Crazy Paving (17 page)

As they neared the stairs that led up to the exit, Annette saw a man collapsed next to a telephone stand. He was in a slumped position. A briefcase, umbrella and newspaper were scattered nearby.
He was sitting turned away from Annette but his breathing was audibly laboured. Three people crouched round him, one with an arm around his shoulders.

Then she saw that walking alongside, to her right, was a tall young man in a navy blue suit with an older man beside him who had a hand on his arm and was talking quietly. The young man was
nodding. He did not appear to be in any way distressed or in pain; they might have been discussing that morning’s meeting. The young man had blood trickling from his left ear.

Just beyond the stairs, from the corner of her vision, she could see someone lying on the platform, with two people gathered round. She kept her gaze straight ahead, mounting the stairs
briskly.

As they spilled out onto the station concourse, her group dissolved and mingled with the hundreds of people coming up from other platforms. The announcer continued to intone his directions.
Still, there was no panic. As Annette reached the entrance, the first emergency services were beginning to arrive. An ambulance swung silently into the station and pulled to a halt. No sirens,
Annette thought. Even the ambulance is calm. Two policemen ran past her.

Outside the station she hesitated. To her right, passengers were pouring down into the Underground, like vermin. She could not believe that any of them were capable of boarding another train.
Anyway, the mainline stations and their adjoining tubes would be closed down soon. She wandered out of the station.

On the bridge, commuters rushed past. Two police vehicles came charging over from north of the river, sirens wailing. Other traffic continued. She gazed at it, bemused. Beyond the traffic was
London, a vast ignorant world which did not know what had happened; a world in which people were, bizarrely, continuing their normal lives. She wanted to stop a passer-by and say, do you not
realise how oddly you are behaving? Something has happened. A thing that always happens to other people somewhere else is happening here, now. It has happened to me. Her legs buckled. She felt a
concrete paving slab strike her knees.

She kneeled on the pavement for several moments, trying to breathe, trying to make her arms and legs regain their normal strength instead of the jelly-like uselessness they had suddenly
acquired. The word
shock
came into her head clearly and distinctly. She imagined that she was standing next to herself, looking down and saying,
you are in shock
.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. ‘Annette,’ a voice said.

She looked up. Helly was standing above her, leaning slightly. Her hair was hanging forward on one side of her face, which seemed in shadow. She looked expressionless. The air behind her was
white. There were acres of space above.

‘Annette,’ she said again. ‘It’s me, Helly. I was on the station. You’ve collapsed. You’re in shock.’

Annette shook her head. Her mouth would not work. I know, she thought, I know I’m in shock.

‘Here.’ Helly pushed her lightly on her shoulder and made her sit back on the pavement. Then she put her hand on the back of her head and pushed it gently forward. ‘Put your
head between your knees. Breathe a bit. Just relax.’

Annette felt the rough cotton of her coat graze her cheeks. The enclosure of the material around her face was comforting.

‘Does she need an ambulance?’ She could hear a deep male voice beside them.

‘Nah, don’t think so,’ Helly was saying. ‘Thanks all the same. Thanks.’

Footsteps moved on.

Then, Annette felt Helly leave her side and call out loudly, ‘Here! Here, over here!’ Helly returned. ‘You got money on you?’ she asked.

Annette lifted her head. She frowned.

‘Oh never mind, you’ll have a chequebook indoors. Listen, be careful.’ Annette became aware that Helly was lifting her by her arm and that a man was at her other arm,
helping.

‘She won’t be sick will she darling?’ the man was saying to Helly.

‘I’ll tell you to stop if she’s going to be,’ Helly was replying. As they walked her gently across the pavement she said, ‘Annette, listen. It’s Helly. Where
do you live, just the area for now. Tell me where.’

‘Catford,’ said Annette.

Helly and the taxi driver helped her into the cab. As the driver got back into his seat Helly said to him, ‘Not too fast.’ Then she turned to Annette and said, ‘Here, lie
down.’ She swung herself onto the pull-down seat which had its back to the driver. Then she took off her coat, a long tweedy jacket several sizes too big for her. ‘Lie down,’ she
repeated. As Annette lay down, Helly placed the coat over her and said, ‘Don’t think about anything. Just lie there.’

The taxi driver had slid back the plastic partition. ‘What’s up?’ he called back to Helly as he drove.

‘Bomb,’ Helly said. ‘In the station.’

The driver shook his head. ‘Rotten bastards.’ He leant forward and turned on the radio. The sports news was on. He turned it down and sat back. ‘Friend of yours?’ he
asked, jerking his head back towards Annette.

‘Not exactly,’ Helly replied. ‘Can I smoke?’

By the time they reached Catford Annette was sitting up, Helly’s coat still over her knees. She felt comfortable. She did not want to speak or move. She did not want the
taxi to stop.

At Rushey Green she said to Helly, ‘Next left, after the petrol station.’

Helly tapped on the driver’s partition. As he pushed it back, the sound of his radio became audible. ‘Next left, after the petrol station,’ said Helly. A news summary was in
progress; initial reports suggested two dead, forty injured, three critical. As they swung into her quiet cul-de-sac, Annette rummaged in her handbag and handed Helly her purse.

The driver pulled up, leapt out with the engine still running and opened the door for them. He helped them both out. Helly paid. As she counted out two notes, the news announcer was saying,
‘No terrorist group has as yet claimed responsibility, but police sources are already saying that the attack bears all the hallmarks of the provisional IRA.’

The taxi driver nodded towards the radio as he handed over their change. ‘Bright lot, our coppers,’ he said. Then he leapt back into his cab and swung round in a neat circle, pulling
away.

As the clutter of his engine faded, Helly turned to see that Annette was standing with her back to her, a few yards off. She was being sick, carefully, into a grey wheely bin which stood amongst
several bins opposite the houses. On the side of the bin were the white painted numbers 1 and 6.

Helly lit a cigarette and waited.

As Annette walked back to her, she nodded at the purse Helly was still holding. ‘Key’s in there,’ she said. ‘Number sixteen.’

Helly let them in. Annette went straight over to the sofa and sank onto it. She dropped her handbag to the floor. Helly closed the door behind her. ‘Loo upstairs?’ she asked. Annette
nodded.

When Helly came down, she went straight over to the kitchenette and plugged in the kettle. ‘Neat place,’ she said. ‘One up, one down. Not much of a home but a great love-nest.
You on your own?’ Annette nodded slowly. ‘Lots of natural light,’ Helly said appreciatively. She was opening and closing cupboard doors as she spoke, looking for mugs.
‘Quite well-designed when you think how small it is – that big skylight up there, above the bed – but with the gallery you get the light down here as well.’ She poured
boiling water into a cup. ‘I’m not too keen on modern housing myself but I can see why you bought it. Clean. Nothing needs doing.’

She came over to the sofa holding a red mug. ‘Here.’

As she was walking back to the kitchenette, Annette took a sip of tea and grimaced. ‘I don’t take sugar,’ she said softly.

‘You do today,’ Helly replied, without turning back. She made herself an instant coffee, then came and sat down on a round wicker chair opposite the sofa. ‘This is nice as
well,’ she said. ‘But you could do with some cushions. And pictures. Very bare.’

They drank their drinks in silence.

Eventually, Annette said, ‘Do you want to use the phone?’

‘Work?’ said Helly. ‘They’ll know why we aren’t in won’t they? You could ring them later I suppose.’

‘I was thinking more of home,’ Annette said. ‘Isn’t there someone who’ll be worried?’

Helly shrugged. Then a small smile twitched across her face. ‘Are you going to tell me to take a day’s leave for this as well?’

Annette smiled wanly – only her mouth moved. ‘I don’t think even I would be that much of a cow.’

Helly raised her eyebrows and smiled in similar fashion. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’

Annette put her mug down. Helly got to her feet. ‘Well, I suppose I should be off.’

‘Sit down a minute,’ Annette replied, standing up and going over to the stairs. ‘I’ve got to brush my teeth. I want to explain about all that.’

When Annette came back down, Helly was making herself another coffee. ‘Want more tea?’ she asked.

Annette shook her head as she walked slowly back over to the sofa. ‘No thanks, the last one was disgusting.’

‘Got any biscuits?’

‘Sorry. Marmite.’

Helly pulled a face.

When they were both settled again, Annette said, ‘I wasn’t just being an old cow about that, you know. Richard had been very specific. I don’t know why. He’s tightening
up on all sorts of things lately. I flew off the handle a bit, but he would have told me to dock your pay anyway.’

Helly did not reply. Then she said, ‘The surveyors?’

Annette shrugged. ‘Is that relevant?’

Helly got to her feet. She went over to the patio doors which looked out over Annette’s tiny square garden, an evenly mown postage stamp of grass. There was no border. The wooden fencing
surrounding it was very low and she could see over the side into the adjoining postage stamp. Annette’s neighbours had erected a plastic line where washing flapped lazily: two blue shirts, a
sheet, a row of nappies. Beyond it could be seen the backs of neighbouring houses. In one of them, a sleeping Alsatian was sprawled in a wire cage. In another, a child’s tricycle lay on its
side. Over all lay the stillness of a weekday suburb.

Helly turned and leant back against the window frame, cradling her mug of coffee. She looked down into it, then back up. ‘Funny, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Two people died,
just a few yards away. It could’ve been us. Dead easy.’ Annette did not reply. ‘You know Richard’s bent, don’t you?’ Helly said.

Annette frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, bent. Crooked. Skimming the cream off the top.’

‘He’s not. Really? Backhanders and so on?’

Helly nodded.

‘How do you know?’

‘Remember that time you sent me to Victoria? Raymond had forgotten his bleeper and was going to be in Chiswick all day. He rang up from South Ken, nearly having a cow. He was expecting
that architect to ring back and confirm something or other and you had to be able to get hold of him. He came back on the District line and I had to meet him at the barrier and hand the bleeper
over. Stupid git didn’t even say thank you. Just made me toss it over and then ran for it as if the place was on fire. Self-important arsehole.

‘As I was coming out of the tube, I went to get an apricot croissant from that place near Platform 5. It was ten o’clock, I was bleeding starving. Anyway, as I’m turning away,
I thought I’ll go for a little walk up the plaza, eat my croissant, no hurry to get back – you know how it is when you get let out unexpectedly. As I’m going past the payphones
tucked round the corner, who should I see but Richard, making a call from a public phone on his way to work. Ten in the morning.’ She paused to sip from her coffee.

‘Is that it?’ said Annette.

Helly sighed. ‘Listen will you? At the time I thought oh, that’s odd, and then I didn’t think anything more. Except later that day he was running round in a big state saying
where was his jacket? Do you remember? He’d had a meeting upstairs and left it and they got Karen to come down; meanwhile he’d gone back up. I thought blimey, two people having a cow in
one day. Two cows. I don’t know where you were but anyway you weren’t around, so I took it off her. As I did, this notebook falls out. Well, it didn’t exactly fall out, it was
sort of poking out the inside pocket, so I had a little look through it, as you do.

‘In the front was a list of the main contractors and their phone numbers, with ticks next to their names, some with three ticks, some four. A couple with asterisks. Then inside,
there’s a page for every job Richard’s been in charge of going way back, and lists of numbers, all in pencil. At the bottom, he’s put a contractor’s name and a question
mark. Then after that, pound signs. Next to one he’s written a list of things, conservatory, wooden floor tiles, garden shed . . . It looked like nothing much. Towards the end there were some
notes on the Ealing refurb job, remember that? Went to Robinson’s eventually, twenty-four grand.’

Annette frowned. Helly looked at her.

‘When did that job go out?’ she said impatiently.

‘Oh I can’t remember,’ said Annette. ‘End of November?’

‘December second,’ Helly continued. ‘The tenders had to be back by the eighteenth. I checked.’

‘So?’

‘So Richard has a note in his little book of who is going to get the job, and how much, a clear month before the bids come in. What is he, psychic or something?’

Annette got to her feet. She picked up her red mug from where it sat on the carpet and took it into the kitchenette. She filled it with water from the tap and put it down to stand in the washing
up bowl. Then she poured herself a glass of water from the nearby filter jug.

‘How could he be taking bribes without upstairs knowing? That’s what the tender envelopes are for.’

‘It’s easy. Dead easy. Even I could do it. You have to have at least three companies tendering for any contract over ten thousand, right? The bids come in sealed tenders. Except
Richard has the keys to the stationery cupboard, so he has his own supply of envelopes in case he needs to check a tender and then re-seal it. Either that or he has someone inside a company who
tips him off what they’re going to bid. Then he tells the other company to bid under.’