Now You See Me (19 page)

‘Don't they look similar,' I said in the end, ‘Mr Dickens' dead wife and my gran?'

‘Funny,' he said, ‘it even looks like
Mr Dickens
in this one.' Why didn't he just come straight out with it and call me a liar? He didn't say another word about it but looked at me sideways and flipped the album shut.

‘Let's see your arms then,' he said.

‘No.'

‘So it's true?'

‘I fell through a window,' I said, ‘when I was a kid. Cut my arms to shreds.'

He groaned and put his head in his hands. Norma whimpered and I squatted down to stroke her head. Her nose was dry and she was breathing too fast, nearly panting.

‘She's not well,' I said.

‘Nah.'

‘I'll take her to the vet tomorrow. The proper vet.'

He looked up and nodded. ‘Cheers.'

‘Doggo,' I said, ‘what if Sarah does move in with Mr Dickens …'

We sat there gloomily for a minute, imagining. But I didn't want us to be gloomy. I didn't want it to be gloomy for him, being here with me.

‘Let's go out to eat,' I said, ‘I'll treat you.'

‘Fuck
off
.'

‘Why not?'

‘Where's dosh coming from? Was it a bank window you fell through?'

‘Hahaha,' I said. ‘While you were
discussing
me did you tell her about you?'

‘Don't be so fucking stupid.'

‘What
did
you do?' I said. ‘I mean who did you kill? Why? I know you murdered someone so you might as well …'

The look on his face shut me up. He stood up so suddenly Gordon yelped. I thought I was going to faint, the way he was looking at me, but I made myself look right back into his eyes. He grabbed hold of my wrists and pulled me up.

‘Get off,' I said.

‘No. I get it. You like hurt, is that it? You like pain? Maybe
you'd
like to be murdered, eh? That your little fantasy?' He spoke in a hard fast whisper.

‘Doggo no.'

‘You want me to hurt you? Cut you up like you cut yourself?'

My heart was hammering so hard I could hardly hear him.

‘Stop it.'

I would have screamed but I couldn't scream. His hands were strangling my wrists and squeezing my bad arm. My legs started to give way.

‘You are a stupid bitch,' he said. His pupils were flared so huge that his eyes looked black. And I was there in them, flickering pale like two tiny flames. His breath was hot.

Then he let go and I staggered back and let myself down on the bed. He shrunk a bit, right there in front of me, his shoulders narrowing. He sat down on the deck chair, sighed and looked at me for a long time. ‘OK,' he said. ‘You want to know.' He rolled a cig and took a hungry drag before he spoke.

‘Dave, my brother, were killed in a riot. Gang from next door estate, beat him over head with baseball bat and that. Split his skull. He were on one of them life-support machines but he were brain dead so they switched him off. If they hadn't of switched him off he would have been a human vegetable.' He stared at the floor as he spoke. His voice sounded flat and ordinary but a little muscle jumped at the corner of his eye.

‘I'm so sorry,' I said. My hands were fizzing hot as the blood prickled back into them.

‘So I got my revenge, didn't I? Killed a guy.'

My voice was like paper. ‘How?'

‘Knifed him. Satisfied?'

He was shuddering. Finding it hard to get the fag into his mouth. I looked at his hands. He'd taken the gloves off. The bits of tape on his knuckles were curled at the edges and covered in fluff from his gloves. The burns were healing. Soon he wouldn't need the plasters at all. I imagined a knife in his hand. I couldn't think what kind of knife. A dagger? Or a flick-knife? Or a carving knife? And did he stab him once or twice or twenty times? Did he stab him through the heart or through the belly and the lungs? And how much blood?

‘It were like an eye for an eye,' he said.

I couldn't think what on earth to say. It seemed ordinary, the way he said it. Like murder could actually be an ordinary thing.

‘Is that how you got your scar?' I said.

He put his index finger up and tenderly stroked along the crooked brow. ‘Yeah.' His stomach growled.

‘You hungry?' I said.

He did a wry smile. ‘I'm always fucking hungry, me.'

‘Shall we go out then?'

‘Nah.'

‘I'll go and get some take-away then, shall I?' I said.

I went to Pizza Hut and sat in the bright cheesy glare waiting for a deep-pan with pepperoni and anchovies which he said was his favourite. I'm not so keen on the anchovies myself but you can always pick them off. There were hundreds of kids in there shrieking like trapped seagulls, and coloured balloons bobbing against the ceiling. I was trembling inside with the new knowledge. It wasn't that bad. It was the sort of murder you could understand. In the old days or in some societies it might even be considered right. A good thing. And the main thing was he trusted me. He wouldn't have told me the whole truth if he didn't trust me. He hadn't told Sarah. It was me and him now that I knew the truth. Me and him against the world. Up to me to keep him safe.

I stopped off at the off-licence for a bottle of Chianti. But when I got back Doggo had already opened another bottle of Mr Dickens' wine. It was like one of those silly balloons had popped inside me.

‘Hey,' I said, ‘that's not ours. I got us some, look.'

He peered at the bottle. ‘Not such a fine vintage, my dear,' he said and I smiled even though I was narked. While I'd been out, he'd got himself back together. He darted a nervous look at me, but I just smiled. Wanting him to see that it was all OK.

‘That's some temper you've got,' I said.

He took a slug of wine straight from the bottle. ‘Who's going to miss it?' he said.

‘That's not the point. He trusts me.'

‘Don't talk shit,' Doggo said, ‘he doesn't even know you're here.'

He took a can of dog food out of his bag and opened it with the spike on his army knife. I winced as the sharp point pierced the tin. Gordon wolfed it down but Norma didn't even lift her head.

‘Tomorrow, the vet, first thing,' I said.

‘Yeah.'

I drank some of the wine since it was open anyway and it got straight into my brains and I didn't care any more where it had come from. I didn't care what Doggo had done, just as long as he was there. I could not imagine being alone again. How can anyone bear to be alone? All that childish high-wire rubbish. The pizza dripped orange grease on the knees of my jeans.

The only thing that bugged me was that we could hear Sarah moving about. She put the telly on. What was she doing there? There was no reason for it. She was meant to be staying with her friend. It meant we were on edge, because any moment she might discover us. Every now and then the phone rang and you could hear her voice but not the words she said.

‘You don't go up university much, do you?' Doggo said like he was throwing me a tricky catch. He flicked a bit of pepperoni to Gordon at the same time. Gordon caught the pepperoni with a snap of his teeth which was more than I did the question. There was a big creak from above and we both flinched and shut up.

‘Wish she'd go away,' I whispered.

‘Oh she's OK,' Doggo said.

‘Do you think she's pretty?' I asked. He shrugged. ‘I do,' I said, ‘or she would be if she wasn't so fat.'

‘She's not fat,' he said. ‘She's just … right curvy, womanly.'

‘Yeah,' I said, staring down at my skinny knees, ‘I suppose she is.'

There was a long silence.

‘Wonder how
he
is, poor bugger,' he said.

I nodded. While I'd been waiting for the pizza I'd watched people moving past like ghosts outside the bright window and prayed for Mr Dickens to get better and not just because of the cellar but because of himself. And because I like him. Because I was used to him sitting in his chair by the fire and telling me stories about Zita. I had liked those cosy afternoons – but they'd started to seem part of the past already. I had his watch on and the leather strap smelled of him and it still ticked away like nothing in the world was wrong.

Suddenly Norma was sick with an awful spasm as if her whole body was going to turn inside out. Lots of froth came up and hung in slippery bubbles and ribbons from her mouth.

I thought Doggo would cry, he looked so scared. I picked her up. Her little body was hot and shuddery in my arms like she was having some sort of fit. He wanted to go and see Sarah, see what she thought, maybe ring a vet. I knew she would be useless but what else could we do? We left Gordon behind and went out the side and back up the path, rang the Trumpet Voluntary and waited. Sarah arrived at the door at the same time as Doughnut and dragged him back. We stood blinking. It was like the Blackpool Illuminations in there.

‘Hiya. I've changed all the bulbs,' she said. ‘He had 40 watt, can you imagine, and half of
them
were dead. I didn't even know you could
get
40 watt.'

‘Norma's not well,' I said.

She lifted Norma out of my arms and carried her through. She ran her fingers under Norma's tummy and probed. I don't think she knew what on earth she was doing. Norma whimpered. Her breath reeked like something already dead and rotting. ‘Sickness or diarrhoea?' Sarah asked.

‘She's just puked.'

‘Oh dear.' Sarah sat down and cradled Norma on her lap. ‘You're not at all well, poppet, are you?'

‘Will she be OK?' I said. ‘Should we ring someone?'

‘Sunday night …' Sarah said, ‘she'll wait till morning. Get her to drink something or she'll get dehydrated. First thing in the morning we'll get her to the surgery.'

‘I was doing that anyway,' I said.

‘I'll give you a lift.'

Norma flopped across Sarah's wide denim lap. She seemed tinier than ever, just a rack of beating ribs stretched over with fur and these bright feeble eyes. We all sat and looked at her.

‘We should get her home,' I said.

‘All right, girl.' Sarah handed Norma to Doggo. He held her like a baby in his arms.

‘How's Mr Dickens?' I asked.

Sarah sighed. ‘Not too good. He can't speak properly and he's confused. Actually he keeps trying to say something about some money. Apparently it was in the sideboard. It's like he can't rest till he's sorted it out. Did he mention anything like that to you?'

I shook my head and Doggo shrugged. I went to pee and gave myself a quick wash in Mr Dickens' cloakroom with the leathery soap. I stood there trying to make it lather up and thinking how I would kill for a bath, deep and full of that milky plant stuff that Mrs Harcourt had. It would have been so brilliant to float in warm water and get my whole body sweet and clean. But I had to make do with the fossilised soap and a stiff rag of flannel.

When I came out, Doggo and Sarah were bending over Norma, their heads nearly touching. Sarah's hair looked very white next to the black of his, like a negative. They stopped what they were saying when I came back in the room.

‘I'll run you home,' Sarah said, reaching for her car keys.

‘Nah,' Doggo said, ‘we're fine.'

‘You staying here?' I asked.

‘I think I will tonight,' she said. ‘In case the hospital ring.
Sure
I can't give you a lift?'

We went off down the path as if we were going away. She stood at the door for a minute so we had to go along the road and wait before creeping back. It was hard, after the bright light in the house, to settle down in the chilly gloom of the cellar which smelled foul even after I'd cleaned up the sick.

The Calor heater was starting to sputter which meant the gas bottle was nearly finished. We both clammed up. It just seemed like there was nothing much to say. My arm was hurting where Doggo had squeezed it. I wanted to look but I didn't want to remind him of that subject. He had gone sullen like maybe he was regretting what he'd told me. He settled Norma down on a pile of old curtains. Gordon licked her face and gave me a look from under his grizzly eyebrows like whatever happened next it was down to me.

I brushed my teeth and while Doggo was out having a pee I quickly stripped off my jumper and jeans and got into bed. Doggo came back and took off his jacket, two sweaters and his jeans. His thighs had strong muscles in them, very darkly shadowed with hair. He paused for a minute then came across and got into bed. I couldn't say no, it was too cold for him to sleep on the chair. And anyway, there was more between us now. There was the truth. I thought the bed would tip over. It's a small bed for one let alone two.

He smelled strong but when you got used to it it wasn't bad, like old leather mixed up with ginger or something. We were crammed together, front to front, and I could feel every breath that went in and out of him, and feel his heart.

‘Shame you don't do sex,' he said.

His cock got hard and twitched about between us like a wild animal. I hollowed my stomach trying to get away from it. He didn't do anything. He could have. He was so much stronger than me. I got a powerful feeling running through my veins, like love.

‘Doggo,' I whispered. He stilled like he was waiting. ‘Could you be, like a
couple
with someone and not do it?'

‘Do what?' he said but I could hear the stick of his lip on his tooth as he smiled. Then he said, ‘Dunno. What,
never
?'

‘I dunno,' I said.

‘Well nor do I.' He pressed his body against me so I could feel all the desire in his. I wished that I could feel it too. I did start to feel a tingle but I didn't dare to show it. There is something wrong with me. Where women are supposed to go all soft and wet, to open up, I do the opposite. I do not melt, I freeze. If we started and that happened he would hate me, he would be that disappointed. What could he do but leave?