Think Yourself Lucky (23 page)

He was seized by a feeling so violent that he couldn't have put it into words. He didn't even know how much of it was panic. He took such a breath that he was barely in time to head off his own answering message. "Yes, dad? Hello?"

"Ah, you are there after all. Hello, David." After too prolonged a pause for David's taste his father said "How's life treating you both?"

At least this didn't sound like the threat of any news, though David wasn't sure how he felt about that either. "We're getting along," he said. "Getting on with it, I mean."

"What's the latest on Stephanie's situation?"

"We're waiting to hear what will happen at Mick's."

"I'm sure none of us would have wished him to end up that way, but since he did I don't think it's wrong to hope she benefits from developments." As David held back a response his father said "Along those lines, perhaps you can stop thinking about Susan."

David halted opposite the roofless church, outside which several men were communing with a bottle of wine on the steps. "Why do you want me to do that?" he felt incautious for demanding.

"I just thought you might like to have a bit less on your mind."

"And you're saying that because..." Perhaps his father was waiting for him to finish, since David had to ask "Why are you saying?"

"Susan's client who was giving her so much trouble is no longer with us.

David trudged away from the remains of the church, whether in a bid to leave behind some of his thoughts or so that none of the crowd around him would have time to overhear much. "He's moved, you mean?"

"He's made his last move. Gone for good."

David had begun to feel watched, perhaps only because passers-by kept glancing at whatever expression had escaped onto his face. "What happened to him?"

"Apparently an overdose of the latest substance."

"I suppose we might have expected that sooner or later." David wondered if he could yield to relief, though not before he learned "How's mother coping?"

"She doesn't seem to feel as guilty as I was afraid she might. I believe she's starting to appreciate that it's given her more time to devote to her other clients. I hope you won't think any the less of her, but the issue that seems to be bothering her most is just an odd coincidence."

David couldn't have said why his mouth had grown parched. "Which one is that?"

"You may recall what I told you her other client said after he fell on the escalator. The drug Payne took, the medics understood him to be saying it was called Lucky, unless that was the name of whoever supplied it to him. The police are looking into both."

For an indeterminate length of time David was aware only of his own mind, and then he saw that he'd strayed back to the Frugogo agency. "Well, that's..." he said as he hurried past almost swiftly enough to outdistance his thoughts. "That's certainly a coincidence."

"That's all it can be, of course."

"Of course." David hardly heard the echo he'd become; he was remembering the question he'd failed to ask his mother as he boarded the train. "While we're talking," he blurted, "I know this may not be the best time to bring it up, but it's been on my mind. Did I nearly have a brother once?"

The silence felt like being scrutinised, and not only by his father. He was peering at the crowd without managing to identify a watcher when his father said "What made you think that, David?"

"I don't know if I remember. I've got the idea that you and mother may have talked about it when you thought I was too young to understand."

"We wouldn't have done anything like that if we'd thought you could hear. I was asking what made you think of it now."

"The last time I spoke to mother..." At least he didn't have to mention the Newless blog. "She talked about wishing somebody away," David said. "It nearly reminded me, but I didn't want to bother her while she was upset. So was I ever going to have a brother?"

He heard his father take a breath and let it loose. "We don't know what we would have had."

"What don't you know?"

"It was before Susan had you, David. You were wanted, trust me. Wanted twice as much because of what we'd agreed we had to do the other time. That wasn't planned, that's to say they weren't. You very assuredly were."

"But you're saying you got rid of whoever they would have been."

"If you want to put it that way I'm afraid so. We'd just bought our first house and furnished it, and we couldn't afford for Susan to take so much time off work. You'll remember she took years off for you till you were in school. Don't raise any of this with her, will you? It preyed on her mind for quite some time."

David was attempting to reassure himself by saying "Even though it wasn't developed enough for anyone to tell its sex."

"We could have found that out. We just didn't want to. I'm afraid we put the intervention off longer than we really ought to have, and that upset Susan even more. Between ourselves, I blame myself for not insisting."

David could have felt that someone else was using him to ask "Did you ever start thinking of names?"

"Heaven forbid. It was lucky we didn't. We'd have felt even worse." His father sighed and said "At least you can learn by our example. Never create a life unless you're sure you want it to live."

"That's good advice," David said, only to feel it came too late for him. He had to promise not to mention their discussion to his mother before his father was willing to end the call. He stumbled to a halt at the bottom of the hill while he tried to sort out at least some of his thoughts. Everything around him—the swarms of people, the dogged routine of the traffic lights, an amplified voice announcing bargains from inside a shop, a trumpet poking none too tunefully at a tune—seemed to merge into a vast distraction, but he couldn't use that as an excuse for neglecting to confirm what he was afraid he knew.

As soon as he brought up the Newless blog on his phone he saw there was a new addition to the list of first lines. He touched it with a fingertip that left an apprehensive mark on the screen, and once the entry appeared he didn't have to read much.
Still after drugs to show you things you've never seen before? I'll show you something not many people have seen, and they aren't around to tell you about it. Maybe you'll think it isn't real, but won't you be surprised. It's me...
When the phone shook in his hand David thought he'd started trembling, but someone was calling the mobile. As he raised it to his face he saw Stephanie's number.

Once he'd taken his place between Bill and Helen at the counter David said "The restaurant won't be opening again. Steph's lost her job."

Helen tilted her head as if she hoped to catch some words he'd left unspoken. "I'm sorry for her, then."

Bill seemed more forgiving, or at any rate his pained grin did. "No wonder you were bothered about jobs."

"Even so," Helen said and then to some extent relented. "She'll find somewhere else with her reputation, won't she? And helping out with our promotion will advertise her as well."

"It might." David felt desperate to focus on whatever he could still regard as normal in his life. Andrea was busy with a queue at the currency desk, but the last of her customers wasn't out of the shop when David asked her "Have you heard from Steph?"

"Yes."

"Today, I mean."

"Yes."

Though her tone scarcely invited a response, he wasn't to be put off saying "Will you be—"

"She'll have my decision in good time."

Surely his persistence wouldn't affect it—surely he wouldn't cause yet another result he'd never intended. He would have made a wish on Stephanie's behalf if he'd known how. Of everything he'd learned today he was most concerned about her situation, perhaps because it was the easiest to think about, the most mundane. Besides, what could he do with the rest of the information he'd gained? If he'd turned out to have a brother in some unnatural sense, it didn't make him feel that the other was related to him in any meaningful way; in fact it seemed to prove how separate they were. He'd once conjured up a wicked childhood playmate that he'd revived as a surrogate teenage rebel, and even if his imaginary companion had managed to return in some form, the other appeared hardly to have grown up. His thoughts weren't David's, and David had so little control over him that he surely needn't feel responsible. The way Luther Payne's fate—the only intervention David could recall wishing for—had been deferred seemed to show how independent the culprit was. Could the delay have been meant to demonstrate as much? That seemed almost unreasonably reassuring, since it meant that none of the deaths was David's fault. He couldn't direct events for good or ill, and he found he was able to put them out of his mind and concentrate on work.

On his way to Stephanie's that night he saw nobody who looked familiar. Suppose searching for someone he preferred not to name could attract the other? He didn't think he felt watched, and it seemed better not to search the crowd on the bus or in the streets for a face he might realise he knew. As he let himself into Stephanie's building a flimsy obstruction hindered him—some mail behind the door. He had time to hope it had brought her some good news, but the crumpled papers were menus from takeaways on the main road, the Eager Vegan and Plato Potato, the Greek vegetarian. A premature song about summer fell away below him on the stairs, and when he unlocked the apartment door several Indian aromas met him. "You've been busy," he called, having almost said "I'm home."

Stephanie came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth she stowed in a pocket of her apron that said STEF THE CHEF. At the time he had been pleased that she'd liked it so much, but now having had it customised for her seemed like a feeble bid to play the writer. "I said when you went out I'd try and make it special," she said.

"You're that all by yourself."

"No more than you are, David."

He didn't need to hear a surreptitious inadvertent meaning in her words. He followed her into the kitchen, where several steel casseroles were spicing the air. "Shall I pop a bottle?" he said.

As he slid a Merlot out of the rack Stephanie said "We aren't celebrating, are we?"

"We can if you like. Andrea's made her decision."

"She's sent you with it, has she? I wouldn't call that too professional."

"Who we're doing without, I mean. Emily's pregnant, so it's her."

"David, I'm a bitch." Stephanie touched his arm as he levered the cork free. "Thinking of nobody except myself," she said, "when it could have been your job."

"You're nothing of the kind. If anybody is we both know who. She hasn't been in touch, then."

"I expect she'll find the time for me when she gets around to it," Stephanie said and raised the glass he handed her. "Here's to your hidden benefactor."

David's glass stopped short of clinking against hers. "Who do you mean?"

"Emily's baby. Who else could I mean?"

He opened his mouth, only to feel as though his words had been snatched out of reach. "There's more, isn't there?" Stephanie said. "You seem as if your mind's somewhere else."

"Well, it's not. It's here with you." David downed a mouthful as an aid to saying "I did speak to my father. The case that was wearing my mother down, he's dead of an overdose. At least now she can concentrate on the clients she's got left."

"That has to be good, hasn't it?" When David could only nod Stephanie said "Was that all?"

For an unhelpful moment David was reminded how Andrea would interrogate him on matters he'd found too trivial for words. "All what?"

Stephanie gave him a look that declared her patience. "All that you have on your mind, David."

"My father—" David took a breath that had to emerge as a response. "He said I could have had a brother."

"David." Stephanie planted her glass on the table so as to take his hand in both of hers. "Why is he telling you that now?"

"Because I asked. I told him I thought I remembered him and mother talking about it when I was very young."

"Emily's reminded you." Before David could deny this Stephanie said "Was he born?"

"They couldn't afford it, Steph."

"I don't think I could ever have a termination. It would be like denying I'd made a life." She let go of his hand and retrieved her glass. "He must have developed quite a bit," she said, "for them to know he was a boy."

"I said my rather said he could have been." David felt as if too many of his words had been not just stolen from him but borne out of reach by the thief. "And I thought he was," he managed to pronounce. "I'll tell you what else I think. He was my imaginary playmate."

"Oh, David, that's so—" Stephanie clasped his hand again. "You heard Susan and Alan talking about him," she said, "and you tried to wish him alive."

"No." David felt as if Stephanie was helping the thief of his words prevent him from uttering the truth. "I told my father I heard them, but—"

He wasn't sure which interruption came first: the jaunty scrap of Mozart her mobile emitted or the failure of his voice. Stephanie let go of him to retrieve the phone from its perch on the spice rack, where presumably coincidence rather than her sense of order had placed it between jars of mint and nutmeg. "I don't know who this is," she said, having frowned at the screen.

Surely nobody was calling to keep David quiet, but he experienced a twinge of panic. "Better find out."

"I'm about to. Hello?"

She didn't mean the last word as a rebuke to him, David told himself. It was a usage he loathed. She listened and widened her eyes without letting an expression into them as she said "I'll just put this down, Andrea. I'll be able to hear you, but I'm in the middle of making dinner."

She amplified the sound in time for David to hear Andrea say "For yourself and David, you mean."

"Who else do you think I could have?"

"You might have had our promotion in mind."

"I wouldn't call that dinner," Stephanie said and gave the largest casserole a stir. "Depending when you need me, I may have more time."

"Yes, David told me your restaurant has shut down. Since you put your number in your email I thought it best to call."