by Monica Ali
What would he teach the kid? What would the kid have learned today, if he’d been with Gabe? It wasn’t a good day to witness. Was it so different from all the rest? Gabe sighed because it was all very well a generation ago, to take your son to work as Ted had done, and show him how to be a man. The values Ted preached at home he practised at work. But the world wasn’t like that any more. Gabe wasn’t proud of the way things were. And he wasn’t ashamed either. If he wasn’t straight with Mr Maddox today, it was because that was how it had to be. The GM asked for loyalty. In the same breath he wanted Ernie to get the sack after thirty years. Trust, loyalty, commitment – they were only bits of management-speak. You had to have tactics, get into the meeting mindset, be seen to cooperate. It said nothing about a man’s character, the way he behaved at work.
Family, thought Gabe, that’s where you show what you’re made of. He’d have his own family soon. He ran up the museum steps to where Charlie was waiting and wrapped her in his arms.
She kissed him three times on the lips. ‘You must have been a boa constrictor in a previous life. This is a new coat you’re crushing, you know.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, setting her free. ‘I got you this.’
‘Tiffany’s,’ she said, ‘you shouldn’t have. So now we’re officially engaged.’
‘We’ll go and choose one together, but I couldn’t resist the thought of putting a ring on your finger this afternoon.’
Charlie laughed and held out her hand. ‘The silly thing is, I quite like this one.’
‘Right. Orange is good, matches your eyes. Charlie, I’ve been thinking – let’s not hang about too long, there’s Dad to think of … and, anyway, we could book a register office, nothing too fancy, just get it done.’
They were walking into the Great Court now, the glass dome stretching above, encasing the people, the buildings, like one of those snowstorms you shake and put on your desk.
Charlie took Gabe’s arm and steered him towards the stairs. ‘An incurable romantic,’ she said. ‘Don’t I get to arrive in a coach with white horses? Don’t I get to wear a meringue?’
‘We’ll do it however you want,’ said Gabe, wondering how quickly he could get her out of here. It was so airless. There were too many school parties. They always ended up looking at bits of broken old pots.
‘So, tell me about Nana Higson,’ said Charlie, ‘and tell me about your dad.’ They trailed along the beautifully lit aisles speaking in the hushed voices of worshippers and stopping now and again to lean against a cabinet of ancient coins.
‘I thought we’d go to Bronze Age,’ said Charlie. ‘There’s a bit about feasting you’d like.’
They looked at numerous bronze ladles and buckets, and ‘fleshhooks’ made of pieces of bronze linked with crumbling shafts of oak. Feasts were important social and political occasions for the people of the Bronze Age, Gabriel read. Hosting a feast could reinforce loyalty and bind guests in obligation. It provided an opportunity for hosts to display their status and valuable possessions.
‘Don’t you find it a bit … you know,’ said Gabe.
‘What?’
‘Boring.’
‘Gabriel Lightfoot,’ said Charlie, crossing her arms and tossing her flaming hair. ‘Now that we’re to be wed you’re not going to come out of the closet as a secret philistine?’
‘No way,’ said Gabriel, ‘I’m as cultured as they come. But I think I need some coffee. Let’s go to the café.’
They got the coffees to take away because Gabe said he needed fresh air too, and sat on the wall that bounded the front lawn watching the coaches disgorge, the genteel bustle of Great Russell Street, the lazy lamp lights yawning on in the dimming afternoon. Gabriel sparked a Marlboro Light. ‘I see,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s why you wanted to come out. Since when have you smoked?’
‘Gave up years ago,’ said Gabe, ‘before I met you. But … I’ve not taken it up again.’
Charlie shivered and put her hands in her coat pockets. Her coat was cream with a dark fur trim and collar, just right for hailing a cab to the Savoy, not jumping on a bus back to the Edgware Road. ‘I’m hallucinating,’ she said.
‘I’ve always had one or two, at work,’ said Gabe. Why was he lying to her? What was the point? ‘Nip out to the loading bay, have a breather – no harm in that, is there?’
She looked at him. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I suppose not.’ Laying her head on his shoulder she said, ‘Am I coming to yours tonight or are you coming to mine?’
Gabriel sucked courage and nicotine into his lungs. This was it. He had to tell her now. ‘Charlie, this is going to sound … Let me start at the beginning. Remember I told you about the porter – he was living in the basement.’
She pulled away. Already there was suspicion in the angle of her shoulders, in the tilt of her head, and he hadn’t told her anything yet. ‘Yuri,’ she said, ‘the one who died.’
He had to get it out quickly, not sound as if he was beating about the bush. ‘There was a girl living down there with him, one of the dishwashers, we didn’t know about her at first. Then I saw her, she came back to look for some money she’d hidden in the wall, and it had been stolen, and she’d come back to look for it and she didn’t have anywhere to go. She had no money and nowhere to go and she was terrified – if you’d seen her – really terrified, that she’d be blamed for something, get in trouble, so I decided to help her. Didn’t think about it, just offered her a place to stay.’ He finished the cigarette and tossed the stub. It had sounded all right, he thought.
‘You mean,’ said Charlie slowly, ‘that this girl is staying at your flat?’
‘Yep,’ said Gabriel, ‘you’ll meet her, skinny little thing, scrawny, terrible hair.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Lena. God, it’s really freezing now. You know I go from a boiling kitchen into the cold like this – hot, cold, hot, cold, it’s a wonder I don’t get sick. Lena. The thing is, I found out, she told me about all these horrendous things – stuff that’s happened to her, you wouldn’t believe, she’s only a kid.’
‘Try me,’ said Charlie, giving him a lopsided smile.
‘The reason she was hiding out in the basement with Yuri is that she was running away from her pimp.’
‘Oh God,’ said Charlie. ‘East European?’
‘The pimp? I don’t know. I guess so, he’s called Boris. Lena’s Russian, Belarussian. From Mazyr,’ he added, embellishing unnecessarily, a liar’s habit which he seemed to have acquired.
‘She was trafficked,’ Charlie said, as if explaining things to him.
‘That’s right.’ He checked his watch. He’d have to get back to the Imperial soon.
‘We have to help her,’ said Charlie, taking charge as he had known she would, ‘get her to the police and file charges, find her some counselling.’
‘No, she won’t go to the police. She’s too scared of Boris. She thinks he’ll get her somehow.’
Charlie put her hand on his arm. ‘Gabe, those men, her clients, they raped her. There’s no other word for it.’
‘I knew you’d want to help,’ said Gabriel. He hugged her, looking over her shoulder at the museum entrance, the learned Greek colonnade suffusing him somehow with the confidence that everything would be dealt with calmly now.
‘So when did you find her?’ said Charlie. ‘Today?’
‘No,’ said Gabe, ‘a couple of days ago. Will you come round later? I’m finishing at ten.’
‘You mean before you went to Blantwistle? She’s been staying at your flat since then?’
‘I guess,’ said Gabriel. ‘Yes. You’re shivering. Your poor little hands have turned to ice. We’d better get moving, don’t you think?’
‘You guess,’ said Charlie. ‘You guess? You came and stayed the night at mine before you left, do you guess she was at your place then? I see. Or maybe I don’t. We spent the evening, the night, together but she slipped your mind, this Lena, because you didn’t mention her.’
> ‘Of course she didn’t “slip my mind”. Charlie … don’t be like that. This girl – if you saw her you’d understand. She’s such a wretch. And she made me promise not to tell anyone about her. Maybe I should have told you, but I promised her, and now that I’ve won her trust a little, she’s agreed … she’s agreed to let us help her.’
Charlie slipped down off the wall and stood in front of him, breathing frosty columns in the air. She turned her head, watching the people come and go, stepping crisply along the path. ‘I have to ask you. I’m only going to ask this one time and then it’s done.’ She still didn’t look at him. ‘Did you sleep with her?’
He could tell her and they would get through it. She was big enough for that. But he wouldn’t do it to her. He cupped her chin and drew her face round. ‘No.’
She smiled gingerly, as someone smiles after difficult dental work, risking pain. ‘I had to ask.’
‘It’s OK.’ He kissed her forehead.
‘So, you ran into her in the basement and then she came home with you. You offered her a place to stay, just like that. Not many people … they’re usually scared to get involved. I’m sorry I asked you that question. You’re a kind man, Gabe. You really are.’
Gabriel lit up a cigarette. ‘Well,’ he said, exhaling, ‘you know me.’
Charlie watched him smoking. She didn’t say anything. She looked down as he tapped ash, looked up as he blew smoke, tracked the progress of his cigarette, the arc that it travelled as he raised and lowered it again. ‘Do I?’ she said, finally. ‘Do I know you? I didn’t know you smoked.’
‘I told you. I just have one or two. What difference does it make?’ She looked angry; he’d have to tread carefully. Was she shivering or shaking with rage?
She shook her head and turned as if to leave and then turned again and flew at him, knocking the cigarette from his hand. ‘You fucked her, didn’t you? You coward. Sitting there smoking, you coward. Did you think I wouldn’t know?’
Gabriel turned up his palms. He looked around to appeal to the judge and jury. ‘What? Because I’m smoking, that means I fucked someone?’
‘Yes,’ hissed Charlie. ‘Yes.’
He was calm. All he had to do was deny it. In a minute she’d be apologizing again. ‘Look at me, Charlie.’ He paused a moment. ‘OK, yes. I did it. You’re right.’
Charlie hugged herself. A wind started up and blew her hair across her face. When she pushed it back he saw, but did not quite believe, the damage that he’d done. She said, ‘How many times?’
‘Charlie …’
‘How many times? Well, was it once? Was it twice?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not what you think. She needed—’
‘—you to fuck her? Are you out of your mind?’ Charlie was yelling and he could not make himself heard. ‘This girl – this poor girl – who you say has been abused.’
‘Please,’ said Gabe, ‘stop shouting. I know it was wrong. But I could have lied about it. At least I told you the truth.’
‘You lied. My God, you lied, and I believed you.’ Her eyes glittered darkly with tears.
‘Not for long,’ said Gabe softly. He reached for her. ‘Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Honestly, I don’t know how I got us into this mess. But we can get out of it, can’t we? And we can help her too.’
She rested her brow on his shoulder and snuffled about for a bit. Then she lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. ‘You think you know someone,’ she began, before her voice cracked. ‘You think you know someone …’ She took his hand and placed something in it and pressed his fingers closed. ‘I hope you do help her. She sounds like she needs it. Don’t make things worse for her.’
She backed away from him, her hands in her pockets, and she looked magnificent, backlit by the streetlights, her coat cinched tight at the waist, the deep burnish in her hair. Gabriel gripped the ring. It seemed important not to lose it, not to give up like that. ‘Wait,’ he called. ‘We need to talk about it. There are things you don’t understand.’
‘I understand enough, Gabriel. The question is, do you?’ She turned then and left him and before she was out of sight he lit up a cigarette and started planning what he needed to do to get her back.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GABE WATCHED ERNIE AND OONA SCUTTLE AND SHUFFLE towards the prefab from opposite ends of the loading bay. Oona had a low centre of gravity; any lower and she’d be rooted permanently to the ground. Ernie looked distressed and distracted, which was how he always looked on the move. He needed a pillar to lurk beside, a rock to duck behind, a shadow in which to rest. It was a perpetual hazard of his porter’s job that no sooner had he reached a place of relative safety than he was forced to break cover again. Perhaps it would be kinder to put him out of his misery, effect the ‘restructure and redundancy initiative’ outlined in Mr James’s sickly little memo yesterday.
In swift light strides Gabe passed his executive sous-chef.
‘Good Lord,’ said Oona, as if Gabe had spread his wings and flown.
‘Morning,’ said Gabe, hurdling a packing crate. He jumped into the back of the cheese van.
‘Hernie need a little bitta help,’ called Oona, sing-song.
Gabe watched the pair converge at Ernie’s hut. He owed Oona an apology. He’d filled out the wrong details for that birthday party and then given Oona a formal warning about it. Ernie and Oona both stepped into the doorway at once and became, momentarily, wedged in the frame.
Gabe turned away laughing and groaning. ‘Crack troops,’ he said under his breath. ‘Top team.’
He picked up a Vacherin du Terroir and lifted the lid. He put it to one side. He examined the Roqueforts next and they failed to inspire. It had been a week since he’d seen Charlie and he hadn’t called her yet. The plan was to call her today. Give her a week to cool off and then ring her when she’d given up expecting him to call. Maybe she’d still be furious. Maybe he should have run after her straight away.
He used his penknife to slice a piece of Demi Pont l’Évêque. He held it under his nose. Why had he told her? This was the question he could not answer. He’d decided (hadn’t he?) not to tell her. And then he told her. Just like that. He did it without thinking. But that was only an expression (wasn’t it?), a manner of speaking. I did it without thinking. You dodge a fist without thinking. You step around a pothole without thinking. You breathe without thinking. You don’t tell your girlfriend you fucked someone else without thinking. Anyway, he’d considered it, played the angles, rejected it as an option. Then he spoke and somehow it all came out.
It must have been in his mind to do it, to tell her. You can’t speak the words without the thought. The thought comes first and the words give it shape. They follow along, however infinitesimally small the delay. So he’d decided to tell her. Why? He’d had that thought. Tell her, he’d thought. It was my thought. But where did it come from? It wasn’t my idea to think something stupid like that.
He was going round and round in circles. What did it matter? Whatever way it had happened it was done. But he could not let the subject rest. What he wanted to know was this: did he produce the thought or was the thought something that happened to him? It just popped into my mind. People said that, didn’t they? But if he wasn’t responsible for his thoughts, then what was ‘he’? Was there a ‘he’ that was separate from the bit of him that thought? He didn’t think so. How could he know? And what was the point of all these questions? They just turned in and in on themselves in one big tangled mess.
I said it without thinking. Maybe it made more sense that way. The thought followed the words. Subconscious, that was it. Deep down he wanted to break it off with Charlie, wanted to destroy the relationship. He groaned at this marvellous insight. It made no sense, that he’d want to fuck everything up. It all went round and round. He could scarcely pick out one thought from the next.
He jumped out of the van and the cheese man was waiting. ‘Sorry,’ said Gabe, ‘but I don’t really want anythi
ng today.’
A giant bullfrog in a tuxedo had been positioned strategically across the entrance to Dusty’s. It moved aside to allow a couple of girls dressed in two or three sequins to trip fawn-like down the stairs. Gabe looked at Nikolai. ‘There’s never been a bouncer before.’
A gaggle of girls brushed past them and the bouncer unclipped the red velvet rope. Gabe glanced at the girls’ legs. They looked like they might snap. The knees were the widest part. It certainly wasn’t the usual Dusty’s crowd.
‘Members?’ said the bouncer, his hooded eyes swivelling between Nikolai and Gabe. He didn’t wait for a reply. Pointing up at the sign he said, ‘Members only now.’
‘Ruby in the Dust,’ said Gabriel. ‘Where’s Dusty? What’s he done to this place?’
‘Who? Never ’eard of him. You’re not getting in.’
Nikolai put a hand on Gabriel’s arm. ‘Plenty more places. Come on.’
‘Look,’ said Gabe, ‘I’ve been drinking here for …’
‘Not any more, mate.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Gabe. ‘Do you think I want to go in there?’
‘I don’t know what you want, mate. All I know is you’re still hanging around. And you ain’t getting in.’
Gabriel flew up to the red velvet rope. He was eye to eye with the bouncer. He could almost feel the fat throb of his neck. ‘You,’ he said, spitting the words, ‘are not very civilized. I asked you about Dusty. This used to be Dusty’s place.’
‘Chef,’ said Nikolai, ‘this gentleman is not in the mood for conversation. Let’s find another establishment.’
Gabe allowed Nikolai to steer him away.
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Gabe, though he believed it only too well, property prices being what they were. ‘Dusty’s has always been there.’
They tried a couple of pubs but there was nowhere to sit, a bar at which they were (politely) refused at the door, and another in which the music was intolerable and the clientele unbearably loud and young.
