by Tony Salter
Zoe’s magical change of attitude could only have arisen because she was up to no good or she wanted something. One way or the other, Shuna knew she would find out soon enough.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Let’s go then. We’re meeting Dad for lunch after the Museum, but we’ve got time for a hot chocolate first.’
A hot chocolate at Muriel’s Kitchen was their special “girls together” treat – extra-rich, dark, velvety chocolate, with a swirl of cream and two outrageously expensive pistachio macarons each. Shuna wasn’t sure which of the three of them was most excited; the thought certainly made her stomach tingle.
There was a long queue at the counter of the cafe, but they were lucky and managed to steal a table from two smartly dressed old ladies who were paying their bill.
‘What time are we back from lunch with Dad?’ said Zoe as they sat down.
‘About three I should think,’ said Shuna.
‘OK,’ said Zoe.
‘Why?’ said Shuna, guessing the question had something to do with Zoe’s bounciness.
‘Nothing,’ replied Zoe. ‘Just asking.’
Anna lifted her hand to her mouth and giggled through her fingers. ‘Zoe’s got a date,’ she said. ‘She’s going to see her boyfriend.’
‘Shut up,’ said Zoe. ‘You’re such a little moron.’
‘Zoe!’ snapped Shuna. ‘You know I hate that word.’ She found herself smiling through her irritation. ‘A date, eh?’
‘It’s nothing Mum. Honest. I just had a message from Julie and everyone’s meeting in the park at four o’clock for a game of softball. There’s this boy who’ll be there …’
‘Does “this boy” have a name?’ said Shuna, desperately trying to keep a straight face.
‘He’s called Spike, OK?’ mumbled Zoe.
‘Spike?’ said Shuna, unable to control the squeak in her voice. ‘What sort of name is that?’
Zoe had been practising her withering stare for months and was showing real talent. ‘It’s not his real name, Mum,’ she said. ‘Obvs!’
‘Oh,’ said Shuna, confused as to why that was so obvious.
‘Look, it’s something to do with the shape of his head when he was born. Everyone just calls him Spike, OK?’
‘All right,’ said Shuna. ‘I was only asking.’
‘Fine,’ said Zoe. 'Now can we stop talking about it, please. You’re both so embarrassing.'
‘All right,’ said Shuna. ‘We’ll drop it. Anyway, here come the hot chocolates.’
Dan
He’d deliberately chosen something easy to read – the final part of a Scandi-noir trilogy which had been his guilty pleasure since the release of the first volume. The writing was actually quite good and the plot and characters were compelling. Not an “improving” example of the literary art, perhaps, but Dan was finally starting to realise that the knee jerk worship of quality, literary novels might be an overrated pretension in any case. Anyway, if he wasn’t improved enough by now …
The book was compelling and long-awaited but, despite that, the words refused to stay in one place. He pulled his glasses further down his nose and squinted without success; he must have looked like a demented gargoyle as he desperately tried to follow the letters around the page and he could feel the niggling approach of an incoming headache.
It wasn’t going to work.
Dan sighed theatrically, closed his eyes and rested the open book on his lap. He knew that trying to concentrate for long was hopelessly optimistic. The thoughts running around his head wouldn’t be silenced – how could they be?
He thought about Rachel. She would have that big, optimistic smile on her face as she explored Harrods, floor by floor, room by room. She’d been so relieved when he’d offered to come here and read his book while she shopped alone. It was her first visit, and she was loving everything about London. Harrods would be a highlight and, although she would never have said anything, he was sure she’d been dreading him spoiling it for her.
They’d been married almost fifty years and together for even longer. He tried to remember a single time when they’d enjoyed a shopping trip together. He suspected they never had. It was that whole Mars-Venus thing. He didn’t want or need many things and, when he did, he went straight to the correct counter and bought them. What was the point in shilly-shallying around?
Rachel would go into the store with a purpose too but, for her, the whole in-out, bish-bosh, brushing hands of a simple, clean transaction was too crude and clumsy – a bit like sleeping with someone on the first night. Whatever kids today might think and do, Rachel would no more have considered that than she would have slapped a child or cursed in public.
For her, department store shopping was a courtship of sorts, a gentle and measured dance with defined pace and rhythm. There was usually no wavering from her final goal – she was a deeply practical woman – but she would pretend to be distracted at each step along the way. Trying a Kashmir sweater for size, allowing the make-up girls to tempt her with coral lipstick or French perfume, it was always the same and, if he was stupid enough to accompany her, he wouldn’t be able to ignore his frustration at the pointlessness of it all.
It was the same every time and, without fail, he would sense his reserves of patience draining away like oil from a cracked sump.
And then, in a graunching of seized gears and pistons, he would ruin it for her; he would drown out the inner music of her dance and shatter her illusions in a screech of tortured metal. He didn’t mean to, but something would always come out, some slightly sarcastic, vaguely patronising, marginally misogynistic comment that would inevitably lead to them both swearing to never go shopping together ever again.
As he sat on the hard bench, unable to read and dizzy from the spinning in his head, he sensed her absence like a missing limb. It was only a couple of hours though and he was very pleased he’d left her to shop alone this time. It had taken him fifty years, but he was learning at last.
Perhaps he should have made his confessions already, but there was still plenty of time and the picture of her marvelling at the extravagance of Harrods’ food hall put a smile back on his face. Yes, there was still plenty of time.
The hall of the museum was huge. Dan guessed you could probably fit four basketball courts inside it and still have room for the cheerleaders. If you shifted that damn dinosaur out of the way, of course. He’d never been much into old bones and history. What had always interested him was the here-and-now, the people around him, the human condition. Endlessly fascinating, endlessly unpredictable.
He’d never been much of a jock either but he did like basketball. They’d made everybody pick a sport at school and, at over six-four, shooting hoops had been the obvious choice for him. Not that he’d been any good – not fast or accurate enough to get into any of the high school teams, and college basketball had already become semi professional by the time he went.
That hadn’t stopped him from dropping in on the pick-up games around campus and he’d eventually found a group of like-minded and equally mediocre friends who he’d played with fairly regularly for almost forty years. Every year, he’d been a little slower and – depressingly – a little shorter, but it had helped keep the middle-aged flab away for long enough. He shook his head as he looked down at his bruised and liver-spotted hands. Those games were already tiny dots in the rear view mirror and gaining too much weight no longer seemed to be an issue.
There were only a few other people dotted around the hall and he looked around, hoping for a distraction. That old museum guard looked like a sour-faced S.O.B. sitting slouched in the corner. Did he have so much to be sour about? Maybe he did. Who was Dan to judge?
Since he’d retired, Dan had spent more time thinking about life and the nasty way it had of coming and biting you when you least expected it. He had also realised that it was important to be careful before you threw out accusations or judgements based on assumptions. It was the easiest thing in the world to do, but you never knew the t
rue story lurking behind a life. In fact, he’d become more and more convinced that there was no such thing as a single true story in any case.
Valuable thoughts, almost approaching wisdom, and a shame it had taken until now for him to see things so clearly.
His phone started to vibrate. It was Rachel. He felt awkward speaking in the cavernous, echoing space, but couldn’t ignore her.
‘Hello,’ he said, almost whispering as he hunched over.
‘Hi darling, it’s me.’
‘Yes. I know. I can see that on the phone. How’s Harrods?’
‘It’s amazing. I’ve just been to the food hall.’
‘Something else, isn’t it?’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Not even in New York and definitely not in Toronto. And the prices! Do you know what they charge for a tub of Philly cheese?’
‘Nope. But I bet it’s a lot.’
‘You’d better believe it. Three pounds. I only pay around eighty cents back home.’
‘Well, that’s how they pay for that building and all the lights I guess.’
‘… And the other thing is that most people don’t actually buy anything. It’s full of people just wandering around looking at all the stuff.’
‘Well, some people must buy things some of the time or there wouldn’t be any point would there?’
‘Huh. I guess so,’ said Rachel, her voice suddenly sounding faint and far away. ‘Anyway, how are you doing?’
‘Oh, you know. I’m fine, I guess. Just sitting around reading my book. Looking at a massive dinosaur. How long do you think you’ll be?’
‘I’d love to wander around for another hour or so if that’s OK with you. Then I’ll swing by and pick you up at about twelve. Are you all right with that?’
‘Sure. Don’t you worry about me.’ Dan’s heart sank at the thought of another hour spent alone with his thoughts. ‘I’m fine. You have a good time.’
‘Thanks, sweetheart. You’re an angel,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’
‘Bye, now,’ said Dan, into an empty phone.
Nadia
The building was the same. Nadia stepped into the empty lift and pressed the button for the top floor. A new guy on security, otherwise nothing had changed. Why was she surprised? There was no reason for anything to change in such a short time? She was just tired, and it seemed as though she’d been away for ever. Nadia stared at herself in the mirrored lift wall. Make-up wasn’t going to help – she looked as exhausted as she felt.
The sixth-floor corridor was empty – grey walls, smoked-glass doors and soulless art her only companions. The sound of her heels on the wooden floor was unnaturally loud, click-clack-echoing as though she was in a dream. She reached the end and knocked gently on the final door, before opening it and stepping into the room.
‘Hi Nadia. Lovely to see you back.’ The woman behind the desk greeted her with a glowing smile before pushing her chair back and standing up, arms stretched out wide.
‘No need to get up, Sue,’ said Nadia, much too late. ‘Wow you are looking …’ She stretched her hands wide.
‘Huge?’ said Sue, laughing and crossing her arms protectively in front of her. ‘Whale-sized? Like a walking hot-air balloon?’
Nadia giggled. ‘Yup. All of the above.’ She leant forward for a closer look. ‘Can’t be long now?’
‘Two and a half weeks … although I bet this little one’s not going to be in any hurry. I finish on Friday.’
‘I can’t believe it. Last time I was in, you were barely showing.’
‘Has it really been that long?’
‘Feels long enough for that to be your second,’ said Nadia.
‘Birmingham not so great?’
‘It was shitty … literally … and dull for six months; now all hell’s breaking loose and I’ve got almost nothing to show for it.’ She gestured at the closed inner door. ‘He in there?’
‘Yup. With Phil. They’ll be done in a few minutes. Why don’t you go ahead? Meeting room three. I’ll join you for a coffee.’
‘Thanks,’ said Nadia. She put an envelope on the desk. ‘This needs to go to Admin,’ she said. ‘Breach report.’
Sue looked up at her with sad eyes. ‘James?’
Nadia nodded. Was her misery so obvious?
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Sue. ‘I thought he might have been the one?’
‘Me too,’ said Nadia, ‘but waddya gonna do?’ She shrugged self-consciously and turned to leave. ‘Goes with the territory, I guess.’
The meeting room was even more faceless and neutral than the corridor outside; cold grey walls, an unadorned white table and black Vitra chairs. Faceless and neutral, but very expensive and achingly cool. Maybe not the best use of the taxpayer’s money.
Sue came in holding two cappuccinos but, before she had time to sit down, the insistent ringing of her office phone dragged her back out again. Nadia had been looking forward to a catch-up and instead was left alone with her thoughts, halfheartedly following the digital timestamp as it wandered aimlessly around the flat screen TV. The massive display dominated an entire wall and the white digits stood in stark relief against the dark, black, empty glass.
11:01 and no sign of the others. Nadia could feel the acid burn in her stomach – time was running out, she knew it.
Aside from the fact that her premonitions of impending disaster were well-founded, she knew that feelings of emptiness and despair were to be expected. It was always hard to jump back into the real world after an assignment and, in different circumstances, she’d have already been through a week of debriefing and adjusting – twice-daily psych consults mixed with an intensive programme of lectures and exercises.
Circumstances – the same ones which kept her focused on the minutes ticking away – hadn’t allowed for that luxury, but she was struggling to remember why she was there and what she was supposed to be doing.
Events of the previous evening hadn’t helped. She’d guessed things weren’t going to go well and her gut feel was rarely wrong. Bloody James. Why had he decided to be so pathetically romantic?
After nearly a month of total radio silence she’d known there must be serious issues, but Nadia had been holding onto the hope that they were manageable problems. Since she’d left, the fact that she’d ‘abandoned’ him had been a consistent thread running through all of their FaceTime chats. Perhaps he’d decided to exact a childish revenge by not answering her calls?
That hope had evaporated when she found out that he’d paid a two-week penalty to move out of his old flat at short notice. That was completely out of character. James was a generous warm-hearted man, but both his mother and father had been accountants and he hated wasting money.
It had been almost dark by the time Nadia arrived at his new address and then he’d taken an age to answer the door. When he finally opened up, he stared at her without speaking, jaw clenched and eyes glinting black in the shadow of the doorway. There was no hint of his usual warmth and charm and he clearly wasn’t pleased to see her.
‘Hana!’ he said at last. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
Nadia knew then – or rather she’d thought she’d known – that he’d found someone else. It was the obvious explanation. Her replacement was probably inside the flat, stretched out languorously on crumpled sheets and wondering why James was taking so long to get rid of the unwelcome distraction.
‘What am I doing here?’ she replied, struggling to control the hysterical falsetto squeak in her voice. ‘When I left for Melbourne, we were in a serious relationship … or at least I thought we were … you told me you loved me for Christ’s sake. And then, three weeks ago, without any warning, you stop calling me, you ignore my messages, it turns out you even move out of the flat.’ The well-rehearsed words tumbled out in a single breath and she gasped for more air. ‘Did you think I’d just accept that and move on? If you wanted to dump me and didn’t have the balls to tell me to my face, you could at least have sent me a t
ext.’
Nadia could feel the rage building inside her in waves as she watched James standing in the open doorway, glaring at her as though she were somehow the guilty party. Her fists clenched and, if he hadn’t opened his mouth to speak at that moment, she would have hit him, or the door, or both.
‘How did you find my address?’ he said, still looking at her like a complete stranger.
‘What?’ said Nadia. ‘What?’ Where had that come from? Something was really not right. ‘I looked it up. What’s that got to do with anything? Weren’t you listening?’
‘I heard you perfectly well,’ he said, although he didn’t seem interested in changing tack. ‘Where did you look it up? I’m ex-directory everywhere. I made sure of it. How did you find me?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Nadia, suddenly sensing the ground shifting under her. ‘I don’t remember.’ Alarm bells were ringing in her head as she realised this wasn’t about a lover’s betrayal. He knew something. But how?
She closed her eyes and took a long slow breath. Her personal hurt would have to wait. ‘OK. Can I come in?’ she said. ‘I don’t want to have this conversation on the street.’
Something crumpled in his face and his shoulders sagged. He stepped backwards and held the door open for her. ‘First on the left,’ he mumbled as she squeezed past him in the narrow hallway.
She sat down on the brand new IKEA sofa and watched him pacing up and down.
‘Who are you anyway?’ he said, as he reached the fireplace and turned. ‘Is your name even Hana?’
His surprise and indignation appeared genuine and the man she remembered was back. He was either a brilliant actor or there was nothing sinister to worry about. She needed to be sure though – the scenario was textbook and there was a process to follow.
Nadia looked at him, looked at his pleading eyes and allowed the sadness to wash over her for a few moments. However he’d found out, she could imagine the raw pain of betrayal he must have felt and she knew him well enough to know he would never be able to forgive her for that. She deserved to feel guilty for what she’d put him through … but was his pain worse than the burden of living a lie, of living many lies?
