‘Fuck.’
The awkwardness stretched for a while before she stepped back and let me in. She looked good, better than she had when I last saw her in the prison visiting room. I wondered if she thought the same about me.
‘I take it you want a bed?’
I nodded and she opened the first door on the left.
‘In there! We’ll talk in the morning. I need my sleep. I have to work.’
With that she closed the door and left me. I looked at the room. Well kept. A single bed. Nice carpet. Fresh wallpaper and the various bits and bobs around the place suggested that Rachel wasn’t scraping by.
I kicked off my clothes, dropped them in a bundle next to my bag and slipped into the bed.
I hated using the digital recorder at first and I’ve no idea why I keep doing it. I don’t expect anyone to listen to it but I don’t care. Somehow it seems to keep things in order despite the craziness around me. Sometimes I just whizz the thing back to a conversation I recorded or a little rant from myself and find a little oasis at the end of the day — when I’m in the mood. An oasis that lets me mull over my life in bite sized chunks.
It’s also useful to flick back through time and get a sense of proportion over circumstances. It’s anything but neat and at times sounds like someone spinning an FM dial and recording the output. But it is important to me.
My life is a long way from where I expected it to be at my age. My prospects are shot. I’m a wanted man on the run with little or no one to turn to and I have no resources to fall back on. I thought the low points in my life were the first day in prison or the first day in the hostel. I was wrong. This is far worse.
At least in prison I had some sort of future. Bide my time and I would get out. In the hostel I had the same feeling but now I can’t see the future. I can’t see a way out of this. I can see my death and somehow that seems less important than it should. The alternative is living in fear. Forever on the run. Begging for food. Sleeping rough.
Maybe I could get back on my feet but would Dupree let me?
Surely he would be waiting, a spectre waiting in the shadows. What kind of life would that be? Maybe death is not such a bad option.
Maybe?
Chapter 58
Tuesday August 12 ^th 2008
The conversation with Rachel started as well as could be expected. It was shit. I mean what did I expect? Apart from the brief meeting in prison, when she handed me the letter, I’d had no contact with her from the day I crapped on her and Martin. She had said nothing during the meet in prison but she had plenty to say this morning.
I woke up to the smell of cigarette smoke. I dressed and followed the trail to the living room. Like the bedroom it was neat, tidy and well furnished.
Rachel sat at a small table next to the main window with a cup of coffee in front of her and a ciggie hanging from her left hand. She was dressed in a neat two piece suit with a crisp white blouse and a pair of smart dark shoes with a low heel. The skirt showed off enough leg to tell me she was keeping herself in shape.
She looked up when I entered.
‘I leave for work in half an hour,’ she said. ‘This had better be good.’
I hadn’t planned this conversation and I felt at a loss. Should I tell her everything, nothing or something? Could I trust her? I started by giving her a little potted history about me since prison but she cut me off.
‘Stow it. Martin’s told me it all.’
Now that was a revelation. Martin hadn’t mentioned Rachel since we met up again. I assumed it was over, but clearly it wasn’t.
‘He says you’re trouble.’
Thanks Martin.
‘I can only assume you’re here because he’s thrown you out. So I’ll tell it as it is and then you leave.’
She took another drag.
‘I’m doing ok. I’m off the game and have been for nearly two years. I’ve got a nice little job as a sales rep for a lingerie firm. I’ve put enough cash away to own this place and I don’t need any shite in my life. So here is how it is going to go down. When I leave you leave. You move on and don’t come back. I ain’t scared of you anymore. Martin has told me where you’re at in life and I can’t say I’m sorry. You caused a lot of pain, and hurt a lot of people. In my view God is getting even with you. So I don’t expect to see you again. If I do, I make a call to the police and tell them you are stalking me.
Is that clear? Crystal clear?’
Not much you can say to that really. I nodded and opened my mouth to say something. She didn’t let me get a word out.
‘I’m not giving you any cash. So don’t ask.’
Psychic or what.
‘Pack up your stuff and go.’
I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I didn’t and went back to the bedroom to pack up. A wash and brush up in the neat and tidy toilet and I was ready to go. The problem was where?
I had a thought and went back to see Rachel.
‘When did you last see Martin?’
‘None of your business — now shift.’
‘Only,’ I went on, ‘I haven’t seen him since Thursday. He hasn’t been back at his house.’
She looked away and reached for another cigarette.
‘I haven’t seen him since Monday. He phoned Tuesday night but he was in a bad mood.’
‘I got back mid week.’ I avoided saying from where. ‘He could have been out when I got in but he certainly hasn’t been there since.’
She sat down and lit up.
‘Martin’s been uptight for months now. A real pain in the tits!’
Rachel picked up her mobile from the mantelpiece and hit a few buttons.
‘Answer machine’ she said after a few seconds. ‘No point leaving a message. He never returns the call.’
It occurred to me that Martin had more than one mobile. The number I had didn’t have an answer machine. The clock chimed the half hour and I expected Rachel to move but she sat, drawing in the smoke, staring at the window.
‘What made you come back?’ she asked.
‘Where else would I go? You know the hole I’m in.’
‘Kind of. Martin said you’re in the mire with some French boy. Is that true?’
‘In a way.’
‘So what will you do now?’
‘Back to the hostel and see if they will give me a bed for a while. After that I’ve no idea.’
She pulled in another lungful and exhaled slowly.
‘Are you skint?’
‘As a cow after a butcher is finished with it.’
She stubbed out the cigarette and stood up.
‘Do you think Martin is in trouble?’
‘I don’t know. Were you and him an item?’
‘None of your business.’
She reached for another cigarette. She had the habit bad or she was nervous. It was hard to tell which.
‘We used to be. Not long after you turned up on the scene,’ she said. ‘At first he was just a good customer.
