by Mark Edwards
The train sped south, and questions ricocheted around my skull, almost making connections. Almost.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘That’s a nice greeting, sis.’
Tilly looked up at me from her wheelchair. ‘Sorry, it’s just . . . I haven’t seen you for ages. Has something happened? Is Charlie OK?’
‘She’s fine. She’s at work. Can I come in?’
‘Yeah, of course.’
I followed her into the living room. The smell of perfume hung in the air, threatening to make me sneeze. I looked at Tilly properly. She was dressed up, wearing a pair of black trousers and a tight top, her hair curled and voluminous.
‘Oh shit, are you going out? Have you got a date?’
Tilly laughed. ‘I am going out, yes. You should have called. But it’s not a date. I’m going out with Rachel and her bloke.’
‘The Hells Angel?’
She grinned. ‘Yes! The very same. His name’s Henry. But they’re not real Hells Angels. It’s just a motorcycle club.’
‘Oh, yes, you told me that, I think.’
‘He’s actually very nice.’ She appraised what I was wearing. ‘You’re a bit scruffy but I’m guessing Henry won’t be wearing a suit. You’ll be fine.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You can come with us. I was worried about being a gooseberry. I’m so glad you’ve come to rescue me.’
A horn sounded outside and Tilly said, ‘That’ll be them. Come on.’
‘But there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘You can tell me over dinner. Unless it’s something private.’
‘Well . . .’
She looked at me seriously. ‘It’s not . . . your old problem, is it?’
I shook my head quickly. ‘No. I’m fine.’
This wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. Not now, not ever. My sister knew this and I was irritated with her for even alluding to it.
‘OK. So maybe . . .’ I saw the face she always pulled when she was about to say something rude.
‘No,’ I said, cutting her off. ‘I’m not suffering from any sexual problems, I haven’t got an STI, Charlie’s not pregnant.’
‘Oh. I was going to ask if you were going to tell me you’ve proposed to Charlie. She told me that you’re moving in together.’
I stared at her. ‘You’re in touch with Charlie?’
‘Oh yes. She friended me on Facebook. We chat all the time. She’s hilarious. And she’s mad about you. Actually, she must be mad, if she loves you as much as she seems to. She talks about you like you’re some dragon-slaying hero, a cross between Brad Pitt, Mr Darcy and Nelson Mandela.’
‘But . . . Charlie’s not on Facebook,’ I said.
‘Yes she is.’ From outside, Rachel and Henry beeped their car horn again. ‘Come on, we’ve got to go.’
Sitting in the back of Rachel’s converted MPV, I made small talk with Henry, who was a giant of a man, barely able to fit inside the huge vehicle. I was slightly disappointed that he wasn’t wearing a bandanna or a leather jacket. Instead, he wore a checked shirt that looked like it was going to pop open at any minute. He was like the Incredible Hulk with white skin and a ginger beard. When he laughed, which he did frequently, the car shook.
‘Do you normally ride a Harley?’ I asked. ‘Rachel took me on the back of hers. It was terrifying.’ Although, really, I had found it exciting, exhilarating even.
‘I’ll have to take you for a ride sometime – if you think Rachel rides fast . . .’ His laughter boomed and reverberated around the people carrier and he squeezed Rachel’s knee.
‘Not when I’m driving,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the road.
He smiled at her but Rachel’s expression remained unamused. Henry gave me a look that said ‘Women, huh?’ before turning back to the front. I wondered if they would argue about it later, if he would be annoyed that she publically rejected him, if he would see it like that.
I looked back at Tilly.
‘Why would Charlie tell me she wasn’t on Facebook?’
She didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t want you stalking her on there. Watching what she’s up to.’
‘She probably wants to avoid that whole “in a relationship” dilemma,’ Henry said.
I mulled this over. ‘I can understand that she might have felt like that at first. And if she said she didn’t want us to be friends on Facebook because it’s a bit naff or awkward or whatever, that would be cool. But I’m surprised she lied to me about it.’
‘Ah, it’s only a white lie,’ Tilly said.
I got my phone out, went to my Facebook app and found Tilly’s account. Scrolling through her friend list I found Charlie, using her unshortened name, Charlotte. I tried to look at her wall but I was completely blocked from seeing her posts. I felt genuinely hurt that she’d lied to me about it.
‘She never lets me go to her flat, either,’ I said, almost to myself. ‘I feel really worried now. What’s she hiding?’
Henry snorted. ‘Maybe she’s leading a secret life. She’s probably married, with kids. You’re her dirty secret.’
‘Oh yes, you hear about things like that, don’t you?’ Rachel said, pulling in to the car park of the country pub where we were having dinner.
The three of them laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. But this, piled on top of Karen’s death – and everything else – made me feel cold and nauseated.
Before we got out of the MPV I sent Charlie a friend request. I wanted to see what she’d do.
I wasn’t hungry, and picked at my food while the other three laughed and joked. Henry really was a nice bloke, a bit gruff and rude, but funny. Rachel talked to him like he was a naughty child, a role he played with relish. Tilly seemed in excellent spirits too, much better than she had at the turn of the year. I hadn’t seen her so happy for a long time. It turned out she’d found out today that she was being promoted at work and getting a decent pay rise.
‘What’s up, bruv?’ she asked, eyeing the way I was picking at my food. ‘You’re not really worried that Charlie has a secret husband, are you? There’s no sign of one on Facebook. Not that you’d know.’
They all started laughing and I said, ‘Karen died.’
The laughter stopped.
‘Karen?’ Tilly said. ‘What, that older woman you had a thing with?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Oh my God, what happened?’
‘I don’t know. I saw her a few weeks ago. I did some work for her. I went round there today because she owed me for the work, and her neighbour told me she was dead. He didn’t know what caused it.’ I rubbed my arms. ‘He also told me some really spooky shit about a dark spirit following me around, causing all my bad luck.’
Henry gave me a serious look. ‘A dark spirit? Really?’
‘Don’t tell me you believe in all that stuff,’ I said.
‘Yeah, I do. Spirits are real. My mum’s a clairvoyant. She talks to them all the time.’
I couldn’t help it. I started laughing, and I couldn’t stop. The three of them – and everyone around our table – stared at me as I doubled over, tears streaming, my stomach convulsing at the image of Henry’s mum, who I pictured as a middle-aged female biker, chatting with ghosts in her kitchen.
Seamlessly, the laughter turned into tears, and instead of laughing, I was weeping, my face in my hands, body shaking, and I felt a broad arm around my shoulders and could feel all the eyes that had been staring at me turning away.
‘Come on, mate,’ Henry said. ‘Let’s go and get some air, eh?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’m just going—’
I dashed off to the gents and locked myself in a cubicle, sitting on the closed toilet lid, letting
the last of the tears come. When I’d finished, I blew my nose, left the cubicle and washed my face.
I rejoined the others at the table.
‘Are you OK?’ Tilly asked, a concerned expression on her face.
‘Yeah. I’m good. I just – I don’t know. It’s not just Karen. So much stuff has happened recently. I think it all just hit me at once.’
‘What else has happened?’ Tilly asked. ‘Apart from your accident.’
‘Accident?’ Henry asked.
I told them everything. Falling – or being pushed – down the steps at the Tube station. My new job being scuppered when Victor was arrested for being a paedophile. The weird stuff with Sasha and Lance and the ‘You’re Dead’ text. How I was sure I’d been followed, as had Charlie, and the guy staring at me in the cafe that afternoon. Charlie losing the bag of mementoes.
‘Even my cleaner,’ I said, remembering. ‘She was attacked in the street – someone threw acid in her face.’
‘What, the really pretty one you told me about?’ Tilly said.
‘Yes. Now this, with Karen.’
Henry had been watching me solemnly through the whole tale. Now he nodded. ‘It sounds like that neighbour was right. Something has attached itself to you.’
‘Henry,’ I said. ‘With all due respect, that’s bullshit. I really don’t believe in all that stuff.’
‘Then how else do you explain it?’ he asked, pointing at me with his fork.
‘It’s just bad luck.’
Tilly seemed far less bright than she had before my laughing-crying fit. ‘That’s a lot of bad luck, Andrew, for one person.’
‘Maybe. But I’ve always had bad luck. Right back to Mum and Dad . . . And my detached retina last year.’
‘Perhaps it’s a curse,’ Henry said seriously. ‘You haven’t crossed any gypsies, have you?’
I spluttered. ‘Please. You’ll set me off again.’
The waiter brought the dessert menu to the table. I didn’t want anything. All I wanted was to get drunk, and I downed my third large glass of red wine.
‘So,’ Henry said, after he’d ordered key lime pie with cream and ice cream. ‘All this stuff that’s happened – is it since you’ve met your bird? This Charlie chick.’
‘You think she might have something to do with it?’ Rachel said to Henry. As our designated driver, she was stone-cold sober.
He shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘I don’t know the girl. But it seems like a lot of this stuff has happened since Andrew met her.’ He addressed me. ‘If you don’t believe in spirits and curses, there are only two possible reasons: one is sheer chance, or bad luck as you say. The other is that someone is behind it.’
‘That’s even more ridiculous than blaming a gypsy curse or an evil spirit,’ I said.
But even as I said the words, I felt something crawl beneath my skin, an itch in my head, like the questions that had darted around my head since I’d heard about Karen’s death were trying to connect, to knit together.
Henry took a big mouthful of lager, then shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, maybe. It does seem pretty crazy, doesn’t it? I mean, the amount of planning, the level of obsession required to do all the stuff you list . . . Fuck, you’d have to be some kind of maniac. Clever too.’
‘And why would she do it?’ Rachel said.
Henry’s dessert came and he shovelled it in, thinking while he chewed. ‘I don’t know. Because she wants him all for herself? Look at the people who’ve been affected: a woman he used to shag, his best friend who happens to be female, a cleaner who was apparently a real fittie before she got acid chucked in her face. Then two things have happened to stop Andrew starting his new job, where he’d be working with other women. A bag full of pictures of all his exes goes conveniently lost. Fuck, the more I think about it, the more likely it seems!’
A cold, clammy sweat had broken out across my body. I stared at Henry. He didn’t even know about the other stuff: Harriet being burgled and presents I’d given her stolen; my female friends vanishing from Facebook; my book containing nude photos going missing.
‘Is she the jealous type, this Charlie?’ Henry asked.
Before I could make my mouth work – and I was going to lie, say no, because I didn’t want to tell them – Tilly banged the table and said, ‘For fuck’s sake, this is insane!’
We all looked at her.
‘Charlie’s lovely. She’s sweet and funny and cool and she’s completely besotted with you, Andrew. To say she could be responsible for all the stuff that’s happened to you – all this random, unconnected stuff – it’s bullshit, like the ramblings of an insane conspiracy theorist. What are you going to say next, that she somehow caused your retina to detach last year?’
I shook my head weakly in the face of Tilly’s fury.
‘It’s bad luck, that’s all. The world throwing shit at you. That’s what happens in life. We had a huge pile of shit thrown at us when we were kids, killing our parents and landing me in this fucking wheelchair. And now life’s chucking crap at lots of people you know. I mean, fuck, it’s actually pretty egocentric to think it’s all down to you. The only thing that’s happened to you directly is that you slipped down some icy steps and, from what you’ve told me, Charlie was there afterwards to look after you.’ She was red in the face. ‘My God, if Charlie could hear all of this. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
I think I must have been red in the face too, but from embarrassment, not anger.
‘Well,’ said Henry, puncturing the silence that followed, moments after swallowing the last piece of pie. ‘That told us.’
Twenty-eight
‘Where have you been?’
Charlie was waiting for me when I got home, curled up on the sofa, the TV on with the volume muted. She sounded like she was trying hard to keep her voice even.
I was drunk, hardly able to walk in a straight line, especially with my sore leg. All I wanted to do was go to bed and not think or talk about anything. So my voice came out harsher than I intended. ‘I was with my sister. Didn’t you get my text?’
‘No. I’ve been trying to call you all evening. I was worried sick.’
I examined my phone. The text I’d sent Charlie had an exclamation mark beside it, meaning it hadn’t sent.
‘Twenty-three missed calls?’ I said. ‘That’s a bit fucking excessive, isn’t it? I’m going to bed.’
She stared at me with wide eyes, as silent as the TV.
A while later, I felt her crawl into bed beside me, then put her arm around me, nestling against my naked back. She stroked my chest, moved her hand down to my belly, but when I didn’t respond she gave up and soon the pattern of her breathing changed.
Even though I was drunk and exhausted, I couldn’t sleep, was unable to get the conversation with Tilly, Rachel and Henry out of my head. I had decided, perhaps because it was what I wanted to believe, that Tilly was right. To blame Charlie for all the weird stuff that had happened lately was like embracing a crazy conspiracy theory. Everything had a logical explanation. Charlie hadn’t been anywhere near me when I’d slipped down the steps. Sasha’s problems were almost certainly down to her affair with Lance. Kristi had either been targeted by a random nutter or attacked by a spurned boyfriend. None of it could be connected.
I felt terrible. I had been horrible to Charlie when I’d got home. She didn’t deserve it. I wriggled around, put my arms round her and kissed her. She stirred and I whispered that I loved her. Her lips twitched into a smile and pretty soon I fell asleep.
The next morning, I woke early and made Charlie breakfast, taking it to her in bed. Scrambled eggs on toast, coffee, a note telling her how much I loved her.
‘What’s all this for?’ she said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
‘I was a dickhead last night. This is my attempt at saying sorry.’
‘It’s O
K. But you should have let me know where you were.’
‘I know. I didn’t realise my text didn’t send.’
‘All right. But I was worried. And I wanted to see you. You know I’m going away on my course today?’
I frowned. The course was in Newcastle and I wouldn’t see her for four days. But when she got back, she’d be moving in.
‘I’ll sort the flat out while you’re away,’ I said. ‘Make room for your stuff.’
She gave me her sweetest smile. ‘I can’t wait. But you don’t have to. I don’t have much stuff. A lot of it is here already.’
As she ate her breakfast, I told her about my visit to Victor’s office and about Karen, which made her gasp. I told her about the old man, too, but left out the part about the dark spirit. I would tell her another time, when I was able to turn it into a joke. I had thought I’d be able to do that already, but as I opened my mouth to talk about it I went cold and the joke died in my throat.
‘Oh, how did the session go with the therapist?’ I asked. The first one had been the evening before.
‘It was fine.’ She paused. ‘I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s private. But I think it’s going to help. Actually, I think it’s helping already. Like, last night . . . I didn’t accuse you of being with another woman, did I?’
‘No.’
She was quiet for a moment. ‘You weren’t, were you?’
‘Of course—’
‘I’m joking, Andrew. And by the way, I got your Facebook friend request.’
‘I was going to ask you about that.’
‘I’m really sorry. It’s just that I knew that you would want us to be friends on there if you knew I had an account, but I think it’s silly. I mean, why do we have to communicate online when we can do it in the flesh? I know couples who talk to each other more on Facebook than they do verbally. It’s stupid. I don’t want us to be like that. I want our relationship to be special. Does that make sense?’
‘I think so. Charlie . . .’
