Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

I finished the bowl, and prowled through to the tiny bedroom, stepping over my bag of rugby kit, which I still hadn’t had time to wash after the last match of the season. My euphoria at escaping Dekker was swiftly evaporating as I faced the realities of life without a salary. The bed beckoned and I flopped on to it. I lay face down, eyes open, thoughts rushing through my mind.

I missed Isabel. The eagerness with which my brain had tried to deal with her kidnapping, the scrambling for memories, for causes, for culprits, had been replaced by a tiring, chronic despair. The uncertainty was hard to cope with. Most of the time I told myself she was alive. But in dark moments, like now, I felt she was dead, that I would never see her again. The question was always there. If she was dead, why hadn’t they found her body? If she was alive, why hadn’t Zico called back with the proof of life? Why would he want to kill her, when he was on the edge of making a fortune out of her? Why should he keep her alive, when it looked as though the police were on his trail? I needed to know one way or the other. And yet... At least there was still hope.

The phone rang. It was Jamie. The noise and chatter of the Dekker trading room came through strongly in the background.

‘What the hell have you done?’

‘Resigned.’

‘I know you’ve resigned. But why? It’s put Ricardo in a hell of a bad mood. He rated you, you know. And why didn’t you tell me?’

I should have told Jamie, but I hadn’t. I just couldn’t face explaining it to him, and then having to explain it to Ricardo. I hadn’t seen him at all since I had returned from Brazil.

‘I’m sorry, Jamie, but you know I’ve had questions about Dekker ever since I joined. It’s not for me.’

‘Are you all right? The theory here is that you’ve lost it since Isabel’s kidnap. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘I’m sure. I am upset about her, but I’d planned to resign before I went out to Brazil in any case.’

‘Well, we’re busy doing a Dave on you here. Although it’s a bit easier in your case.’

‘Yeah, well. I’m not surprised.’ But I was a little hurt. I liked the other guys. I didn’t want to be erased from their consciousness.

‘You must feel awful, mate. Shall I pop round for a drink? I can’t make it this evening, but tomorrow?’

‘Yes, Jamie. That would be good.’

I had never doubted that Jamie’s friendship would survive my resignation. He had stuck his neck out for me with Ricardo, and I had made him look a fool, something Jamie never liked. But I knew he would stick with me. It would be good to see him tomorrow.

I drank the other can of beer, then went out to the off-licence and bought some more. I put on some of Joanna’s old CDs. I suppose I hoped that they would remind me of her, and push Isabel to the back of my mind for a moment. They didn’t. I ordered a pizza and ate it. Then I rang Luís and told him I had resigned. No news of Isabel. At some point, as the day dragged to an end, I went to sleep.

I went to sleep thinking of Isabel, and I woke up thinking of her. But I also woke up determined to pull myself together. I cleared up the debris of the day before, bought some real food from the supermarket, and made myself a proper breakfast: bacon, sausages, fried eggs, fried bread, the works. And I made a pot of fresh coffee.

Feeling fat and a little happier, I sipped my coffee and stared out of the window at my small garden. It was a mess, with weeds bursting upwards, overwhelming the few perennials that had survived the winter. The grass was looking more like a miniature hayfield than a lawn. Perhaps I would get stuck into that after breakfast.

I should call Russell Church at the School of Russian Studies. But not today. Tomorrow.

The phone rang.

‘Hallo.’ It was the first word I had said all day. It came out thick and hoarse.

‘Nick. It’s Father.’

‘Oh, hallo.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, sorry, I’m fine, Father. What’s up?’ My father never phoned me. Never. My mother rang very occasionally, on my birthday, perhaps, or when she hadn’t heard from me for a couple of months, but not my father.

‘I telephoned you at the office last week, but they said you were in Brazil on a business trip. Sounded interesting. Then when I rang this morning, a nice chap said I could find you here.’

‘Well, here I am.’

‘Listen, Nick. I thought I’d come down to London for the day next week. Catch up with a few old pals. I wondered if I could drop in and see you?’

Oh, God. Just what I needed.

‘Fine,’ I said.

‘I think I can remember where Dekker’s offices are. They haven’t moved, have they?’

‘I don’t work there any more.’

‘What?’ He sounded shocked.

‘I resigned. Yesterday.’

‘Whatever for?’

I groaned inwardly. How could I explain this?

‘The City is just not for me, Father.’

There was silence. ‘OK. I see.’ His voice blew cold down the phone line from Norfolk. ‘It was a terrific opportunity for you to make something of yourself, Nick.’

‘It’s not a good place, Father. Honestly. I’m better off out of it.’

‘Well, your mother will be most disappointed,’ he said. Actually I thought she’d be quite pleased.

‘I’d still like to see you,’ I said, almost to my surprise.

‘Um, yes, well. Maybe another time. I was hoping to see you in situ, as it were. But if you’re not working, then there’s not much point, is there?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Goodbye, then.’

‘’Bye.’

I put the phone down. Despite myself, I felt guilty and angry. Guilty that I had disappointed him, angry that he hadn’t wanted to see me.

I felt alone.

My thoughts turned back to Dekker. Jamie had said they were doing a Dave on me. I wondered what had happened to Dave. I hadn’t had time to get to know him very well, but I had liked what I had seen of him. And now I felt some kindred spirit with him. A fellow ex-Dekker non-person.

I dug out the phone list I had been given when I had joined Dekker. It listed all home numbers, Dave’s included. Dekker employees were expected to be able to deal round the clock.

He answered the phone. ‘Nick! All right, mate? That’s a blast from the past. I thought I’d never speak to another Dekker man again.’

I explained my situation, and I asked if I could come round and see him.

‘Course you can. Come round this afternoon, if you like. It’s not like I’ve got anything to do. Have you got wheels?’

‘Only two.’

‘Motor- or pushbike?’

‘Pushbike, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, never mind. Take the tube to Theydon Bois, and give me a ring from the station. I’ll pick you up.’

Dave met me in an old Ford Escort. We drove through a succession of well-kept suburban roads to a large modern house at the end of a private road. Two ‘For Sale’ signs guarded the short driveway. He fiddled with a remote control to open the doors of a huge empty garage, and then drove the Escort into the middle of it.

‘Lots of room for this little car, isn’t there?’

‘Don’t,’ said Dave. ‘I had a Porsche 911 I parked just there, and a four-wheel drive just there. And the missus had a little MR2. All gone now.’

He led me through a door in the garage into the house. ‘Have you met my wife, Teresa?’

She was big, like Dave, with dyed blonde hair and a wide smile. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

‘Love one.’

Dave led me through a couple of miles of corridor to a huge lounge, with picture windows overlooking a large lawn and a swimming pool. Now Dave was about my age. And this place had cost a packet.