They had to wait in a queue for a taxi. The air in Hull was damp and sticky, and Barker felt a prickle of irritation. Every few seconds Glade glanced over her shoulder at the row of phones.
‘There would have been time,’ she murmured.
‘Those phones don’t take money,’ he said. ‘You need a card.’
She looked at him suspiciously.
‘Was that true,’ she said, ‘all that about the squirrels?’
She waited until a taxi had pulled up to the kerb, then she told him she was hungry. She had eaten nothing all day, she said, only two gherkins and a piece of chocolate. He looked at her hard to see if she was lying and decided she wasn’t. Actually, now he thought about it, it wasn’t such a bad idea. He could eat something himself — and certainly he could use a couple of beers. Also, if he went along with her in this, then maybe she’d forget about the phone.
In the taxi he leaned forwards and asked the driver to take them to a restaurant, somewhere quiet.
‘Everything’s quiet this time of day,’ the driver said.
Ten minutes later they stopped outside a restaurant that had a gloomy fudge-brown glass façade. The something Tandoori. It was cheap, the driver said, but it was good. Or so he’d heard.
Six-thirty was striking as they walked in. A dozen empty tables, their white cloths spotless, undisturbed. Barker stood inside the doorway, hesitating. He could hear the hum of the air-conditioning, the jaunty bubble of the fish-tank on the bar. Suddenly, from nowhere, an Indian man sprang eagerly towards him, eyes gleaming, and, just for a moment, Barker felt the urge to defend himself, to sweep the Indian aside with one effortless, poetic movement of his arm. In his mind he saw the man fly backwards through the air, land silently among the glittering cutlery and artificial flowers. Ray would have been proud.
‘Anywhere,’ Barker said, ‘right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He ushered Glade towards a table in the corner. As soon as she was sitting down she opened her menu, her lips moving as she read through the list of dishes, her face stained green and purple by the coloured spotlights set into the ceiling. A waiter asked them what they’d like to drink. Barker ordered a pint of lager. Glade wanted Kwench! but the waiter didn’t have any. She had to settle for water.
‘Don’t you ever drink?’ Barker asked her.
She thought about the question for a moment. ‘Sometimes,’ she said. ‘If I’m happy.’
Barker looked down at the tablecloth. It seemed he either knew too much or too little. Their conversation always faltered.
The waiter appeared with a pad and took their orders.
‘This is a nice place,’ Glade said, smiling up at him.
The waiter bowed.
She turned to Barker. ‘Thanks for bringing me.’
He could think of nothing to say. Instead, he watched the ugly, melancholy fish drift through the weeds inside their tank. A woman’s voice wailed from a speaker above his head. He supposed they called that singing. When he looked at Glade again, she had lifted the silk flower out of its cheap metal vase and was examining the petals.
‘I thought you were going to ask me questions,’ she said.
He tried to keep his face expressionless.
‘There must be things you want to know.’
‘Things I want to know,’ he repeated thoughtfully, and nodded.
She looked at him with a faint smile. ‘I suppose you don’t want to hurry it,’ she said. ‘You’ve probably got your own methods.’ She lowered her eyes, gazed at the flower she was holding. ‘Do you remember things in your head,’ she said, raising her eyes to his again, ‘or do you take notes?’
‘In my head,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I haven’t seen you writing anything.’ She paused. ‘Unless you do it behind my back …’ and her smile widened, becoming mischievous, almost seductive. When she looked at him like that, he had to empty his mind of everything except the plan.
Their food came. Though she had told him she was hungry, she ate very little. She picked at her curry, searching through it with her fork, as if she was looking for something she had lost. When they had both finished, Barker asked the waiter to order a taxi. In less than five minutes a white car was pulling up outside. Barker paid the bill, then followed Glade out on to the pavement. He opened the door for her and watched her climb into the back. Once he was sitting beside her, he gave the driver the name of a pub.
‘That’s in Hessle, isn’t it,’ the driver said, ‘out near the bridge?’
Barker nodded. ‘I think that’s the one.’
He glanced at Glade, but she didn’t seem to be listening. She sat quietly beside him, examining her hands as the lights passed over them. For the first time he noticed that she wore no jewellery, not even a ring, and thought it odd, a girl who looked like her.
They drove through the city centre — bleak, dark streets that reminded him of his entire life. He saw chip shops, night-clubs. He saw girls standing in a chilly cluster outside a pub. Their snow-washed jeans, their blow-dried hair. He saw the spaces between streetlamps, between buildings, the places where fights started. He thought of the sounds that fists and bottles make. A police car glided by, white with an orange stripe along the side, like something from the fish-tank in that restaurant.
Then all the buildings disappeared, just strips of scrub grass at the edge of the road, hedges looming dimly. In the distance, high in the darkness, he could see a string of orange lights that signalled the presence of a bypass or a motorway …
They stopped in a yard that was deserted except for a few cars parked in a row against a low brick wall. Barker climbed out first, Glade waiting on the gravel while he paid. She was clutching her elbows and shivering a little. He could hear voices and laughter in the pub behind her. He could have done with another drink, but he just couldn’t risk it. No, they’d been to all the public places they were going to. His heart seemed to lurch against his ribs. He wetted his lips.
‘So we’re not going to the pub?’ Glade said.
He turned and stared at her. It wouldn’t have surprised him to find out she could read his mind. She had the kind of eyes psychics have. She had the same strangely vacant manner. Maybe that was why she’d been so calm when she saw him standing on the doorstep. Maybe she had seen him coming.
But suddenly she altered her approach. ‘I thought you told the driver we were going to the pub.’
‘And I thought you couldn’t hear anything,’ he said. ‘All that hissing in your ears.’
‘Fizzing.’ She scraped at the gravel with the edge of her boot. ‘It comes and goes.’
‘That’s convenient.’
‘So we’re not having a drink?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
He let his breath out fast in sheer exasperation and walked away from her, fists clenched. He could feel the veins pulsing on the backs of his hands. He let his head drop back, stared up into the sky. There was nothing there. No moon, no stars. No God. Just air, September air. The slightly bitter smell of leaves.
He faced the girl again.
‘Have you taken a look at yourself?’ he said.
Her eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Maybe we could go,’ he said. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be a problem, if you weren’t acting so fucking mad.’
‘I’m not mad.’
‘No?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Ask Charlie.’
Charlie again.
‘You know Charlie,’ she said. ‘He’s a friend of yours. He sent you.’ She looked over towards the pub. ‘Maybe they’ve got a phone in there. Maybe it takes coins.’
Thinking she might be mocking him, he felt a sudden anger flash through him. Like lightning, it lit up the dark places for a moment. He didn’t like what he saw. Slowly he walked back to where she stood. She didn’t flinch. Staring down into her face, he could find no trace of guile or deception. No trace of fear either. It didn’t mean she wasn’t guilty, of course. Perhaps it simply hadn’t crossed her mind that he could hurt her.