Now You See Me (27 page)

‘Lamb, eh? That's cool,' he said. ‘Great to see you.'

‘Yeah, I guess.' We were practically running by then.

‘Where you rushing off to?'

‘Nowhere.' I slowed down. ‘Nowhere really.'

We walked along together. I felt so stupid trying not to pant.

‘What are
you
doing?' I asked in the end, just for something to say.

‘Nothing,' he said.

We walked on some more.

‘Want to do something?' he said.

‘Like what?'

‘Dunno.'

‘OK.'

‘Cool.'

I have had more scintillating conversations.

We went to the pub. There was a quiz going on and we joined in and between us we nearly won. He knows practically everything and I turned out to know some things I didn't even know I knew like, Which French king was known as the Sun King? Louis the fourteenth. And, What fraction of an iceberg shows above water? One ninth. Where we fell down was sport otherwise we'd have won twenty quid.

Money wasn't a problem though. Unbelievably The Sticky Labels had got paid for a gig and he was out to blow his share. He was drinking Malibu and Coke which believe me is about the most disgusting drink on this earth. I was on tequila which shrinks your brain till it bounces on the sides of your skull when you move which feels quite funny at the time. He's cool really, Si, so greasy you'd think he'd crawled out of a chip-pan but with a sense of humour. He made me laugh anyway, quite something the state I was in. Or maybe it was the tequila laughing, I don't know.

Everything went quite a blur after a few drinks. We played darts with some people but were useless, he was doing pratty throws lifting one leg off the ground and swinging his arm like he was bowling in cricket. In the end we got asked to leave. It was nearly last orders anyway. We went to his flat.

I can hardly remember getting there, just a smear of coloured light whenever I turned my head. I might have been sick on the side of the road. His flat was right up the top of what seemed to be a mountain. He had to drag me up. It was shared with some other people and there were more pizza boxes than bits of furniture in there. Someone was asleep on the sofa with a cushion over his head and there was something on telly only don't ask me what. Si rolled a huge spliff but I don't think I had any in case I was sick again.

After a while we went into his bedroom. He took off his clothes. It felt
so
weird, I mean at school he was just a prize nerd with thick glasses. Everyone laughed at him but he didn't care, he didn't even notice, his head so full of astrophysics or whatever. I would have laughed my head off then if anyone had said, One day you'll go to bed with Simon.

He didn't look too bad in the half-dark. He got into bed and politely looked away while I took some things off. It was a single bed and the sheets were full of bits and smelt like they had never been washed in their lives. I felt too sick to kiss. I thought, OK then I'll have sex with him.

I don't understand this. Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was because I didn't care what he thought of me. I don't know how or why, all I know is it worked. I lay there waiting to go frigid but I didn't. Mind you, I hardly felt a thing. I didn't scream and claw his back or any of that theatrical stuff. He wouldn't have believed me if I had. In fact I bet he would have run a mile. I tried to think about Doggo but it was too far-fetched. Doggo was like another universe. I breathed through my mouth to try and stop the reek of latex, scuzzy sheets and pizza getting to me. The only sound I made was the sound of someone having the air battered out of them for about two minutes then that was that.

I smiled into the dark. I had done it. Or had it done to me. Simon mumbled something sweet then rolled straight off and snored. I shut my eyes and thought of Doggo. It would be OK. I wanted to get up then and go straight home to him. I lay beside Simon thinking,
I
should wash I should wash
and longing for a glass of water. But next thing I was waking up and it was morning. Just for a second I thought he was Doggo but everything was wrong, the shape of the room, where the light was coming from – and most of all the smell.

Simon's back was to me and I lay there looking at the most amazing array of spots I have ever seen. If there was a prize for spots he'd be a serious contender. My brain still felt too small for my skull and my mouth was so dry I could hardly move my tongue. I got up and found my clothes. He didn't even stir.

I went in the bathroom but it was untouchable in there. The towels were in a wet heap on the floor and the washbasin looked like Harris tweed or something with all its mix of different bristles and God knows what. There were empty toothpaste tubes, spot creams, disposable razors, condom packets and of course a pizza box on the floor. I drank from the tap, peed standing up and left.

It was dustbin day and a lorry was roaring, tipping up the plastic bins and munching the stinking rubbish. Why are dustbin men so cheery? I don't know. I was cheery too apart from a throbbing head. I had
done it
, sex. I felt like calling it out to the dustbin men, to the whole wide world. OK maybe I'd been half pissed and it was hardly shag of the century but still I had done it.
Me
.

I just wished it had been Doggo.

Thirty-three

Sarah's car was still there. The front door was locked. I could not believe it. They had locked me out. I stood there for ages just staring at the door. I put my finger on the doorbell but didn't press. Last thing I needed was the Trumpet Voluntary. I went round the back but they'd locked that door too. I had to go my old way. They had not locked the cellar door.

I pressed the light switch. It looked like a scene from another life in there. Or from some awful tedious dream. The camp bed where I had slept for months, the cold Calor heater, the card from Mr Dickens lying on the floor. I picked it up but it had gone soft. It was so cold, so gloomy. How could I ever have thought that was a
life
? A possible life. Cobwebs were crowding across everywhere, between everything, draped on the old high wire. What a desperately stupid idea.

The only way into the house was up the pitch-black stairs. The hand-rail was tacky and sour breath was leaking from the walls. What if they had locked the hall door too? I didn't even know if there was a lock on it. What if they had gone round, laughing, locking me out in every possible way?

But they had not. I stepped out into the hall, dazzling bright with green fan shapes of sun on the lino. I blinked, looking at the inside of the front door with the key still in the lock.

Everything was quiet. It was early. I thought they must still be asleep. The dogs looked up at me when I went through to the back and Gordon yapped half-heartedly. The fire was on and they seemed drugged by the heat. Once they'd realised it was only me they both put their heads back on their paws. Gordon has aged about a hundred years since Norma died. Maybe it's rubbed off from Doughnut. There were two empty wine bottles on the floor, one red one white. How sweet. I made tea for me and Doggo and went up the stairs. Sarah's door was shut. I climbed quietly up into the lighthouse room.

Of course they were both there in the bed. Of course I knew they would be. They were asleep. The sun was shining through the ripped curtains and it was nearly hot. They had no clothes on and their hair was mixed up light and dark. The pillowcase was still splattered with Doggo's blood.

You can see how people get murdered, can't you?

‘I've brought you some tea,' I said, maybe louder than necessary.

Sarah opened her eyes first. They were the same blue as the quilt. She stared at me for a minute. I have to give it her, she was cool. ‘Oh, thanks,' she said. I could see Doggo was not really asleep. His eyes were screwed up tight.

‘Lamb's brought us up some tea,' Sarah said, nudging him.

She sat up and I got a flash of her tits, like big white loaves, before she pulled the quilt up to cover her. Not quilt, eiderdown. That is such a lovely word, don't you think? Eiderdown. Feathers from the eider duck.

Doggo sat up and his eyes skidded round the room avoiding mine. I handed them the tea and stood staring. The dark and the blonde, sitting up in bed with their cups of tea. They looked like an advert for something but I don't know what.

‘Urm,' Sarah said. ‘I urm, hope this is all right with you.'

‘Oh absolutely,' I said in a phony voice I didn't even know I had. ‘Actually I was off seeing an old flame last night, so call it quits, Doggo.'

He did look at me then. He practically slashed me with his eyes.

‘It was urm, mainly for warmth,' Sarah said and I snorted. It would be an advert for yoghurt or some other dairy product with all her acres of white skin.

I couldn't stand there all day and smell the smells that were hanging round the bed. I had to get out of there while I could still control my face. Down in the bathroom I stripped off. I ran an inch of water in the bath and scrubbed myself all over with a scratchy flannel, scrubbed and scrubbed until it hurt and I was pink. I went downstairs and kicked and kicked at the chairs. The dogs cringed and crawled off into the corners. As if I would ever, in a million years, hurt a dog.

I was watching the telly when Sarah left. A woman in a lurex top was demonstrating how to pot on poinsettias. Doggo might have been interested if he'd been down but I wasn't about to call him. Sarah put her head round the door and said, ‘I'm off now. Bye, Lamb.' I didn't answer.

She was half in the room, half out. What did she think I'd do to her if she came right in? ‘Doggo said … he said you didn't …'

‘Didn't what?'

‘That you are more sort of … platonic.'

I managed to laugh. ‘He said
that
, did he?'

She waited for a minute and then said, ‘Well, see you then.'

‘There's something you should know about Doggo,' I said. ‘Something I bet he
didn't
tell you. That he's a murderer.'

She widened her eyes at me and then she laughed. ‘A murderer! God, Lamb! First Uncle's happy as Larry now Doggo's a murderer. Get a grip.'

She closed the door. There was the sound of the front door then a dim choke as her car started up and drove away. My heart was racing. I should not have said that. A murderer, I should not have told her that.

Doggo came down as if nothing was wrong and started making toast. ‘Want some?' he said. I didn't answer. Anyway, Sarah didn't believe me. So maybe there was no harm done. He slathered the toast with about an inch of butter and chewed so loud I had to turn the telly up. The way he was chewing was like,
hey I've got a healthy appetite, wonder why?
but I ignored him. Maybe I should have told him what I'd told her. But what would be the point of that? I did feel bad though, something inside me going dark. He chewed his way through a whole stack of toast and slurped a pot of tea.

He wiped the butter off his lips with his sleeve and said, ‘So, who's this old flame then?'

‘Just someone,' I said, ‘no one you know.'

‘Did you sleep with him?' he said.

Get that! The nerve of him. ‘Like you care,' I said.
Him
asking
me
.

He still had butter on his beard. I watched his fingers on the mug and thought about all the things he'd touched lately. There was the advert on for frozen cod steaks. It made me shiver. I looked at the side of his face, the puff of moustache over his lip, the curve of long lashes. He was staring into his mug as if there was something fascinating taking place in there. I got a pang under my ribs and believe it or not, it was still love.

‘So that was a lie too?' he said.

‘What?'

‘That you're frigid.' He gave me a very scornful look. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know any more. I didn't know the truth of that. I couldn't bear the scorn on his face when he looked at me. I had to do something. I didn't know what to do. Then I had an idea. It was a desperate idea, but it was the only one I had.

‘Shut your eyes,' I said.

‘What?'

‘Go on. I've got a surprise only you have to shut your eyes.' He looked at me, his mug stopped halfway to his mouth. ‘You needn't look so petrified,' I said.

I went in the front room and got his presents out from under Mr Dickens' bed. Still in their carrier bags and no proper wrappings but it didn't matter. I thought we would have Christmas that very minute before everything fell apart. Presents and Christmas dinner and everything. There was still time to save it, us, everything.

I could go to Tesco for food and crackers. Plenty of wine in the cellar. At least now that Mr Dickens was dead it didn't matter about the wine any more. That was one good thing. He'd probably want us to drink it. He would probably be looking down on us, if there was anywhere to look down from, saying, ‘Cheers.'

‘Here,' I dumped the bags at Doggo's feet. ‘Happy Christmas.' He just stared. ‘Open them,' I said. But he sat there like a lemon. ‘Presents,' I said. ‘It's Christmas.'

‘It's not.'

‘It is,' I said. ‘It is if we want it to be.' There was no expression on his face.
‘Please
, Doggo.'

He sighed and shook his head as if he thought I was cracked but he did pull the soap and deodorant out of their bag. He held them and looked at them but not at me. He put them down. OK, so maybe deodorant wasn't such a bright idea.

‘Go on,' I said. He unwrapped the gloves and last of all the jacket. ‘Try it on,' I said. ‘I can change it if it doesn't fit.' But he didn't try it on. He let everything slide on to the floor. I wanted to say, Don't do that because of all the dog-hairs everywhere but I didn't. Maybe he thought I'd stolen it. ‘I've got the receipt,' I said.

The jacket was beautiful but he never said thanks and he never even smiled. I knew what would make him laugh. I got out Gordon's new collar and buckled it on him. It looked just as funny as I'd thought with the sparkles sparkling round the grumpy ginger face but no one laughed.