The Wolves of London

by Mark Morris

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

  Her head tilted up, her eyes met mine, and I saw that there was something like rapture on her face.

  ‘You took it,’ she said. ‘You took it from him.’

  ‘Took what?’

  ‘His darkness. You made it so that he couldn’t hurt me any more.’

  I felt a need to clarify what she was saying, to cut through the obfuscation. ‘Is this his darkness?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You mean you’ve seen it before?’

  ‘He put it in me. He put the darkness in me, and then I was in the darkness and I couldn’t get out.’

  ‘But is this what he used? The heart?’

  ‘Yes. It is the darkness.’

  I was stunned – but also confused. I didn’t know what to make of this. Was Lyn speaking the truth? Had she really seen the heart before? Had it been used as a weapon against her, or was she deluded? Was she seeing the heart as a symbol of her own insanity, simply because it was black and because it represented the core of human life, the seat of human emotion?

  I couldn’t decide, but I knew that I couldn’t risk pressing her on this without her becoming agitated. Besides which, I suspected that she had told me as much as she knew, or at least as much as she understood.

  ‘Give it to me,’ she said suddenly.

  Her manner was neither aggressive nor insistent, and yet as before, when I had handed the heart to Benny at his request, my instinct was to say no. My instinct, in fact, was to tighten my grip on the heart, to put it back in my pocket and make some excuse as to why she couldn’t have it.

  Even as I struggled with my possessive thoughts I was disturbed by them. I could have reasoned that given the heart’s track record I was merely anxious for Lyn’s safety, but I knew that wasn’t the case. Somehow I felt certain that Lyn wouldn’t be harmed, that the heart would only become active if she seriously threatened me. And yet even though I felt as though some kind of breakthrough was being made here today, I still found it hard to accede to her request. In the end I fixed a smile on my face and said, ‘The darkness is sleeping now. You must be very gentle with it. You mustn’t do anything to wake it. And when I tell you, you must give it back to me. Do you understand?’

  She looked at me, as awestruck as a child entrusted with the care of a vulnerable animal. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘All right then.’ I hesitated a moment longer, and then I placed the heart carefully into her cupped hands.

  She sighed in contentment and closed her eyes. I saw more of the tension seeping from her body. With the utmost care she bent her elbows and, still cupping the heart, pressed it to her bosom. She was weeping freely but silently now, tears forming glistening tracks down her cheeks. In that moment, haloed by the light from the window, her hands pressed together as though in prayer, she looked saintly.

  The moment stretched, and for a split second I experienced a sensation of utter serenity. I felt blissful, complete; I had the oddest feeling that it was a projection of Lyn’s thoughts momentarily and miraculously untangled by the ministrations of the heart. The feeling passed over me like a warm breeze, and I felt my fingers tingle, felt the now-familiar anxiety to possess the heart once again. Resisting the urge to snatch the object out of Lyn’s hands, I said, ‘You’d better give the darkness back now, Lyn. I need to keep it safe.’

  Her eyes opened, and for a moment I felt certain she was about to protest. But then she sighed and gave the heart back to me. I took it eagerly, pushed it into my pocket, out of sight.

  ‘Thank you,’ she breathed. ‘Thank you, Alex.’

  TWENTY

  MY DRUG

  ‘You took your time.’

  Benny sounded calmer than when I had last spoken to him, his voice only mildly reproachful.

  ‘This is the first chance I’ve had to ring you back,’ I said. ‘I got your text at midday, but Clover and I have been together since then.’

  He was silent for a moment, and then he said, ‘And where’s she now?’

  ‘In the shower. We’ve checked into a hotel.’

  ‘Which one?’

  I hesitated, then replied, ‘No offence, Benny, but I’d rather not say.’

  I heard a dry chuckle from the other end of the line. When he next spoke his voice was a little warmer. ‘None taken. To tell you the truth, Alex, I’m glad you’re being careful, especially as Monroe’s with you. How are you both?’

  ‘Fine. How are you?’

  ‘I’m all right. Lesley and I have spent the day clearing up. The conservatory’s a fucking wreck.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘I’ll bill you when this is over, and we’ll say no more about it.’

  I grunted a laugh, though I wasn’t entirely sure that Benny was joking. Clover and I had been on a train back to London when his text had come in earlier that day. I had been heading back from the buffet car with a bag of sandwiches and drinks when I had felt the phone vibrate in my pocket. The message from Benny had been short and sweet:

  Call me. Don’t tell Monroe.

  I had considered ringing him back there and then, but the automatic door into our carriage had already hummed open and Clover had spotted me. When I got back to the seat she said, ‘Have you had a message? I saw you checking your phone.’

  Hoping my guilt wasn’t written all over my face, I shook my head. ‘It wasn’t email man. Just work.’

  Now, sitting on one of the twin beds in yet another London hotel, listening to the thrumming of water from behind the door of the en suite bathroom, I said, ‘What did you want me for, Benny?’

  ‘I might have some information for you. About your daughter.’

  My heart quickened. ‘Where is she? Is she safe?’

  ‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. It might be nothing, but I’ve been given a lead.’

  ‘What lead?’ I said impatiently. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I’ve been given the name of a bloke who might know something. It’s tenuous, but I thought it was worth checking out. Can you meet me?’

  ‘When? Where?’

  ‘In an hour. A pub called The Cross Keys in Walthamstow. It’s on Glenwood Road.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ I said.

  ‘Can you come alone?’

  Instantly I was suspicious. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I don’t know if this is a set-up. And if it is I don’t want Monroe involved.’

  Was he telling the truth? I had no way of knowing. I might be stepping into the lions’ den, but was that any worse than sitting around here, waiting for something to happen? If I was going to find Kate, then I had to stick my neck out and snap up every crumb that was tossed my way.

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘But why are you doing this, Benny? Why are you putting yourself at risk?’

  It was only when I stopped talking that I realised he was no longer there. Had he been cut off? Or did he simply feel he had told me all I needed to know and there was no point in prolonging the conversation? I thought about ringing him back, but time was of the essence. The shower was still running in the bathroom, but Clover wouldn’t be in there for ever. I swung my legs off the bed, crossed to the desk and scribbled her a note on hotel stationery. I felt bad for running out on her, but I hoped she’d realise it was for the right reasons. Crossing to the door, I opened it and then eased it shut behind me. I hurried to the stairs, expecting at any moment the door of our room to open and Clover to appear with wet hair and a towel wrapped around her, demanding to know where I was going.

  The hotel was in Paddington, close to the station. It was a bit of a hike up to Walthamstow, and despite what I’d told Benny, I knew it would be a push to be there within the hour. Stepping out of the hotel into the chill of the early evening, I marched briskly along Praed Street, my hands stuffed in my jacket pockets, my shoulders hunched. I would have jogged if it wouldn’t have drawn attention to myself, and if the pavements hadn’t been so crowded. This was the first
time I’d been out on my own since fleeing the scene of McCallum’s murder, and despite the comfort of having the heart in my possession I felt paranoid and vulnerable, my head darting back and forth in an attempt to look in every direction at once, my eyes scrutinising the faces of everyone who came near me. So far the ‘Wolves’ that we had encountered (if that was what they were) had been bizarre beyond belief, but that didn’t mean they were all just as grotesque. Wasn’t it possible that some were human, or at least could pass themselves off as human, and so blend with the crowds? In which case the threat could come from anywhere, and my best option was to keep moving and be constantly on my guard. When I reached the station, I darted towards the escalators leading to the Underground, like a rabbit seeking the sanctuary of its burrow.

  Not that there was any sanctuary to be found here. It was rush hour and the platform was packed, bodies crammed against one another. I squeezed my way to the far end, where the crowd was marginally thinner, and stood with my back against a metal stanchion, eyeing with suspicion anyone I felt was edging too close to me. When a Circle Line train sighed to a halt, I waited for my fellow passengers to board before darting towards the end door of the nearest carriage. I squeezed myself into the mass of humanity, dipping my head as the curved door closed behind me. The carriage smelled of sweat and stale perfume and damp cloth. The wall of bodies in front of me heaved and jostled as the train lurched into motion, an Asian man in a grey suit stumbling against me and inadvertently crushing the heart against my ribcage with bone-bruising impact. I grunted in pain, causing him to mutter an apology, but secretly I felt comforted by its unyielding presence.

  As the train sped towards King’s Cross, an illuminated snake slipping through subterranean darkness, I thought about the discussion that Clover and I had had that afternoon. She had been dubious about Lyn’s claim that the heart, yielded by the dark man, had been responsible for taking her mind.

  ‘Sorry, Alex, but she’s deluded,’ she had said. ‘You said yourself that this “dark man” is the embodiment of her psychosis. So isn’t it natural that after dreaming you can save her, she views the heart as the symbol of the dark man’s power, which she’s convinced herself you stole from him?’

  In truth, I had been thinking along the same lines, but Clover’s scepticism allowed me to voice a few of the doubts at the back of my mind, or more specifically to put forward the possibility that maybe Lyn’s ramblings were not so far from the truth.

  ‘I know what you’re saying, but what if this whole thing is a lot deeper and more complex than we thought? Like I’ve said before, there must be a reason why I was chosen to steal the heart. Whoever’s behind this went to a lot of trouble to get me involved.’

  I could see she was readying herself to speak, so I held up a hand. ‘Just hear me out. We know about the Sherwoods, and the fact that they’d been living across the hall from me for a year. So if our enemies can think that far in advance, why not further? Is it so inconceivable that breaking up me and Lyn was part of some great plan, and that they somehow used the heart to fuck up her mind?’

  ‘It’s not inconceivable,’ Clover said, ‘but it doesn’t really make sense. If the Wolves or whoever had the heart five years ago, why didn’t they hold on to it? Why was it in McCallum’s possession and why did they need you to steal it?’

  ‘Well… I don’t know,’ I said, exasperated. ‘But you were there at the club and at Benny’s house – you know what we’re up against, and what the heart can do. Given what we’ve seen so far, none of this seems to make sense – but obviously it must do to somebody. The reason we can’t see the big picture is because we’re not privy to all the facts yet. But once we find out more, maybe it’ll become clear.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Clover sighed. ‘But I still can’t understand why you were chosen, Alex. Don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you so special?’

  It was a question I’d been asking myself ad nauseam. Shrugging I said, ‘Buggered if I know. I’m just a normal bloke from north London. My dad was a roofer and my mum worked at the Co-op. They bickered all the time and we were always short of money. My dad died of cancer in 2001 when he was fifty-two. Since then my mum’s been trying to get compensation from the council, claiming it was due to asbestos poisoning. I had a normal upbringing, ran a bit wild when I was a kid just because all my mates did, and ended up in prison because I was greedy and wasn’t strong enough to say no. Then I came to my senses and achieved the giddy heights you find me at today.’ I smiled grimly. ‘There’s nothing I can think of that might have led to all this. There’s nobody I’ve known, nothing I did or said, that might have marked me out for special treatment. I don’t know, maybe I’m just unlucky. Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  She looked at me long and thoughtfully. ‘Do you honestly think you might have been targeted for this… this whatever it is years ago?’

  ‘I don’t know. And to be honest I don’t care. If I can get Kate back, and a guarantee that we’ll be left alone to get on with our lives, then I wouldn’t care if I never got any answers.’

  As I changed at King’s Cross, jumping on a Victoria Line train bound for Walthamstow Central, I wondered if that was true. Perhaps it was simply the heart exerting some kind of mental juju over me, but I couldn’t help thinking that its fate and my own were now inextricably linked. What really bothered me was the prospect of having to give the heart up. If it came to a straight swap, Kate for the heart, then I would do it, no question – but that didn’t change the fact that somehow, over the past few days, the heart had become my drug, my heroin. My dependence on it terrified me, but it gave me succour too.

  As the tube slowed at Blackhorse Road, the last stop before Walthamstow, I pulled out the London A–Z which Clover had given me the night McCallum had died, and plotted my route from the station to Glenwood Road, trying to commit it to memory. It was only a five-minute walk, but once I was off the train I wanted to keep moving. To have to stop for any length of time would make me feel like a target. It was just coming up to an hour since Benny had called, which meant I was going to be about ten minutes late for our meeting, but he would just have to lump it. I wondered what Clover was doing now, how furious she was with me, how betrayed she felt. She’d probably been trying to call me, had probably texted me or left a voicemail message, but I had switched my phone off. I was wound up enough as it was, and needed neither the hassle nor the guilt trip.

  By the time I left the station, dusk had deepened into night and the shabby kebab shops, Indian restaurants and mini-marts lining Hoe Street were leaking light the colour of old teeth. I hurried along the pavement for a couple of hundred metres, keeping my head down, and then cut along a side road leading in the direction of Queens Road Cemetery, a sprawling, overgrown eleven-acre plot bordered by residential streets. Before reaching the cemetery I took a left down Glenwood Road, keeping my eyes peeled for the pub, The Cross Keys, which Benny had mentioned. After fifteen seconds or so I spotted it, a nut-brown, unobtrusive little building tucked between an Italian restaurant and a hair salon that specialised in ‘Afro Stylings’ and ‘Real Human Hair Extensions’. The windows of the pub were tinted, the reddish glow which seeped from them reminding me of rheumy, bloodshot eyes. As I crossed the street I looked around for anything or anyone that might be construed as a threat, and then ducked into the pub’s interior.

  The bar was small and less than busy, and despite the dim lighting I spotted Benny immediately. He was sitting at a table beside a silent juke box, his face grim and his mobile pressed to his ear. He might have been calling me to find out where I was because the instant I entered the room he snapped the phone shut and put it in his pocket. As I approached I expected him to ask where I’d been, or tell me in no uncertain terms that he didn’t like to be kept waiting. But instead he took a quick drink from a glass of what looked like fizzy water on the table in front of him and stood up.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  I was taken ab
ack. ‘Go where? I’ve only just got here.’

  ‘There’s someone we have to meet, and we’re late already.’

  ‘Why can’t we meet him here?’

  ‘He gets nervous in public places.’

  I stood motionless as he strode past me and then I followed him outside. Walking back the way I had come I noticed that he had regained his old poise and confidence. Benny didn’t exactly swagger – he was neither crude enough nor obvious enough for that – but he still managed to give the impression that he owned the place and that you would cross him at your peril. Although I was taller than he was I had to hurry to keep up. At the end of Glenwood Road I asked, ‘Where’s the car?’

  ‘We don’t need the car where we’re going.’

  Reaching the junction I expected him to turn right, but instead he turned left, which gave me a sudden inkling of where we might be headed.

  ‘Are we going to the cemetery?’

  ‘Why? You scared of ghosts?’

  ‘Course not,’ I replied. ‘It’s just… well, if the Wolves of London are after me, isn’t it better to stick to bright lights and lots of people?’

  ‘If the Wolves of London are after you, they’ll get you wherever you are. Do you want your daughter back or not?’

  ‘Course I do.’

  ‘You’ll have to trust me then, won’t you? You’re not the only fucker running scared, you know.’

  The streets were deserted, the multi-hued glow of lights from behind the curtained windows of the houses we passed giving the impression that the residents of Walthamstow had battened down the hatches, sealing themselves in for the night. Obscured by ribbons of cloud, the stars overhead were non-existent, the moon reduced to a silver smear. A chilly breeze caused litter to twitch fitfully in the gutters, and a nearby hedge rocked gently as though trying to dislodge the crumpled beer cans that had been pushed into it. In the distance a dog was barking, the sound flat and repetitive.