The Doll's House (26 page)

T
he Arcadian made the black woman as police as soon as she entered the bar. The young Asian behind her was a copper also. He looked again at the Asian. He was terrified. He smiled to himself. Wanted to go up to the young copper, whisper in his ear, ‘The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. If you hate something, and fear it, it's because you're secretly scared that you might love it.' But decided against it. He didn't want to draw attention to himself.

He watched as they went up to the bar. Talked to the Irish barman. Showed him something.

The Arcadian got up from his seat, made his way nearer to the bar, tried surreptitiously to see what was on the paper. He only caught a glimpse of it, but knew straight away what it was.

The helix.

Shit. I've got to get out of here
.

He turned away from the two coppers. Tried to make his way as quickly and unobtrusively as possible across the bar. He almost reached the door.

‘What's your hurry?'

The Arcadian stopped, turned. A tall, bearded bear of a man was in his way. Smiling.

‘Off to a better party?'

The Arcadian looked back at the bar. The police were still talking.

‘No,' he said. ‘Well, maybe.' He smiled.

‘Maybe we could go and find one together,' the bear said.

The Arcadian looked back at the bar. The police had finished talking now and were making their way to the front door. Towards him.

‘Yeah,' he said, pressing himself up against the bear. ‘Let's.'

They left the bar seconds before the police officers did.

‘What's your name?' said the bear.

The Arcadian
, he was about to say, but stopped himself. ‘Are names important?' he said instead.

The bear shrugged. ‘Suppose not. Got anywhere in mind?'

He turned, saw that the two officers were walking away from them.

‘This way,' he said, heading in the opposite direction. The bear smiled, walked with him.

T
he first thing that hit Imani was the heat. After the cold and the rain of the night outside, she felt like she was steam-drying.

The music was deafening. The bar was rammed. Men crowded all around her, trying to hold conversations over the noise, buy drinks. Apart from her, there were no women in the place. The smell of aftershave, all mixtures, blends and price ranges, along with the alcohol, was pummelling her senses. That and the acrid chemical tang of something else that she couldn't immediately place. Poppers.

She noticed Khan had got inside the door and frozen. He stood, eyes wide, as if this was somehow his first adult experience. She felt a momentary pang of sympathy for him. But only momentary. It soon went.

‘Let's go to the bar,' she shouted, and made her way there. He followed her. ‘And let me do the talking.'

She was aware of eyes on her the whole time. Not a pleasant scrutiny. As the only woman in the place she would have expected that. But if she had been identified as a copper, that was doubly the case.

She reached the bar. Asked for Brendan. A short, stocky, middle-aged bald man came over to her.

‘I'm Brendan,' he said. ‘And what can I do to aid our boys and girls in blue?' His Irish accent was soft, tempered by years of living in Birmingham.

‘Am I that obvious?' she said.

He nodded. ‘'Fraid so.'

He wasn't unfriendly, just wary. Imani didn't want to say or do anything to antagonise him. She wanted him on side. ‘I got your name from Mike Pierce, the community officer.'

Brendan gave a smile at that.

‘He said you're the one to talk to.'

‘Did he now. What about?'

She produced one of the photocopied sheets. Told him what it was about. Brendan took it from her, studied it. ‘Doesn't ring any bells,' he said. ‘Something like that…'

‘Exactly. Let me leave it with you. In case it jogs your memory. There's a phone number on there. We really appreciate this.'

‘No problem.' He smiled again. ‘I love a man in uniform.' He looked over at Khan. Smiled even wider.

‘We'll be off, then,' said Imani and turned, ushering Khan out of the door.

The cold and the rain seemed welcome after the heat of the bar.

Khan turned to her. ‘Did you see that? Hear what he said? Fucking hell… fucking hell…'

Imani didn't reply.

‘And while we were in there, all the time you were talking, they were eyeing me up. All of them.'

‘Lucky you.'

His expression became murderous. ‘What?
What?
Lucky you?'

‘Yeah,' she said, trying to make light of it. ‘I wish I had that amount of blokes ogling me.'

He looked as if he was about to explode. Calmed himself down. But not without effort. ‘It's not right. Not natural, what they do.'

Imani wondered whether to give him a lecture on gender and tolerance. Decided against it. ‘I think you need some LGBT awareness training. I'm sure there's a course you can go on.'

He stared at her.

‘Come on,' she said, walking off towards the next bar.

He followed along behind her, reluctant.

This one was a much camper affair than the first. A drag queen was up on a small stage, lip-synching to show tunes. The audience were whooping along, cheering when she showed a well-turned thigh in her split skirt, laughing as she camped up the lyrics with a Les Dawson-like rearrangement of her false breasts.

Imani realised Khan was mesmerised.

‘Good legs,' she said.

He didn't reply.

‘Did you know,' she said, leaning in close to him, ‘that when you see a pair of legs on a packet of tights or stockings, or on a billboard ad, it's probably a man?'

He turned. ‘What?'

She pointed to the drag queen on the stage. ‘He's got good legs. TVs can make quite a bit modelling. Think on that the next time you see a picture.'

They drew a blank, left a couple of flyers, left.

Outside, the rain was easing up slightly. Mike Pierce came towards them. ‘Any luck?'

Imani shook her head. ‘We'll keep trying, though. Where would you suggest next?'

He looked up and down the street. ‘Couple more bars, few restaurants and clubs, but we could do those for you if it's just the flyers. If it's actual eyeball-to-eyeball you're looking for, chancing your arm, making an ident, then…' He shrugged. ‘It's up to you.'

‘What about in there?' Imani pointed to an unremarkable storefront. It could have been a grocery shop if not for the blacked-out windows and the sign above:
HUSTLER CINEMA XXX
.

Pierce smiled. ‘Good luck. Be a bit of an eye-opener.'

‘How d'you mean?' asked Khan. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there.

‘Let's just say the clientele don't go there to watch the films. Or they may do but that's usually secondary.'

‘Oh,' said Imani.

‘However,' said Pierce, ‘it's a sleazy little pit. You never know.'

Imani looked at Khan. He had gone beyond anger now. He just wanted to get it over and done with. ‘Come on then. We'll make this the last call of the night.' She looked at Pierce. ‘Then we might sit in your van and just watch, if that's OK with you.'

Pierce smiled. ‘Fine by me.'

Imani, with Khan trailing behind, entered the cinema.

I
t was late when Phil pulled up in front of the house. Not his own house. He didn't want to go home just yet.

He could see the rented place he shared with Marina and their daughter just along the street. A light was on in his bedroom window. Marina was either awake, reading probably, or had gone to sleep, leaving his bedside light on to help him find his way. But he wasn't going there. Not just yet.

He locked the car, walked up the driveway. It had once been a garage or coach house but a previous owner had converted it to a one-bedroom flat. It was where Eileen now lived.

Phil rang the bell, stepped back, waited.

‘Who is it?' A voice from behind the door.

‘It's me. Phil.'

A chain was removed, a bolt released, a heavy lock cracked. The door opened. There stood the only woman Phil had ever called mother.

‘Thanks for waiting up.'

‘I was up anyway. Watching something on BBC 4. One of those miserable Scandinavian crime series where they all have personality disorders and can't seem to find a light switch.' She gave him a brief smile. ‘I suppose your day must have been like that.'

He smiled wearily in return. ‘Stumbling in the dark with mentalists? My day's always like that.'

He entered. She turned off the TV. He sat down on the sofa. She had wasted no time in claiming the place as her own. Where Phil felt he was only a temporary fixture in his house, Eileen looked like she had been in hers for years. She had surrounded herself with as many familiar objects as she could, taking her home with her. It still wasn't that long since Don's death. Phil thought she was coping well. Or seemed to be.

She sat down in her armchair. The one that used to be Don's, Phil noted.

‘Can I get you a tea? Coffee?'

‘I'm fine.'

‘Beer? I know you like a beer when you come in from work. I've got some in the fridge.'

He knew she was trying to be useful, not feel redundant, so he went along with her. ‘A beer would be great, thanks.'

She tried to rise.

‘I'll get it,' he said.

‘Stay where you are. I'm not an invalid.'

She went to the kitchen, returned with a bottle of beer, the cap removed. Handed it to Phil. He thanked her, took a drink. Cold and refreshing, it went down well.

Eileen sat back. ‘So what did you want to talk to me about? It sounded like it was serious.'

Straight to the point as always, he thought. ‘Yeah…' he said, trying to find the right words. ‘It's… Marina. She's… I don't know.'

He took another mouthful of beer, Eileen waited.

‘She's being funny with me.'

‘In what way?'

‘Well… I don't know. She's… distant. No, that's not right. She's… It's like she doesn't want me to… to be close to her.'

Eileen leaned forward. ‘Has she said anything?'

‘Not directly, no. But when I go towards her, she pulls away. And this morning she…' His eyes dropped to his bottle. He had always been able to tell Eileen anything, but he still felt embarrassed talking about sex with her. ‘I went to join her in the shower, and she screamed. Actually screamed. When I touched her. Pulled the curtain across, said she wanted privacy. Said…' he thought back, tried to find the exact words, ‘oh it's just you. Oh it's you. Something like that.'

‘She was expecting someone else?'

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘Maybe in her mind she was. And there's a… barrier between us. She's put it up.' He shook his head.

‘I see,' said Eileen. ‘Has she mentioned anyone else's name recently? Started talking a lot about someone? From work, maybe?'

‘I know what you're thinking,' said Phil. ‘Talking about someone I've never heard of before is an indicator that she's having an affair.'

‘
Might
be having an affair. It's not definite.'

‘No, but…' He shrugged, took another drink. ‘There is… Well, I don't know.'

‘There is someone? Someone she's been mentioning?'

‘Well, sort of. I don't… Hugo Gwilym.'

‘What, from the TV? That Hugo Gwilym?'

Phil nodded. ‘He's come up in the course of this case I'm working on. He's a colleague of Marina's at the university, same department. I asked her about him. Just to check, you know, that there was no conflict of interest. That he wasn't a friend.'

‘Right. And?'

‘She said she didn't know him. Had hardly met him, or spoken to him. But she didn't like him. Got quite angry about him, even. And then I went to talk to Gwilym. To do with the case. And… he mentioned her.'

‘In what way?'

‘In a… creepy way. Said something like, I enjoyed having your wife the other night. Something like that. Then said, for dinner. He'd had her for dinner. What he meant was he'd been at the departmental Christmas dinner with her.'

Eileen nodded.

‘Marina said she didn't know him, but he made it seem that they were quite close.' He took another pull of beer. Found the bottle drained. ‘She came in very late that night.'

Eileen waited, made sure he had finished talking. ‘I see.'

He looked at her, expecting answers. Knowing how unreasonable that was.

‘So you think she's having an affair with Gwilym?' Eileen said eventually.

‘Well, that would be the logical thing to think, wouldn't it? Saying she didn't know him at all, doing the reverse thing of talking about someone a lot. Double bluff. Saying she hated him. Maybe he's found someone else. Dumped her. Hurt her in some way.' He sighed. ‘I don't know…'

‘But screaming when you tried to touch her,' said Eileen. ‘Don't forget that. That's not the action of a woman hiding an affair.'

‘What is it, then?'

Eileen sat back, looked thoughtful. ‘When Don and I used to foster kids – you might even remember this – we were always careful with them. Some of them wanted hugging. Needed it. Some of them wanted it but didn't know to how to ask. They might have thought it was sexual, because that was how they'd been brought up, and that's how they responded, but they wanted affection. They were kids, after all. But some of them couldn't bear to be touched.'

‘Abused?'

Eileen nodded. ‘They'd all suffered some kind of abuse. And it affected them in different ways. But the ones who didn't want to be touched, that was because it reminded them of their abusers. Of what they had been through.'

‘So… you think Gwilym might have… touched her? Been inappropriate with her?'

‘Oh I don't know, Phil. I'm just saying that's how the kids were. That's the behaviour they used to exhibit.'

‘But if that's the case, then why hasn't she just come out and said it? Why hasn't she told me?'

‘I don't know, Phil. You'll have to talk to her. Have you tried talking to her?'

‘Yes…'

‘Really tried?'

‘I have, but… Well, she's been like she's been. And also…' he sighed, ‘what if she says yes? What if I talk to her and she says she was or is having an affair with Gwilym? What do I do then?'

‘You deal with it, Phil. Like an adult. It'll hurt. Things like that are never easy to cope with, but you can both get over it if you try and if you want to.' She shook her head. ‘Marina's the last person I would expect to do something like that.' She shrugged. ‘But, people… Look. It might not be that at all. There might still be some other explanation.'

‘I know, but…'

Eileen looked directly at him. Pity and compassion in her eyes. ‘Talk to her, Phil. Just talk to her.'