Seven Daze (32 page)

“Where was it you worked, again?” the younger one said. He was full of questions. Jim wondered whether he should have planned these rants more. His throat was dry from all the talking and he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. This was supposed to be a long con, but he felt he was trying too much too quickly.

“Small brokers. Palmers and Son.” The previous person he’d annoyed had worked there. These two were from a large multinational bank so they’d no chance of knowing anyone who worked there. The elder one nodded. Jim was wariest of him. He seemed to digest every word without comment. Probably had a brain like a computer. Every word noted in case it was needed. “Hopefully I’ll be retiring soon,” said Jim. “Working on a few deals of my own, know what I mean?”

The confused look on the younger one’s face meant he didn’t know. Jim fancied getting the lad on his own, away from the boss. The boss seemed to have an iron bladder though. No trip to the toilet in over three bottles of lager.

“A lot of people retire young, don’t they?” he said.

Jim nodded. “Stress. Biggest killer in the city. Takes years off your life. What you need is an exit plan. You don’t want to still be here in twenty years time.” Though talking to the younger, he looked at his boss as he got to the end of the sentence.

“How exactly do you mean?” the older one finally said.

Jim suggested they find a table before he continued.

Half nine and most of the brokers were either bladdered or tucked up in bed. He saw no point lingering further. He was just wasting time he could be spending with Charlotte. They’d texted a few times since leaving the restaurant, but her meetings had ended over an hour ago. His brain wasn’t quite functioning right to continue lying anymore. Finishing his lager, he headed for the station.

Three new contacts. That’s all a hundred quid and an evening talking to twats had got him. Two via business card and one email address. Emails still baffled him. Apparently they’d changed the world; made business so much easier. When someone earlier had asked for his email address he used the advice Charlotte had given: “It’s a very secure network. Give me yours and I’ll send you one from my home address.” He was surprised it’d worked so well.

Just leaving. Be back soon x,
he typed.

Okay x,
the reply,

The tube was standing room only. Prime time thieving ground. As people bustled into him and apologised or just shrugged, he found himself checking his own pockets. He was more than surprised when the suited man next to him, his hand hanging from the roof support, actually fell asleep. He woke up in time for his own stop too. Jim guessed some natural homing instinct had kicked in. All in all, he found it impressive.

Nearly there x,
he sent as he left the tube.

Okay. I’ll order takeaway x
, her reply.

Want me to pick it up? x

No, it’s okay x.

Shrugging, he walked past the takeaway. The server was answering a phone call. No doubt Charlotte. She’d fitted into London well. Shaking his head, he walked past the old cinema and towards the luxury apartments.

“Hi, honey. I’m home.”

He walked through the cow-sided room and smiled as she turned from the island kitchen.

“Busy day?” she asked.

He nodded. “Have I got enough time for a shower before it arrives?”

“Yeah. Usually takes an hour or so for delivery this time of night. Cup of tea first?”

Jim nodded again. He thought of pointing out he walked straight past the takeaway but it didn’t seem important. Butterflies had ripped his stomach apart again. She was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Still smart but very casual. Her hair recently washed and her face without make-up.

He sat down while she made the drinks. Taking off his shoes, he sighed and shook his head. “Don’t know how you do it. It’s exhausting.”

“You get used to it. You’ve just got to keep seeing the end of the tunnel.”

“Just feels like a dead end at times. You can talk for an hour and get nowhere.”

“Bigger picture.” She brought in two cups and sat next to him. “You’ve got the weekend off now. We can relax.”

Jim watched as she tucked a leg underneath herself and flicked the wayward piece of hair onto her head. She was relaxed. Much more than relaxed. If there was an on off switch for work it’d been pressed. He smiled as she sipped her coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing. What’s the plan for the weekend?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Meeting Sunday evening. Apart from that, I’m all yours.”

He felt his smile grow further as he grabbed his tea. “We could go out tomorrow.” He shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know where they could go. A million things to do on the doorstep, but after spending all week on tubes crushed by others none of the million things seemed appealing.

“See what happens.”

He sipped his tea. Too hot to drink. “Got a few names earlier, and an email address. Don’t know what to do with that.”

She nodded though he didn’t think her heart was in it.

“Anything wrong?”

“No.”

He reckoned the switch had flicked back to work. Something was troubling her.

“You’re worried about the recession thing?”

She nodded. “If it falls through, I owe a shedload of money with no way to repay it.”

Jim couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve become an expert in that lately. We’ll sort it out, whatever happens.”

“Yeah. I’ll get the plates ready.” She stood and went to the kitchen. As Jim drank his tea then headed for the shower, he wondered just how much she’d borrowed from the Holloway Queen. He’d earn her every penny if he could.

Chinese and a bottle of wine led to laughter and smiles. Though his head was still full of the sleeping arrangements he was determined not to make an issue of it. After all, she’d saved his life. He’d sleep in the dog kennel if she had one.

The television, playing some half-funny comedy program, was getting half their attention. Occasionally, Charlotte would interrupt and tell him a nugget of news, or occasionally mention the other night and how funny it was on reflection.

“The funniest thing,” he said, looking at her flopped down lump of hair, “was when you accused me of being the police.”

She shook her head. “Crazy isn’t it? I don’t know how we didn’t suspect each other earlier.” Finishing the last of his wine, he offered refills.

“Go on then.”

He looked back at the television. The program hadn’t got funnier. “Where do you want to go tomorrow then?”

“Dunno. There’s museums, art galleries. Anywhere you’ve always wanted to go?”

He thought for a minute. A million places and ways to spend money. None of them appealed. London Eye? No. Just looking at London from high up wasn’t him. He’d seen enough of London this past week. Eventually he shrugged his shoulders.

“Just a lazy day then.” She twisted her legs round then laid them on his lap as she turned on her side. “Do a bit of washing. Bake a cake.”

“You bake cakes?”

He watched her nose screw up. “I can cook a bit. Okay so chilli’s not my strongest point.”

“I wasn’t having a dig. I just, you know.” He stopped before he said something he might regret. Despite her legs being on him, he couldn’t help but feel this was awkward. Not remembering how they’d ended back at the hotel was the possible reason. Her legs felt relaxed plonked on top of his jeans. They weren’t tense like his own. He wondered if he should feign a sore leg. It’d be an excuse to lie next to her.

“Legs are a bit stiff. Can I just move?” He kicked his feet round and onto the sofa, laying his head on her dressing gowned arm.

“Get comfy, won’t you.”

He thought of apologising but didn’t. It was light-hearted. When her hand appeared on his head, ruffling his nearly dry hair, he finally felt something close to relaxed.

“Victoria sponge or muffins?” he asked.

“Eh?”

“Cake. What cake you going to make me?”

She moved her head and faced him. “Something with a file in. Remind you of inside won’t it?”

Coffee, morning newspapers and a warm Charlotte nicking most of the duvet: Jim couldn’t think of a better start to a Saturday morning. When he thought back to all those years inside, slopping out and eating rancid, cold breakfasts, he wondered why he’d kept offending. Of course he’d never met her, but a similar life was always available, though with poorer quality coffee and papers.

As he yawned and tugged on the cover, he caught her eye. Reading some piece in the glossy supplement on Gil Scott-Heron, she looked for all the world an angel. An angel with ruffled hair and bags under her eyes, but still an angel.

“What you thinking?” she said.

“Nothing.” He closed his eyes and spread himself out, starfish style, in the ample bed. “Suppose we ought to think about getting up.” He yawned again. He’d had a couple of catnaps since waking at six but still felt tired. It’d been a long week. At many stages it’d been his last week. Maybe another hour or two extra sleep wouldn’t hurt.

“It’s only eleven.” She yawned. “Are you hungry? Cooker’s downstairs if you are.”

His eyes pinged open. Breakfast in bed. What more could he want? Just maybe someone other than himself making it.

Bacon, scrambled eggs, toast and The Clash were cooking in the kitchen. Jim thought she needed some more CDs. He couldn’t keep playing the same one all the time. Still, she’d been inside herself. Started afresh. Possessions always got lost.

Two plates on the tray and more coffee, he took it upstairs. Filtered coffee wasn’t that bad if you had it occasionally. Of course it didn’t beat tea, but coffee was easier to drink cold. Lying there, with one of Raif’s shirts on, she looked a million dollars. He smiled again. How had this happened? How had he wormed his way into this?

Handing over the tray, he took his own plate and splattered it with tomato sauce before offering her the bottle.

“Heathen.”

He shrugged his shoulders. Years of tasteless food had made him act on impulse. Bacon needed tomato sauce though. Everyone knew that.

Breakfast finished and another hour of snoozing and schmoozing flew by. Jim finally persuaded her to get up. She’d become a different person in bed. Lethargic, pouty and demanding. He wanted to get up, go see things and celebrate this new life he’d been given.

Downstairs and with The Clash on again, he watched as she applied a layer of war paint. It was the first time he could remember her putting it on in front of him. He wondered if that meant anything. Maybe she felt comfortable around him. Or she was just past caring what he thought.

Another hour and cup of coffee disappeared before they left. Outside, the weather was still good. Warm but cloudy. They’d chosen to go coatless which seemed the London way. A sudden shower and they’d grab a coffee or taxi.

Heading for the tube, Charlotte asked him for the twentieth time where they were going.

“I told you, it’s a surprise.”

“You mean you don’t know. You’re just making it up as you go along. Dragging me out through the shitty city when all I wanted to do was ...” She leaned close to him and whispered a word.

“Please.” he said. “Don’t. You’ll like it when we get there. Honest.”

She shrugged her shoulders and retook his hand. “I hope so. I’ve got big expectations you know.”

The tube network was busy; teenagers going shopping, tourists sightseeing and the station teeming from the plod of cricket fans heading south for a test match at The Oval. After they changed at Victoria, Charlotte’s face seemed to show some recognition of where they were headed.

“Either you’re not very original or you spotted something last week.”

Jim shrugged. He supposed it wasn’t original. Millions of things to do and he’d picked the same area as last week. He thought back to that day. Pulling faces at her through the tunnel reflections. He looked at the floor and wondered if he was still a mark in her eyes at that point.

Catching her eye he smiled. When did he stop being her mark? Has he stopped being her mark? Thinking back to his own head and state over the past week, he reckoned deep down she’d always been a mark to him. She’d paid up too. She was still paying up. It wasn’t like that though. He wasn’t after her money. He was after something different. Much different. That’s what this afternoon would be about.

“Penny for them?”

He smiled again. “Found a penny one day. On a tube floor. I picked it up, too.”

She grabbed his arm, her cold hand finding his. “History now, isn’t it?”

He nodded. She was right. It was history. The future was important now. The future.

“Are we really going to the same gallery as last week?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, but it’s a different display or whatever they’re called.”

“Fair enough.”

They walked by the side of the Thames towards the galleries. He knew this could have been done anywhere, but doing it here made the impact greater. It also brought them back to this place. The place of their first sort-of date. He kept telling himself he wasn’t terrified of losing her. He’d been alone most of his life so why would he be? No, it wouldn’t matter if this job was the last and they went their separate ways.

He turned round to catch her looking at him. “You’re very dark and moody today Mr Mysterious.”

“Sorry. I’m trying to work this out before I start.”

“Start what?” She turned to face him twisting his hand the wrong way.

“You’ll see.” He smiled, more at her serious grin than anything funny.

“Keep a girl in suspense why don’t you.”

As they walked the rest of the way in silence, he finalised the plan. Obviously, he’d wing it. No big speech had been prepared, but he thought he knew the main points well enough.

“Oh,” she said as she saw the new exhibition sign.

Jim read the sign again, but couldn’t believe it. “Porn through the ages. A history of pornography.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t it.”

“I bloody well hope not. What kind of girl do you take me for?”