Cold Courage (2 page)

Towards the end of April came a special night.

Not quite one month after Lia had seen the frightening scene on Holborn Circus, it was her birthday. The actual day was Sunday, but she had invited her colleagues to join her at the White Swan, their local, after work on Friday.

Lia had looked forward to the evening anxiously. Celebrating her birthday was not like her but, as it had approached, she had felt the need to do something different this year. In part it may have been due to recent events.

‘If you don’t have anything else on,’ Lia had said as she invited everyone. She wasn’t sure whether many would want to come.

Generally they seemed to think of her as that introverted, slightly strange, slightly hard, Finnish woman. But hard in a way that meant they could have a friendly go at her about it.

No fewer than eight of the office’s dozen-odd employees turned up at the White Swan. Matt Thomas was not among them, which was a relief for Lia. Two hours later, five of the boys remained.

Lia knew that these men had their own lives, a relationship or a family, so spending a free night drinking with the weird Finnish lady from work was a display of real warmth.

The evening had been fun so far. The boys were displaying openly their affection for Lia, even making toasts.

The mention of her sense of humour in more than one of these especially delighted her. According to the boys, she put an entirely new spin on the blonde joke: here was a blonde who could throw barbs sharp enough to strike fear into the hearts of weaker men.

She received CDs by some of her favourite artists, albums she already had of course, and countless hugs and drinks. She competed with the boys in their silly drinking games.

Around ten o’clock the stage of inebriation Lia loved best began. When the buoyancy of alcohol bears up everything a person does. Leaving the table, Lia went to the toilet.

As she returned, she stopped at the bar, asked for a glass of water and drank it. Water was the best way to draw out the drunkenness in a slow, pleasant burn.

She looked at the table where the five guys sat, her dear and distant workmates. She thought of Finland, her parents and her friends from school with whom she no longer kept in touch.

How many women were celebrating their twenty-eighth birthday tonight? Lia tried to imagine the places they would be celebrating. Bleak Helsinki and countries to which she had never been. What would her party have been like in Australia? Or Mexico?

A woman with dark hair wearing a dark, slim-cut dress approached the bar and stood next to Lia. Roughly Lia’s age, Lia took note of how clearly the woman’s manner spoke of her
self-confidence
. She smiled at Lia, and Lia smiled back.

The woman sidled closer to say something, and what she said took Lia by surprise. Not because of the words, because of the language.

‘Onneksi olkoon, synttärisankari
,’ she said. Congratulations, birthday girl – in Finnish.

Being addressed in her native language amid the bustle of an English pub was so weird that Lia laughed. She hadn’t heard anyone speak Finnish in ages – not since she last called her parents. The woman was speaking a secret language that only they could understand.

‘
Kiitos
,’ Lia replied in thanks.

Finnish. Open vowels and thick consonants, its taste strong and direct, a language that didn’t belong here or, really, anywhere.

The woman said her name was Mari.

‘Lia,’ Lia said, and they shook hands. Given how tipsy she was, this all felt very formal and thoroughly amusing.

‘How did you know it was my birthday?’ Lia asked.

‘I was sitting near you and heard you all talking.’

‘You’ve been eavesdropping on us all evening then.’

‘Yes, but not only on you,’ Mari replied. ‘You seem to have lived in London for some time now.’

‘About six years. And you?’

‘Five, but it hardly seems it.’

‘I know the feeling. You wouldn’t… Would you like to join us?’

‘Thank you, I’d be delighted to.’

‘Boys, if this girl joins us, will you try to behave yourselves?’

‘Anything for you, Lia.’

The waitress brought more drinks. Lia told them that Mari was from Finland. That was all it took.

It was as if the party had started all over again. Having been able to provide her boys with a good conversationalist who was so easy on the eye gave Lia genuine pleasure. Mari brought out both the gentleman and the horny teenager in them. Bombarding her with polite questions, they devoured her with their beer-swollen eyes.

Lia watched the revelling men around the table.

My gallant fools.

These five writers held in their heads an astounding amount of information about politics, sport, high culture and entertainment, and that was another reason Mari enchanted them. She knew all about the current events that came up in conversation. Through the noise of the pub, Lia listened to Mari talk about her background, picking out the words insurance company and personnel manager. The men didn’t ask anything more about that, but Mari’s political views piqued their interest.

‘Bloody hell, Lia, your Finnish friend knows local British politics better than I do!’ Sam said with enthusiasm.

As was his way, the political reporter, Timothy Phelps, had to test the newcomer by debating with her. The subject he broached was the Tory chairman Brian Pensley, who had been in the headlines recently.

‘Pensley has a problem. Whenever he opens his mouth, all anyone can remember is the Tories’ wretched healthcare overhaul. He’s going to be carrying the burden of that failure for a long time,’ Phelps said as if giving a lecture.

Mari shook her head.

‘I think Pensley’s problem is his diffidence. He doesn’t know how to appeal to any specific voting bloc. He never would have become party chairman if David Cameron hadn’t decided to elevate him for some bizarre reason,’ Mari said.

‘Pensley was chairman even before Cameron assumed office,’ Timothy objected.

‘No, he wasn’t,’ Mari said and then expounded from memory: Cameron had begun as leader of the Conservative Party a few years
earlier, at the beginning of December. Pensley was promoted to chairman less than a month later, so it was clear that this was done with Cameron’s support.

Timothy went quiet, clearly peeved.

‘C.Y.F.F.,’ Sam said with a grin and then explained the
expression
to Mari. Ambitious editorial offices valued three things: a feel for language, good networking skills so you could get the scoop on competitors and diligent background work. The last of these had its own acronym, which they used in emails to mock writers guilty of passing on bad information: CYFF, Check Your Fucking Facts.

‘By the way, we work at
Level
,’ Sam said proudly, but Lia was glad to see that this had no particular effect on Mari.

‘I gathered as much,’ Mari replied.

Clearly she was intelligent and also capable of holding her own in a debate, which was the sexiest thing in the world to these men. Still they remembered to treat Lia like the star of the show.

Lia had worked as a graphic designer at
Level
for nearly five years, and she got along with the male-dominated staff of the magazine precisely because she held her ground and never let a quip go unanswered. The staff of
Level
were a clever bunch. Founded in the 1960s out of the idealism of a group of young
journalists
, the magazine had initially focused on politics. Gradually it had added arts and entertainment coverage. Producing astute commentary on the latest right-wing party platform and engaging reviews of hot new pop albums was no trifling task. Circulation had waned of late, but
Level
still remained a small but influential voice.

Sometime after eleven o’clock, Mari asked the waitress to bring a jug of water to the table. Lia realised she had forgotten her strategy. You had to tend inebriation like a campfire.

‘And here I was thinking Finnish girls knew how to drink,’ Sam said teasingly.

‘Drinking,’ Lia said emphatically as she raised her water glass, ‘is only one of many things at which Finnish girls excel.’

This rejoinder received whoops from the men and a smile from Mari.

The growing intoxication was beginning to show in repetition in the conversation. Timothy even dredged up the Brian Pensley
argument
again.

‘Mari, all credit to your knowledge of politics, but you can’t really explain Pensley’s unpopularity based on his lack of charisma. Have you ever seen him speak in person?’

‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ Mari said.

‘And you still believe the Tory platform has nothing to do with his problems?’

‘Of course it does. But when I saw Pensley speak, I knew his speeches were never going to convince anyone of anything. At most the bedridden residents of an old people’s home in a Tory area.’

Everyone waited to see what Timothy would say, but Mari beat him to it.

‘Timothy, what if I told you I thought you could know anyone, be it Brian Pensley or any of us, simply based on their speech and bearing? I don’t know Lia; I just met her tonight for the first time. But if you ask me something personal about her, I bet I can give you an answer.’

Silence fell over the party. The men eyed each other, and Lia thought,
I like this woman. There’s something different about her.

‘Right,’ Timothy said. ‘Give me just a second to think up a
question
.’

Mari stood up.

‘I’m going to the toilet, and while I’m gone you can come up with three questions. If I can’t make it through them, I’ll buy the next round. If I get them right, you buy my drinks for the rest of the night.’

From the men’s faces, you could see that their drunken brains were struggling to understand what this strange game was all about.

‘Challenge accepted,’ Timothy said. ‘Are there any rules?’

‘Well, let’s agree that they have to be something that Lia could answer herself,’ Mari suggested.

Lia laughed.

What an odd fish. But there is something considerate about it, since the game is about me and it is my birthday. And she also wants to give Timothy a rap on the knuckles.

After Mari left, the men conferred feverishly.

‘Where did you find her, Lia?’

After a hushed consultation, they settled on their questions, announcing that the subjects would be travel, money and sex.

‘So, basic human needs,’ Timothy explained.

When Mari returned to the table, the atmosphere was charged. Timothy stood up.

‘Tonight’s performance is entitled: “Everything you always wanted to know about Lia but were afraid to ask.” And the first
question
is… We all know that Lia likes to travel. What is her favourite foreign destination?’

Lia smirked. Everyone at
Level
knew what city she had visited three times. Travelling was one of the few personal things she talked about at work. But there was no way Mari could ever guess.

‘That’s a hard one. Bad luck for me. There are so many possible options,’ Mari said.

Everyone expected her to take a long time thinking, but Mari gave her answer right away.

‘I’d say a small town in the south of France. Somewhere in Provence.’

The drinking party stared at Mari in shock, Lia most amazed of all.

‘That’s right! How did you know?’ Lia asked.

‘From a lot of little things,’ Mari said. Lia was probably interested in Europe, and she couldn’t travel far on a graphic designer’s salary. Lia had used a few words of French during the evening, pronouncing them with a southern accent. Her skin was pale, which meant she didn’t go in for beach holidays. During the evening she had talked about her fondness for wine, food and culture.

‘And a lot of other little details like that. So what city is it, Lia?’

‘Carpentras. In Provence, like you said.’

‘Good guess,’ Timothy said. ‘Impressive deduction. Or a lucky guess.’

That wasn’t just luck,
Lia thought.

With that, Timothy asked his next question: ‘We don’t even know the answer to this one: what is the most expensive thing Lia owns?’

‘This should be easy,’ Mari replied. ‘Most people don’t have very many really expensive things. But I’ll have to think.’

Everyone waited in silence.

Ludicrous
, Lia thought.
She can’t guess that. Even I would have a hard time saying what my most valuable possession is.

‘Lia could have an inheritance. But I think I’ll say that the most expensive thing she owns is an investment holding,’ Mari said.

Lia smiled.

‘Huh, you’re probably right. My parents started a stock account for me when I was at school,’ she said.

‘Jesus,’ Sam said. ‘How could you have seen that just by looking at her?’

‘I couldn’t,’ Mari said.

What were people’s most valuable possessions usually? A flat, a car, maybe jewellery and investments.

‘A graphic designer for a London magazine, moderate salary, maybe thirty-five thousand pounds a year? You can’t buy a flat on that in this city. And there’s no point owning a car here. Lia mentioned taking the bus to work. And as for jewellery – if you owned a really stunning piece, wouldn’t you have worn it to your birthday party? Investments were all that remained. That was just the most likely option.’

‘Bravo!’ Sam said.

Lia groaned. ‘That makes me feel so normal. And boring.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Mari said. ‘That’s just the safe, ordinary part of you. The rest of you is much more fascinating.’

The men whistled.

‘Girl on girl action! It doesn’t get much sexier than that!’

‘We’ll see whether she can answer the last question as easily,’ Timothy said.

‘The sex question,’ Lia said, rolling her eyes.

‘The big sex question,’ Timothy announced. ‘We know that as a beautiful woman, Lia must have plenty of admirers. But how many sexual partners has she had?’

‘That’s a question an outsider could never answer exactly,’ Mari said.

‘That’s a pretty damn stupid, chauvinistic, revolting question,’ Lia said.