What You Don't Know

by David Belbin

  ‘Let me drive you there.’

  He’d brought his Shogun into town. Maybe he was telling the truth about living here full time. He couldn’t park outside Alastair Little, but dropped her near by, and gave her a lingering kiss.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a stranger. But I have been working hard, as you’ll find out tomorrow. Can I come and see you in Nottingham, soon?’

  ‘I guess,’ Sarah said.

  Andrew arrived at the restaurant a minute after she did. They were given a table next to one occupied by a famous actor.

  ‘Did I see you getting out of a Shogun just now, driven by a rather handsome young man?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘That was me,’ Sarah said.

  ‘The young man looked like Paul Morris, the guy who runs the government’s drugs advisory policy unit,’ Andrew observed.

  Fuck, Andrew was well connected. ‘I’m not sure that such a unit officially exists,’ Sarah said. ‘And, anyway, you’re confusing him with someone else.’

  Andrew gave her a wicked smile and they began to talk about other things.

  Your exams are coming up, only a couple of weeks away. All your coursework is completed, which at least means you have some high grades in the bag. English, for sure. You’ve had no excuse to see Nick and he no longer visits the hostel. You miss his company.

  Your lover hasn’t been round for weeks, hasn’t even texted. The less you see him, the more you think about him. That last Sunday, in the flat, he told you your only priority should be your exams. He promised you a flat. You must try to keep that in mind.

  Shaz is pregnant. So far, she’s only told you and Beany. For once, Shaz has power over Beany because he wants her to keep the baby. Baby fathers get more respect. Shaz isn’t sure whether to keep it or not. She talks about it with you.

  ‘If I can’t stay off the pipe is it okay to have a kid?’

  You tell her to talk to her social worker, but you know she won’t. You feel sorry for Shaz, so you have a word with Alice. You and her have a proper talk sometimes, when nobody else is around. Alice is off to uni. She’s worked her notice and it’s her last day.

  ‘You’ve got the right idea, Jerry,’ she says. ‘Study hard, stay off anything stronger than weed. It’s the only way to get a life.’

  ‘Have you noticed anything about Shaz?’ you ask.

  ‘You mean apart from her working as a prossie?’

  ‘She’s up the spout.’

  You explain what Beany wants and how Shaz isn’t sure whether to go along with it. Alice surprises you with her response.

  ‘She shouldn’t give a shit what Beany wants. Anyway, he won’t be interested when the baby’s born addicted to crack and doesn’t look like him.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it look like him?’

  ‘Do you know how many blokes she’s been with?’

  ‘She always makes them use a condom, she says.’

  ‘Condoms break. You on the pill?’

  You nod.

  ‘Good girl. But if you go with anyone new, always make them wear a rubber too. You don’t know what they’ve got. Leave Shaz to me. I’ll have a word, make it sound like I worked it out for myself. Fag?’

  You shake your head. You can take tobacco in a spliff, but not on its own.

  ‘Seen Nick lately?’ you ask.

  ‘Not for a while,’ Alice says. ‘He started working at the Power Project again, did you know that?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. How come?’

  ‘Bloke that used to run it dropped dead.’

  ‘Kingston Bell?’

  ‘That’s right. He was on the board here. You must have met him.’

  ‘I guess. What did he die of?’

  ‘Who cares? He was a creepy bastard, tried to get me sacked once. Good riddance, if you ask me.’

  36

  Running down the Power Project didn’t turn out to be as straightforward as Sarah had suggested it would be. Nick unravelled complex financial arrangements, attended committee meetings, consultation forums. It didn’t help that Chantelle, who was familiar with this stuff, had finished the day he started. She’d tried to tell him what he needed to know, but he’d had to ring her a couple of times since, only to find that her mobile was never on and she was slow to return calls.

  The more Nick looked into how the project had been run, the more respect he had for Kingston Bell. Despite the complex funding and disparate workforce, some good work had been done. But that work had barely begun.

  The project’s other workers drifted in and out of the office. Nick handed out redundancy notices, asked them to fill in timesheets, delegated what tasks he could. Already, reference requests were coming in, for the workers had little to do but look for new jobs. The only person who didn’t have a lot of time on his hands was Nick.

  He didn’t mind. It felt good to be busy for a change, to have responsibilities. Having been the first to lose his job gave Nick cover from criticism when explaining redundancy terms to his co-workers. Unsurprisingly, none of the others volunteered to take on more than the minimum and Nick, meanwhile, had to do Chantelle’s job as well as his own. Working late every night, he saw little of Nancy. She didn’t complain. Until recently, she’d had a life that didn’t involve him, a life she had returned to. He missed her company. Kind of. He missed the sex.

  On Friday nights, Nancy liked to go clubbing. Gone seven, his second week back, still at the office, he called her to suggest that they meet at the Bomb, a small place on Bridlesmith Gate. When Sarah and Nick were students, it had been a cheap-as-chips club called the Hippo. Now it was a bit more hip, with name DJs and a cool, thirty-something crowd. Nick felt comfortable there. But Nancy preferred the scuzzier dives on the edge of town. Tonight she’d suggested Hatch in Sneinton, not far from the open-air market. After a brief negotiation, he’d agreed to meet her there. After eleven. Nancy had somewhere else to be first, it seemed, so he walked over to the hostel. He’d get a bus into town just before the pubs closed.

  Alice wasn’t on duty. Whoever was didn’t answer the door, but a girl on her way out let him in. A new face. He knocked on Jerry’s door.

  ‘C’min.’

  She was lying on her bed, wearing only knickers and a T-shirt, reading. Her hair, normally straight and immaculate, was tangled and she had a couple of zits on her nose. She sat up, embarrassed to see him.

  ‘Want me to go out and come in again?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she told him. ‘Nothing you haven’t seen before.’

  She got off the bed and put on some jeans.

  ‘I was looking for Alice,’ he said.

  ‘She’s finished. Left this week. She starts uni in the autumn. First, she’s gone travelling.’

  ‘Good for her.’

  ‘Played your cards right, you could have gone with her.’

  The timing would have been right, Nick thought. Finish the job with a few quid saved, take a nice young woman on holiday. Alice was a reformed smack addict, but so what? He was a reformed cokehead. And she hadn’t spent five years in prison.

  ‘I came to see how you’re doing in your exams,’ he told Jerry.

  They talked. Jerry had English in the bag thanks to coursework already done. It sounded like maths had gone well, which was crucial. You needed maths and English for most things. They discussed what A levels she would do and Jerry seemed to have that sorted out, too.

  ‘Where will you live? Can you hang on here?’

  ‘Would you want to?’

  ‘Not really,’ he admitted.

  ‘Social services will help me get a place to stay. There’s benefits. School said that the government are promising something called education maintenance allowance. I’ll get by.’

  She would, he thought. She was determined enough. Intelligence and determination would get her through. Unless …

  ‘What about your bloke? The one who paid for your lessons with me? Is he still on the scene?’

  ‘He works away a lot.’ Jerry looked at her wa
tch. ‘The new warden goes round all the rooms at half ten, checks up on us.’

  ‘Ah.’ It wouldn’t do to be found here. ‘I’d better get going.’ He paused. ‘What were you reading, by the way, revision?’

  She held up a novel that he had suggested to her. A Gun for Sale, the one novel that Greene had set in Nottingham, where he’d once lived. ‘It’s cool,’ she said, ‘reading about the city all that time ago. Prefer Dickens, though.’

  ‘You’ve got plenty of time to read both.’

  ‘I like reading old books. It takes me out of myself.’

  ‘Me too,’ Nick said, though he hadn’t read anything other than a newspaper lately. ‘By the way, I’ll be back on the dole in a couple of weeks. You can come and see me, if you want. Just for a talk.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Suddenly, she threw her arms around him and squeezed, hard. It was a nice hug, the nicest he’d had in a long while. ‘You’re a mate. You smell good. Taking your girlfriend somewhere good?’

  ‘Meeting her at a place called Hatch.’

  ‘It’s a dive. She must be the sort of girl who likes slumming it.’

  ‘Why else would she go out with me?’ Nick quipped, then took his leave. He managed to get out of the building without being noticed.

  Hatch was one of those clubs with no sign outside. The door policy was obscure. Nick saw people turned away, but the crusty on the door merely nodded at him and took his fiver. Inside, beer was sold in coldish cans and dope was smoked openly. The music was loud house, which Nick was okay with, but he felt less comfortable with the crowd. They reminded him too much of his clients, both at the Power Project and at Victor House.

  Sure enough, there was Shug, whom he used to counsel, wearing sunglasses inside, probably thinking they made him look like a rapper. He didn’t acknowledge Nick. No sign of Nancy. The place was filling up. The beats getting louder, though the small dance floor still had room to move. Was there another dance floor? If there was, Nick couldn’t find it. But you never knew. The place used to be a furniture showroom cum warehouse. It had obscure corners.

  He needed to relax. He bought a beer, then got out a single-skin spliff, one of four that he’d rolled earlier. He stood at the edge of the dance floor and smoked it, nicotine and hash easing into the cramped corners of his brain, until the music made more sense and he began to sway with the sounds. Then Nancy was there, in a red skirt and white top, beneath which her black bra was very visible.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said.

  ‘I was in the loo,’ she told him.

  For how long? He stopped himself looking at his watch and they danced for a while, Nancy sharing his drink. Then they took a break. He tried to start a conversation, but Nancy told him she was knackered.

  ‘Long working week.’

  ‘Your exam groups must have finished by now.’

  ‘Don’t want to talk about work,’ she said. ‘I need another pee.’

  While she was gone, Nick bought a couple more cans. She didn’t come back, so he lit another spliff. Dope helped him to lose himself in the music. Even so, he hoped that Nancy would get bored soon, take him home with her. Somebody tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Can I have some of that?’ It was Chantelle, wearing leather hot pants.

  ‘Uh, sure,’ Nick said.

  She took the joint, gave it a couple of deep sucks, then passed it back to him. ‘Here for work or pleasure?’ she shouted.

  ‘Entirely pleasure. How’s your new job?’

  ‘It’s Friday night. I don’t want to talk about work. Going to give me one of those beers?’

  ‘Why not?’ He handed it over. He could get Nancy another one later. Where was she? He passed the joint back to Chantelle, but she shook her head.

  ‘I’m a lightweight. My head’s spinning already.’

  ‘That’s more likely the nicotine than the dope. Who are you with?’

  ‘Just people.’

  Looking over her shoulder, he thought he saw Nancy return, quite enjoyed the idea of her finding him with this tall, goodlooking woman.

  ‘Looking for that woman I saw you dancing with?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘You know she’s gone to the back where they smoke crack, right?’

  Nick frowned. Was Chantelle winding him up? ‘No, she’s gone to the –’

  ‘Want me to show you?’

  Spliff in hand, he followed Chantelle past the Ladies, through a fire door, across an outside courtyard to a metal door. There was a guy on the door, but Chantelle only had to nod at him. They went inside. It was dark. The air acrid. Nancy was the first person that Nick saw. She had a home-made pipe in her hand, a plastic bottle with a metal stem that she sucked until her face filled with strange satisfaction. Then she saw Nick and her expression hardened. Her eyes darted to Chantelle.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Chantelle told him. ‘Sorry.’

  Nick muttered his thanks and joined Nancy. The music in here was quieter than in the main club, more trancey, with traces of early Pink Floyd. It wouldn’t be difficult to have a conversation, but none of the dozen or so people in the room were talking. All were concentrated on their pipes or on waiting for a pipe.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he asked her.

  Nancy rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a weekend thing. Want some?’

  ‘No. I think we should go.’

  ‘I’ll come back and dance in a minute.’ She pointed to the spliff in his hand. ‘You do your thing. I’ll do mine.’

  He returned to the main club, looked for Chantelle. The place was much fuller, so it was hard to spot her. Minutes passed. He stubbed out his spliff and necked his beer. Still no Nancy. Her invitation for him to join her tonight had been half-hearted, he remembered. Now he knew why. He felt partly responsible. She’d probably been using since she took the bag from his. But he had no right to tell her what to do, and certainly couldn’t help her when she was off her face.

  He decided to call it a night.

  Outside, the streets were deserted. It was nearly two. Shouldn’t be hard to get a taxi. Or he could walk. A police car drove by and Nick was conscious that he still had two more spliffs in his pocket. But the car didn’t slow down. Then a green Ford Escort pulled out from a side road and stopped right in front of him. Chantelle, on her own.

  ‘Need a lift?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He got into the front passenger seat. ‘Not giving your friends a lift?’

  ‘They wanted to stay later. Me, I’m not much good after midnight on a working day. I don’t take the right stimulants.’

  ‘Me neither,’ he said. These days, it was true.

  ‘Give up on your girlfriend?’

  ‘She’s not really … I can’t afford to get mixed up in that stuff, not with my record. She should know that.’

  ‘There’s a difference between knowing something and bearing it in mind,’ Chantelle said, keeping her eyes on the road.

  ‘I guess it’s time to finish the thing we have.’ He decided to change the subject. ‘You did right, anyway, moving on to a different job when you did.’

  ‘Drugs work, it’s like being King Canute, trying to turn back the tide.’

  ‘The thing about Canute was that he was demonstrating to his subjects that his powers were limited. Even he, the king, couldn’t turn back the tide.’

  ‘I’d forgotten, you’re the teacher. That why you were smoking a spliff in there, going with the tide?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  She laughed. They turned off Mansfield Road onto Forest Road, a minute’s drive from his flat.

  ‘Where do you live?’ he asked her.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’

  She was flirting with him a little, but he didn’t know whether to pursue it. They were at the Alfreton Road lights.

  ‘Can I invite you in for a drink?’ he asked her.

  ‘One more and I’d be over the limit,’ she said. ‘Anyway, like I told you, I�
��m done in. But thanks for the offer.’

  ‘Can I call you?’

  ‘You’ve got my number,’ she said.

  The lights changed. She turned the corner and pulled up outside his flat. She knew exactly where he lived.

  ‘Goodnight, Nick Cane,’ she said.

  He took a risk and kissed her on the lips. She let her lips meet his for more than a moment, but her mouth didn’t open.

  ‘I will call you,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  37

  Rumours of a reshuffle began to build. The government was over a year old. The prime minister was bound to make some changes before the summer recess began next month. Sarah didn’t dare hope for promotion. She wasn’t strongly enough connected. She hated the way the parliamentary party had already divided into two factions – three, if you included the left-wingers, who had no influence. You were either with Tony or Gordon, no middle ground.

  Ideologically, she was closer to Gordon, but, personally, she felt a stronger connection with Tony. Fighting for equality, for fairness, was what had drawn her to politics. Tony had no ideology that she could discern, but he was all for fairness, and he was a winner.

  Neither Gordon nor the prime minister was on the ABC committee, so her presence on that wouldn’t help her with either man. The committee, in fact, wasn’t terribly interesting. For the moment it consisted of Paul and his team presenting information then being quizzed about it and tasked with gathering still more information. Discussion of actual policy seemed a long way off. Still, drugs policy made a change from the relentless misery that was attached to every aspect of her work as prisons minister.

  Sarah hadn’t rebelled, had kept her nose clean. There had been no major screw-ups on her watch. Had she done enough to justify the prime minister keeping her in her current job? She had pushed for things that her boss didn’t want. Been listened to, then ignored. Voters liked to keep prisons far from their minds, and homes. They considered rehabilitation a meaningless word. The UK might have a representative democracy, but that didn’t mean its politicians were there to represent the public’s views. If they were, hanging would never have been abolished. They were there to exercise their judgement on the voters’ behalf. One in three men had a criminal record of some sort, Nick among them. He was often in Sarah’s thoughts when she deliberated over policy.