Sottopassaggio (28 page)

I frown at the phone. “No officer,” I say, a sarcastic tone entering my voice. “What I'm scared of is that he's going to kick down my front door and drag her back by her hair.”

“Yes,” says the man. “I understand that.”

It sounds more like he understands Nick's desire to drag Jenny home than the fact that I'm about to be beaten up.

“So there's nothing you can do?” I say.

The policeman coughs. “I'm sorry sir, I mean, what we have here is a non present – he's not actually there is he? The husband?”

“No,” I say.

“So we have a non-present person, who you suspect might be on his way, to theoretically take his wife home.”

“Oh forget it,” I say.

“I'm sorry, I just don't see what you expect…”

I click the phone off and drop it onto the coffee table.

Jenny looks at me. “No joy then?” she says.

I shake my head.

“They're always useless,” she says. “I phoned them once, and they didn't want to send anyone; said it was a domestic dispute.”

I scratch my head. The phone call has doubled my anger. I can feel the blood pulsing through my veins.

Jenny stares at me silently.

I rub my hand across my mouth and glance at my watch. 8:10.

“He could be here any minute,” I say.

Jenny nods. “Maybe I
should
go,” she says.

I shake my head. “No, that doesn't solve anything.”

“Maybe we could turn out the lights and pretend we're not in?” she says desperately.

I shake my head. “Nah,” I say.

I frown and glance out at the street, then nod slowly. “OK,” I say with a shrug. “Lets do that.”

We switch off all the lights, tidy the things from the dining room table, and retreat upstairs to the front bedroom.

I figure we can see Nick's arrival better from upstairs, and in some ludicrous way, it seems safer, the furthest point from the front door.

We crouch in the window and nibble at the pizza as we peer at the street.

“Tastes good cold too,” Jenny says.

The light starts to fade, the streetlights come on one by one and we sit nervously in the eerie glow, sipping the now-so-inappropriate champagne.

I glance at my watch. 8:42pm. “Maybe he won't come after all,” I say.

Jenny shakes her head slowly. “He'll come,” she says.

I sigh and shiver, remembering the iron bar, remembering the blood trickling from Tom's head.

“Hang on,” I say, jumping up. “Keep lookout, I'll be right back.”

I skip down the dark stairs, and on down into Owen's cellar.

When I return Jenny turns and wide-eyes the cricket bat in my hand. I prop it up behind the door. “Just in case,” I say.

Jenny says nothing but shakes her head slowly.

I shrug. “Hey, I'm not the one who goes around with a wheel wrench down my jacket.”

Jenny nods slowly at me. “I know,” she says. “It's just…”

The sound of squealing tyres makes Jenny turn. I run across and slide to my knees beside her.

As the car is thrashed through the gears, it gets louder, until finally it comes into view.

A Golf with go-faster stripes and chrome wheel hubs. We sigh with relief.

I look at my watch again. 8.50.

“He was on the phone an hour and a half ago,” I say. “Maybe he really won't come. Maybe he's too pissed to drive.”

Jenny shakes her head. “Nick's never too pissed to drive,” she says.

“Maybe he fell asleep,” I say hopefully.

“Unless he's had an accident he'll be here.”

I shake my head and peer out at the street.

“God I hope he doesn't crash,” Jenny says.

I shake my head at her. “You're a crazy bitch,” I say. “You know that right?”

Jenny nods solemnly. “I know.”

Another car drives past and we both swallow and swivel our heads, but it's just a Mini – like Tom's only black.

“I'm glad Tom isn't here,” I say.

Jenny nods. “Poor Tom,” she says. “Though he
is
good in a fight.”

I snort. “Yeah.”

“I heard a woman on the radio,” Jenny says. “On radio four. Her husband used to drink and drive all the time, and…”

“Nick drinks and drives
all the time
?” I say.

Jenny nods and raises the palm of her hand. “
Don't
!” she admonishes.

I shrug.

“Anyway, this woman was so worried, she turned him in. Her husband that is.”

I frown.

“Can you imagine that? Turning your own husband in.”

I shrug. “I suppose if you were worried enough, if he was dangerous enough. But what do you mean she turned him in? She told the police
what
exactly?”

“She phoned the police and told them that he'd be leaving pub X, and that he'd be over the limit and that he does it all the time...”

My eyes widen. “And?”

Jenny shrugs. “They picked him up and breathalysed him. They had a big debate on the radio about the morality of reporting your own friends to the police for drink driving.”

I nod. “Yeah,” I say, breaking into a mad smile. “That'll do it.”

Jenny frowns at me. Her eyes widen. “Mark, what? I couldn't, I mean…”

I nod. “
I
could though,” I say, reaching for
the phone beside me.

Jenny frowns.

“I take it you have no objections,” I say.

Jenny opens her mouth to speak, but remains silent.

“I take it you wouldn't rather Nick dragged you off by your hair, or that I hit him with that cricket bat?” I nod behind me.

Jenny shakes her head. “No, of course not, but, do you think it'll work? Do you think we have time?”

“I don't know,” I say, hitting redial. “But I'm gonna give it a go.”

This time a woman answers.

“Hi there,” I say. “I spoke to one of your colleagues before…”

“Oh,” says the woman. “Would you like me to…”

“No,” I say. “Actually, it doesn't matter. There isn't much time.”

“Much time?” the woman repeats. She sounds young.

“I'm phoning you because I'm very concerned,” I say. “A friend, well, a friend of a friend actually, is driving to my house from Surrey,” I say. “As we speak.”

“Yes?” the woman says. Her tone is shifting from boredom to excitement as she wakes up from her late shift blues.

“And he's drunk,” I say. “Like,
really
drunk.”

“And he's
driving
?” she asks, incredulously.

“Yes,” I say. “He's
really
drunk.
Well
over the limit.”

“Oh,” the woman says. “It's an unusual situation, hold on.”

Jenny nods at me. “So?” she says, her arms around her knees. The shadow from the window-frame moves across her face as she rocks nervously.

I shrug. “She's asking someone else,” I say. “She says it's an unusual…”

Jenny grabs my elbow. “He's on a ban,” she says with a nervous nod.

I frown.

“Hello?” says the woman. “The thing is, it's
obviously a difficult situation, but…”

“Nick's on a ban,” Jenny repeats.

“Hold on a second, please,” I say. “Someone's giving me some more information here.”

I hold the phone to my chest.

“What do you mean he's on a ban?”

“He's already been banned. He got a two-year ban in April. For drink-driving.”

My mouth drops. I move the phone back to my ear.

“I'm sorry,” I say, collecting myself. “Yes, the driver, he's already been banned as well,” I say.

“Oh,” says the woman. “That's very serious then. Hold on please.”

I shrug at Jenny again. “On hold again. Says it's serious.”

Jenny peers nervously into the street, then reaches out and pulls my watch towards her.

“Hello?” says a new voice. I recognise it as the man I spoke to before.

I hand the phone to Jenny. “You do it,” I whisper.

“Erm, hello?” she says. She shrugs at me. “
What
?” she mouths.

“Give him the details,” I say.

“Yes, I'd like to report a crime about to be committed,” she says.

I nod, impressed.

Jenny covers the mouthpiece. “It's what the woman said on the radio,” she says.

“Yes, drink driving, that's right.”

“…”

“Yes, by a banned driver.”

“…”

“Yes, well, not yet. He'll be arriving here soon.”

“…”

“Here? Here is 7 Weston Square,” Jenny says. “Yes, Brighton. It's up towards Kemptown.”

Jenny has to dictate the registration number, Nick's name, address, date of birth, the date of his driving ban… The details seem endless. I'm actually starting to
tremble a little as I wait for her to finish.

Finally Jenny nods at me, indicating closure. “Yes, and you'll need to hurry,” she says assertively. “He'll be here at any moment.”

She winks at me. “Thank you officer,” she says, handing me the phone.

I press it against my ear and then hang up.

“That is such a brilliant idea,” Jenny says.

I nod.

“I feel a bit evil though,” Jenny says. “It's a bit big brother.”

I frown at her. “Big brother?”

Jenny nods. “Turning your relatives into the authorities and all.”

I shrug and glance at the cricket bat beside the door. “I just hope they get here before Nick does,” I say.

We sit on our knees peering at the road for fifteen minutes, then move back so that we can lean against the bed.

“No police,” Jenny says grimly.

“No Nick either though,” I point out. “As long as it's both or neither we're OK.”

Jenny frowns at me.

“If we get Nick and no police, or the police and no Nick, we're in the shit,” I say.

“Yeah,” Jenny says vaguely. “It's warm I think,” she says. “But I feel cold.”

I nod. “Me too,” I say.

I reach behind and pull on the quilt so that it drapes over our shoulders.

“Nerves, I guess,” I say.

“So have you
really
never been hit?” Jenny asks.

I frown at her then shake my head. “With the exception of when I was a kid and Nick of course. I learnt to run quite fast,” I say.

Jenny nods. “You're lucky,” she says.

A lightweight motorbike buzzes down the street.

“It's not really luck though,” I say.

Jenny frowns at me.

“The not-being-hit thing,” I explain.

Jenny snorts. “Well, you're a bloke,” she says. “That helps.”

I nod. “But I've walked away from a lot of conflict,” I say. “Or I've run away. Violence really scares me. In a way what scares me most is what
I
might do. If I lost it, you know?”

Jenny nods. “I see what you're saying,” she says. “But you don't always have a choice.”

I peer out at the street. A man in a suit is getting into a Smart car below.

“I guess I think you do,” I say, listening to the engine start. “Almost always. There's usually a moment when you can walk… Hey, look. Policeman.” I nod towards the other side of the street.

Jenny moves onto her knees and strains her neck. “That's just a beat bobby isn't it?” she says.

I push my lips out and shake my head. “I don't know,” I say. “He's looking this way though.”

“And walking on,” Jenny adds.

I sigh.

“God this is awful,” Jenny says. “This waiting!”

I nod in agreement.

“I almost wish…” Jenny says.

“Shh,” I interrupt, raising a finger. I can hear a car door opening.

I lean forward and sure enough in the space where the Smart was parked is a BMW. It's too big to fit, so it's parked diagonally, the front left wheel upon the pavement. The two doors are opening.

“Shit, they're here,” I say, moving back from the window.

Jenny sneaks a look and then slides back beside me. Her eyes widen, her face pales. “
They
,” she says.

She leans forward again, but then jumps back out of the way. “Shit,” she says. “Nigel drove him. He looked up at me.”

“Nigel?” I frown.

“One of Nick's builders, a dodgy bugger. I don't like him.”

“Fuck,” I say. “Dodgy? How?”

Jenny nods. “He's always bringing knock-off stuff to our house. DVD players, shit like that.”

I shake my head. “So he didn't drive,” I say. “Crafty.”

A thud against the front door makes us jump.

“What the…” I say. It sounds as if Nick is trying to knock the door down.

There is a moment's silence, and then the letterbox creaks. “Jenny!” Nick shouts. “JENNY!”

She glances sideways at me. “He
is
drunk,” she says quietly. “I can hear it.”

I nod and lean forwards again to check out the street. Nigel has the same stocky build as Nick, only with the addition of a beer gut. He's wearing a faded blue polo and chinos. He's standing on the other side of the street staring straight at me.

I freeze and somewhat pointlessly hold my breath.

He reaches inside his trouser pocket and pulls out a Marlborough packet, then pulls a cigarette from the box with his mouth.

“They're not in,” he says, lighting the cigarette. It wobbles up and down as he speaks.

I sit back.

“Is the policeman still there?” Jenny asks.

I shake my head. “Not that I can…”

Nick raps on the door again making me start. “Shit!” I say.

“Nick, let's go get a pint and come back later,” Nigel whines.

I snort. “A pint,” I say. “That'll help.”