clustered lights of Adel village. Still unsure of exactly what he was going to say or do, Mark was drawn by the lights of the Lawnswood Arms and went inside. He hadn’t eaten any lunch, so he was hungry, for one thing, and maybe a few drinks would give him some Dutch courage.
The Lawnswood Arms seemed more of a family pub than a local watering hole, though at eight o’clock that evening there were hardly any families in evidence. Mark went to the bar and ordered a pint of Tetley’s cask and looked at the menu. Steak and chips would do just fine, he decided. The first pint went down so fast the barman gave him a dirty look when he ordered a second. He’d seen that look before: “I’ve got my eye on you, mate. I know trouble when I see it.” Well, maybe he
He got two pints down before his food was ready and ordered a third to wash down the steak. He wasn’t showing any signs of drunkenness, so they had no reason to refuse to serve him, and they didn’t. He just sat quietly in his corner, smoking and thinking. If they knew his thoughts, then maybe they’d call the police, but they didn’t. The more he drank, the darker his thoughts became. Surges of emotion, sometimes anger, shot with red, black and gray.
He’d been wandering aimlessly, he realized now, with nowhere to go and nobody to talk to, nobody to share his grief with, nobody to hold him when he cried. But he never had had anyone. He had always been alone. Just him and his imagination, and his wits. The only difference was that he was even more adrift than ever now that Tina, his anchor, his burden, his reason for being, was gone.
He thought about Crazy Nick lying bleeding on the floor; he thought about his mother, how she’d never wanted him because he got in the way of her good times, though when he heard she was dead he had felt oddly alone in the world. But most of all he thought about Tina. He had never seen her body, he realized, so her parents must have identified her. The thought of Aspern gloating over her, touching her, made his flesh crawl. His last memory of her, the one he would carry forever, was the frail figure huddled in the sleeping bag, needle barely out of her arm, giving a little sigh of pleasure, and Beth Orton playing quietly on the CD. Not “Stolen Car” but a more recent one, a song about being on a train in Paris, as he snuffed out the candle and left her to sneak off to the welcoming arms of Mandy. If only he’d stayed with her, the way he’d promised, the way he had always done before…
“You all right?”
The voice sounded far away, and when he looked up, Mark noticed it was one of the bar staff collecting glasses, a young girl, perhaps not much older than Tina, though he knew she had to be over eighteen to work in a pub. She had a short spiky haircut and a gold stud through her lower lip, just like Tina, and in a way she reminded him of her, the way she could be when she held the darkness at bay.
“Yeah,” he said. “Fine. Just thinking.”
She stared at him, an assessing look in her eye. “Not good thoughts, by the looks of you.”
“You could say that.”
She lowered her voice. “Only, old misery-guts over there has been giving you the evil eye all night. One wrong move and you’re cut off. You weren’t thinking of making any wrong moves, were you?”
“No,” said Mark. “Not here, at any rate.”
“Well, that’s all right, then.” She smiled. “I’ve not seen you here before.”
“That’s because I’ve never been here before.”
“Not from around these parts?”
“No.”
“Cathy!”
The new voice came from the bar. “Oops,” she said, grimacing. “Got to go. Old misery’s calling. Remember, tread carefully.”
“I will,” said Mark.
The brief conversation had brought him back to a world of normality, at least for a few moments, and he wondered if his life could ever be good again. The girl might not have been trying to pick him up, but she was definitely flirting with him, and he could tell she fancied him. If his world were normal he’d have pursued the matter and maybe gone home with her, if she had her own flat. She probably did, he thought. Looked like a student, and the university wasn’t far down the road. The bus had passed it on the way out of town. But after what happened to Tina, and him being with Mandy at the time, somehow made it so he just couldn’t contemplate anything like that, even though this girl Cathy reminded him of Tina.
The barman gave him the evil eye again when he ordered his next pint, his fifth, he thought, though he was still steady on his feet, and his speech wasn’t slurred. The look told him, “This is your last one, mate. After that you’re on your bike.” Fine, he didn’t want any more. It was nearly closing time anyway.
Mark lit another cigarette, the last in his packet, and tried to work out exactly what he wanted to do or say when he got to Aspern’s house. The way he felt whenever he thought about Patrick Aspern, he thought he’d probably do what he did to Crazy Nick, or worse. He didn’t know about Tina’s mother. He’d nothing against her and didn’t want to hurt her, but she hadn’t been there for her daughter any more than his mother had been there for him. True, he’d never been sexually molested by any of her men friends, but more than one of them had beaten him up, and more often than not they just used him to fetch and carry for them and clean up their messes. Mothers ought to be there for their kids – they were supposed to love them and nurture them – and Tina’s had failed in that as much as his own mother had, no matter how far apart they were in social status. When it came right down to it, a doctor’s wife could be just as useless a mother as a whore, because that was what his mother had been; he had no illusions about that.
A bell rang and someone called out time. Mark had about half a pint left in his glass. He’d had five, and he still didn’t feel in the least bit pissed. He fiddled for change in his pocket and bought another packet of cigarettes from the machine. When he’d finished his drink, he stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lit it and headed for the door.
“Good night,” a voice called out behind him.
It was the girl, Cathy. She was closer than he thought, a cloth in her hand, wiping down the tables.
“Good night,” he said.
“Maybe I’ll see you again?”
Was that a note of hope in her voice? he wondered. He managed a smile for her. “Maybe,” he said. “You never know.”
Then he walked out into the chilly night air.
“Have you thought any more about New York?” Phil asked Annie as they lingered over cafe noir and creme brulee in Le Select, Eastvale’s prestigious French bistro. Already well sated with several glasses of fine claret, Annie was feeling warm and relaxed, and the idea of a weekend away with Phil held immense appeal. Especially New York.
“I can’t go, Phil, really I can’t,” she said. “I’d love to, honestly. Maybe some other time?”
“If it’s a matter of money…”
“It’s only
“I told you I’d get your ticket. Security consultant.”
“That’s very sweet of you, but it doesn’t seem right,” Annie said. “Besides, if I went with you to New York, I certainly wouldn’t want to go as your employee.”
Phil laughed. “But that would only be on paper.”
“I don’t care.”
The waiter came over with the bill and Phil picked it up.
“See what I mean?” Annie said. “You’re always paying.”
“I’ll split it with you, then?”
“Fine,” said Annie, reaching for her handbag. The Visa wasn’t maxed out, she was certain. How embarrassing it would be, after all her bravado about paying her own way, if that obsequious waiter with the phony French accent trotted back and told her her card had been rejected.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Phil went on. “We could stay at the Plaza. A carriage ride in Central Park, top of the Empire State Building, Tavern on the Green, Saks Fifth Avenue, Bloomingdale’s, Tiffany’s-”
“Oh, stop it!” Annie said, slapping his arm and putting her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to know, okay?”
