The Queen of Yesterday

by Rob Kinsman

  Nick shuffled into the small hallway, peered into the living room. “Nice flat.”

  “Thanks.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “So, shall we go out?” said Zoe. “Coffee?”

  “Coffee.”

  After they’d had sex they went for coffee.

  She took him to an independent cafe a few roads away. It played jazz music and had shelves full of second hand books you could browse while you drank their ethical cappuccinos. Personally Zoe loathed it there, but it seemed to impress other people.

  “Nice cafe,” said Nick.

  “Yeah, I come here a lot.”

  The intense, bald vegan who owned the place brought their drinks over.

  “Fascinating dream last night, wasn’t it?” said the café owner. Zoe instinctively felt all the muscles in her body tense. “I’ve never seen a more powerful metaphor for the dangers of global warming. The empty throne room.”

  “We don’t like to talk about the dream,” said Nick.

  Zoe could have happily had him right then, right there, in front of the gluten-free flapjacks.

  “Enjoy your drinks,” said the café owner, a little miffed, as he went.

  “I assume that’s still the case?” Nick’s eyes were searching Zoe face as he spoke. “I mean, we can chat about it if you want?”

  “Let’s not.” She hoped she sounded infinitely more casual than she felt. “Who wants to be like everyone else?”

  Nick gave her a look – a suspicious one? – then sipped his karmic coffee.

  “So,” he said, “what do you want to talk about?”

  “Whatever you like.”

  “Did you have anything in mind?”

  “I’m easy.”

  They fell silent. That was the problem when you agreed not to talk about unprecedented global events but had already covered the council’s recycling policy.

  “You still haven’t told me what you actually do for a living,” said Zoe.

  “Well I could, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  “Do you mean that literally?”

  However hard she tried to glean the truth from him, Nick remained tight lipped.

  They listened mutely to the background music, some frenetic jazz which sounded like the musicians were desperately trying to finish the song before their boat sank.

  “So,” said Nick, “when I called you were in bed with a vicar.”

  “No. I was in bed with a child. The vicar was just watching.”

  “Oh. That’s ok then.”

  “There were other people there too.”

  “Watching?”

  “Sleeping.”

  Nick’s eyes twinkled, pleasantly bemused.

  “Where were you?”

  “At a sort of Pontins for the clinically insane.”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “It was the church hall in my parents’ village.”

  “Sounds charming.”

  “It really wasn’t.”

  She sheepishly drained the remains of her coffee.

  “What do you fancy doing after this?” said Nick.

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You pick. Show me what Zoe would normally do on a free afternoon.”

  The art-house cinema was empty. There was only one story people were interested in, and it wasn’t playing on the big screen. Zoe liked the fact that they had the place to themselves, it conjured up adolescent dreams of getting up to no good on the back seat.

  “You been here much?” asked Nick.

  “Oh yeah. They show a wide range of foreign language and independent films. The kind of pictures that struggle to find distribution in the big chains.”

  She’d read this in the brochure while he was buying the tickets. She’d never actually been here before.

  “Wow. Ok.”

  “I usually just see whatever’s on. That way you discover new things.”

  “Good idea.”

  She purred with delight as he slipped his arm around her shoulder. This was more like it.

  The film came on, and Zoe very quickly realised the wisdom of checking what you’re going to see before buying the tickets. As date movies go, a three hour Romanian epic about child abuse in the Catholic Church turned out not to be a classic choice.

  During this cinematic maelstrom of human misery, Nick kept flicking glances at Zoe, trying to gauge what she was making of it. Being too embarrassed to admit her mistake, she settled on staring straight ahead, feigning an air of cultural sophistication. It wasn’t easy as the film contained images that would haunt the dreams of anyone but the most hardened of psychopaths.

  They emerged blinking into the light. Zoe had never been comfortable with silence, but she was damned if she was going to be the first one to say something stupid and inappropriate after the vision of hell on Earth they’d just sat through.

  “So, that was interesting,” said Nick eventually.

  “Yeah.”

  “Without you I never would have seen it. So, um, thanks.” Zoe bit her lip so hard it bled. Nick pretended not to notice. He switched gears, making a conscious effort to try and sound upbeat. “Do you fancy getting something to eat?”

  “If we can find somewhere that doesn’t have courgette on the menu.”

  They both froze, haunted by the memory of what Zoe rated as, unbelievably, only the fourth most disturbing scene in the film.

  “Just take me to your favourite place.”

  “Sure.”

  After walking a circuitous route to buy herself time to think, Zoe finally settled on an upmarket French restaurant. On the one occasion she’d been there before she’d got food poisoning, but had always assumed it was somehow her own fault. At those prices it must have been.

  “C’est cuisine Francais!” said Zoe, who didn’t speak French. Nick peered suspiciously through the restaurant’s window. “They do all your basic French fayre. Petit dejeuner, and so on. When I came here last I had poulet to die for.”

  Nick didn’t react, which unnerved Zoe.

  “They probably have an excellent wine selection too. Vin rouge. And, um, blanc. And…”

  “You’ve never been here, have you?”

  Zoe’s mouth moved as if it was about to make a sentence, but nothing came. Nick waited patiently while she tried to muster a lie.

  “Of course I have.”

  “When?”

  “Halloween three years ago. I remember it because a trick-or-treater threw slime over my best dress on the way here. At least, I kept telling myself it was slime.”

  She prayed he’d see the funny side, although his expression suggested that he very much didn’t.

  “I asked you to take me to the places you like going,” he said, irritable. “I wanted to get to know you better.”

  “I do like these places.”

  “Really?”

  “No.” She stared at the floor, ashamed. “They’re pretentious. I hate them.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, as if waiting for a gunshot to the head.

  “Where do you really like going?” said Nick calmly.

  The Mexican troubadours serenaded them at their table.

  Nick seemed faintly alarmed by the whole setup, but Zoe smiled a warm, contented smile she’d forgotten was in her repertoire. When the music ended, the troubadours, who also doubled as waiters, took their order.

  Choosing your food was a simple process in this establishment. The menu was written on a blackboard perched precariously on the bar. It listed both of today’s specials, although neither of them had changed in the six years Zoe had been coming here. There did used to be a third option, but it had mysteriously vanished one day after a visit from the food hygiene people.

  The owner, a portly Mexican man called Jose – well, that was what Zoe called him and he didn’t seem to mind – came over to the table before the main courses arrived. His grin seemed to stretch across the entire width of his big face, revealing numerous missing teeth.
r />   “Zoe! So good to see you again.”

  “Hey, hey Jose.” She never tired of that one.

  “Ah, I see you have a new gentleman companion.” Jose looked Nick up and down like a protective parent. “You are very lucky man. Zoe is extremely beautiful woman.”

  “Oh, stop it,” said Zoe, hoping he didn’t.

  “We all share a dream these days, but the world would be a far better place if we all dreamt of this beautiful face.” Jose cupped Zoe’s cheek in his chubby fingers. He’d started this habit a few years ago, but as time passed she’d learnt to find it endearing rather than creepy. “Perhaps if this dream continues…”

  “Please, we’d just like to eat,” interrupted Nick.

  Jose backed off, his grin wider than ever.

  “Of course, amigo. I understand that you wish to be left alone with this young siren.”

  The mano-a-mano talk wasn’t going unappreciated. Zoe luxuriated back in her seat, all feline and content. They ordered their food and Jose retreated to a more acceptable distance.

  “He’s a character,” said Nick.

  “He’s the most restrained thing here. Wait till the mariachi band really get going.”

  They slipped back into easy conversation, somehow skirting around any mention of the dream with the skill of nimble dancers. After a few glasses of sangria Zoe felt caution begin to slip away.

  “Nick, I’ve got a confession.

  He looked at her with playfulness in his eyes, assuming this was the start of yet more banter.

  “Listen…” She had his full attention. Part of his charm was the way he had of making her feel like she was the only person in the room. She took a hearty gulp of drink to fortify herself.

  “Go on,” said Nick.

  “The truth is… I fucking hated that film.”

  “Me too.”

  They both laughed heartily at this.

  “Your turn,” she said. “I’ve told the truth, now you have to.”

  “But your confession was easy. You’d have to be a monster to want to sit through misery like that by choice.”

  “Shush!” she said, tipsy. “So, this restaurant. You hate it here, don’t you?”

  “It’s a public health hazard being run by an insane man. What’s not to like?”

  “So that’s a yes.”

  “It’s a no. I mean it. It’s fun.”

  Zoe remained suspicious, but from the wryly amused look on his face he just might have been telling the truth.

  After the meal they headed out into the cool, night air. Nick put his coat over Zoe’s shoulders, which was old-fashioned and gallant enough to make her suspect something must go terribly wrong very soon.

  She was right.

  They ambled down the street, talking easily and pretending their minds weren’t on the inevitable sex which awaited at the end of their stroll. But although Zoe was telling Nick what she thought of as one of her A-list anecdotes – about the time she’d spent a whole afternoon at work pretending to be her non-existent answerphone – he seemed distracted.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s someone following us.”

  Zoe turned to look, but Nick kept a hand on her shoulder, propelling her forwards.

  “Just keep walking.”

  Zoe delayed long enough to clock a tall man, probably in his late forties, walking down the street behind them. He was elegant and intense, dressed in a well-tailored suit and dark overcoat.

  “But he looks, well, normal.”

  Despite this, Zoe was suddenly very aware how deserted the street was.

  “Down here,” said Nick, leading her down a smaller side road, which various closed shops backed onto.

  “Where are we going?”

  The fear was starting to creep in now, and heading somewhere even more isolated hardly seemed the answer. Nick silently upped their pace, guiding her through a series of further twists and turns. Eventually they emerged back on the main street.

  “But this is where we started!”

  Zoe glanced back… and saw that the man was still following.

  “Fuck.”

  “Well, now we know it’s not a coincidence.”

  Although this was a main road there was no sign of passing traffic, most people were already tucked up in bed awaiting tonight’s dream.

  The man was starting to gain on them.

  “I’ll phone the police.”

  Zoe started fumbling for her phone. Nick put his hand over hers.

  “They’ll take too long. I’ll handle this.”

  His eyes were darting around the street, coolly assessing the situation.

  “Hello,” called out the stranger, in a warm, educated voice. Zoe and Nick turned to face him. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  He was staring squarely at Zoe.

  “Me?”

  Nick stepped in front of Zoe, shielding her with his body.

  “Ah, Nicholas,” said the man.

  Maybe it had been there all along, but it was only now that Zoe saw the blade in the man’s hand. Nick slowly backed away, all the time keeping between Zoe and the advancing stranger. The two men warily regarded each other like coiled animals, ready to spring.

  “Come on Nick. Let’s go,” pleaded Zoe, tugging at his arm.

  Then, to Zoe’s horror, Nick suddenly took two quick steps towards their pursuer, closing the remaining distance between them. The man instinctively raised his knife, but didn’t have time to aim it. Nonetheless, it cut into Nick’s side, slicing through his flesh as if through tissue paper. Although Nick winced with pain he used his sacrifice to deliver a counter attack, punching the man square in the face.

  “Run!” he yelled at Zoe, who promptly failed to move a muscle.

  Nick followed up with a second blow, but didn’t chance a third as the man still clung on tightly to the knife. The stranger did at least seem slightly disorientated. Nick turned and fled with Zoe.

  Although the pain must have been intense, Nick kept his teeth firmly gritted as they chased away. But he was wounded, and they were surely too slow. Zoe looked over her shoulder… and slowed to a halt.

  The man wasn’t following. He just watched her with keen eyes.

  He was smiling.

  Unnerved, Zoe felt a hundred questions crowd in at once but managed to articulate none of them. Nick ushered her away, turning a corner to get out of the man’s sight as soon as they could.

  “Who the fuck was that?”

  Satisfied that the man wasn’t pursuing them any longer, they had slowed their pace. Nick remained clutching his bloody side, all his focus on keeping his legs moving.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit. He knew your name.” The blood staining Nick’s shirt looked black in the dim light. “We’ve got to go to the hospital.”

  “No.”

  “You’re hurt!”

  “He didn’t hit anything important.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

  “I’m going to phone the police.”

  “Please don’t.”

  A wave of suspicion flooded Zoe’s face.

  “Why?”

  Nick hesitated.

  “I’ll tell you when we’re back at yours.”

  At her flat they patched up his wound as best they could, compressing the cut until the blood finally stopped trickling out. As Nick had claimed, the blade seemed to have missed anything important.

  “He was in the restaurant,” he said. “He was listening to us. That’s probably how he knew my name.”

  Nick had a good poker face, but Zoe wasn’t an idiot.

  “Please don’t lie to me.”

  Nick sipped at the warm drink she’d brought him.

  “I can’t tell you because I don’t remember,” he said, with what at least sounded like earnestness. “He was dimly familiar, but I can’t place him.”

  “Why won’t you go to the police?”

  He loo
ked her square in the eye.

  “Because I think I’m in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  For the first time the look in his eye wasn’t of confidence or charm. It was vulnerability.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had an accident. Everything got jumbled up. Until I can make sense of things, I need to be careful who I speak to.”

  Someone knocked on the door. The adrenaline kicked back in.

  “Stay here,” whispered Nick, ignoring Zoe’s muted protest.

  He padded quietly into the hallway, cursing when he saw that Zoe didn’t have a spy hole in her front door. He looked around for something to arm himself with.

  Zoe crept over and handed him a vase.

  “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

  Zoe mimed whacking someone over the head with it. Nick looked far from convinced.

  They waited. Listening.

  “Zoe,” came a familiar rasping voice from the corridor.

  “It’s my neighbour,” she said with relief.

  Nick cautiously opened the door a crack.

  “This isn’t a good ti…” He stopped short when he saw Sid. It took him a moment to process the view, then he shut the door again.

  “Did he have his genitals out?” asked Zoe. Nick nodded. “He does that.”

  “Right.”

  “Don’t worry, he’s harmless,” she said, although she knew nothing of the sort.

  Sid started knocking on the door again.

  “Go to bed Sid,” called out Zoe. They listened for a few moments, then eventually heard him padding away. Finally, they relaxed.

  It was about twenty minutes later, while she was brushing her teeth, that the shock hit her. Zoe saw the reflection of her hand trembling, as if it she were dispassionately observing some complete stranger.

  She went through to the bedroom. Nick had propped himself up in bed, showing remarkable fortitude in the face of his wound.

  Zoe’s face apparently gave away exactly what she was thinking.

  “It’s alright. It’s over now.”

  He patted the bed. She joined him.

  “I don’t know how I’ll sleep,” she said.

  “Then we won’t.”

  “You’ll miss the dream.”