by P. K . Lynch
They took two more trips to the back room which were fast and furtive, both of them eager to be where the action was, and sometime around 1 a.m. he told her it was time they left. He had a mini-cab collect them from the club’s back door. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to spend more time with him, but she liked the drugs he had, and besides, she had a lot of questions.
He lived in a one-bed flat somewhere between Hackney and Bethnal Green. The fact they were both East Enders convinced her of their compatibility, and their conversation in the taxi was all about how real the East End was and how pretentious the rest of London was in comparison, with the exception of a few pockets south of the river. She agreed with him completely, even though she hadn’t been further west than Victoria or seen anything further south than Vauxhall by night.
His flat was entered through a security door and up a flight of steps past a stack of bikes and a child’s buggy. Three different locks and they were in. He snapped the light on and her own reflection greeted her in a large mirror facing the door. Her face was surprisingly pale and her eyes red-rimmed. She looked almost ill, which didn’t correlate in the slightest with how she felt.
Pascal had disappeared into a room just off the small hallway. She found him already cutting lines onto a rectangular glass coffee table and she experienced a small surge of irritation. The room was blandly male, everything white and cream apart from the black leather two-seat sofa. One wall was decorated with framed posters advertising club nights of times gone past. After the energy of the club, however shit it had been, this flat was an utter comedown.
Pascal tapped the table.
‘Come. Yours.’
She bent over and made the line disappear. A bottle of rum appeared on the table beside her, along with two glass tumblers, thick, crystal-cut. Music came next, a fast drum ’n’ bass, and the lights dimmed. Her heart was racing. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the swooshing noise she made. She wondered whether they would have sex. She assumed they would, even though nothing like that had passed between them. There had been opportunities for Pascal to kiss her in the back room of the club, or in the taxi, but he’d shown no interest. Maybe that was the difference between men and boys. They had the ability to maintain purely platonic relationships. Pascal talked a lot. She seemed to be forever waiting for him to draw breath long enough for her to get a word in, and when she did, she noticed how his head moved like a horse chomping at the bit, waiting for his turn.
‘Clubs are my passion,’ he said. ‘Bringing people together, good music, conversation, a party. Nothing else in life is as important, in my opinion.’
‘Totally agree one hundred per cent with you there, Pascal. All of us in one room, all bouncing to the same beat, nothing else going on but the DJ lifting us, carrying us. It’s fucking awesome, like, I haven’t been coming to clubs that long but I don’t know how people live, like actually fucking live, without that, you know what I mean?’
‘Your jaw is going crazy. You will break your teeth like that.’
‘I know. I can’t seem to help it. It just goes round and round.’
‘You may want to try one of these.’
He turned to a shelf behind him and took down a large white bowl containing lollipops in various brightly coloured wrappers.
‘Oh my God, this is genius.’ The words could hardly come quickly enough. ‘I’ll have a purple one. My God, I used to have these as a kid. What a flashback.’ She unwrapped it, dipped it in the rum he had poured out for her, and put it in her mouth. ‘So what’s the deal with you then?’ she asked. ‘A bowl of lollipops in case a bunch of kids come to visit? And that club – you acted like you owned it, but if you own it why are you working at a shitty call centre? No offence, but it is pretty shitty. Even I know that and I haven’t worked anywhere else, unless you count a Saturday job in a fruit shop.’
‘It’s a shitty job, but what can I say? There is money in it. In knowledge there is power. A lot of people these days, especially governments and large corporations, they want power. So we find out what people think and pass it on. They pay us to give them the knowledge. It is you at the bottom end who gets the shitty stick. But, to be honest, I find it quite shitty as well. In France I work hard, I study, get good degree. Come over here for MBA and then what? Well, you see me every day. Do I look full of the joys? No, of course not. But club nights, music, promotion. That I love. And there I make easy money. So why the hell not? Life is too short to be miserable.’
‘Yes!’ Sissy exclaimed. Here lay her expertise and she poured it all out. You never ever knew when your time would come, one minute you’re fine, the next a hole’s been blown into your life and you risk being destroyed by the backdraft. That’s why she was so fucking grateful to be here, right now, with someone who really understood her, who had their priorities straight, because if she had stayed in Glasgow for one more day with those fucking people, she would have had to just get her hands on a gun and blow her brains out.
‘Seriously, you can get a gun in Glasgow? How easy?’
‘Probably really fucking easy if you know the right people, not that I do, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, I’m just saying that I might have had to get to know the right people, do you know what I’m saying, Pascal, do you?’
‘Yes, yes, like me. I could get to know the right people, but like I already said, life’s too short. You know all about that. It’s really fucking shit. You’re too young to deal with that. You must be a very strong person. I admire that.’
She hadn’t considered herself to be a strong person but now she realised that, yes, she was. What a long way she had come in the space of a year. Her future was a dazzling one. She would never look back ever again. Never be that person ever again.
They took lines with increasing frequency until it almost seemed one of them was chopping while the other snorted, and yet the bag of powder didn’t deplete in any noticeable way.
‘It’s like the magic porridge pot of cocaine,’ she said, but he didn’t understand the reference and she didn’t bother to explain it. Her eyes were heavy now, her limbs like weighted ropes trying to drag her down, but her heart was racing so fast she thought if she looked in a mirror she would see it thumping in her chest.
Outside, the sun was coming up and there was still one question she hadn’t asked him.
‘Pascal, why did you ask me to the club?’ Even through the armoured wall of cocaine-fuelled confidence, she was nervous to ask.
His head was bent as he rolled their first spliff. He sniffed and licked the paper as he mulled the question over.
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ he said, at last.
They didn’t have sex but fell asleep fully clothed around 10 a.m. on his bed. At some point in her sleep, she became vaguely aware of a sensation of something travelling down her body but she couldn’t rouse herself to react and whatever it was stopped. Later, travelling home on the bus, she reflected on that moment. Pascal, she decided, was a bit of a gentleman.
A figure stood at the brightly lit window, watching her as she came down the street. She kept her head down, pretending not to see him. It was only then she realised she’d been away for almost twenty-four hours. She shook off the guilt that tried to sneak its way in. She was a big girl. He wasn’t her keeper.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Cam asked, before she had even closed the door behind her.
‘What?’ she scowled in return. ‘I crashed at a mate’s.’
‘I’ve been worried about you. You could have called.’
‘What are you, my dad? Can I get past, please?’
She pushed past him into the kitchen and poured herself some water.
‘Do you know what?’ he said, following her in. ‘You’re so fucking selfish. Did you not even think to get in touch? Let me know you’re still alive?’
His words felt like a barrage. She used her thirst to buy herself a few more seconds’ thinking time. She sipped slowly on her water, observing his face
from behind her glass, so angry and accusatory, and wondered what she’d ever seen in him. He stared back, waiting for a response. Her silence had the diminishing effect of turning his anger into a toddler tantrum.
‘Are you not going to answer me then?’ he tried again.
‘What do you want me to say? I didn’t realise I had to be home by a certain time. I thought I’d left that behind me.’
‘It’s called being considerate, Sissy.’
‘It’s not as if you called me, is it? Why should I be the one – ’
‘I’ve no fucking credit in my phone, have I?’ he roared. ‘I’ve been going off my head wondering where you were.’
She laughed at his hypocrisy.
‘Did you ever tell me when you’d be back whenever you went out?’ she yelled. ‘Well, did you? And did I ever ask where you were or who with? No, I didn’t and I’ll tell you why… because it’s none of my business, that’s why. Just like my life is none of your business. Just face it, Cam. We’re going in different directions.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do I need to spell it out?’
‘I think you’re going to have to,’ he said, quietly.
Uncomfortable with the silence that followed, Sissy had no option but to fill it with noise.
‘You sit about all day, every day. You never do anything any more. When’s the last time you even changed your clothes? And have you just given up on the idea of getting a job altogether? Are you happy to sit about all day on the PlayStation, smoking away your benefits? We’re in London now, Cam. The world moves faster here. You’re being left behind. What are you turning into? Oh my God, those fucking dogs, shut up!’ she yelled, as the regular noise from next door started up. When she turned back to Cam, the hurt on his face made her wince.
‘Oh, don’t,’ she said, in disgust. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You made me say it. Someone had to. Jesus, you’ve said it to me often enough.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Not like that. But don’t worry. I’ve heard you. I get it.’
He went to his room and closed the door.
Sissy leaned against the sink, holding her hand to her forehead. She shook with fury and tiredness, and wondered why she felt so bad when in actual fact she hadn’t done anything to harm anyone. The barking had settled into a rhythm now, which was almost worse than the initial frenzy because it was impossible to know when it would end.
She took a shower and tried to sleep but her head was full of Pascal. If Cam was angry with her now, how much worse would it be when he discovered she’d spent the night with his ex-boss? But then, she told herself, there was no need to tell him anything. Nothing had happened between them, after all. She could go into work on Monday morning without worrying about any awkwardness. In fact, she looked forward to seeing Pascal, looking him in the eye. She knew a side to him that no one else there did. They were equals.
But then another thought slipped in, a doubtful one. She tried to chase it away and found she had no control over her thoughts at all. They slipped behind her eyes and would not be pinned down. All she wanted to do was sit in silence and not have to answer to anyone ever again. With her head lying against the pillow, she could hear her blood rushing. She focused on it until she fell asleep.
She dreamed she was an astronaut floating in space, viewing the darkness through a round glass helmet. Her hands, encased by large white gloves, seemed not to belong to her. A long steel cable stretched out behind her, attaching her to a huge spaceship. In the distance, to her left, was another astronaut, anonymous in their oversize white suit. They turned and gave her a thumbs up. An intermittent pulse of sound was present. How strange to have sound in space, she thought, perhaps it’s just my breath. It was almost soothing. But then the pulse was suddenly gone, sucked out of the sky, and there was a very deep happening, a seismic shift, and she knew something was very wrong. Her fellow astronaut was closer now and reflected in their helmet was an orange, flickering light. Pulling herself on the cable, she turned to see a huge hole had appeared in the mothership. Everything was ablaze. Even her cable was alight. Even though she knew steel couldn’t catch fire, it was happening right there in front of her, the flames dancing closer. The other astronaut was beside her now, tugging on her belt, trying to help, but then there was another noiseless blast and their helmet flew off to reveal Pascal – or was it Cam? – the force from the blast caused their body to spin, and their suit to disintegrate, and then their skin was being ripped off, layer by layer, revealing something so raw and ugly she couldn’t bear to look. She turned away, refused to see it, and then all at once she felt so much better, because through the impossible noiseless sound came her father’s voice, as rich and fresh and realer than she’d ever known. Sissy, he was saying, Sissy, my Sissy. Hold on tight.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Absent Friends
On Monday morning, she rose early. It was one of those bright mornings that spoke of the possibility of summer, even as breath collected in clouds at street level. Patches of blue filled the spaces between tall buildings, causing commuters to look up and slow down as they emerged mole-like from the underground. Behind them, impatience rippled through those who were still to discover the magic.
The morning commute was one of the few times Sissy’s petite stature was a bonus. She nipped in and out of any gap she found, and ran up the left side of the escalators, tutting at anyone foolish enough to stand on the wrong side. She knew which door of the train to board through in order to be nearest the exit at her destination. She belonged to the city, had become part of its life source. She thrived on its cut-throat pace.
London fell away as she entered the foyer of the neglected building she worked in. As usual, the desk was unmanned. She ignored the elevator and took the stairs, two at a time, half-hoping Pascal would be at the top of them, half hoping he wouldn’t be in yet and she could slide into work unnoticed. A voice in her head filled her with confidence. She felt close to him, and was made bold by the fact they hadn’t had sex. They had truly connected. In a way, the weekend had rendered them equals because he’d allowed her to see past the hostile front he presented at work.
In the deserted staff room she made coffee and wondered if it would be appropriate to bring him one. As he was French, she assumed he’d prefer it black, no sugar. She was pleased with her insight and thought it would impress him.
As she sifted through the mugs looking for one without a chip or crack, she went back and forth on the matter. On the one hand, she didn’t want to suggest anything was different in their working relationship, on the other, weren’t they friends now, and didn’t friends do kind things for one another?
Laying her discomfort aside, she picked out two mugs in the same colour. She made the coffee and walked along the corridor to Pascal’s office. It was empty.
With an overflowing mug in each hand, she hovered between his office and the swing door into the call floor, uncertain of her next step, her decision-making process hampered by annoyance at her failure to predict this set of circumstances.
‘Good morning, early bird! What brings you in at this time?’
It was Tony. At forty-four, he was the eldest of the managers. He laughed when he saw her holding two coffees.
‘Come prepared, eh? Monday morning rocket fuel. Can’t say I blame you. Just don’t expect extra pee breaks.’
He held the door open for her, and Sissy, after checking the wall to see which phone she was on, went to her booth and placed both coffees by the monitor. Still ten minutes before she had to begin calls. Her workmates were arriving now, slouching in with their usual grey demeanours. She sipped her coffee and wondered why they were all so… dull. There was no other word for it. She’d tried initiating conversation with a few of them but her efforts had fallen flat. No one seemed interested in anyone else. They clocked in, did the work, clocked out. She assumed they must have lives beyond the office where they laughed and enjoyed themselves, but ther
e was no evidence to back up her theory. Most of them were still in their twenties and already had an air of defeat around them. She’d stopped making the effort with them.
Just before nine, she made a trip to the Ladies’ and cast a glance into Pascal’s office as she passed. Still no sign of him. When she returned to her desk, she kicked herself for not taking the coffee mugs back out with her. Now she would have to look at them all morning.
The clock ticked round with interminable slowness. By mid-afternoon, she accepted he wasn’t coming in. She was desperate to ask Tony when Pascal would be back, but it would be odd to do so. She fell into a terrible mood and failed to complete a single survey all day. At five o’clock, instead of going home, she ducked into a pub and slammed a couple of vodkas, ignoring the bar maid’s lips, pursed tightly in disapproval.
If you don’t want customers on a Monday, then don’t open on a Monday, you stupid cow, Sissy thought, even as she noticed she was the only female in the place and was younger than everyone else by at least a couple of decades. A man in a suit leered at her from the end of the bar. He raised his eyebrows and his glass. Question: drink? She slid off the bar stool and back into the early-evening crowds.
The vodka at least made the journey home bearable, though it was clear more would be required to shift her mood. She stopped into the shop at the top of the street for a bottle of wine and a tub of ice cream, and in a fit of spontaneous generosity bought Cam a couple of beers. Getting pissed on a Monday was only acceptable if you did it in company, and besides, they needed a proper catch-up to clear the air between them. She hoped he’d be up for it because the last thing she needed was another argument.
Rik opened the door before she managed to turn her key. With a stab of guilt, she realised she hadn’t factored him into her evening’s plans, but the expression on his face suggested her plans were being rewritten without her permission.
