The Night Book (4 page)

He kept his thoughts to himself, also his feeling that Roza Hallwright was beautiful.

The spotlights went on at the front of the room and a man stepped up to the podium, and introduced David Hallwright as ‘our next prime minister’.

Hallwright listened to the applause, then raised his hand for silence. There were cameras set up below the stage and the light shone at an angle on his face, making his cheeks look hollow. He leaned forward and began to speak. His diction wasn’t clear and he mangled some words, but he made up for it by staring fiercely around the room, projecting energy and vigour, and by outlining, with dogged simplicity, the points the audience wanted to hear. At
first, applause burst out at ragged moments, but the audience began to learn the pattern Hallwright had set, and to respond when he signalled.

It was an exercise in affirmation, more communion than speech, and Hallwright controlled the crowd better as he went on, getting up a rhythm between his punchy signals and the eager response. Simon didn’t listen to the words, but felt, in his tipsy, heightened state, that he was watching a dance between two natural forces; that Hallwright, having whistled the crowd up into fixed, reptilian attention, had only to move to make it bend and sway in reply.

The speech finished and there was a standing ovation. Simon stood and caught Roza Hallwright’s eye. She looked away.

The lights were dimmed, the mood relaxed. Simon got trapped in a conversation with the elderly woman next to him, and tried not to stare at the next table. His mind wandered. Roza Hallwright. He was the last person who could ask a woman whether he’d met her before. Once at a party he’d asked that of someone’s tipsy, bawdy wife and she’d said loudly, ‘Well, doctor, you once spent a lot of time staring up my fanny.’ More than one woman had said to him, ‘Oh, you’re the first person who held my child.’ And he would have a mental picture of her screaming, legs raised in the air. He felt a laugh rising. It was a funny life. He checked Mrs Hallwright again; she was staring down at the table, perhaps wanting to escape the hoary old bastard who was whispering in her ear. Simon felt an intensity of emotion, almost happiness, as if he’d broken through a membrane, and everything was fresh and new. He realised he’d had too much wine, and turned to his neighbour, trying to focus.

Later, the lights went dimmer still, the band cranked up, and people began moving around the tables. Trish dragged Karen away, and for a while Simon was left by himself. He decided to drink no more, and went for extra coffee, and on the way back he ran
into Trish and Karen.

‘Come and meet David,’ Trish said.

They approached the table. There was a crowd around the Hallwrights, but Graeme was already there, and beckoned. David Hallwright was standing as Graeme surged forward and introduced them. Hallwright shook Karen’s hand and she gave a little jump of nerves and said, ‘Hi,’ in a squeaky voice, then turned to look at Trish, as if to confirm the magic of the moment.

Simon felt resistance rising. Trish looked so proud and moist-eyed he wanted to slap her. It was his turn. He offered his hand to David Hallwright. The sharp grey eyes rested on him, and something registered in the keen face.

Simon said, ‘Good to meet you,’ and wished Karen would stop twitching like a kid beside him. He stepped back, and Trish angled in, greeting Hallwright with a smoochy kiss.

Hallwright turned slightly away. Roza Hallwright was sitting at the table behind, with the old shark still bending her ear. Simon stepped sideways and sat down next to her. She turned and he muttered, pulling at his tie, ‘Do you mind if I sit here for a minute.’

She watched him tugging at his collar. ‘Are you all right?’

‘It’s very hot.’

‘The excitement of meeting the great man,’ she said. Her voice was low, humorous, wary. She touched her necklace. ‘Would you like some water?’

She poured him a glass. Seeing he’d been usurped, the old man next to her got up with a groan and shambled off.

He took the glass. ‘Thanks.’

‘Are you enjoying the dinner?’ she asked, looking around absently.

‘Yes. Lovely.’ It came out more sarcastic than he’d meant.

She turned to him, paying attention. ‘I see.’

‘No, really, it’s very nice.’

She smiled and he got the strange feeling again, something like freedom, happiness.

He said, ‘Well, okay. I was just thinking I might actually vote Labour.’

She laughed.

‘Only joking,’ he added.

‘Are you?’ She leaned forward, looking at him searchingly. ‘Do these occasions make you feel rebellious?’

He was surprised. ‘Rebellious? Is it rebellion or … My mother was a member of the Labour Party. You know what she would have called all of us here tonight?’

‘What?’

‘Hyenas.’

She drew back, and he instantly regretted it; it was too harsh, too much. He had offended her.

‘I didn’t mean to … I’m one of the hyenas too,’ he added, floundering. ‘I was only joking about voting Labour.’

She looked away. ‘I don’t really like politics.’

‘It’ll be hard to avoid after the election.’

She smiled, still looking away. ‘You think he’s going to win.’

‘Everyone knows he’s going to win.’

‘I’m glad. It’s what he wants.’

Simon laughed. ‘What he wants. You make it sound like a pair of new socks.’

‘Yes. I’m very simple aren’t I?’

‘No. I don’t think you’re simple. Just the opposite.’

She glanced around at his tone. It was too interested.

He said, ‘Is it possible we’ve met before?’

Again she drew back, and he tried to check himself, to sit back and appear neutral.

She said politely, ‘I don’t think we’ve met. What’s your name?’

‘Simon Lampton.’

She blinked, laughed. Her glass twitched in her hand, as if she’d started at a sudden noise. She put her glass down and looked at him with her strange, potent eyes. He felt pinned, fascinated and exposed. She looked at him coolly and assessingly for a moment, as if he was some object whose value she was minutely weighing up. He lifted his chin and stared back into the beautiful narrow face.

Her eyes refocused; she was looking beyond him. David Hallwright was approaching. She got out of her chair and he jumped up awkwardly.

She said something he couldn’t catch then she went towards Hallwright, and left him standing there.

He moved away, feeling a bad combination of light-headed and overheated, and sat down next to Graeme, falling into an automatic conversation about golf.

Later he walked across the room and saw Roza Hallwright among a group of women.

‘A silent auction’s always good,’ Trish said. ‘Hello Simon.’

‘You’re talking about fundraising,’ he said. ‘Over there the men are talking about golf.’

The women turned to him. He said, ‘Do you ever feel these conversations aren’t really talk, not in the sense of talking about anything? They’re just a way of making friendly sounds. Like a group of animals, making the right noises, so they won’t be attacked.’

Someone laughed.

Trish rolled her eyes. ‘That’s very funny, darling. Actually, no, we’re getting a lot done. I’m sure you men are just grunting, though.’

Simon felt irritation with Trish settle on him like a fly. Usually he controlled his feelings without effort, but tonight he was raw, as if Roza Hallwright’s cool gaze had stripped a layer off him, and he went
on, ‘It’s strange that no one talks about politics at these evenings.’

‘Well, David’s just made a long speech about politics, and we’re all on the same side here, aren’t we. We don’t need to be debating. How boring it would be if we did.’ Trish patted Simon’s arm and turned to Roza Hallwright. ‘Please excuse Simon. He’s very eccentric.’

Mrs Hallwright turned to Simon. ‘What was that word you used?’

‘A word. I don’t know …’

‘Hyenas,’ she said. A look passed fleetingly over her face and he was struck by the intensity of it, as if a mask had lifted and he’d seen a real expression, something wild or even desperate but laughing too, and the expression was also familiar, so much so that he stared.

‘Hyenas. Charming.’ Trish was beginning to get annoyed.

The women started talking about hyenas. ‘They’re sort of dogs aren’t they. What do they do. Pick over dead bodies. Don’t they laugh.’

Trish stared at Simon. She said, ‘We
were
talking about a proposal we have for Roza.’

‘It’s a very good idea,’ Roza said to Trish. ‘You could ring me.’

Trish looked as if she knew what
that
meant. She said in a treacly voice, ‘You must be looking forward to the election.’

‘Oh yes,’ Roza said.

‘You’ll be our first lady.’

Roza smiled. ‘If David wins.’

There was a chorus. ‘Of course he will. He can’t lose.’

Trish said, ‘There’ll be a lot of responsibility. Won’t there. Meeting politicians. Travel. Life will change. No more quiet life at home.’

‘Yes, things will change.’ For a second Roza Hallwright and Trish looked at each other. Simon watched, fascinated. Trish didn’t look away. Red spots had appeared on her cheeks. Roza gave Trish
a radiant smile, ‘Thank you so much,’ she said, and touched Trish’s arm. ‘You’re so full of energy and ideas. It’s miraculous.’ She turned away, putting a hand to her hair. ‘I must look for David.’

Trish stared furiously after her. She took Simon’s arm and pulled him back to the table. ‘What’s wrong with you tonight? Hyenas.’ She pushed him into a seat, poured a glass of wine and sipped it, looking ruffled. ‘You see what I mean.’ She turned down her mouth at the taste of the wine, looking suddenly old and sour.

‘About what?’

‘That woman. I don’t know how David …’

Karen joined them. ‘They’re leaving.’

The Hallwrights were moving slowly towards the door, shaking hands as they went. They were arm in arm, Roza managing to move gracefully in time with Hallwright’s limp. Trish hurried over to say goodbye.

‘Trish is pissed off with me,’ Simon said.

Karen sighed. ‘Trish is always pissed off with you.’

‘Really? But I’m so co-operative.’

Karen laughed. They watched the Hallwrights leaving. Simon noticed that Roza was very tall.

Simon and Karen stayed until late and walked out with Trish and Graeme as the last people were leaving. They’d left the car in the underground park and Graeme discovered he’d lost his ticket, so they stood about while he searched his pockets and Trish checked her bag, and by the time they’d found it the car park had emptied out.

They walked down into the concrete bunker, stopping in the stairwell to say goodbye. Two youths passed them, dressed in baseball caps and baggy jeans. Simon leaned against the wall and half-closed his eyes while Trish gave Karen some instructions about a lunch date.

There was the sound of running feet. Simon looked over the railing and saw the youths running back up the stairs. They burst onto the landing, crashing into Simon. Karen fell against Graeme; Graeme lurched sideways and tripped on the step.

Trish screamed, ‘My bag. Oh, the little shits.’

Simon didn’t think. His body did it for him, and he found he was running up the stairs after the boys, one of whom had Trish’s handbag tucked in the crook of his arm. He took the steps three at a time, with sudden huge energy and a kind of physical relief, everything pent up in him given something to fix on.

He caught the hem of the boy’s shirt and yanked; the boy fell onto his knees and scrambled up again, and then both youths turned and he was facing them on the landing. There was a pause, their panting echoing in the concrete space.

‘Give it back.’ He stepped forward. They didn’t run.

The taller looked at him, breathing hard. Simon saw the quick calculation in the boy’s eyes, and for the second time that night he felt he was being assessed. The youth glanced up and down the stairs and made a decision. He held up the bag and said, ‘Come and get it. Come on. Right here right now.’

Simon hesitated. ‘I don’t want any trouble. Just give it back.’

This gave them courage. They came forward, repeating softly, ‘Come on. Come on.’

He took a step back and nearly went over the edge of the stairs. Instinctively he threw up his arms and the shock that ran through his body made him angry. He lunged forward, grabbed the bag and he and the boy wrestled with it until they both fell on their knees. The other youth kicked Simon in the side of the head. A shower of stars exploded in his eyes, and he heard, from a long way off, the others coming up behind them.

‘We’ve called the police,’ Karen shouted up the stairwell.

He still had hold of the bag. He pulled with real fury, and the youth stumbled forward. Simon hit out and had a rush of vindictive pleasure as his fist connected with the boy’s head. He punched again, they lurched against the wall, the other youth came at him and Simon kicked out. The boy ducked away, the bag came free. One of them shouted and swiped at Simon and he felt a jolt in his elbow like an electric shock, and a loss of strength in his left side. The boys belted away up the stairs, leaving Simon clutching the bag to his chest as the others reached the landing.

He was looking through showers of silver stars, and everything was suddenly very strange.

Trish was clutching Karen’s arm, Graeme’s face was puce and he was breathing heavily. Karen was talking into her cellphone.

Trish snatched the bag and rifled through it in a dazed way. ‘It’s all here. I can’t believe it.’

Graeme grinned all over his winded face. His gapped teeth were gruesome. ‘Good one, mate. Good on ya.’ His chuckle turned into a cough and he bent over, wheezing, hands on his knees, while Trish pounded him on the back.

Karen was talking to the police on the phone. ‘I don’t know what floor we’re on. Trish, what floor are we on?’

‘Are you all right?’ Trish said.

Simon turned towards her, and the stars in his eyes sprayed out in a beautiful stream, turned in the air, scattered into pinpricks.

Karen shouted, ‘Simon.’

He looked down and saw red streams running off the ends of his fingers. He held up his left hand and a line of blood ran out of his sleeve. The cuff was red and the material of his jacket and shirt sleeve hung in two pieces. He was puzzled and wanted to ask Karen what had happened, but when he turned, the stars in his eyes swirled up and came down like a spangled curtain. Light cascaded around
him, like a waterfall. Behind the dreamy swirl, the shapes of people moved and Karen was saying his name.