The Last Card (15 page)

N
ina sat in her BMW Z3 Roadster wearing Jean-Paul Gaultier sunglasses and waiting for H to show up. She was in the
carpark
of a council estate in South London. Battersea. She looked around her. Although it was spring, she was struck by how much of everything looked grey. Even the grass.

Four parking spaces away from her an old, dreadlocked, black man was leaning into the bonnet of a BMW. It was the oldest,
shabbiest
, and rustiest a vehicle could be and still be called a car. It seemed to have been constructed from at least three different models. The front of the car had no tyres and sat on two rusty wheel ramps. The man was leaning under the bonnet, his dreadlocks – thick and gnarled – reaching down to his waist. They showed flecks of grey. The dirty boiler-suit he wore was a light blue-grey. On the
charcoal-grey
of the tarmac, next to the dreadlock, was a metallic-grey
boom-box
. From it poured thick, rhythmic reggae. Nina smiled as the bass line dropped and blasting horns trilled playfully over the top. It was the sole spot of colour in the landscape.

Nina had grown up with reggae and the mechanic’s boom-box provided a soundtrack as familiar as the world of grey that currently surrounded her. She liked the music, hated the grey. Opening her car door, Nina stretched her legs out and looked up at the sky. It too was grey; a light, pale shade, then darker and bluer, and finally a wispy, smoky colour hung on the horizon. The sky seemed to sit just above the top of the tower blocks, pressing down, closing her in. While she looked up a small aeroplane droned slowly over head. It trailed a thin line of vapour. Grey.

Nina sat and pondered the meaning of grey and the reasons why it made her sad. Sitting on Hilary’s council estate reminded her of how far she’d come in scrambling away from the poverty of her own childhood. Like climbing up a sheer rock face without a safety net, she had clung on with the grip of her fingers and toes and will. You gripped that rock face with every bit of your strength because your life depended on it. To fall was to be ripped, broken and bashed on the jagged rocks of poverty.

Nina was jerked from her thoughts by the sight of a man approaching. He walked slowly, shoulders slumped, head down.

‘Hilary!’

The man stopped and turned back. The dreadlock also looked over at her. Nina rose from her car, locked it and set the alarm. She walked over to Hilary, suddenly aware of the contrast between herself and her surroundings. It wasn’t so much the drama of the French-made, Japanese-designed coat, although it was dramatic, cascading down her shoulders and reaching almost to her ankles. It wasn’t the mystery suggested by the ostentation of the large, Gaultier sunglasses; or even the deep red that coloured her lips. It was simpler than all of that. It was the sheen of health and care that emanated from the sheet of dark, straight hair that fell below her shoulders; it was the creamy, smooth glow of her complexion; it was the healthy, upright posture that exuded wellbeing. Nina looked damn good walking over to Hilary, and she knew it.

‘What are you doing here?’ Hilary was startled by her appearance.

‘Yeah, and I’m pleased to see you, too. Where the hell have you been?’

‘I’ve been busy. Why?’

‘I was in the area, I thought I’d stop by.’ Nina watched as Hilary glanced over at the dreadlock behind her back.

‘D’you want to come up?’

Nina smiled sweetly. She’d put him on the spot. He led the way into the tower block.

In the flat Hilary tossed the empty holdall into a corner and
disappeared
into an adjoining room, returning with a small cardboard pot. He squatted down by the goldfish bowl and sprinkled in a precise amount of fish food, watching in silence as the fish ate. Nina’s eyes lingered on his physique, noting the large thighs and the tightness of
his thin, cotton jacket across his shoulders. Yes, Hilary was a solidly built man. A man well capable of doing what she and Gavin needed him to. Nina knew she could toy with him, but the trick was in knowing just how far she could push. From the look on his face today, she judged, not too far.

‘How did you find out where I lived?’ He seemed distracted and continued to gaze at the bowl, directing his questions at the fish.

‘Gavin told me.’

‘How did he know?’

‘He’s a bright man.’

‘I don’t like people coming here.’

‘Why? It’s a nice place.’ That got his attention. Hilary slowly turned to look at her.

‘Don’t push me, Nina.’ He strode from the room back to wherever he’d gone before. Nina sighed and sauntered slowly after him. He was in the kitchen. She watched as he filled the kettle and put it on the cooker.

‘You’re in a good mood.’

‘I’ve had a good day.’

‘Have you got White Alan’s money yet?’

‘What’s it got to do with you?’ He glared at her as he leant against the worktop, arms folded across his chest. Nina removed her sunglasses in a gesture of conciliation.

‘Look, let’s start again: I knew you wouldn’t call me, that’s why I came over.’ She paused. She was making an effort now and she waited for him to say something. He said nothing. ‘We’ve been through the nineties, women can make the first move now.’

Despite himself, Hilary smiled. Finally.

‘That’s better! Now whatever your problems are, Hilary, I’m going to make you forget them. Just for this evening.’

Hilary actually snorted through his nose and laughed out loud at that.

‘You can drop your hard man act, it doesn’t work with me. And just one sugar, please. White.’

Hilary almost smiled. He turned to the cupboard. When he opened it to take out two mugs Nina could see that he only had two mugs.

The kettle whistled as the water boiled. Hilary made instant coffee, stirring sugar into one of the cups.

‘Milk?’ Nina asked more in hope than conviction. H shook his head and for a moment the two of them sipped their black coffee in silence. Nina looked at him while Hilary looked out of the window, his thoughts, seemingly, elsewhere.

The afternoon sun must have disappeared behind a cloud because a gloom settled in the small, cramped kitchen. Watching the shadows on Hilary’s face, Nina said: ‘What would you like to do today?’

The Roadster flashed down the motorway, heading for Brighton. Hilary sat next to her, his large frame looking cramped in the sports car. When he’d first climbed in, he’d been like a small boy in a toy shop, examining the dashboard in excitement.

‘Why do men always do that?

‘Do what?’

‘Get huge erections when they see a nice sports car?’

‘Why are you driving a car like this, anyway? You don’t need a car like this. You’re just driving it to pose. You’re a poseur.’

She shot him a glance and he grinned.

‘The trouble with you women is you don’t actually appreciate the technology for its own sake. I’m a man that can do that.’

‘Oh, I get it,’ Nina smiled. ‘A bit of fresh air and you’re feeling good now. You’re feeling all macho, like … you’re feeling like you want an argument? You want to prove yourself right?’

‘That’s what keeps us all breathing isn’t it?’

‘No, that’s what keeps you breathing. And most men come to think of it.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m just glad to be out of London for a while.’ The two lapsed into silence. The late afternoon sunshine lit up the countryside around them.

Nina glanced over at the man she and Gavin were ultimately going to manipulate for their own ends. Was he the man for the job?

‘Why the sudden urge for fresh air?’

‘I’ve got a headache.’

‘Hangover?’

‘Yeah. I’ve had it for about seven years.’

‘O … kay. Can I at least ask you where we’re going?’

‘Brighton.’

‘I’d gathered that. Whereabouts?’

‘Just drive.’

She half-turned to say something, but changed her mind. In the rear view mirror she saw that the two small, vertical lines had appeared, just above her eyebrows.

Hilary leant forward to switch on the CD player. Quick as a flash Nina slapped his hand away.

‘Oww! That hurt! What was that for?’

Nina gave him an evil smirk and Hilary grinned despite himself.

‘You think you’re so tough, don’t you?’

‘I am. I wasn’t always this beautiful and sophisticated.’

‘Is that right?’

As Sussex flashed by, Nina told him a little of her early life, growing up in a council flat in Stoke Newington with her mother and sisters.

‘How did you go from the two-bedroom high-rise,’ asked Hilary ‘to the mews house in Holland Park with a Z3 Roadster?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘We’ve got time.’

‘And not one I want to go into right now.’

Hilary shrugged ‘Okay.’

‘What about you? What’s your story?’

He sighed heavily ‘Jesus, you don’t want to know.’

‘No, I do, really.’ Nina glanced round at him encouragingly. She did want to know. She was finding Hilary increasingly intriguing. He was different from the black guys she had grown up around. Here was this big, tough bloke who was a gambler and a boxer who lived in a council flat. That was normal. But aside from this gambling, boxing persona, some things about Hilary weren’t normal at all. For starters, he was quiet, he was articulate and he wasn’t drooling after her with his tongue hanging out.

‘You know what? Let’s just get there. I’ve had a really, really bad day.’

‘Okay.’ And that was the last word spoken until Nina parked the car in a space just in front of the Old Hilton Hotel, on Brighton seafront.

T
hey stumbled over the sliding pebbles, making their way down to the churning water. H led the way, stooping to scoop up a handful of stones. As he neared the water’s edge he threw them, one by one, skimming into the waves; watching them bounce once, twice, three times. He was aware that Nina was just behind him and
breathing
in the heavy, salty air, he wished he was alone. He set off walking, eastwards, towards the pier. He could hear her scrambling to catch up.

The seaside had always been a special place for H. The ocean reminded him of his place in the world, putting his situation, whatever it might be, into a new context. For H the sea represented
freedom
, abandon and renewal. He could stand before it for hours, just watching.

H neared the pier and slowed down. Looking up at the end of it he could see people on fun fair rides, people looking out to sea, fishing, smiling, talking; people just enjoying themselves. He didn’t want to join them, just wanted to soak up where he was. He knew he would have to return to reality at some point: to London, to Alan Akers, to Beverley, to his empty flat. But for now, he just wanted to be. He stopped walking and sat down on the pebbles, facing the sea.

Nina came up and sat next to him. H glanced round at her. He was grateful that she hadn’t bothered him with chatter. She seemed to sense his need for silence, for contemplation, and had given him that space. Despite having driven him all this way at a moment’s notice. He was grateful because while he had been walking he had come to two decisions, one more momentous than the other. Firstly, he’d
decided to end his gambling holiday. His attempt to win his way out of his financial problems with Akers had been disastrous. He was experienced enough to know that gambling out of necessity was always a disaster. It established an utterly wrong frame of mind from which to operate.

However, the more important decision, the real decision, was to give up the fight game. That was what he had decided when he sold his boxing trophies. That was one of the things he’d wanted to talk through with Blue. He was going to leave boxing. Not even Beverley had dared to suggest it until the end, but now, with everything else in ruins, H could see that it was the only way. She was right. But she’d had to leave for him to realise it.

It was a terrifying thing to contemplate. And not only because it felt like failure to leave the sport without achieving all that he’d dreamt of. On another, more intrinsic level, H defined himself by his boxing. People knew him as the ‘Shuffler’ for the silky style that had once been his. He was known as a boxer, it was what he did, it was who he was. Beverley was right. If he was to really kick his gambling habit, the boxing had to go. Discovering who else Hilary Chester Zechariah James could be would have to become part of his journey when he left the sport. This was what terrified him.

‘When was the last time you were here?’ Nina’s hair whipped around her face as she asked the question.

H thought before he answered. ‘A long time ago.’

‘You know what?’

‘What?’

‘Big deal! I hate looking back! I hate the sea.’

H looked at her, surprised by the aggression in her voice.

‘I like people, I like noise, I like traffic, I like bright lights, I like …’

Jesus Christ! H wasn’t sure where this outburst came from but he didn’t like it. Just as the last of the urban miasma was leaving him, Nina was working hard to replace it! He cut her short.

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Always talking tough.’ The edge in his voice must have warned her that this was not the time and she lapsed into silence. He quite liked this woman but he wasn’t sure what she was doing here. He couldn’t work out what her game was, why she was hanging around him. There were some crazy white women out there who couldn’t leave black men alone but she didn’t
look like one of them. And with her money and her looks she could have anybody. So why him?

Nina removed one of her shoes and massaged her bare foot.

‘That was a drive I wasn’t expecting.’ She continued rubbing her toes and gave a sigh of pleasure. H watched her. Under her coat she wore a pale cream skirt that stopped just above her knees. Beneath that, Nina’s legs were bare and from where H was sitting, they looked in pretty good shape. The thought suddenly hit him with the force of an unexpected shove in the back; he wanted her.

‘You know, you could have potential, Hilary.’

‘As what?’

‘You’re … kind of … good looking …’She laughed girlishly, but H could hear it was fake. She was playing him.

‘Is that a compliment?’ He said it dry, without interest in the answer.

‘Yes.’

‘Thanks.’

‘That’s okay. But you know what you need?’

‘What?’

‘Money.’

‘Is it that obvious?’

Nina removed her other shoe and swung her feet on to H’s thigh.

‘Please?’ He looked at her. Now she was taking the piss. Having a laugh. And yet her feet were exquisitely shaped; they were delicate, they had perfect proportion, her toe-nails were painted the same shade of red as her lips; these feet were dying to be massaged. H could feel a stirring in his groin. His penis pushed at the rumpled material around his crotch.

H rested her heels on his lap. He began to knead her right instep. Nina lay back on the pebbles and closed her eyes. Damn, she looked good! With Nina’s feet on his lap, her skin soft and smooth, the stirring in H’s groin was becoming more and more pronounced.

‘I know how you can make lots of it.’

‘What?’

‘Money.’

‘Oh. How?’

‘Alan.’

‘What about him?’

‘Take some of his.’ H laughed bitterly at this.

‘I tried that. It cost me fifteen grand, remember?’

‘I could tell you how to do it and not get caught.’

‘I’m sure you could, Nina, but …’ Nina sat up, leaning on her elbows.

‘I know when his money comes in, I know when it goes out, I know his movements. I’m talking about two hundred thousand pounds.’ Nina looked at him to see how he would react. He was staring at her as though she was crazy.

‘I don’t do that kind of thing. I’m a family man.’

‘You’ve got a family?’

‘I’ve got a boy. Cyrus. He’s five; big as a house and twice as tough. He’s a great little boy.’

‘Hard man like you, I didn’t take you for the family type.’

‘What? A black man can’t be a family man?’

‘No, I meant …’

‘I didn’t take you for white trash from the slums of Stoke
Newington
.’ Nina eased her feet from his lap and put them down in front of her. She drew them in close, hugging her knees.

‘So where does he live? Your boy?’

‘Hanwell. West London. With his mother. And grandmother. His mother and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.’

Nina said nothing for a while.

‘So. You’re not interested in earning some real money?’ Nina’s tone was hard now, aggressive.

‘What’s your problem, Nina?’ He wasn’t angry, he was interested.

‘Not even for you and Cyrus?’

‘It’s not about Cyrus.’ H shrugged. ‘It’s not my style. I’m not that person.’

She gave him the kind of smile that supercilious right-wingers save for young, clean, good-looking homeless people. ‘You’re a nice guy, Hilary, but – you have to go for it when the chances come your way. People like us don’t get many chances.’ Nina leant over and kissed him on the cheek. Then she stood and walked back along the beach.

H watched her go. Jesus Christ! What the hell was that all about? He took one last look at the sea and then followed her back to the car. Soon after they were on their way back to London.