by D J Harrison
Outside, I get nervous again. All those nice connections, but are we going to be a couple? Does he want to hold me, to make passionate love to me, as well as improve my reading?
29
Chris greets me at his front door, his uncharacteristic nervousness betrayed by clasping hands and unsteady stance.
‘There’s somebody I want you to meet,’ he says.
‘Who?’
‘My wife.’ He smiles thinly, as if expecting some negative comment.
‘I didn’t know you were married, this is a surprise, Chris. I’d love to meet her.’
I’ve known Chris for a year or so, he once helped me get some important information which saved my life. He’s always portrayed himself as a loner, a geekish technophile with little time for social niceties.
He leads me through the long hall and into his dining room where a young girl sits at the table. She has a wide smile, perfect teeth, round eyes, a cascade of blonde curls. She is dressed simply, but her clothes accentuate her slim figure.
‘This is my wife, Lottie,’ Chris says.
As we exchange greetings I am staggered by her perfection. I look at Chris, untidy Beatle-mop hair, prominent nose, bad skin, old jumper which is liberally decorated with food stains, sad old, baggy, corduroy trousers. Then I look at her pristine perfection. She must be half his age, if that.
‘How long have you two…?’ I ask.
‘Two months,’ Chris answers quickly, ‘we’ve been married two months. Lottie is from the Ukraine, she’s finding it a bit difficult here in Salford.’
‘Maybe she needs some female company,’ I say, ‘someone to show her around, take her shopping. How about it, Lottie?’
She looks at Chris for approval, he nods and she answers. ‘That would be good. I miss my girlfriends in Ukraine, especially my sister.’
‘You should get her over here to keep you company,’ I say.
Her face clouds over. ‘We try, but she can’t get visa, it’s not possible for her to come.’
‘Then I’ll have to do instead,’ I say. It’s the least I can do for Chris, he helped me out so much in the past, anyway I need him to do an urgent job for me. Taking Lottie’s distracting charms out of his way for a few hours might help speed things up.
‘Tomorrow,’ I say. ‘I’ll pick you up at ten, we’ll go into Manchester. Spend the day.’ I can see by her expression that she’s very pleased at the prospect.
‘Thank you, that will be very fine. Can I get you some tea perhaps?’
‘I’ll have a brew, as well,’ Chris says.
‘I need you to build me a tracking device,’ I say.
‘Okay,’ he says, ‘come in to the workshop, I’ll see what I can sort out.’
I’m not even sure this is something Chris can do for me. The front room of his terraced house is piled with carcasses of dead electronic equipment, stacked shelves and dusty components, tangles of wire lying underfoot. I need him to make me a tracker, like we use on our vans, but this one is a bit special.
‘How long do you want it to work for?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, are we talking years, days? It’s important to know how big the power supply needs to be. That determines the size of the whole thing, pretty much.’
‘It needs to be small, nobody must find it, that’s important. Nobody could ever know it was there. If they did I’m likely to get killed or worse.’
He returns my earnest look with concern. ‘Don’t do it then, someone like me could detect it easily, even if it can’t be spotted by eye.’
‘That’s a risk I have to take.’
‘Where do you want to hide it? In a car? If it’s a car I can tap into its power supply and it will last forever, just about.’
‘No. I thought a video tape.’
‘Oh.’
‘Isn’t that possible?’
‘It’s possible, but why a video tape?’
‘It fits in with how I intend to deliver it.’
‘Bad choice,’ Chris shrugs. ‘Think again.’
‘Why, is it too big to fit?’ I have to get this tracker device, I’ve been racking my brains how I can get out of this mess and this is what I’ve come up with. A tracker on a video tape.
‘It’s not that, there’s nowhere to put it. I’d have to try to open up the tape and glue it back together. Does the tape have to work with the tracker inside?’
‘Yes of course.’
‘Sorry, there’s no room then. The tape will snag on the tracker.’
‘I need it to be a video for a security camera, that’s the thing.’
‘Simple then, we’ll not use a video tape, I have something much better. I can easily fit a tracker and it will be almost undetectable, even to someone who might be suspicious.’
‘How long will it take you to make it?’
30
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘You know what.’ Emma’s eyes are ablaze with excitement.
‘Oh, my dinner with Alex.’ I stop teasing her. ‘It was fine, actually it was better than that, it was really good.’
‘So you two got on then?’
‘Yes, you could say that. We got on really well.’
‘How well?’
‘I already told you, really well.’
‘Tell me what he said to you.’
Emma settles on the edge of my desk, she won’t go until she has extracted every morsel. The thought strikes me that I should have taken her along, save all this badgering and I laugh.
‘He said lots, we talked about films and books and all sorts. He’s really interesting.’
‘And?’ Emma prompts.
‘And the meal was good, at least the food was nice. . . My ear was hurting a bit, especially when I chewed my food. Anyway I didn’t let it spoil the meal.’
‘What did you do after the meal?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing, nothing at all?’
‘Alex walked me home, that’s all.’
‘Didn’t you invite him in for a…ahem…coffee?’ She grins.
‘It didn’t seem the right thing to do.’
‘Oh.’ She looks glum. ‘Did he kiss you?’
‘No.’ I’m a little put out by her questioning and find myself reacting automatically in defensive mode. ‘He gave me a nice hug though.’ I soften at the memory.
‘Ah.’ Emma seems satisfied. ‘So no rumpy-pumpy, no argy-bargy until next time. Is that tonight?’
‘Actually it’s tomorrow night if you must know. We’re going to the Bridgewater Hall to see Dylan Moran.’
‘Oh I like him, he’s funny. Prefer Bill Bailey though, I’ve see him three times, he’s hilarious.’
‘I don’t really know Dylan Moran, it’s Alex’s idea.’
‘He seems keen then, your Alex. Did he mention your ear?’
‘No, I showed it to him though, told him I was going to have some more surgery.’
‘Good idea. If he suddenly saw it for the first time while you were having a bit of nookie it might have put him off. Now he knows to put a paper bag over your head first.’
She scampers off as I pretend to attack her. Her laughter lingers in the air for an instant, then the awful feelings of vulnerability and helplessness begin to close in on me again.
31
I park at Blackfriars Bridge, it’s the only place I feel okay with the big Range Rover. All the multi-storey car parks are much too tight for me to manoeuvre comfortably. Here, there’s open air and lots of space. Not only that, but it’s just as handy for the shops.
Lottie pours herself out of the car, her long legs slightly unsteady on the combination of heels and cobbles beneath. Her legs seem to go on for ever, her microscopic skirt accentuating the illusion. She’s dressed for a night on the town, silky eye-catching multi-coloured top, sumptuous man-catching body.
I’m wearing my usual flat shoes, simple black skirt down almost to my knees. The familiar black and white en
semble that was my daily work-wear as an accountant and which I’ve never bothered to change. We both need to do something about the way we dress, now we have the perfect opportunity.
‘Typical Manchester weather.’ I point up at the almost cloudless sky. Lottie laughs, she already knows better. Even in Odessa, Manchester’s chronic tendency for continuous precipitation must be legendary. Today, though, there’s a beautiful breathless brightness. In this light, even the nasty Urbis building behind the Cathedral looks stunning.
‘We’ll buy you some new outfits, I’ll bet you’ve not had a chance for a proper shop, Lottie.’
‘Chris takes me, he’s okay, he lets me buy anything I want.’
‘Like I said, you’ve not had a proper shop, then. It’s not the same having a man hopping impatiently from one foot to the other, telling you everything looks great just to get you out of the shop as quickly as possible. Am I right?’
She laughs, nods her head. Her bright eyes show her appreciation of what I’m telling her.
We dive into Top Shop. She grabs a collection of tiny skirts and slinky tops, parades herself in front of me, seeking approval. I find myself shaking my head on a regular basis, watching her bottom lip pout with increasing disappointment.
‘Lottie, you’re picking clothes for a summer holiday. It’ll be winter all too soon, you need to be planning ahead a bit more.’
‘Don’t you think Chris will like me in this?’ She stands there in tight shorts up to her bum, purple top with a deep vee that leaves very little of her chest to the imagination.
‘Chris loves you even if you wear a sack. What we need to think about is how you look to everyone else.’
‘But it’s only Chris I dress for, as long as he’s happy that’s all that matters.’
‘Men aren’t always happy when their wives go out looking so sexy,’ I say. Her face drops, she looks at herself in the long mirror.
‘You think I look like a whore in this?’ she asks.
‘No, you look very beautiful. But you can look even better in something a bit more subtle.’
She allows me to extricate her from the booming cacophony in Top Shop and lead her into the more refined ambience in Jackpot. As she pulls dresses from the hangers, she looks at the tags and frowns. ‘I can’t afford any of this,’ she says.
‘Oh yes you can,’ I say. ‘This is how it works, Lottie. Chris is making something for me. He thinks he’s doing it as a favour, he’s not going to ask me for any payment. In return, you get to buy some really nice clothes and I’ll pay for them. So, you get some clothes, I get my device and Chris does me a favour. Everyone wins, everyone is happy.’
Her crinkled forehead indicates puzzlement at the complicated arrangement, so I explain again. ‘Chris is happy to make the thing for nothing, but I want to pay for it. This way, we both get what we want and you get some nice things. Don’t worry, Lottie, I’m an accountant, I know how these arrangements work. Get whatever you want, if there’s a problem with money, I’ll tell you.’
Festooned with paper bags advertising the success of our shopping mission, I steer Lottie into Katsouri’s Deli on the corner of Deansgate and John Dalton Street. The place is full of people milling about in apparent chaos. We collapse gratefully into chairs that suddenly become vacant as if by magical arrangement. There’s barely enough room to stuff our bags out of the way of careless feet.
We share a large platter of meze served with delicious warm flatbread.
‘I’ve never been to Ukraine, what’s it like?’ I ask.
‘Some of it is very beautiful. Where I come from, Odessa, it’s especially good. Very nice, people having holidays there.’
‘So now you’re living in Salford, it’s not so beautiful eh?’ I ask, knowing the answer but intrigued about how this gorgeous woman has arrived in this less than gorgeous neighbourhood.
‘Salford okay,’ she smiles, ‘lots to do, lots of nice shops here in Manchester. I like.’
‘How did you meet Chris?’ I can’t resist being nosey.
‘We meet on internet, he’s so nice, so kind.’
‘Yes he is, though he’s a bit older than you, isn’t he?’
‘No matter, how old doesn’t matter. He looks after me well. I’ve no complaints.’ She looks uncomfortable and I am feeling sorry for being so rude.
‘Excuse me for asking, I don’t mean to upset you. It’s just that I’m a bit surprised he’s not mentioned you before.’
‘We fell in love.’ Her face is reddening. She is speaking in gasps. ‘It’s true, we fall in love, I with him also. He choose me, I am happy.’ She is almost belligerent now.
‘Well, I’m very happy for you both,’ I say, holding her gaze and making her listen. ‘Chris is a good guy, you’ve done well. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you with my questions.’
Her forehead crinkles but the rest of her face is more relaxed now. ‘Thank you, you are kind.’
‘Have you any family or friends here in England?’ I ask.
‘No, not here. Only in Odessa back home. My sister, Kat. We are very close, we always do everything together. She’s so funny, she always makes me laugh. I really miss her.’
‘How old is she?’ I ask. ‘Are you the big sensible sister or the little one of the family?’
‘Neither, we’re the same age. Look.’ Lottie takes a photograph out of her purse, it shows two identical laughing faces. ‘We used to cut our hair, wear the same clothes, everything the same. It was so much fun. Now we’re older we have different styles. Kat likes to have crazy hair, I like mine natural.’
‘You said she’d had problems getting a visa, is there any chance she can sort that out?’
‘I don’t know, it’s hard for us to come here. Maybe she can get a student visa, I don’t know if that’s possible. She desperately wants to join me here.’
‘There’s one more shop we need to take you to,’ I say. ‘Finish your coffee and we’ll go to Marks and Spencer and get you a bra or two.’
Why?’ Lottie looks puzzled. ‘I already have a bra at home, you know, for sports and jogging.’
‘You really need to wear one under your clothes here in England. It’s a sort of tradition. Believe me, Chris will be more comfortable if you do. Over here, girls without bras are considered a bit, well, naughty.’
Her face colours itself bright red in an instant. ‘Do I look naughty? Like a whore? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘You look lovely, really pretty. It’s only that customs differ from place to place. Where you come from it’s normal to dress like you do, here there’s a more conservative attitude.’
‘Oh my God!’ She puts her face in her hands. ‘You think my Chris married a whore. Everyone must think it.’
‘Don’t be daft, I don’t think that for one minute. All I’m saying is that you might want to blend in a little more. Wearing a bra is part of it. Believe me, that’s all I’m saying.’
By the time we arrive at M&S Lottie has recovered her exuberance and lets a lady measure her and tell her she’s a 34B. We find some nice bras and join the long queue for the changing rooms.
Before I can say anything, Lottie pulls her top over her head and hands it to me, then puts on a dark blue T-shirt bra.
‘Does this look nice? It feels a bit strange.’ She holds a breast in each hand and adjusts the bra. ‘That’s better.’
I recover the power of speech and as she removes it and reaches out to try the next one, I push her top back at her. ‘Put this back on,’ I say. ‘We should wait for a cubicle, you can’t try your bras on out here.’
She looks all around slowly. ‘Why not?’ she says. ‘There’s only women here, there’s nobody to look.’ She drops her top back into my arms and fits the new bra. ‘Perfect,’ she announces, ‘I’ll take them both, come on.’
I look at her face and see the mischievous grin and flashing eyes. One Lottie is enough of a challenge. If her twin makes it to England, I wonder if Chris, or anyone for that matter, could
possibly cope with two of them.
32
‘Hello George.’ I place the thick jiffy bag on his desk. It makes a solid sound as I let it drop.
‘What’s that?’ he asks.
‘That’s the hard disc from our server, it’s where all our video files are stored, including the ones from Trafford Trailers.’
A look of alarm is beginning to form on his round face.
‘The recording from the night of your break-in is on here.’
The alarm is turning to panic.
‘I’ve not looked at it, neither has anyone else, nobody even knows it exists.’
He is calmer now, but only fractionally.
‘This is the only copy and I’m giving it to you.’
‘Why?’ He manages a word at last. His hands dance on his desk top, drumming away his discomfiture.
‘Because you are the client, George, you had the break-in. It was your trailer that was stolen.’
‘But it was your man who got himself killed.’ George looks down at the package as if trying to resist an urge to grab it before I change my mind.
‘That was unfortunate, tragic, nothing you or I could do to change it, is there, George?’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He finally picks up the jiffy bag and weighs it in his hands. ‘I suppose you expect me to hand this over to the police, then?’ He looks into my eyes for the first time since I walked in.
‘No.’ He looks puzzled. ‘No, George, I don’t expect you to give it to the police.’
I reach out and hold his wrist. ‘I need you to listen to me carefully. I don’t want you to say anything, don’t even shake your head, don’t try to confirm or deny anything I say.’ I look hard into his eyes and see that I have his attention. ‘George, I need to get these people off my back. I need to convince them that I don’t pose a threat to them. I need them to leave me alone.’
His eyes widen but he says nothing.
‘I don’t care about anything else. I don’t care about you, or the people who are doing this. They stole your trailer, they killed my employee, they cut my ear, they’re still threatening me. Enough. I want it to stop, at least as far as I’m concerned. Call it a peace offering. Give it to them. Tell them what I say, there’s no copy, no threats, no ‘you back off or I’ll tell the police’, nothing like that. A peace offering, security, one less problem for them to deal with. Right, now I’m finished.’ I take my hand away. ‘You can deny all knowledge now, George.’
