Suckers

'You can't be serious. You're not thinking of going.'

'Why not?' I said, sounding more optimistic than I felt. 'I've been there before. I know my way around. I'll take precautions.'

'I won't let you go. Christ, this is like Lulu all over again.'

'I'm not Lulu. I can look after myself.' I was touched by his concern, but a little worried in case he insisted on accompanying me. The varnish on my nails was chipped; I worried at it with my teeth until another strip peeled off, and told him, 'I think I've got an idea.'

Duncan said it was the stupidest idea he had ever heard, but couldn't come up with a better one. It wasn't as risky as he thought, because of course I'd done this sort of thing before, though he wasn't aware of that. And I had an ace up my sleeve, or at least a high-ranking card which might be mistaken for an ace in a bad light. And the light was all bad around here.

Just as I was preparing to set off homewards, the phone rang. Duncan answered and poked the receiver into my ribs. 'Weinstein. For you.'

'Hello, Ruth,' I said. 'Thank you so much for the wonderful party.'

'Dora, it was awful. At least you took off before it got really bad. Sara had one of her fits, and we had to get an ambulance, and I kept getting calls from her sister, only I couldn't find out which hospital they'd taken her to, and no one knows where she is. And Charlie disappeared, I still don't know where he got to, and I couldn't find Jack either, and then everything fell apart, and somebody got beaten up, and somebody else fell through a window and cut their head open, and there was blood everywhere. And then all these gatecrashers turned up, and…'

'Sounds great,' I said.

'Oh, and Lulu arrived just after you went, and she was furious when I said Duncan had already left. I've never seen her like that before, she was spitting poison. Did she catch up with you in the end?'

'In the end,' I said.

'Listen, you remember what I was talking about last night? Well, there's a meeting this evening. Can you make it?'

'You've got to be kidding. I am not schlepping all the way up to Archway again.'

'No, no, you don't have to. You know the gallery? Well, in the offices upstairs. Just round the corner from you.'

'Matt's old office? After all these years? Good Lord.'

'Matt? Oh, you mean Matthew. Yes, he'll be there as well. Nine o'clock. We'll have drinks and things.' I told her it sounded perfectly lovely, and hung up. I had no intention of letting myself in for another question and answer session with Ruth.

Duncan emerged from the bathroom wearing pink washing-up gloves and carrying a bottle of Liquid Gumption. 'What did Weinstein want?'

'She's throwing another party. Tonight. Want to come?'

'One dose of Ruth per weekend is quite sufficient.'

He saw me to the front door without taking his rubber gloves off. On the doorstep he asked, 'What are you doing tonight, I mean after the private view?' At last. I'd thought he was never going to ask.

'This and that,' I replied noncommittally.

'Well, be very careful. Especially if you're out after dark. Don't take those earrings off again.'

This wasn't what I'd been expecting to hear, 'So what are you up to? How about getting together?'

'Dora, you know what happened last night,' he said reproachfully. 'It's something I'll have to come to terms with. I need to spend time on my own.'

As I was walking away, I replayed his words in my head. They seemed ominous. I wondered what had been in the white envelope; perhaps Lulu had written him a letter, or perhaps it really had been an invoice. I vaguely remembered him saying he'd got it in the morning mail. But he must have been confused, because there were no postal deliveries on Sundays.

On the way home, I took a slight detour and found myself in the crescent where Jack and Alicia lived. The curtains were still drawn in their first-floor windows. I wondered whether Jack had made it back from the party in one piece, and — on an impulse — rang their bell to find out. The entryphone speaker crackled, and a woman's voice said, 'Yes?'

'Alicia. It's Dora.'

I waited for the sound of the lock being released, but there was silence. I pressed the bell again. There was a long pause, then Alicia said, 'You can't come in. Go away.'

'Alicia? It's me. Dora. Is Jack there? Let me in.' There was another pause, then a click as the lock was released. I barged in before she changed her mind.

She was peering down over the banisters, face pinched and anxious. 'Sorry, Dora. Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' I said, climbing the stairs towards her. 'Why shouldn't I be?' I was surprised to find her wearing a dressing-gown over dance tights and a naff T-shirt with the Mona Lisa on it. Her hair was scraped back into an elastic band. Alicia was normally very finickety about the way she looked.

'Jack phoned this morning,' she said, as though it was quite normal for husbands to phone their wives in order to say things to them. 'He told me not to let anyone into the flat, though I can't believe he meant people we know, like you.'

We went into the living room. There was just enough light filtering through the closed curtains for me to see it was unusually messy — old newspapers and unwashed cups all over the place, and a slightly rancid smell I couldn't identify. Abigail's cot was in the middle of the room, and Alicia's knitting lay on the table, next to a half-finished mug of tea. She asked if I wanted some, and disappeared into the kitchen to pour me a cup. When she handed it over I took a sip and almost choked. It was stone cold.

'Where did Jack call from?' I asked casually.

'Don't know,' she said. 'He sounded funny when I spoke to him. Not like Jack at all.'

I was wondering whether he'd been phoning from Roxy's, and whether it wasn't time someone told Alicia what was going on, when all of a sudden she began to snivel. I looked on, embarrassed, as she wiped her nose with her sleeve. The small bundle of grubby pink blankets in the cot began to whimper in sympathy, and Alicia stared at me accusingly. 'Shit. Now you've gone and woken Abby.'

'Wait a minute,' I said, but she turned to scoop up the baby, and as she did so I caught a glimpse of Abigail's face. It was grey, and the eyes seemed unnaturally black and beady. It stopped crying for a moment, breathing in with a sort of whiffling noise before opening its mouth for another bawl. 'Christ,' I said. 'It's got a lot of teeth already.'

'She,' said Alicia. 'She's not a thing. And she's got a name, Dora. She's called Abigail.'

I didn't really blame Alicia for being tetchy. I would have been tetchy too, if my husband had forbidden me to talk to anyone before buggering off for a dirty weekend with his personal assistant. Then I saw she was rucking up her T-shirt and preparing to feed the baby. I tried not to imagine what might happen when those sharp little teeth fastened on to one of her swollen nipples, but an image of Lulu in the bath popped unbidden into my brain and I began to feel lightheaded. 'Don't you think you should give her a bottle or something?' I said. 'I wouldn't breastfeed, if I were you — it's too dangerous.'

Alicia looked amazed and exasperated at the same time. 'Don't be stupid,' she said, quite vehemently. 'It's been proved time and again that mother's milk is better than the bottled stuff.'

'I didn't mean it would be dangerous for the baby.'

But she had stopped listening. I eyed Abigail doubtfully, and Abigail stared back — rather maliciously I thought. The little beast had stopped crying; now she was licking her lips.

I tried once more. 'Don't do it, Alicia.'

'Oh, for Christ's sake!' she yelled. 'You're getting on my nerves, Dora. Why don't you get out of here? You think you can come round and cause trouble. Well, fuck off!'