Tell Me Everything (17 page)

I was just about to say that wasn't fair, that I'd been the one asking him for a story, but I caught his face.
Now Molly.

It was strange telling a story to him when we were on the same level. I stuttered a bit to start with, couldn't get a grip on where I was going. He tapped his fingers on the table, drumming out his impatience, but that just made it worse. Close up he looked so ill. I couldn't stop looking at the dark circles round his eyes, the high red spots on his cheeks, which only accentuated the rest of his deathly pale complexion, the veins on the side of his nose that looked as if they'd been drawn on by purple felt-tip pen.

I breathed in and out deeply. “OK,” I said. “Remember I told you about my father and how strict he was?”

Mr. Roberts nodded. “I'm glad me and Mrs. Roberts never had children,” he said. “I couldn't have coped with the responsibility of a girl. Mrs. Roberts now, she could have managed anything. I
think she might have liked a little one too. She never said anything. Well, she wouldn't, not if she thought it would upset me, but she'd have been a good mum. No doubt about that.” He sighed, and I waited impatiently for him to stop talking about Mrs. Roberts. Either he wanted a story from me or he didn't.

“Well, he had every right to be anxious about me,” I said. “I used to be such a bad girl. One night I crept out of bed after everyone was asleep and went off to the park, dressed just in my nightgown. I walked round first of all but then I sat down. I stared at everyone that passed. There were all these men coming out of the pub.”

I paused then. Mr. Roberts was drinking his tea carefully, wiping his mouth with his big white handkerchief after each sip. I couldn't think of what to say next. All my thoughts had got stuck somewhere. My mind was blank. I took a gulp of my tea, cradling the cup with both hands. I wasn't at all sure where this story was going.

“And then all of a sudden I could see someone standing in front of them.” Suddenly my words starting spilling out. “It was Leanne.”

“Leanne came back!” Mr. Roberts looked up so quickly he missed his mouth and tea drops splattered his chin. I looked away until he cleaned himself up with his handkerchief. “I knew she would,” he said. “Little Leanne.”

“One man came over to me. He asked me if he could sit next to me on the bench, and I said yes. Stupid of me, I suppose. Leanne put her finger up to her lips so I'd keep her being there a secret. I couldn't take my eyes off her though. She crept round behind us and, so I could feel her there, she pressed my shoulder gently as she passed.

“And then just before the man reached out to start touching me, Leanne climbed over and put herself between me and him,”
I said. “It was so dark no one could see. I just felt her back pressed against me. When he hugged her too tight, her gasp went through me too. I pulled my nightgown back down over my knees, protecting myself, making sure he couldn't touch me. Just Leanne because she didn't seem to mind. He was talking all the time. Rough, harsh words and Leanne was batting them back to him so I didn't have to hear them.”

Mr. Roberts put his hand up to his chest. His fingers started scrabbling at his shirt buttons. “Leanne,” he said. “Did he hurt her?”

I could picture the scene exactly. The smell of wood and blood and Leanne's lemony hint of fear. In front of me Mr. Roberts had his head down, and I was just about to check if he really was all right when the shop bell rang. I tried to look sorry, but I was out of that kitchen like a flash. It was a relief to escape. The story had got ahead of me, and I knew I'd start crying if I stayed there. I put on a bright smile to greet the customer but it was Tim.

“Am I pleased to see you,” I said.

“I don't know. Are you?” He looked puzzled and just a bit worried. Or perhaps it was partly the effect of the suit he was wearing. Not one of those ill-fitting, awkward suits the boys at school used to wear for weddings and special dos but a proper work suit, with a striped shirt and tie. He even had a battered brown briefcase with him.

“I can't have any time off right now,” I said. “But I'm finishing in about an hour. Do you want to wait in my room, or shall we meet in the park later?”

Tim was shuffling round the displays, picking up pens and putting them down, flicking his fingers through the envelopes. All with the one hand. His other was gripping his bag so tightly his knuckles were blanched. When he came to stand before me I noticed he was rocking backward and forward on his soles. I don't
know if it was this particular movement or his black suit, but he reminded me of one of the bouncers from the club opposite.

He even had the same menacing expression, until he looked at me and smiled. I grinned back, surprised to notice how relieved I was.

“Molly,” he said, and then he took my hand, raised it to his lips and kissed my palm, shutting my fingers round the spot in that way he had.

“Tim.” I indicated toward the kitchen with my head, grimacing to show that Mr. Roberts was there and we couldn't really talk now.

“I've just come for my words anyway,” he said. “It won't take long.”

“What words?”

“Don't mess, Molly. I'm tired. I wasn't really thinking about what I was doing when I told you everything. It was unfair of me, so if you just give it all back then we can carry on like before.”

It was only when I took one step back from him that I noticed how quickly my heart was beating. I stared at him.

He tapped his briefcase and gave me a quizzical smile. “You do still have it all, don't you?” he asked. “You haven't given it to anyone else yet.”

“I haven't told anyone anything,” I said, but when he moved to take my hand again, I snatched it away. “Is this a joke?” Tim sighed. “I wish.”

We'd just taken a delivery of two office chairs in the shop. They were sitting by the window, still covered in their plastic wrapping, their backs facing each other as if they were having a conversation. Tim went to sit on the blue one and swiveled from one side to the other, looking out at the street. I still felt frightened although I could hear Mr. Roberts coughing in the kitchen. It was a dry, sore-sounding cough and then there was the noise of
a tap running. He must have been getting himself a glass of water to soothe his throat. Any problem and I could call him easily, but Tim would be much stronger. And besides, I tried to shake some sense into myself, this was Tim we were talking about.

I went over to where he was sitting. He spun round so he was looking up at me and then he grabbed me round the waist and thrust his head into my body, but gently, like a lamb looking for its mother. I felt myself soften and respond.

He took hold of my wrists and ran his thumbs along my pulse points. “What will I do?” he said. “How am I going to admit that I've given everything away to you? I don't know what's happening to me.”

I could tell him then that I'd been asleep the whole time, that I hadn't heard a word, but something stopped me. “I'll forget it all,” I said grandly. “What is this you're talking about?” I spoke in a high-pitched, childish accent to show him I was joking. “Who are you anyway?”

Tim didn't smile. We were both looking out of the window at the gray street now. The sky had that dark, threatening air that comes before heavy summer rain, and the few passersby seemed to be rushing to get inside. Because of the shape of the glass, our reflections seemed to be lower, smaller versions of ourselves. Children holding hands to copy their parents.

“Or I could recruit you, I suppose,” Tim said. “But there are risks.”

The surge of excitement I felt was tempered by the noise of Mr. Roberts coughing again in the back room. I wondered if I should go and check if he was all right, but I wanted to stay with Tim just in case he changed his mind.

“I'd like that,” I said. “What would I have to do?”

“It's not a game, you can't decide just like that,” Tim said. “It's all going to take time. There's a long, hard, concentrated training
program ahead of us. You'll have to think hard, Molly, because your life won't be the same again.”

“Good,” I said. I was ready for another change. Once you've thrown away everything, it's easier to start again. And again. “When can we start?”

We arranged to meet on the bench that evening.

Tim left his briefcase behind when he left. I was just putting the chairs back when I noticed it. By the time I rushed out to try and catch him the street was empty, apart from one short, round man who was holding a newspaper above his head as he ran. The rain was lashing down, puddles already starting to form. I stared closely at the rushing figure. Tim had said I could begin my training by practicing watching skills. Would I be able to identify this man if I came across him again and he didn't have that paper over him? I was just screwing up my eyes to study him better when he dashed down one of the alleys. Maybe I'd be better starting off with inanimate objects.

A Coke bottle was lying in the gutter; a red car was parked by the cafe; an empty carrier bag blew wetly down the street.

Over at the hairdressing salon I could see a huddle of women standing round the doorway. They must have been waiting for the rain to subside so they wouldn't ruin their new hairstyles. I waved in that general direction in case Miranda was watching, but then dropped my arm sharply. Another thing Tim had said was not to draw attention to myself. This was going to be harder than I thought. I went back into the shop and shut the door.

“It's pouring out there,” I called out to Mr. Roberts. “Finally. It's been a long time coming. Shall I make us another cup of tea? I can't imagine we're going to have too many customers this afternoon.”

He came through from the back room with his coat already
on and buttoned up. The shadows under his eyes seemed to be getting darker and heavier. When I stood next to him I wasn't sure if he'd shrunk or I'd grown. He was shaking slightly, and I wanted to put my hand out to steady him.

“Are you off now?” I asked. “Why don't you wait until the rain's finished?”

Just then, a maroon car drove up to the front door, dipping its headlights. “You'll be all right for the rest of the afternoon, won't you?” Mr. Roberts asked. “I rang Mrs. Roberts and asked her to pick me up. I'm not feeling too good. You can shut up shop. Maybe that's better than you having to take all that responsibility.”

“Mr. Roberts?”

When he turned round, I could see how impatient he was to leave.

“It wasn't my story that's troubled you, was it? You're all right, aren't you?”

He nodded, but his shoulders were hunched and he didn't want to look at me. Leanne was all right, I wanted to shout after him, but I wasn't sure and the words didn't come. After he'd gone, I turned the shop sign round to “Closed” and took Tim's briefcase up to my room and laid it in the middle of the bed. I wouldn't put it past Tim for this to be a challenge he'd set for me. Would it be a good thing or a bad thing to rifle through his papers? He hadn't even told me who we were working for, or what we were going to be doing. Instead we were going to practice technique and then, only when he considered me ready, I would be introduced to the aims of the mission.

Picking the case up again, I went over to the mirror. I practiced holding it down by my side, staring at my reflection, and then up in front of my face, shielding my nose and mouth so only my eyes were visible. It was surprisingly heavy. I weighed it first
in one hand and then the other. Then I put it under the bed, pushing it with my foot so it was well hidden.

It was four o'clock. I had about two hours to kill before I could go across and see Miranda, three hours before Tim normally came to the park. I went to sit by the window and watched the raindrops chase each other down the glass, following their crooked progress with my finger, tapping whenever they stopped as if I could control their progress. Below, the shop lights gave the street an almost festive air. The rain was slowly stopping, and people were venturing out. I could see the tops of umbrellas weaving their way along, jerking this way and that like brightly colored circles. On my level, though, all was dark. Most of the top-floor rooms were used as storage for the shops, or the occasional office.

I stretched out both arms and put my palms flat, my forehead resting against the cold glass. No one ever looked up, but if they had they would have seen a picture of utter despair. I wondered if they might think I'd been kidnapped, what sort of stories they would go home and tell their families about me.

That gave me an idea. I went downstairs and found the yellow pencil case I'd kept safe below the till; I filled it with pens and pencils from the displays. Then I got a lined pad and took it over to the teak-effect desk that we were selling on special offer. I cleared it of advertising leaflets and wheeled over the blue chair that Tim had been sitting on. Then I started to write.

I tore off the piece of paper, folded it with knife-edge precision and stuck it between the notebooks. Then I wrote on the next sheet.

This one I folded into a tiny square and popped it into the box for one of the printers we'd just had delivered. For the third one I just wrote two words:

And then I stuffed the note down the side of a red plastic pencil case that I took care to place visibly back on the display.

A
ll the rain we'd been having just emphasized the smell of autumn coming. It was rich in the air, although the flowers were still putting on a brave show. I was sitting on the bench looking at the latest crop of ribbons and hearts on the tree when Tim came up behind me.

“So did you see me this time?”

“Yes.”

“You can't have.” He sat next to me, the picture of disappointment.

“I watched you,” I said. “You started off there.” I pointed out the entrance to the park where he'd come in. “And then you went to that tree, and then that one, and then you ran over there, stood still a while and came here.”