Take the A-Train (18 page)

He heard the sirens too and hesitated, then took the note and worked the switch that closed the doors, engaged gear and pulled away. I fell into the seat reserved for the handicapped and people with shopping or babies and held tightly to the chrome bar, watching the world and the police cars go by. I felt every eye in the bus on me. I closed mine and sank back against the vibrating window.

When I opened my eyes again Kennington had merged into Brixton. I didn’t know what bus I was on, where it was headed or how far I could travel, but I figured for a cockle I was all right for a trip to the terminus and a cup of tea in the canteen.

The bus reached Brixton Hill and I passed streets I recognised. Wanda the Cat Woman lived close by and I needed sanctuary. The bus lurched up past the prison where Emerald was probably just finishing his breakfast and, if I wasn’t careful, I’d soon be joining him for some porridge of my own. I saw a request stop looming, rang the bell and hit the pavement.

I was starting to crash and crash heavily. My eyes weren’t focusing and every small step was a giant leap. I would gratefully have curled up in the gutter and slept until a Lambeth Council mechanical sweeper came and plucked me from my temporary bed.

I headed up Brixton Hill, slipping and sliding on the packed snow, then turned left by a big council estate and found Wanda’s house down on the corner. I rubbed some snow over my face to clean it and clear my head. I pushed open the garden gate and walked up the path. I leaned on the bell and felt myself going again. I was being watched by an audience of cats sitting in the front room window. There seemed to be dozens of them and the inside of the glass was cloudy from their breath. They looked disdainfully on as I slumped against the door jamb.

I was beginning to wonder what the hell I was doing there when the door opened and I fell into the passage. I registered blonde hair, a Japanese kimono and a smell of cats, and a voice said ‘Hello, Nick, have you been at the glue again?’ before sweet darkness enveloped me once more.

W
hen I came to, I was in a vast, soft bed. But I woke with such a start that I imagined I was back in that dreadful kitchen with a dead body cooking on the stove. I must have been clutching the sheet and sweating in panic for two minutes before I realised I was safe.

I stank and my mouth tasted like the inside of a soil pipe. I shouted some gobbledegook as I came up from unconsciousness and Wanda appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking cool but concerned.

‘Good morning, Nicholas.’

‘Hi.’

‘Bad dreams?’ she asked.

‘Could be.’

‘Nightmare on Elm Park?’

‘Something like that.’

‘So I gathered. You were talking in your sleep last night.’

‘Last night? What day is this then?’

‘Monday.’

‘Jesus, what happened to Sunday?’

‘A winter’s Sunday in Brixton Hill? You were lucky to miss it. I let you sleep through.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Seven-thirty.’

‘In the morning?’

‘Got it in one.’

‘I haven’t slept properly for a few days.’

‘It showed. You look better for some rest.’

I didn’t think I could have looked much worse.

‘Thanks for the hospitality.’

‘Just as well I didn’t have a boyfriend in.’

‘I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. I thought you were saving yourself for me.’

‘If I was you’d have to grow up a bit, and I don’t think I can wait that long.’

‘Aren’t I mature enough for you, then?’

‘Mature, you? Mentally you haven’t reached the age of consent.’

I guessed she was right. Having no responsibilities means someone else always looking after your arse and getting you out of trouble. So I changed the subject. That one was a bit too close to home.

‘Did you sleep with me?’

‘Of course. There’s only one bed.’

‘Did I,
you know
?’

‘You tried, but you couldn’t get it up.’

‘That’s nothing new. It runs in the family. I hope I didn’t get you too hot.’

She gave me a disgusted look. ‘I didn’t have to bite my knuckles in frustration, if that’s what you mean.’

‘That’s OK then. Maybe next time.’

‘Maybe.’

‘I’ll dream about it.’

‘Dream on.’

‘Now
you’re getting me
hot
.’

‘Your mind is like a sewer.’

‘My mind is OK, it’s my armpits that are like sewers.’

‘Want a bath?’

‘Good idea.’

‘I’ll run one.’

‘Hot,’ I said.

‘As hot as you can handle.’

The way I felt, that wouldn’t be very hot at all. I struggled out of bed and wrapped myself in a sheet.

‘Modest too,’ said Wanda.

I felt another crash coming. ‘Wanda,’ I said, and my voice sounded miles away and I nearly fell. She supported me, and held me tightly.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’ll manage. I’ve been pushing the boat out a bit over the past few days.’

‘I would never have guessed.’

‘It’s not what you think.’

‘If you say so. By the way, how’s your leg?’

‘I’ll survive.’

‘You’re not taking care of it, and your foot’s swollen. I had a terrible job getting that boot and sock off. Why aren’t you using your stick?’

‘I lost it.’

‘You’re a bloody fool to yourself.’

‘I know, but I’ll be OK. I’ve just got to take care of a little business. Then the scars can harden or else it won’t matter.’

‘You can’t leave. You’re not well enough.’

‘I’ve got to.’

She tightened her mouth but didn’t argue. I followed her into the bathroom like a dog. As I went in she stalked out and slammed the door. I shrugged. The bathroom smelled fragrant and both taps were gushing into a green, scented bubble bath. I turned off the cold tap and tested the water. Perfect. I dropped the sheet and eased myself into the water with a groan. I looked at my leg. It had the texture and colour of raw meat and my left foot had swollen by at least a size and a half. I hoped that I would be able to get my boot back on.

I soaked for an hour, adding scalding water as required. I got out when my skin began to crinkle. There were hot towels on the rail. As I reached for one I crashed badly again. I felt dizzy and sick, and the room tilted and went grey and misty at the edges. Familiar items looked mysterious. I sat on a towel on the closed toilet seat and put my head between my knees. I closed my eyes and saw stars on a black background. Sweat popped out of my body and I gripped my calves and breathed deeply. Jesus, if this went on I was going to have to think about changing my lifestyle.

I felt wet hair on my bare thighs and pressed my eyelids hard into my eyeballs and put my head back on to the cool plastic of the cistern. There was a knock on the door. I modestly covered myself – every man does, take my word – and said, ‘Yes?’

Wanda stuck her head round the door and asked, ‘Are you OK?’

‘Sure, why?’

‘You’ve been in there such a long time.’

‘I’m good.’

‘I never noticed.’

‘Gee, thanks, Wanda. After that kind of compliment I’ll be right on top today.’

She stuck out her tongue. ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK? You look as white as a sheet.’

‘Just a bad moment.’

‘How bad is it?’

‘I’ll survive.’

‘Will you be all right on your own?’

I smiled, and it hurt. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, and wondered who I was trying to convince. Her or me.

I finished drying myself and wrapped a towel around my waist – I went looking for Wanda. She was sitting at the kitchen table sipping at a china mug of tea and looking at yesterday’s
Observer
. She got up and got me a mug of my own. I sat down opposite her and pinched one of her B&H.

‘Want something to eat?’ she asked.

‘Good idea.’

‘Bacon and eggs?’

I tasted curry again. ‘Just eggs,’ I said quickly. ‘Egg and chips would be good.’

She looked at me strangely, she had fed me before, but ‘No problem,’ was all she said. ‘Your clothes are in the airing cupboard,’ she added.

I went and found them and dressed in everything but my DMs. I thought I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. Wanda had washed and ironed everything.

I went back to the kitchen which was warm and cosy with cooking smells. ‘Thanks for doing my laundry.’

‘I had to, they stank.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

I sat down at the table. It had been laid with a bright cloth, a knife and fork and ketchup and salt. She brought me the food, then sat down with another mug of tea.

‘So what happened?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

‘That means don’t ask, right?’

‘Right.’

‘But I’m curious.’

‘Curiosity killed The Cat Woman.’

‘That bad?’

‘For me.’

‘And you won’t tell me?’

‘It’s a long story. Too long. I can’t even work it out myself. I’ve just been taken for a mug by a whole bunch of people.’

‘And that will never do.’

‘It’s cost lives.’

She turned white. ‘You’re joking.’

‘I wish I was.’

‘Did you … ?’

‘No.’

‘Who, then?’

‘I’ll tell you all about it later. It’ll be over soon, one way or another.’

‘Stay here.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Please.’

‘I wish I could. It would be easier.’

‘Sod you then.’

‘Don’t be like that.’

‘A man’s gotta do,’ she said sarcastically.

‘Funny, I said much the same the other day myself. Strange how we all talk in clichés, isn’t it? Will you give me a lift later?’

‘Nick, it’s not a good idea. You’re in no condition.’

‘Forget that. Will you give me a lift or not?’

She gave in all of a sudden. ‘You can have the bloody car if you like.’

Her car was a Morris Minor 1000 traveller, circa 1955 with a dodgy transmission and bald tyres.

‘No. Thanks all the same. A ride will be fine.’

‘Where do you want to go?’

‘Waterloo.’

‘What’s in Waterloo?’

‘Who,’ I corrected her.

‘Who then?’

‘Someone I know. Someone I have to see.’

‘A woman?’

I nodded.

‘Why?’

‘I have to let her know I’m all right.’

Wanda pursed her lips but didn’t speak.

I ate the eggs and chips, and a tin of beans and some toast, and drank three cups of tea in silence. Hers as much as mine. I felt like a jerk treating Wanda so badly, but it was the only way I could protect her.

Finally I faced up to my boots. The right one was OK, but the left felt like a vice on my foot. I survived.

Before we left she asked me if I wanted to see my cat that she had been looking after for longer than I cared to remember.

‘Sure,’ I said.

She took me into a back room where a big black and white moggie was lording it over a couple of smaller cats.

‘Is that him?’ I asked. ‘Christ, he’s grown. Do you think he’ll remember me?’

‘I doubt it. You don’t feed him.’

‘A man and his cat never forget.’ Cat looked at me suspiciously but came and sniffed my fingers and let me pet him. ‘See,’ I said, and he turned and spat at me. ‘Just like his old mum,’ I said proudly.

‘Are you ever going to accept your responsibilities for anything?’ asked Wanda. I heard tears in her voice. That one struck home. It referred back too accurately to my own earlier thoughts.

‘Let’s go,’ I said.

We went outside to where the Morris waited, and shoved hardened snow dotted with little specks of soot off the bodywork and on to the street. The old starter motor turned the engine over half a dozen times to no avail, and I could just begin to hear the battery beginning to lose power when the engine caught. Wanda pumped gas and the exhaust belched, missed, and belched again before the engine roared healthily.

Wanda adjusted the choke and looked over at me. ‘Good old car,’ she said.

‘Keep the revs up and for Christ’s sake turn on the heater, I’m freezing,’ I said. She did as she was told and the engine settled to a lumpy idle while warmish air crept into the cab. When everything seemed safe, I agreed with her. ‘Good old car,’ I echoed, and she smiled despite herself.

It was just after ten when we pulled away from the kerb, leaving an icy bare patch on the roadside.

Wanda headed towards town and within twenty minutes or so I directed her around to the row of pre-fabs close to Waterloo Station.

The little box of a house looked like an illustration on a Christmas card, with icicles hanging down from the trellis over the door and the flat roof covered in snow, except where heat from the chimney had melted a circle of moisture about a yard in diameter.

‘Who lives here?’ Wanda asked. ‘The seven dwarves or just Snow White?’

‘Don’t be like that, Wanda.’

‘How should I be?’

‘A friend, just be a friend.’

And of course she had been, and it was an insult for me to suggest otherwise, but ‘All right, Nick’ was all she said, an edge of sadness in her voice that I’ll never forget.

‘Thanks, Wanda. I owe you one.’

‘I’ll wait if you like.’

‘No, it’s OK. You get on home. I’ll be in touch.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Sure.’

‘What happens if she isn’t here?’

‘I’ll think of something.’

She shrugged and sighed, but let me go.

I
 got out of the Morris. It pulled away with a crash of gears, a clunk from the engine and much dark smoke from the exhaust pipe. I didn’t see Wanda again for a lifetime, but that’s another story.

I lifted my hand to the retreating car as it turned into the main road past the hospital, but there was no acknowledgement.

I walked across the snowy street and up the freshly swept front path to the door of the pre-fab. My head was clear but my leg and foot were on fire and I hoped that I was doing myself no permanent damage.

I stood on the small porch and thumbed the doorbell. I heard the faint sound of ringing from indoors as I huddled inside my jacket for warmth, and waited.

A middle-aged man in a wheelchair answered the door. He was whippet thin, with long shaggy hair and a full, grizzled beard. He sat in the doorway and looked at me, I stood on the porch and looked back. ‘Is Fiona in?’ I asked.