by Nicci French
'Not really,' said Nick.
I could see that Nick's attention was wandering, that he was becoming impatient, but I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want to stop myself. In a way I wanted to test him. If you like someone – or love them – you don't mind them being obsessed with something. You don't even mind them being boring. Perhaps I wanted to see how tolerant he could be towards me.
'Brendan is playing with me. He put that piece of paper there deliberately so that I knew that it had been put back. But also so that I knew that he had put it back so that I would know that he had not tried to conceal that he had been in my room.' I took another sip of wine. 'He was sending me a message. He was saying: "You were suspecting that I was looking in your room; I know that you were suspecting me; I want to show you that I know; I also want to show you that I don't care that you know; also, I have been in your room and you don't know what I've actually been up to." That's another thing. I left seventy-five pounds hidden in a book. It's my secret stash.'
'Can't you just go to the bank machine like other people?' Nick asked.
'That's no good,' I said. 'Sometimes the bank machines run out of money. You should always have some cash hidden somewhere. Now, any normal thief would have taken all the money. But Brendan just took fifteen pounds. He was teasing me. He's trying to get into my head.'
'Into your head?'
'And now here I am. He's living in my fucking flat and I'm sitting here pissed in this bar.'
There was quite a long silence now. I felt like a comedian who was doing his act and nobody was laughing. There was just silence out there in the audience.
'I can't do this,' Nick said, finally.
'What do you mean?' I said, except I knew.
'Do you mind if I'm honest?'
'No,' I said, knowing that when someone said they were going to be honest they never meant they were going to be extra specially nice.
'Do you know what I think?'
'No, I don't.'
'I don't think,' said Nick. 'I know. You're still in love with Brendan.'
'What?' I said. This I really hadn't expected.
'You're obsessed with him. He's all you talk about.'
'Of course I'm obsessed with him,' I said. 'He's like a worm that's infesting me. He's tormenting me.'
'Exactly. It was lovely, Miranda.'
'Was,' I said dully.
Now, finally, he took a sip of wine.
I'm sorry,' he said.
I wanted to shout at him. I wanted to hit him. And then suddenly I didn't. I fumbled in my purse and found a twenty-pound note and put it by my empty glass. I leaned over, a bit unsteadily, and kissed him.
'Bye-bye, Nick,' I said. 'It was really the wrong time.'
I walked out of the bar. Another of these sudden exits. I was meant to be staying the night with Nick. That was what I had promised Laura. Another broken promise.
CHAPTER 17
The next day, I lay for a while on Laura's sofa before making myself get up and face the morning. Outside, it was windy and still half-dark. I was cold, I was tired, my hair needed washing. My tongue felt too thick in my mouth. I hadn't run for days now and my limbs felt stiff with disuse. I shut my eyes and listened to the companionable murmurs coming from Laura's bedroom and felt as if I were on a slope, and sliding down it, unable to stop myself. Anything I grabbed hold of came away in my hands. I thought about the day ahead. I had to go to the bloody house in Hampstead again and paint a red wall green. In my lunch hour I had to collect Kerry from her work and look at yet another overpriced flat. And I'd come back here as late as possible, so Laura and Tony didn't start getting irritated by my presence. I sighed and with an immense effort threw off the duvet.
I got to Journey's End, the travel agent's where Kerry worked, a bit early and shouldered the door open, grateful to be out of the blustery weather. Kerry's boss, Malcolm, was at the nearest desk, trying to persuade an overweight man in a loud suit that it was safe to travel to Egypt, and a couple of other customers milled around by the brochure stand, looking at pictures of sun and sea and laughing young people with white teeth and blond hair. Kerry was at the far end of the room talking to another man in a long overcoat, and although he had his back turned to me I saw it was Brendan and stopped in my tracks, a few feet from them.
'I'm overdrawn already,' Kerry was saying, pleadingly.
'Forty quid should see me through.'
'But…'
'Kerry.' His voice was soft and heavy. It made me shudder just to hear it. 'Do you begrudge me? After everything I've done.'
'You know it's not that, Bren.' And she started fishing around in her purse for money.
'No? I'm surprised, Kerry. Disappointed.'
'Don't say that. Here. This is all I've got.'
'How can I, now?'
'Please, Bren. Take it.' Kerry held out a handful of notes and at the same time looked up and saw I was there. Her cheeks flushed and she looked away, back at Brendan.
'I must say, you look a bit washed out today,' he said as he took the money and stuffed it into his pocket. 'Mmm?'
I saw Kerry flinch as if he'd slapped her. She put a hand half across her face, wanting to hide.
'You look lovely in that coat,' I said.
Forty-five minutes later, and Kerry and I were drinking coffee in a shabby little cafe in Finsbury Park.
'Do I?' She fiddled with the collar self-consciously. 'You don't think it makes me look pasty?'
'It's November. We're all a bit pale. You look great.' I spoke cheerily, as if she were a convalescent in a hospital ward.
'Thanks,' she said with a humility that made me want to shake her.
'Anyway, you'll soon be on your honeymoon, soaking up the sun – where is it? Fiji?'
'Yes.' She made herself smile with an effort.
'Fabulous.'
There was a pause and I picked up my empty coffee cup and pretended to drink the dregs.
'Has Brendan decided what he's going to do?'
'You mean, what kind of job?'
'Yes.'
'He says he's going to put Troy right first.'
'That sounds like a really, really bad idea to me.'
'I don't know, really.' She sounded listless.
'Even Troy wants to be left to himself more,' I said. 'That's why he's moved out.
'I know.' She bit her lip nervously. 'I told Brendan that, more or less.'
'Are you two all right?'
'Of course,' she said curtly. 'Why shouldn't we be?'
'Anyway, he should start thinking of you two; that's where his first priorities lie. What's he done before?'
'Well,' said Kerry. 'Lots of things, really.' She chewed the corner of a nail. 'He studied psychology for a bit, and then he did some kind of job connected with that which didn't work out. He's too much of a maverick. And he was involved in various business ventures; you know. He takes risks with things. And he travelled of course.'
'Of course,' I said. 'I see.'
I tried to remember things he had said. And out of memory's darkness came a name, spoken over a barbecue in my parents' garden. I held on to it: Vermont. That was it. Harry Vermont and the dotcom company. When Kerry had left, I picked up my mobile and dialled directory enquiries.
At half past eight the next morning I was sitting in a large, warm office with huge windows that would have overlooked the Thames if they had been on the other side of the building. Instead, the view was of a council estate with doors and windows boarded up. If 'boarded up' is the right term for those huge sheets of metal. Harry Vermont offered me coffee, but we were both in a hurry – and anyway, when it came down to it, it didn't take very long. I told him that I knew Brendan Block.
'Oh, yeah?'
'You and Brendan set up a dotcom business, didn't you?'
'What?'
'I wanted to find out about the work you did together.'
He took a cigarette from a packet on his desk and lit it. He took a drag from it.
'The work
we did together?' he said sarcastically.
'Is there a problem?' I said. 'Can you talk about it?'
'Yeah,' he said. 'I can talk about it.'
'Did you lose much money when your dotcom business collapsed?' I asked brightly, then popped a piece of crumbly Stilton into my mouth. It was Bill's birthday and we were all round at his house for lunch. Outside, it was misty and cold, but inside it was beautifully warm, and a large fire burned in the hearth. Judy and Bill are good cooks, much better than my parents, and they'd produced a vast game pie, lots of red wine, and now cheese and biscuits. Kerry was at the other end of the table, trying to persuade Sasha to be her bridesmaid, and Sasha, who's twelve but looks twenty-one and only wears hugely flared jeans and hooded tops, was saying that she wasn't going to wear a peach satin dress for anyone. But Dad and Bill were listening to me, and Troy was sitting opposite Brendan. I couldn't tell if he were listening or not because he was in one of his unreadable moods.
'Too much,' said Brendan and laughed ruefully, a man of the world.
'What about the others?' I said. I drained my glass and plonked it back on the table. I raised my voice so that Kerry and Judy looked across at us. 'Did everyone lose money? Like that Harry person you told us about once, what was his name?'
Brendan looked momentarily confused.
' Vermont, that was it, wasn't it?' I said.
'How on earth did you remember that?' My mother laughed, pleased with me. I was taking an interest, being polite.
'Mitch and Sasha – clear the plates away,' said Judy. They rose grudgingly.
'Because I remember thinking Vermont like New England,' I said.
Bill refilled my glass and I took a large mouthful and swallowed. Mitch took away my cheese plate, and dropped the buttery knife in my lap.
'Poor old Harry,' said Brendan. 'He was wiped out.'
'What does he do now? Do you keep in touch with him?'
'You can't drop friends just because they go through bad times,' he said sententiously.
'I talked to him,' I said.
'What?'
'He said he met you, briefly, but you never actually worked together and he's never done anything in the packaging business. Anyway, you didn't get the job.'
I took a large gulp of wine.
'Coffee?' asked Bill.
'Lovely, Bill,' said my mother. There was an edge of panic in her voice.
'Well?' I asked Brendan.
'You went and talked to Harry Vermont?' Brendan spoke softly. 'Why, Miranda? Why didn't you talk to me about it?'
Everyone was looking at me. I gripped the edge of the table.
'You never worked together,' I said. 'You never lost money. You hardly knew him.'
'Why would you do something like that?' He shook his head from side to side in wonderment, taking in the whole watching room. 'Why?'
'Because you weren't telling the truth,' I said. A sick feeling rose up in me. My forehead felt clammy.
'If you'd asked me, I would have told you, Miranda,' he said.
'Harry Vermont said…'
'Harry Vermont let down everyone he worked with,' said Brendan. He sat back a bit, addressing all of us now; his tone was one of sorrowful resignation. 'He wanted the glory but not the responsibility. But I forgave him. He was my friend.'
'He said…'
'Miranda,' hissed my mother, as if everyone couldn't hear every word. 'That's quite enough now.'
'I wanted to find out…'
'Enough, I say.' She slapped her hand on the table's surface so hard that cutlery rattled. 'Stop it. Let's have coffee.'
Judy glared at Bill and nodded at him. They both stood up and went out. In the kitchen, someone dropped a glass.
I thought about standing up and making a run for it, but I was wedged between the table and the wall, and Troy would have to have stood up to let me out. So instead I said: 'You were deceiving us.' I turned to the table. 'He was deceiving us,' I repeated desperately.
Brendan shook his head.
'Maybe I didn't tell you the whole ugly story because he was my friend and I felt sorry for him. I was protecting him, I guess. But I wasn't deceiving you. No, Miranda.' He paused and smiled at me. 'You do that, though, don't you?'
Outside in the hallway, I could hear the grandfather clock ticking. Through the French windows, I saw the bare branches of their copper beech tree were waving in the wind.
'Like the way you deceived Kerry.'
'Let's stop this,' said Troy. 'I don't like it. Please stop.'
'What?' Kerry's voice came at the same time, sharp with fear. 'What do you mean?'
'I'm sure Kerry forgave you, though. Because that's what she's like, very forgiving. Mmm?'
'What are you talking about? Tell me.' I saw Kerry's face across from me.
'You were only seventeen, after all.'
'Brendan, I'm sorry if I…'
'And how old were you, Kerry? Nineteen, I guess.'
'When I what?'
'You know, when Miranda went off with your boyfriend. What was he called? Mike, wasn't it?'
The silence deepened around us.
Brendan put his hand over his mouth.
'You mean you didn't know? Miranda never said? I had no idea. I just thought – if she told me so early on in our relationship, and so casually – I just assumed you all knew too and it was one of those family things…' His voice trailed away.
I opened my mouth to say I'd never told him, he'd read it in a diary that was private. But I didn't because who cared how he knew. It was true.
'Kerry,' I said at last. 'Let's not do this here. Can we go somewhere and talk?'
She stared at me. 'I get it,' she said. 'Now you're trying to do it all over again.'
CHAPTER 18
I left the house, though Judy tried to hold me back at the door, and I got in my car and drove to the bottom of the road, where I pulled in at a bus stop. I felt cold to the bone, but sweaty at the same time, and my hands were trembling so badly that I could barely turn the ignition off. There was a nasty taste coating the inside of my mouth: game pie, blue cheese, red wine, dread. For a moment, I thought I would be sick. I sat for a while, just staring ahead but barely seeing the traffic that flowed past me as the day just started to turn dark, as if the colour were running out of everything, leaving the world grey.
A loud horn sounded behind me, and I glanced in the rear-view mirror to see a bus waiting. I started up the car and edged out into the road. But I didn't know where to go. For a while I drove as if heading home, but that was the last place in the world I could be right now. Anyway, it didn't feel like home any longer. I'd loved it, it had been my haven. Not now.
I could just go back to Laura's. But I wanted to be alone, desperately. So I just kept on going, not turning left or right, heading east out of London, past shops selling old fridges, mobile phones, catering equipment, BB guns, cheap videos, garden gnomes, floor tiles, wind chimes… The streets grew poorer; there was graffiti on the bridges overhead, dank little cafes, queasy-looking butchers still open with slabs of meat swaying in the window, and at a set of traffic lights a young man in combat gear banged on my window and mouthed orders at me to give him money. After I'd passed a flyover and several arterial crossroads, the surroundings grew more prosperous again, and houses thinned to detached properties with gardens in front and behind. Lights were beginning to go on. Street lamps glowed in the greying dusk. At last there were fields, large trees with scarcely any leaves left on them, a river running by.
I took a random left up a small road, then left again up a smaller lane, and stopped the car in the entrance to a field where cows were standing in the far corner. In an hour or so it would be dark, and when I opened the door I could feel the cold biting through my jacket. I wasn't dressed for outside, wasn't wearing the right shoes, but it didn't matter. I started to walk along the lane and welcomed the sting of the wind, the way my hair whipped against my face. For several minutes I just walked, fast so my calves ached. And then
I started to think and to let myself remember.
When Kerry was nineteen, she was pretty but she didn't think she was, so of course people rarely noticed her. At least, boys didn't. Michael wasn't her first boyfriend, but he was the first she really let herself fall in love with, and maybe he was the first she had sex with. She never said and I never asked, at first, because I was waiting for the right intimate moment, and later because there never would be that right moment. It was in the summer holidays, just before she went to university, and in the meantime she was working in the local cafe, washing dishes and serving customers chocolate fudge brownies and coconut flapjacks. He was about three years older than her, studying civil engineering at Hull, but home for the holidays, and he saw her a few times and then one day he leaned over the counter and asked her for a cup of tea and if she'd like to go out for a drink.
Maybe it was because he knew nothing about her, had no part of the world in which she was always on the sidelines, or maybe she was just ready to get carried away – anyway, she was very taken up with him. She seemed proud of herself as well because he was older than her, and not exactly handsome but extroverted and rather a charmer, and he made her feel more worldly and glamorous than she'd felt before. She visibly bloomed, in much the same way, I thought, pounding along the lane with the darkness falling, that she had bloomed with Brendan.
And then… I had spent too many years trying not to think about this, and I had to wrench my mind round to contemplating the forbidden memory. It didn't go on for that long between Kerry and Michael, and after a few days it seemed obvious that she was keener than he was. Or that's what I said then, and after. At first, he'd taken no notice of me. I was five, maybe six years his junior. I had homework and a meagre allowance. And I was a virgin. I don't think I flirted with him exactly, but I remember a look he gave me one day – a suddenly appraising look, right over the head of Kerry, and I remember even now how I was filled with a rush of triumph and violent self-loathing. All at once, I couldn't stop thinking about him, just because he'd looked at me like that, public-private. I glowed with secret, guilty pleasure.
