‘Got a mobile?’ he asked his fare.
‘Course.’
‘Can I borrow it? Quick local call. I’ll knock it off your fare.’
‘Tell me the number. I’ll dial it for you. Call it your tip.’
He handed Nick the phone when it began ringing. Polly took a while to answer.
‘Just putting the last one to bed.’
‘Can I come round for an hour? I’m heading your way.’
‘I’ve got some wine in the fridge.’
‘Magic.’
‘On a promise, huh?’ The fare asked, as Nick turned down Bentinck Road.
‘Looks like it. Where do you want dropping?’
‘My friend lives just over there. Anywhere round here will do. Nah, you’re okay. Keep the change. I’m on a promise, too.’
Nick waited at the lights, watched the youth head up the hill and turn into the drive of one of the big houses on the left. A lover, not a dealer.
There were wine glasses on the table, nibbles and dips in a plastic tray from Asda. Polly was wearing a short red skirt that showed off her arse to its best advantage. But this wasn’t the main thing he noticed. She’d cut her hair short, almost a pageboy. It was still blonde, but more artificial looking, with pink highlights. Nick hated it.
‘Looks like you’re ready to go out.’
‘What do you think to my new summer cut?’
‘It’s great,’ he said. ‘You look five years younger, very sexy.’
Both of these things were true. For the first time since he met Polly, she looked her age, years younger than him. He wanted to fuck her but he didn’t fancy her any more. She looked artificial. Everything about their relationship was artificial, he realized. Who were they kidding?
‘What made you change your hair?’ he asked, an hour later, when they were watching Match of the Day. Polly assumed that, since he was a bloke, he must be interested in football, and he hadn’t corrected her. It was useful fodder for cab conversation and gave them something to do.
‘I used to wear it like this. No need to act older than you are.’
‘Right.’ He preferred a woman who looked more mature, but wasn’t foolish enough to say this. Earlier, he had screwed her standing up, from behind, with Polly leaning over the sofa and biting on a cushion to keep herself from crying out when she came. Urgent, anonymous sex was the kind they were best at. Since they finished, she’d been quieter than normal, as though something was on her mind. Him, probably, the way he used her, only showing up when it suited him. Nick ought to offer her more. If he hadn’t arranged to see Sarah, maybe he’d be ready to.
‘Is there something you want to talk about . . . about us?’
She gave him a look that said she wasn’t used to having this kind of conversation and Nick regretted opening his mouth.
‘There isn’t an us, is there? Maybe there would’ve been, if you were free to be more than a back-door man. But we agreed from the start.’
If you were free to. Nick sipped his second small glass of wine, wondered how to reply. He hadn’t heard the phrase back-door man for a long time, but knew what she meant. ‘Agreed what?’
‘This is just for sex, comfort. We’re convenient for each other.’
‘It’s more than that,’ Nick said.
Polly stroked his groin. ‘Not a lot more. Being with you’s made me realize I need someone proper. It’s five years since I’ve felt that way.’
He held her. They kissed. It was real, all right. But if anything was to come of it, Nick had to be honest. He couldn’t mislead her any longer.
‘There are things about me you don’t know,’ he said.
‘You’re not going to tell me you’re happily married?’ Her voice had taken on a whinging tone he’d not heard before. ‘You wouldn’t be working all hours, coming to me three times a week if you had everything together at home.’
‘I’ve never been married,’ Nick said. ‘But I’ve been in prison. I only got out two and a half months ago.’
A moody silence followed. Nick had blown it. Most women, he guessed, would prefer a cheat to an ex-con.
‘How long were you in?’ she asked, finally.
Not what for but how long? The length of the sentence would tell her the severity of the crime. She was not a policeman’s sister for nothing.
‘I did five.’
‘How come you’re driving a taxi then? Thought they had rules.’
‘I’m not on the books.’ For a moment, he nearly told her that his brother owned the firm, but he had never told Polly his surname and if he did, that would mean she could always find him through Joe.
‘You’re a fool. Do you want to go back inside?’
‘No. I need to get a bit of money behind me, that’s all.’
But now he had The Saint’s five grand, there was no excuse.
‘You’re not going to tell me what you did?’
Nick shook his head. Polly never mentioned drugs. It might freak her out. ‘It wasn’t violent, if that worries you.’
‘No. You’re not violent. Five years, eh? Explains why you’re so horny for a used-up slapper like me.’
‘Don’t denigrate yourself, it’s not . . .’
‘I don’t know what denigrate means,’ Polly said. ‘Did an Open University degree while you were inside, did you? Terry always hated that – crims who got an education while they were doing time.’
‘I already had a degree,’ Nick told her. ‘I used to be a teacher.’
‘Interfered with kiddies, did you?’ She slapped him on the face. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I’m telling you now. It was nothing like that.’
She slapped him again, harder. ‘What did you do?’
‘I sold drugs,’ he told her.
‘To kids?’
‘No. Wholesale. Homegrown. Nobody got hurt, except me.’
‘Did you see him inside?’
‘Ed? We were in the same nick for a while. I might have seen him, but I didn’t know him.’ Nick should tell her that Ed worked for Joe, but couldn’t work out how to do this tactfully. Anyway, he still held out some hope that he would persuade his brother to get rid of him.
‘Why didn’t you tell me? How many more secrets have you got?’
Polly had begun to hit him now. Hard. She was hurting him so he had to fend her off. Nick didn’t want to hit back. He never hit women. When Polly kept coming at him, he had to push her away. She kept attacking, ignoring the concerned calls from children upstairs. He pushed her down onto the sofa, grabbing both wrists so that she couldn’t hit him any more, pushing her legs down with his right knee so that she couldn’t kick him. Polly stared at him, her eyes hard, resentful.
‘I’ll bet this gives you a hard-on,’ she said.
It was true.
‘This isn’t over,’ she told him. Then she gave him a full-mouthed kiss and, when he let one of her wrists go so that they could be more comfortable, she unzipped him.
‘Now it’s over,’ Polly said, as she pulled on her knickers afterwards. Her voice was matter of fact. ‘I’m not having a drug dealer around these kids. We’ve had a good time, but I need to move on. Stay away.’
17
It was a sparse crowd, considering that this was the only debate of the election, but events like this belonged to the past. A modern election was about phone canvassing and spinning the TV news, not engaging floating voters in a musty public hall. Sarah had been scanning the audience while the other speakers took their turn. She’d spotted Nick, two thirds of the way back. He was talking to an older bloke on the row behind but appeared to be on his own. That must mean their meal was on. Despite her excitement, she trotted out the rehearsed answers with ease. Nothing she said would affect a single vote in nine days’ time.