Three Steps Behind You (8 page)

‘Soundproof,’ he says

I wonder if they are also bullet proof – I imagine one shot being fired and shattering all the offices into tiny shards, people and rooms fragmenting.

‘Who mentioned Feltham?’ asks Adam. ‘HR or the police?’

He knew, then, that the police were coming?

‘HR weren’t there,’ I say. ‘It was my colleague, Prakesh. Why would the police be there?’

Adam shrugs. There is a little bit of sweat on his forehead. He takes off his jacket, so that the poppy is no longer next to his heart. I would like to pin it to his shirt, let the pin graze his naked skin, but I resist.

‘So why did Prakesh mention it?’ Adam asks.

‘Previous conduct,’ I say.

‘Did you indecently assault anyone at work?’ he asks.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Not at work.’

Adam looks at me.

‘No,’ I say again, more conclusively.

‘So it’s not relevant,’ he says. ‘And besides, it’s a spent conviction.’

I nod. ‘That’s what I told them.’

Adam flicks through some paperwork on his desk.

‘So, what else did you talk about?’ he asks, studying a bit of paper.

‘Jeremy Bond.’

Adam looks up at that.

‘What about him?’

‘Loaning cars to him without proper paperwork, who he was, all that kind of stuff.’

‘You didn’t tell them anything?’

‘No,’ I say.

Adam takes a breath. ‘Good,’ he says.

It’s nice of him, always to be so concerned about me.

He goes back to looking at his papers.

‘They’re keeping an eye on me, the police,’ I say. ‘They were at Narcissus Road. I think Nicole called them.’

Adam frowns.

‘About last night? She said she wouldn’t.’

I shake my head. ‘About Helen.’

Adam stands up and thumps the table. The people in the glass boxes nearby look up. He sits down again.

‘Mate, you’ve got it wrong. Why would Nic do that?’

‘Are you saying I’m paranoid?’

He doesn’t answer. I think about the red that followed me on the train. There was no way that could be paranoia.

‘She’s outside now, if you want,’ I say.

‘What? Where?’ asks Adam, looking around.

‘You won’t be able to see her,’ I warn him. ‘She’s hiding. Biding her time.’

‘Right.’ He nods. There is a pause. He does, he thinks I’m paranoid. ‘Well, I won’t disturb her now, but I’ll talk to her. Tell you what – we’ll go out to dinner, all three of us, start over. Lobster and champagne – our treat.’

‘Do you need me to do the kill?’ I ask.

He looks at me blankly.

‘The lobster,’ I say. ‘Do you want me to kill it for you?’

Adam laughs. ‘No, mate – the chef does that for you. Lobster halves, all nicely cut up, bit of mayo.’

‘Oh,’ I say. I thought I could have been of use. ‘I’ll get a suit.’

‘No need to dress up, mate, it’s just us.’

‘With the money,’ I say. ‘They offered me a settlement agreement.’

‘I’ll have my lawyer look over it,’ Adam offers.

‘One of those nice suits, in Moss Bross.’

‘You don’t want a suit, mate. Have one of my old ones – you’ll have to lose that gut though.’ He slaps my stomach. His hand pauses there. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Seems you already have.’

‘I’ve been running,’ I say. ‘You can see if you like.’ I start to untuck my polo shirt under his hand.

He jerks his hand away.

‘You’re in a glass box, mate – not the time to show off your abs!’

I nod.

‘Maybe later,’ he says. ‘Show them off to me and Nic.’ He winks at me. I am beyond blushing. Instead, I think about how we can have a best torso competition. The loser has to eat lobster off the abs of the winner.

‘Anyway, mate, you don’t spend your cash on a suit,’ Adam tells me. ‘Live a little. Get something that makes your heart race.’

I wonder if he knows what he’s inviting.

Chapter 18

The indecent assault thing didn’t make my heart race, back then. Or at least, not in the way Adam means. Mostly, I was just worried about us getting caught. We didn’t, but she told on us. So we got caught out. It was bad form, Adam said, to kiss and tell. Sometimes I want to do that, but I can’t, so I write it instead. But I can never publish. Unless of course I use a pseudonym. But that seems kind of dishonest. Plus the people I most want to know my story never will.

Even though she was a slut, who, as Adam said, was asking for it, she never got ‘it’. It was just touching. Adam started it, when we were alone with her, in the common room. They let girls join our sixth-form. ‘It’s just for girls who want to shag through their A-levels,’ Adam told me. That was a bit odd, because they mostly just huddled in a group by themselves when we tried to talk to them. ‘They’re playing hard to get,’ Adam had said.

So he suggested we ‘get’ one of them. We were in the common room, late, one winter evening – I’d been waiting for Adam to come back from football so we could walk home together. I’d been chatting to Olivia. She was in my English class. We were discussing Daphne du Maurier when Adam strode in, full of testosterone and sweat. He invited us to feel his shirt, so we did, flattered by the invitation. Then he said we should all feel each other’s shirts. Underneath. Olivia wasn’t keen, but she obliged, because that’s what you do when Adam asks you something. But then Adam wanted to be underneath everything. He said I had to as well, unless I was a faggot – how could I touch him and not her? He put my hand on her. In her. While he held her down.

But that doesn’t really count, as experience. Which is annoying, given the months we had to pay for it. I tried to stop Adam having to pay for it, said it was my idea, my fault, but the girl told a different story.

The time inside, with Adam, was not of itself a problem. But here’s the rub: Luke still needs experience.

The alternative is this, which would not go well:

Luke surveyed her lying on the bed. Finally, he had her here. So he unzipped his trousers, lifted her skirt, turned her over, and wondered what exactly he ought to do
.

No. So I need to find out, for Luke, what he ought to do, so that when he does it, with Nicole, he does it right. Because that time will really matter. For Luke and I both to experience the closeness that we need. And indeed, I need to test that he can do it at all. Because it’s not clear whether his heart will race, and his blood will pump, in the right way. And if that doesn’t work, he will not really get close, where it counts.

I get the Tube to Moss Bros in Oxford Street first. Nicole is with me for the whole journey in the red of the Central Line. At first I think she hasn’t followed me out of the station but then, just as I get to Moss Bros, I am nearly hit by a red bus zooming up at me from behind. I shake my head as I hurry into the shop. Nicole really is out to get me.

Inside the shop, there is no red. No femininity. Just suits for men. I decide to hire, not buy. That way, I will still have some cash left, for the other needs. I hire the best one they have – it even has tails.

‘You going to a wedding?’ asks the assistant.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Are you?’ I will need to practise small talk, for later.

He doesn’t reply. He is clearly out of practice too.

I leave my old clothes in the changing room. After all, I won’t need the car rental polo shirt again, if I’m settling with them. I can transform, fully, into researching author. I can shed my external shell of daily drudge and take on the mantle of literature. I will wear Luke tonight, be Luke, inhabit him. Maybe inhabit another. Adam will be proud, finally, of the work I produce.

As I leave the shop and walk along the street towards Soho in my new suit, people look at me and smile, and get out of my way. This is what it feels like to have power, to be Luke.

Luke struts along Dean Street like a hero. He is the hunter gatherer, he is the man beyond all men, and tonight he will bring home a prize
.

I also notice that, for the first time today, Nicole is not following me. She is nowhere. She is gone. It is just Luke and I, walking around, living our life, preparing for book four, which won’t feature her – by name. Anonymity, to protect her way of life. If she still has one.

I go into a busy-looking bar and order a martini. I sit on a bar stool, being careful to flick my tails over the edge of the red leatherette seat. As I sip my martini, I survey the scene. Some groups are just women, some have men in, some are couples. There is one woman at a table by herself. She may be attractive, I don’t know, but if she was that great, she wouldn’t on her own. I try to appraise her objectively. Quite young, say twenty-six, which I guess gives her points. Brown hair, a bit frizzy. Glasses. Deduct points. Low-cut top, pink with silver stripes on, displaying collar bones and cleavage. Add points. Arms quite toned, no hint of a belly but she is sitting down so hard to tell. Neutral score. Her wine glass is nearly empty.

She looks up. I smile. She looks down. I wait. She looks up again. I nod. She looks down again, hiding a small smile. I wait for her to look up again, and she does. I raise my glass and tap it slightly, tipping my head in a questioning gesture. She remains seated for a moment, does a little shrug to herself, then stands up.

‘Have you been to a wedding?’ she asks.

Oh, okay. This is the latest line. I get it. The guy in the shop was hitting on me.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Have you?’

‘No,’ she says.

‘You’ll need a drink then,’ I say. ‘White wine?’

She nods.

‘Good with lobster,’ I say. ‘Although champagne’s better.’

‘Right,’ she says, and laughs. ‘I have champagne with lobster all the time.’

‘Then why are you here?’ I ask her.

She hoists her handbag up on her shoulder. ‘I fancied a drink. The flat gets so stuffy, when it’s hot.’

‘You live locally, then?’ I ask.

She nods. ‘Where are you based?’

‘North London.’

‘Oh, very nice,’ she says. I think of my grey house with its grey windows on the grey North Circular.

‘Parts of it are,’ I agree.

‘I’m Luke, by the way,’ I say, because I am, tonight.

‘Ally,’ she says.

I nod. The barman comes over to us.

‘Ally here will have a white wine, large,’ I say. Ally pulls her purse out from her bag. ‘Oh no, my treat,’ I say, putting my hand over hers, pushing the purse back into the bag.

‘My mother told me never to accept gifts from strangers,’ she says.

‘Is your mother here?’ I ask.

Ally gives a small shrug, and a half-smile. ‘No,’ she says.

‘Would you like her to be here?’ I ask, looking into her eyes.

‘No,’ she says again.

‘Good.’ I turn to the barman. ‘Actually, mate, make that a bottle. Of champagne. And two glasses. Ally, go and find us a table, and we’ll talk some more about your mother.’

Luke pours the girl another drink. ‘You must have some too,’ she protests. ‘It’s like you’re trying to get me drunk!’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Luke murmurs, close to her ear.

She places a hand on his thigh and he feels …

nothing.

Sitting at our table booth, Ally is asking me a chain of inane questions.

‘What do you do, Luke?’ she asks.

‘I’m a researcher.’

‘Oh, what, like for a film company? Cool. What are you working on now?’

‘People.’

‘Oh, who’s that by?’

‘Me,’ I say.

‘Oh, wow, so it’s your own film? That’s so cool. So, like, what’s it about?’

‘Getting close to someone.’

‘Cool. So, like right now, you could be researching me,’ she says.

‘Less you, more what you represent.’

‘And what do I represent, Mr Artiste?’

‘Femininity.’

‘Wow. That’s so … That’s really nice, Luke.’ She moves a bit closer to me along the bench, until our bodies touch. ‘Wow, you’re really … I bet there’s a six-pack under there!’

I shrug.

‘I’ll show you yours if I’ll show me mine,’ she giggles. ‘No! Wait! That’s wrong.’ She starts again, speaking slowly and deliberately. ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’

‘What, here, in this bar?’ I ask. She seems less concerned about public perceptions than Adam.

‘Go one, give us a flash!’ she giggles.

‘Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private?’ I ask.

‘What kind of girl do you take me for?’ she asks.

‘The sort that likes looking at naked men,’ I say.

‘Is there any other?’ she asks.

‘Maybe some like looking at naked women,’ I say.

‘I can be into that too, if you’d like me to,’ she offers. ‘Oh my God! Listen to me. We’ve only just met. Joking, joking. Sorry. Look, I don’t need to see your abs, sorry.’

‘You could just touch them then. No one would see.’

I take her hand and run it over my abdomen, over my shirt, keeping my eyes fixed on hers. She makes a small murmuring noise. I have kept her touch light, but she presses more firmly.

‘I work out too, you know,’ she says.

‘Really?’ I ask.

‘Yes. Do you want to feel?’

‘Are you sure?’ I ask.

‘Go on.’

She takes my hand and guides it to her torso, running it between the pink and silver stripes on her top. She is tiny, and I feel ribs, not muscle.

Luckily I don’t have to comment because she kisses me. Gently, lightly, then breaks away. Then she kisses me again, and I feel her tongue dart into her mouth. I dart mine back.

When we move away from each other, she puts my hand on her heart.

‘It’s racing,’ she says.

‘Mine too,’ I say, but I don’t let her touch it.

We each take a sip of our drinks.

‘So I think you said you live nearby, Ally?’ I say.

‘Maybe. But you’re not coming in,’ she says. ‘Not tonight, anyway.’

Oh. She is playing hard to get too, like Olivia did, in the common room. Like Adam always does.

‘May I at least escort you home?’ I ask.

She giggles. ‘You’re so posh.’

Sliding off the bench and out of the booth, I bow and hold out my hand to her. Giggling, she takes my hand and slides off the bench after me. A bouncer opens the door for us. I turn my face away.

It’s cold outside, so I take off my jacket and put it round her shoulders, like I’ve seen Adam do with Nicole. And with Helen. Although there was probably too much of her ever to feel the cold. As we walk, I learn Ally works in the post-production team at a TV company, likes butterscotch ice-cream, plays the clarinet, and recently split up with her boyfriend.