Foreigners (14 page)

Payne brushed his hand across the fabric of the empty seat beside him. There was something in it strangely reminiscent of the throw rug on the floor in front of his television set. And, he wondered, if he rubbed hard enough, could he scrape the skin from his palm?

He'd tried to get back to work after talking to Kathryn, but his concentration was broken. He began to imagine her in tight bicycle shorts, sleeveless shirt, bands on her wrists and head. And perspiring from exertion. It was true she could stand to lose a pound or two. But it wasn't a slimmer, trimmer version of Kathryn that worked on his thoughts; rather, it was the possibility of her slick, salty skin. Payne could almost taste it on his tongue. He packed up his work and found his jacket and boots.

Kathryn lived in downtown Severn, in one of the old rundown office buildings off the main street that had been converted by its owner into cramped flats suitable to student budgets. Kathryn's apartment was on the second floor, and her window overlooked an alleyway that the tenants used for parking.

When Payne drove in, there were only two cars there: Kathryn's battered Celica and a red Saab. He pulled in behind the Saab. On the way over he had decided that rather than buzz up, he would climb the fire escape and surprise her. He
gave only a momentary thought to how this might frighten her, deciding instead that a chivalrous entrance through her bedroom window could lead to some intriguing role-playing once they'd disrobed.

It was bitterly cold outside and what little snow there was lay like plaster dust on the pavement, with a few stray flakes twisting through the night air. Payne had to climb atop an overturned garbage pail to reach the release for the fire-escape stairs. They emitted a rusty screech as he lowered them, and the metal was icy to the touch. He should have worn his gloves. He tried to be as quiet as possible as he climbed. Through the window on the first landing he saw the flickering of a television and he moved quickly to the next flight of metal steps. Near the top he stopped a moment to catch his breath and decided that maybe he should start thinking about exercise too.

On reaching the second landing he found Kathryn's window dark and wondered if she hadn't already gone to bed. He had second thoughts about his plan. The idea was rather careless and impulsive, completely out of character, which was why he had liked it. It was a way of showing Kathryn that he was open to risk, was willing to take a chance, things she had on occasion accused him of being unable to do. Now he wasn't so sure. What if someone had seen him skulking up the fire escape looking into windows? They would, no doubt, call the police—Kathryn might even call the police herself, and she'd have every right. It was ridiculous to be peeping into her window in the middle of the night. And what would people at the college think if he was caught creeping about? Payne realized that he could go on all night debating the foolishness of his position, that anyone who knew him would expect as
much. So he took a deep breath and decided to carry on. But just as he was about to knock on the window, he caught sight of movement from inside. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and he pressed his face against the glass. In the bed in the far corner of the room he saw the blankets shift. She must be having trouble getting to sleep, Payne thought, and decided that it was unfair of Gil Foden to put his students through the stress of a term paper so close to the holidays. And then the covers were thrown back and there was Foden himself, one hand clamped on Kathryn's left breast, the other gripping the headboard of the bed, his bare white arse bouncing up and down in the gloom.

Payne shuddered, felt immediately sick to his stomach, but was unable to move away from the window. His back began to tighten. He could hear their voices, or at least imagined that he could. There was Kathryn's: the purr, the moan, the throatiness he'd assumed she saved only for him. Now he heard it calling out Foden's name, urging him, encouraging, giving directions. And then, ridiculously, Payne realized that she hadn't been exercising at all, and just as the thought crossed his mind, he laughed at the obviousness of it. And for a moment he felt sorry that he'd not had the chance to see her in tight bicycle shorts.

He remained kneeling on the landing until they'd finished, somewhat surprised that Foden's climax was not the victorious outcry he'd expected, but a rather pathetic collapse into exhaustion. Then Payne turned and started back down the fire escape, no longer concerned now about the noise he made.

On the way to his car he stopped beside the Saab, noticing now the faculty parking pass stuck to the inside of its windshield.

For almost an hour he sat in his car, his head back against the rest, looking out at the night sky. His mind was awash with images, yet at the same time he could bring none into clear focus. He had never been beaten up before, but he was fairly certain this was what it felt like: his body ached all over. And his stomach felt empty, as if he hadn't eaten in days.

He rolled his head to the side and noticed on the passenger seat the thick volume of Victoriana he had meant to drop off at the college library that afternoon. The librarian had called his house twice during the week requesting its return. Payne picked it up and got out of the car.

The book was oversized and weighed close to ten pounds. It had stiff leather boards and gilt edging. It was more a curio than a scholarly work. It had been published privately in London in the 1880s and was distributed to institutions and moneyed collectors. This edition had been bequeathed to Severn College by one of its benefactors and was kept in the reserve stacks in the basement of the library. The librarian had been very adamant that it be handled with care.

Even with the book being so heavy, Payne thought he might need a running start. So he took a few steps back before he lifted it over his head. It shattered the driver's side window of the Saab with ease and bounced off the steering wheel before coming to rest, tent-like, over the gearshift. The car alarm sounded immediately: horn blaring, lights flashing.

Payne walked calmly to his car and backed out of the alleyway as lights began appearing in the apartment windows above.
Sleepers, including Payne's neighbour, were beginning to awaken. Shades were raised, arms stretched and toiletries gathered to freshen up before the plane's arrival in Amsterdam. As for Payne, he hadn't slept a wink. He'd spent the last hour thinking about the grovelling message he'd left on the answering service of Kathryn's cellphone—she'd had the number for her apartment changed after he'd called for a week straight, each time hanging up after two rings.

Among other things, more clichés than he cared to recall, he'd said that he forgave her. And he was certain that had he not been in the crowded departure terminal, he would have actually cried. He was thankful he hadn't. He could just imagine the two of them, Gil Foden and Kathryn, lying naked on her bed with their heads pressed together listening to him weeping and snuffling back his snotty heartbreak. He was glad now that at least he hadn't given them that added satisfaction.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the little man in grey shift in his seat. Payne unfastened his seat belt and when he felt the soft touch of a hand on his elbow he roughly brushed it away.

“Please,” he muttered, and stepped into the aisle. “I insist.”

The man looked at him, almost frightened, and Payne felt a gratifying flush of power. He even leaned into the man as he struggled to squeeze by. Then Payne settled back down in his seat and looked up at the television monitor. There were still forty-two minutes until arrival at Amsterdam.

And then what? Payne wondered. He looked at the closed notebook in his lap, then passed his hand again across the stiff fabric of the empty seat beside him.

Simple, he thought, and then nothing.

AN IRISH HOLIDAY

T
HE COTTAGE STOOD AT THE END
of a winding gravel drive that was bordered by rhododendron and meandered its way up a gentle slope from the roadway below. A ragged grove of silver birch stretching out along the foot of the property hid passing cars from view, but it did little to dampen their noise, which came like an angry drone through the thin-leafed trees.

“Sure it's peaceful come evening,” the landlord said, as he fitted the key into the lock of the cottage's front door. “No traffic to speak of, really.”

They smiled politely, but said nothing, waiting to be shown inside. The landlord's name was Mr Monaghan, with a hard
g,
he'd told them, and although he'd waited for them for more than an hour, he did not seem put off by their late arrival from the airport. On the contrary, he was overly cordial when the taxi finally dropped them at the roadside below. He'd helped to collect their luggage from the trunk of the car and made
friendly inquiries as to the comfort of their journey, doing his utmost, it seemed to David, to endear himself.

Mr Monaghan paused a moment on the threshold and fished a palmful of coins from his trouser pocket. Selecting one, he inserted it into the slot in a large metal box affixed to the wall just inside the door, then twisted a dial set below, illuminating the entranceway. Turning, he noticed the expressions on their faces.

“I'm sure they mentioned that the lights work off a timer.” He smiled.

David looked at Rebecca, then shook his head.

“Did they not now?” Mr Monaghan said. “My apologies, then. You see, electricity is rather dear. Now the refrigerator, of course, runs constantly. But I'm afraid for the lights you'll need to feed the register. It really is far more economical this way.”

“Yes,” Rebecca said. “I'm sure that it is.”

Mr Monaghan smiled again: “Now, if you'll just come through,” he said, a welcoming arm outstretched, “I'll show you about. Ahead there,” he indicated with a nod and a discreet tone, “we have the toilet. The
bathroom,
I believe you call it.”

After showing them the rest of the cottage, which consisted of a small lounge with incongruous rattan furniture, a cramped kitchenette fronted by a bamboo lattice and two small bedrooms opposite the toilet, Mr Monaghan made to leave.

“Ah, yes. I should mention,” he said, standing in the front doorway, “there's an immersion heater in the closet. You'll be needing to turn that on if you've thoughts of having a shower. Now, if you find yourself wanting anything else,” he
continued, smiling still, “I've left my card on the kitchen counter. Feel free to call me any time after 6
p.m
.”

For a moment after he left, David and Rebecca remained standing in the entranceway, staring at the empty door frame. Then Rebecca went to the closet and investigated the water heater.

“It takes coins, as well,” she said.

“I'm not surprised,” replied David.

“Do you have any Irish money?”

“Only bills.”

“You shouldn't have tipped the taxi driver.”

David bent down and picked up their suitcases. “It's a little late for that now,” he said, then looked between the two bedrooms. “Which do you think? Front or back?”

“It'll be quieter in the back,” she said.

Rebecca remained in the entranceway, vainly searching her pocketbook for the proper coins, while David took the luggage into the bedroom. He returned shaking his head, and walked past her to glance into the other bedroom.

“What's the matter?”

“I didn't even notice.”

“Notice what?”

“That man talked so much, I didn't even see it.”

“What didn't you see?”

“The beds,” David said. “They're singles.”

“You're joking.”

“Look for yourself.”

“I don't want to look,” she said, closing her purse. “What are we supposed to do? There's no way we'll both fit into a single bed.”

“Don't worry about it.” David began to roll up his sleeves. “I'll just take apart the one in the front bedroom and move it into the back.”

“Oh, leave it be, for now,” Rebecca sighed. “Why don't you go down the road and see if there's anywhere you can get change.”

“You want to take a shower?”

“Yes, that. And I'm sure we'll need the lights, too.”