Running Scared (27 page)

I wasn’t too worried, because unless Daphne chose to evict me, there was little they could do. But they had a point. I couldn’t go on causing this kind of disturbance. The entire neighbourhood would be signing a petition to get me out before long.

I let myself into the flat and switched on the light. Bonnie, who’d been lurking behind the door, began to jump up and down, whining an excited welcome. I picked her up, tucked her under my arm, and called out for Tig.

There was an upheaval behind the sofa and Tig crawled out on her hands and knees, her face concealed by a curtain of tangled hair. She got to her feet.

‘I’ve been stuck behind there ages!’ She glowered at me. ‘They were at the door and looking through the flamin’ window before I had a chance to hide in the bedroom or bathroom. All I could do was duck down behind there. They wouldn’t go away. They kept ringing the ruddy bell and shouting through the letter box. You get a lot of visitors, don’t you? And they don’t mind insisting on coming in.’

‘You could,’ I said, irritated and tired after a long and difficult day, ‘simply have answered the door and told them I wasn’t here.’

‘Answer? Not likely. They looked a real pair of weirdos.’ She swept back a mess of hair from her eyes. ‘So, how’d you get on, then?’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you all about it later. I’m going to have a cup of tea first. I need it.’

When I emerged from the kitchenette, minutes later, with two mugs of tea, Tig was sitting on the sofa, reading my magazine. She tossed it aside and took one of the mugs.

‘You saw them?’ She sounded eager but nervous.

‘I saw them.’ I fished out the packet of shortbread. ‘Here, your mum gave me this to eat on the train.’

Tig took the folded napkin and unwrapped the shortbread. She sat looking at it. ‘You shouldn’t have brought it,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘Were they all right? Not ill or anything?’

‘In blooming health, but been worried about you. They thought you might’ve been pregnant when you left.’

Tig burst out laughing. ‘I bet that was Dad’s explanation! I can imagine him shouting at Mum that it was a woman’s business and she ought to have noticed and Mum denying the whole thing.’

‘You weren’t, were you?’ It occurred to me that perhaps the Quayles’ suspicions might not have been unfounded.

‘No, of course I wasn’t. When would I get a chance to get knocked up? I never went anywhere, never dated a boy. Dad thought they were all rapists – well, perhaps he wasn’t far wrong at that.’ Bitterness touched her voice.

‘I thought your mum quite nice. A bit nervy.’ I wanted to take her mind off her terrible experience.

‘And my dad?’

‘Wasn’t so keen on him.’ I couldn’t politely say more but I didn’t need to. Tig had given me a look of perfect comprehension but made no other comment.

‘You can go home any time,’ I said.

‘You told them about the time I was on drugs?’

‘I did. Not about your being on the game, though. They could only take so much and frankly, I don’t think they need to know that.’

Tig fed a piece of shortbread to Bonnie, held out one to me which I took, and ate one herself. ‘You think I’m doing the right thing, Fran? I know you said so before, but you hadn’t met them then. It’s one reason I wanted you to meet them. Do you still think I’d be doing the right thing in going back?’

‘I still think you’ll be doing the right thing, but I understand it won’t be easy. You’ll have to give each other time.’

Tig wiped the shortbread crumbs from her shirt. ‘Did they say anything in particular? You know, did they make any conditions?’

I realised that the Quayles hadn’t stipulated any rules beforehand. Perhaps they hadn’t thought of it or perhaps they weren’t quite so narrow-minded as I’d imagined. ‘They mentioned a Dr Wilson.’

‘That old boy? He’s still practising? He must be eighty.’

‘I warned them you’d lost weight – and I told them you’d been attacked while sleeping rough. That’s all I said, no details.’

Tig looked away from me and muttered, ‘Yes, sure.’ After a moment, she said, ‘I’ll go tomorrow, then.’

I was startled enough to show it and she gave a wry smile. ‘Strike while the iron’s hot, that’s what they say, don’t they? I don’t want to give myself too much time to think about it. I’ll talk myself out of it if I do. It’s all right if I leave Bonnie here, then?’

‘Look,’ I said, ‘we’ll have to phone them first so your dad can pick you up at the station.’

She was shaking her head. ‘No. I don’t want any contact with them beforehand. We’ll start quarrelling on the phone and everything will just, you know, get screwed up. I’ll just go. It’ll be all right. If no one’s in, I’ll sit on the doorstep till they get back. Give the neighbours something to talk about.’

I imagined the neighbours would have plenty to talk about all right.

‘Don’t mess up that magazine,’ I said. ‘I haven’t read it yet.’

I ran up to the shop first thing the next morning and explained to Ganesh that I had to go with Tig to the train. ‘Not just to see her off, but to make sure she’s really gone. I’ll come back later.’

So Tig, Bonnie and I found ourselves at Marylebone again, only this time, our roles were reversed. Tig got on the train and I stood on the platform with Bonnie on her string. Bonnie lay down and put her nose on her paws. Her eyes looked up, rolling from side to side, and her expression said, ‘Oh, are we doing this again? Is it going to be regular?’ I thought that both she and I hoped not.

Tig had been in a funny mood since getting up. She hadn’t said much although from time to time she’d looked as though she was about to speak, but then thought better of it. I couldn’t blame her for being unsettled. I could only guess at how she must be feeling. The Quayles would probably be horrified when they saw her but even after only a few days with me, she was looking a lot better and taking more trouble with her appearance. She’d combed back her hair and secured it with one of those big spring grips. It suited her. I wondered if my hair would ever grow that long and how many months it would take, starting as it did from near zero.

She was standing in the open doors of the Chiltern Lines Turbo, studying me carefully in the way she had. I’d got used to it, mostly, but it was still unsettling.

‘Something you’ve forgotten?’ I asked.

Indecision flickered across her face before she seemed to take a deep breath and to have made up her mind to say something. ‘Fran—’ she began. Someone pushed past her and she moved aside, back into the carriage. When she reappeared something, some resolve, had gone out of her. ‘I was just going to say, thanks.’

‘No problem,’ I said. But it occurred to me that wasn’t what she’d been about to say and I wondered, if the other passenger hadn’t intervened, if she’d have spoken out loud at last what had been on her mind since breakfast.

‘You didn’t get much of a fee,’ she went on. ‘When I get some more money, I’ll send you some.’

‘No, you won’t,’ I told her. ‘We’re quits. You’ve given me Bonnie.’

There was a whistle down the platform, a warning buzz from inside the train and with a pneumatic hiss, the doors slammed together. Tig, on the inside, waved at me as it drew out. I waved back.

‘Just you and me then, Bonnie,’ I said to the terrier. She jumped up and wagged her stumpy tail. ‘You know, we’re going to have to get you a proper lead,’ I went on. ‘This piece of string doesn’t do anything for either of us.’

I rattled homeward on the bus with Bonnie sitting on my knees, attracting much admiration and petting, and looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. In the small hours of the morning, I’d thought out what I was going to do next. Not having the encounter with the Quayles looming over me had freed up my mind considerably.

I went to the flat first, collected the magazine, and the photo Joleen had unearthed for me, and made my way to the shop.

Hitch was there, leaning on the counter. ‘Hullo, darling,’ he greeted me. ‘What’s this then?’ He meant Bonnie. He stooped to scratch her ears. ‘This is a Jack Russell, this is.’

‘It’s a dog,’ said Ganesh disagreeably. ‘And they’re not allowed in the shop. I’ve got a sign outside that says so.’

He was right. A yucky thing it was too, a picture of some soulful animals and the legend ‘Please Leave Us Outside’.

‘If I let you bring that one in,’ Ganesh went on, ‘I’ll have to let everyone bring their dogs in. Loads of people round here have got dogs and some of them are big.’

Ganesh, you’ll have gathered, isn’t a dog-lover. Shop hygiene rules aside, he just doesn’t like them and they don’t like him. I leave it to you to work out which dislike sparked the other. All I know is, perfectly placid dogs, which had been rolling at the feet of little children moments before, would turn into snapping, snarling throwbacks to the wolf as Ganesh approached. Even Bonnie, catching the tone of his voice, made a soft growling noise in her throat.

By way of distraction, I asked after Marco. Hitch informed us he’d gone to the continent for a few days’ holiday. I asked where.

‘Amsterdam,’ said Hitch. That made sense. Though his being away in the clouds half the time would’ve dulled my pleasure in Marco’s company, I was still sorry we hadn’t made it even to first base. I had fancied him.

‘Catch rats, them little dogs,’ said Hitch cheerfully, bringing things down to earth. ‘Bloody good rat-catchers. Couple of people down our street, when we was kids, kept terriers like that. We used to pull up the manhole covers and drop the tykes down the sewers. They had a great time down there chasing rats. Then we had to squeeze down after em to get em back. Catching them was a job and a half down there. It was dark and stinking, all you could do to breathe. Had to watch where you put your feet, too. Do you know, a lot of them sewers are Victorian? Lovely bit of brickwork, wonderful workmanship, real skill.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Kids don’t have fun like that no more. It’s all telly and computers stuffing their heads with rubbish. They learn nothing. They don’t take no healthy exercise.’

I explained that Bonnie wasn’t used to being left alone and for today at least, I’d had to bring her. I took her into the storeroom and tied her up. She didn’t seem to mind that and settled down happily on some flattened cardboard, with a clean plastic container of water, home from home.

When I went back Hitch and Ganesh were wrangling over payment of the bill for the new washroom. Ganesh wanted to write a cheque: Hitch wanted cash.

‘It’s easier, is cash,’ wheedled Hitch. ‘I can just stuff it in me back pocket. Cheques I’ve got to put through the books. I’ll have to charge you VAT.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Ganesh, ‘that your turnover requires you to register for VAT. Not unless you’ve been putting in new washrooms from here to Battersea. I’ve got to put it through our books to show Hari what I’ve spent.’

In the end, Hitch took the cheque, though he clearly didn’t have any confidence in such a method of payment. He trailed away looking as if Ganesh had given him a wad of Monopoly money.

‘I told you to watch out if you were going to deal with him,’ I reminded Ganesh.

Ganesh replied loftily that he could take care of business matters, thank you. He wasn’t without experience.

It was time to dent his smugness. I unrolled the magazine and opened it out flat on the counter.

‘What is it?’ Ganesh peered at it suspiciously. ‘Do we sell that one? It looks like one of those Sunday supplements to me.’

‘It is. Just look at the photos, will you? Any of them mean anything to you?’

Ganesh scanned the pages, hesitated at Grice’s picture, then moved on. After a few moments he sighed. ‘I know what you want me to say, Fran. You want me to tell you that this one –’ he tapped Grice’s pic – ‘is a bit like the chap in those photos Coverdale left in the old washroom. I agree, there is a faint resemblance, but that’s all there is. Don’t start leaping to conclusions. You know what you are.’

I ignored that. I took out the print from the chemist’s and put it beside the one in the magazine. ‘Look again. Imagine him with bleached hair and perhaps four or five years older.’

Ganesh gasped and jabbed a finger at the print. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘It was in the darkroom waste bin, down at Joleen’s place. Never mind how I got it. Look again and be honest.’

‘It looks like him,’ agreed Ganesh sulkily. ‘But I’d better be wrong and so had you. From what it says here, he’s bad news.’