Banks walked down the stairs and tried to shake off his sense of disappointment. It was just as well, he told himself; the last thing he needed right now was to make a fool of himself over yet another woman. And Michelle had her own demons, whatever they were. Everyone did, it seemed. You couldn’t get to a certain age without attracting a lot of clutter. But why did it always have to get in the way? Why couldn’t you just shrug it off and get on with life? Why was misery so easy to embrace and joy so bloody elusive?
Just around the corner from the flats, he stopped to light a cigarette. Before he got his lighter out of his pocket, he felt something thud into him from behind. He staggered forward and turned to face whoever had hit him. He got only a quick glimpse of a pug nose and piggy eyes before a blow to the face upset both his vision and his balance. Another blow knocked him to the ground. Next he felt a sharp pain in his ribs and a kick to his stomach made him retch.
Then he heard a dog barking and a man’s voice shouting beyond the walls of pain, felt rather than saw his attacker hesitate, and heard him whisper, “Go back where you came from, or there’ll be more of that,” before he ran off into the night.
Banks got to his knees and felt sick, head hanging on his chest. Christ, he was getting too old for this kind of thing. He tried to stand, but his legs still felt too wobbly. Then a hand grasped his elbow and he managed to get to his feet.
“Are you all right, mister?” Banks swayed and took a couple of deep breaths. That felt a little better. His head was still spinning, but his vision had cleared. A young man stood beside him, Jack Russell terrier on a leash. “Only I was just taking Pugwash here for a walk and I saw two blokes setting on you.”
“Two? Are you certain?”
“Yes. They ran off toward the city center.”
“Thank you,” said Banks. “That was very brave of you. You saved my bacon.”
“Is there anything else I can do? Call you a taxi or something?”
Banks paused to get his thoughts in some sort of order, then he looked toward the flats. “No,” he said. “No, thanks. I’ve a friend lives just over there. I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re certain.”
“Yes. And thanks again. Not many people bother to get involved these days.”
The young man shrugged. “No problem. Come on, Pug-wash.” And they wandered off, the man casting a couple of backward glances as he went.
Still a bit wobbly, Banks made his way back to Michelle’s flat and pressed the intercom. A few moments later her voice crackled into the night air. “Yes? Who is it?”
“It’s me, Alan,” said Banks.
“What is it?”
“I’ve had a little accident. I wonder if…”
But before he could finish, Michelle buzzed him in, and he made his way up to her door. She was already standing there, looking concerned, and she came forward to help him toward the sofa. Not that it was necessary, but he thought it was a nice gesture.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Someone jumped me. Thank God for dog walkers or I’d probably be in the river by now. Funny, isn’t it? I thought I was going to end up in the Nene all those years ago and I almost ended up there tonight.”
“You’re rambling,” Michelle said. “Sit down.”
Banks still felt a bit dizzy and nauseated when he sat down. “Just give me a few minutes,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
Michelle handed him a glass. “Drink,” she said.
He drank. Cognac. A good one, too. As the fiery liquor spread through his limbs he started to feel even better. His mind came into sharper focus, and he was able to assess the damage. Not much, really. His ribs felt tender, but he didn’t feel as if anything was broken. He looked up and saw Michelle standing over him.
“How do you feel now?”
“Much better, thank you.” Banks sipped some more Cognac. “Look,” he said, “I’d better call a taxi. I don’t feel very much like driving in this condition, especially not after this.” He held up the glass. Michelle tipped in more from the Courvoisier VSOP bottle, and poured herself a generous measure, too.
“Okay,” she said. “But you must let me see to your nose first.”
“Nose?” Banks realized his nose and upper lip felt numb. He put his hand up, and it came away bloody.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” Michelle said, leading him toward the bathroom, “but I’d better clean you up and put something on it before you go. There’s a small cut on your lip, too. Whoever hit you must have been wearing a ring or something.”
The bathroom was small, almost too small for two people to stand without touching. Banks stood with the backs of his legs against the toilet bowl as Michelle used a damp facecloth to wipe away the blood, then looked in the cabinet and came up with some TCP liquid antiseptic. She put a small swab of cotton wool over the top of the bottle and tipped it up, then carefully applied it to his lip. It stung, and the acrid smell made him gasp. Michelle took the cotton wool away.
“It’s all right,” he said.
She dropped one bloodstained swab into the waste bin and prepared another. Banks watched her face close to his, the look of concentration as she applied the cotton wool, tip of her tongue nipped between her teeth. She caught his eye, blushed and looked away. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said. She was so close he could feel the warmth of her body, smell the Cognac on her breath.
“Go on,” she said. “You were going to say something.”
“It’s just like Chinatown,” Banks said.
“What do you mean?”
“The film, Chinatown. Haven’t you seen it?”
“What happens?”
“Jack Nicholson gets his nose cut by Roman Polanski, and Faye Dunaway, well… she does what you’re doing now.”
“Puts TCP on it?”
“Well, I don’t think it was TCP – I don’t think they have that in America – but the idea’s the same. Anyway, it’s a very sexy scene.”
“Sexy?” Michelle paused. Banks could see her flushed skin, feel the heat from her cheeks. The bathroom seemed to be getting smaller.
“Yes,” said Banks.
She dabbed at him again. Her hand was trembling. “I don’t see how putting TCP on a cut could be sexy,” she said. “I mean, what happens?”
She was so close to him now that he could feel her breast touching ever so lightly against his arm. He could have leaned the top half of his body farther back, bent at the knees, but he stood his ground. “First, they kiss,” he said.
“But wouldn’t it hurt?”
“It was just his nose that got cut. Remember?”
“Of course. How silly of me.”
“Michelle?”
“What? What is it?”
Banks took her trembling hand by the wrist and moved it away from his mouth, then he put his other hand under her chin and cupped it gently so she was looking at him, her brilliant green eyes questioning but holding his gaze, not looking away now. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest and his knees wobbling as he pulled her closer to him and felt her yield.
Chapter 16
You were late back last night,” Banks’s mother said, without turning from the kitchen sink. “Tea’s fresh.”
Banks poured himself a cup of tea and added a splash of milk. He had expected this sort of reaction. His mother had probably lain awake until two in the morning listening for him the way she did when he was a teenager. He and Michelle had decided that, for many reasons, it was not a good idea for him to stay with her overnight, but even so Michelle had laughed at the idea of his having to go home to his mother.