Guns Of Brixton (34 page)

    'Mark.'

    'Mark
who?'

    'Mark
Farrow.'

    'It
can't be.'

    
'It Is.'

    'Mark
Farrow?' 'Yeah.' 'Christ.! 'It is. Dizzy.'

    'It's
Eddie now. Always Eddie.' 'Sorry. I can't believe you're still there.'

    'You
can't believe me. Bloody hell, man, it's been… how long?' 'Eight years, more or
less.'

    'And
you can't believe it's me. I can't believe it's you, Mark.' 'It is.'

    There
was a long pause. 'So?'

    'I'm
back, Eddie.' It sounded strange to Mark's ears to call his old friend that. It
had heen Dizzy Dawes since school. 'So what do you want me to do? Dance, sing?'
'Listen, I know I just vanished, but I had my reasons.' 'Reasons to be cheerful
part three.' An old Blockheads hit. That was more like Dizzy, thought Mark. 'Yeah.'
'So? Why the call?'

    'I
was wondering what you were doing.'

    'Sitting
here in front of the telly, smoking spliff, drinking strong lager, same as
every night.'

    'Where's
Bren?' Bren was Brenda. Eddie's wife. A sweet girl, if a little simple, Mark
remembered.

    'Gone.
Took the kids and pissed off with a driving instructor from Cheam.'

    Mark
didn't know if he was being serious. 'Kids?' he said. 'Two now. One you met in
his bassinet, the other came later, after you split.' 'Boy or girl?'

    'Does
it matter, Mark? They might as well not exist as far as I'm concerned. They're
living in Nottingham or Birmingham or some bloody ham or another now, I don't
know.' 'I'm sorry, mate.'

    'Yeah,
sure. So what's the real reason for this new year communication? Forget to send
me a Christmas card? Want to know what I got from Santa? What?'

    'I'm
trying to find the boys.'

    'What
boys?'

    'Our
boys. The old crew.'

    'Christ,
Mark, where you fucking been?'

    'Around.
I'll tell you if you let me. We could meet.'

    'That'd
be good. Talk about old times. Old mates who never call.'

    'Listen.
I'm sorry, Diz. I mean it.'

    'I
told you, it's Eddie these days. Don't call me Dizzy. I don't answer. to that
name anymore.'-

    'OK
Eddie. Are you working?'

    'Me?
Fuck no. That's one of the reasons Bren did a runner. No gainful employment. No
regular fucking income. I can hear her saying it now, the cow. No, mate. I'm sitting
here in my flat waiting for the bailiffs, living high on what the government
supplies every fortnight in Giro form.' 'Maybe I can do something about that.'
'Like what?'

    'Put
a little work your way.' 'What kind of work?' 'Dirty work.' 'Real dirty work?'
'The dirtiest.'

    'Are
you kidding me? You ain't seen the state I'm in.' 'It's well paid.' 'How much?'

    'Not
on the dog, mate. Like I said, we could meet.' For the first time, Edward
'Dizzy' Dawes sounded interested. 'When?' he asked. 'Tomorrow.'

    'Sounds
all right. I've nothing else to do.'

    'Fine.
I've got someone else to see first, I think. How about late afternoon?'

    'Whenever.'

    'I'll
call you…'

    'What?
In eight years time?'

    'No.
Tomorrow lunchtime. We'll make a meet. You're still in Stockwell?' Course he
was. Stupid question.

    'No.
I'm at Claridges, but I've had my calls diverted.'

    'Sorry
mate. I'll bell you, all right?'

    'You
do that.'

    Mark
clicked off the connection and put the phone on the bed. He decided to wait
until talking to Dizzy, or Eddie, or whatever he was calling himself these
days, before trying to find more old friends. His welcome in that quarter could
hardly have been called warm. Only the mention of money had made Eddie soften
up, and even then it was little more than a faint thaw of the chill that had
gripped his voice when he'd discovered who was calling. But who could blame
him? Mark had been the leader of the firm and he'd just split without warning.
They hadn't known what had caused him to leave - and they never would as far as
he was concerned.

    Mark
switched off his mobile and went downstairs. Both Chas and John Jenner had gone
up to their respective rooms and Martine's absence made him suppose that she
was on one of her boozy nights out. Thank God for that, he thought. The last
thing he needed was a rerun of the previous night's events. Or the
recriminations he was sure it would eventually bring.

    He
switched on the TV, found a bottle of brandy in the cupboard, poured a decent glassful
and lit a cigarette before sitting in front of the box and staring mindlessly
at the screen.

    Shit,
he thought, I wonder where all this grief is going to end. He couldn't know
what the future held, but perhaps if he had, he would have just got up and
walked out into the cold night, never to return.

    He
thought about Linda. On the screen, an old James Bond film reeled in front of
his eyes, and ridiculous people did ridiculously violent things to each other,
then got up and carried on as if nothing had happened. In real life it wasn't
like that, Mark knew. He killed the volume and used the landline to call Linda
on her mobile. She answered quickly.

    'Is
it all right to talk?' asked Mark without identifying himself.

    'Yes.'

    'I've
been thinking about you,' he said.

    'Me
too. Thinking about you, I mean,' she said.

    'Good.'

    'Don't
be too pleased. You don't know what I've been thinking.'

    'True.
But you're talking to me, so it can't be all bad.'

    'Don't
you believe it.'

    'I
meant what I said.'

    'About
what?'

    'About
you. And me.'

    'Mark.
Seems to me I've heard that song before.'

    'Yeah,
I know. But you'll end-up believing me.'

    'So
you say.'

    'So I
mean. Anyway. Tomorrow. How about lunch? We can't keep meeting in Safeway's -
people will talk, and my grocery bill will go through the roof.'

    'Suppose
so.'

    'Where
then?'

    'Somewhere
where no one will know us.'

    'Know
you, you mean,' she said.

    'If
you like.'

    'Sneaking
around, like we used to?'

    'Linda.
I've explained.' He watched the images on the screen flicker in front of him
like cardboard cut-outs in glorious Technicolour.

    'But
that doesn't make it right, Mark.'

    'I know.
But tomorrow. You'll meet me?'

    'Yes.
You know I will. I'm just a fool.' 'You're not.'

    'I
wonder, would you have pursued me if Andy hadn't died?'

    'Would
you have let me?'

    'The
trouble is, Mark, I don't know.'

    He
sighed. He didn't know either.

    'So
where do we meet?'

    'Remember
the Horniman Museum?'

    'How
could I forget?'

    'There's
a restaurant there. It's open for lunch. It's pricey. You can treat me.'

    'I'd
treat you to lunch on the moon if there was a restaurant there,' said Mark.

    'Don't
lay it on too thick, Mark.'

    'Sorry.
What time?'

    'One-ish.
We should be able to get a table without booking. I'll leave Daisy with Greta.'

    'You
can bring Daisy if you want,' said Mark. 'I liked her, and I think she liked
me.'

    'Dangerous
territory. I don't want you bonding with my children, then taking off. They've
suffered enough loss, thank you very much.'

    'I
won't take off again.'

    'Don't
make promises you can't possibly keep. You promised me you'd never leave me
once before, and look what happened.'

    He
couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make it worse, so he said
nothing.

    'So,
I'll see you there,' said Linda after a moment's silence.

    'Sounds
fine.'

    'Wait
till you see the bill and you'll wish it was just your groceries you were
paying for.'

    'I
can handle it.'

    'And
me, Mark. You always could handle me. Isn't that right? Now I've got to go.'

    When
she switched off, Mark replaced the phone in the cradle. He realised that
Martine had entered silently, her shoes in her hand. She was drunk. 'The bird,'
she said. 'Has to be. Got a date?'

    'How
long have you been there?'

    'Wouldn't
you like to know?'

    'Not
really.'

    'You're
a fucking prick,' she said, the words slurring together.

    'I
think you've already made that clear.'

    'Piss
off.'

    'Why
bother, Martine? Why don't we just coexist peacefully?'

    'And
why don't you help my dad?'

    'That's
just what I intend to do.'

    'What?
Between shags with that bitch?'

    'Why
do you hate her so much?'

    'Because
she rules you, you bloody fool.'

    'And
does that make you jealous?'

    'Jealous?'
she almost screamed. 'You think I give a shit about you or what you do?'

    'If
last night was anything to go by.'

    'Bollocks,'
she said and walked out. Mark looked at James Bond and envied him his way with
women. When he'd finished his drink he shut off the TV in the middle of the
dramatic finale of the film and went to bed. If only the rest of his life was
that simply sorted, he thought.

    The
next day he hung around the house all morning communicating with no one and
staying in his room. At noon he set off for Du'lwich and the Horniman Museum.
He'd taken Linda one Saturday afternoon when they'd been going out together.
Maybe not the obvious place for a date, but the Horniman had captured Mark's
attention when he was a boy. It had been founded by the tea magnate of the same
name and contained items he'd discovered on his travels to India and China. The
dark exhibits excited something in Mark's soul and he wanted to share it with
his first real love. But outside in the grounds their passion had gotten the
better of them and instead of ancient artifacts, Mark and Linda had found a
quiet corner to make love. It was the first time in the open air for both of
them and they often laughed at the memory, especially the part when one of the
attendants had come out for a smoke break and had stood not two yards away from
where they'd hidden in the undergrowth.

    Mark
arrived early, found a parking space and went to find the restaurant. It looked
very smart from the outside and he didn't know if it would work out in the
wilds of south London. Still, he was prepared to give it a try, if only for old
time's sake. And the fact that Linda had suggested the place made him think
things could be going his way.

    Outside
the building, only a few feet from where they'd hidden together on that long
ago summer afternoon, Mark took out his mobile and keyed in Eddie Dawes's
number. The phone was answered in a moment. 'Eddie,' said Mark. 'How you
going?'

    'Hungover.
Nothing new there.'

    Mark
hated to hear his old friend talk like that. 'Are you about later?' he asked.

    'Yeah.'