Sparks (28 page)

Sparks paid.

“Weirdo,” said the cafe owner as he went back behind the counter.

“Espresso,” said Sparks, as the cafe owner turned on a large screen TV for the sports news.

Joseph Kaye ran. He ran faster and faster until at last, somehow, he found himself outside his parents’ house. He opened the door and ran inside.

“Evening, dear,” said his mother. “You’ve missed your tea.”

“We gave it to the dog,” said his father.

“Good,” said Kaye, absently, and hurtled up the stairs. In his room, he pulled boxes and shoes from under his bed.

“Get your own place if you’re going to have parties!” shouted his father from downstairs as Kaye threw shoes and boxes against the wall.

Kaye found a large grey cardboard box. He ripped it open, and its contents exploded in a spray of A4 paper and bits of spiral notebook. Grabbing fistfuls of paper and notes, Kaye kicked the boxes back. Then he went to a drawer, pulled it out, and took out something heavy. He closed the drawer and this time walked downstairs.

“You’re annoying your father,” said Kaye’s mother at the foot of the stairs.

Kaye stopped. “Goodbye, mum,” he said. “I love you.”

He kissed her and went out into the night.

“That boy will be the death of us,” said Kaye’s father.

“Oh do shut up,” said Kaye’s mother. She touched her cheek where Kaye had kissed it.

Alison sat on her sofa. She felt incredibly peculiar, as she supposed she would, given that the man she loved had apparently just lost his mind again after meeting her ex-boyfriend, who was supposed to be dead but in fact had been in… Alison wondered why she hadn’t lost her mind, and felt guilty. She consoled herself with the thought that, at this rate, it wouldn’t be long.

There was a noise in the background. Alison realised it was the television, which Kaye had left on. She disliked the television for reminding her of Kaye’s recent, happier, TV-watching presence, picked up the remote and went to turn it off.

“Leave me alone,” she said, unreasonably, to the television.

“Police have just surrounded a rooftop in central London where a man is believed to be threatening to kill himself,” replied the television.

Alison put the remote down. Then she picked it up again and turned up the volume.

Sparks stared at the TV screen.

“I want the sport,” said the cafe owner.

“Hush,” said Sparks.

The huge screen showed a large, green-flaring building from the air. Police helicopters flew past and there were some cars with big letters on their roofs moving about below. On top of the building, a thin man was doing a bit of waving.

“Give me the remote back,” said the owner.

“I know him,” Sparks said.

“Of course you do,” said the owner. “You’re a weirdo.”

“Where is that?” said Sparks to an old man, who looked like he knew stuff.

“That’s the old thingie,” said the old man. “In town. The ’60s one.”

“So it is,” said Sparks, who understood this kind of talk. He gave the cafe owner his remote back and went outside.

“West End,” said Alison.

“Whereabouts?” said the cabbie.

“That ’60s building in the middle,” she said.

“Gotcha,” said the cabbie.

“I don’t know where it is,” said Duncan. “Ask the front desk.”

“What?” said Jeff. “Hello front desk, you know that building on the news, where is it?”

“Why not?” said Duncan, and picked up the phone.

Thirty seconds later, Duncan said, “I know exactly where it is.”

“Good,” said Jeff. “Let’s go.”

“Sorry mate,” said the minicab driver, “I dunno where you mean.”

“It’s the big one in town,” said Sparks. “With the lights.”

“I’m Russian,” said the driver. “Better on Novosibirsk than the West End.”

“Why’ve you got a Cockney accent?” said Sparks .

“It happens,” said the driver. “Here, I’ve got a Streetfinder somewhere.”

“Why haven’t you got satnav?” said Sparks.

The driver looked at him. “What’s that?” he said.

Such are parallel universes.

Alison paid the cabbie and got out. The building was ringed with police cars and news vans.

“Rats,” said Jeff. “The place is full of fuzz.”

“Fuzz?” said Duncan. “Who are you, Mr Woodstock?”

“Don’t get cocky with me,” Jeff said. “We need to find a side entrance.”

“This way,” said Duncan, and walked off.

“Wait for,” said Jeff, taken aback, “me.”

Joseph Kaye had made a bonfire on the roof out of all the files, folders and bits of paper he had collected. Pictures of beetles curled up at the edges and browned into nothing alongside heavily-typed documents and eager-to-be-flammable faxes and photocopies. Over £60 of public money was wasted as Kaye’s carefully collected hoard of near-evidence, half-proof and unwell conjecture turned into yellow fire.

Kaye himself appeared to be burning, but this was because a) he was standing next to the bonfire and the flames were reflecting off his sweaty face, and b) he was in quite a state. His mind was trying to run through a version of events that made sense, but it wasn’t doing well.

I believed that I was ill,
Kaye thought,
then I believed that I was sane, and decided to carry on looking for proof that I was right. And then, just as I did that, I met someone who made me forget about looking for proof. And just when I had forgotten, it turned out that she was lying.

A large helicopter flew over Kaye, and he batted a hand at it, as if to swat it away. Obviously, it didn’t work, but Kaye was past caring. He had trusted someone, gone so far as to love them, and it turned out that her dead boyfriend was very much not dead. It was all very clear; he didn’t blame her. Or even the dead boyfriend.

It was me, Kaye thought. It was me all along.

Sparks got out of the cab.

“I can walk it from here,” he said, dropping a crumpled tenner onto the driver’s lap.

“You couldn’t tell me how to get home, could you?” asked the driver, but Sparks was already running.

Alison, who used to belong to a gym below the building, knew there was a subway and a back way. If she was quick, she could avoid the police.

She was quick. She avoided the police.

“There he is,” said Duncan.

“Give me the gun,” said Jeff.

Duncan did, and Jeff stepped in front of Sparks, who had given up running and was panting outside a shoe shop.

“Fancy seeing you here,” said Jeff.

“Get out of my way,” said Sparks.

“So you can pant more freely?” said Jeff. “I’d be happy to. Here, you might want this.”

He handed Sparks the gun. Sparks looked at it consideringly.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Oh, it’s ‘thank you’ now, is it?” said Jeff, but Sparks was already moving away.

Kaye dropped a last piece of paper on the bonfire and moved away from it. He hoped he could get to the edge of the roof before the police appeared.

Alison came out of the service lift. She opened the fire exit door and immediately she could see Kaye’s bonfire. She ran out towards it, waving motes of burning paper away from her eyes.

Kaye was standing by a low rail, a few feet away from the ledge.

“Joseph!” Alison shouted.

Kaye turned round. His eyes looked rudderless.

“Go away,” he said. Then he appeared to reconsider. “Or stay. It doesn’t matter.”

“Come over here,” said Alison.

“It’s not your fault,” Kaye shouted.

“I know it’s not my fault,” Alison said. “It’s Sparks.”

“It was me,” said Kaye. “All the time, it was me.”

“It wasn’t you,” said Alison. “You’re right.”

“I am, am I?” said Kaye, and he sounded angry. “I believe in something that doesn’t exist. Actually,” and as he expanded the thought, he hopped the low rail. Now he was a few inches away from the ledge. “Actually, I believed in a few things that don’t exist. I believed you when you said your lover was dead.”

“He’s not my lover. And he is dead,” said Alison.

“I want to believe you. See?” said Kaye. “It’s me. It’s all me.”

Alison went over to the rail. She walked round it.

“It’s not you,” she said.

Kaye looked at her. She took his hand and wrapped her fingers in his.

“I don’t know who to trust,” he said. “I can’t even trust myself. ”

Alison turned to follow Kaye’s stare. Sparks was on the roof, with his hand in his pocket.

“Hello, Alison,” shouted Sparks, walking towards them. “Please move away from Joseph.”

“It’s the dead man,” said Kaye. “Hello, dead man.”

He moved towards the ledge. Alison, her hand still in his, moved with him.

“Stop there,” said Sparks.

“No,” said Kaye. “Let go,” he said to Alison.

“I’m not letting go,” said Alison. “Move back, Sparks.”

“No,” said Sparks.

“What’s happening?” said Jeff.

“Everyone’s standing close to the edge of the roof and he’s got something in his pocket,” said Duncan.

“Ooh,” said Jeff.

“Are you mad?” said Kaye. “Move back.”

“Are you mad?” asked Sparks. “That’s what I want to know.”

“Yes,” said Kaye, “I am. It’s all my fault. I know how to end it, though. So move back.”

“You’re holding my girlfriend’s hand,” said Sparks.

“I’m holding his hand,” said Alison.

“Your girlfriend?” said Kaye. “I feel so stupid.”

“I am not his girlfriend,” said Alison.

“Let go my hand,” said Kaye.

“No,” said Alison.

“All right,” said Sparks. “This really is enough.”

He reached into his pocket.

“What’s that?” said Kaye. “How typical. I’m about to kill myself but still you’re going to…”

He stared.

Alison stared, but not as much as Kaye.

“Oh my God,” said Kaye.

“Has he shot him?” said Jeff.

“Why don’t you have a look?” said Duncan, and handed Jeff the binoculars.

Jeff looked through the binoculars. He could see three figures on the roof. They were all standing.

“What are they doing?” he said, and focussed the binoculars again.

“What the hell is that?” said Jeff.

Sparks stepped back from Kaye, who was staring at what Sparks had given him.

“What is it?” asked Alison.

“Oh my God,” said Kaye again.

“It’s a cockroach,” said Sparks.

“It is,” said Kaye, wondering. “It is a cockroach.”

“I took it from the man who showed it to you,” said Sparks, as Kaye removed the cockroach from its matchbox and gazed at it like a long lost insect uncle.

“Then I’m not mad,” said Kaye. “I was right all along.”

“Yes, great,” said Sparks. “We should go now.”

“What’s a cockroach?” said Alison.

“I’ll tell you later,” said Sparks. “First I think we really should get down off here.”

Kaye and Alison came round the rail, Kaye still holding the cockroach. Sparks went to the fire exit.

“The door’s closed from the inside,” he said.

“I should have propped it open,” said Kaye. “But I didn’t think I…”

The door opened.

“That was lucky,” said Sparks.

“No, it wasn’t,” said Jeff. “Now get back over there and jump off the roof like you’re supposed to.”

Jeff and Duncan moved towards them.

“I’ve seen you before,” said Alison. “You were at Speaker’s Corner.”

“He showed me the cockroach,” said Kaye.

“We’ve all known each other for years,” said Jeff. “Now get over there before I shoot you.”

“How many guns have you got?” said Sparks.

“Just the…” said Jeff, as Sparks took Jeff’s gun from his pocket.

“Good plan,” said Duncan.

“Shut up,” said Jeff. “You won’t shoot me,” he said to Sparks.

Sparks fired the gun. A bullet bounced off the ground in front of Jeff.

“I’ll just stand a bit nearer next time,” said Sparks.

“What are you going to do with them?” asked Alison as Sparks ushered Jeff and Duncan down the stairs.

“I don’t know, tie them up and leave them in a conference room or something.”

“This is all real,” said Kaye. He stared at Jeff and Duncan again. “I’m sorry, I’m going to be a bit like this for a while.”

“This broom cupboard looks like a conference room,” said Sparks, stopping at the foot of the stairs.

“What are they doing here anyway?” said Alison. “I mean, it sounds a lot of wasted effort, trying to kill you and Joseph. I mean, not that you’re not worth killing. I mean…”

“I don’t know,” said Sparks. “I thought I did, but I don’t.”

He opened the cupboard door. The stairwell filled with light. Great rays of silver and gold luminescence poured out and got everywhere.

“Oh bugger,” said Jeff.

Kaye was so stunned he almost dropped the matchbox. Just when he thought he might not be mad, events were conspiring to make him go mad. As the stairwell stopped filling with light and started being a stairwell again, Kaye could see two figures coming out of the broom cupboard. One was tall and thin, like the two men who had tried to kill him, and the other was wider and stout.

“Hello Jeff,” said the thinner figure, now no longer a silhouette.

“Hello Duncan,” said the stouter figure, who was a woman.

“Hello Alan,” said Duncan. “Hello, Mrs Reeves.”

“I know you,” said Sparks. He was talking to the woman. “You work in a toy shop.”

“Not primarily,” said the woman. “Nice to see you again. And your friends.”

“Can I have that, please?” said Alan. He indicated the matchbox.

“No,” said Kaye.

“I don’t think so,” said Alison. “We’ve been through a lot of grief because of that.”

“Anyway, it’s dead,” said Sparks. “And there’s that whole no one would believe us business as well.”

“I suppose so,” said Alan. “Actually, it was just the matchbox I wanted.”

He took it from Kaye, tipped the cockroach into his hand, and put the matchbox in his pocket.

“Hang on,” said Sparks. “There’s a picture of…”

Alan put his finger to his lips.

“Least said,” he said. “We’re not starting that all again.”

“Cup of tea, anyone?” said Mrs Reeves.

*

THE SOCIETY’S HEADQUARTERS, if that’s where they were, which it was, was a big Victorian building full of oak-panelled rooms and enormous tables.