Simon Beckett - Stone Bruises

It’s time to face up to what I’ve done.

IT’S DARK WHEN I arrive in Docklands. I’ve no idea what the time is – the numbers on my watch face seem part of an illegible code – but it’s late. The bars and restaurants I pass are closed, and the only sound is the echo of my footsteps.

I’ve reached that stage of pseudo-clarity that feels like being sober. Jez said the gym was near an undeveloped quay, but after wandering at random all I’ve accomplished is to get myself completely lost. The area is a maze of unlit tower blocks, gentrified dock buildings and derelict warehouses overlooked by faltering regeneration.

It’s beginning to sink in how stupid this is. Even if I find Jules, what would I do? Any idea of retribution now seems pathetic, an alcohol-fuelled fantasy to stave off my own guilt. As I walk the empty streets Yasmin’s accusations play in my head like a looped recording. You just walked out and abandoned her. She wanted to make it easy for you, and you let her, didn’t you? Did I? Is that really what happened? I don’t know any more. The thought that the baby might have been mine leaves a physical ache under my breastbone. I’ve gone over and over everything Chloe said, trying to decipher the truth. I can’t, but much as I want to believe that Yasmin was just hitting out I know it isn’t only Jules who’s to blame.

The beginning of a hangover is starting to throb in my temples. I feel tired, sick with regret and self-disgust. All I want now is to go back to my flat, but I’ve no idea how to get there. The streets all look the same; tunnels of brick, chrome and glass that as often as not lead to dead-ends of dark water and silent boats.

Then I turn a corner and see light coming from an open doorway in a warehouse. A car is parked on the other side of the road, but other than that the street is deserted. I walk faster, hoping to find someone who can tell me where I am. I’ve wandered well away from the more affluent parts of Docklands. Apart from the warehouse, all the buildings around here are derelict. Beyond a fenced-off strip of wasteland is the black sheen of water and a run-down quayside. But it isn’t until I notice the developer’s board outside the warehouse and the skeletal frames of exercise machines through the ground-floor windows that I fit it all together. I slow down, still not quite believing this can be what I think, and then someone comes out of the doorway and crosses the road to the car.

The electronic squeal of it unlocking carries in the quiet street. I’ve stopped, watching as the man goes around to the back and opens the boot. I lose sight of him for a few moments, then the boot is slammed shut and the figure goes to the driver’s side and gets in. I stand motionless, no more than twenty or thirty feet away, as Jules is revealed by the dim interior light. Whatever stomach I had for confrontation has gone as I watch him slumped at the steering wheel. There’s nothing smug or arrogant about him now. The stubbled face looks tired and defeated, his eyes shadowed.

Not daring to move in case he sees me, I wait for him to go. Instead he rummages for something out of sight. I only realize what he’s doing when he bends his head, pressing a finger to the side of his nose as he snorts something from the back of his hand. Suddenly more purposeful, he straightens and starts the car engine. A moment later the road is lit up by bright halogen headlights.

And so am I.

I shield my eyes from the glare, hoping even now he might not notice me. For a moment nothing happens. Then the engine and headlights are turned off. As I try to blink away their afterimage I hear the car door open. It chunks shut as Jules comes to stand in front of the car.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

Still dazzled, I try to make him out in the darkness. ‘Chloe’s dead.’

It’s the only thing I can think of to say. There’s a pause. For a second or two I actually hope we might be able to put aside any rivalry.

‘And?’

‘Did you know?’

‘Yeah. So if that’s what you came to tell me you can turn around and piss off.’

The anger that had drained away starts to seep back. ‘What did you do to her?’

‘ I didn’t do anything, she did it all herself. That’s why they call it suicide. Now why don’t you do us both a favour and fuck off, because I’m really not in the mood for a sermon.’

‘You threw her out.’

‘Big deal. I didn’t ask her to jump off a bridge.’ There’s something defensive behind his aggression. ‘Anyway, what the fuck’s it got to do with you? I can’t remember you being so concerned when you walked out and left her. You want to blame anyone, look in a fucking mirror!’

It’s close enough to what Yasmin said to make me want to hit out. ‘Did you know she’d had an abortion?’

That’s met with silence. My eyes have adjusted enough to see him shrug. ‘So what?’

‘She said it was yours.’

‘Yeah? She should have been more careful. At least she had the sense to get rid of it.’ The callousness sounds forced, but it’s quickly replaced by rage. ‘You want to know why I kicked her out? Because she’d got to be a fucking liability. An embarrassment ! She was a fucking cokehead, it’s not my fault she couldn’t keep her shit together.’

‘And who made her like that?’

This time the silence is threatening. ‘You need to watch what you’re saying.’

‘You got her hooked and then dropped her when she wouldn’t courier for you!’

‘Last chance. Shut the fuck up and go. Now.’

‘Why, so you can ruin someone else’s life? You’re just a fucking pimp!’

For a few seconds the only sound is our breathing. Then Jules turns back to his car. I think he’s going to drive off but instead he goes around to the passenger side. He opens the door and leans inside, emerging with something long and slender.

‘I warned you,’ he says, walking towards me.

He’s got a baseball bat.

The situation seems unreal. I take a step back, and as though that’s the trigger he rushes forward. I try to dodge as he swings, gasping in shock as much as pain as the bat smacks into my raised arm. I stumble away as Jules flails wildly, missing more often than he connects, and there’s a clatter of glass as I trip over a box of empty bottles. Off-balance, I only just get my arm up in time as the bat comes at my head. It glances off my shoulder and catches me on the cheek. There’s a hot flash of light, then I’m falling. I land clumsily, sending bottles skittering over the pavement. Numb with panic, I try to scramble away as Jules raises the bat above me, his face contorted.

‘The fuck’s going on?’

The shout comes from across the road. A big figure blocks out the light from the same doorway Jules came from. As it steps into the street I recognize the broad shoulders of Lenny.

‘It’s the cunt from the Zed,’ Jules pants. The bat is still poised ready to swing, but it’s clear he’s deferring to the other man.

The big head moves, trying to make me out in the darkness. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘He’s heard about Chloe. He’s trying to blame me for—’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Lenny mutters, and starts towards us.

There’s something terrifying about his unhurried intent, and while Jules is still distracted I grab one of the bottles lying nearby and hurl it at his head. He sees it coming and ducks, and as it shatters behind him I make a run for it. There’s a shout as I barge past, and I feel the bat whoosh past my head close enough to ruffle my hair. Then I’m pounding down the street as hard as I can. Jules’s footsteps are just behind me as Lenny angles across the road to cut me off. There’s nowhere to go, but Jules’s car is dead ahead. Its passenger door is still open, so I throw myself inside. Jules grabs for me and cries out when I slam the door on his arm, trapping it. The baseball bat clatters to the pavement as I heave on the handle, keeping him pinned. His arm’s bleeding where the edge of the door has gouged into it, and as he clutches for me across the seat I see that Lenny has almost reached the car. I can’t keep them both out, so as Jules tries to wrench free I shove the door against him. He stumbles backwards, and as his arm clears the door I yank it shut.