"Yes," I'm wishing I had worked the idea into the conversation a bit first.
"The ghosts," she says and her voice's gone flat. For a moment she's staring at me as if I killed someone. Then she looks down so I can't see her face properly.
This is going worse than I imagined. "Yes, ghosts," I say. "I know it sounds nuts but let me explain. There's this house–"
"No!" She shakes her head, but it's the bite of anger that silences me. I've never seen her get angry. At first I think she has decided I'm nuts. But then I realise it's worse than that. The distance between us seems like miles and suddenly it's arctic cold.
"I thought you didn't believe in that stuff," she says.
"I know I said that but," I'm holding on to the coffee mug to keep from grabbing her. "It's not easy to tell people about the ghosts." No shit, Sherlock. But there's something going on here I really don't understand.
"Is this your idea of a joke, Tommy? Did somebody tell you something about me? Did someone think this would be a laugh?"
I don't know what I've done but I know it's bad. "No," I say but before I can say anything else she's on her feet.
"I want you to leave," she says. When I don't move she stands up. "Get out, Tommy. Get out now!" Her voice sort of cracks like she might cry.
"Let me explain." I hear Jess's door open and know I have only moments left. "Please!"
And then Jess comes charging in with this huge pair of scissors. Before I can move, she's waving them in my face and screaming at me to get out, to leave them alone. I try to stand up, lose my balance and end up falling over my feet. I nearly brain myself on the cupboards. I scramble up from the floor with Jess still snapping the scissors at me until Suki grabs her arm and pulls her back.
She puts her arms round Jess and says, "It's all right," then she looks at me. "You've had your fun. Now just go."
"What?" I feel as if I've been hit in the head with a shovel. I don't understand how she can think I'm having fun. For a moment I'm wondering who is crazy here. But I know that somehow all this has to be my fault. I grab the worktop to steady myself, sending pans clattering into the sink. I can see the noise freaks Jess out. When it quiets down I look at Suki and say, "I'm sorry." I can see she's angry and I know I should leave it but I can't. I say, "It wasn't a joke."
"Get out," Jess yells at me. "Go crawl back in your bottle."
Suki doesn't say anything.
It's like leaving a war zone. Standing outside, I half expect to find the scissors embedded in my back.
It starts raining and I'm thinking, you have got to be kidding. By the time I reach town I'm soaking. I find a doorway and wish I had a bottle. I search my pockets but I don't have any money. It's sort of a relief.
I sit in the doorway on the cold stone and replay the conversation in my head. It's not hard to see how bad I've fucked up. She thinks I was taking the piss. Having a laugh. She's a good Samaritan. I know people who do get off shitting on that stuff. It sort of makes sense but somewhere in the back of my head, I know there has to be something more. She liked me. She has intuition like you wouldn't believe, how could she get this so wrong?
I'm missing something.
I remember that first touch. The way we connected. That has to mean something.
I have to find out.
And why did the ghosts have to rip it all apart. Three ghosts, four days, and booze. Just when things were turning round for me. Can that be a coincidence? The question scares me. It's the sort of stuff I've avoided asking. And of course there's Danny. But the thought that he'd do this to me is just too painful to bear.
I can't lose Suki. I need to find out about her and there's only one person I can think of to ask. Actually, there are two people but one of them just tried to stab me with a pair of scissors. So it has to be Simon. I get up and start out into the rain. I walk for a couple of minutes. Water trickles down my neck. I realise I don't know where to find him. I can only think of one person to ask. I have just about enough sense left to realise it will have to wait for the morning. I head back to my doorway.
Chapter Nine
In the morning when I wake up it's stopped raining, and the sun's dried everything out. It's nice to be warm and dry but I have a hell of a hangover, booze and ghosts. The glare hurts my eyes. It takes me a while to get things into focus. People are hurrying by clutching cups of coffee. My mouth is dry and poisonous as a cat's litter tray. I would die for a coffee. I sit for a while, head in my hands, trying not to throw up or moan out loud. A lady stops to ask if I'm all right. She gives me enough money for coffee and breakfast. She's so nice, I get a good feeling; perhaps things are going to go well today.
I head to Dave's van. He does the cheapest coffee and he'll always do you a deal on a bacon roll. As I'm walking I start to go over what happened yesterday. The ghost stuff is too hard, and anyway it's making it up to Suki that matters most. I'm not liking the idea of going to Simon but it's that or quit. I don't want to quit on Suki.
Thing is I don't know where to find Simon and the only person I can think of that might point me in the right direction is Max. I don't exactly know where to find Max, but if I find Mickey he will help me out. By the time I get to Jimmy's I'm feeling pleased that I've got the problem down to something I can actually get done.
Dave's kiosk is near the centre of town. The buses are spewing workers on to the pavements. Everyone is hurrying, plugged into Ipods, scowling like the devil is on their back. The stink of diesel makes me feel bad. I stand off to the side while Dave serves the red-eyed commuters their caffeine fix. I know better than to get in the way of these people this time of morning. When it quiets down I get a coffee and ask Dave if he's seen Mickey.
Dave's a good guy but he gives me a look and shrugs.
"What?" I don't get it.
"Mickey's being doing pretty good just lately, T."
"And?"
"You don't look so hot, Tommy. What d'you want him for?"
"I just want to ask him a question." It's hard not to sound pissed off.
"OK," Dave raises his hands and it seems like I didn't do too good a job. He says, "Mickey's been staying with Max. I know you two don't get on so well so I'm not giving you the address if you're going to fuck things up."
I stand and look at him, wondering how I ended up with this bad a rep. I figure maybe Max had something to do with it. But then with the ghosts in charge some of the stuff I have done lately has looked pretty weird. For a minute it's all too much. A bottle looks like the best answer. But that would be giving up. I think about that for a moment and then I say, "I won't make any trouble. I just need to ask Mickey something."
Dave holds out for a bit but in the end he comes across with the address. It feels good to get things back on track. Perhaps I can pull this off. As the rush hour eases off I'm walking north out of town towards Summertown, along wide streets lined with big old trees and large houses. I'm wondering how Max is living here in the smart end of town. I find the house easy enough and it's a big place with bay windows and a gravel front. There are two cars parked on the gravel. I get to the door and find the house is divided into flats. The names are all blurred and it takes two goes before I get the right buzzer.
Mickey answers and that's good because he buzzes me in without any fuss. The flat's at the top of the house. I pass a girl on the stairs. She's dressed in a business suit and carrying a dozen briefcases. She gives me a dirty look. I guess maybe she was one of the buzzers I tried. Or maybe she just doesn't like the look of me first thing in the morning. She's probably got a point.
Mickey has left the door open. Inside there's one big living room with a kitchen at the back. The windows look out into the treetops and the sunlight comes in filtered green. There's an expensive looking keyboard and an old upright piano, piles of music scores and books. Two doors, both shut, lead off the big room. I'm guessing one is Max's bedroom.
"Hey, dude." Mickey grins at me. He does look good. More than just that he's been eating and sl
eeping. Something's going right for him and I'm glad.
"You're looking good," I say.
"You look like shit, dude." Mickey shakes his head. "What happened to that nice girl? I thought she'd see you right."
I shrug, not wanting to admit to another fuck-up.
"T, you're not gonna get so many chances that you can afford to keep messing up."
I nod my head and hope he'll shut up about it. Things are getting pretty bad if I am getting life coaching from Mickey.
"You want some breakfast?" Mickey asks this like he's the lady of the house.
"I ate already, thanks." I'm pissed off with him.
"You wanna wash up a bit, take a shower? Max won't mind."
I'm about to say something nasty but I think better of it. I guess I look pretty rough. I wonder if I can bum a clean shirt off Mickey. If I turn up at Simon's gallery looking like this he'll probably use it as an excuse to call the cops.
I head for the bathroom and get in the shower. When I'm done Max is up. He's sitting on the sofa in a green silk robe so bright it makes my headache worse just looking at him. He looks as if seeing me is just as pleasant for him.
"Nice shower?" he says.
I remember that I need something from him, so this is not the moment to get pissy. "Yeah, thanks. I appreciate it, dude." He's staring at me as if he's waiting for something. It makes me nervous. "I had a bad few days." I don't know why I say this. It sounds like I want his sympathy and I don't, even if he gave a shit. But I need to keep talking. I think maybe he's pissed off that he had to wait for the bathroom. I nod towards it and say, "Sorry. Mick said it would be all right."
Mickey's fiddling around in the kitchen, scraping cremated toast into the sink. I wish he'd say something, back me up a bit. Max unfurls off the sofa and stalks across the room like a pissed off cat. The bathroom door slams behind him.
I'm thinking that didn't go too well. Perhaps he'll be more cheerful after his shower.
Mickey comes and sits down on the sofa with his toast and a mug of tea.
"Sure you don't want some, dude?" he says.
"No thanks." I'm thinking how at home he is and that I've never seen him so relaxed. Max is the last person I'd want to live with. "Have you got a clean shirt I can borrow?"
"Sure," Mickey nods his head towards a pile of folded washing. "Help yourself, T."
I hunt through the pile and find a decent blue shirt. I shuck off my shirt and put it on. It fits pretty well. I go back to the sofa. "Thanks, Mickey."
"No problem." He finishes the last bit of toast. "Leave yours and I'll put it through the wash for you."
"Thanks."
Mickey goes off to wash up his breakfast things. I'm thinking this domestic goddess stuff is strange, but it seems to make him happy.
He comes back and we sit on the sofa and it's sort of weird. Mickey, who never normally shuts up is very quiet. Like he's waiting for something from me. But I don't pay too much attention. I'm worrying how I am going to get Max to help me out.
Eventually Mickey says, "So what happened with that girl, what was her name?"
"Suki." I say it like I don't want to talk about it, but that doesn't stop Mickey.
"She seemed nice."
"She just helped me out a bit when I was banged up."
Mickey laughs. "Dude, I know you have a thing for her."
I shrug and stare at this weird painting that Max has hanging on the wall.
"I heard she got you a job." Mickey's not going to let this go.
I give a big sigh and look at him. "You gonna keep busting my balls over this?"
"I'm just saying, dude. You win the lottery you don't burn the ticket!"
I turn and look at him. He's got a point. For a moment I think of telling him about the ghosts, just to see what he'd say. But the bathroom door opens and Max comes out, still wearing that stupid robe.
He looks at me. "You still here?"
I get up off the sofa. "On my way," I say it nice and bright.
"Hey you can hang if you want to, dude," says Mickey. "That's right isn't it, Max?"
Max watches me and says nothing. I stop at the door and say, "Cheers, Mickey." But just as Max thinks he's got rid of me I turn back. "Hey, Max, do you know a guy called Simon, he runs an art gallery in town?"
For some reason Max looks to Mickey. Then he sort of sighs. "Simon Calder runs the Compton Gallery on Clarendon Street."
"Tall guy, wears weird clothes?" I ask before I remember who I'm talking to.
Max shoots me an evil look and I get the message. I open the door and give Mickey a wave.
"See you around, dude," says Mickey.
I feel like I have done pretty well on the first stage of my plan. But I know the next stage is not going to be easy. Clarendon Street is not that far and as I walk, I try to think of a reason Simon would talk to me about Suki. It's still early so unless she's called him he won't know about last night. But I'm betting he knows that I disappeared on her.
By the time I reach the gallery, I'm thinking my plan isn't much of a plan. Clarendon Street has posh restaurants, smart boutiques with designer clothes and shops full of Italian tableware, fake flowers and napkins. I've walked this street plenty of times, I've slept in shop doorways, but I've never paid much attention. The Compton Gallery is halfway along, set back off the street a bit; it has a big glass window with three paintings hanging on a cream background. I stand across the street and try to see if Simon's inside. But I can't see much past the paintings.
Looks like the plan's a bust, I cross the street and stand outside the gallery. I pretend that I'm looking at the paintings but really I'm peering through the window. It only takes a couple of minutes before the door jerks open and Simon's staring at me.
"What do you think you're doing?" He hisses the words and glances across the street like he's worried someone will see him talking to me.
"Have you got a minute?"
"No," he says. "Get lost."
"I'm looking at the pictures, that's not a crime." I cross my arms. "I could look at the pictures all day, still wouldn't be a crime."
He doesn't say anything for a minute. I'm guessing he's trying to work out what he could tell the cops. He steps outside, closes the door and starts down the street. He's obviously keen to get me away from there. I'm too busy working out what to say to care why. He turns down an alley that leads through to Wellington Square. I follow him. There's a garden in the middle of the square.
He goes into the garden, out of sight behind the trees. I wonder if he's going to try and kick my ass, but he folds his arms. "I know what you did to Suki, how you disappeared without a word. She was worried to death," he says. "So what do you want?"
I remember I bailed with his money. "I screwed up, I'm sorry. I'll pay you back." It's real hard to apologise to this guy. But I know he's not the one who messed up. "I want to make it up to Suki too."
"I don't care about the money," he says. "Just leave her alone." His voice gets a bit weird and he stares at me hard. But this is not just a pissing contest anymore. He cares about her. I can hear it in his weird voice.
"What she did for me, it was…." I run out of words and just stand there waiting for him to say that I was just another in a long line of losers. But he doesn't.
"I know you like her," he says. The words just sit there like a hand grenade between us. Takes one to know one sort of thing. I don't know what to say. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and slips one loose. He offers the pack to me. I shake my head. He puts it back in his pocket and flicks a lighter. He takes a long drag and stares off across the garden.
I know what he's working up to, and he doesn't disappoint.
"If you really want to do something for Suki, leave her alone."
He shoots, he scores. Touchdown. He's hit it out of the park. Checkmate.
There's nothing I can say that won't make me a bigger jerk. So simple it's beautiful. If I like her I'll leave her alone.
The cigarette dangles
from his lips as he pulls his wallet out. "Here." It's another twenty. When I don't take it he shoves it into the pocket of Mickey's shirt. He takes another drag and I can see he is trying to think what to say to make sure he's sealed the deal. "You know I'm right."
I just stare at him until he turns and walks away.
My plan's busted. I'm face to face with the truth and, as usual, I don't much like it.
Chapter Ten
I watch until Simon's out of sight. By the time he's gone the headache's back, throbbing behind my eyes. It's quiet in the garden beneath the trees so I stay there. A breeze stirs the leaves loosing a sudden shower of raindrops. I move myself out the way and sit down on the bench.
I feel like I'm drunk or stoned. It's nice and warm and the sun soothes my headache so I lay down. I can't think of anywhere to go and I don't have the energy to move. My plan's busted. I lay there and stare at the waste bin overflowing with beer cans and remnants of late night picnics. I watch the clouds through the treetops and listen to people on the road talking about what they watched on TV, or who's annoying them at work.
I'm nearly asleep when a squirrel scoots across the grass, pauses for a moment to eyeball me like I'm an alien from space, then darts up a tree trunk.
Something about those bright eyes brings me down to earth with a thump.
Simon says Suki would be better off without me. Deep down I know I have bigger, scarier problems than losing Suki, but she's the only thing I want to think about. I go over what Simon said. So he really cares for Suki. But he's a creep and if they were together in the past, they're not together now.
I figure there's only one reason I'm not with Suki now. The bloody ghosts. I have to deal with the ghosts, but it's too big to get my head round, and of course there's Danny. I leave that alone and go back to hating Simon.
Maybe he thinks he has good reason to warn me off. But I remember the look on his face when he shoved the twenty in my shirt pocket. The guy's an asshole, and he's done a number on me. I feel a right idiot. A few more minutes and I feel like going round to the gallery, grabbing his prissy jacket and shoving the twenty back down his throat, hopefully in front of some filthy rich potential clients. I think about his BS and I get mad. I take the twenty out of my pocket ready to go round there. But then I think of Suki. I can picture him telling her the story, a few words and he's turned me from a weirdo into a violent nutter. I'm really not a violent nutter.
Soul Mate (Book One) Page 8
