Dreams of Leaving (63 page)

‘I know,' she said, ‘but something doesn't smell right.'

*

What a day it had been. There seemed nothing for it but to get terribly drunk. After all, as Mary reminded him, it was their first night alone together.

They began with cocktails in the hotel bar, then switched to gin and tonics and carried their gin and tonics, ice ringing in their glasses like chimes, into the dining-room. Mary chose a table in the darkest corner and ordered a bottle of wine.

Moses leaned back in his chair. It felt like weeks since Mary had appeared at the top of the stairs in her black wool coat and her jewels and announced that she was going to change his life. He had been living on his nerves all day and they were beginning to fray and buckle, they were beginning to say, Go and live somewhere else for a while. Hopefully, though, there would be no more surprises. Please, he begged. No more villages. No more fathers I didn't know I had. No more Peach.

He finished his gin and tonic and, seeking distraction, looked into the room. There was a sudden fluttering of napkins over by the window, as if two white birds had spread their wings only to discover that they couldn't fly. Another couple had sat down to dinner. The man wore a blue blazer. Crest on the breast pocket. Anchors on the buttons, no doubt. The woman, younger by at least ten years, wore a garish red blouse. Ruffles spilled fussily over her bust. They talked so intimately, these two, that the candle on their table scarcely flickered. Their hands clasped across the condiments. Their eyes locked as if they found each other captivating. But something failed to convince. Each time the waitress came by they flinched, withdrew their hands, turned their faces up to hers with stupid eagerness. They were like two bad actors. Ham love.

The wine arrived and Moses turned his attention back to Mary.

‘Well,' she said, pouring them both a glass, ‘now that we've dealt with the past, what about drinking to the future?'

‘The future,' Moses said.

They both emptied their glasses.

As Mary poured again, Moses leaned forwards. He began to spin his knife round on the tablecloth.

‘Did I ever tell you about the policeman?' he said.

‘What policeman?'

‘It happened about four months ago. While I was out. This policeman came looking for me, apparently. He knew my name. He asked Elliot if I was living at The Bunker. Elliot wouldn't tell him. So he hit Elliot. Out of the blue. Knocked him right over. Then he disappeared.'

‘Who was he?'

‘That's just it. Nobody knows. And Elliot had never seen him before.' He swallowed a thoughtful mouthful of wine and went back to spinning his knife around. ‘I've got a hunch, though. About who it was, I mean.'

‘Who then?'

‘Peach.'

‘Moses,' Mary laughed, ‘you heard what your father said. Nobody ever leaves that place.'

‘Well, how come he knows who I am then?'

‘I don't believe he does.'

‘He used my
name,
Mary.'

‘I didn't hear that.'

‘And the way he looked at me – '

‘I'm sorry, Moses. I just didn't get the impression that he knew who you were. I think you're being – '

‘Of course you didn't,' Moses hissed. ‘He's an
actor.
Not a second-rate actor like those two over there,' and he jerked a thumb in the direction of the two lovers, ‘a
real
actor. A professional.'

Mary held her elbow in the palm of her hand. Her cigarette pointed at his face. She watched him calmly through the rapid spiralling of smoke. ‘I don't know what you're trying to prove,' she said.

‘I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm just saying, suppose he did leave the village. Suppose,' and he paused for a moment, ‘he came after me.'

Mary shook her head. ‘That's called paranoia, Moses.'

‘Is it?' he said.

*

An hour later they were both laughing drunk.

‘And what about,' Moses was almost weeping, ‘and what about when Marlpit said, “And how is your young ladyfriend?” and Peach said, “Marlpit,
this
is Mr Shirley's
wife.”'

Uncontrollable hysterics.

Then Moses suddenly said, ‘Oh,
shit
.'

‘What is it?' Mary asked.

He groaned. ‘I just remembered. The young ladyfriend. I was supposed to be meeting her tonight. We had some things to sort out.'

Mary's eyes mocked him for a moment. ‘So call her.'

‘I think I'd better.'

He clambered to his feet. The table rocked, the carpet tactfully absorbed the sound of falling cutlery. On his way to the lobby he meandered past the two lovers. They seemed drunker too. Less stilted, anyhow. Less tense. Red Blouse was ordering a trifle.

‘I shouldn't really,' she was saying, ‘but – ' and her lips disappeared coyly into her mouth. What a naughty girl.

Blue Blazer came to the rescue, his chair a white charger now, his fork
a lance. ‘Well, it isn't every day, is it?' His smiling teeth glistened beneath his RAF moustache. He could almost taste the sweet sponge and jelly of her thighs. ‘In fact,' he said, ‘I think I'll have one too.' The wicked bugger.

Still shaking his head, Moses found the pay-phone in the corner of the lobby. He lit a cigarette. He dialled Gloria's number with a finger that seemed too big for the holes. The number rang and rang. No reply from Gloria. He dialled Eddie's number next. He was supposed to be going too. No reply from Eddie either. Now what?

The clock above the reception desk said ten to eleven. They would probably both be at the club by now. So phone the club. But what was the name of the club? The Blue something, he remembered. Yes, that was it. The Blue what, though? Elliot would know, he thought. He dialled Elliot's number. No reply again. He slammed the receiver down. What the fuck was going on?

He put his cigarette out. Suddenly his mouth tasted of wine and ashes. He swallowed. The taste remained. There were two worlds. One here, one out there. Nobody at home out there. Nobody listening. And him standing here, marooned in this one. A shiver ran the length of his spine. This second world, the world where he had been born, the world where he had already died once, where he could die again, crept up his nostrils, crept into his lungs, like gas. He felt the greedy breath of policemen on his neck. He turned. Nobody there.

He fought loose, won a moment of clarity. Directory Enquiries, he thought. He dialled 192. A woman answered.

‘Please can you help me?' he began.

The woman laughed. ‘I'll try.'

‘I'm looking for the number of a club in Covent Garden,' he said. ‘It's called The Blue something.'

‘That's a funny name.'

‘I mean – '

‘It's all right, love. I know what you mean. Now, let me see. The Blue something – '

He could hear her humming.

‘I suppose people don't usually talk to you,' he said.

‘Oh, you get the odd one or two.'

It sounded snug on the other end of the phone. It was like talking to somebody who was in bed. Somebody who had just woken up and was still drowsy and smothered in blankets. Warm as warm skin. He could've listened to her talk for ages. He could've fallen asleep in her voice.

‘There's one man,' she was saying, ‘he rings me up and he asks me what I'm wearing – '

‘What do you tell him?'

‘Sometimes I tell him the truth. You know, white blouse, black skirt, shoes that leak. Other times I make things up. Once I told him I was wearing a ballgown – '

Moses laughed. ‘You don't mind him asking?'

‘No, I don't mind. If it keeps him happy. We laugh a bit. You know. You get on faster if you make people laugh.'

‘It's funny, but I like listening to your voice.'

‘Thank you. You're not going to ask me what I'm wearing, are you?'

‘Not tonight.'

A soft laugh. ‘Here you go, love. How does The Blue Diamond sound?'

‘That's it,' he said. ‘You are clever.'

‘Don't. It'll go to my head.'

She gave him the number and he scribbled it down.

‘Well,' he said, ‘I suppose I'd better ring off now.'

That made her laugh again.

‘It's been very nice talking to you,' he said. ‘It really has.'

‘The Blue Diamond,' she said. ‘You take care now. Those nightclubs – '

‘I will. Speak to you again sometime.'

‘Goodbye.' She hung up.

He suddenly regretted not having asked for her number. There were millions of operators and he would probably never get her again. But imagine asking for the number of someone who works for Directory Enquiries!

He smiled as he dialled The Blue Diamond. The first four times he got the engagement ring or whatever it's called. The fifth time he got through.

‘Blue Diamond.' A male voice this time.

‘I want to speak to Gloria, please,' Moses said. ‘She's singing at your place tonight.'

‘She isn't here yet.'

‘OK, can I leave a – ' Bip bip bip. Moses felt his pockets for change. He fed another two lops into the slot. ‘Hello? I'd like to leave a message please.'

‘Go ahead.'

‘My name's Moses. I've had a breakdown – '

‘Is that nervous or mechanical?'

Moses smiled. ‘Mechanical. Listen, my car's broken down in the middle of nowhere so I'm not going to be able to make it tonight, OK?'

‘Sounds a bit lame, Moses.'

‘Well, it's true. Oh, and could you send her my – ' Bip bip bip. He felt
his pockets again. No more coins. He slowly replaced the receiver.

Love, he thought. Send her my love.

*

Placing his hands on the table, Moses lowered himself towards his chair, missed by six inches and sat down rather heavily on the floor. He peered at Mary through a blur of condiments. ‘Mary,' he said, ‘I think I'm a bit drunk.'

‘You took for ever,' she laughed. ‘What happened?'

‘Been in different worlds. Talked to,' and he hauled himself up on to his chair, ‘very nice operator.'

‘Did you get through?'

‘Through?'

‘Your call, Moses. To your ladyfriend.'

‘No, not really. Nobody there.'

‘I'm going to try Alan one more time.'

While Mary was away, Moses tried to establish an upright position for himself, using, as reference points, the blue china cabbage on the mantelpiece, the distant figure of Red Blouse (a suggestive fleck of whipped cream just to one side of her lips – Blue Blazer gazing, sighing, fantasising), and a picture of a white horse cantering through peppermint surf, but every time he focused on something it multiplied, had twins, triplets, quadruplets, who began to run away as soon as they were born. He couldn't keep up. He had lost this one. The entire room suddenly took off on a victory lap.

A rush of blackness, but it was only Mary sitting down.

‘Any luck?' he said.

She shook her head.

He thought he saw traces of abandonment on her face. Smooth damp places. Sand abandoned by an outgoing tide. Some kind of ebbing.

‘You all right?' he asked.

She downed her brandy. ‘I'm going upstairs.'

He stayed at the table for a moment, then moved off jerkily in Mary's wake, as if attached to her by a long and invisible rope that had only tightened, taken effect, when she was twenty feet away. Umbilical, she would've called it. He fetched up at her side in an upright heap. Eyes vacant with alcohol. One arm held away from his body like a wing. For balance. Staring at the carpet, he wondered why anyone in their right mind would take vomit as a design motif. If he was sick, he thought, and he was sick carefully enough, maybe he could fit his sick into one of those obscene recurring patterns and nobody would ever notice.

‘You go on,' he said. ‘Just got to ask something.'

He found their waitress in the lobby. She stood below him gazing upwards. She was very small. Tiny balls of light (reflections of the electric chandelier above) rolled about on the lenses of her glasses. He wanted to take her head in his two hands and tilt it until the silver balls stopped on the two black centres of her eyes. Instead he asked her for a local telephone directory. She produced one from behind the reception desk.

‘And two more brandies, please,' he said.

She rolled the silver balls that were her eyes and moved off down the corridor.

He thumbed through the directory until he reached H. The same old routine, with one crucial difference: this time there had to be a Highness – Highness G, 14 Caution Lane, New Egypt. He read the names out loud to himself – ‘Hardware, Haseldine, Havana, Head – ' he skipped a couple of pages – ‘Hick, Higgins, Hilton – ' He must've missed it. He began again. Using his finger because the names were jumping. But no. No Highness. He straightened up, wrapped his hand round the lower half of his face. It could only mean one thing. His father didn't have a phone.

On a whim, he looked up Peach. There were three Peaches, but none of them were Chief Inspectors. None of them lived in New Egypt either. Curious. Unless Peach was ex-directory, of course. He nodded to himself. Peach was cunning on two legs. Peach would be ex-directory.

The waitress returned with the brandies. ‘Did you find what you were looking for?'

He shook his head. He had wanted to ask his father an urgent question. He had wanted to know how Peach could possibly have discovered his identity. But now he had no way of reaching his father, not without returning to the village, and he wasn't sure he wanted to risk that. Now he would never know. He began to walk towards the stairs.

‘Sir?' the waitress called out. ‘Your brandies.'

*

Wallpaper like warfare. Salvoes of red roses exploding round his ears. Two brandies balanced in one hand, he ran up the corridor and burst into the wrong room. Red Blouse had changed into Pink Slip. Blue Blazer was no longer Blue Blazer; Blue Blazer hung over the back of a chair.