Kevin Brooks - Dance of Ghosts

‘Upstairs.’

‘What’s upstairs?’

‘I’ll show you,’ she said, taking my hand and leading me through a doorway at the back of the shop.

The doorway took us into a small room that seemed to double as a kitchen and a storeroom. There was a sink, a water heater, a kettle and cups on a counter, and everywhere I looked there were stacks of cardboard boxes piled high against the walls.

‘This way,’ Bridget said.

I followed her up a narrow wooden staircase that brought us out onto an equally narrow landing where, halfway along, Walter lay curled up in a cushion-strewn dog basket.

‘Hey, Walter,’ I said.

He looked up at me and thumped his tail a couple of times, but he didn’t make any effort to move. And given how warm and comfortable he looked, I thought that was fair enough.

‘What is this place?’ I asked Bridget, looking around. ‘Does anyone live here?’

‘Not at the moment. Sarah stayed here for a while after she left her husband, but she’s moved back in with him now.’

‘Why did she leave him?’

‘He used to hit her. Still does, probably.’

‘So why’s she gone back to him?’

‘God knows. She says she loves him …’ She shook her head, dismissing it from her mind. ‘Anyway,’ she said, opening a door, ‘this is the sitting room.’

I followed her through the door into a cramped but cosy-looking room. There was a small gas fire in front of a small settee, an armchair, a half-moon dining table, rugs and cushions on the floor, and at the far end of the room, a small bay window looked out onto the street below. The whole room seemed to have an air of timelessness to it.

‘Very nice,’ I said.

‘Would you like to see the bedroom?’

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

She led me across the room to an adjoining door, opened it up, and ushered me into the bedroom. It was about the same size as the sitting room, and it had the same haunting sense of timelessness to it, but there was something else about this room, something else altogether. I didn’t quite understand it, but as the pale autumn light filtered in through the curtains, illuminating the whiteness of an old-fashioned bed beneath the window, I felt as if I was in another country.

‘Are you OK with this?’ Bridget asked softly, closing the door.

‘Yeah …’ I said. ‘Are you?’

She didn’t say anything, she just took me by the hand and led me over to the bed.

She was pale and beautiful and she smelled of straw.

Afterwards, lying together in the waning light, we both retreated into our own quiet thoughts for a while. It was a good silence, a silence of breaths and comfort, and I felt no need to break it. Although the street was only a dozen or so feet below, the room seemed muted and still. There was no traffic noise, no footsteps, no human sounds at all — just a faint, indefinable whisper, like the hush of a coming wind.

I listened to a clock ticking, not caring what time it was.

My head was empty.

Thoughtless …

I was close to happiness.

After a while, Bridget nudged me with her foot. ‘I’ll have to get back to the shop soon.’

‘Why?’ I said, smiling at her.

‘Because if Sarah finds out that I closed up, she’ll kill me.’

‘How’s she going to find out?’

‘You don’t know Sarah …’

I rolled over and reached down for my jacket, patting the pockets until I found my cigarettes. ‘Do you mind?’ I asked Bridget, taking one out.

She shook her head. ‘There’s a bottle of whisky somewhere. Sarah’s always liked a drop of good malt … I think it’s in the cupboard over there. Just help yourself if you want.’

‘I’m all right, thanks,’ I said, lighting the cigarette.

‘Sure?’

‘Yeah.’

She smiled again.

I looked at her. ‘I haven’t done that for a long time.’

‘What — refused a drink?’

‘No, I meant — ’

‘I know what you meant, John,’ she said, laughing gently. ‘And I kind of guessed you hadn’t.’ She half sat up, looked me in the eye for a moment, then she lowered herself down, resting her head on my chest. When she spoke, I could feel the whisper of her words on my skin. I never thought this would happen.’

‘Neither did I.’

‘But it did.’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you glad?’

‘Very.

‘Good.’

I felt her hand moving down my body.

We slept for a while, half-slumbering together in the late afternoon stillness, and for the first time in years I didn’t feel the need to be somewhere else. I didn’t feel the need to be anything at all — someone else, something else, anything but me …

For now, I was perfectly content with who and what and where I was.

For now.

But the clock was still ticking, and I knew that nothing lasts for ever.

It was around 4.30 when Bridget sat up in bed, endearingly covering her breasts with the duvet, and nudged me with her elbow.

‘I really have to get up now,’ she said. ‘If I don’t cash up and get the money to the bank, Sarah really will kill me.’

I sat up and lit a cigarette. ‘I’d better get going too.’

She looked at me, not saying anything, but I could see the question in her eyes.

‘I have to meet someone,’ I explained. ‘My nephew-in-law.’

She smiled. ‘Nephew-in-law?’

‘He’s called Cal. He works with me sometimes.’

‘Oh, right … so you’re working tonight?’

‘Kind of.’

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m just being nosy. You don’t have to tell me — ’

‘No, it’s all right,’ I assured her. ‘I don’t mind you asking … it’s just … well, it’s not really work, as such. It’s just something I need to sort out.’

‘Is it to do with that man?’

‘What man?’

‘That policeman … what’s his name? The one who came round to our house.’

‘Bishop?’

‘Yeah, him.’

‘What makes you think it’s about Bishop?’

‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘I just got a feeling about him, that’s all. When he came to the house, and when I saw him on TV …’ She shivered. ‘I don’t know … he just didn’t seem right , if that makes any sense.’

‘It makes a lot of sense.’

‘Yeah, well … just be careful, OK?’

I smiled. ‘OK.’

She kissed me, ruffled my hair, then got out of bed and started to get dressed. I lay there and watched her. In the dusky light, her hair was edged with a dust-pale shine and her skin was creamy white. There was a faint scar low on her belly and a small bruise just below her left breast. Her shoulders were broader than I’d imagined, spanning the ridge of her back with a delicate strength that mirrored the curve of her hips, and her backside was full, like a pale sun on a winter’s morning. It was a body that deserved to be naked. And as she slipped into her underwear, then pulled on her jumper and climbed into her jeans, I wondered if I’d ever see it again.

‘Have you seen my socks?’ she said.

‘Try under the bed.’

She found her socks and pulled them on, then went over and examined herself in a mirror on the wall. She ran her fingers through her hair, then leaned in close and plucked something from her lip with a hooked little finger.

‘What time are you meeting your nephew-in-law?’ she asked.

‘Six o’clock.’

She came over and sat on the edge of the bed and bent down to put on her shoes. ‘Are you going to be busy all night?’

‘I don’t know. It depends …’

‘Sorry,’ she smiled. ‘I’m being pushy again.’

‘No, it’s all right. It’s just that I really don’t know how long I’m going to be … why don’t I ring you later on?’