John Harvey - Lonely Hearts

“Fine.”

“I presumed last night was that at least.”

“What’s that…? Oh, Carole, I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me. I should have phoned.”

Carole went to her desk. “It’s only that you said you were popping round for an hour for a chat.”

Rachel made a face. “That’s what I thought.”

“It’s stupid of me, I know,” said Carole. “I know you’re free, white, and over twenty-one and all that, but…”

“Don’t let the anti-racist development officer hear you using that expression,” smiled Rachel.

“Oh, God!”

“But I didn’t mean to worry you. I know what it’s like when you’re sharing. If it happens again, I’ll make sure and let you know. Then at least you can bolt the door.”

“To tell the truth, I was going to look up the number and ring there, but that made me feel too much like your mother.” She turned over a page of her diary. “Anyway, if you’re going to start spending weekends there, it’ll be…”

“Carole!”

“What?”

“Hang on a minute!”

“I was only going to say it will make things clearer.”

“Carole,” said Rachel, on her feet, “I am not going to start spending weekends at his house. Not. What’s the matter with everybody?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re as bad as he is, that’s what I mean. You can’t get me in there fast enough.”

“Is that what he wants then?”

“Does a cat have fleas?”

“Then where’s the harm? You do like him, don’t you?”

“Of course I like him. I’m not in the habit of going to bed with men I don’t like. But that’s not the same as…Carole, I’ve only just got out of one relationship.”

“You make it sound like a prison sentence.”

“Maybe that’s because sometimes it felt like that.”

Carole looked away towards the window. She was biting down into her lower lip and thinking it was a sentence she wouldn’t mind serving. Three years now since Mike had handed her the envelope because he hadn’t been able to say the words out loud.

“Look,” Rachel said.

“What is it?”

“He slipped this into my bag this morning when I wasn’t looking.”

Rachel put the two keys on the desk, one mortice, one yale.

“What are you going to do?” Carole asked.

“Take them back.”

Graham Millington was jubilant. Not only had he been proved right about Simms, the dirty little pervert, even though they were having some difficulties getting his stories to tally, now this. Proceeds from ten or more burglaries for certain; Naylor and Patel were round at a lockup in Hucknall now making an inventory of the rest. VCRs, stereos, televisions, Walkmans up the wazoo! Brilliant! Even the dust-up had been fun in its own way.

“Where’s Divine?” Resnick asked.

“Off at casualty, sir. Suspected broken collarbone.”

“And you?”

Millington shrugged. “Bumps and bruises, sir. I’m okay.”

“You’ve seen the doctor?”

“No need.”

Millington had a swelling on his left cheek, flakes of dried blood at the corner of his mouth. His clothes looked as if they’d been round in the dryer without being washed first.

“See him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I just had a word with the custody sergeant. He said it needed four of them to get Sloman into a cell.”

“He caught hold of the radiator and wouldn’t let go. Nearly wrenched it out of the wall.”

“His colleague’s got a nasty cut over his eye. I take it your report will account for how that happened?”

“No problem, sir. Sloman did it.”

“Sloman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Try telling that to Civil Liberties.”

“No, it’s right. What happened, Divine and I walked in on them, well, I had no idea it was going to be that pair, how could I? Course, they knew me straight off from the other business. Sloman panics, turns fast with a cassette deck in his arms, and catches Jilkes smack in the face. He’s down and moaning and Sloman goes for the door like he’s bouncing off the ropes and looking for a knock-down. It was all Divine and I could do to hang on to him. I mean, sir, he may not be in training any more but he’s still a big lad.”

“Talking, though, I understand?”

“Reams of it, sir. Once he’d calmed down in the cells for a bit he couldn’t stop. Sounds like this garage of his has got enough in it to restock Lasky’s.” Millington touched his cheek gingerly. “Tell you what did come out, sir.”

“Yes?”

“All those records that were nicked-you remember, that James Brown. He kept them at his place. Priceless, he says. Original American pressings some of them. Worth a bomb.”

“Don’t forget to see the doctor, Graham.”

“No, sir. Oh, and, sir, there was a call for you.”

“Man?”

“No, sir, female. Name of Chaplin. Said she’d ring back later, either that or she’d catch you at home this evening.”

Resnick turned away quickly but not quickly enough to hide the look of pleasure that had come to his face. The randy old sod! thought Millington. He is having it off after all.

The first call came when Rachel was still in the office. Carole had left to accompany a new young worker on a difficult client visit and Rachel was trying to bring the accumulation of papers on her desk down to acceptable proportions.

“Hello, Rachel Chaplin.”

She had a bundle of photocopied articles for filing in her other hand, expectation in her voice because she thought it was probably Resnick getting back to her at last.

“Rachel?”

“Yes.”

“Is that Rachel?”

“Yes, this is Rachel Chaplin. I’m sorry, who is this?” Whoever it was, it wasn’t Charlie. For a moment she remembered him calling her in the middle of a busy meeting, asking her to meet him for a drink.

“I wondered if you were still free tonight, but maybe I’m already too late.”

“Look, what’s going on here? Is this some kind of joke, because…?”

“I understand, you’re already fixed up, is that it?” The voice was low, insinuating, something about it that encouraged Rachel to picture the speaker’s slow leer into the receiver. “Or there’s somebody else there in the office, am I right?”

“No, there’s…” Mouth open, Rachel’s breath caught and stopped.

“You’re tied up, already catered for, I do understand, believe me. No surprise, the way you put yourself across…”

“The way I what?”

“I thought as soon as I read it, this is a woman who knows a lot about marketing…”

“As soon as you read…Read what, for God’s sake? Tell me!”

“In fact if the girl on your switchboard hadn’t said Social Services, that’s the kind of job I would have thought you had.”

Rachel pushed her chair away from the desk, phone gripped so tightly in her hand that her fingers were beginning to ache. “Listen, for the last time, I want you to tell me what you are talking about, because I honestly do not have any idea what is going on. Right?”

“Right. You’re under a lot of pressure now. That’s why you need to unwind, be relaxed. If you’ve got someone to help out tonight, I’ll call again.”

“You…!”

“Hey, Rachel! There’ll be other nights. Lots of them. And you don’t have to worry about the office number any more-I’ll get you at home.”

The connection clicked dead.

Gradually, Rachel became aware that below her hips her body was mostly numb; her chest was cramped. It took her more than a minute to be able to lower the receiver and when she did, her palm slithered with sweat. Slowly, she stood up and rested both hands on the surface of the desk by her fingertips. Rachel stayed there feeling the blood beginning again to flow around her veins.