by Sk Quinn
I laugh. ‘Then you must be pretty hungry.’
Patrick nods, swallowing the rest of his sandwich in one huge bite. He pushes the plate of sandwiches towards me. I take the smallest one, which is still pretty massive.
‘Aren’t you going to eat it?’ he asks.
‘Oh. Um … yes.’ I take a little bite.
Patrick watches me as I chew at the stale bread. Eventually I manage to swallow.
‘So?’ Patrick asks. ‘What do you think?’
‘You want me to be honest?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘It’s not the best sandwich I ever had.’
Patrick laughs. ‘It’s bloody awful. I don’t know what that shopkeeper has done to those sausages. They taste of glue.’
He takes another huge bite.
‘Then why are you still eating?’ I ask.
‘It’s food isn’t it?’ says Patrick. ‘No sense wasting it.’
‘Well. Can you eat mine for me too?’
‘God, do I have to?’
We both laugh.
‘So city girl,’ says Patrick. ‘Where do you get breakfast from? Since I’ve obviously gone to the wrong place.’
‘You’re asking me the wrong question,’ I say. ‘Wila and I have lived off cornflakes for the last five years.’
‘So what’s the right question?’
‘Where can we get a good breakfast round here.’
‘Okay then. Where?’
‘Duncan’s grill by Camden Lock. He does the best bacon sandwich you’ll ever taste.’
Patrick frowns and swallows. ‘This Duncan. Boyfriend of yours?’
‘Patrick!’ I shake my head. ‘First of all, he’s like forty years old. And second, I’ve only ever slept with two people. Okay?’
‘Fine. Let’s go to this Duncan’s place.’
‘We don’t have to go there just for me,’ I say. ‘Really. I’m not all that hungry.’
‘You should eat breakfast,’ says Patrick. ‘And I’m interested to try this “best” bacon sandwich.’
‘After eating all that?’ I say, pointing to the now almost empty plate of sandwiches.
‘I’m a man. I like to eat.’
‘You can say that again.’
73
The smog has lifted and it’s a nice sunny morning outside the boat.
Camden is just waking up.
‘It’s really not so busy out here,’ I tell Patrick, as we head towards Camden High Street. ‘Quiet really. For Camden. If you think there are a lot of people now, you should see the place later in the day. When the tourists turn up.’
‘You call this quiet?’ says Patrick, glaring at a man with piercings, who’s texting on his mobile and nearly bumps into us.
‘It is kind of rough around here,’ I admit. ‘I mean, when you compare it to a beautiful castle in the Scottish countryside.’
‘The countryside can be rough,’ says Patrick. ‘Nature is as rough as it comes.’
‘So this place doesn’t scare you then?’ I tease.
‘No it doesn’t scare me. The only thing that scares me is you being here without me to protect you.’
We reach Duncan’s grill.
It’s a little stall set into a brick wall. Duncan is an old East End guy who wears a pork pie hat and a red apron. Always. Even in the pub.
He’s given me and Wila free sandwiches more times than I can count.
‘Duncan!’ I grin, happy to see an old face.
‘Morning Sezza,’ says Duncan. ‘Is it good news then?’
‘Good news?’
‘You’re smiling, so … it must be good news. Isn’t it? Please god, tell me it is. I don’t think I can take any more shocks.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What shocks?’
Duncan’s eyes widen. ‘Oh my life. You don’t know?’
‘Don’t know what?’
74
‘Duncan, you’re scaring me,’ I say. ‘What is it?’
Duncan shakes his head. ‘Oh Sezza love. I can’t believe no one told you already. I never thought I’d be the one telling you. It’s your brother.’
‘Danny? What about him?’
‘He got roughed up last night. Some mates of Ray King. He’s in a pretty bad way.’
‘Oh my god. Where is he?’
‘Round Carol’s knocking shop. He wouldn’t go to hospital. Too many questions.’
‘Carol’s?’ I say. ‘I need to go there. Right now.’
‘Wait.’ Patrick pulls me back. ‘Knocking shop? Would I be right in thinking that’s a brothel?’
‘It’s not exactly a brothel,’ I say.
Duncan laughs. ‘Carol’s place? What would you call it then?’
I glare at him.
Duncan notices Patrick then. He looks up. And up. ‘Who’s the big fella?’
‘Patrick,’ I say. ‘He’s with me. Patrick, I’m going and that’s that.’
I struggle, but Patrick won’t let me out of his grip.
‘Oi!’ says Duncan. ‘Don’t give her any trouble mate. I’ve got ten different knives back here.’
Patrick laughs. ‘And I’d have them out of your hand before you even got a decent grip.’
‘Patrick!’ I pull my arm free. ‘It’s my brother. I’m going. Okay? I don’t care what you say.’
‘I’ll go,’ says Patrick.
‘No Patrick. They won’t let you in. I need to see him. Don’t you get it? How would you feel? If it was your brother?’
I know that’s below the belt, but I don’t care.
Patrick’s hand loosens a little. He leads me away from Duncan’s stall, into a quiet corner.
‘Even if I have to claw your arm off me, I’m going,’ I say.
‘If you go,’ says Patrick, his voice measured, ‘I’m coming with you.’
I hesitate.
I really don’t want Patrick to meet Danny right now. Not if he’s just been in a fight. He’ll be swearing his head off, talking about beating up whoever.
‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.’
‘Are you ashamed of your family?’ Patrick asks.
That throws me.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Not ashamed. But …’ I shake my head. How can I explain what I’m feeling? ‘I guess I don’t want the fairy tale to end.’
‘What fairy tale?’
‘When I’m with you, I can forget where I came from. Forget my past and all the fear. The stress of keeping my head above water. Forget that I’m nothing. Nobody. That life is tough for people like me.’
Patrick takes my hands. ‘I hate you saying that. “People like me.” People are people, Seraphina. There is no “like me” or “like you”. We’re all the same when it comes down to it.’
‘Okay.’ I pull at his hands. ‘Come with me then. Come meet my brother.’
75
Carol’s brothel is a London townhouse in the posh part of Camden. It’s all red brick and silver railings on the outside, and you’d never guess it was anything more than a posh house.
But the front door is never locked.
I glance at Patrick as we stand outside.
‘Have you ever been anywhere like this before?’ I ask, noticing that all the velvet curtains are drawn. The place must be busy.
‘A brothel you mean?’ says Patrick, raising an eyebrow.
‘Yes.’
Patrick nods. ‘In Tehran. Two soldiers were in there and I had to pull them out.’
I swallow. ‘You were never tempted to—’
‘To fuck a prostitute? What’s the point unless someone’s willing?’
‘Lots of men round here do,’ I say, not too sure where that honesty came from.
‘Then they’re not really men,’ says Patrick. ‘Allow me.’
He pushes the door, then holds it open with his large, strong hand.
We walk into the foyer, which is sort of like a reception area with doors and a staircase leading up.
A pretty bl
onde girl sits behind the desk. I think she’s Carol’s daughter – she’s only fourteen or something. I know Carol has a couple of kids.
When the girl sees Patrick, her face lights up.
‘Good morning handsome,’ she says to Patrick, not even noticing me. ‘The girls are busy right now, but Julie will be finished soon. She’ll be happy to take care of you.’
Patrick frowns. ‘I’m not looking for a girl. I already have one. We’re here to see Sera’s brother.’
‘Who’s brother?’ The girl screws her mouth up in confusion.
‘Danny,’ I say.
She looks at me, then back at Patrick. ‘You’re not the old bill are you?’
‘We’re not the police,’ I say. ‘I’m Danny’s sister.’
The girl’s shoulders sag. ‘Oh thank Christ for that.’
‘Is Danny here?’ I ask.
‘Has he got brown hair? Nice looking? But his teeth are a bit rocky?’
‘That’s him.’
‘He’s in Mum’s room. The door at the top of the stairs. He’s been with her all night. Mum must have a soft spot for him, cause she should be working.’
‘He’s hurt,’ I say, going towards the stairs.
‘Is that what all the noise was about?’ she replies, smirking. ‘He was moaning bloody loud.’
I ignore her and head up the stairs.
‘Seraphina. Wait.’ Patrick overtakes me.
He reaches the door at the top of the stairs and knocks.
Carol opens the door – just a crack. She’s wearing a silk dressing gown and her short, black hair is finger spiked. As usual, she smells of expensive perfume and her makeup is perfect.
She looks nervous, but her eyes soften when she sees Patrick. ‘I’m with a fella right now love. I haven’t seen you before, have I? I would have remembered.’ She throws him a sickening smile.
I’ve never seen Patrick blush before, but he does now.
Bright red.
‘We’re here to see Sera’s brother,’ he says, his voice sounding more formal than I’ve ever heard it.
‘Oh!’ Carol’s eyes widen. ‘How did you—’
She sees me behind Patrick. ‘Sezza. What are you doing here?’
Carol and I have never really gotten along. I don’t mind her, in a way. She’s never been nasty to me. But I can’t ever get over her using her daughters in the brothel. And then there was that night she wouldn’t tell me where Danny was …
‘What do you think?’ I say. ‘I’m here to see Danny.’
She nods, and I notice real worry in the lines around her eyes.
‘Is it bad Carol?’ I ask. ‘I know he got roughed up.’
Carol swallows. ‘You’d better come in.’
76
I’ve only ever been in Carol’s room once before. I was desperate to find Danny that night – desperate.
That’s a night I never, ever want to remember.
I turn to Patrick, wondering if he can read my thoughts. If he can, he’ll have the answer to his question. He’ll have the thing I’m hiding. He’ll have his openness. But … my stomach turns at the thought of him ever knowing what happened.
When I came to Carol’s room that night, Danny wasn’t there. Carol was though. I barged into her room screaming Danny’s name, and there was Carol – naked from the waist down, palms flat against the wall.
I remember thinking she had a good figure for a woman her age. Quite firm, but curvy. A younger figure than her face anyway.
Some guy was between her legs, grunting and groaning away, his fingers digging into the skin on her thighs.
For a horrible moment, I’d thought it was Danny. And then I came to my senses and realised the guy was way too old. In his fifties, I think.
Carol wouldn’t tell me where Danny was. But I found out later she knew he was at the pub. I’ve never quite forgiven her for that.
‘Come on in then,’ says Carol. I don’t know if she remembers that night, but she must sense I’m not all that keen to go into her bedroom.
I take a deep breath and step inside.
The room looks the same. A four-poster bed with chiffon curtains floating above it. A glass Versace bedside cabinet with its drawers open and condoms on the mirrored insides.
But this time the guy on the bed is Danny.
I look at him and put a hand to my mouth. I want to turn away. But all I can do is stare.
Danny is propped up on the bed, his face and body a mess of blood.
It doesn’t even look like him. I wouldn’t recognise him if it weren’t for his eyes staring through blood-caked eyelashes.
He tries to say something, but all that comes out is a croak. Then he groans and closes his eyes.
‘Danny.’ I rush to take his hand. He groans again.
Patrick closes the door behind me.
‘What happened?’ I ask Danny.
‘He’s been shot,’ says Patrick, matter-of-factly. ‘In the leg.’
‘What?’ I follow Patrick’s gaze and see a huge gaping hole in Danny’s thigh. ‘Oh my god. Danny. Oh my god.’ I’m breathing so fast that the room starts to spin.
‘He needs a tourniquet,’ says Patrick, pulling a penknife from his pocket and slashing a strip from the silky bed sheet.
He takes the strip and ties it around Danny’s leg, pulling hard.
Danny yells. ‘Argh!’ and grits his teeth. ‘Who … the fuck are you? What are you doing?’ He grimaces in pain.
Patrick ignores him and ties the sheet in a knot.
‘He’s here to help, Danny,’ I say. ‘Listen to me. We have to get you to the hospital.’
Danny groans and shakes his head.
‘Please Danny. You have to.’
‘We can’t have an ambulance here,’ says Carol, her voice all high-pitched. ‘An ambulance comes, so does a police car. We can’t have the police here for some beaten up kid. They’ll ask for a load of freebies and then get us shut down.’
‘We need an ambulance!’ I fire back, staring at my brother. Looking at him all bloody like this … I just can’t think straight. I’ve seen him beaten up before, but never this bad. He’s barely breathing.
‘He needs to go to hospital,’ Patrick booms. ‘I’m calling an ambulance right now.’
‘I don’t know who the fuck you are,’ Danny croaks, clenching his eyes in pain. ‘But you’re not the boss here. Carol just said. No police here. Too many questions.’
‘If you don’t get to hospital soon, the police will be the least of your worries,’ says Patrick.
‘Danny please,’ I beg. ‘Listen to him.’
‘Who is he?’ Danny asks, his voice quieter now. His eyes are softly closed.
‘He’s Patrick,’ I explain.
‘He’s the fucking lord of the manor?’ Danny says, his eyelids flickering. ‘He looks like a bloody army sergeant. What are you doing Sezza? This guy isn’t one of us. He doesn’t belong here.’
‘I might not be from around here,’ says Patrick. ‘But I belong with your sister. I’m here to look after her and that means her family too.’
‘You know nothing about our family,’ Danny murmurs.
‘I know you need an ambulance,’ says Patrick, pulling out his phone.
‘No!’ Danny’s eyes widen and he winces in pain. ‘You can’t – Sezza, stop him.’
‘You can’t bring an ambulance here!’ Carol screeches, lunging at Patrick’s phone.
‘Don’t Carol.’ I grab her wrists and hold her back. ‘Danny needs an ambulance. He should have gone to hospital a long time ago.’
Carol struggles for a moment. But when she realises I’m stronger, she starts screaming. ‘Meredith! Meredith there’s trouble up here! Go get your Uncle!’
77
I clamp my hand over her mouth. ‘Stop it,’ I say. ‘He needs medical attention. You know it and I know it. Do the right thing for once.’
Carol goes limp and shakes my hand away from her mouth. ‘S’pose if he dies here there’ll be e
ven more questions,’ she mutters.
‘Who said anything about dying?’
‘Just look at him,’ Carol croaks. ‘He can’t have long.’
I look – really look – at Danny then. I suppose I was too afraid to before. Or trying to look on the bright side.
There’s so much blood. The sheet is completely soaked with it. Wet through.
‘Danny’s got nine lives,’ I murmur. ‘Everyone always says so.’
‘And he’s used up ten of them,’ says Carol, looking at my bloody, beaten brother.
His eyes are closing and his breathing … he’s hardly breathing at all.
‘Danny?’ I say. ‘DANNY!’ I go to him and push my face right up against his. But his eyes stay shut. ‘Please,’ I beg. ‘Open your eyes Danny. Please.’
Patrick clamps the phone to his ear. ‘Hello?’
Carol makes a grab for it again, but I push her away.
‘What if it was one of your girls up here?’ I yell.
‘This is my business,’ she yells back. ‘All of this is for my girls. You think I want to be closed down?’
‘Ambulance,’ Patrick tells his phone. Then he turns to me. ‘What’s the address here?’
‘I … I don’t know the name of the road or anything,’ I say. ‘Just what the house looks like. Danny?’
But Danny’s eyes are tight shut. He’s barely breathing.
‘Carol?’ I ask.
‘If you think I’m telling you that—’
I grab her shoulders and shake her until her head rattles back and forth. ‘TELL ME THE FUCKING ADDRESS!’
‘Okay, okay!’ Carol yells, holding up her hands. ‘12 Westgate Street.’
Patrick repeats the address and then asks: ‘How old is Danny?’
‘Twenty-six,’ I say, running a stressed hand through my hair. ‘Tell them to hurry.’
Patrick nods. A moment later he hangs up the phone.
‘They’re on their way.’ Patrick checks the tourniquets. ‘He’s lost a lot of blood.’
‘Please tell me he’ll be okay,’ I beg.
Patrick doesn’t reply. Instead he lifts Danny’s leg and stuffs pillows under it.
‘Patrick?’
‘I don’t know if he’ll be okay.’
‘Oh please.’ I sink to my knees. ‘Please, please, please.’
‘Just pray the ambulance is quick,’ says Patrick.
