by John Connor
He went up at about nine, as she had instructed, with a bottle of champagne, a single fluted glass, and a couple of cans of beer, not sure what was expected of him but definitely nervous. She was on the bed in a pair of ragged jeans and a T-shirt, the book in her hands, leaning back against the headboard. ‘I thought you were never coming,’ she said, sliding off the bed. She had already showered, it seemed, and her hair was almost dry, hanging in thick, tangled red locks. He wanted to put his hands into it, but – incredibly – still didn’t think that was something sexual.
‘You said nine,’ he said. He knew it was exactly nine without looking because he had waited on the landing below for it to be exactly nine.
‘You brought champagne?’ She stood in front of him, ducking slightly because the roof of the room sloped at an angle above her bed. ‘But only one glass? Are you mad? I’m not drinking alone. You’ll have to go and get yourself a glass.’
‘I brought beer. I thought I would drive you …’
‘We’ll catch a cab. Beer is for real men. You’re my girlfriend, remember?’ She winked at him and he suspected she might have been drinking already, though there was nothing to suggest that other than her changed manner. He was confused but did what she said, went back downstairs and got another glass. He was halfway back up when he heard the champagne cork pop and the music start. This time a song he knew well, Flip and Fill’s ‘Shooting Star’, with Karen Parry vocals, a dance hit that had been big the winter before, even over in the States.
He had sat on the bed. There was only one chair in the room, at a table in the dormer window on which sat an open laptop – the source of the music, he was to discover, which was being played from a program he had then only heard of – iTunes – and fed through an amp and speakers. These had been a gift from Viktor and might have given away a lot about what was going on had he known anything about the price of such things, because while Viktor happily spent money on his women, he didn’t usually spend that much. It would have been a surprise to him back then to learn that you even could spend that kind of money on a music system.
The speakers were mounted on the wall, the amp set on top of a set of bookshelves filled with paperback books – he looked through the titles, but had read none of them. He had expected there might be pictures on the walls, posters, even, things from her past – but there was nothing. The room itself was a bit shabby, the paint old, discoloured and flaking off around the window frame. The window had been open, the night warm.
The single chair was unavailable because she sat on it, facing him, and explained what was going to happen as she poured him a glass of the champagne. What was going to happen was that she was going to get ready and he was going to advise her as to what to wear, what to do with her hair, what jewellery to put on, what shoes, et cetera – and while doing all that they were going to chill, listen to music and drink, get to know each other a little. At around eleven they would catch a cab into town and he would pretend to be a friend of hers, and gay – so as not to put off any men she might be interested in.
And so it had happened, almost. He sat in the bedroom, on the bed she slept in, he thought, and she disappeared into the other room and put clothes on, came out, showed him. She stood in the centre of the room, no more than a metre in front of him, turned, held her hands up, showed him what she had chosen, her eyes always on his, a teasing half-smile on her lips, knowing exactly what she was doing. He sat rapt, bewildered by her attentions, puzzled by her intentions, sipping the drink very carefully, trying not to stare too obviously at those freckles, trying instead to think of something to say about a long series of dresses, skirts and tops, as he slowly revised his view about her relationship with his brother.
All of them were designer labels, she told him, all of them the height of what was presently fashionable. Most of them were outrageously revealing, either very see-through, or slipped off her shoulders, or split up to her waist. And all the time there was a heady mix of scents in the air, not just the perfume she sprayed quickly on her wrists and neck, but also the soaps and shampoo from the shower. Every woman’s room he had ever been in had smelled like this – clean, scented, intoxicatingly alien – but it hadn’t meant what it did now.
The first chance he had he picked up the perfume bottle she had used and sniffed carefully at the top. She came out as he was doing it. She was wearing a very light, silver, ankle-length dress that was so thin he could clearly see her breasts and nipples. He got his eyes quickly off them as she said the name of the perfume. ‘But in the bottle it doesn’t smell like it does on my skin,’ she said. She held a wrist under his nose. ‘See?’
Red with embarrassment he quickly took a sniff, caught the warmth from her body mingled with the perfume.
‘What do you think?’ she asked. She turned in the dress and he heard it moving against her skin.
‘You have a lot of dresses,’ he said, awkwardly. ‘They’re all beautiful. I like them all.’
‘You don’t think I look like a slut in this thing?’ She frowned at him. ‘Be honest, please.’ She took a drink from her glass and stayed there, daring him to look.
He shrugged, very uncomfortable. ‘I thought you said they were all designer clothes?’
‘And rich people can’t look like sluts?’
He didn’t know what to say. He had nothing against sluts, after all – one or two of the most attractive women he had been with had been prostitutes, or ‘friends’ of Viktor, which until this moment had more or less amounted to the same thing. ‘They can, obviously,’ he offered. ‘But that kind of woman can look great too. I think you look incredible in everything you have put on.’
‘I hate them all.’ She moved her hair out of her eyes. ‘I fucking hate them.’ The frown was very intense. ‘They were gifts,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘You must have guessed that.’
He had. He didn’t know what to say.
‘You don’t have to like them,’ she said. ‘I didn’t choose any of the things you’ve seen so far.’
‘So show me something you chose.’
She went back into the other room like she was offended, closed the door. He was to find out later that it was in fact her bedroom – with a large double bed and a little more space – the bed he sat on was only used as a couch or guest bed.
The music stopped and she shouted through for him to change the playlist. He didn’t know how to do that but turned the chair round and sat in front of the laptop. He expected to see a list of songs, but instead saw at once that what was on top was her email program. What he was looking at was a list of messages. They were all from the same person though – he read the name before he could get the mouse up and close it down – it was impossible for him not to see the name, though he wasn’t trying to do that at all. The list he could see was about forty mails, all sent over a two-day period, all from Viktor.
She stepped back into the room and he looked round guiltily, feeling like he’d been caught snooping. She was wearing the same jeans and T-shirt she’d had on when he’d first got there. ‘You look best like that,’ he said, too quickly.
She smiled. ‘These are my clothes. This is me.’ But she had seen what he was looking at. She stepped over and focused on the screen. ‘You saw that?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Sorry. It was on top.’
‘They’re mails from your brother.’
‘I saw that too. Sorry.’
‘I get about twenty a day, at least. It’s been like that for the whole time he’s been away.’ She leaned forward and used the mouse, scrolling down through the list, showing him. Everything there was from Viktor.
‘The dresses are from him too.’
He nodded. ‘I realised that.’
‘The mails are all love letters. Or at least he thinks they are. He thinks he loves me, but he doesn’t really know how to write a love letter.’
He looked up at her. ‘He tell
s you he loves you?’ He felt an awful weight in his stomach. He had badly miscalculated Viktor’s position.
She nodded. ‘That’s why he wants you to watch me. To make sure I don’t meet anyone else. He told me that if he catches me with anyone else he’ll kill me.’
27
The sky was bruised black and grey, the ground colours dreary shades of the same, the trees brown bare lines poking broken fingers at a washed-out suffusion of light lost behind the cloudbank. Carl sat in the wicker window seat and watched a slow, desultory rain streaming across the panes. This was why he had left Finland, he thought, or one of the reasons: there was a short and glorious summer, usually no more than a month of good weather; a winter consisting of four months of unremitting darkness and cold; then this – greyness, everything grey and chill. The light had a fuzzy, diluted quality, like they were living under the sea. It wasn’t surprising the suicide rate was so high.
He turned from it and looked at Rebecca, standing at the next window along, leaning an elbow on the long, wooden, curved sill, smiling at him. He smiled back. She looked like she wanted to jump up and down with excitement. ‘That’s great,’ he said. She had just told him that Viktor had informed her that her mother had been found safe and measures were in place to get her here.
‘I can’t wait,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to see her. I tried calling her but her phone’s still not working. Your brother says she’s probably already on a plane.’ The face creased up again in a grin which for a moment eclipsed the grey view across the water behind her, the lowering day. He let his eyes stay on the freckles across the bridge of her nose, then put a hand out and touched the top of her head. ‘I’m very glad,’ he said. ‘It will all work out. I told you it would.’ She bent her head slightly and laughed, said something like ‘thank you’. He saw the clean parting of blonde hair running away from her scalp and for the first time realised that the hair must have been dyed, not originally blonde. He could see the roots, about a centimetre of her natural colour. He turned in the chair. ‘You have red hair? I didn’t notice before.’
She nodded. ‘You mean ginger. I hate it. It’s dyed. I need to redo it.’
He stared at her, stared at the freckles and the hair, tried to see her with hair completely red, but couldn’t.
‘I like this house,’ she said. ‘It’s massive. My mum will like it too.’
I hate it, he thought, but said nothing. Ten years ago, when he had finally returned from the States to Europe, around Christmas of the same year he had first met Liz in Viktor’s London home, it had been in this house that they had met again. There had been, by agreement, no contact at all between them in the four months he was away, but that hadn’t been any use. It had all just started again the moment they saw each other, behind his brother’s back, under his nose, in this house. And when she had left without warning, that too had been from here. He could remember all too well the miserable, tense time that had followed. Viktor had set people looking for her – though it had quickly become apparent that she had left of her own accord – and they had waited here for news. Just the two of them. It had been a weird period, Carl’s relationship with Liz a desperate secret. His brother’s reactions to her departure had been public and extreme. He had been sobbing and crying about it, telling Carl that he had planned to live here with her, have children with her, that this was ‘their’ place, the place they had agreed would be their family home. It was the only time he had ever seen Viktor like that. It had been like watching someone he didn’t recognise.
‘I’m sorry I woke you,’ Rebecca said, ‘but I just had to tell you.’
He nodded. ‘It’s great news. And I wasn’t asleep.’
They were in the wooden tower at the western end of the house, on the top floor in a circular room with 360-degree windows and views across the inlet and the forest. Once he had slept with Liz in here, whilst Viktor was out on a boat. The whole house was full of snapshots like that, bristling with electric richness, laced with guilt. There – behind him – was the actual pine lounger they had used, the same one. The cushions and blankets would be different. The table, the new fireplace, the bookcase with a selection of reading material someone on Viktor’s staff had doubtless been paid to pick – none of that he recalled.
He had been sprawled on the lounger for most of the morning, in a fresh set of clothes which were now as crumpled and creased as those he had taken off. He looked at his mobile again. It was just before two in the afternoon. He had slept for nearly four hours, without disturbance, without dreams that he could recall. That would have to do.
‘I’m glad this is almost over,’ he said. ‘You’ve done well.’ He grinned at her and held a hand out in the air for her to high-five. She slapped it then grabbed his palm and held on, smiling at him. He nodded, half to her, half to himself, acknowledging the feelings. A short time ago she had meant nothing to him, but something had changed that. They had been through things together. They had a history. ‘I was in the army,’ he said. ‘Did I tell you that?’
‘You told me.’ She was still smiling, still holding his hand, looking right into his eyes.
‘Me and you – we have a bond now,’ he said. ‘A bond that doesn’t go away.’ He pointed at her heart, then at his. ‘I only ever got that feeling before when I was in the army, with people in my team. It’s unique. It only happens when you’ve been through that kind of thing – the stuff we’ve just survived. What you’ve seen now has been terrible. Like combat. No different.’ He tapped his temple, held eye contact with her. ‘It’s in your head now. When it pops up in future – as it will, all these scary images – you can choose what you think about it. You can choose to remember what it gave us, this positive thing. It gave us this permanent bond.’ He put his free hand on his chest, over his heart. ‘We went through it and we survived. We know each other.’ He laughed awkwardly. She laughed back. Her face was more serious now – she was listening – but she was still holding his hand. ‘It’s hard to explain …’ he said. ‘I’m not too good at this.’
‘No. I get it,’ she said. She smiled again, then winked at him.
He let go of her hand. ‘Good.’ He took a deep breath, then stood up. ‘I might have to go out later,’ he said. ‘I have to talk to Viktor now to find out.’ Viktor had been ‘communicating’ with Zaikov. Things weren’t working out quite as smoothly as anticipated.
She frowned. ‘When will you be back?’
‘I don’t know. As soon as possible.’
The smiles were gone. She was frowning.
‘Until then,’ he said. ‘Until I get back, or until he gets your mother over here – you’re with Viktor. OK?’
He found Viktor in one of the lounge rooms downstairs, finishing a mobile call, the earpiece in, pacing around the room, in another suit now, the jacket thrown across a chair. He ended the call as Carl came in.
‘You found the mother,’ Carl said, but immediately Viktor pulled a face, looked behind Carl to see if Rebecca was following.
‘She’s in the round room, in the tower,’ Carl said. ‘Did you find her mother?’
Viktor shook his head. ‘I just told her that,’ he said. ‘Sorry. She seemed really worried. I couldn’t get anything done because she kept asking me about her mother. You were asleep and the fucking staff still haven’t got here. I had to play kids’ games with her, or try to.’ He shrugged. ‘So I told her we found her mother. It worked. She cheered up, left me alone.’
‘She’s really excited.’
‘What else could I do?’
‘You shouldn’t lie to her.’
‘Like you haven’t?’
Carl frowned, but let it go. ‘Have you spoken to Zaikov?’
‘Yes. He wants to see you.’
Carl sighed, sat down on one of the chairs. ‘What for?’
‘It’s the right way to do things. A question of pride and honour.’
&n
bsp; ‘Fucking bullshit.’
‘I agree. But that’s the way he thinks – he’s old, it’s the world he’s come from. Will you do it?’
‘What’s the point?’
‘To show respect. To apologise. Because you took four hundred thousand euros of his money and fucked up.’
Carl looked up at him. ‘Because I didn’t kill an innocent kid?’
Viktor sat down opposite him, shrugged. ‘I’m not judging you. I would have done the same. But these are the consequences. He comes from a long-disappeared age when there was nothing but promises between crooks. No law, no state. I’m talking about the nineties, when the Soviet state collapsed.’ He smiled wryly. ‘So he thinks that way, maybe? Or maybe he just wants to sound you out? I have no idea, really. But I thought it was a small concession to make, something we can easily do. So I’ve arranged a meet at three. Will you do it?’
‘I say sorry? That’s it?’
‘Go and meet him, show respect, say sorry. Like in a movie. Imagine he’s Sicilian….’ He laughed, but Carl didn’t find it funny.
‘Do you come with me?’
Viktor shook his head. ‘I have other things to deal with. I’ve spoken to him, set it up. Your safety is guaranteed. You’re my brother.’
‘Do I take anyone with me?’
‘You seem worried, but there’s no need. This is being done on trust, as a favour to me. You can go in alone, as my brother – that’s all the protection you’ll need.’
