Follow You Home (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A
s predicted, public transport was in chaos, buses and trains grinding to a halt, taxis stranded. I joined the crowds of people leaving their offices early and battled through the streets. All I could think about was Jake, unable to shake my disbelief that he had killed himself. Struggling through the blizzard, my face and hands so cold I thought my skin might crack and fall from my bones, I remembered a conversation with Jake a year or so before, when he was at his lowest point, unable to get anyone interested in his music, while his biggest rival was at the peak of his success. We’d sat in a crowded pub in Angel, Jake wearing a bleak expression, devoid of his usual spark and bounce.

‘Sometimes,’ he said, sipping his coffee, ‘I think I should jack all this in and do something useful. I mean, Christ, the world needs more singer-songwriters like it needs another hole in the ozone layer. I’m thirty-two now. I’m too old for this.’

‘Officially, you’re twenty-six though, aren’t you? That’s what it says on your profile on YouTube.’

He grinned. ‘Yeah. Well, I can just about get away with that. My dad told me I should train as a plumber.’ He blew air through his nose. ‘My dad lives next door to a plumber. Apparently he’s just bought a brand new Audi.’

‘The plumber or your dad?’

‘Ha! My dad has a pushbike. Actually, not even that. He goes everywhere on Boris bikes.’

‘You’re not going to give up though, are you?’ I said, lifting my pint to my lips. ‘This is the thing you’ve always wanted.’

He rubbed his face. ‘I don’t know. I can picture myself in ten years, going on
The X Factor
and telling the judges this is my
last chance
, that it means
everything to me
.’

He looked up at me.

‘I’m not going to give up though, Dan. Never. I’m still going to be doing this when I’m ninety. I’m not going to become a fucking plumber.’

‘Not that there’s anything wrong with being a plumber.’

He laughed. ‘Very true, mate. It’s just not very me, is it?’

And that was Jake all over. He was not a quitter. Of course, none of us ever fully knows other people; we can’t see inside their heads. But time and again, since I’d known him, Jake had demonstrated that he was determined, unswerving. Even if something had gone wrong at the last moment, I was sure he wouldn’t commit suicide. He had even told me that if he didn’t get a deal it wouldn’t matter.

‘I’ll release the music myself,’ he said. ‘Cut out the middle man. Loads of people do that these days.’

I stopped and leaned against a wall as the tears came, the
realisation
that I would never see him again, never hear his voice, his laugh, smell the aroma of coffee that clung to him. To everyone else, the people who didn’t know him, the world had lost a
talent, a
singer. They had lost his songs. But I had lost my best friend, the person who knew more about me than anyone else. I had lost Laura. I hardly ever saw my parents. I had no siblings. And now I had lost my only real friend.

‘What the fuck am I going to do without you?’ I whispered into the snow.

As I got closer to home, I realised I was only a street away from the local police station. I needed to do something. I headed towards it.

The heating was cranked up so high that as soon as I stepped i
nto th
e police station the snow began to melt and drip from my clothes, my flesh thawing as a puddle spread around me on the floor. A
middle
-aged man was arguing with the woman at the reception desk,
something
about his neighbour’s Range Rover. I tuned out and studied the posters on the wall. Missing teenagers. Crimestoppers. An appeal for information about a knife attack in a kebab shop.

The irate man eventually left, heading out into the slackening sno
wstorm
. The receptionist eyed me, soggy and shivering, with distaste. I remembered the last police station I’d been in and felt even colder.

‘Can I help you?’

I approached the desk. ‘Yes, I need to talk to about the death of Jake Turner.’

She cocked her head.

‘He apparently committed suicide last night. But I was with him a few hours before he died. There’s no way he would have killed himself. He was my best friend.’

She studied my face, then said, ‘Please take a seat and I’ll find someone for you to talk to.’

Five minutes later, a female police officer appeared, the third member of the police I’d spoken to in the last week. I wondered if they had my name on a database now, with an alert next to it: nutter.

‘I’m PC Coates. How can I help you?’ she asked.

I told her what I’d already said to the receptionist. ‘I know that bridge is renowned for suicides. But Jake would never have jumped.’ I stared into her blue eyes, willing her to take me seriously. ‘He must have been pushed. Murdered.’

Coates looked at me sympathetically. ‘I understand it can be difficult to believe it when a close friend chooses to take their ow
n life.’

‘But how do you know he killed himself?’

‘Wait here.’

She disappeared behind the desk and came back later holding a sheet of paper.

‘Mr Turner sent a text to his sister. I’m afraid I can’t tell you the exact contents of his message at the moment but it was clear that he was intending to commit suicide. The text was sent just before a passing motorist spotted the body.’ She grimaced. ‘I’m very sorry. If you know Mr Turner’s sister, perhaps you should talk to her. It might offer you some comfort to talk to another person who was close to him.’

She explained that the body had been referred to the coroner, who would need to complete a report before the body could be released for the funeral.

‘It’s not the first death,’ I said, aware of the sceptical look that appeared on her face. ‘My therapist, Dr Claudia Sauvage—her house burned down and it said in the paper it was arson.’ I wanted to grab her hand, make her believe me. ‘I think they’re connected.’

‘Wait here,’ she said.

I was going to have to tell the police about Romania. When she came back, I would tell her the story, make her see. Although that might put her in danger . . . No, she was police. She’d be fine.

I was deep in thought when she returned.

‘Dr Claudia Sauvage of Grosvenor Road in Crouch End?’ she said, sitting down.

‘Yes! If it was arson, it must—’

She held up a hand. ‘It wasn’t arson, Mr Sullivan. The report from the fire scene investigator came back yesterday. It was her e-cigarette.’

‘What?’

‘She left it charging in her kitchen overnight and the battery exploded and started the fire. This isn’t the first incident of this. Those things are a menace.’

I was stunned. I remembered Dr Sauvage sitting there, sending plumes of water vapour into the air between us.

‘If you were seeing a therapist, I guess you’ve been under a lot of strain,’ the policewoman said. ‘Seeing connections where there aren’t any.’

I nodded, feeling a mixture of relief, foolishness and confusion.

‘You’re not thinking of doing anything like your friend, are you?’ said DS Coates.

I shook my head dumbly, then got up and walked away.

It was still snowing outside. I stood there for a moment, lost, unable to remember the way home. Eventually, my legs carried me automatically in the right direction. All I could see in my head was Jake’s body, broken and bent on the road beneath the bridge. I have never cried in public before, but hopefully the people who passed me in the bitter weather would have thought it was snow glistening on my cheeks, not tears.

As I entered my flat, I could hear a phone ringing. I had my mobile in my pocket, and this wasn’t the strident tone of the landline. It stopped, then started again a minute later, while I was pouring myself a shot of vodka. I followed the ringing sound into the bedroom. It was coming from the bedside drawer. The phone dropped by the Romanian girl at Jake’s gig. For a moment I couldn’t recall her name. Camelia, that was it. Hurriedly, I opened the drawer and answered the phone before it stopped ringing, noticing there were loads of missed calls listed on the screen. I had turned it off the night I met her because I didn’t want to be disturbed during the night. Weirdly, I didn’t remember switching the phone back on, but it wasn’t the only thing I had no memory of recently.

‘Who’s that?’ It was the voice of a young woman.

‘Is that Camelia? This is Daniel, from the gig.’

She laughed, a low, slightly dirty chuckle. ‘Daniel? So you found my phone? That’s wonderful. I’ve been ringing it for days. I thought it must be lost forever.’

‘I switched it off.’

‘Because you were angry with me? After I kissed you?’ Before I could think of what to say, she said, ‘Anyway, this is great news. My phone is not lost. Where can we meet?’

I glanced towards the window. I really didn’t want to go out
side again.

‘Can you wait until tomorrow?’ I asked.

‘No. How about I come to you? I really need it. Where do y
ou live?’

I explained that I was in Islington.

‘That’s great. I’m not far.’

I hesitated, not sure if I wanted her to come round. But I felt bad for turning the phone off so I gave her my address. I had another motive too. She knew who Jake was, had met him, and I wanted to talk about him. Not with someone who knew him well. Not right now. I thought Camelia would be the perfect person. It didn’t sound like she bore a grudge over my rejection of her anymore.

‘What about the snow?’ I asked. ‘Do you really want to go out in it?’

She laughed again, throaty and, yes, dirty. ‘I’m from Romania,’ she said. ‘I’m used to it.’

She hung up.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

A
n hour later, my door buzzer sounded. By this point, I had downed four, possibly five, shots of vodka in an attempt to deaden my grief, but I still felt sober. Sober enough to walk across the room in a straight line. Sober enough to feel pain.

I went downstairs, wondering if my neighbour would be listening. I hadn’t seen her since the incident with the dog.

Camelia stood on the doorstep in a black coat and hat, soaked through and pink-faced, but smiling. Snow clung to her clothes. God’s dandruff, we used to call it when we were kids. Even in this state, she was beautiful, with her vivid blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and plump lips that some women would pay a lot of money to attain. Something about her reminded me of Laura when
we had firs
t met, though this woman seemed far more sure of herself. I handed her the phone. She glanced at it and stuck it in her pocket.

‘Thanks, Daniel. Um, do you mind if I come in and use
your loo?’

‘Of course, come in. I was going to ask if you wanted to come in anyway . . .’

She raised an eyebrow, a little smile on her lips that made me wonder if this was a good idea. ‘Really?’

I waited while she used the bathroom and, when she came out, said ‘Do you want a drink?’

She looked me up and down. ‘You seem like you’ve already had a few.’

‘I’ve had a bad day.’

‘You want to tell me?’ She had taken her hat off to reveal her blonde hair, which she combed down with her fingers as she spoke. I noticed details I’d missed when we’d first met: her long fingernails that looked fake and the chunky silver rings on her left hand.

‘Maybe.’

‘Make it a double and I’ll happily listen,’ she said. I poured a drink for both of us and she downed hers in two gulps, exhaling with pleasure. ‘Ah, that’s what the doctor ordered. Cheers.’

I smiled at her use of English idioms. ‘Another?’

I refilled her glass, and this time she took a smaller sip. ‘Good vodka.’ She looked around the room. ‘And you have a very nice flat. Do you live here alone?’

‘At the moment.’

‘What about the girlfriend you told me about?’

Shit. ‘We’re not . . . together right now.’

Another smile. ‘Oh. Really?’

I swallowed. The vodka was definitely having an effect now. I felt woozy, the pain in my chest less acute, and brave enough to suggest that Camelia take off her coat and sit down.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I won’t stay too long.’ She hung her coat on the back of a chair. She was wearing a tight-fitting sweater and equally tight jeans. I imagined what Jake would have said about her. ‘Hot, Danny. Extremely fucking hot.’ It wasn’t just how she looked, but the air of confidence and ironic humour that radiated from her. She had a feline way of moving. She licked her lips before taking another sip of her drink. I took a big gulp of mine.

‘It’s fine. Stay as long as you want. I’m glad of the company.’

‘Because of your shitty day?’

My eyes prickled. Now it came to it, I found I couldn’t talk about Jake and what had happened. The words wouldn’t squeeze past the obstruction in my throat.

She didn’t speak, just looked at me, waiting.

‘Let’s just say that it’s nice not to be on my own.’

She raised her drink. ‘OK. Here’s to the end of a shitty day.’

We clinked glasses.

‘I’ll stay until the snow eases off, yes?’ she said.

We both looked towards the window. The street light outside the flat illuminated the snow as it fell. There was no sign of it
stopping
.

‘That might be tomorrow morning,’ I said.

She lifted her glass to her lips and took another sip. ‘Then I hope you have plenty of vodka.’ She paused. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump on you.’

The atmosphere in the room shifted, something crackling in the space between us. I felt nervous and excited. Camelia stood up and moved over to the bookcase, hips swaying as she walked. She examined the spines of the books, pulling out a guidebook that I’d bought before my and Laura’s trip.
The Rough Guide to Eastern Europe.
She flicked through it.

‘So tell me what happened to you in Romania. You had a bad experience?’ She came back towards me, leaning against the fireplace, the light catching the liquid in her glass. I was sitting on the sofa, looking up at her.

‘I can’t tell you,’ I said.

‘Can’t?’

I really felt drunk now, my head tight, the room tilting slightly. ‘It might be too dangerous,’ I said. ‘For you, I mean.’ In my drunken state, there was part of me that believed this. The police had told me Dr Sauvage hadn’t been murdered, but I felt uncharacteristically superstitious, Laura’s words from earlier haunting me. What if there was something supernatural going on? A curse that meant that bad things happened to anyone I talked to about Romania? The moment I thought it, I dismissed it. A curse! It was ridiculous.

‘That sounds intriguing,’ Camelia said.

‘Ignore me. I’m just kidding.’

‘It didn’t sound like you were joking. What was it?’ Her tone was light, playful, but there was a serious look in her eye.

‘Honestly, it doesn’t matter. I wasn’t being serious.’

‘OK . . . if you say so.’ She went over to the window. ‘This weather. Did you go to Bucharest? I was there two years ago, when we had so much snow it buried houses. I hope that doesn’t happen here.’ She turned and there was a wicked glint in her eye. ‘We’d be stranded—stuck here together.’

The breath felt thick in my lungs. ‘That would be terrible.’

‘As long as we have enough vodka.’

I laughed. ‘I think we’re going to run out soon, the rate we’re going.’

‘Too bad, Daniel.’

‘And what would we eat?’ I asked.

She crossed the room, putting her almost-empty glass down on the side table with a soft clunk. She stopped for a moment and then climbed onto the sofa. Her eyes searched my face and, drunk and craving human warmth, I reached out for her. She straddled me, kissing me, her tongue slipping between my lips, her hands
holding
my face. I kissed her back. Like before, there was the faintest trace of cigarettes in her mouth, plus the smell of perfume lingering
on her ski
n. I slipped my hands up the back of her sweater and pulled her closer, her breasts pressing against my chest through the fabric of our clothes. She felt warm now, heated from the inside by alc
ohol. I
was so drunk that I didn’t stop to think about how surreal this was.

‘Hmmm,’ she said, smiling into my mouth.

I felt breathless. ‘Bedroom?’

‘No, here is good.’

She pulled her sweater off over her head, revealing a red push-up bra and a tattoo on her upper arm. She unbuttoned my shirt and I shrugged it off, then took off my T-shirt. My erection strained against my underwear. She reached down into my lap and unbuttoned my jeans, shuffling back slightly and freeing my cock, wrapping her fist around it. She leaned forward and kissed me deeply, raking my chest with the fingernails of her free hand. I closed my eyes, and found myself imagining that she was Laura. We had made love on this sofa many times. Lost in the drunken moment, lips against mine, I could believe that Laura had come back to me.

‘Tell me your secrets, Daniel,’ she whispered into my mouth.

I tried to keep kissing her but she pulled back so our lips were barely touching.

‘Have you ever broken the law?’

‘What?’

Her hand still stroked my cock. I was close to coming already. She must have sensed this, taking her hand away and wriggling closer, the fabric of her jeans pressing against my naked flesh.

‘I want you to talk to me, Daniel. Tell me. Something illegal. It excites me.’

She kissed me again, quickly, then broke away. I opened my eyes to find her peering at me intently, a smile on her lips.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

‘Come on. Don’t be shy.’ She pulled back, examining my face. She pressed her crotch against my cock. I could feel how
warm
she was
through the denim. She stroked my chest and leaned
forward
again.

‘You must have done something to break the law,’ she said, breathing into my ear.

Was this really what turned her on? I wanted to comply so she wouldn’t stop but I couldn’t think of anything. I had stolen a pencil once from Argos but I doubted that would turn her on.

She rubbed against me and kissed my neck, raked her fingernails across my chest again. ‘Come on. Something illegal. You must have broken the law, Daniel.’

‘No.’

‘I don’t believe you. Come on, tell me.’

I could feel Jake’s presence in the room, laughing, telling me to make something up. But I felt so pissed, so confused. All I wanted was oblivion, for this woman to keep kissing me and touching me. I wanted to lose myself in her, in my fantasy that she was Laura. But suddenly I felt cold, my erection waning. She felt this and reached down, touching me again.

‘Come on,’ she said, sounding impatient now. ‘Tell me something bad . . . maybe something you and your girlfriend did together. Or maybe something you haven’t done yet.’

I was thoroughly confused now.

‘Camelia, I don’t think . . .’

She looked into my eyes intently, like she was trying to search my brain. Then she sighed and climbed off me, standing up and peering down at me.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘Whatever.’

She picked up her sweater and put it back on. She looked at me with contempt. I hurriedly buttoned up my jeans, looked for my T-shirt. I was freezing now, and felt sick.

‘Where did I put the phone?’ she said to herself, scouring the room.

Outside, a car alarm went off, and the noise shook me out of the almost-fugue state I was in. I stared at her. There was something familiar about her, something I’d seen since our first encounter. ‘What was all that about?’

She shrugged.

‘Have you been here before? In my flat?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I think you’re paranoid, Daniel. Of course I haven’t been here before.’ She found the phone and tucked it away in her jeans pocket. She headed towards the door. Before she went, she turned towards the window and took in the snow that continued to pummel the city.

‘Fuck this country,’ she said, and left.