Three Steps Behind You (20 page)

I cannot be here, alone. I must have Adam. He must know I love him. I must call him, I must call him. But he will know, he will know somehow I dreamt about his death and it aroused me. He will know. I double over with guilt for dream Adam, of somehow destroying him with impotence, bound as I was to the wood.

I try to breathe. It is difficult. I go the front door and open it up and let the fresh air come in. But the bright lights out there are too bright, too fast approaching, so I shut it again.

I must speak with Adam. I dial their number. Nicole answers. I throw the phone down. The snake, the snake that would kill Adam. The snake that I must seduce.

If I’d had a sabre, you see, in the dream, like George, and his dragon, I would be fine. I would never have been bound up in the first place. I would have been able to defend myself from seeing the death of Adam. Could have killed the Nicole-snake. And Jimmy. And Huhne. And all of them. Struck and blown that through, defending mine and Adam’s love.

I will learn, tomorrow, I will learn my arts at fencing. Then, should Nicole not be seducable, should she wish to destroy Adam, I will be prepared.

And Adam must never die.

Chapter 24

I am woken by something red hitting me on the head. Nicole! But no. It is not her. It is a bill. Through the letterbox. I see I fell asleep on the mat, naked, like a dog.

The red is still a sign, though. A sign that it must happen today.

I do not remember about the dream immediately. Then, when I do, I retch. Perhaps it was not a dream. Perhaps it meant something. Perhaps Adam is dead.

I run to the living room and turn on the news. It would make the news, surely, if Adam were dead. No, there is nothing of him. Should I phone him? I should phone him. I call. It is Nicole. I don’t waste any time trying to seduce her, but instead ask for Adam.

There are some background mutterings that I cannot hear, then a delicious hello.

‘You’re alive!’ I say.

There is a pause, as though he has to think about it.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I am.’

Another pause. ‘Okay. Well, that’s great,’ I say, because it is.

‘Anything else?’ he asks.

‘I’m going fencing this afternoon,’ I say. ‘Research. For the next book.’

‘Right. The next book. Fascinating things, your books. The last one gave me a surprising amount of insight.’

I wait. Is this the review I’ve long been waiting for, the one that will make it all worthwhile. But he doesn’t say anything else. I guess he doesn’t have to, really.

‘I love you too, Adam,’ I say.

Then the world falls silent because he puts down the phone.

I laugh, full of glee, and open the curtains, letting the sun in. I turn on lights, I change the sheets, I even shower and put on clothes. Adam is alive! And is silently loving me! He will never admit it, but I know what his silence means. Tonight, I will seduce Nicole, for Luke. Nicole is not a snake. She is not Adam, but she is as close to Adam as we will get. And we will have been close, and book four will be a triumph.

On the dot of six, I arrive to fence, with my kit. There are eleven already there. I make it twelve. Evens – a partner for everyone. Except, when I look more closely at the white-clad figures, I see some of them are not yet fully-grown. Apart from a man sitting behind a desk, who I supposed must be kingly Charles, and two other adults who are already sparring with each other, the rest are youths.

The intention must therefore be for me to fight Charles. I put down my violin and walk over to him.

‘We spoke on the phone,’ I say. ‘If you’re Charles.’

The man stands. He is wearing white over-armour that puffs out his chest, like a Tippexed lobster. He looks like he should be in a fencing film in the Reform Club, like James Bond or someone, not here in a Highgate hall. I can imagine him taking off his helmet, throwing back his thick dark hair in a camera-friendly way. He extends a gloved hand and takes my ungloved one.

‘Yes, I’m Charles,’ he confirms. He looks me up and down and smiles. ‘You seem in good shape,’ he says. Then he touches one of my arms. ‘Yes, good and strong. I’ll partner you myself, show you the ropes. Or the foils, rather.’

‘I’m only here this one time,’ I say.

He stops smiling. He crosses his arms over his chest. When he looks me up and down this time, it is less friendly.

‘So what’s in it for me, then? Training you up, if you’re not going to come back?’

I wish I could offer him a Maserati. Instead, I hold out six one-pound coins.

He doesn’t take them.

‘You can’t turn me away,’ I say. ‘The fencing shop in Hendon told me I could come, even for a one-off. I bought kit especially.’

‘Oh, what, Rob?’ he says, for some reason.

I agree, which helps, because he puts out his hand for the money.

‘If Rob says it’s okay, you can stay,’ he says. I wonder what power ‘Rob’ has over him. Maybe it’s like the power Adam has over me.

‘Thank you,’ I say.

‘But I can’t partner you myself,’ he says. ‘You’ll have to go with one of the kids. I need to look after my regulars.’

He waves me off in the direction of the youngsters. I go over there. Eight pre-teens stare at me. They are all boys. In fact, actually, no. One is a girl.

‘Hello,’ I say, in their general direction. They all look at the floor. I am the outsider. No one wants to be uncool by association. It reminds me of school again, on days when Adam had to pretend we weren’t best mates, and I was left to be a loser.

‘Why are you here?’ the girl asks. ‘The old ones are over there.’ She points with her foil to the three adults. Charles is plugging a man and a woman into electrical equipment. They have white leggings tucked into white socks. They look professional. I only have the leggings, not the socks. I should have made more effort. Then perhaps I might have been taken more seriously. My earlier joy starts to wane.

I turn back to the girl.

‘I’m here to fight, like you are,’ I say.

‘I’ve been coming here for six months,’ she parries. ‘I’ll beat you.’

Just as I’m about to take up her challenge, Charles walks over.

‘Right, kids,’ he says. ‘And you,’ nodding at me. ‘Lunges!’

Yes, right. Lunges. I remember these, from the Internet café.

‘Stand in a line, and lunge towards me. Hold your foils, keep the tips straight and steady. Ready?’

He waits for us to assemble in a line.

‘And lunge!’ he says.

Towards him we go, lunging onwards. I focus my gaze along the tip as I have seen them do on the Internet. The end of my tip happens also to be directly aligned with Charles eyes. We make eye contact. He smiles, then begins to laugh.

‘No,’ he says, coming towards me. ‘That’s not a lunge; it’s more like a curtsey.’

He stands in front of me. ‘Look, look what I do.’

Charles lunges deeply. At the nadir of his lunge, his mouth is level with my crotch.

‘See how far down I can go?’ he says.

I nod.

‘Now, do it again, at the same time as me.’

Facing each other, we lunge. I have somehow got closer to him, so that when we descend, there is barely a foot between us. His eyes are locked into mine. I wonder if the children should be watching.

Then he jumps up, and claps his hands.

‘Okay, everyone, so now up and down the hall, lunging forward and backwards, then I want to throw in a few balestras. And thrust your foils. Let’s go!’

I thrust my way up and down the hall. This time Charles stands on the side, watching me.

‘Nice,’ he says, nodding at me. I do a few more thrusts of my foil and lunge around the room. I am just as fast as the kids, if not faster.

‘Okay, everyone, partner up, please, while I look after the grown-ups.’

Charles leaves us. I turn towards the kids and see, predictably, that they are already partnered up. My opponent is a blank wall.

‘We’ll have to work as a group of three,’ I tell the kids, avoiding using the word threesome. It is hardly age appropriate. They all ignore me. I walk towards the girl and her boy partner, given that I am at least on speaking terms with the girl. They turn their backs to me. So do all the others. Perhaps they have been taught that all grown men are paedophiles.

‘I’m not a paedophile,’ I say, to disabuse them of the risk of abuse.

One of them looks over their shoulder at me. I detect scorn. Perhaps they think I would at least have a function if I was a paedophile.

As I am about to start shadow-fighting myself, I hear footsteps behind me. It is a masked man. The mask comes off with a flourish of hair and I see it is Charles.

‘All right then,’ he says, in a low voice. ‘I’ll spar with you if I must. Put on your helmet and lift your foil.’

I do as I’m bidden, and he puts on his mask too. I can hardly see his face through the mesh.

We face each other, foils raised en garde.

He engages first. We are caught in a flurry of steel. He parries, then I do, then he feints and I lunge forward, but he ducks under my blade and thrusts his foil upwards. I lunge backwards so I can bring my foil forwards, and I meet his blade again. Back and forth and back, our foils in a conversation of steel, Charles and I.

At least, I think it is Charles. His mask, the face hidden. I see the features of Nicole in there, of Huhne, Pearce, Jimmy, Adam, all of them.

The blades take on a rhythm.

‘You killed Ally. You killed Ally. You killed Ally.’

They tell the hard steel truth. Even when I try to vary the pace, that doesn’t help.

‘Nicole will tell. Nicole will tell. Nic – tell she will.’

I parry and I parry and I parry as I try to escape the swipes of the blade.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the kids have stopped their fencing and are just watching us. They are the mob, surrounding us, closing in. Suddenly, as if sensing my distraction, Charles changes rhythm, thrusting forward, hitting me square in my armoured abdomen. I parry then riposte, and he parries back. Then he lunges forward, forward, forward and I have to back into a corner. He knocks the foil out of my hand, pulls off his helmet, pulls off mine, then stands leaning one arm against the wall in which I am cornered.

‘And disengage,’ says a voice, and a gloved hand goes to lift up the mask. I duck away, shield my face, expecting a five-headed monster to be revealed.

But it is just Charles, his face up close, his eyes shining into mine. He takes off my mask.

‘You’re sweating,’ he says, because I am. Cold rivulets drip from my brow. Gently, Charles wipes them away. He continues even after all the sweat is gone. I see; he wants me. We have been doing foreplay. His eyes are green, I notice, as they continue to stare at me.

Snake eyes. Nicole is here after all.

‘Yes,’ I say, pushing him away. ‘Disengage.’

I see him hide his disappointment with his mask as I turn away. I can understand. Luke may have been at the height of his peril, but he is also at the height of his seduction. I cannot waste it on Charles.

I take my kit, and my violin, and leave the hall then, because I can wait no longer.

Luke is ready for Nicole.

Chapter 25

Twilight is the time for romancing. The masked ball, the evening delight, an invitation inspired by firefly and shadowed rose. Strings are pulled and played with the moon on show, all with the lilt of the violin bow. Luke knows how to woo, he knows too that her heart shall soon be his. Then, yet again, close he’ll be, to the one who makes him what he is
.

The sabre wouldn’t fit into my violin case, like I’d planned. So I’ve strapped it to a belt, tied round the waist of my leggings. I don’t intend to use it, tonight, but you never know when you might need protection. I will use the mask, though. If anyone asks, I am bee-keeping. Minus the hive. I put it on when I get to the end of Narcissus Road, at the same time as I take off my shirt. When I get to the next house along from Nicole and Adam’s, I get out my violin. Adam’s violin. Nice, safe violin, not a stake to which I will be strung. I give the wood lobsters an encouraging stroke. They still haven’t moved. They must be enjoying each other.

The violin is an awkward fit under my chin, with the bib of the mask. But I manage it. The wood of the instrument and the metal underpinning of the chinrest feel firm against my chest. I know I must be a mystical and magical sight, with my bare torso, mask and violin. A masked violin lothario. An evening love imp. A musical vision of enchantment. Fit. Charles would thrust and lunge with me gladly.

I begin to play, singing along in my head as I go, to keep the rhythm. French is the language of romance.

   Dah-da-da-da, dah-da-da-da,

   
Frère Jaques, Frère Jaques
.

   Da-da-da, da-da-da.

   
Dormez-vous, dormez-vous?

   Da-da-da-da-dah-da, da-da-da-da-dah-da.

   
Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!

   Dah, dah, dah. Dah, dah, dah.

   
Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong
.

I think I have made pretty good progress in only a couple of weeks.

But that is just the warm-up act. That will be why the front curtains are still closed. Nicole has not yet heard enough to make her open up to me. Adam will not be home yet – dusk is early for him – but if he was, he would have flung open the curtains wide to me. He would know each thrust, each attack, each drawing back. Every artist has their own style, their own voice, and the violin is no different.

The next piece in my repertoire is not very appropriate, so I use it as I go through the back passage to the garden. I have to pause to move the green wheelie bin, but by the time I get into the back garden I am on:

   Da-da-da-da-da d-a da-da-da-dah

   
Here comes a candle
to light you to bed

   Da-da-da-da-da-da d-a da-da-da-dah.

   
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head
.

The bit about the candle is suitable. Girls like candles. Ally taught me that. I play the last two lines again, for effect, and sing them out loud. That should get Nicole’s attention. Yes, I see that the lights are on. There she is, in the window.