The Evil And The Pure (6 page)

Fast Eddie shrugged. “The professor can invite anyone he wants. Long
as you come clean, you can visit whenever you like.”

Clint nodded
, thinking about Shula, wanting to do something that would provide him with the means to impress her, figuring he might be able to get some mileage out of the professor if he came more often, not just when summoned. This could be one of those opportunities that Cousin Dave was always urging him to seize. Inspired by dreams of winning the heart of Shula Schimmel, he decided on a whim to get proactive and seize it. “I’ll see you soon then.”

“Looking forward to it,” Fast Eddie deadpanned. He pressed a button and the door slid open. Clint stepped through
and hit the streets, obsessing about Shula and the life they might share.

Kevin Tyne hated London Bridge station. Grotty, claustrophobic, a non-stop flow of commuters and tourists, everyone in a rush, everyone snappish. He used to work in Southfields, much more relaxed. But London Bridge was a ten minute walk from his apartment on Long Lane. It meant he was close to home, close to Tulip. He’d requested the transfer, and though the last sixteen months had been torture, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Having ready access to Tulip made up for the rest of the crap that he had to endure.

Kevin had recently
celebrated
ten years working for London Underground. He’d joined them after dropping out of college three months into his first year, unable to connect with his history tutors and fellow students. Originally a stopgap while he cleared his head, re-evaluated his ambitions and chose an alternate course. A decade later he was still issuing tickets from behind a glass window and answering the most mundane travel questions, no imagination required, a robot’s job. One slight perk — he didn’t have to smile. Nobody expected Tube staff to be courteous.

Today he was manning the Northern Line northbound platform.
He had to spend his time endlessly directing people, clearly and politely telling them how to find their way out of the station to the London Dungeon, the Globe, London Bridge, HMS Belfast. Also which lines and stations they needed for Buck Palace, Covent Garden, Oxford Street, Harrods. Surrounded by the crowd, a constant press, the same questions over and over, exhausting.

At least the days never dragged. In Southfields he
would often get bored, his eyes glued to the teasing hands of his watch, wishing the day would pass quicker, glumly looking forward to another quietly desperate night — bland dinner, a walk, TV, perhaps a pub. He’d wonder for the millionth time how he’d lost touch with all his friends from school, why he had such trouble making new associates, what he should be doing with his life, whether it was always going to be this humdrum. Worrying about Tulip towards the end of his spell there, fearing exposure, sickly certain that he’d come home to find her gone. He’d dash out to phone her, even if she was in school, heart beating, fighting to hide his anxiety when he spoke with her, telling her he loved her. Then he’d hang up reluctantly and return to watching the seconds drag, waiting for night, wanting to be with her all the time.

After a
dog of a morning he relished his first break. One of his colleagues flashed him a sympathetic grin as he headed for the escalators to daylight. Kevin wandered up through the station to Tooley Street, then a short stroll to clear his thoughts. Pausing in the doorway of a building he slid out his mobile and rang Tulip. She answered on the third tone. “Hello?”

“Me. Everything OK?”

“Sure.”

“We need milk.”

“I got it.”

“You’ve been out?”

“Yes.”

“To the shops?”

“Yes. I got a Mirror and Sun too.”

“You should have told me
you were going. I’d have left more money.”

“I had enough. How’s work?”

“Awful.” He laughed, not caring now that he was talking with her.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Didn’t you get anything?”

“Thought I’d check with you first.
I fancy a takeaway. Fish and chips?”

“Maybe. We’ll discuss it over lunch.”

“Want me to make some sandwiches?”

“No. I’ll buy
rolls. Chicken tikka?”

“Yes please. And a Pepsi Max.”

“That’s bad for you. I’ll bring orange juice.”

“There’s no sugar in Pepsi Max.”

“The bubbles are bad for your teeth.”

“Don’t be silly. Pepsi Max.”

He laughed. “You win. See you soon.”

“
Thanks.” She waited for him to disconnect — he didn’t like her putting the phone down first.

Back to work. Cheerful after his chat with Tulip. Daydreaming about her in his few quiet moments. Perfect
ion in his mind’s eye, even though she was overweight, her front teeth crooked, her hair poorly styled. He wanted to drift with his thoughts, devote his day to her, worship at the altar of his imagination, plan an impossible future where they were together forever, happy, content, one. But customers kept intruding, spilling out of trains, asking for directions, complaining, getting lost. Kevin wanted to scream at them, tell his boss to go fuck himself, storm out, find Tulip, seek the comfort of her arms.

But he had bills to pay. They had to eat and drink. Tulip needed new
clothes, shoes, books, CDs, videos.
Drugs
. They made a lot of money out of their late-night appointments, but Kevin only loaned out his sister reluctantly, to a chosen few, those who could play the game, whom he could trust. She wasn’t a whore and he wouldn’t treat her like one. Couldn’t. They needed a regular income. It was his job to provide.

So he kept a neutral expression. He answered questions courteously, never los
t his cool, even when customers were losing theirs. Gave directions, apologised when people complained, handed out free information maps, manned his platform efficiently and quietly. Until lunch… freedom… home… Tulip.

She was on the tiny balcony of their top floor apartment, waiting for him, basking in the weak September sun. Kevin kissed her forehead, told her not to get up, handed her a chilled can of Pepsi Max, took the rolls to the kitchen to unwrap and place on plates. The kitchen was small, like the two bedrooms, the living room, the bathroom, the spare room which used to be Kevin’s when he was growing up. The apartment was once a council flat, the family home since Kevin was seven years old. He moved out when he was eighteen. Returned two and a half years ago when Dad died unexpectedly, to look after Tulip. The flat was theirs by that stage, bought from the council in the early nineties. The plan had been to move in, take care of Tulip until she finished school, sell the flat, split the proceeds evenly, use his half of the money to get out of the Underground trap, go into business, go back to college, just
go
.

Kevin joined Tulip on the balcony and gave her
the chicken tikka roll. She thanked him and started munching, cheeks bulging, making quick work of it. She used to be a light eater, Mum always worried about her before the cancer gave her more substantial problems to worry about. Practically starved herself after Dad’s death, crying, lonely, picking at her food like a sparrow, Kevin urging her to eat more. Now she was ballooning, had gained a stone in less than six months, no sign of slowing down. Kevin thought that she was trying to make herself fat and ugly, so nobody would want her. But he couldn’t tackle her about it. He lacked the spine to make open mention of the issue. Afraid she’d confirm his suspicions. Terrified of what that would mean, what it would do to them, to
him
.

T
hey discussed the evening ahead. Kevin suggested a movie but there was nothing at the cinemas that Tulip wished to see and they’d watched videos the last two nights. She didn’t want to sit through a third. “Theatre?” Kevin asked, but Tulip didn’t enjoy plays. She liked to munch popcorn and slurp soft drinks while watching a show. “We could go to a pub.” Tulip was sixteen and looked it, but most bartenders served her when she was with Kevin, or turned a blind eye while he ordered and she hovered in the background.

“
How about a long walk after dinner?” Tulip asked. “We could go by the river, walk to the London Eye and back.” Tulip loved walking along the bank of the Thames to the Eye, where she’d buy a hotdog, sit for hours and stare at the tourists, wondering where they’d come from, where they were going, what their lives were like. The Eye itself didn’t appeal to her – they’d been up on it once and she’d expressed no interest in a second trip – just the people it attracted.

“Again?” Kevin groaned. “We were there at the weekend. How about Hyde Park? Nice evening, fresh grass, open air…”

“Maybe,” Tulip said, and by her sullen tone he knew she had her heart set on the Eye, which meant they’d be going. Kevin couldn’t bear to disappoint his sweet little sister.

They agreed on a fish and ch
ips supper. Kevin would collect the food on his way back from work. Then the Eye.

“Got to go now,” he said, wishing he could stay.

“Already?” Tulip checked her watch and pouted.

“The afternoon will pass quickly,” Kevin laughed. “You have your shows on the telly. And…” He cleared his throat.

Tulip sighed. “Do I have to?” she muttered.

“Of course not,” he said quickly. “You know I’d never force you. But you’ll get the shakes if you don’t. You know what you’re like. If you leave it until later, the night will be spoilt
and you won’t be able to come out.”

“Go on then,” Tulip sniffed. “Fetch it for me.”

“I’m not your slave,” Kevin protested.

“Of course you are,” she giggled and they smiled at
one another.

“Come inside,” Kevin said. “I don’t want anyone to see.”

“Nobody’s watching.”

“Still. It will be safer inside.”

Tulip rolled her eyes but rose and followed him through to the bedroom. She sat on the bed while Kevin retrieved the box from a cubbyhole at the back of the wardrobe, dully watching him as he removed the tin foil, the lighter, the heroin. His hands were much steadier than hers. She sometimes chased the dragon all by herself, but Kevin prepared her fixes more often than not.

Kevin carefully melted
down the powder, then beckoned Tulip forward. She picked up the foil tube, shuddered as she thought about what she was doing, then leant forward and inhaled. She despised the drug and would have refused if she could. But its lure was powerful. She had smoked often (at Kevin’s sly bidding) and become addicted. She’d suffer withdrawal pangs if she went without. Besides, it helped numb her to what she had done with Kevin and their clients, what she would no doubt be asked to do soon again.

Kevin left her in front of the TV, only vaguely focused. He kissed her goodbye and h
urried back to work, feeling the cold, dark station walls close around him, cutting him off from the world and his sister, hating the place more than ever, surviving by imagining it was three years from now, the apartment sold, working in a rural rail station or embarked on an exciting new career, living in the countryside with Tulip, a cottage of their own, no one to interfere, alone except for when they entertained a few wealthy, understanding guests, Tulip having come to accept, enjoy and depend upon the
appointments
as much as he had. Bliss.

Busy all afternoon. A couple of customers picked arguments with him. One had lost her purse and wanted her money refunded – seventy-four pounds, eighty-six pence exactly – while the other was an American in his sixties, moaning about the train schedules. Kevin could deal with most complaints himself, but these two kept yapping, wearing him down until he had to call his superior. Dan Bowen hated facing the public even more than Kevin, and always took it personally when one of his staff called him to the front lines — he thought they were doing it to spite him. Kevin knew Dan would spend the rest of the week thinking up ways to pay Kevin back. Once, after a similar incident, Dan had sent him down five nights in a row to clean the platforms. The fact that he’d have to sit and take Dan’s shit depressed him even more. He shouldn’t have to scrape to his boss’ petulant whims, but Dan’s father was a major player in the union and his brother was highly placed too, so there was no recourse there.

Eventually the day ended and Kevin was free. Before clocking off, he
tracked down Dan and apologised — probably wouldn’t do any good, but worth a try. Dan sniffed and said it was just part of the job, he didn’t care. Kevin knew that was bullshit, but maybe his grovelling would satisfy Dan and he’d get off lightly this time, just have to work at the weekend or do some unpaid overtime.

Home to Tulip, stopping for fish and chips in Long Lane, fresh, piping hot, excellent. Marco
chatted with him while he was wrapping the food. He wanted to know how Kevin was and what his beautiful sister was doing. Kevin stiffened automatically, then relaxed. “Looking for a job,” he lied.