Until It's Over (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

I think none of us really wanted to leave and go our separate ways, because that would be the end. We’d be scattered, blown in different directions, like the seeds of a dandelion clock. After we’d met outside the station, after the fragmented explanations, the arguments, the disbelief, the tears, the hugs, we walked slowly down the street, me pushing Campbell’s crappy bike, and stopped at the first pub we came to. It was dark and hot inside, with music playing too loudly. The men squeezed round a table near the window while Pippa and I went to get drinks. I felt as though I was moving under water, sluggish with tiredness and shock. As we were watching the man behind the bar pulling pints, another horrible thought came into my mind and I did something I never do, which is to ask someone about their sex life: ‘Did you ever sleep with him?’

‘Who?’

‘Miles.’

‘Once. Twice, maybe.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Pippa.’

‘It was after you’d finished with him, if that’s what you’re wondering, but before Leah. I wanted to cheer him up, comfort him.’

‘So you slept with him. You couldn’t just buy him a drink, have a chat?’

‘It was a way of holding him through the dark hours, I suppose. So, I’ve slept with a murderer. That’s a first.’

‘Not the most lovable thing you’ve ever said.’

‘Sorry.’ Then she looked at me. ‘He adored you. Maybe he went mad because of it. People do, you know. He’s sick in the head.’

‘What is it with you, Pippa? Is it an animal thing, like spraying on your territory?’

The barman interrupted us. ‘Excuse me. That’ll be ten pounds thirty, ladies.’

‘Here.’ I pulled the money out of my purse and slid it across.

‘Why did you never say?’ I asked Pippa, after collecting the change.

‘I just did.’

I started to say something, then gave up. What was the point? The world was full of secrets, each of us hiding our real self from everybody else, even those we called friends.

I managed to pick up three of the pints and walked across to the table where the others were sitting.

‘Cheers,’ I said, raising a glass. ‘Here’s to… well, what? What are we drinking to?’

‘Friendship,’ said Davy, with no trace of irony in his voice.

Pippa spluttered.

‘No, I’m serious,’ said Davy. ‘This has been shocking, more for Astrid and Pippa than the rest of us, I know, but we’re left, aren’t we? The six of us.’

‘At least we know we can trust each other,’ added Pippa, with another snort. Davy frowned at her. I gave her a disbelieving look too.

‘Cheers, anyway,’ he said and lifted his glass.

‘Yeah,’ said Dario.

So we toasted each other. I took a cautious sip. I didn’t need alcohol: the world was already unsteady around me. Nothing real or solid.

What was happening to Miles now? Was he still in the police station, with his solicitor, maybe? Were they questioning him at this very moment, capturing his words on a tape-recorder? Or was he sitting alone in a cell? Did his parents know yet? I’d met his mother several times and his father once, but my imagination balked when I tried to picture them hearing that their clever son was accused of murder. I heard Owen saying my name, but all I could see were images: Ingrid’s slashed face; Leah’s; Miles’s soft brown eyes looking into mine.

‘Don’t cry,’ said Davy. ‘You never cry.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’

‘Astrid?’ Owen said. ‘It’s OK. Cry if you want.’

And in front of everyone, he put his hand over mine and lifted it to his lips.

‘Hey! What’s going on?’ Dario’s eyes were bulging.

‘Shut up,’ said Owen.

But I leaned across the table, took Owen’s thin face between my hands and kissed him full on the lips. ‘It’s all right,’ I said.

Of course, it wasn’t all right, but the drink started to take hold and we ordered more and, in a slightly hysterical way, started to talk about old times and even to laugh a bit. It was mostly a performance but it helped us get through the evening until it was time for us to part. Just as we were starting to shift in our seats and nod our goodbyes, I remembered something. I took the cash out of my pocket.

‘This is probably evidence of some kind,’ I said. ‘Before the police grab it, we should share it out.’

But Davy stopped me. ‘For goodness’ sake, Astrid, people are already looking at us. Don’t flash money around in a place like this.’

It was probably more to do with embarrassment than fear but I gave a shrug.

‘I’ll do the maths,’ said Pippa. ‘Then we can arrange to meet tomorrow somewhere a bit more salubrious. It’ll be an excuse for another farewell drink.’

There were nods all round as we stood up, buttoned our jackets and went out into the street together. The rain had stopped and darkness fallen, though the last traces of day still glowed on the horizon. The air was warm and beneath the petrol fumes and curry I could smell blossom.

‘Don’t you love London?’ I said dreamily, to no one in particular. Then: ‘Oh, fuck, someone’s slashed both my bike tyres.’

‘How mean,’ said Pippa indignantly. ‘Can you mend them?’

‘Not without my repair kit. Never mind. I’ll just have to leave the bike here and come back tomorrow.’ I looked at them all, grouped on the pavement. ‘Well, this is it, then.’

‘Till tomorrow.’

I hugged Pippa, gripped the others by the arm. Owen stopped me. ‘Astrid,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘Don’t go just yet. Please.’

I hesitated, then took his hand. ‘Saul’s expecting me,’ I said. ‘And besides – well, this is the wrong time for anything except sleep. Maybe it will always be the wrong time – after this.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘We’ll see each other tomorrow, Owen. I’m not going anywhere.’

‘You’re right. Try to rest. I hope your dreams are peaceful.’

I found it hard to go. I knew we were meeting the next day, and yet it felt that this was the last time I would see them. At last, with a final wave, I was gone from them. I looked back once to see them dispersing, a group breaking up into its individual parts, then walked along the street in the direction of the underground station. A police car passed me from the opposite direction, but for once it had nothing to do with me – some other victim and some other crime. And as I walked, past the crowded bars and the closed-up shops, through the pools of light cast by street-lamps, under the narrow bridge where a couple stood entwined and pigeons nested, the horror thinned. For a few moments I thought only of the sound my feet made on the pavement, felt only the last heat of the day on my face, saw only the road in front of me as it curved round the corner. The story was over, but summer had only just begun.

Chapter Twenty-six

At last, after waiting so long, after years of training and knocking around, I was here. I was twenty-one and I was off and out. People come from all over the world to get to London. They escape on rickety boats, hide under trains and inside lorries. Not to get to Europe, not to England, but London, because in London you can either find people like you, whoever you are, whatever you’re like, or you can lose yourself. People arrive at Heathrow airport and rip up their identifying documents so they can’t be sent back. I’d have done that if I’d known how. I’d like to have washed up in London, naked and nameless, so I could have given myself a new name and created a new identity. Instead I got off the train at Euston and started again.

One cold Friday evening, just a few days into the new year, I was sitting in a pub on the basin of the canal at King’s Cross. I was on my third pint of lager and starting to feel woozy. Then I saw my mate Duncan coming towards me with a girl I’d never met before. I saw immediately that she was the kind of girl who made me virtually unable to string together consecutive words. She was tall, with long legs and strong, slender arms, and in spite of the winter weather she was dressed in shorts and a brightly coloured T-shirt. She was tanned and her face was freckled from the wind and sun. Her curly dark hair was tied back off her face. She had very striking dark eyes, which shone with laughter at something Duncan was saying that I couldn’t quite hear. She was carrying a bottle of beer in one hand, a satchel and a riding helmet. They approached the table.

‘This is Astrid Bell,’ said Duncan. He looked at her. ‘This is the guy I was telling you about.’

‘Hi,’ said Astrid. ‘Duncan says you’re looking for somewhere to live.’

Astrid wasn’t like any of the girls I had met before. She didn’t flirt or flatter people. She wasn’t tremulous, devious or eager to please. She didn’t care if I liked her or not. I don’t mean she was unfriendly; far from it. She just knew who she was and she wasn’t going to try to be anyone else. There was no side to her and no trickery. I could see that she would never pretend to have heard of a band that didn’t exist, or laugh at a joke she didn’t understand, or act coy to get her own way. I could tell that about her even before she sat down at the table opposite me, cupping her chin in her hands and looking at me with her clear, dark eyes. I watched her at the bar as she ordered us drinks, ignoring all the men who were ogling her. And I watched her as she made her way back to me, holding the two glasses carefully so she didn’t slop them, turning her head to grin and say something to a friend who called to her from the cigarette machine. There was a clean-limbed gracefulness about her, in spite of her skimpy cyclist clothes. It seemed to me that she was more clearly outlined than anyone else in the pub, as if she was backlit, or the central focus of a photograph in which all the other characters were marginal and slightly blurred.

‘Cheers,’ she said, taking a sip of her beer and wiping foam from her upper lip. ‘So, you’re looking for somewhere to live.’

‘Yes,’ I managed. ‘The place I’ve been staying in isn’t available any longer. I need to be out of there as soon as possible.’

‘This is a house in Hackney – is Hackney central enough for you? It’s a lovely house, really, a bit run-down maybe, with a big garden. There are six of us at the moment and we’re looking for a seventh.’

‘Is it you who owns it?’

She laughed at that, throwing her head back. I saw her white teeth and the pink inside of her mouth. ‘Do I look like I own a seven-bedroom house? I’m a despatch rider, for God’s sake. All I own is my bike and a few changes of clothes. No, it belongs to Miles. He’s got a real job but you don’t need to be alarmed. He’s cool. Or coolish.’

I tried to think of grown-up questions to ask. ‘How much does it cost?’

‘Fifty a week. Which is nothing. But we share the upkeep, the bills, stuff like that. Even some decorating. Gentlemen’s agreement. Could you hack that?’

‘Sounds good,’ I said. ‘What about things like mealtimes? Do you eat together?’

‘It’s not like the army. There aren’t many rules… Perhaps there ought to be more. But it’s worked so far. And it’s fun. Mainly. Are you interested?’

‘Yeah, definitely.’

‘You’d have to meet everyone, of course. First, though, can I ask you a few questions?’

‘Like what?’ I felt nervous and dry-mouthed, but I tried to appear relaxed, pretending to take a sip of my beer. I didn’t want any more to drink just yet. I needed to be alert, vigilant.

‘What kind of work do you do?’

‘I’ve not been in London that long. I’ve been doing odd bits of –’

Just then her mobile rang. She took it out of her pocket and flicked it open. ‘Hi, Miles.’

She looked at me and smiled. ‘I think I’ve found someone for the room. Yes. I’m with him now in the Rising Sun… That’s the one – down by the canal… He seems all right to me, on the whole.’ She looked at me again. ‘You’re all right, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think so.’

‘Trustworthy?’

‘For what?’

She laughed and resumed talking into the phone. ‘Why don’t you come and meet him?’ She raised her eyebrows questioningly at me, and I nodded vigorously. ‘Ten minutes, then.’ There was a pause and she listened, frowning. ‘Better and better. Bring her along. ’Bye.’

She shut her phone and turned to me. ‘There. The big boss is stopping by. I hope that’s all right with you.’

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Is someone else coming?’

‘Pippa. She lives in the house. The three of us – Pippa, Miles and I – have been there from the beginning. Everyone else kind of comes and goes, but we endure.’

‘So it’s like an interview?’

‘We’re not very frightening.’

But she was wrong. She didn’t understand how someone like her could make a person feel small and scared.

I knew it was them as soon as they came in. He was tall and rangy, with a closely trimmed beard, more like stubble, and a bald head that shone beneath the lights. He was wearing a suit of soft, dark material that looked expensive, with an overcoat on top, and carried a slim briefcase. He had a firm handshake, but his eyes only met mine for a second before he glanced at Astrid. He kissed her cheek and I saw how his face softened. I stored away the information: he fancied her. It was written all over him. But she didn’t fancy him. I was sure of it.

The woman – Pippa – didn’t bother to shake my hand. Instead she touched my arm with the tips of her fingers and widened her eyes, smiling with perfectly painted pink lips. I could smell her perfume. I’m good at smells. I remember them. My mother smelled of grass. Pippa was as tall as Astrid, maybe taller, but fairer, slimmer, breakable like porcelain. She was wearing a cream suit and high heels. Her long hair was coiled on top of her head and every so often she would touch it delicately, checking it was still in place. She looked so demure, but ‘You must be fucking crazy,’ were her first words.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘To want to live in our madhouse.’

‘Don’t pay any attention to her,’ said Astrid.

I offered to buy them a drink, thinking it would be money spent in a good cause, and as I stood at the bar I cast glances back at them. They leaned towards each other round the table and I heard a burst of laughter. Were they talking about me? Laughing at me?

They asked me questions. I smiled and nodded and told them the things they wanted to hear. Yes, I was pretty easy-going. Yes, I had friends in London. Yes, I could pay the rent each month. No, I didn’t mind clearing up. And no, I had no intention of moving on in a few months’ time.

‘Do you like curry?’ asked Pippa, abruptly.

‘Yes. Love it,’ I replied, though I don’t. Too greasy and salty.

‘Let’s get a takeaway and go back to Maitland Road,’ she said. ‘Then you can meet the others. What do you say?’

‘Have I passed?’

‘She was meant to consult with Astrid and me first,’ said Miles, in a bit of a sour voice.

‘Sorry,’ said Pippa, and winked at me.

‘Shall I leave you to talk about me among yourselves for a few minutes?’

‘No need,’ said Astrid, standing up and pulling on a leather jacket. ‘You three go ahead. I’ll bike and meet you at the house.’

We walked outside, into the darkness. I watched Astrid as she stood under the street-lamp to unlock her bike. She clipped on her helmet, hung her canvas satchel over her shoulder and swung one slim leg over the cross-bar. Her breath smoked in the air. Everything about her was fluid and streamlined. Then I saw that Miles was watching her too.

We took a cab. Miles phoned for the takeaway from the taxi, and we stopped a few streets from the house to collect it. We walked back together with two paper carrier-bags steaming with food and two bottles of wine that I insisted on buying from a shop we passed. I had never been to this part of London before and I looked around me, trying to get a sense of it. The road we were on was one of those arterial routes that cut through the city, full of traffic-lights and clogged with cars and lorries. I could tell at once that it was a run-down area, the kind I’d come to London to get away from. The shops were strange and old and several were boarded-up; there were high-rise blocks on either side of us. I noticed that many faces were black. But the streets running off this road looked a mixture of raffish and rich, lined with tall old houses behind their iron gates and little front gardens.

‘Nearly there,’ said Pippa.

We turned down a long, tree-shaded street, then off it on to another, where a group of teenage boys were kicking a ball in and out of pools of light and parked cars. Ahead, a high-rise cut off the horizon. To the left was the entrance to a scruffy park.

‘Here we are!’

The house must have been grand when it was built. It was three storeys high and double-fronted, with bay windows, a small garden at the front and wide steps leading up to the door. But I could tell at once that it needed a lot of work doing to it. Pointing, for a start. And slates were coming off the roof. The window-frames were cracked, the paint peeling. Years of neglect had eaten into the structure, rotting the house like an illness. I saw all of this even as I was saying, in a polite voice, what a great place it was.

‘Don’t mind the mess,’ said Miles, as he opened the front door.

‘We’re here!’ yelled Pippa. ‘With food!’

Astrid came down the stairs. She had changed into jeans and a pale green T-shirt. Her feet were bare and I saw that her toenails were painted orange and she had a silver chain round her left ankle. ‘I beat you to it,’ she said. ‘And everyone’s here. I’ve told them about you.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Good.’

‘Are you nervous?’

‘A bit,’ I said. ‘I’d like to live here. That puts me in a weak position.’

It was the right answer; I’d thought it would be. She looked at me appreciatively and put one hand briefly on my shoulder. ‘Come into the lion’s den.’

We trooped down the stairs in single file. I could hear male voices and I suddenly realized I hadn’t asked anything about the other occupants. But it was too late now because there we were, standing in the large, messy semi-basement where three men were sitting round the long table, and Astrid was introducing me, while Pippa slid chipped and unmatching plates round the table, then dumped a handful of cutlery in the middle.

‘Right, everyone,’ said Astrid, and silence fell. Everyone looked at me. This first impression would be important, I knew.

‘Hi,’ I said, and raised a hand.

‘This,’ she said, ‘is Davy.’

I knew that first impressions would be important. I smiled at each of them. I looked each of them in the eye. I made mental notes.

‘First of all,’ Astrid said, turning to a scrawny, freckly man, who looked like the carrot-headed runt in my class at secondary school whom everyone had picked on, ‘this is Dario.’

‘Hi, Dario,’ I said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘Are you?’ His pupils were dilated and his words ran into each other. Stoned, I thought.

‘What? Well, yes. At least, I will be if you decide I can live here.’ There was a ripple of amusement and I felt my confidence grow.

‘And this…’ Astrid gestured towards a slightly older man with a buzzcut, who was wearing a thin grey T-shirt that seemed too tight for his stocky body. Something about his pale-blue gaze made me feel uneasy. ‘This is Mick.’

He grunted something. That was all I’d get.

‘And last but not least…’

I turned towards the third man, smiling and holding out my hand. I knew at once that I didn’t like him, not one bit. I didn’t like his long dark hair, or his high cheekbones, or the hooded lids over his dark, secretive eyes. I didn’t like his fucking beauty or the way he looked dreamy, as if he was seeing something I couldn’t. And I didn’t like the way Astrid was staring at him now; there was a sudden glow about her that was like heat being given off. Nor the way he looked back, a glance passing between them and electricity in the air.

We shook hands.

‘Owen,’ he said.

‘Hello, Owen.’

I took a seat between Astrid and Dario, uncorked the two bottles of wine and poured everyone a glass. Pippa lit three stubby white candles. I listened, nodded, laughed in all the right places. I was modest, appreciative. I patted Dario on the back when his prawn went down the wrong way. I helped Astrid clear away the foil containers. I said I wouldn’t mind dealing with the wasps’ nest under the eaves when summer came. It turned out to be as simple as that. I was in.