Going Viral

by Andrew Puckett

  Chapter 18

  The snow lining the road crunched as Rebecca pulled up outside Craig’s at 7.30. He’d phoned in the afternoon to offer her a lift to Marc’s, and she’d said she didn’t mind sharing a car so long as it was hers. He’d accepted.

  He must have been looking out for her, because the door opened just as she pushed the bell.

  ‘How did you get on at the hospital?’ he asked after she’d negotiated the pavement and they were on their way.

  ‘OK. They said they’d like to take me on – as a clerk – but they’d have to get permission from above.’ She shot him a glance – ‘I’d much rather have the job at your place, obviously.’

  ‘Did they actually offer you a job?’

  ‘No, but they did ask if I’d accept if they did, so I had to tell them about County Hall. They were fine about it and we agreed to leave it open for the moment.’

  He told her he hadn’t heard anything yet and she said she wouldn’t have expected it. A few minutes later they parked near Marc’s house.

  Marc himself let them in and took them to the living room, where to her surprise, she saw Sophie, sitting with a drink in her hand.

  He got them both drinks – wine for Craig and juice for her – then went to the kitchen to see if Hannah needed any help. A pleasant, steamy aroma drifted back to them.

  Sophie asked Craig if everything was still on course for the forum and they chatted about that while Rebecca looked around the room.

  The child detritus had been cleared away and it was tidy and comfortable, if a little Spartan. The only pictures were Van Gogh’s sunflowers, and a rather intense pre-Raphaelite lady in filmy gowns.

  She realised Sophie was speaking to her –

  ‘How did your session with Ron go?’

  ‘Oh, fine.’ She went on, ‘I was a bit apprehensive to tell you the truth, but he’s a lot more bearable one-to-one.’

  ‘Why were you apprehensive?’ Sophie’s smile suggested she knew perfectly well.

  ‘Because I thought he might be an octopus as well as a bore.’

  ‘Ah. And he wasn’t?’

  ‘No. Neither, to be honest.’

  Marc came in and said dinner was ready. They followed him to the dining room next door and sat down while he took plates and dishes from Hannah through the hatch. Rebecca glanced round. The room was dominated by the dark, doomy portrait of Beata Beatrix doing her thing with her hands, and Rebecca guessed that Hannah must be in charge of the picture selection.

  Then Hannah herself came round, red-faced and slightly harassed.

  ‘Hi everyone –’ she sketched a circular wave ‘– don’t say anything, let’s just eat.’

  They laughed as Marc poured wine and then started serving. It was Beef Stroganoff that looked as good as it had smelled and Rebecca realised how long it was she’d had a decent meal. She was slightly surprised, she’d thought Hannah might be vegetarian.

  It was beautiful, so good that the silence after the obligatory compliments was quite natural. It was as though you could taste each ingredient separately, and yet in a glorious blend at the same time.

  Rebecca looked up to find Hannah’s eyes on her – then Hannah looked away. She wasn’t as absorbed in the food as the others – maybe the stress of preparing it, maybe because food you’ve cooked yourself never does taste quite the same.

  Marc offered the wine around again. Rebecca declined – she’d allowed herself one glass, but didn’t want any more.

  Hannah said, ‘How’s the search for jobs going, Rebecca?’

  She swallowed before answering. ‘Not bad, actually…’ She told her about the interview with Craig’s boss. ‘It was supposed to be informal, but turned out to be –’ she glanced at Craig ‘– let’s say searching…’

  ‘I told you, that’s a good sign,’ Craig said.

  ‘Anyway, he’s going to let me know.’ Rebecca finished.

  ‘I thought they were supposed to be shedding jobs,’ Hannah said.

  ‘We are,’ Craig said, ‘but there’s someone leaving who needs to be replaced.’

  Hannah asked her about the hospital and she described her fictitious interview there. ‘Obviously, I’d rather have the job at County Hall,’ she finished.

  Marc asked her how the meeting with Ron had gone and she repeated what she’d told Sophie. The octopus jibe brought a smile even from Hannah.

  Rebecca, emboldened by this asked her about the rents on the shop and flat.

  ‘Well, I can’t tell you off the top of my head, I’ll have to look it up. Why d’you ask?’

  Rebecca started to tell her when Marc interrupted – ‘I’d better come clean,’ he said. ‘Ron rang me yesterday and told me how thoroughly you’d looked into everything.’ He went on, ‘He seemed to have this idea that you were willing to coordinate the operation of moving the shop.’

  Rebecca laughed. ‘Not while I’m trying to get a job… anyway, he convinced me that there isn’t much we can do at the moment.’

  ‘Well, we certainly won’t be evicting Emma and Will,’ Hannah said sharply.

  ‘I never suggested we should,’ Rebecca shot back.

  ‘Anyway –’ Marc overrode them ‘– he, Ron, said he thought you had some interesting ideas.’

  Rebecca, wondering which ideas he meant, said, ‘That’s nice of him, but they were only that, ideas. He has a very impressive local knowledge, which shot most of them down –’ She told them about the surrounding housing estates.

  ‘Oh, Ron knows his stuff underneath all the clownish garb,’ Marc said.

  ‘Why does he look like that?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Because he wants to, I expect,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Compensation,’ said Sophie.

  ‘For what?’ Craig asked her.

  ‘His otherwise rather undistinguished persona.’

  ‘Ooh, you bitch!’

  ‘Look who’s talking…’

  There was no aggression whatsoever between them, Rebecca perceived amid the laughter, and she wondered again about their relationship.

  She said as the laughter faded, ‘I’ll tell you who else has got an impressive grasp of things – Ron’s friend Malcolm. I’m surprised he’s not on the committee.’

  Hannah let out a snort. ‘You mean that speech of his at the meeting? Oh sure, it was clever, but I thought it came dangerously close to racism.’

  Craig stared at her. ‘How d’you work that out?’

  ‘Those references to the lucky few who’re allowed over here. How patronising, and rude. As was the suggestion that they stay put and be grateful for the crumbs we throw them – these are fellow human beings we’re talking about.’

  Craig, still looking at her, said, ‘Hannah, you’re trying to blend the unblendable. BTA and Open Door have completely different agendas and we should –’

  ‘Rubbish. We’re both about repaying our debt to Africa.’

  ‘There’s a difference between helping starving people in their own countries and bringing them over here.’

  ‘We should be doing both.’ She stared back at him and said deliberately, ‘What about people with incurable diseases like AIDS, whose only hope for treatment is to come here?’

  It seemed to Rebecca that the silence went on for longer than the second it took Craig to reply…

  ‘For the cost of treating one case in Britain, we could treat something like a hundred in their own country. How many times do I have to tell you, Hannah, that I want to benefit the many, not the few.’

  Hannah was about to reply when Marc pre-empted her –

  ‘I’m going to use chair and host’s prerogative to veto this. We already know how divisive it is.’ Turning to Rebecca, he went on, ‘So Ron wasn’t so bad when you got to know him?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said, wondering how she could keep the controversy going without appearing to…

  But Marc had turned to Craig, who was still looking a little put out. ‘Why don’t you tell us what you’ve got planned
for the forum.’

  Craig got his brain into gear and started, a bit haltingly at first, then more confidently – he had a persuasive, almost compelling manner and Rebecca found herself listening too.

  As it led into tangents that the others picked up on, she remembered with a jump what she was there for. She caught Marc’s attention –

  ‘The loo?’ she mouthed at him.

  ‘Up the stairs, right, at the end of the passage.’

  She thanked him and slipped out. At the top of the stairs, she waited a moment in case anyone else came out, then went left. Door on the right, she turned the handle and put her head round… Spare bedroom…

  A floorboard creaked as she came out… door at the end… large, old-fashioned airing cupboard…

  Back past the top of the stairs, door on the left… their son’s bedroom, she could hear him snuffle as he turned over… then, opposite, the main bedroom…

  It wasn’t as large as she thought it would be… then she saw why – it had what looked like a walk-in wardrobe… Unlikely, but she had to check… she flitted over, slid it open… only clothes.

  Just the bathroom left – she came out of the bedroom door and walked straight into Hannah –

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said quickly, ‘but I can’t find the loo…’

  Hannah was staring at her… ‘It’s there,’ she said, pointing…

  ‘Oh thanks, I was getting desperate…’ she smiled and hurried off to it, feeling Hannah’s eyes on her back.

  She closed the door, locked it, then leaned against the wall and closed her own eyes… Why did it have to be Hannah…?

  At least she’d followed the First Rule: When caught with your pants down, say as little as possible.

  Her face was burning, so she bathed it at the sink. She tidied herself up, pulled the flush and went back down.

  Hannah looked up at her as she came in. She made herself smile again, resumed her seat and tuned in to the conversation.

  Pudding was served – pavlova, which Rebecca had to force herself to eat, and then they adjourned to the living room for coffee.

  She found herself next to Sophie. She asked her what she did for a living and was unsurprised to hear she was a social worker.

  ‘Talking of which,’ Sophie said to the company at large, ‘Duty calls in the morning and I need to be off soon. D’you want a hand clearing up?’ she asked Hannah.

  Hannah said no and a few minutes later, saw Sophie to the door. Rebecca, reflecting that Sophie always seemed to be the first to leave, looked at Craig and said she’d like to be going soon too.

  ‘Sure,’ he agreed, and she sensed he wasn’t unhappy to go.

  They pulled on their coats and thanked Hannah, who, to Rebecca’s surprise, kissed them both on the cheek. Then she and Marc stood in the doorway as they drove off. It was as though the bedroom incident hadn’t occurred…

  ‘I just don’t know what to make of that set-up,’ Rebecca said quite sincerely after a few moments.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, for a start, the display of affection just now after she’d been having a go at us earlier. You especially.’

  ‘Oh, that’s just Hannah. She feels very passionately about things and –’

  ‘I’d noticed,’ she said, and sensed him smile…

  ‘Yeah…’ He went on, ‘and she’s very committed –’

  ‘That too.’

  ‘ – to the idea we’ve got a debt to repay to Africa, I was going to say.’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’

  ‘Sure, but not to the extent she is.’

  Rebecca said, ‘I wonder why she doesn’t join Open Door if she feels that strongly.’

  ‘Probably because she and Marc like to work together.’

  ‘I’m sure she does, but does he?’

  ‘Oh, Marc’s very good at leading from behind… down here –’ he said as they approached his turning.

  It occurred to her as she drove down his road that they were talking as if they’d known each much longer – which was no bad thing… was she likely to get any more from him tonight?

  She felt sure he was going to ask her in and decided to accept. She found a space near his house and pulled in.

  ‘Thanks, Rebecca,’ he said. Then, ‘Will you come in for a coffee?’

  She hesitated long enough to make it clear she really was thinking about it, then said, ‘All right, a quick one. Have you got any decaff?’

  ‘It’s what I’m having.’

  She locked the car and followed him inside. The hall was very tidy and the tiled floor shone. There were black and white prints of the cathedral and other parts of Exeter on the walls… She’d noticed before that men living on their own tended to be either very tidy or complete sluts.

  He showed her into his sitting room and went to make the coffee. She looked round, as she always did entering a house for the first time…

  Small television, large bookcase with a mix of fiction and fact. A rather nice landscape over the fireplace, an original in oils. Colour prints of a still life and a seascape on the other walls. The fireplace itself also looked original –

  He came back in with a tray.

  ‘Who painted that?’ she asked, nodding at the landscape.

  ‘Someone called Matthews,’ he said, handing her a mug. ‘I bought it in a sale. I don’t know anything about him.’

  ‘It’s good.’

  He smiled and sat beside her. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  His smile made the best of his face, she thought – probably why he did it so much… She wondered if he’d ever been married, or lived with anyone.

  ‘How long have you lived here?’

  ‘Must be five years now. I lived in a box on an estate before that. I prefer it here. More real.’

  ‘I grew up in a house like this,’ she said.

  ‘London?’

  ‘Peckham.’ She went on, ‘Where do you come from? You’re not from round here are you, although you’ve got a slight accent… Gloucester?’

  ‘Not bad,’ he said, ‘Bristol.’

  He leaned over and kissed her, very gentle, a brushing of the lips. She didn’t respond at first, then she did. He drew back, regarded her for a moment, then took her mug from her and placed it on the small table beside his.

  He kissed her again, softly, then deeply and she found she was liking it … the bantering with Sophie earlier had made her wonder fleetingly if he was gay, but she was quite certain he wasn’t now.

  Time passed... His fingers stroked her cheek, went behind her head. She stroked his face, his fingers glided down her back and she realised it was getting out of control…

  ‘Don’t rush me,’ she said. ‘I need time.’

  He nodded gently and she realised that just for a moment, she’d meant it. She kissed his cheek, stood up and pulled on her coat again.

  He went with her to the door, kissed her again before opening it, stood in the doorway as she drove off.

  Well now…

  Would he have done that if he was part of John Amend-all?

  He might, but on balance, she didn’t think so. What about the others, though…?

  Was Craig just being polite with his Oh, that’s just Hannah stuff, was there still violence in her? Aggression, certainly… and yet she hadn’t reacted to the bedroom incident anything like as much as she might…

  She parked and went up to the flat. Threw off her coat, turned up the heating, poured a large glass of wine and took a swig. Rolled and lit a fag.

  What about Marc?

  Seemingly gentle and civilised, he certainly seemed to have Hannah’s measure. A controlled, maybe even a controlling person…

  Sophie… flashes of seriousness, maybe even anger, behind a curtain of scurrilous banter… a mask?

  Another fag, more wine. Her brain fizzed and sparked… Sometimes it seemed as though the whole lot of them were hiding behind masks…

  Alan, Malcolm – Ron, certainly…

 
Emma and Will so comfortably ensconced over the shop that it seemed an article of faith that they shouldn’t be disturbed… She wished she could have a look round their flat herself now, but couldn’t see how without raising suspicion… if they were involved, that is…

  Did she think that?

  Probably not, although tomorrow she’d have another word with the two plods who’d looked it over…

  What else?

  See how Herry was – she’d forgotten about him…

  Was his beating significant? Her instinct said Yes, but how…?

  She thought about Craig again, wondered how far she should let it go – all in the line of duty, of course – who’re you kidding Reb, you liked it…

  But that’s how you made a fool of yourself last time, a warning voice in her head whispered… falling for someone in the line of duty…

  Chapter 19

  I was released – sorry, discharged – on Sunday morning. They said I’d better not drive for a day or two, so Rebecca took me home. I hadn’t asked her to, she said she wanted to talk to me. The police had taken my car home earlier.

  It was still cold and the roads were lined with piles of dirty snow. She asked me how I was feeling and I said all right.

  ‘Just all right?’

  ‘My head doesn’t ache so much, but it still feels vacant. I feel vacant.’

  She said that wasn’t surprising. ‘Did you manage to see the porter?’ she asked.

  ‘He came to me – to ask how I was.’

  ‘Decent of him.’

  I agreed, then after a pause, asked if they’d got any further yet on who’d done it.

  ‘No. I’ve interviewed both your father-in-law and Wade-Stokes again, and… I just don’t know. They both still vehemently deny anything, there’s no evidence, but I can’t eliminate them.’

  She glanced quickly at me. ‘If you had to choose, which of them would you go for?’

  She wanted a snap answer, but I couldn’t give one. After a moment, I said, ‘Pops is more ruthless... Although if I knew a bit more about why Roland didn’t want to come to the meeting that night… but then again, you’ve said his excuse is a reasonable one… I’m sorry, I just don’t know.’

  She said, ‘What if it were connected with John Amend-all?’