Something You Are (18 page)

It was hard to imagine him as a father, I thought, as Ronnie turned his attention back to the Turkish guy.

‘You know who this is?' Ronnie gestured at me, speaking
in that drawn-out way that British people do with foreigners. ‘You know him? He fuck you up, yeah? He going to fuck you up? Then you have money, yes?'

I looked down at him. He was in his twenties and wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Hopefully, I thought, there weren't too many family members to be traumatized. If I was really lucky he wouldn't even have a girlfriend, or siblings.

He met my eyes and I shrugged at him, not sure what I was trying to say with the gesture.

‘Honours?' Ronnie said, making a sweeping motion with his arm. ‘Go on, you know you want to.'

It was hard to turn him down; he was one of my most lucrative employers. I didn't want to, not least because it meant getting forensic all over the street. But it didn't matter, not really. To my knowledge, I didn't have a file aside from what had happened to me as a minor. If I did, I wouldn't be here.

‘Please…' he said, the Turkish guy. ‘Please… no.'

I glanced back at the road but Ben and his colleague were standing closer together, blocking us from view. It was getting late and I had little interest in who this poor fucker owed money to.

‘Please… I'll get your money!'

I nodded at Ronnie, thinking that I could put on a bit of a show and get it over with quickly.

He stepped back.

‘Please…'

I wanted the guy to stop talking and jabbed him in the throat, cutting off the words before they even reached air. It was so fast that for a while his hands flailed, struggling to locate the source of his pain before he started clutching his neck.

When I landed the first blow I aimed for his face, trying to
knock him out. He fell sideways and I kicked him in the ribs once, twice, before he rolled over on to his stomach.

‘That's what I'm talkin' about,' Ronnie said.

I loosened my coat, so that I had more freedom, and brought my heel down on to his lower back, my mind blank aside from the familiar actions. Something cracked. I stamped on his wrist. All I could hear was the grinding of his body jerking against the concrete. It would have been easier with a cricket bat.

It was awkward to punch him from this angle so I started kicking him again. There was no resistance, no cowering, no attempt to get me to stop. He had passed out.

‘Gently, fucking
gently
,' someone said.

I wiped some sweat from under my fringe and realized my hands were shaking. One final kick and I forced my muscles to a halt. I didn't think he was dead, but it was hard to tell.

The expression on Ben's face made me worry I had overdone it.

A faint gurgling sound came from deep in the back of the guy's throat, and I relaxed.

Ronnie raised his eyebrows at me. ‘You sure you don't want that drink?'

‘No, I'm all right,' I said, breathing hard. ‘Happy?'

‘I'll owe you some on the house?'

‘Hey, fuckers!'

We all turned in unison, and saw six of them, standing at the end of the alleyway. A few had bats. One or two had kebab knives.

Fuck, I thought. He was Turkish.

Their leader, the one with the thickest eyebrows and the most forbidding weapon, stepped forwards. ‘Eh, you think we wouldn't catch up with you. What about you,
fat boy
?'

The last part seemed to be directed at one of Ronnie's bodyguards; the one who was still out of breath.

‘You don't mess with one of us.' The Turkish man pointed his blade. ‘I swear to God, I'll mess up your fucking faces. How about… for every bruise I find on his body, I take a limb, yes?'

‘Guys…' Ronnie spread his hands, moving away from the body on the ground with a strained expression of calm. ‘I don't have any business with you.'

They laughed and took a few paces towards us. ‘You do now, fuckers.'

‘Guys—'

One of the knives scraped theatrically along the wall, and for a fleeting second I wondered if any bodies had ever ended up in their kebabs.

‘I cut your feet off first, yes?'

I'd had enough. I took out my automatic and pointed it at their heads. ‘Make
this
your fucking business!'

Three of them ran. They were the sensible ones. I wasn't in the mood for taking threats.

‘You! Yeah, you three!' I made towards the ones who'd stayed, my aim steady. ‘Drop them. Drop your
fucking
weapons!'

Two blades and a bat hit the ground. I kicked them away, grabbed their leader by the back of his neck and dragged him back towards their fallen comrade, keeping my gun trained on the other two.

‘All of you, on your knees, against the wall.'

The other two moved slowly.

I cracked their leader's head into the brickwork and hurried them along by pointing my gun at them again.

‘Move!'

One of them had already started crying, but they did as I ordered. When they were all on their knees facing the wall, and I was satisfied that they were neutralized, I turned back to Ronnie.

‘Right, let's go.'

His bodyguards were wide-eyed, spooked as fuck.

But Ronnie wasn't done yet. He strode forwards, lip curling, and held out his hand for my gun.

‘Fucking mess with me…' he was muttering.

‘Ron, come on, let's go,' I said, pretending I hadn't noticed his gesture.

‘Not a fucking chance. Gimme that.'

‘Ron—'

He glared at me, and I gave him the gun.

The guy to the far right still hadn't stopped crying, so hysterical that he hacked a mouthful of bile on to the wall.

‘Please…' he said.

The word was like a parasite, buzzing around my head. Every time, it was
please
… You'd think that people begging for their lives would make the effort to be more convincing; not so fucking obvious in their lack of worth. I knew it would have annoyed Ronnie too.

Ronnie walked up to him and held my gun against the back of his head.

‘Fuck's sake, Ron, what are you gonna do?' I protested.

‘You're about to die,' Ronnie said, ignoring me and addressing the guy kneeling by the wall. ‘You can't think of anything better to say?'

If anything, his sobbing just intensified.

‘Come on!' Ronnie snapped. ‘Let's say… whoever has the best last words gets to live?'

Nothing.

Just a line of trembling shoulders.

I realized I had been holding my breath, willing Ronnie to leave them. Across the alleyway, his two bodyguards were still watching.

Ronnie just shrugged, disappointed with their silence. ‘Fine.'

There was a crack, as the butt of my gun met the back of a skull. The first man, the one who had needed to get hold of himself, crumpled backwards on to the pavement. Without pausing, Ronnie knocked out the second, and by the time he came to the last one the novelty seemed to have worn off and he was starting to look bored.

I leapt on the chance to defuse the atmosphere. ‘Let's go!'

He ignored me, addressing the last man who was conscious. ‘You going to make sure your friend pays his money?'

The man turned his head a little and I saw the eyebrows move as he spoke, and a small trickle of blood running down his nose. ‘He's my brother.'

‘Really?' Ronnie nodded. ‘Well, family fuck-ups are a bitch.'

He shot him through the back of the neck and he fell to the ground.

I put my hands behind my head.

Ronnie stepped back as blood crept towards his shoes, and tucked my gun away under his coat.

The red brick, and the man lying next to it, were stained with a fierce arc of black.

When Ronnie finally looked at me his expression was challenging.

‘Problem?' he said.

I contemplated saying something, maybe voicing my irritation over the use of my gun, but then shook my head.

‘Good.' He walked past me towards the main road, leaving me amongst the bodies. ‘If you're sore about the gun, I'll buy you a new one. Wanna come for a drink, champ?'

I stayed in the alley, drained by the brutal waste of such violence. ‘No thanks, maybe another time.'

The three of them left.

After a while, I followed them, heading back to my car.

A double-decker bus roared its way past.

At first I thought the sensation of my mobile ringing in my pocket was some leftover effect of the adrenalin, but then I came to my senses and answered it without looking at the caller ID. ‘Hello?'

‘Is this, um… Nic?'

It was a lady's voice, slurring a little. I took the phone away from my ear and saw Clare's name. ‘Er, yeah. Sorry, this isn't Clare, is it?'

‘No no, um… Look, I'm really sorry but we didn't know who else to call. She said not to call her husband or whatever and she said to call Nic, so…'

‘What's going on?'

‘I'm
so
sorry. We just went out to this club and… we drank a lot, took some stuff, and Clare's in a really bad way, she's a bit off her face. She just really needs someone to come pick her up…'

I looked at my watch. ‘What's your name?'

‘Um, Steph.'

‘Where are you?'

‘West End. This club called Gecko, you know it, right?'

‘No, but… I'll come find you. Can you wait outside or something?'

‘Yeah yeah, God, thanks.
So
sorry about this!'

‘Fine, whatever. I'll be there in a… well, soon.'

I ended the call.

Sometimes violence calmed me. I didn't like that it did, but I rarely had a choice in the matter. Mark would have told me to stop worrying, that it was natural to enjoy something that I had chosen to spend my life doing. He was usually right. Maybe it wasn't me? Maybe it was the rest of the world that had the wrong idea?

I started walking back to my car, envisioning the Turkish men waking up next to their dead brother and feeling demoralized. Everything had gone into soft focus. Whether I liked it or not, I did feel calmer.

It took me almost half an hour to find the club, and most of that was spent trying to park. In the end, I decided to take my chances and left my car across the road from the place the lady had mentioned.

There was a queue, even at this time. I hadn't seen a more sorry line of people for a while, dressed in next to nothing and shivering.

They had said they would be outside.

‘Nic?'

I looked to my right and a brunette in a low-cut pink dress was approaching me, struggling in ridiculous heels. She was extremely tall, and pretty, in an obvious and available sort of way.

‘Yeah?'

‘Who we called?'

‘Um, assume so. Are you Steph?'

‘Oh, thank God.' She took my arm and led me away from the club with difficulty. ‘We didn't know what to do, who to call… I mean, neither of us can exactly
carry
her and we couldn't get a taxi… We didn't want to leave her anywhere.'

‘What happened?'

‘We went out, and we invited her cos, like, she's going through a hard time and we thought she could have some fun, right?'

‘Right…'

She was talking fast and her eyes were too wide.

‘And we took these pills, it was stupid, right, but I know the guy and we've never had any problem… We didn't know who to call. She just told us to call Nic, so we did. I mean, I know she's married, right, but she said he's been arrested or something?'

We rounded a corner and there were two women on a bench, opposite a row of taxis. There was another brunette, in a blue dress, who had the sense to be wearing something warm over it. Lying at an angle, covered with a coat and with her head in her friend's lap, was Clare.

‘And you didn't call an ambulance?' I snapped at Steph.

‘We um…' She exchanged a sheepish glance with the other brunette. ‘It's the pills.'

Clare stirred and one of her heels fell off. Her legs were bare and the coat didn't cover them.

‘Fuck's sake,' I muttered, crouching down. ‘Clare, can you hear me?'

‘I don't know whether she had a bad reaction to the E or if she's just wasted,' the other brunette said. ‘We've done it before and she's been fine.'

‘Yeah, thanks, that's
helpful
,' I replied without looking at her. ‘Clare, it's Nic. Can you hear me?'

She tried to open her eyes fully and murmured something; her fringe was stuck to the sweat on her forehead.

‘Jesus…' I rolled my eyes.

The two of them were watching me, waiting for me to remove their problem.

‘Look, I'll take her home,' I said. ‘Can she walk at all?'

‘Um… not really.'

‘OK.' I stood back with my hands on my hips, and gestured at Steph. ‘Can you put her shoe back on? I'm gonna carry her to the car.'

Steph did as she was told. The other lady helped Clare sit up and I took one of her arms around my neck. At her height I thought she'd weigh more, but when I lifted her it didn't take much strain. She opened her eyes for a moment, struggled to focus and then shut them again, her head resting against my chest.

There was a sequinned bag hanging from her neck and Steph tucked it away. ‘Is she going to be OK?'

‘I think she's only drunk,' I said.

‘Um, my coat…' Steph took a step forwards.

I glared at her. ‘I've no doubt she'll make sure you get it back. You were fucking stupid, giving her pills when she's like this.'

They looked at each other. They would probably go back into the club, I realized. They didn't care, not really.

I left them and took Clare back past the club and across the road to my car. I supported her against the side of the vehicle to open the back door.

‘Clare, can you… fucking wake up a bit?'

When I threatened to lower her to the ground she responded, and managed to get inside the car. She pulled the coat tighter around herself, kicked her shoes on to the floor and curled up across the back seats. Even with the scars, it was so out of character for her to seem this vulnerable.

I watched her for a moment, and took off my jacket to put across her legs.

The air was bitter, full of dim music and other people laughing.

By the time I had hurried around the car and got into the driver's seat I was already shivering. I went to start the engine and looked in the overhead mirror. She was asleep, a hand up by her face and her lips parted.

Anything could have happened, I thought, glancing back at the club.

There was an indistinct noise behind me and I turned back. ‘You all right? Clare?'

She was still asleep.

‘You're all right,' I said as I started the car.

The jolt of the car coming to a halt outside the house woke her up. I got out, wincing against the cold, and when I opened the rear door she was trying to sit up.

‘Where…?'

‘You're at home.'

The coat fell off her; she was wearing a short black dress. ‘… You?'

‘You got your friends to call me, remember?'

She tried to form an expression of disbelief but didn't manage it. I held out a hand but she ignored it, choosing to struggle by herself instead. She eased herself to the edge of the seat, put her bare feet down on the road and realized she didn't have her shoes.

‘Um… there.' I pointed at the footwell and the high heels. ‘You sure you can walk in those?'

‘I'm… fine.' She reached down, managed to reach one of the shoes, and came back up looking disoriented. ‘I don't… feel very…'

I took a step back as she retched and vomited a stream of stale alcohol on to the road. She started to apologize but threw up again, her shoulders trembling and her shoulder blades showing through the criss-cross straps across her back.

I was glad she had waited until we had got home.

Clare had brought her feet back up off the road, holding her forehead in both hands.

‘You OK?' I said.

She sniffed and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, but didn't look at me. ‘Sorry… I don't… do this.'

‘Come on…'

‘I can do it,' she said, leaning down to get the other shoe.

‘No. You really can't.'

She ignored me.

‘And can you decide soon? Because it's really fucking cold,' I added. My eyelids were growing heavy.

For a while she sat on the edge of the seat looking down, trying to work out how much effort it would take to put on the shoes and walk to the house by herself. She sniffed again, brushed her fringe out of her eyes and held out an arm.

‘OK.'

I picked her up again and felt her tense.

‘Sorry,' she said as I kicked the door shut. ‘How embarrassing…'

‘You're fine, I've seen worse.'

I avoided her eyes as I carried her up to the front door, the hand holding her shoes draped around my shoulder.

‘There's a key… somewhere…'

She fumbled with her bag and I put her down, carefully, so that she could unlock the door. She still couldn't support herself and I held her up with one arm as we stepped inside. Her skin seemed yellowed in the harsh light.

‘I'm OK, you can… just go.'

‘Don't be stupid, you can't stand up.'

‘I'm… not stupid.'

‘Look, go to bed and I'll get you some water.'

She wavered at the stairs.

‘Fuck's sake,' I said, picking her up again.

‘I don't… I meant when I said I don't… do this. At least not
for a while.' She dropped one of the shoes as I took her upstairs but I ignored it. ‘Used to do it all the time… I was the… life and party.'

It was the first time I had noticed the lines around her eyes.

I nudged open the bedroom door and set her down. ‘Stay here, I'll get some water.'

Clare sat on the edge of the bed, holding the one shoe in her lap; the soles of her feet were blackened by the pavement and road. A few tears had worked their way out and smudged her eyeliner. Without looking at me she brushed her hair off her face and fixed it up in a tight bun again.

‘Hey, I don't mind,' I said. ‘You look fine.'

She didn't answer.

I went downstairs and picked up the other shoe on the way. While I was in the kitchen I rested it on the side, running some water from the tap and filling a glass. The black suede was tarnished and scraped away by the tarmac.

It was nearing one in the morning.

While I was here I could find her laptop, I thought, but that was for later. I didn't have to do that now.

I picked up the water and the shoe and went back upstairs. In Pat's absence, the house was quieter than I had ever heard it. As I passed Emma's room I thought of going in for another search, but that could wait until later too.

Clare was sat where I had left her, looking at the high heel in her lap as if it was her life's shoebox.

I tried to picture what would be in hers.

‘Thanks.' She took the water with a shaking hand and popped a breath mint from the bedside table. ‘I'm… God, I'm so sorry. It's so… disgusting.'

I put the other shoe down by the wardrobe with the mirrored doors. ‘It doesn't matter, really.'

‘I thought going out… would… do something,' she said, between gulps of water.

I stood for a second, but then sat down next to her. She wasn't looking at me anyway.

‘Sleep it off. You'll feel… well, you'll probably feel shit in the morning.'

‘It's true, you know,' she said. ‘My friends… They didn't say I was the life and soul… they said I
was
… I
was
the party. Nic, I… when Emma…'

‘What?'

‘Nothing… Nothing important.'

She put the glass of water on the floor and leant her head against my shoulder, wiping the tears off her cheeks. It seemed to calm her down.

‘It's weird, that you seem nice,' she said.

I laughed.

‘No, I'm serious… I'd like to know what made you hate people so much.'

‘Well, I'd like to know what made you hate yourself so much.'

‘Hm, well… You first.'

With a coy smile, she took her head off my shoulder and curled up at the end of the bed. Her eyes were closed, but she seemed to be listening.

I didn't even know where to begin.

She prodded me with her toe. ‘Go on.'

I pushed her foot away with a smile, realizing that I would have to share in order to get any worthwhile information out of her.

‘I killed someone, this kid, when I was seventeen. It was an accident; they had the knife.' I met her eyes to judge her level of shock, but they were still closed. I wasn't sure whether she
had fallen asleep but I carried on regardless. ‘I spent a while in juvie, then transferred to an adult prison for a year, then got out as I was apparently no longer a threat to society. My parents… well, my dad never forgave me for it. I think he's always thought it was my fault.'

She sat up against the headboard, sniffing. ‘That's terrible.'

‘It's just one of those things, it was an… accident. I mean, I thought I was only punching him to get him off me, I didn't realize…' I frowned, unable to comprehend why she looked so distressed. ‘Come on, it's not like I was a medical student or someone who was gonna change the world in some way. Sadder things have happened.'

‘No, I just… I guess I never thought about… how you would get into what you do, you know.' She fiddled with the straps of her dress, observing where they had left red welts against her skin. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Your turn.'

I knew she wasn't going to tell me anything in return, but it was worth a try.

She smiled at me, rubbed some smudged eyeliner from underneath her eye and shifted forwards. Her vision didn't look entirely focused; she wouldn't even be close to sober until tomorrow evening.

Despite all this, when she went to kiss me, I let her.

That was all I had wanted, really, I realized. Maybe it was all she had wanted too, as she dropped the pretence of a
heart-to
-heart and came closer to press her body against mine. She tasted like mint and faintly of spirit. Nothing about her was soft, not as I remembered from the mortuary. She was made up of sharp edges and corners.

She kissed me harder, sighed against my lips, and hooked her legs around my waist. Following her lead, I ran my hand
up her leg towards the hem of her dress. All I could think about was touching her, every inch of her, possessing all of that strength and that madness and making her need me as much as I needed her. But she pushed me away. Not far, but far enough away to tell me my place.

‘No,' she said, biting my lip.

The images that had been playing through my head were dashed. I was so hard, aching at the prospect of holding her and fucking her and doing something that made sense to me.

But this wasn't about me, I realized. It was about her; it was always about her.

Her fingers curled around my wrists and I let her force me on to my back, grinding her hips against me, and her eyes locked on to mine as if she was daring me to challenge her.

Every move she made sent spasms through my veins.

‘Clare…' I breathed, one of my hands entwined in her hair.

She was kissing my neck, her hair falling loose and brushing against my forearms. ‘No.'

‘Why—'

‘No.'

She pulled away a few inches with her eyes half shut, and I could feel her exhales on my skin. A faint gloss of sweat had reappeared on her forehead and the hand that wasn't pinning my wrist to the bed was between her legs.

I fought for breath. ‘Fuck…'

She sat up, letting me go, and smiled at me in a way that mocked my desperation to be in control. Without taking her eyes off me she loosened the straps on her shoulders and let the dress fall to her waist.