Killing Cupid (22 page)

Still, as we crossed London I kept looking at Emily and thinking how lucky I was, and how great it felt to be with someone. I put my arms around her to prevent her from being knocked into by strangers, even though the tube train wasn’t all that full. Then, at Euston, I felt a great wave of emotion crash over me as I said goodbye to her.

‘I wish you didn’t have to go to work,’ I said.

She kissed me. ‘I wish I didn’t either.’ We kissed again. ‘But my boss is a real old bat.’ Another kiss. ‘She sacked the girl who worked there before me for having too many days off sick.’

The train was ready to leave. I lingered on the platform, clinging to Emily until the last possible moment, when the guard blew his whistle. I leaned out of the window, feeling like a character in a wartime movie, heading towards the blood-drenched fields of Europe, not knowing if I would ever return.

‘Call me tonight when you get back,’ Emily said as the train dragged itself into motion.

‘Okay.’

‘Good luck.’

As I went into the carriage to find my seat I saw a guy nudge his friend and roll his eyes at me, as if he thought it was a great joke that I had been leaning out of the window saying goodbye to my girlfriend. I felt a flare of anger, but immediately suppressed it. Why should I let someone like that get to me? I smiled sweetly at him.

The train was packed. I found the only empty seat, which was next to an old woman with an enormous bag of crisps on her lap. I think it must have been a magic crisp packet: it lasted her the entire journey, as if she was trying to suck every crisp to death.

The journey passed both quickly and slowly. Quickly because I dreaded getting there; slowly because I wanted to get it over and done with so I could return to London and Emily. After our eventual arrival at Milton Keynes I went to sit outside a café opposite the station, to fortify myself with a coffee and a cigarette. I was terrified that I would see somebody I knew: an old school friend, for example. I didn’t want to have to give a summary of the last ten years of my life.

I took the same bus that I used to take out to the estate where I grew up. I sat at the rear of the bus which was half empty, fortunately, so nobody noticed this sick-looking guy, trembling like a jellyfish on the back seat. When we reached the bus stop nearest to my mum’s house ( I almost typed ‘my house’ then: but it isn’t my house; it never was) I nearly stayed put. Sod the four grand. I didn’t need it. It wasn’t worth it. But then I thought of Siobhan, and how I had to get the money to her, and forced myself to disembark.

I stood in front of the house, and before I had a chance to change my mind again, the door opened.

‘Hello Alex.’ She looked me up and down. ‘Are you just going to stand there gawping or do you want to come in?’

She looked older. She’d put on weight since I’d last seen her, and the extra bulk made her look shorter. Her black hair was peppered with grey and her face was heavily lined – not so much crow’s feet as raven’s feet. Well, it suited her.

I followed her into the kitchen and stood awkwardly by the kitchen table. Some fossil of a DJ was wittering away on the same portable radio Mum used to listen to when I was at school, but apart from that the house felt uncomfortably quiet and still. It hadn’t changed at all since I’d lived here – the same floral wallpaper, the same sickly-green paint, cracked tiles, dirty paper lampshades. I had this horrible feeling that I was eighteen again, that the last decade hadn’t happened. A week ago I might have welcomed the chance to start my adult life again, see if I could avoid making the same mistakes next time, but now I’ve got Emily - and I don’t want to erase my life.

I couldn’t shake the timewarp sensation. I felt my face to see if there were pimples on my chin. Annette would come through the door at any moment, her usual sneer making her look ugly. But it was just Mum now. Alone.

‘Annette’s already been round to collect her cheque,’ she said, reading my mind. She caught my eye for a second then looked away. I could hear her breathing above the song on the radio.

‘How is she?’

She shrugged. ‘She seems alright. Living in Cheltenham with an electrician. Robert. She brought him down at Christmas. Can’t say he electrified me.’

She laughed dryly, and said, ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

‘Umm …okay, thanks. I just need to use the loo.’

I left her filling the kettle and went upstairs to the toilet. After washing my hands I stuck my head into my old bedroom, expecting it to be empty. It was almost exactly as I’d left it. My old quilt was on the bed; my posters of The Cure and Transvision Vamp were still on the wall. Seeing it sent a shudder through me. Why had she kept it like that? It seemed unnatural, creepy. It was as if I’d died or gone missing, the bedroom of a teenage murder victim whose mother can’t bear to alter a thing. I rubbed my forearms, felt goosebumps rising.

Back downstairs, I went into the front room. A widescreen TV dominated the room. There was a photo of Annette at her graduation ceremony on the mantelpiece. And a picture of me when I was, what, five or six? I was holding our tortoise and grinning gummily. I picked up the photo and wished Emily was with me to see it. She’d have laughed at my fantastic Eighties haircut and the prized Blue Peter badge pinned to my hand-knitted tanktop. . For a moment I felt aggrieved that Mum didn’t have any pictures of me as an adult. But then, where would she have got any from? She’d have had to employ a private detective to follow me.

I went back into the kitchen and found a cup of tea waiting for me.

‘It seems so strange seeing you here again,’ she said. I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say. I got the impression that there was something she wanted to tell me, some speech she had rehearsed while awaiting my arrival. She kept opening her mouth to speak and then closing it again, the words catching in her throat. Instead, she lit a cigarette and, after hesitating, offered me one. I shook my head. Weird – I didn’t want her to know I smoked.

We exchanged a few banalities about the weather, and then she said, ‘Well, I suppose you want your cheque.’

She opened the cupboard above her head and took down what looked like a biscuit tin. Then she opened it and pulled out the cheque, handing it to me. There was my name, and the words ‘Four Thousand Pounds Only’. Not really a figure to get a
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?
contestant excited, but enough to sort out a couple of my problems. I took out my wallet and slipped it inside.

‘Should come in handy, I’d think,’ Mum said. ‘I’m thinking of spending my share on doing up the kitchen. Maybe I’ll have double-glazing fitted. Or I could go on holiday, I suppose.’

She turned and looked out the window and I followed her gaze, out at the dull road with its dull houses and cars and people. The sky was the colour of pale charcoal. No, I tell a lie: it wasn’t even that interesting. It was a nothing colour.

I finished my tea and didn’t know what to do next. All the muscles in my body were tensed; my shoulders hurt and I was aware that I been picking at the skin around my fingernails.

‘So,’ said Mum. ‘Are you… seeing anyone?’

I realised with a shock that there was genuine interest in her voice. Actually, more than that: hope. Maybe she was hoping that if I had a girlfriend, there might be a grandchild on the horizon – not that I’d ever let a son or daughter of mine near her. I almost lied; nearly told her I was alone – but I couldn’t resist the urge to talk about Emily.

I told Mum all about her: basic biographical facts, like the fact that she was twenty-seven, worked for a publisher and originally came from Brighton; I told my mum how pretty Emily was, and that ‘things were going really well’. I told her that I was in love.

She nodded, and although I had expecting this news to make her smile, she was frowning, her eyes downcast. Maybe she knew what I was tempted to say: that Emily was the first woman I had ever loved (and yes, I know, I know, I used to think I loved Siobhan, and the others, before her, but I was never deluded when it came to loving my mother), and that it was her own fault. And in that moment I realised something: I didn’t hate her. Not anymore. I felt sorry for her, living here on her own, her children driven away, her son a stranger to her. It was a pitiful situation. I also felt a weight lift off me, the pressure of hatred dissolving, evaporating into the grey air.

‘I’d better go,’ I said. ‘I need to get home.’

She nodded.

‘Don’t you want to stay for tea? I got a nice quiche in. It’s from Marks and Spencer.’ There were some cakes beside the bread bin. I guessed she’d bought those for the occasion too.

‘I have to catch my train,’ I said.

‘Got to get back to her.’

‘Emily.’

‘Yes. Maybe you’ll bring her up to meet me one day,’

‘Maybe.’

All of a sudden I was outside. I walked towards the bus stop, not looking back. I wished everything could have been different. I wish I could have stayed and had a piece of quiche and the cakes she’d got in specially. But things weren’t different. And it wasn’t my fault.

The train was twenty minutes late and I stood on the platform listening to a furious gaggle of long-suffering commuters calling for the head of the Transport Minister, reminiscing about the good old days before privatisation and the electrification of the railways. When the train finally arrived, we piled on and found our seats. I felt emotionally washed out, itching to get out of this dreary dump and back to London. As the train departed I leaned my head against the window and felt the vibrations work their way into my brain. I couldn’t wait to see Emily.

I fell asleep somewhere between Milton Keynes and Watford Junction. When I woke up we were pulling into Euston and I had a cold trail of dribble running from my lip to my chin. I wiped it away, looking around surreptitiously to see if anyone had noticed. I felt rough, my head sore where I’d been leaning against the window, pictures from my mobile dreams still lingering: Mum, staring out the window; Emily, giggling as I kissed her belly and thighs. I wiped my chin again and noticed a girl smirking at me, but I didn’t care. Thoughts of Emily had galvanised me; I would see her later, I thought, and we could crawl back into our bed-linen Anderson Shelter.

I got off the train, heading for the Tube. The cheque felt heavy in my pocket and as I waited for the tube train to arrive I allowed myself a small cash-based fantasy. The other day, Emily and I were talking about my writing ambitions: she read a couple of my short stories and told me they were “incredible”. Of course, she’s biased, but it made me glow to hear that. My dream has always been to write full-time; to be a writer, not a fucking call centre worker. I’m sick of McJobs. I remember Mum telling me once that it was stupid to have such unrealistic ambitions. ‘You’ll just come crashing down,’ she said. Well, as far as I’m concerned it’s better to try to fly than spend your whole life hugging the ground because you’re scared. There was a poster on the wall behind me, a huge pair of star-shaped sunglasses from the cover of a debut novel looming over me. The author of that novel must have been in the same position as me once. It isn’t impossible to fly. I decided right there and then that over the next couple of months, while I was looking for work and while the £4000 lasted, I would spend every spare minute writing.

I found a wrinkled copy of
The Camden Journal
on the tube train and stuffed it into my bag, thinking it might be worth checking the job pages, just in case there was anything worth applying for.

As soon as I got home I called Emily.

‘How did it go?’ she asked.

‘Hmm. Well…I’ll tell you later. What time can you come round? Or do you want to go out?’

She hesitated. ‘Do you mind if we give tonight a miss?’

‘I...’

‘I’m really tired. I need to sleep.’

‘Oh.’ My throat had dried up. ‘Okay.’

She sighed, half-amused, half-exasperated. ‘Alex, sweetheart, don’t sound so down. It doesn’t mean I’ve gone off you. I’m just really knackered and I wouldn’t be good company tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘And the other reason I need to get an early night is that I can’t afford to be late tomorrow.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well… actually, it was really weird. I saw Pernilla outside the office and told her I’d been to the doctor. But then, a few minutes later, she came into the office and said that if I lied to her again I’d be back on slush pile duty. She said she knew I’d been with my boyfriend. And I’m really bad at lying, Alex – I could feel myself blushing. I asked her how she knew and she said a little bird told her.’

‘A little bird?’

‘Yeah. And get this – she said, “I’m awfully pleased to hear that you’ve managed to finally lose your virginity, but if you don’t shape up you’ll have to make a choice between getting laid and getting paid”.’

‘What a bitch.’

‘You said it.’

‘Poor Emily. Pernilla’s probably just jealous... and I bet she was just guessing, anyway. Maybe you’ve got the air of a well-satisfied woman.’

She laughed, a low, throaty chuckle that sent a thrill through me. ‘The cat who got the cream. Actually, after she’d had a go at me I went into the ladies to check that I didn’t have any love bites.’

We said goodbye and I went to my bedroom. I felt restless and bored, an evening without Emily stretching out drearily before me, the taste of the day’s events still in my mouth. Sitting on my bed, I pulled
The Camden Journal
out of my bag and started leafing through it. And that’s when I saw it: on page 8. There was a picture of a scowling woman, and underneath was the headline ‘Woman Urges Police to Investigate Fall Death’.

I caught my breath; my heart started thumping like a techno track. I read on:

When Elaine Meadows returned home from a year-long backpacking trip around Asia last week, she was a woman with a mission. While she was in Asia she had been informed that one of her closest friends had died in a fall from the fire escape of her building.

‘
I couldn’t believe it,’ said Ms Meadows, 30. ‘I know that Kathy used to climb that fire escape a lot. She was such a careful person, I find it really hard to accept that she just slipped.’