2cool2btrue (37 page)

“Hey,” was all she said, very softly.

I tried to reply but my voice wouldn’t work. She got up, stretching awkwardly as she did so, discovering where she was stiff, where she ached. Then she came across to my bedside table and poured me a glass of water and held it to my lips. It was stale and tepid but it felt good on my parched throat. I took a few sips. I swallowed hard.

“Hey,” I growled.

She smiled, turning her head to look at me and pushed my hair, which felt sticky and matted, away from my forehead.

“How you feeling?”

“Whacked,” I whispered and I did.

She smiled again.

“I’m not surprised.”

I wondered for a moment if I was dreaming. The room was so brightly lit and so silent. Then my dad appeared behind her, also looking exhausted.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hi, Dad.”

“Still with us then?” As I looked again at his familiar face, eyes swollen with lack of sleep, I realised that behind the question a feeling of relief was battling with guilt and confusion. I’d nearly died. His only son had nearly died in front of him and he’d been partly responsible for it.

“Just,” I said, trying to show that I didn’t hold anything against him.

“Do you want some coffee?” he asked Nora.

“Mmm, yes, please, that would be nice,” she said without taking her eyes off me.

My dad moved off and left the room. I lay back and closed my eyes again—tired out by this simple exchange. I felt Nora take my hand and squeeze it gently. Hers was soft and cool in mine which felt sweaty. I opened my eyes again and asked her:

“What happened?”

She laughed softly at the inadequacy of my question.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to hear?”

I wasn’t sure but I said:

“Yeah…yeah. What happened?”

“Well,” she said, thoughtfully. “I don’t know how much you remember. I thought for a moment they’d just thumped you in the stomach so I tried to pull you away but then I saw…this blood…it was everywhere. So much of it.” She stopped for a minute and bit her lip. I squeezed her hand. “I didn’t, couldn’t, believe it was yours at first. Then I realised you’d been stabbed by one of those…bastards…and I thought for a moment…” She blinked back tears and then put her head down on my hand, opening it out and kissing my palm gently. I tried to touch her hair with my other hand but my drip held it back. She lifted her head again, wiped away tears and struggled to give me a reassuring smile through lips that she didn’t seem able to control.

“Luckily someone there knew about first aid, some guy…” she grunted with disgusted amusement. “Some guy dressed as a schoolboy had seen it and he came forward and began to rip up clothes or something to stop the bleeding. Then, soon afterwards the paramedics arrived. By that time almost everyone else had left, run away.” She drifted off for a moment, staring into space. “They did their thing. They didn’t seem to notice anyone else. I’m afraid the guy who did it, who stabbed you, whichever one it was, got away. One minute they were both there looking like ‘Oh, my God, what have I done?’ and the next they’d disappeared. The police took statements from everyone who was still there—they’ll want to talk to you too, I suppose—but I don’t think they’ll ever find those guys.”

I watched her speak, trying to remember any of it or at least visualise what it must have been like. I was wondering about the effect it must have had on Nora. I remembered her bravery when we were in the house where Piers was hiding.

“I don’t care about them,” I whispered. She took another deep breath.

“And then we came in the ambulance with you, your dad and me that is, and we had to leave you when they rushed you into the emergency room.” She bit her lip again at this moment to stop it quivering. “And then we waited and waited and finally the doctor came out and said it was all okay and you’d be all right.” She stopped again and swallowed hard. “He said…” She laughed gently. “He said it was just a routine stabbing. Can you believe it? A ‘routine’ stabbing.” She laughed again. “I suppose they must see so many.” Now her laughter turned to sobs. “Oh, Charlie…we really thought…”

“Kiss me,” I told her.

She looked almost surprised, then relieved. I felt her lips on mine. I smelled the remainder of her perfume mixed with stale sleep. She rested her cheek against mine for a moment and I wished she could get into bed with me and we could hold each other.

The door opened. Nora stood up and looked around. It was my dad holding two plastic cups.

“Oh, er, sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay, John,” said Nora. “Is that coffee?”

“Hard to say without a lab report,” said my dad, looking down at it uneasily.

“What? No latte?” I croaked. They both laughed, more out of relief than amusement. My dad walked forward and handed one cup to Nora. I could smell it now.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a sip.

“Listen, I’ll, er, I’ll be outside,” he said. Nora got up and turned to look at him.

“No, you don’t have to,” she said. But he left anyway, closing the door quietly behind him. She sat down again.

“Nora.”

“Yes.” She looked expectantly at me.

“Just, you know, be careful,” I said, looking over at the coffee. “I don’t fancy third degree burns as well as a stab wound.” She looked quizzical and then smiled shyly as the penny dropped. She said: “I’m glad he’s giving us a minute.”

“Is there an ‘us’?”

I remember looking at her as if I’d met her for the first time. Did I really know this girl at all? I looked away trying to get my thoughts together. I still felt groggy and tired.

“Nora, I love being with you, I’d love there to be an ‘us,’ but…” I looked back at her. She was staring intently at me, obviously trying to work out what I was going to say next. If only I knew myself. All I could do was say what I thought as it came into my head. “You’ve lied to me so much over the past few weeks, I can’t forget that.” She began to cry again, this time she didn’t try to stop herself. “Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” she said eventually. “I can’t help myself sometimes. It was a story and it was exciting and people were talking about what I’d written and I was getting stuff into the paper and the editor was coming into the office and saying ‘Well done….’”

I tried to understand what she meant, what this all-consuming motivation was that she was describing.

“What about me, though? We made love and then you used that story about 2cool closing….”

Looking down at my hand which she was still holding, she began to cry again.

“I don’t know, I’m so sorry, Charlie. I told you, sometimes I just can’t help it. Causing trouble, stirring it up. It’s this part of me that does it. The thing is…” She took a deep breath. “The thing is, I knew I was hurting you but I couldn’t stop myself. I think it was also because I
wanted
to hurt you, wanted to make you pay attention to me. That’s horrible isn’t it?” she looked up at me through eyes reddened with crying and lack of sleep.

“Well, getting me stabbed certainly got my attention.” She stared horrified, anxious. “I’m kidding,” I said, lying back, suddenly feeling very tired, unable to think this all through at the moment. She was right, it was horrible but, on the other hand, I was beginning to feel that perhaps we had moved on. If she could recognise that part of her then perhaps she could do something about it, control it. Perhaps I could help her.

“Oh, God, Charlie, it’s not funny. I
did
get you stabbed. I made you come to that party, got you messed up in this whole thing.”

“I got myself messed up in it. You just added to it a bit.”

“And then when you told me Lauren and you had split up I was so upset. I’d wanted it, sure, in a way, but I couldn’t believe you’d ever do it. I felt guilty, like it was
my
fault—and it
was
my fault.”

“Stop saying that. It wasn’t your fault. Lauren and I split up because we’d both changed, become different people. Anyway, I don’t believe you ever feel guilty.”

She laughed and then caught her breath as if she was going to cry.

“I don’t often, but I suppose that’s it, when I do, I feel very guilty, really terrible.” Yet again, I found myself wondering again what it must be like to be Nora.

“But didn’t you think you meant something to me?” I asked, kinder now. She thought it over for a moment.

“I didn’t know,” she said in a small voice. “I just…even though we’d slept together I thought at best I was the other woman and probably not even that, just a couple of quick fucks.”

“Nora, I told you, you were never—”

“Yeah, but what else would you say? You were hardly going to admit it, were you?” I sensed her lean forward a bit and I opened my eyes to look at her. “Charlie, I’ve been thinking about this since we first slept together. The thing is, I’ve always been the one boys sleep with once or twice before they go back to their regular girlfriends—the girlfriends who’ve met their parents, who are elegant and well dressed, can make polite small talk, who’ll give them beautiful kids without any trouble. I’m trouble, that’s it, that’s what I am. Oh, I know I ask for it, but sometimes I just want to be normal, feel accepted, wanted.” She takes a deep breath. “And that’s how you make me feel.”

I found tears coming into my own eyes suddenly. I tried to say “I love you,” but my voice didn’t work properly and I ended up mouthing the words at her. Then I must have fallen asleep again, a victim of exhaustion and the remains of the sleeping pills. Funnily enough, after that conversation about in-laws, my mum came to see me. She and Nora seemed to get on. I can’t remember what they talked about—me mainly—but I began to notice how relaxed my mum was around Nora even when Nora knocked her tea flying across the room during a reenactment of our visit to Piers and I realised for the first time how Mum was actually intimidated by Lauren whenever they met.

Suddenly I’m back in the market and Guy is watching me, intrigued.

I laugh shyly and look down at my empty plate.

“Have some of their fish,” he says, getting up from his bar stool. “Look, come over here and choose what you want. It’s so fresh! It was still swimming in the sea just a few hours ago.”

We choose a fillet of salmon for him and some swordfish for me. Guy orders them again in his effortless Catalan and in the meanwhile we chew on fresh bread, ragged with tomato and garlic and drizzled with olive oil.

“You and Lauren managed to sort things out between you?” he asks as we take our seats again.

“Yeah, yeah,” I tell him. “You know how sensible Lauren is. It’s all been very amicable really.”

Our next course arrives. Two plates are casually banged down in front of us. The fish is grilled to a crisp brown and is glistening with olive oil and lemon juice.

“Has Lauren got a job in television, then?” asks Guy, having ordered two more beers.

“Oh, yeah. Well, funnily enough, Peter managed to sell a one off to the BBC about 2cool. The rise and fall of it. They were so keen to get an exclusive that they accepted Lauren as the presenter despite her lack of experience. She’s good, though, everyone who knows about these things says. I’ve seen her practise tapes, her show reel. She really comes across well. Peter’s producing it. Anyway, she’s going to interview me and Piers and we persuaded lots of other big name investors to take part.”

“Persuaded?” says Guy, smiling wickedly.

“Oh, some were a bit unwilling, but then we just mentioned badgers and oddly enough they became much more approachable.

“So you two are still speaking then?”

“Yeah, yeah. As long as I don’t mention Nora that is. We’ve got a lot of things to sort out and I’ll always be very fond of her. I’ve been helping on the show too, obviously. Oh, yes, while I think of it, she asked me to ask you about doing an interview for it. You could really explain the thinking behind 2cool.”

Guy smiles again and looks away.

“No, thanks. ’Fraid not.”

“Fair enough.” I take a mouthful of fish and let the flavour wash through me. Oh, God, who needs drugs? “What
was
the thinking behind it?” I ask. “I mean did you want to get rich or was it all just a joke—an economist’s prank? Ha, ha.”

“We economists are known for our sense of humour,” Guy informs me gravely.

“Of course. Seriously though…”

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps I’ve also got Nora’s kind of intelligence—troublemaking—you know, the kind of intellect that needs a sheep dog to keep it on the straight and narrow. If we had made some money it would have been great, really nice—certainly that was Piers’s idea. But I think really I was just carrying out an experiment. Everyone wants to be involved in something cool, glamorous, stylish, something that everyone else is doing.” Suddenly his eyes are wide with excitement. “Have you heard of Charles Mackay? No, well he was a nineteenth century British economist who developed the theory of the ‘madness of crowds.’ Basically a person wouldn’t necessarily invest in something if they’re the only one asked to do it, but if they see others investing in something, especially if it is people that they admire or equate themselves with, they’ll put their money into it as well. Even if—small detail, this—it doesn’t actually exist.”