Amy Bird - Three Steps Behind You

From Farringdon, I take the Tube to Liverpool Street. People in dark suits zap around holding document cases. I do not exist to them; I have to stand aside in the street to let them past otherwise we would just collide, and I would have to apologise. I try to be how Luke must be – imagine the suited swagger, battering people out of the way with his broad chest. I make an attempt but I don’t have the armour, so I am knocked off the pavement into the gutter. Nicole is close behind me, I know without looking. The red ties and poppies that people are wearing remind me. Nicole and I are like the poppy really – I am that deep black circular centre, and she is the red, constantly surrounding me, but flimsy. I could tear her away in an instant. But Luke in all his greenery is our stem, uniting us. Pinned to Adam until he chooses to cast us off.

Adam’s building is like a granite spaceship. I step on an escalator at street level, and am carried up and up through dazzling black and glass, until I reach reception. They won’t let me past the security barriers without an appointment, so I phone Adam and try to make one. His mobile is off. I sit down on a cream leather sofa next to the barriers and consider my next move. As I do so, I see one of the side gates open, and a man comes out, depositing a pass on the counter. The gate is still open. The receptionists are busy with new visitors. I could slide through it, if I go now, now NOW!

And I’m in.

But I don’t know where Adam is to be found. I walk to what I think are lifts, but there are no buttons to press, just a small digital display on the granite pillars between each one. I stand staring at them. A suited man appears beside me.

‘Infra-red,’ he says, holding his pass to one of the displays. ‘Visitor?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ I say.

There is the sound of an ocean. I can’t think why and then I see the man go into the lift. I was expecting a ‘ping’ but apparently here tsunamis announce ascension. I get into the lift with him.

‘Which floor?’ he asks.

‘Banking,’ I say.

He stares at me. I try to remember more detail about where Adam works, and my brain delivers a name. The suited man nods.

‘Me, too,’ he says, waving his pass at another digital – or is it infra-red? – display. The lift starts to carry us up. ‘Who are you here to see?’

‘Adam,’ I say. The man waits expectantly. Apparently there is more than one Adam. ‘Lomax,’ I add.

The man nods and the lift door opens. I wonder if that is his party trick.

I follow him through to another reception. Women with red neck scarves sit behind a shiny white curve, blocking my way.

‘Good meeting, Mr Shipley?’ asks one of the women.

‘Nothing to the pleasure of seeing you,’ Mr Shipley replies.

The woman smiles and blushes lobster-red to match her scarf. I wonder how many times a day she has to do that, whether it’s stipulated in the job description.

Mr Shipley does a sideways head movement in my direction.

‘He’s here to see Adam Lomax,’ says Mr Shipley.

The women notice me for the first time.

‘Take a seat, sir,’ one of them says, dismissing me. ‘He’ll be right with you.’

I sit down on another white leather sofa and wait. Beyond the receptionists is a city of glass. Glass rooms interconnect with other glass rooms through glass corridors. Everyone can see everyone – but they can’t touch them. Inside their little glass boxes, they strut around, men standing, women sitting. Imprisoned, in their own way. I spot Adam in one of the closer rooms. I see him talking but there is no one in the room with him. Then I see a blue glow emanating from his face. Bluetooth. Or digital. Or infra-red. Nothing physical. Adam looks up in my direction, and he nods to me. I nod back. He doesn’t come out, though. I can see him, can communicate with him, but I still cannot get close.

Finally, Adam walks out of the room, through the glass maze, and opens a glass door into the reception area. His poppy sits on his jacket lapel, pretending it is an innocent icon. He winks at the receptionists as they walk past. This time they’re not just blushing because it says they must in their job description. They must think he’s flirting, but he’s not. Or rather, he is, but it’s not sexual. He flirts with everyone, makes them feel loved, gives them a promise of sharing with him. It’s up to him whether he delivers. With me, he doesn’t need the routine – I know what we mean to each other.

‘What brings you here, mate?’ he asks, shaking my hand because we are in business world. The additional touch on the elbow is a concession to our friendship.

‘They mentioned Feltham,’ I say.

‘Shh!’ Adam looks over his shoulder at the receptionist. ‘Not here,’ he whispers, turning back to me.

‘I thought everyone here knew?’ I ask.

‘Not everyone,’ he says. ‘Come with me, we’ll go somewhere private.’

He leads me through the glass labyrinth and I wonder how we can possibly be private with everyone watching us. He takes me back into the room he was in earlier, when I arrived.

‘Soundproof,’ he says

I wonder if they are also bullet proof – I imagine one shot being fired and shattering all the offices into tiny shards, people and rooms fragmenting.

‘Who mentioned Feltham?’ asks Adam. ‘HR or the police?’

He knew, then, that the police were coming?

‘HR weren’t there,’ I say. ‘It was my colleague, Prakesh. Why would the police be there?’

Adam shrugs. There is a little bit of sweat on his forehead. He takes off his jacket, so that the poppy is no longer next to his heart. I would like to pin it to his shirt, let the pin graze his naked skin, but I resist.

‘So why did Prakesh mention it?’ Adam asks.

‘Previous conduct,’ I say.

‘Did you indecently assault anyone at work?’ he asks.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Not at work.’

Adam looks at me.

‘No,’ I say again, more conclusively.

‘So it’s not relevant,’ he says. ‘And besides, it’s a spent conviction.’

I nod. ‘That’s what I told them.’

Adam flicks through some paperwork on his desk.

‘So, what else did you talk about?’ he asks, studying a bit of paper.

‘Jeremy Bond.’

Adam looks up at that.

‘What about him?’

‘Loaning cars to him without proper paperwork, who he was, all that kind of stuff.’

‘You didn’t tell them anything?’

‘No,’ I say.

Adam takes a breath. ‘Good,’ he says.

It’s nice of him, always to be so concerned about me.

He goes back to looking at his papers.

‘They’re keeping an eye on me, the police,’ I say. ‘They were at Narcissus Road. I think Nicole called them.’

Adam frowns.

‘About last night? She said she wouldn’t.’

I shake my head. ‘About Helen.’

Adam stands up and thumps the table. The people in the glass boxes nearby look up. He sits down again.

‘Mate, you’ve got it wrong. Why would Nic do that?’

‘Are you saying I’m paranoid?’

He doesn’t answer. I think about the red that followed me on the train. There was no way that could be paranoia.

‘She’s outside now, if you want,’ I say.

‘What? Where?’ asks Adam, looking around.

‘You won’t be able to see her,’ I warn him. ‘She’s hiding. Biding her time.’

‘Right.’ He nods. There is a pause. He does, he thinks I’m paranoid. ‘Well, I won’t disturb her now, but I’ll talk to her. Tell you what – we’ll go out to dinner, all three of us, start over. Lobster and champagne – our treat.’

‘Do you need me to do the kill?’ I ask.

He looks at me blankly.

‘The lobster,’ I say. ‘Do you want me to kill it for you?’