One Night (26 page)

She nodded, a softness in her dark
eyes. ‘I’ve brought some lunch for you.’

‘You bring me lunch every day.’

She grinned. ‘Not me. Fatima. She’s
the cook. She says you look too pale and sad. In our culture we like to fix
unhappiness with food.’

‘You’re very kind to me.’

‘We like you, Casey. We think
you’re cool.’

Apparently Mr Marse thought I was
‘cool’ as well. Because shortly after this he called me in and offered me a
promotion.

‘To marketing,’ he said. ‘I think
you have a feel for it and I like the way you’ve been working recently. Very
dedicated. We can offer you a course as well. I think you would benefit
greatly.’

I looked at him. The light was
behind him and he looked like a large, kindly toad behind his desk. Overwhelmed,
I murmured stupidly, ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Just say you’ll take it.’

The new job was a good thing in one respect. It took up my thoughts and energy
– and I began to forget about Todd. I saw Shannon for dinner one evening at her
flat which she shared with a tall, lanky individual called ‘Rowdy’. He looked a
little spaced to me.

‘He on drugs?’ I asked, when he’d
left for a movie date.

‘No. He’s just got a new script and
his mind’s on that.’

‘Really? He has a part in
something?’

She grinned. ‘Don’t be cruel.
Rowd’s a good actor. He almost always plays the victim.’

‘A familiar role.’ I eyed her. ‘Is
there a thing between you two?’

‘No, we’re just friends. Really.
He’s a good guy. We’re in the same business. We understand each other – and – ’
she grimaced. ‘He needs the rent money. He’s a struggling artist as well. Amazingly
talented. Does portraits.’

I could see that Rowdy was perfect
for her for the time being; a man close by who expected no sex. I asked, ‘And
you’re happy?’

Her eyes were startling in their
makeup, her blonde mane shining. Colour in her cheeks. She was smiling, easily,
with her old confidence. She looked beautiful.

‘Yes. Yes, I think I am.’

It’s odd how, just when you’re thinking things are going well, something
happens. I was standing at the bus-stop, reading a book, when somebody tapped
me on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me, Miss, but there’s a man calling you.’

I looked up fuzzily, my mind still
in the scene on the page in front of me. For a moment I could see nothing but early
morning busyness: a man on a bicycle, a delivery van backing into a space too
small, a bus with an ad for throat lozenges blazed in bright colour along its
side.

‘What?’ I asked, gawping.

‘There,’ said the man behind me.
‘There on the bus.’

I looked up. Todd was at a window,
laughing at me, waving as though we were long lost friends and he’d just
spotted me. He nodded, waving, mouthing,
how are you
. I stared. The bus
jolted forward and his face pressed against the window like a transfer, settling
into that familiar mocking smile, a note of satisfaction.

The book fell from my grasp. The
man behind me bent to pick it up.

‘Old friend?’ he asked, smiling,
handing me the book.

I stared at him, zombie-like, my
world crashing to cold winds and desolate shores all around me. ‘You could
say,’ I murmured, not knowing what else to say.

‘Lucky he saw you.’

Blindly I put the book into my bag.
I looked into the man’s face, a friendly grin, eyes alight at witness of what
he assumed was a small, romantic interlude on his way to work. When I spoke my
voice was uneven, as though I’d swallowed a hairy piece of gristle.

‘I don’t think luck has anything to
do with it.’

Three days after that, the flowers arrived. They were on my mat when I got
home. I looked around but there was a curious stillness as though the
perpetrator of the delivery might still be present in ghostly form. I spent a
few seconds staring at the end of the corridor to the head of the fire escape
stairs. Dead still. No shadows. Sticky stood panting beside me, keen to get
home after a day with Mrs Corbett.

I picked up the flowers and went
inside, locked the door.

There was a note.
With love and
good thoughts, Todd
.

I took the bunch and threw them
upside down in the rubbish bin. Then I went down to Mr Corbett. To my frustration
he wasn’t there, his door closed. I went back, reasoning with myself that it
wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t a policeman and couldn’t be expected to monitor
every single person who entered the block.

Gritting my teeth, I took Sticky
for his walk.

And nothing happened. Everything
was fine.

But three days later, there was
another bunch of flowers.

I didn’t even bother going down to Mr Corbett’s office this time. There was no
point. I stood in my own home feeling like the only survivor on a desert island.
I needed to talk to someone, to have a sympathetic ear, the warmth of a good
person. Loving arms.

I threw the flowers in the bin and
reluctantly, desperately, phoned Stephen. He sounded a bit breathless when he
answered and I had an appalling thought: ‘I’m not disturbing you with Christine,
am I?’

Pause. Then, ‘What’s up, Casey?’

Not
how are you, it’s been too
long, I’ve missed you
. I needed him and had pissed him off in the first few
words. This was getting to be so typical.

‘I just wanted to say that you were
right.’

‘About what?’

‘About Todd.’

‘Has he been causing trouble?’

Well, now. Here was the thing. He
hadn’t been causing trouble at all. He’d been making shadows in my mind – and
how did I explain that? The fear was all my reaction to the minutest movement
Todd made. For a ghastly moment, Dr Mensen’s face loomed in front of me.

‘He’s bringing me flowers.’

Stephen gave a snorty laugh. ‘That
bastard,’ he said softly, as though Todd was no more than a sneaky schoolboy.

‘I think he’s stalking me.’

Swiftly I told him about Shannon
and what had happened.

‘Jesus,’ said Stephen. ‘I knew he
was bad news but that’s pretty shocking. Is she all right now?’

‘Yes, she’s fine.’

‘Do you want me to come over?’

There was a horrible, grating
pause. I felt my skin burning.

‘No, it doesn’t matter now. There’s
no point really. I just wanted to say you were right about him and I’m sorry I
was so – um – you know –
awkward
last time we met.’

‘I’ll come anytime you call me,
Casey. You know that. We’re friends.’

‘Yes,’ I said, weepy.

‘Isn’t that what we are? That’s
what we decided, right?’

There was something in his tone but
I couldn’t place it, couldn’t think straight. There was a prickling pause.
‘Yes,’ I whispered eventually. ‘That’s what we decided.’

‘I mean it. You just
call
,
okay? I’ll knock his fucking head off if he tries anything with you.’

‘Yes.’ Sobs caught in the back of
my throat, tears pressed at my eyes. I couldn’t say the one thing I wanted to
say,
please come now and stay with me forever
. Just couldn’t say it. Couldn’t
face his kind but admonishing rejection, the sympathy in his eyes. All the
things that would tell me I was a foolish person.

Pitiful.

For the next week, things settled into a routine of sorts. But I was too quiet
at work and Abieda kept looking at me. Soon Fatima was sending pudding along
with lunch. Around this time my mother took to nagging me about being a
‘recluse’.

‘You hardly leave your flat.’

‘I don’t like to leave Sticky.’

‘I
told
you it was going to
be bloody awkward taking the dog. I mean we all love Sticky but it’s just not a
good arrangement.’

‘It’s the one I’m happy with at the
moment.’

‘Fine,’ she said, exasperated.
‘Fine. Paddle your own canoe!’ Then, after a pause and a forced conciliatory
smile, she asked, ‘How’s Stephen? Heard anything from him?’

On Friday when I came home, there was a note and box of chocolates on the mat. Shock
and annoyance made me break my usual routine – which was to open my door and
step inside before picking anything up. In a white rage I tore open the envelope.
Inside was a copy of the note Abieda had given to me in the restaurant.

Dear Casey,

I need to meet with you. Can we
meet for coffee? Anywhere you choose. I feel we need to sort things out. Trust
undone is a difficult thing to re-stitch. I know that. You have always been for
me, an extraordinary woman, so different from the rest. Always so strong, so
independent. Sometimes finding that right person in life is difficult –we make
the wrong connections. But you, Casey – you’re the woman I want. I would like
some time to clear things up between us. It’s very important to me. Come to the
coffee shop across the road after work if you want – and allow me to straighten
things out.

Perplexed and fuming, I stood
fingering the paper.
Todd
had written this! Not Brent. Which meant he
knew where I worked, had probably followed and watched me daily. My skin
crawled with aversion and fright.

Almost gasping with anger, I raised
my key to the door. A shadow swooped and the light darkened. There was a
momentary sensation of attack – and then a draught as though someone had run
past me. My key stuck in the lock. I let go, turned and saw Todd behind me, not
five feet away.

My heart seemed to thud to a halt. ‘What
are you
doing?
’ I shouted.

‘Hello,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Got
your chocolates?’

I jerked out, ‘You came up by the back
stairs! What are you
doing?
’

He put his hands up, a rueful grin.
‘Yes, I admit it. I snuck up the fire escape because I wanted to watch your
reaction.’

‘My reaction?’

‘To the chocolates.’

‘You’re stalking me!’

He laughed. ‘Of course I am. I
think you’re fantastic and I want to take you out. Call it stalking if you
like. I call it persistence.’ He kinked an eyebrow. ‘Most people find it an
admirable trait.’

I found my normal voice and it was
oddly steady. ‘I don’t want to go out with you, Todd. I don’t want your flowers
or your gifts or your attention. I want you to go away and leave me alone!’

‘Aw, Casey – ’ There was some
frustration in his voice – but not angry. More the indulgent tone a parent
would use on a recalcitrant child. ‘Would you just
listen
to yourself?
You’re the queen of mixed messages, you know that?’

‘I’ve never given you a mixed
message.’

He took a couple of steps towards
me. ‘And neither have I. What’s in that note is the truth – plain and simple.
Even if you chose to ignore it before.’

‘I didn’t
know
it was from
you. You have such an ego, you think you don’t have to sign your notes! Let me
repeat – ’ I paused, gauging the distance between us and the time it would take
to open my door. ‘I have no interest in you. I don’t know how to say it in any
other way.’

‘Casey – ’ He moved closer.

‘Back away or I’ll scream.’

‘Don’t be daft! Can’t you accept a
gift, for Chrissake? A box of chocolates? I promise I’m not coming in – I just
want to know if you’ll come out with me tomorrow night.’

‘I’m going out tomorrow night.’

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘With Mona’s mother, Elva Spears.’

I could have bitten my tongue. I’d
said too much.

As an excuse this would hardly fly,
but it was the truth and he seemed to accept it. ‘Well, Sunday then, okay? I’ll
come and pick you up or you can meet me somewhere – ’

I jumped on the box of chocolates.

He slowed, looking down in surprise
and disgust. Then he looked up and there was something else in his eyes. A
reluctant, slow brew disappointment; something darker rising.

‘That was very naughty of you.’

I was enraged. My skin was burning
all over. I didn’t know how to hurt him, how to make him understand an inkling
of what I felt. I grabbed up the smashed box and threw it in his face. He
ducked, and the box arched into the stairwell. We both watched its downward
plunge. Then he turned to me. Now, at last, intention was in his eyes, had
found its place. There was a low key aggression in his approach. I had
overstepped the mark and deserved punishment. He would inflict it with relish.

‘That was pretty rotten of you. You’re
a bad girl, Casey.’

His words made my flesh crawl. He
was much too close. Too big and too close. And too much like Matthew Bunting. There
was no time to get into my flat. I screamed before he could touch me. Train
whistle pitch. Screamed and screamed.

A door in the passage opened and
Thelma Clark surged out. She was carrying a shotgun. On sighting Todd, she lifted
it. ‘You having trouble?’ she asked with almost casual interest.

‘Shit!’ Todd eyed the gun. ‘What
the hell is this?’

‘You bothering this girl?’

Todd was backing away, his eyes
uncertain, switching from me to the swaying gun. ‘This is a nuthouse! You’re a
fucking lunatic!’

But he was edging down the stairs. He
paused, eyes fixed on me. ‘You don’t want me, princess? That right?’ His voice
softened, ‘That’s all right then. Maybe you’ll get what you deserve!’

And he was gone.

Thelma lowered the gun, her pale eyes
peering down the corridor as though she wasn’t quite sure what she’d been
aiming at. She gave a high-pitched giggle. ‘Well, that did the trick! I haven’t
got any bullets, you know!’

I went into my flat, closed the door. There are times when reason leaves you
and emotion, the white hot light of it, is all you can see. For one mad moment
I experienced a perverted sense of triumph. I had made him feel what I felt! I
had finally made him angry! A major accomplishment. But then cold hard
reasoning hit me and I knew I had made a mistake. The position I had put myself
in was way more dangerous than before.