‘Yeah, right,’ she said.
I had thought I was happy being single but now I was excited. As I sneaked sidelong glances I saw her lips constantly breaking into a smile. No complications, she’d said. Yeah, right.
‘How long have you lived in London?’ she asked me.
‘Nine years,’ I told her. ‘But it was working as a courier that helped me find my way around. That’s when I met Jaz.’
We crossed Oxford Street and turned left towards Regent Street.
‘It’s warm, isn’t it?’
Annie nodded. ‘Do you know the way?’ she double-checked.
‘Oh yes.’
The deeper into the maze we penetrated the more hopeless our chances seemed to become of finding the hotel, at least before its front door was shut for the night. And yet, I thought, the further we walked the nearer we were to eventually hitting a street I recognised.
‘You’re very optimistic,’ she said.
‘I’ve always thought you can influence the outcome by the way you think,’ I said, while she looked unconvinced. ‘I know these streets…’ I went on, and her look changed to one of incredulity. ‘I mean I don’t know this actual street but I can picture the area on the map and it’s impossible to get lost. As long as we keep walking, sooner or later we’ll reach a familiar street.’
‘They all look familiar to me,’ she said. ‘Familiar to each other.’
I had to admit she was right, and for a moment I imagined we’d entered another world in which quiet city streets could multiply. It was that kind of evening. It felt weird. The only limits seemed to be those of my imagination.
It was only when we heard the telephone ringing in the next street that we realised how strangely quiet it had been up until then. Not only were the streets we were walking through devoid of traffic, but there was no distant murmur of cars heading west on the Marylebone Road. There were no sirens wailing beyond Baker Street, no Tube trains rumbling underneath our feet, there was no drunken abuse being hurled from pub doorways. There weren’t any pubs.
So we both heard the phone before we reached the street. The ringing got louder as we approached the house it was coming from: a house with dark windows just like those on either side, with nothing special about it apart from this insistent ringing.
I looked at Annie and she smiled nervously. I raised my eyebrows and we carried on past without stopping.
‘I wonder who’s ringing,’ she said as we turned into the next street.
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘It must be important to keep ringing for so long and this late.’ The sound was barely audible now and I realised that was because other noises had intruded. I could plainly hear the faint hum of passing traffic and the light step of pedestrians coming from the end of the street.
We turned right and a hundred yards later stumbled blinking into Marylebone High Street. Looking at each other, we said nothing. I just took a cigarette from the pack squeezed down my boot and lit up.
‘It’s straightforward now,’ I said, loping into my stride and casting an eye back for Annie. She seemed to be walking closer to me, whereas I had expected she might back off now we were in more familiar surroundings. I slowed down fractionally to allow her to catch up. If she did decide to see me, would I always be as thoughtful? Was that what she was thinking?
We walked on.
‘This is it,’ I said, taking a step back from the building and looking up at the full height of it. ‘It doesn’t exactly leap out at you, does it?’
There was no hotel sign, just a polished brass plaque bearing the number 23. Something about it disturbed me and the pulse in my head returned. I made a mental note to drink several glasses of water before going to bed. ‘Why so low key?’ I asked, nodding towards the hotel.
Annie shrugged. ‘They don’t need to try? I don’t know.’
For a few moments we both stood there awkwardly, a yard apart in front of the hotel.
‘Well, thank you,’ I began as I bent down to kiss her on the cheek. But I didn’t finish because she turned her face towards mine and met my mouth with hers. She allowed the tiniest amount of give and I could sense the hardness of her teeth behind the softness of her lips. I felt an instant, euphoric pleasure.
Annie pulled away and looked down. Apart from feeling I ought to apologise for the taste of my cigarettes, I didn’t know what to say or do.
Annie was muttering something about going in before they shut the door. Her cheeks were flushed.
‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ she said as she made for the doors, probably hoping I wouldn’t ask the question I wanted to ask: could I see her again? She looked back. I’d started to look away and my hair had fallen forward to curtain my face, so she almost certainly couldn’t make out my expression.
I watched through the glass in the door until she’d collected her key and been swallowed by the ornate, gilt-decorated lift, then threw my head back and took in a deep breath from the stifling night. I made off down the street like a child wading through the shallows at the seashore. My mind was swimming with pictures of Annie’s upturned face, thoughts about seeing her again and the smells and sensations of her hair brushing my cheeks as we kissed. I found myself yearning for more. There was no excitement the equal of this. Anything really was possible now. I turned left, and right at the bottom of the street, then left again, heading east.
Because my head was full of Annie Risk it took me a while to realise I was locked back into the maze of streets it had taken us so long to negotiate before. It was the silence that made me realise it and, once again, only when I heard the faint ringing of a telephone. Something made me believe that it was not only the same telephone, but that it had been ringing non-stop since we’d passed it on the way to the hotel.
Soon I was in the very same street and approaching the house. The ringing grew louder. I looked around: the street was empty, all the windows plunged into dark reflection. The thick air enveloped me like the still waters of a deep pool. The telephone continued to ring.
I reached into my boot for a cigarette and spun the wheel on my lighter.
The telephone rang.
I took a deep drag and dropped the cigarette without bothering to grind it with my boot heel. Afterwards I couldn’t fully account for what I did next except by restating the fact that it was a weird evening. Getting lost in streets I thought I knew. Also, I was high on a cocktail of drink, cigarettes, arousal, imagination and Annie Risk. It felt as if the universe were spinning around me. I felt a compulsion and I didn’t question it. I just went ahead and did it.
Within moments I had climbed the four steps and tried the door, only to find it locked. I took off my jacket and bunched it up against a small square pane in the window. Delivering one swift punch to the jacket I broke the glass which seemed to melt rather than shatter and flow into the interior gloom.
The telephone was still ringing.
I reached an arm through the hole and fiddled with the catch until it sprang open. The window opened easily after that and I jumped into the room. For one sickening airborne instant I feared the floor would give way under my feet, but it was solid.
I crouched and looked around. The ringing seemed to be coming from a room deeper inside the house. Slipping into my jacket I stepped as lightly as possible to the door, my way lit by the glow of streetlamps. In the hallway, illuminated by a faint glimmer from the half-moon of stained glass above the door, I orientated myself. The ringing was coming from the dark end of the hall. My breathing had become shallow. It was not only that I was frightened by the possibility of disturbing the owner of the house, I was still gripped by the feeling that this wasn’t an ordinary evening. I was buzzing. I had to answer the phone. It was important.