Nicci French: Killing Me Softly

‘No wonder your elbow felt better. Did you ask her out?’

Clive looked indignant but a bit shifty as well. He loosened his tie. ‘Of course I didn’t.’

‘You obviously wanted to.’

‘You can’t just ask a girl out like that.’

‘Yes, you can,’ Sylvie interrupted. ‘She touched your elbow.’

‘So? I don’t believe this. She touched my elbow as a physiotherapist, and that means she’s asking for it, does it?’

‘Not as such,’ said Sylvie primly. ‘But ask her. Ring her up. She sounds desirable to me.’

‘Obviously, she was… attractive, but there are two problems. One, as you know, I don’t feel that I’ve got over Christine properly. And secondly, I can’t do that sort of thing. I need an excuse.’

‘Do you know her name?’ I asked.

‘She’s called Gail. Gail Stevenson.’

I sipped my Bloody Mary reflectively.

‘Call her up.’

A look of alarm passed comically over Clive’s features. ‘What would I say?’

‘It doesn’t matter what you say. If she liked you, and the fact that she took hold of your elbow at the party means that she may have done, then she’ll go out with you almost whatever you say. If she didn’t, then she won’t go out with you whatever you say.’ Clive looked confused. ‘Just give her a ring,’ I said. ‘Say, "I’m the person who had the elbow that you manipulated at whateveritwas party the other night, would you like to go out?" She might be charmed.’

Clive looked aghast. ‘Just like that?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘What should I ask her to?’

I laughed. ‘What do you want me to do? Fix you up with a room as well?’

I got some more drinks. When I returned, Sylvie was both smoking and talking dramatically. I was tired and only half listening to her. Across the table, I wasn’t sure because I only heard fragments, I think that Clive was telling Julie about the secret meanings hidden in the pattern on the Marlboro cigarette box. I wondered if he was drunk or mad. I lingered over the last of my drink, feeling fuzzy round the edges. This was part of the Crew, a group of people who, mostly, had met at college and stayed together, looking out for each other, spending time. They were more like my family than my family.

When I got back to the flat, Jake opened the door as I put my key in the lock. He was already changed into jeans and checked shirt.

‘I thought you’d be late,’ I said.

‘The problem went away,’ he said. ‘I’m cooking you dinner.’

I looked on the table. There were packets. Spiced chicken. Taramasalata. Pitta bread. A miniature steamed pudding. A carton of cream. A bottle of wine. A video. I kissed him. ‘A microwave, a TV set and you,’ I said. ‘Perfect.’

‘And then I’m going to have sex with you for the entire night.’

‘What, again? You tunneller, you.’

The following morning, the underground was more than usually crowded. I felt hot inside all my layers of clothing, and I tried to distract myself by thinking about other things as I swayed against the bodies and the train clattered through the darkness. I thought about how my hair needed cutting. I could book it for lunch-time. I tried to remember if there was enough food in the house for tonight, or maybe we could get a takeaway. Or go dancing. I remembered I hadn’t taken my pill this morning and must do it as soon as I got to work. The thought of the pill made me think of the IUD and yesterday’s meeting, the memory of which had left me more unwilling than usual to get out of bed this morning.

A skinny young woman with a large, red-faced baby squeezed her way down the train. No one stood up for her, and she stood with her child on her angular hip, held in place by the bodies all round her. Only the baby’s hot, cross face was exposed. Sure enough, it soon started yelling, hoarse, drawn-out wails that made its red cheeks purple, but the woman ignored it, as if she was beyond noticing. She had a glazed expression on her pallid face. Although her baby was dressed for an expedition to the South Pole, she wore just a thin dress and an unzipped anorak. I tested myself for maternal instinct. Negative. Then I looked round at all the men and women in suits. I leaned down to a man in a lovely cashmere coat, till I was near enough to see his spots, then said softly into his ear: ‘Excuse me. Can you make room for this woman?’ He looked puzzled, resistant. ‘She needs a seat.’

He stood up and the mother shuffled over and wedged herself between two Guardians. The baby continued to wail, and she continued to stare ahead of her. The man could feel virtuous now.

I was glad to get out at my station, though I wasn’t looking forward to the day ahead. When I thought about work, a lethargy settled over me, as if all my limbs were heavy and the chambers of my brain musty. It was icy on the streets, and my breath curled into the air. I wrapped my scarf more firmly around my neck. I should have worn a hat. Maybe I could nip out in a coffee-break and buy some boots. All around me people were hurrying to their different offices, heads down. Jake and I should go away somewhere in February, somewhere hot and deserted. Anywhere that wasn’t London. I imagined a white beach and a blue sky and me slim and tanned in a bikini. I’d been seeing too many advertisements. I always wore a one-piece. Oh, well. Jake had been on at me about saving money.

I stopped at the zebra crossing. A lorry roared by. A pigeon and I scuttled back in unison. I glimpsed the driver, high up in his cab and blind to all the people below him trudging to work. The next car squeaked to a halt and I stepped out into the road.

A man was crossing from the other side. I noticed he was wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket, and then I looked up at his face. I don’t know if he stopped first or I did. We both stood in the road staring at each other. I think I heard a horn blare. I couldn’t move. It felt like an age, but it was probably only a second. There was an empty, hungry feeling in my stomach and I couldn’t breathe in properly. A horn was sounded once more. Someone shouted something. His eyes were a startling blue. I started walking across the road again, and so did he, and we passed each other, inches away, our eyes locked. If he had reached out and touched me, I think I would have turned and followed him, but he didn’t and I reached the pavement alone.

I walked towards the building that contained the Drakon offices, then stopped and looked back. He was still there, watching me. He didn’t smile or make any gesture. It was an effort to turn away again, with his gaze on me as if it were pulling me back towards him. When I reached the revolving doors of the Drakon building and pushed through them, I took a last glance back. He was gone, the man with blue eyes. So that was that.

I went at once to the cloakroom, shut myself into a cubicle and leaned against the door. I felt dizzy, my knees trembled and there was a heavy feeling at the back of my eyes, like unshed tears. Maybe I was getting a cold. Maybe my period was about to start. I thought of the man and the way he had stared at me, and I closed my eyes as if that would somehow shut him out. Someone else came into the cloakroom, turned on a tap. I stood very still and quiet, and could hear my heart thudding beneath my blouse. I laid my hand against my burning cheek, put it on my breast.

After a few minutes I could breathe properly again. I splashed cold water on my face, combed my hair, and remembered to remove a tiny pill from its foil calendar and swallow it. The ache in my guts was fading, and now I just felt fragile, jittery. Thank God nobody had seen anything. I bought coffee from the machine on the second floor and a bar of chocolate, for I was suddenly ravenous, and made my way to my office. I picked the wrapper and then the gold foil off the chocolate with shaky, incompetent fingers and ate it in large bites. The working day began. I read through my mail and tossed most of it into the bin, wrote a memo to Mike, then phoned Jake at work.