Better.
I haul myself up the steps, glad to reach the familiarity of the loft. It’s too much effort to close the trapdoor, so I leave it open. My walking stick slides to the floor when I try to lean it against the wall, but I can’t be bothered to pick it up. I manage to pull off my T-shirt before I flop down onto the bed still in my jeans. I want to take them off, I really do, but the rich food and alcohol are like lead weights on my eyelids. I close them, just for a few seconds. In a moment I’ll get up and finish undressing.
In a moment …
I’m back in the old room, the old bed. I feel the shift of the mattress and then the warmth of her next to me. Her lips brush my mouth, feather against my cheek. There’s a glow of happiness in my chest that she’s here, that everything’s back to normal. But even as I start to respond I know something’s wrong. The feeling grows as she presses against me, the scents and contours different. Soft hair drapes across my skin as a hand strokes me, and then I open my eyes and I’m back in the loft, and Gretchen’s face is only inches from mine.
There’s a second or two when instinct almost takes over. Then I’m wide awake as shock kicks in. I sit up, tumbling her off me onto the mattress.
She giggles. ‘Did I frighten you?’
My head and heart are both thumping. I push myself away from her a little more. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What do you think?’ Her teeth and eyes shine in the darkness. She’s wearing a short white T-shirt and nothing else. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’
‘You shouldn’t be here.’
‘Why not? Everyone’s asleep. And you are pleased, I can feel.’
Her hand reaches for my jeans. I move it away. ‘You need to go.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Yes, I do.’
I swing my feet off the mattress and stand up. The last thing I want is any entanglement with Gretchen, but that’s easier to remember if I’m not lying next to her.
Even in the moonlight I can see her confusion. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you like me?’
‘Look …’ I stop myself before I say anything I’ll regret. ‘It’s not that. I just think you should go.’
There’s a silence. I try to think of something else to say, some way of getting her out of here without prompting another tantrum. If she starts on about Mathilde now, things could turn ugly. Then I see her smile, teeth white in the darkness.
‘Are you scared of Papa? You are, aren’t you?’
I stay quiet, let her draw her own conclusions. It’s easier to let her believe that, and it isn’t as if there isn’t some truth in it. She kneels up on the bed.
‘What did he want to talk to you about earlier? He can’t have been too cross if he gave you his best cognac. I know he did because I washed the glasses.’
‘It was just about the farm.’
‘Liar.’ She laughs. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t let him hurt you. Not unless you’re mean to me, anyway.’
I don’t know if she’s joking or not. ‘Look, he wants me to help him with the traps. I’ve got to be up in a few hours …’
‘That’s plenty of time.’
‘Gretchen …’
‘All right, I’ll go. We don’t want Papa kicking you downstairs again.’ Her good humour’s returned. I go to the trapdoor as she gets off the bed. Her hair catches the moonlight, and her legs are long and bare in the short T-shirt. She looks lovely, and for a moment I’m glad I fell asleep in my jeans.
She pauses in front of me, her smile impish as she strokes my arm.
‘Don’t I at least get a goodnight kiss?’
‘Not tonight.’
‘You’re no fun.’
She pouts, not yet ready to let me off the hook. I feel her fingers stop when they encounter the plaster. I can see her frown as she examines it.
‘What did you do to your arm?’ she asks.
I’m cleaning glasses behind the counter at the Bar Zed when the customer walks in. There’s something familiar about him, but not so much that I think anything of it. He shows no sign of recognizing me as Dee serves him a beer, which he takes to a table at the far side of the room.
I soon forget about him. The Zed’s near Canary Wharf, and in the months I’ve been working here I’ve lost count of the number of faces I’ve served across the bar. I got the job when I handed in my notice at the language school. I wanted a clean break, and there were too many reminders there of my time with Chloe. After I moved out I stayed with Callum for a while, sleeping on his sofa until I found a tiny studio flat in Hackney. It isn’t much, but it’s somewhere to hang my film posters and store my DVDs. Besides, it’s only temporary until I’ve saved enough money to go to France. That’s my new plan, all part of making a fresh start.
I’m still here, though.
Somehow it’s never seemed the right time to make the move. It’s always next week, next month, next whenever. In the meantime the Zed isn’t so bad. It’s an upmarket place that by day attracts the city-types whose expense accounts can afford the lunch-time menu. The evening crowd are no less affluent and tend to appreciate the big mirrors behind the stainless-steel counter. Sergei, the owner, is OK. He and his boyfriend, Kai, help out when it’s busy. There are worse places to work.
It isn’t as though it’s permanent.
The man who came in earlier approaches the bar for another beer. This time I serve him myself. I still can’t place him. He’s big, with a hardened look about him that sets him apart from the Zed’s usual customers. As I’m pouring his beer he looks towards the door, then at his watch.
That’s when I realize who he is.
I keep my head down as I hand him the change. He goes back to his table. While I serve other customers I keep watching him. He’s obviously expecting someone, and not enjoying the wait.
It could be anyone. But I know, with a certainty that feels like vertigo, who it’s going to be.
I’m bringing ice out of the kitchen when Jules arrives. He’s with two gaudily attractive girls who teeter drunkenly, laughing as they head for the table where Lenny is sitting. The sight of him stops me in my tracks. I feel a breathless rush of feelings, a cocktail of fury, hate and dismay all combined, then I turn and go back into the kitchen.
‘Shit, Sean, watch where you’re going!’ Sergei grumbles, trying not to spill what’s on the tray he’s carrying as I barge through the door.
‘Sorry.’ I move aside. My limbs feel stiff and unnatural. ‘Uh, look, would it be OK if I took a break from the bar? Washed some dishes, or something?’
‘You’re joking, right? Perhaps you’d like to put your feet up while I bring you a coffee?’
Still muttering, he bumps the door open with his hip and goes into the bar.
‘Shit,’ I say, as the door swings shut.
‘Problem?’ Dee looks up from where she’s spooning olives onto small plates.
‘No, it’s all right.’
I manage to hold a smile until she turns away, then sag back against the wall. Jez had told me that Jules ran a gym in Docklands, but in the aftermath of breaking up with Chloe I’d forgotten all about it. I’d been so keen to get away from our old haunts in West London that it never occurred to me I’d be working in his territory.
I take a deep breath and go back out. The place is busy, and for a while it looks as though I’ll get away with it. Lenny comes to the bar again but this time it’s Dee who serves him. He pays me no more attention than before, and I start to think they might finish their drinks and go without noticing me.
It’s as they’re about to leave that my luck runs out. Through a gap in the crowd I look across and see the four of them getting up from their table. And at exactly the same moment, as if I’ve called to him, Jules looks up and sees me.