Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

I sat in the chair and examined the wall in front of me. There was a hole in it, several inches deep and large enough to accommodate my head when I leaned forward. It exposed a thin skin of plaster and wooden slats, and in this another, smaller hole had been made. It looked like a miniature letterbox. I peered through it, but could make out little in the failing light. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, I sat back in the chair and poured myself a small brandy.

So far, except for my earlier bout of nerves, it had all gone as planned. The telephone call had come as Zeppo had promised. He had ordered an alarm call from the operator for some point during the evening, but refused to tell me when. “You’ll only be counting down if I do. It’ll seem more natural if you don’t know when to expect it.” It had also been his idea to use a fictitious rather than real friend. “If you’re going to lie, make sure you can’t be found out,” he had said. I had bowed to his experience.

I looked at my watch, straining to read its face. Only a few minutes had passed, but the room was already noticeably darker. The window gave out on to the rear garden, where no streetlight would brighten it. Restless, I crossed over to the door and listened again. Anna and Zeppo’s voices were just audible, but I could make out nothing of what they were saying. I hesitated, and then opened the door an inch.

Immediately, I felt a sudden surge of deja vu. Unbalanced, I tried to shake it, but the feeling remained. For a moment I felt on the verge of identifying it. Then the sensation had passed. Disregarding it, I concentrated on listening to the voices in the other room.

“... of mine. But he came home while they were still in the house,” I heard Zeppo say.

“Oh no!”

“Yeah, but Alex lives in a world of his own, and went straight to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. So, like an idiot, he sat there sipping his Nescafe, while the rest of his house was looted!”

I heard Anna laugh. “You’re joking!”

“No, honestly. I saw him the next day. Apparently, he sat there for half an hour, and it was only when he went to the loo and saw that the front door was open that he began to wonder what was happening. And even then it wasn’t until he noticed his TV had gone that he realised he’d been burgled.”

“Didn’t he hear anything?”

“Oh, yeah. He said he’d heard all these bumps and thuds, but didn’t think anything to it. Just thought it was the house creaking! I told him he should either get a burglar alarm or move to a quieter house.”

They both laughed. Anna said something I could not catch, and I heard a chair scrape back. I tensed, ready to close the door, but then Zeppo’s voice came again, fainter than before. He was in the kitchen. I opened the door another crack, trying to make out what he was saying.

“... stupid. I knew I’d forgotten something.” I heard what sounded like the refrigerator door opening.

“What is it?” Anna asked. “Nothing vital, I hope?”

“That depends if you call champagne vital or not.” Zeppo’s voice grew louder as he spoke. “Personally, I think it is. It completely slipped my mind. I got carried away with the cooking. I thought we could celebrate my new job. Even if it is just for a few weeks.”

There was a muffled pop. “Whoa,” Zeppo said. There was a pause. “Mmm, that’s gorgeous,” said Anna. “Poor Donald’s missed out.”

“Ah, well. We can always save him a glass. Anyway, I’d better see to that paella. It’s probably stuck to the bottom of the pan by now.”

“Can I help?” I could not hear Zeppo’s answer, but presumably it was affirmative, because a moment later there was the sound of another chair being pushed back, and then both their voices became indistinct. I listened for a while longer, but apart from the occasional laughter, I could make nothing out. I closed the door and went back to my brandy.

I gave them time to return to the lounge, and then took up position by the door again. Muted noises were still coming from the kitchen. Then a dish clattered, and I heard Zeppo suddenly exclaim, “Owl That’s hot!”

“Put it under the cold tap.” Anna’s voice was more distinct now.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be a martyr. If I pass out, call an ambulance.”

“You’re very brave.”

“Don’t laugh. It’s worse than it looks.”

“It’d have to be, I can’t see anything.”

“I’ve got a low tolerance to pain.” A pause. “Is that enough for now?”

“Yes, that’s plenty, thanks. It looks wonderful.”

“Fresh from the tin.”

“If that’s from a tin, tell me where you buy them from.” She gave an appreciative moan. “God, this is delicious!”

“Thank you. But you can’t make it yourself like it is in restaurants, can you?”

They laughed, and I felt my face burn, knowing it was at my expense. My neck and back were aching, and I straightened, rubbing them. Careful not to make a noise, I carried the chair to the door and positioned it close to the gap. I sat down and leaned forward.

There was a hypnotic fascination in being able to eavesdrop on them. Innocent and banal as their conversation was, there was an illicit delight in being able to listen from the safety of my hiding place. Both my room and the hallway were in darkness now, and a thin band of light showed around the edge of the lounge door. I gazed at it, entranced. On the other side, Anna and Zeppo were intent on each other. I was a secret, third party to this moment of their private lives, and I gave myself up to the fantasy that neither of them were aware of my presence. I experienced a thrill of sheer, sensual pleasure, and for a few heady seconds had the wild impulse to take off my clothes and listen to them naked. But of course I did no such thing. I only stared, hypnotised, at the square outline of light, engrossed in the voices that came from it.

Plates were cleared, and then Anna gave a low groan. “Oh, God, is that as gooey as it looks?”

“Even more so.”

“You’re evil. I’ll have to diet for a month after this.”

“I doubt it. You’re not exactly fat, are you?”

“You haven’t seen me in a bikini.”

“No, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Uh-uh. I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“I don’t think there’s any danger of that.”

I imagined Anna blushing in the ensuing silence. “More champagne?” Zeppo asked.

“I’d love some. Oh. Is that all there is left? We can’t have drunk a whole bottle!”

“Unless there’s someone under the table we must have. But don’t worry. There’s another in the fridge.”

“Another! You have been splashing out.”

“Well, I thought there’d be three of us.”

“Don’t open it just for me. I’m tipsy already.”

“So am I. We can keep each other company. Anyway, if we don’t drink it now it’ll go off.”

Anna laughed, low and throaty. There was another pop, louder this time.

“Look out, it’s a live one!”

Beyond the bright outline, I pictured the champagne being poured, rising then settling in the glasses. I could almost taste it, feel intoxicated with them.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

There was a minute hesitation before Zeppo answered. “I should think so.” A shadow of wariness was in his voice.

“Is Zeppo your real name?”

Another hesitation. “No. No, my parents weren’t that cruel. My surname’s Marks, with a K, so people started calling me Zeppo. As in the Marx Brothers. It sort of stuck.”

I heard Anna giggle. “It could be worse. At least it’s not Groucho, Harpo or Chico.”

“Yeah, I get called after the boring one nobody remembers. Perhaps people are trying to tell me something.”