by David Belbin
He only hit you on the shoulder, barely left a bruise. Some girls wear bruises from their boyfriends as a mark of honour, but you don’t buy into that. There’s stuff in your past, shit you can’t remember properly, don’t want to remember. You didn’t deserve to be hit. You know that violence breeds violence. It’s in Macbeth. But you’re sorry you didn’t hit him back.
You ought to be strong. What’s to stop you dumping him? You shouldn’t be with a guy who’s decades older than you. It’s not natural. It ought to be possible to stop loving someone. Other girls do it all the time.
But he is your first, your only, and you love him completely. You can’t concentrate at school. You could do with one last tutorial with Nick, but don’t dare call him, not after what happened. Your lover wouldn’t admit anything, but you know he was behind it; you know he moves drugs. You’ve heard him talk numbers.
Why has he got it in for Nick? Does he think you’re screwing him? Is he that jealous? Or could it have something to do with drugs? Maybe Nick isn’t all he seems. You don’t want to think this, you trust him. You have to trust somebody.
On Friday, at the end of school, your lover texts you. Am i forgiven yet? cant live without you. see me tmw aft, please. It takes you all of two minutes to make up your mind, unmake it, then make it again, text back two letters. OK.
He doesn’t come on Saturday, though. Instead he texts, Sorry, messy stuff at home, pick you tmw, end of road 4ish xxx. You could say no, but you don’t. You’re there the next day, even though it’s raining. You have your best underwear on. You get in the front seat and he drives off before you have time to buckle up. Then he starts talking.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘What I did last week, I’m not that guy. I’ll never do it again, I promise.’
‘Fine,’ you say. ‘But if you hurt me again, I’ll hurt you back.’
‘And I’ll deserve it.’
You push your luck. ‘I don’t want you to hurt Nick either.’
He is silent.
‘I know what you did. I don’t need to know why.’
‘No, you don’t. But he can hurt me.’
‘Then fix it some other way. It’s not fair to get him sent back to prison. Are we cool on that?’
‘We’re cool.’ He sighs. ‘I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, work stuff. It should ease up in the next couple of months. After that, I’ll be in Nottingham more. We should think about getting you a place of your own, a place where I can visit you whenever I’m free. What do you say?’
‘I say yes.’
‘But I don’t want you taking other guys there, no matter who they are.’
He doesn’t mention Nick’s name. He doesn’t have to. You go for a short drive. He has the key to two flats, he says. You want to find out when he’s leaving his wife, moving in with you, but don’t dare ask.
The first flat is at the top end of Mapperley Park, not far from the hostel. It’s cold, but you fool around in the biggest bedroom anyway. The place has a ‘For Sale’ sign, you notice, so you risk the question.
‘Is this for you, or for me?’
‘Maybe it’s neither,’ he teases. ‘Maybe we’re here because I’m too cheap to fork out for a hotel room.’ He shakes his head. ‘This flat’s too modern. Reminds me of the eighties. Let’s move on.’
The next place is the top floor of an old house. It’s near the city centre and People’s College, where you plan to go in the autumn. The bedroom has an old gas fire, which you turn on. Soon, it’s cosy. You make love on the mattress. He takes care not to leave stains. After, you stand on the bed, look at the view from the skylight. In front of you, the arboretum. Beyond, the whole city stretches out.
‘I like it here,’ you say.
‘Pass your exams and it’s yours. This, or somewhere like it.’
You hug him. ‘Are there any more?’
‘There’s always more. But not today. I have to do stuff with my kids.’
‘I’d like to meet your kids.’
He doesn’t reply, so you turn to see his reaction. He is staring into space. You said the wrong thing. You will never meet his kids. He will never buy you this flat. The promises men make after sex are bullshit, all the girls say that. Why should this man be any different?
33
Nick stayed in Nancy’s maisonette for ten days before taking Dave Trapp’s advice. Nancy didn’t seem bothered when he told her that he was moving back into his flat. They were cramping each other’s style. She got up at seven every day to go to work. At home in his flat, jobless, he could lie in. At Nancy’s, he felt cranky and found it hard to get back to sleep once she was gone. Some time after four Nancy got home and started on about her day. Nick feigned interest, but she wasn’t fooled. Things were definitely better between them when they didn’t see each other Sunday through Wednesday.
This Monday, after his first night back in his own bed, he’d had a lie in. It was gone one and he’d only had a mug of tea and a slice of toast. Nick decided to treat himself to lunch out while he could still afford it. He walked down Derby Road, with its restaurants and antique shops, through Chapel Bar, where the city centre began. He bought the Post and took it to the Bell Inn, where he ordered a pint and a ham roll.
The front page headline of the Post was CASE AGAINST DRUG DEALER COLLAPSES.
The story spread over two inside pages, reviving all the gossip about the Power Project and its predecessor. It appeared that key witnesses had withdrawn their statements and the Crown Prosecution Service had decided not to proceed. Frank Davis had been released from prison that weekend, after serving nearly five months.
Nick wondered how this news would affect the Power Project. He looked again at the photo of Davis in the paper, tried to recall whether he’d had dealings with him six years ago, when he was growing dope. He didn’t think so. He’d kept his criminal contacts to a minimum. Back then, though, Davis was small fry.
Lunch over, he decided to go home. The walk from the pub took less than fifteen minutes and the flat was just as he’d left it. The post had come, a circular. He was waiting for the Power Project to send on his P45, which the benefits people would need to process his claim. The phone rang.
‘Nick, it’s Sarah.’ She sounded formal, like she wasn’t alone.
‘How are you?’ he asked, glad to hear her voice.
‘Swamped, as ever. And I’ve got a situation. Could you meet me at the Power Project office, say at about half three?’
‘Sure. But you do know I don’t work there any more?’
‘I know. Something’s happened. I’d rather tell you face to face.’
Sarah put down the phone. Nick would probably assume that she wanted to talk about Frank Davis’s release from prison. What an embarrassment that was. She found it hard to believe the latest fiasco. Corrupt police. Lost evidence. Flaky witnesses. Eric had phoned to tell her about it yesterday. He was the angriest she’d ever heard him. The situation was a disaster, he said. The biggest dealer the city’s drugs squad had ever caught had just got away with everything – and he, Eric, was ultimately responsible.
Sarah had tried to calm him down, tell him it wasn’t his fault. She needed to maintain a sense of perspective. As far as she was concerned, Davis was just another drug dealer.
Suraj, the board chair, had to go to another meeting. Sarah was left with Jed Goodward, the middle-aged vicar, who was deputy chair. Jed had round granny-glasses, giving him the air of a sixties hippy. Sarah had no time for religion, but felt it was useful to have a member of the clergy onside. People tended to trust them more than they did politicians. Chantelle brought in two coffees.
‘Nick Cane will be here in a few minutes,’ Sarah said. ‘Can you call me when he arrives, please?’
Chantelle gave Sarah an intrigued smile. ‘Can do.’
‘You look troubled,’ Jed told her.
‘I am.’
‘I thought Suraj’s arguments about Nick Cane made sense.’
‘They do,’ Sara
h said. ‘But they could cost me.’
‘If you wanted to be seen as a hardline, anti-drug figurehead, you would hardly have given him a reference in the first place.’
‘It’s just that I don’t want to be accused of personal bias.’ If she told Eric what they were planning to do, he would tell her she was being a fool.
‘Would I be right in saying that you and Nick Cane used to be lovers?’
Sarah started, and looked up sharply. The expression on Jed’s face was a kind one.
‘How did you work that out?’ she asked.
‘Give me some credit for understanding human nature. Kingston told me that you intervened for him once too often. He suspected the same thing, but was far too savvy to hint at it outside our private meetings.’
Sarah smiled. ‘Kingston didn’t do a bad job here, given the impossible brief that he was handed.’
The clergyman smiled back. ‘Don’t get me started on impossible briefs. This Nick, do you still have feelings for him?’
Sarah nodded. ‘Any kind of romantic involvement is impossible, given my job. We both know that, but we go back a long way.’
‘You must still think he’s a good man. Otherwise you wouldn’t have helped him get this job.’
‘No good deed goes unpunished,’ Sarah quoted. ‘Who said that?’
‘A cynic.’
‘I try not to be too cynical, but it’s an occupational hazard.’
‘In my profession, we have the opposite problem.’
34
Chantelle told Nick he would have to wait. There was something off about her manner. The usual braggadocio wasn’t there. He tried to make conversation.
‘You look nice without your glasses.’
She gave him an odd, distasteful look. ‘I’m trying out contact lenses. They make these disposable ones now.’
‘You’ve got nice eyes.’
She shook her head. ‘You’re choosing a funny time to come on to me.’
He didn’t know what she meant. ‘Perhaps I can collect my P45 while I’m in. I need it.’
‘Can’t give you that until somebody in charge tells me to,’ she said, in a quiet voice.
Nick didn’t hide his confusion. ‘Is Kingston in the board meeting?’
Her sour expression disappeared. ‘You haven’t heard, have you?’
‘Heard what?’
‘Kingston’s dead.’
‘You’re kidding.’
She wasn’t. ‘He got in from his badminton game yesterday evening, dropped dead at the dinner table right in front of his wife and kids. Stroke.’
Nick swore. ‘He looked –’
‘He had hypertension. Running this place didn’t help.’
‘Was it …?’ Nick wanted to ask if the stroke was connected with the release of Frank Davis. But the question might seem like a slur against a religious man who had just died, so Nick didn’t form it aloud.
‘What?’
‘Never mind. Who’s the new boss?’
‘You tell me.’
The door to Kingston’s office opened. Jed Goodward came out. Nick knew his face from photographs. Fifty-something, almost bald at the front but with long, wispy grey hair at the back, and a benign smile. He held out his hand.
‘Nick Cane? Good to meet you at last. Come in, please.’
The only other person in the room was Sarah. She gave him a nod, a forced smile. Jed sat down and put on a let’s-get-down-to-business voice.
‘Have you heard about Kingston?’
‘Chantelle just told me.’
‘A great loss. But let’s move on to why you’re here. We’re sorry that your position at the Power Project didn’t work out as you might have hoped. I believe that Mr Bell terminated your contract.’
Nick chose his words carefully. ‘I was led to believe that it was no reflection upon my performance, that it was simply because funding had been withdrawn.’
‘Indeed. The project is to be brought to a premature end. All staff members are being put on notice. Final reports have to be written. There’s a lot of tedious administration to be done.’
‘I see.’
‘What we want to know,’ Sarah said, taking over, ‘is whether you’d be willing to be the person who does that administration. Come back on the same salary. We’d pay you for last week, of course. In fact, as far as I can tell from Kingston’s desk, the paperwork on your termination never went through.’
‘I’ve still got a job here?’
‘Yes,’ Jed said. ‘In fact, we want you to take charge.’
‘Me?’ Nick was staggered.
‘There’s nobody else who’s qualified,’ Jed told him. ‘I’ve looked through the records and the other board members are unanimous. You’re the only person with a degree. You have good communication skills. Sarah tells me you have administrative experience.’
Presumably she was referring to his voluntary work with the Labour party. Nick wasn’t going to argue. ‘How long would the job last, exactly?’
‘We could give you three months,’ Sarah said.
‘And a very solid reference,’ Jed offered. ‘We would, of course, expect you to be looking for other work while you finished up here.’
‘It probably won’t take the full three months,’ Sarah pointed out.
‘And what about the others? Will they all do three months, too?’
‘Some. Their contracts vary slightly, so that’s one thing you’d have to look into at once. You’d have access to legal advice, obviously.’
‘I expect that Chantelle can help me go through the paperwork. She’s efficient, you know. I’d like to keep her on for the full term, if possible.’
‘Ah,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’
‘Chantelle already has a new post,’ Jed told him. ‘She’ll be leaving at the end of the week.’
‘Then I’d better get on with things as quickly as possible,’ Nick said.
‘So you’ll take the job?’ Sarah said, her face relaxing into a familiar half-smile. ‘That’s a relief.’
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Jed told them. ‘Thanks for your cooperation, Nick. And, again, sorry you’ve been messed around.’
He shook Nick’s hand again, then left Sarah and Nick alone.
‘Are you sure you want me in charge?’ Nick asked. ‘With my record? There was a police raid on my flat, did you hear that?’
‘I hear most things. As for the rest of it, keeping you on shows we’re sticking by our guns. Giving ex-offenders a chance. But all we really want is a safe pair of hands to shut the thing down. Put all the staff on gardening leave if that’s easiest. You’ll have a lot of paperwork to go through.’
‘I will.’ He paused, looked around at Kingston’s old office. ‘I’d better get on with sorting this place out if Chantelle is leaving at the end of the week.’
‘Today, actually. Sorry, Nick. She has some holiday left.’
Nick felt like he was missing something, but it seemed safest not to ask. Instead he said, ‘Sarah, how’s your mum? Has she had her operation yet?’
‘It’s just been delayed again. It’s driving me crackers. She’s waiting for a new date, but we’re probably talking about July. She keeps insisting it’s not serious, but she’s got a cancerous tumour in her bowel and they shouldn’t delay cutting it out.’
‘Tell her I was asking after her.’ He squeezed Sarah’s hand, looked at her. ‘Is there anything I can do for you, to help?’
‘I don’t know.’ Sarah seemed distracted. Her shoulders were hunched and the lines under her eyes had doubled since he saw her last. ‘I don’t think so. There is something on my mind but …’
‘But what?’ Nick asked, when she didn’t finish the sentence. At another time he would have pressed her further but, in this context, she was his boss. She was doing him a favour.
‘It can wait. Maybe we could have a drink soon, catch up. You can let me know the score here.’
‘Great,’ Nick said.
‘I’ll let you catch Chantelle before she finishes.’
Nick walked Sarah to the door.
‘Do you want to lock up then come through to the office?’ he asked Chantelle.
‘Which office?’
‘Kingston’s office. That is, my new office.’
There was a flicker of surprise, then she stood up. ‘I’m all yours,’ she said.
35
Paul turned up unannounced at Sarah’s flat the evening before the second ABC committee meeting. It wasn’t convenient. Sarah had to stay in London until Friday afternoon, which would mean she had no time off at the weekend. And she had a date already. Dinner with Andrew Saint. She had cancelled on him twice since he phoned at Christmas. She couldn’t do it a third time. Andrew was the sort of bloke she might need one day. Anyway, she was fond of him. She wasn’t good at maintaining friendships, yet he had made the effort to stay friends with her. He had an annoying side, as did most people, but a long shared history overrode minor irritations. Andrew would have known that she preferred French wine to the Australian bottle Paul had brought with him tonight.
‘Should I be jealous?’ her lover asked when she explained that she couldn’t spend the evening with him.
‘It’s an old friend.’
‘The one I met in Nottingham? Have you seen him again?’
‘Only at the Power Project.’ Sarah didn’t want to go into how Nick had been rehired. Earlier Eric had told her it was a mistake. ‘This is another guy I was at university with. No romantic history, but we stay in touch.’
‘I’ve missed you.’
‘Is that why you’ve been neglecting me?’
‘I’ve been busy. But I also get the sense that you’re cooling off.’
Maybe Sarah should just come right out and say it. Yes, I am. I’m not convinced you’ve really left your wife. If I was after an affair with a married man, I could do better. But her feelings for Paul were more complicated than that.
‘We’ve both cooled off,’ she said. ‘That’s what happens after you’ve been seeing someone for three months. Let’s not have any recriminations.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I really do have to go.’
