‘Three-fifteen, Gus. Put the light on and you’ll be able to see the clock.’
‘Where’ve you been? The gig finished at eleven. Four hours for an interview? You said you wouldn’t be late.’
‘Jez and I went for a meal afterwards to catch up on gossip. Then we went back to his hotel for coffee.’
‘I bet.’
‘Gus! You’re not being jealous, are you?’
An indecipherable sound came from beneath the duvet. Jay sat down on the bed and pulled off her boots. This was all she needed. Sighing pointedly, she stomped into the living room. She knew shouldn’t have another drink - what was the point? She was going to bed in a few minutes - but couldn’t resist pouring herself a vodka. She justified it by telling herself it was because Gus had rattled her. The TV was still on, hissing static. Was that another gesture by Gus? She reached to turn on a table lamp, then froze. Dex’s face stared up at her from the front of a magazine that lay on the sofa. She recognised it. It was the big interview she’d done with him for ‘This’, shortly after they’d met. A friend of hers had taken the accompanying photos. The magazine had been stored in her sealed box in the wardrobe. ‘Bastard!’ she muttered, picking the magazine up.
In the bedroom, she turned on the main light and threw the magazine on the bed. ‘You’ve been looking through my things! You’ve no right to look through my things!’ Ice chinked in her glass.
Gus appeared bleary-eyed from the beneath the duvet. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘That!’ She pointed with her free hand at the magazine, which lay like a broken bird over Gus’ legs.
Gus stared at it. ‘What are you on about?’
Jay knew, even as she continued to rant and accuse, that Gus’ perplexity was genuine. He was essentially a simple creature and not proficient at deception. He stared at the magazine with disgust, too phobic to flick it away.
Once her initial tirade had exhausted itself, Jay sat down on the bed, gulping vodka. There was a strained silence. Finally she said, ‘You really didn’t put it there?’
‘No.’
‘Then how did it get there?’
‘I don’t know. You must have... I don’t know... had it mixed up with some papers or something. Why does it bother you so much anyway?’ A prim, pompous tone had crept into his voice.
Jay shook her head. ‘Oh, just because of the way you were earlier. I know what you think of Dex, and how you hate the fact we lived together here once. I thought you were trying to get at me.’
Gus laughed coldly. ‘I don’t want to see that slime-ball’s face. I don’t want to rake through his ashes in your cupboard. Nothing would induce me to remind you of him.’
‘I know.’ Jay reached for his foot beneath the duvet, squeezed it. ‘I’m sorry. It just freaked me out.’
She got up and pulled a chair away from the dressing table so that she could reach the top shelf of the wardrobe. She had to check, even though she knew what she would find. The memory box was still sealed, the tape brittle across its uneven surface.
Three days later, Jay met Gina for a coffee in the West End. A shimmering Indian summer held the city in warm hands; leaves dropped slowly from the trees in St. Giles Circus, gradually revealing the old church that lay behind them. Jay sat outside a bar, sipping Espresso, waiting for her friend to arrive. The sun was strong enough to coax lunch-time drinkers from their coats and the fresh, ripe air fermented in Jay’s nostrils. Despite the anxiety in her mind, she felt fairly at ease. It was impossible not to be affected by the generosity of the day.
Gina came swinging up on to the patio, her red hair freshly hennaed, dark glasses opaque above her crimson smile. She wore the tattiest jumper, jeans and leather jacket imaginable, yet still managed to look well-groomed. She sat down opposite Jay in a cloud of Issey Miyake perfume, clearly in the most exuberant of spirits.
‘Considering the curse that has just been pronounced upon me by the cash point, I feel remarkably alive today,’ she said, grinning.
‘You have a capacity to make me feel dull,’ Jay said, pouring Gina a cup of coffee from the cafetiere on the table. ‘Kindly stop glowing.’
Gina sighed. ‘I feel good. I can hardly wait to tell you, and it nearly killed me not mentioning it on the phone, but - guess what - I’ve sold ‘Visa Vixen’.’
‘That’s great news!’ Jay said. Gina had been trying to sell her novel for years.
‘I know. Pull out the stops. Order extra cream for the coffee!’
‘How’d it happen? Did you manage to get an agent after all?’
Gina shook her head, looked a little sly. ‘No, I used the influence of friends. Three Swords friends, as it happens.’
Jay raised an eyebrow. ‘Sell your soul to the devil, my dear!’
Gina wrinkled her nose. ‘Hardly. It’s only a small publisher, but what the hell. It’s a start.’ Gina had been working on her novel ever since Jay had met her. Although Jay felt it had the potential to be a cult success, she’d privately doubted its rather aggressive approach could ever ensure wide sales. Gina described it as a cross between Hollywood Wives and An American Psycho. Shopping, fucking and gutting and outrageously politically incorrect. Jay wasn’t squeamish but some of the chapters had still made her wince. Perhaps it would be a best-seller after all.
Gina sprinkled a little packet of sugar into her coffee. ‘So, what’s happening with you? I had a sense of some kind of ‘happening’ in your voice last night.’
Jay wriggled her shoulders uncomfortably. What she had to say didn’t match Gina’s mood. ‘Oh, it’s nothing really. Paranoia, I expect.’
Gina took off her dark glasses, eyes like lasers. ‘What?’
Jay’s eyes swerved away. ‘Did you see the documentary about Dex on TV the other night?’
Gina looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Yes. Dan and I watched it. It was bollocks, of course.’ She reached out a hand to touch Jay’s fingers, which were unaccountably icy. ‘Oh, it’s upset you, hasn’t it. I understand...’
Jay raised her hands and Gina’s fingers curled away from her. ‘Not exactly. Well, yes. No. Oh God, this is going to sound mad, and I want you to be clear that I’m not mad, but there’ve been some odd... coincidences since Sunday night.’
It had begun with the magazine. The outburst with Gus had been a mistake, because it had given him evidence that Jay was still screwed up about Dex. Still, she couldn’t take that back now. The next day had simmered with a low-burn brew of hostile hurt. Gus didn’t want to feel bad, but he did, and made a heroic effort to hide his feelings. Jay felt scalded, and the pair of them had bounced off one another like opposing magnets. Never had the flat felt so small. Never had polite conversation felt so crude.
Later that day, the phone had rung three times in succession, only for Jay to hear nothing but febrile static on the line. She’d had calls like this before - weird misdialings, glitches in the system - but perhaps because of her mood she invested them with a certain significance. Almost ashamed of herself, she couldn’t help thinking of phantom calls from the afterlife, a breath of a name whispered down the line. In fact, she heard nothing like that, but there was a sense of distance, of more than just space. Jay was no more superstitious than the average woman. She read her stars in the paper and partly believed in them when they presaged good news. She touched wood on occasion, and had a crawly-spine dislike of the dark in old houses, which she supposed derived from occasions in her childhood, when she’d been parked at the abodes of elderly relatives by her parents, so that they were free to enjoy themselves at weekends. Both sets of grandparents had owned creaking, watchful dwellings, where grandmothers had writhed in their beds of birth, and their own mothers had decayed into gibbering strangeness and died. As a child, Jay had been very conscious of the great grandmothers who had died. She’d had bad dreams about their bedrooms, long after the occupants had left them. Another demented great-aunt had minded her on occasion, and had delighted in regaling her quivering great-niece with t
ales of the Unaccountable Sounds that had plagued her own childhood, specifically how she had heard a man slowly climb the stairs outside her bedroom door every night. For some reason, she associated this with a beheaded king. Nights spent in this house had been a horror for Jay. Her ears had strained for the slightest hint of a Sound. It had been difficult to sleep.
Now, a whiff of those feelings came back to her. She had never felt uncomfortable alone in the flat before, not even just after Dex had disappeared, but now she felt jumpy. When Gus went out at night, all the furniture flashed into sharper focus, and had a waiting look about it. There were no cold spots, and certainly no Sounds, but twice during the evening following the phone calls, Jay thought she caught the flicker of a shadow in the corner of her eye. She changed any 40 watt bulbs for 60 watt and kept all the lamps turned on.
‘I know I’m creating all this myself,’ she told Gina, her hands cold around her coffee cup, ‘but I just want to talk about it. I want it to go away.’
‘It’s a reaction,’ Gina said. ‘Dex’s disappearance destroyed you, Jay. It’s going to take time for you to get over it completely, and that documentary was just a trigger.’
‘But what about the magazine?’
Gina frowned, clearly trying to think of a rational explanation quickly, so that her pause would not seem significant. ‘Gus was probably right. You had an old copy of it lying around, and it just got mixed up with some other papers, or something. If it was any other magazine, you wouldn’t have thought twice about it.’
‘But that’s just it - it wasn’t any other magazine.’
Gina put her head on one side. ‘OK, let’s get this out in the open. Are you worried that Dex is dead and has come back to haunt you?’
Jay shook her head vehemently. ‘No! No! Of course not. But...’ She raised her eyes uncertainly, ‘... I do wonder whether these things are not some kind of message. I don’t mean from Dex or anything, but...’ She related the conversation she’d had with Jez after the interview.
Gina listened without expression. ‘So, who do you think is sending you these messages?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you think Anton snuck into your flat to plant the magazine, then plagued you with crank calls?’
‘It seems unlikely. Sometimes, I think that life itself gives us messages. I’m not talking about supernatural things, but just... I don’t know. Pointers. Signals. Hunches.’
‘I don’t think you should follow Jez’s story up,’ Gina said, lighting a cigarette. She closed her lighter with an emphatic snap. ‘It won’t do you any good.’
Jay sometimes felt uncomfortable with the proprietorial air Gina had with her, as if she was incapable of running her own life. At one time, she’d needed guidance, but now it just seemed patronising. ‘You don’t need to tell me that. I’m not a kid, Gina. All I wanted was to tell you about it.’
Gina softened. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I’m not getting at you. I just worry, that’s all.’
Perhaps she is right to, Jay thought. She felt unsafe, and scanned the lunch-time crowds, as if by checking and re-checking, she could preserve herself somehow. She took a long gulp of coffee. ‘Anyway, enough about my weird paranoias. Tell me more about ‘Visa Vixen’. When’s it being published?’
Gina’s face lit up. ‘In about eight month’s time. I can’t wait. We must have big party for it.’
‘Yeah! I hope you’ve got a good sexy cover photo.’
‘You bet.’ Gina reached out and squeezed Jay’s arm. ‘It’s partly down to you, you know.’
Jay laughed. ‘Me? How?’
‘You encouraged me,’ Gina said, ‘when even Dan thought I was wasting my time. I really appreciate that, you know.’
‘Look, I’m your friend,’ Jay said. ‘That’s all there is to it. Let’s order a bottle of wine and toast your success.’
Later, Jay went home to the silent apartment. The living room was suspended in the glow of the afternoon light, a gush of gold falling between the drapes at the long window in the living-room. Jay took off her jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. She looked around herself, rubbing her hands together, resisting the impulse to call out. This is my home. I am safe here. Shivering, she went through into the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. There was a strange smell in there, like burning bread. Dex was always burning toast. He’d put slices under the grill and then forget about them. Sometimes, Jay had been woken up at night by the shrill of the fire alarm and greasy smoke pouring from the kitchen. Dex would be holed up in his work-room, the door firmly closed, his ears shuttered by head-phones. She could never be angry with him, though. He just wasn’t capable of looking after himself very well. Perhaps, if he’d lived alone, he would have burned himself to death one day.
Jay shuddered and dismissed these thoughts from her mind. Instead, she stared out of the window. She did not feel haunted, or even frightened. It was as if something huge and formless was rolling towards her across the sky; an event, a revelation. Something would happen soon.
Gus came home later in the afternoon, before the light had faded completely. There was no sign of ill temper. He kissed Jay affectionately and then began to talk with enthusiasm about a new job that had come up. He would be leaving soon. Jay smiled and encouraged him, suppressing the sudden, disorienting dive of her heart. She’d be alone in the flat for over a week.
Gus put his arms around her. ‘Sorry about the other day.’
She did her best not to stiffen. ‘That’s OK. It was stupid.’
‘Yeah, maybe. I try not to react, Jay, but I do. If I could take a big eraser and wipe out your past, I would. It’s just me.’
She laughed feebly, wishing he’d let her go. ‘Don’t be daft. We’re fine.’ She could hear the tone in her voice, which meant only that she was trying to convince herself.
The phone call came at five-thirty. Gus sighed and picked it up, mumbling something like, ‘What the hell do they want now? Are they that helpless?’ But the call was not for him. Jay could tell this before he spoke, because his body tensed. His voice became clipped. ‘Right, yeah, she’s here. Who’s calling?’ When he turned to hand her the phone, his face was pinched up like an oyster shell.
She took the instrument from him, announced, ‘Hi, this is Jay.’
‘Oh, hi there, Jay. Zeke Michaels here.’
Her stomach clenched. Somewhere, there were bells ringing or the sound of hooves. ‘Zeke. What can I do for you?’
‘Could you drop by the office tomorrow?’
‘Why?’
He laughed nervously. ‘Oh, I just want a chat that’s all. Nothing heavy.’
‘Zeke, we don’t chat. What’s this about?’
‘I’d like you to come down and we can talk, that’s all.’
Jay didn’t want to mention Dex’s name. If she asked ‘Is this about Dex?’, Gus would throw a dark mood around himself like a winter coat. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Ten-thirty?’
‘Yeah. Brilliant.’
She put down the phone, staring at it thoughtfully for a few moments. Was this it? Was this what all the weird feelings were leading to?
‘What did he want?’ Gus asked, in a voice preparing itself to shout, if necessary.
Jay shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Must be something to do with the tapes I gave him, or something.’ She forced a smile. ‘Who knows, we might be getting some money!’
‘I don’t want money from any of those wankers.’
‘No,’ Jay murmured dryly. ‘Of course you don’t.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ His voice had risen, as had his colour. For a moment, looking at him, Jay wondered how she’d ever ended up living with him. Then, she was chastising herself. Their relationship was good. Dex was the only sore point, and surely that was bearable? Most women had to put up with far worse. But why should we put up with anything? Dex, for all his faults... With supreme effort, she strangled this thought before it could fully express itself.
‘Let’s no
t make a fight of this,’ she said lightly, still smiling. ‘I’ll go and see Michaels, and then it’ll be over.’
‘He could have written,’ Gus grumbled. ‘Make him write, Jay. Don’t jump when he snaps his fingers.’
‘I’m not likely to do that,’ Jay said. ‘I’m just curious.’
‘Is that what it is? Sure you’re not hoping for news?’
Don’t blush! she warned herself, blushing. ‘Gus, there’s no need for that. Please don’t get yourself in a state.’
‘Don’t patronise me, Jay!
She put her hands to her face and rubbed it slowly, up and down. Just the sound of it was soothing. ‘Please don’t be like this, Gus.’ She couldn’t stop rubbing. She couldn’t stand the sound of his voice, the small, petulant boy that whined through the deeper tones. All the accusations were there in his voice - unfounded, unfounded - but finding their way deep into her heart.
Chapter Four
Samantha Lorrance walked brightly through the rooms of her house, on the way to her morning swim and work-out. Her high-heeled mules tapped across the panelled floors, becoming hushed as they padded across the thick Turkish rugs. Every morning, she felt driven to patrol her territory, her eyes alert for smudges on the gleaming woodwork and faint traces of disarray among the sofa cushions. It was not an obsession with tidiness, but a need to allay certain insecurities, which she could neither name nor fathom. She didn’t really know what she was looking for.
Samantha was thirty-five, but seemed to have been perfectly preserved at the age of twenty-six. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, framing a daintily-featured face that some had said would run to fat and jowls, but which hadn’t. She looked after herself. Eight years before, Rhys Lorrance had snatched Samantha from the tail-end of a down-market modelling career. Her work had mainly involved displaying her breasts and buttocks for the camera, so that men on building sites could ogle her charms as they munched their breakfasts. Lorrance had met her at a newspaper party; she’d been a regular model for a Three Swords tabloid, in which Lorrance had invested some of his wealth. She knew he liked her simple nature - she prided herself on it. She might not be brainy, but she knew she was kind, level-headed and capable in a practical sense. She’d also known her modelling career wouldn’t last forever, and had been pleased and relieved when Lorrance had asked her to marry him. She was astute enough to realise he didn’t really love her. Theirs was a marriage of convenience, but it worked fine. She played hostess and glamour girl when he needed it; he gave her all the material things she wanted. She’d tried to be a surrogate mother to her husband’s daughter, Lacey, whose own mother had died when she was very young, but the girl had always been a distant, aloof creature. Samantha had been disappointed by this relationship; they could have been friends. But when Lacey was nineteen, she’d run away. She’d always had peculiar friends, who’d liked to protest about things and sit in trees. Strange how so many of them had come from privileged backgrounds like Lacey’s. The girl had visited her the day before she disappeared, but Samantha hadn’t liked what she’d had to say. She’d wanted no part in the hostilities that clearly existed between Lacey and her father. Samantha didn’t worry about Lacey now. Like all uncomfortable thoughts and ideas, the girl had been brushed under a carpet in Samantha’s mind.