Chameleon's Shadow

They opted to walk. Acland paid the fare and watched the cabbie perform a U-turn after another police car had passed. ‘I can’t seem to set foot in the place without the police being called,’ he said wryly as he slung his kitbag over his shoulder.

‘Perhaps it’s a meaningful coincidence. You seem to have had one or two in the last twenty-four hours.’

They set off up the pavement, Acland matching his long stride to Susan’s shorter one. ‘Like what?’

‘Falling sick in a pub where one of the landladies is a doctor . . . finding yourself homeless on the same morning you were offered a bed . . . knocking on my door after I’d spoken to Jackson on the phone.’

‘The first two might have been coincidences, but the last one wasn’t. You’re the only person I know well enough in London to ask for a bed . . . and you’re a friend of Doc Willis. It was odds on he’d have put you in touch with Jackson.’

‘Have you heard of Jung’s theory of synchronicity?’ she asked, stepping off the pavement to avoid people coming the other way.

‘No.’ He joined her to walk beside the stationary cars.

‘It proposes the idea of meaningful coincidences, as when you come across a word for the first time, then meet it again a couple of hours later. Why have you never noticed it before if you come across it twice in two hours? And why do you meet it again a week later?’

‘Because your eye passes over it until you discover what it means. Once you understand it, it becomes part of your vocabulary.’

‘That’s the logical explanation. There’s a mystical element to synchronicity that talks about people, places and things being attracted to a person’s soul and acquiring significance as a result.’

Acland was immediately suspicious. ‘I’m not attracted to Jackson.’

The rubber-necking crowd around the accident was getting thicker, and Susan slowed to search for a cigarette pack in her bag. ‘Not on a conscious level, perhaps, but subconsciously you’re immensely attracted to her.’ She opened the pack and popped a cigarette between her lips. ‘I could be wrong,’ she said, flicking her lighter, ‘but I’d say she’s earned more respect from you in one night than you’ve felt for anyone since you were injured. You may not like her, Charles . . . you may find her ugly and grotesque . . . but you do admire her. She had the balls to wade into a fight and there aren’t many women with the courage to do that.’

‘What if I do? Where does synchronicity fit in?’

They came to a halt. ‘It depends how you interpret meaningful coincidence. You gave me a thoroughly logical explanation for the chances of the same word recurring twice in two hours – a causeand-effect explanation – which argues that an individual has some influence over what happens to him. But synchronicity argues the other way – from effect to cause – and says if a person looks for meaning in a coincidence, he’ll probably find it.’

Acland was looking over the heads of the crowd towards the flashing blue lights, trying to spot the accident. ‘It sounds like a pile of pants. Are you telling me Jackson’s my soul mate?’

‘No, just that the coincidence of rowing with your neighbour might mean you were destined to take up Jackson’s offer.’

‘Is that why you refused me a bed . . . because you believe in stuff like that?’

‘Not necessarily. Shall I give you a more logical explanation for why we’re here?’

‘Sure.’

‘Consciously or subconsciously, you picked a fight with the woman upstairs to give yourself an excuse to leave your flat, then came to me on the pretence of wanting a bed for the night because you knew I’d be able to put you back in touch with Jackson.’

‘I wouldn’t need help with that. I know where she lives.’

‘But this way you don’t lose face. Having me along puts the arrangement on a professional footing.’

Acland glanced down at her. There was a small curve at the side of his mouth, which was the closest she’d seen to a smile. ‘Why couldn’t it just be that shit happened, and you were the only person I could think of to take me in?’

‘You’re too resourceful,’ she told him. ‘You’d have slept in a shop doorway if it had suited you better.’

‘Not a doorway,’ he said. ‘Anyone’s easy meat in a doorway. I saw an old fellow being kicked by a gang of drunken teenagers not so long ago. It was about two o’clock in the morning and they all had a go at him. One of the boys urinated on him.’

‘What did you do?’ she asked curiously.

‘Walked him to the twenty-four-hour Gents in Covent Garden so that he could clean up a bit. He wasn’t too keen to go on his own in case they came after him. Then he asked me to take him to a bar in Caroline Street. He said there was a hot-air vent at the back which would help him dry off. I gave him a leg-up over the railings at the side of the building.’

Susan’s curiosity deepened. Such a show of friendship seemed very out of character for Charles. ‘Who was he?’

‘No one.’ Acland shrugged abruptly. ‘OK, he was someone ... an old soldier, I think – he kept saluting and calling me sir – but I didn’t have much choice. He was drunk as a skunk himself, stank to high heaven and wouldn’t let go of me.’

‘What did you do to the yobs?’

‘Gave them a scare,’ he said shortly.

‘How?’ She studied his unresponsive face, then changed the subject when she realized he wasn’t going to answer. ‘So why have we stopped? What’s happening?’

‘The road’s taped off, but I don’t think it’s a car accident. I can’t see any wrecks.’