my number—'

‘Matt!' I took hold of his wrists and he struggled against me. ‘Matt, come on!'

‘No, please,
please
, I've been here too long!'

‘Matt—'

‘He'll fucking find me!'

I let him go and he staggered away, pointing a finger.

‘Don't follow me,' he spat. ‘Don't… Don't fucking follow me!'

‘I won't!' I held my hands up. ‘I won't!'

With a nervous twitch, he turned and walked out into the rain again. He took the steps as fast as his limp would allow, and I didn't follow him. He wasn't telling the whole truth, I knew that; I could feel it in my gut. But I didn't follow him.

‘Mum on one of her head-fucks. Can't even be bothered to say anything. FML.'

I reread Emma's diary on the sofa again, and ignored another voicemail from Harriet.

‘For fuck's sake, Nic, that phone is surgically fucking attached to your hand, I know you're there! I hope you're coming to the funeral at least… God, you're such a waste of space, I don't know why they bother any more. Just call back, yeah? You at least owe them that.'

I tried calling Matt's number, but there was no answer.

I put the phone down on the table and returned to reading the diary. I had ignored the parts about Pat and Clare before, dismissing them as typical outbursts of teenage resentment, but now they had taken on a new meaning. Frustratingly, Emma was sparse with her thoughts and even more so with her feelings, like her parents.

‘Mum and Dad breaking records – 2-hour fight. Fun.'

The front door opened and shut.

I looked at my watch and the faded numbers and broken strap looked alien. I had left my Rolex in the car.

Mark wandered into the room with his eyes half closed. He didn't know about Tony. I hadn't found the right time to tell him and, as with my mum, I had never been able to keep up a façade in front of him for long.

‘All right,' I said.

‘Tea,' he replied, drifting into the kitchen. ‘It makes everything better.'

‘Danny couldn't stay round cos of Mum being mental. Fucking hate her. So embarrassing.'

The anonymous text message I had received as I'd been coming out of the underground was a video link. It wasn't from Matt's number; I had checked. I sat up and took out my laptop from under the coffee table. The kettle started to rumble from the kitchen as I typed in the web address, and the traffic outside seemed too quiet.

‘Hanging?' I called.

‘Bit… Too much too early, I think.' He appeared in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his eyes. ‘A few of the Russians are in town and I may have accidentally started drinking at midday.'

‘Funny when that happens, that
accidental
drinking,' I said as the screen went white. ‘Did you just keep falling on to the bar?'

‘It was like my body wasn't my own.'

‘We've all been there, man.'

He smiled.

The video started loading. I noticed the account was set to Private and the username to the top left was MrsDyerx. I read it again: MrsDyerx. How the fuck had she got my number? The video was still loading, and I almost gave in to the urge to delete it.

Mark must have seen the change in my face because he laughed. ‘Either you just lost something on eBay or saw some
very
shit pornography.'

I opened my mouth to reply but nothing came out.

‘Come on, share share, what are you watching?' He bounded across the room and climbed over the back of the sofa to sit next to me.

The first thing we saw was Clare's face, too close to the camera, her eyes cast down and the lens jerking a little as if she was adjusting something. Her hair was loose, heavy around her shoulders, and her fringe was falling over one eye, making her look like a child in the half-light.

Over her shoulder I could see her living room, dimly lit. Something classical started playing.

When she seemed happy with the camera's positioning she stood up, so close that for a moment all we could see were her hips and torso, and then she moved back towards the centre of the room. She was wearing a skirt that barely brushed the tops of her thighs, and a black halter-neck.

I wanted to look at Mark for his reaction, but I couldn't take my eyes off the screen.

My heart was beating uncomfortably hard.

Her eyes were focused above us, on something far away. She pirouetted, twice, hair flying and on the points of her toes. From this angle the scars on her arms stood out bluntly against her skin. There were a few near the tops of her legs that I had never seen before.

‘Tchaikovsky,' Mark said with a nod, as if that, at least, made sense.

She dropped on to her feet, swayed, moved back across the room as though her body was nothing more than air or water.

Arms extended, gliding, she stopped and descended into the splits, came back up and spun towards the camera again. When she reached it she dropped to her knees and her face was too close for me. She moved her lips along to the music for a while with her eyes shut, nothing more than ‘La la la…'

There was a fight-or-flight shot of adrenalin, as if I was being attacked.

‘Hm,' Mark said.

I got the impression he was only making a noise to disperse the atmosphere.

Opening her eyes, she smiled again, and blew a kiss at the camera. There was dark make-up on her eyelids, making them look as though they were set even deeper into her face.

I glanced at Mark and his expression hadn't changed, but I saw a barely detectable frown.

She stood up, let her fingertips graze the hem of her skirt as she brought her arms back up around her head and spun back towards the back wall and the shelf with the statue on it.

I cleared my throat and the noise felt conspicuous. I couldn't help it, but I wished that Mark wasn't here. If he hadn't been watching I could have felt turned on without the guilt. As it was, I focused on the nausea and confusion, because getting a hard-on in front of Mark wasn't the kind of awkward moment I could cope with right now.

Turning, she locked her eyes on me, unblinking. She stood en pointe, extended her leg behind her, held the pose and then dropped back down. Taking her hair in her hands again she spun and then stopped, swinging her hair back and forth as if she wasn't in control of her body any more, as if the strings were pulling her from one motion to the next.

Mark sniffed.

I jumped.

One of her legs came up behind her and she held it there, arms above her head, eyes on the camera.

‘Attitude,' Mark said under his breath, in a French accent.

Looking back over her shoulder, she relaxed out of the pose, pirouetted once more, and ran towards the lens until she was lost from view.

The footage froze.

The last thing I had seen was the glimpse of her face. Without speaking I took the mouse and dragged the video back to the last shot. Her expression was blank, and hard with concentration. At the same time, it was the most tranquil I'd ever seen her.

I wanted Mark to speak first.

‘I wonder why she had to stop dancing,' he said.

It was the last thing I had expected him to say.

‘What?'

‘Well, she's still good, isn't she? I wonder why she had to give it up.'

‘I…' I had never asked. ‘I don't know.'

He took control of the mouse and replayed the video from the beginning. I was glad it had been him to do it, and not me.

We watched it again until Clare was kneeling in front of the camera.

La la la
…

Mark paused it and scrutinized her for a moment. It was the first time that I had seen him look perturbed.

‘It's a bit weird, right?' I said, jumping on the change in his mood.

‘Mm. She's… quite captivating.' He glanced at me, rubbing the goose bumps that had sprung up along his arms. ‘What does she want from you? Has she said anything?'

‘No. Well… No.'

‘Well?'

Thinking about what had happened last time I saw her sent a thrill up my spine along with the shot of unease. My foot started tapping against the floor and when Mark looked down I stopped.

‘Did something happen?'

‘Fuck, no. I mean… No, not at all.'

‘I'm not fucking stupid, Nic,' he said, with a smile.

‘It hasn't. Really, it hasn't.' I hesitated. ‘That doesn't mean I… that I don't—'

‘Want it to. I get you.' He nodded and restarted the video again. ‘You know she's playing with you, right?'

We were sitting next to each other this time and both my hands were in sight. I didn't have the energy to be defensive.

‘Ha, only child,' he said, as she ran into the camera and disappeared. ‘Look at that face.'

I raised my eyebrows at him. ‘How can you possibly know that?'

‘Well, I spoke to her mother, of course, and there were no brothers or sisters at the wake.' He winked back. ‘But seriously, look at her expression, you can spot an only child like her from miles away. You can pick them out in a shopping centre, a football crowd, anywhere… Look at her. That's the face of someone who has got whatever they want, whenever they want, their whole life. Looking like she does… it's even more obvious why.'

There was a silence.

‘Why do you think she sent it?' I asked. ‘If… she's playing…'

‘Well, she is. Look at her.'

‘You keep saying that…'

‘Because it's so obvious, Nic, fucking hell…' He paused the video, restarted it, and then paused it again. ‘Look at her, I mean look at her how
normal
people would. You can see her whole life, right there.'

‘Well, go on then.' I sat back with my arms folded.

‘Her best relationship was obviously with her father and that's how she engages with the world, winning men over, manipulation. This isn't some come-on, it's a child showing off to get a reaction… because she can.'

‘And what's my reaction?'

‘Don't get weird on me, babe.' Mark cocked his head. ‘I don't think this is going to be the only time you watch this video, no?'

‘You're a smug wanker sometimes, you know that?'

He swung his legs up on to the coffee table with a grin. ‘Moi? Don't tell me you're not thinking of “MrsDyer”… XXX?'

‘Ha, fuck you.'

‘Do you know much about her relationship with Emma?'

‘Not as much as I'd like. She makes it difficult to ask questions. There's something weird there, definitely.'

‘You can imagine it wouldn't have been easy being her daughter.' He indicated his head at the screen.

‘Why?'

‘What an ego to contend with.'

‘You think she was jealous of her own daughter?' Saying the words brought a sour taste to my mouth, but it made sense.

‘People like that… it's in their nature to be jealous of female competition, I think. It doesn't matter who it is.' He pulled a face. ‘She's trouble.'

An idea struck me, and I leant forwards to restart the video.

Clare was in front of the camera, tilting the screen, looking down at something.

‘She must have a laptop,' I said, knowing that I was on to something. ‘That's a keyboard she's looking at, this must be a webcam.'

‘Bet this isn't the first one she's made,' Mark added. ‘Be interesting to see.'

‘That's it. I can get the laptop.'

‘Don't…'

‘What?'

He looked me up and down in a way that reminded me of Tony. In the instant I thought of him I replayed Harriet's voicemail in my mind. I thought of my parents, my promise to come back and the knowledge that I would never keep it. But then, as always, it was easy to push it all away.

‘She's trouble,' he said. ‘Don't get me wrong, she's beautiful and… whatever, but she is trouble. Just don't do anything stupid; you don't know what she wants.'

‘Can find out though?'

‘This is about Emma, remember?' he said.

‘Well, yeah.' I shut the laptop, unsettled at having to look at her face any longer. ‘Yeah, I know.'