One Night (17 page)

‘When are you going?’

‘Tonight.’

‘You can’t go tonight.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve invited Shannon and her
friend to dinner.’

‘You did
what?
’

Her lip quivered. ‘I met them by
accident yesterday. I thought it would be a nice surprise. Some company of your
own age. After Mona, Shannon’s your next best friend.’

I stared at her stupidly. ‘You
invited Todd?’

‘Well, he was standing next to her.
I could hardly not invite him. Besides – ’ She stopped.

‘What?’

‘He seemed very keen to know how
you are. Such a gentleman. In fact, he was so keen, I thought – ’ quick glance at
me ‘ – I thought maybe he has a thing for you.’ She gave a nervous giggle.

I felt stiff with anger. ‘So you
thought that the perfect thing was to put the three of us together in one room
and see what happens.’

‘No, of course not! Don’t be so
childish. I just thought that this is a difficult time for you and you need
friends. You need support. And he – he came across as someone very caring.
Someone you could call upon if you – if you – ’

‘You mean a man,’ I said
scathingly. ‘You think I can’t look after myself without a man around. You’re
so bloody 1950’s!’

‘No – ’ Her hands flapped
ineffectually. ‘That’s just silly, Casey! Besides, I know you can call upon
Stephen if you really needed to.’

…really needed to…

I felt that hard, sharp point at my
throat again. My eyes watered. There was really no point in castigating my
mother. All of this was my fault. I smeared the one hot tear which I had
allowed to fall, across my cheek.

‘What time are they coming?’

I was in a flame of embarrassment from the moment they arrived. There was
nothing about Todd that reflected his previous behaviour. In fact, as my mother
had remarked, he was the perfect gentleman. And maybe it was just me – but when
my wary glances met his I caught a trace of communication that seemed invisible
to everybody else. A glance too sharp. A grin too slow. A look too long. His
glances became louder in the room than his hearty laughs or his overtly playful,
smacking kisses on Shannon’s head.

My head buzzed, my cheeks were red.
I drank too much wine.

The conversation was masterfully
steered by my mother through ‘old story time’. Where we’d lived when I was
little, how she’d met my father, the rough side of life she’d known as a young
person, the brilliance of old film stars (this for Shannon) and the remarkable
young man she’d known in the army and never married (this for Todd), relayed with
a slight note of regret that set my teeth on edge.

We never mentioned Mona. Or that
night. Or why I was staying with my mother. No doubt that aspect had already
been well-aired behind my back when my mother had extended the invitation.

Todd said, smiling, ‘I bet Casey
was a naughty little devil at school.’

My mother rolled her eyes
dramatically. I could see she was just loving all the attention from this
attractive young hunk. ‘Are you kidding? Made more trips to that damn school
than I care to remember.’

Shannon snuggled up under Todd’s
arm. She looked beautiful, the blonde hair flowing, her eyes ringed
dramatically with stagy makeup, and held just a little too wide. I wondered how
much of my shadow, as yet unrecognized, lay between them.

She sipped her wine. ‘Do you
remember Mr Bagley in the maths class?’

‘Couldn’t forget him. He threw a
book at me.’

‘Not
the
book?’ Todd
snorted.

‘Hit me on the side of the head,’ I
went on. ‘I swear if it wasn’t for my hair, you would see a scar.’

‘Bastard,’ remarked my mother. ‘I
should have had a word with Mr Bagley.’

‘More scars,’ Todd said
wonderingly. ‘What on earth did you do to the man?’

Somehow he managed to make the
question sound overtly sexual. The flame of embarrassment grew.

Shannon smirked. ‘She put notes on
his desk from the history teacher.’

My mother’s eyes widened. ‘You did
what?’

Shannon sat up, eyes glinting.
‘Said that the history teacher, who was a bit of a looker, wanted to meet him
for dinner.’

‘Casey! You didn’t!’

I was boiling with mortification,
aware Todd’s eyes were intently on me.

‘Yes, I did.’

My mother shifted forward, a
half-grin on her face. ‘And did he go?’

‘Yes. Sent her flowers and went to
the restaurant where, of course, Miss Avon never showed.’

My mother gave a laugh that slipped
slightly. ‘That was very cruel of you.’

‘We were kids. Fourteen. You forget
how other people feel. You’re only into yourself at that age. And way too
cheeky.’

‘Yes, but it was very naughty.’

‘And you haven’t changed, have
you?’ This from Todd.

‘I beg your pardon. I most
certainly hope I have.’

Shannon gave a little bounce on the
couch. ‘We chained all the bicycles together. Remember that?’

I threw Shannon a filthy look.
‘Really, you’re bringing up all my misdemeanors. Making me look really bad.’

Shannon eyes were bright. ‘I was
just as bad, remember? I always helped you.’

Todd leaned forward. ‘But Casey had
the ideas,’ he commented as though this was to be admired, the important bit.

Shannon gave him a quick look. Her
eyes turned to me, a little insecure. ‘Remember what we did, Casey? We took a
long chain and lock we found in the tool shed and looped it through all the
bicycles and locked it. Casey hid the key. Then we went home.’ She guffawed,
her mouth wide.

My mother looked uncomfortable, but
the wine kept her mellow. She was having a hard time choosing between reprimand
and indulgent amusement. The conversation was slipping away from her. ‘You
could have been expelled,’ she said hazily.

‘And Mrs Collerson’s hat,’ Shannon
went on. ‘Casey put it in a tree so high up they had to call the fire brigade.’

‘Wow,’ said Todd, his tone faintly patronizing.
‘Wish I’d been at school with you.’

My mother peered at him. ‘You were
also naughty?’

‘Oh, yes.’ His eyes were on mine. ‘I
always liked to break the rules.’

Shannon said with a trace of spite,
‘Nearly got kicked out of the army because of that.’

He was unabashed, grinned at me
cheekily. ‘But I was hellava good at what I did, so they hauled me back.’ He
laughed. ‘People always want me back.’

There was a moment then, intangible
but unmistakable. A moment when the dinner party and the laughter slid away to
something else. For one extraordinary, brittle moment there was no one else in
the room except Todd and me. His focus on me was so rapt that my mother and
Shannon became a blur. I felt like a rabbit caught by the hunter’s torch, mesmerized,
unable to move. The moment altered, shifted, held. Insight when it came, was
shocking: I saw suddenly that Todd was no different really from Matthew
Bunting. A predator with superior tracking skills who liked to chase, corner,
overpower and take satisfaction - except Matthew’s mental abilities had been
impaired while Todd Pennington was in full possession of his. He would make no
blundering mistakes. A little madness in clear-wrap sanity was always more terrifying.

The black-edged moment slid away.
Shannon moved, brushed her hand possessively down the side of Todd’s face. ‘We
must go,’ she said, as if they had something very important to do elsewhere.
And in a hurry. I read the anxiety in the gesture, the need for reassurance
which would come in hasty, probably desperate love-making.

My mother shifted forward, put down
her glass. ‘Well, so glad you could come. Casey will be going home tomorrow.’

Both their heads turned to me. My view
of the room shrank.

Shannon looked concerned. ‘Do you
think that’s wise?’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Well, you call us if you need
anything,’ said Shannon. ‘If you as much as sniff that man in the area, you
call us right away. Okay?’

‘Sure. Thanks. You guys are the
best.’

There was a pregnant silence.

Unable to resist, I glanced at last
at Todd. His eyes were on me like a laser beam. I blinked and looked away. In a
small, dark corner of my mind something had changed. There was a new nudge of
danger, something a little more devious.

Perhaps Brent Sedgeworth wasn’t the
man I should be worrying about after all.

On the Friday night after I’d returned home, Abieda and I went to a small
pizzeria that was about halfway between her place and mine. We did this on
occasions, more often initiated by Abieda because she shared a flat with her
sister and, from time to time apparently, it became too small.

‘Fatima has put,’ Abieda described
to me, her large eyes dark and accusatory, ‘a bookcase in the passage so that
now we have to turn sideways to get past.’

‘Books are good,’ I said, picking
the anchovies off my pizza.

‘But why in the passage? She has
space in her room. But no, she doesn’t want to be inconvenienced, so she would
rather inconvenience me. And besides, it looks horrible.’

Abieda had an enviable smooth honey
complexion like the skin of a dark peach. Her black hair was pinned in a series
of loops to the back of her head, with several streamers hanging for effect. A
small diamante bird sat perched in one of the loops.

I sprinkled black pepper, and said
without thinking: ‘Why don’t you get a place of your own?’

She shrugged. ‘Money I suppose.’
Then her look sharpened. ‘I would be nervous to be on my own.’

‘Rubbish.’

‘There are some crazy people out
there.’

‘Sure. But it’s a civilized country.
Lots of people living on their own.’

She picked around at the food on
her plate. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she said.

‘What? Live on my own?’

‘Yes. Especially with this man
still walking around.’

I trotted out the overworked defense:
‘I can’t let anxiety rule my life.’

She looked away uneasily. Then back
again. I could see there was something bothering her.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Mr Marse is worried about you.’

‘That’s kind of him but entirely
unnecessary. I think he’s more neurotic than I am.’

‘I think he’s scared of you.’

‘You mean
for
me.’

‘No. I mean because of the
shooting.’ Her look was hard. She was testing how far she could go on a topic
that had become taboo.

I forced a deliberate spike of acid
humor. ‘So he should be. I’m ready to take out the next one in a second.’

‘You shouldn’t joke about stuff
like that.’

‘Well, then – don’t keep bringing
the bloody subject up.’

She was silent a moment, tussling
with something. She had stopped eating.

I chewed slowly to a halt on my
last mouthful, and swallowed. ‘Is there something you want to say?’

She looked awkward for a moment.
Then in a rush, she said, ‘There’s been a man phoning for you.’

I paused, assessing. ‘Stephen?’ I
stabbed hopefully.

‘No, not anyone that we know.’

‘What does he say?’

‘He asks for you. When Nicky asks
for his name he won’t give it. When she says all personal calls have to be
registered, he’s abusive. He told her she’s a self-important bitch with a fat
bottom.’

I almost stifled a laugh. Then
grasped the seriousness of her words. Nicky, our receptionist was very pretty
with a baby doll face and permanently tearful-looking blue eyes. But there was
no denying her bottom was rather large.

Abieda read the sudden
comprehension in my eyes. She nodded. ‘It means he knows where you work. He’s
been watching us. All of us.’

I stared down at my pizza which had
suddenly become congealed-looking, cold.

‘What does he sound like?’

‘Like anybody. Nice voice, deepish,
well-modulated.’

‘Not Stephen?’ I pressed again.

‘Nicky knows Stephen very well. And
so do I. No, this voice is different. Could be anyone.’

‘But she’d recognize it again?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Well, next time put him through to
me.’

‘Mr Marse said – ’

‘I don’t care! If he gets to speak
to me, he’s going to identify himself. I’m sure of that. I need to speak to
him.’

She gave me a sort of wobbly look.
‘I don’t think so.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He left some messages.’

I felt odd, too light for my chair.
‘What did he say?’

She rummaged in her bag and dragged
out some slightly crumpled, folded paper. ‘Nicky wrote it all down. Not from
the beginning but after the first couple of calls, I think. She showed Mr
Marse. That’s why he said the calls were not to go through to you.’ She handed
me the papers.

I read slowly. The restaurant buzz
faded away and I was alone with a faceless tormentor whose danger was as close
as a lonely street, a dark doorway, an empty flat.

The first statement, clearly
written in Nicky’s large, round hand with that curious way of looping her ‘t’s’,
read:

Tell that toffee-nosed little
bitch to keep her mouth shut.

Trembling, I opened the second
page:

Just let that doll-faced Miss
Bloody Perfect know that not everything will play her way. She needs to know
that. Got it, fatty?

The third page was difficult to
open, my fingers fumbled. The lighting seemed all wrong, as though the lights
in the restaurant had dimmed. I couldn’t see properly.

Never mind. I know where she is.
And I’m closer than she thinks.

I sat back in my chair, weakness
sluicing through me. ‘Does Mr Marse know you’ve shown me this?’

‘No.’

‘I see.’ I felt utterly alone. ‘May
I keep these papers. I must show them to the police.’

‘Of course.’

Her black eyes were shiny as onyx. ‘Casey
– ’

‘Yes?’