Crazy Paving (24 page)

Jefferson leant forward in his seat. ‘You sure you’re alright?’ he asked. William nodded. ‘Delayed shock,’ Jefferson said. ‘Take it easy. If you feel sick,
put your head between your knees.’

William shook his head to indicate that he was okay, but found himself unable to speak, as though his powers of speech had been channelled instead into that thought, that realisation – the
vast swimming enormity of it.

Just before Green Park the train slowed, crawled, then halted. Jefferson muttered an oath. The businessman opposite sat up and looked around in alarm.

After a few moments, the driver’s intercom crackled into life. ‘We apologise for this delay, ladies and gentlemen. This is due to the knock-on effect of a person under a train at
Earl’s Court. I hope we shall be moving shortly.’

‘Not, “person under train” again,’ said Jefferson. ‘I had that going home last night. I always think when they say that, what they’re really saying is
“listen, it’s one of you lot that’s caused the problem, not us”. Mind you, can’t say I blame them. Last night I was stuck at Harlesden for half an hour. You’d
think if someone was going to top themselves they’d at least have the consideration not to do it during the rush hour.’

William nodded, dumbly. He looked at his watch: eleven thirty-two a.m. April the first. His whole life had changed. Jefferson’s voice was loud in the stillness of the carriage. The
businessman opposite glared at them.

In the middle of the office, in full sight of everybody, William and Annette held hands.

‘Will it hurt, nurse?’ William asked, as Annette withdrew a tube of antiseptic from the red plastic first aid box sitting on the desk beside them.

‘No dear. It’ll feel a bit cold. Are you sure you washed it properly?’

‘Yes miss.’

Raymond came briskly round the corner. Thursday’s bow-tie was a jaunty tartan number, blue and green. Raymond looked concerned. He came and stood over them with his arms crossed, gazing
down at Annette’s efforts contemplatively. ‘I told Richard you should have gone to Casualty,’ he muttered.

Oh piss off, William thought.

‘I don’t think that’s really necessary. He says he had a tetanus three months ago . . .’ said Annette, her head bent over William’s hand as she – slowly and
carefully – smoothed in the antiseptic cream.

‘I know that,’ Raymond snapped. ‘I’m thinking of insurance purposes. You know, our legal position. He lost a shoe. He should have his leg X-rayed.’

William kept his head lowered. He knew that if he met Annette’s gaze they would both begin to laugh.

‘Don’t imagine you can sue us in three years’ time young man,’ said Raymond as he strode away.

William moved his head a fraction closer to Annette. ‘I need to talk to you,’ he said quietly. She glanced up at him. ‘I have to talk to you now, as soon as possible.
It’s important. There’s something I want to ask you.’

She lowered her head again. ‘Actually I want to talk to you as well. I’ve been wanting to all week but we just haven’t had the opportunity. It’s been really busy with
Joan away.’ She stood up. ‘We won’t put a dressing on for now,’ she said, ‘give it a chance. But if it’s weeping then we’ll have to cover it up.’

She picked up the first aid box and he handed her the tube of antiseptic which she had left lying on the desk next to them. ‘Basement in fifteen minutes?’

She nodded and said, ‘The main thing is to keep it clean.’

Richard was in his office, making a list. He enjoyed doing that, although he often destroyed them afterwards. It helped to order things. He liked to see it down in writing, in
black and white. He liked things to be real. Physical proof was important.

When his mother had died, he had wanted physical proof. He had asked to see her body, in the private hospital room where she lay. The nurse had left them alone together and closed the door.
Richard had gone over to his mother’s corpse. Beneath the crisp white sheet, he knew it to be mutilated – one breast missing, irradiated, full of chemicals. There was no doubt about it.
She was dead. Richard stood over her, then bent down to her heavily lined face. Illness had aged Marion Leather beyond her years. The face was sagging, helpless. Richard spat in it.

Afterwards, he stood back, breathing heavily. No one would ever know what he had just done; no one would catch him. He was going to get away with it. When the nurse came in ten minutes later,
she found him sitting by the window, weeping.

The list he was making in his office went thus: Helly, the old couple, William, Joan, Annette. Annette’s name had a question mark beside it. He still wasn’t sure about Annette.
Still, the rest was well on its way to being sorted out. Timing was important. He wanted it to work out right – it was like being the conductor of an orchestra. The cymbals had to crash at
exactly the right moment or the entire symphony was ruined. The way he had worked it out, the cymbals would crash some time around the end of the following week, before Easter. He and Gillian had
planned a weekend away together over the holiday, their first for some time. Sailing in Norfolk, just the two of them, he with the full knowledge that this business was all sorted out. Perfect.

He was smoking – he smoked a lot these days. He had made the list on a piece of paper torn from his notebook. He put it into his ashtray, a large, square-shaped one made of heavy smoked
glass. The list fitted neatly in the bottom. He went to stub his cigarette out on it, then paused. He picked up the piece of paper between his fingers and, carefully, began to scorch small holes in
it with the end of his cigarette. The flimsy paper browned, frizzled, dissolved. He spaced the holes evenly, so that the list became a piece of fragile lace, blackened around the edges. Eventually,
it collapsed and fluttered helplessly into the ashtray.

William was sitting on a stack of cardboard boxes. They were only just taking his weight. He could feel a slight sag beneath him and the muscles in his thighs were tense, ready
to stand up quickly if it collapsed. Annette was kneeling on the ground in front of him. He was holding her face in his hands.

‘So,’ Annette was saying, ‘it’s very simple really. We need proof. We need proof or Helly will probably get the sack. We’ve got to do it quickly. If he sacks her or
any of us we can’t make accusations then because it just looks like sour grapes.’

William took his hands away from her face and sat back. Annette moved back on her heels. The distance between them doubled.

William was thinking. They were probably right. It all fitted together, the way Richard had behaved over Rosewood Cottage. Technically, there was no reason for it to be demolished but that
hadn’t struck him as particularly odd. Properties were often compulsorily purchased as a precaution. Surveyors or project managers taking money from contractors was commonplace. Then there
were the lunches, the golfing trips, the cut price conservatories. It was a grey area.

He sighed. ‘You know, what Richard is up to is really very ordinary. It goes on all the time. That John Summerton took me out for drinks after a site visit last week. I’ve never
taken a bribe but, strictly speaking, nobody’s whiter than white in this business. You could make almost anyone’s behaviour look bad if you wanted to.’

Annette was looking at him. ‘I know that,’ she said quietly. ‘Helly doesn’t give a damn about what Richard takes off the contractors. She probably wouldn’t have
said anything to anyone if it wasn’t for her grandparents. And now he’s trying to get her sacked but he’s being sneaky about it. He took that money from Joan, he must have done,
it’s him that’s involved the rest of us.’

‘He hasn’t involved you.’

They held each other’s gaze.

Annette stayed quiet, calm, although she could feel the walls of her universe folding in, gently, like a collapsing soufflé. This is how the world ends.
Of course
, she had
thought, when Helly had mentioned it,
William
. William, of course. He loves me. He’s one of us. But William was not one of them. He was a man, a surveyor, a breadwinner. Helly could
scheme and plot. Annette had a low mortgage and only herself to consider. Joan had a husband who brought money into the household. They were all so small and unimportant. But William was married
with a child – he could not afford to join the game. She tried to reason with herself. She tried to say, there is more at stake for him. What she was thinking was, he isn’t one of us.
He never will be. He’s on a different side of the barricades – and he doesn’t love me enough to clamber over.

She sighed, then she got to her feet, turning and brushing some dust from her skirt. She looked around the store cupboard. Metal ladder shelving held boxes of supplies: envelopes, staples,
indelible markers. This was their life, their job – to work their way through these supplies, a little more each day. What had they been thinking of? She and William. Helly and her schemes.
Joan and her surprising bravado. They were all trying to pretend that they were not little people doing little daily activities. How pathetic they were. Grand schemes – they should be so
lucky. It’s over, she thought, glancing round. Dirty, dust-filtered light came from the fluorescent strips above them. William and I can see each other too clearly. This is how the world
ends.

‘What was it you wanted to ask me?’ she said.

William looked up at her. His eyes were like lakes. He looks as though he is swimming in doubt, she thought, a pool of doubt. Perhaps he does understand, after all.

William opened his mouth to speak. As he did, the stack of cardboard boxes beneath him buckled with a small sigh. He sank by a few inches. He stood up.

‘What’s in the boxes?’ Annette asked, her voice rich with misery.

He looked down at them. ‘Paperclips,’ he replied, his voice low and dull.

Annette turned to go. Then, as she reached the door, she paused. She waited for a moment, listening, deciding. Then she reached out and clicked the Yale lock. She turned back, leaning against
the door. William was looking at her. He came to her. As her arms wound purposefully about his neck, he began to lift her skirt. She pulled him to the cold hard floor.

It was the first time they had made love since Keith had turned up on her doorstep. And she knew it was the last. He felt more hot and sweet than he had ever done. She did not touch herself or
want to come – she wanted to be aware of him, to feel his need of her. As it grew, he hesitated. She pressed him to her. ‘It’s okay,’ she whispered, ‘it’s
alright, my period’s due tomorrow, it’s okay.’ She wanted him to come. She hated him.

She hated him because it was the last time and he didn’t realise it. She hated him because she had been unfaithful and he didn’t know that either. She hated him for all the things he
did not know.

Afterwards, he looked at her, bewildered. She drew him in and stroked his head, murmuring, comforting. She could feel a trickle of semen down one buttock so she arched her back slightly and,
still stroking his head, used her other hand to pull her skirt clear, so that it would not stain.

Annette was leaning forward over the sink and peering into the mirror when Helly walked into the ladies’ toilet. Hastily, she tipped her head forward to hide her face and
began combing her hair. ‘Hi,’ she said lightly.

Helly did not answer. She went over to the window sill and hitched herself onto it. She paused, observing Annette’s attempts to repair herself. Eventually she said, ‘I take it he
said no.’

Annette burst into tears.

Helly jumped down from the window sill and went into one of the toilet cubicles. She detached a gigantic roll of loo paper from its metal fixing and brought it over to Annette. She unwound a
long streamer of it, then handed it to her. When Annette had finished crying, she said, ‘I’m not entirely surprised.’

‘I am,’ sniffed Annette.

Helly smiled. ‘You got a lot to learn, glasshopper.’

Annette turned and peered in the mirror. Her face was red and smudgy. It was going to take work. Helly put the giant loo roll down on the edge of the sink and leant against the wall, her arms
folded. She watched as Annette fumbled around in her make-up bag, withdrawing mascara, eye-shadow, liner and blush.

As she inspected the damage, Annette said, ‘So what now?’

Helly shrugged. ‘What we should have done in the first place, I guess. Go and see the boss, take the risk. Do you know anyone up there?’

Annette shook her head. ‘I met Gregory Church once.’

‘Which one is he?’

‘He’s the one who had his papers biked to his house in Surrey when the lift was out of action. Somewhat corpulent.’

‘Oh, the fat git.’

Annette was trying to dry her eyelashes with a tissue. ‘Let’s talk to Joan when she gets back on Monday.’ She stood back from the mirror. The glass had a slight greenish tinge.
It was difficult to tell what she really looked like.

‘Look,’ said Helly. ‘Thanks for trying but really, don’t fuck up your relationship with William over this.’

Annette shook her head. She was still looking at herself in the mirror. ‘It isn’t just this. And I haven’t fucked up anything. I’m not upset because it’s over.
I’m upset because I’ve realised it never began.’

They stood in silence for a moment or two. Annette was looking at herself.

Helly was looking at Annette. ‘You want to know what I reckon your problem is?’ she said gently.

Annette did not turn from the mirror. She stayed observing herself, and gave a half-smile. ‘What?’

‘You don’t know what sort of woman you are.’

Helly went on her lunch break. Annette went back to her desk.

She picked up a pile of typing from her in-tray and opened up a file on her computer.

She had only been typing for five minutes when William came over to Joan’s desk and picked up a cardboard wallet lying amidst her pile of filing. ‘I’ve got to go over to
Fairlop,’ he said, without looking at her. ‘Will you tell Richard if he’s asking after me? He wanted a word about something but he isn’t in his office and I’ve got a
contractor waiting.’

Inside herself, Annette felt something collapse, leaving an empty cavity in her stomach, as if an extra space had been created that wasn’t there before. ‘Okay,’ she said, her
voice perfectly neutral. He glanced over at her and she looked down at her keyboard, as though she was trying to concentrate on something. There was a pause, both momentary and eternal. Then he
left.