Эдвард Докс - Pravda ['Self Help' in the UK]

“How did you get in here?”

She gave him a rueful smile. “If you come with me and it’s anything, anything at all, that you think is me being a stupid cow or wasting time, then I promise, I absolutely promise, you don’t have to speak to me ever again.”

“Is, for Christ’s sake. I’m never not going to speak to you.”

“You would. You’d never say another word to me again if you thought it was a matter of principle.”

“Same goes for you,” he returned.

She threw his pullover at him. “But then, this isn’t a matter of principle or whatever,” she said. “It’s get-your-fucking-clothes-on time.”

He shook his head. “I thought I was way ahead in the race for insanity, but you’ve come right back into the frame tonight, I don’t mind telling you. It’s neck-and-neck again.” He cast back the duvet. “I’m sorry for being such a total arsehole this morning. Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry—that was another lifetime ago.”

“Feels like it.”

“We are both complete arseholes—no getting away from it.” She picked up his coat, which was draped over the desk chair. “But I suppose one of us has always been hanging on to the safety rope to haul the other back before. I think we both leaped over the edge together this morning, that’s all. We’re just going over to Kentish Town. Now get dressed.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” He put on the pullover over the T-shirt he was wearing. “But seriously, Is. I am going mad. I’m really worried… I mean it. I’m not just saying… I’ve been in bed all day. It’s been terrible. And now, just now—I had this dream.”

“You’re not going mad. You’re seriously bereaved. You’ve left two girlfriends, whom you probably love, for no reason other than that there are two of them. You hate your job. You hate you father. Both with very good reason. You think that ninety percent of everything is total shit. And you’re right. You’ve fallen out with me, the only family you have left. You haven’t got any real money. You don’t own anything. And you have no idea what to do with the rest of your life. You’re pissed off. Seriously pissed off. Who wouldn’t be? Even I would be pretty pissed off if I were you.”

“Thanks.” He stood and slithered into his jeans. “You missed one thing.”

“What?”

“I’ve also just been burgled.”

“I know.” She started to laugh out loud.

He sat back down to drag on his socks. “Welcome to my life. Please, go ahead, laugh.” He nodded sarcastically, but there was humor in his voice now. “This is one of the best bits. In a minute I am going to get into a very expensive cab with a total head case, also for no reason, and we are both going to speed as fast as we can to fuck knows where.”

“I’m sorry, Gabs.” She looked around her for the first time. The room was a mess: everything on the floor. “Laptop?”

“Gone.”

“Scanner? Printer?”

“Gone. Everything gone.”

“Fucking hell.”

“But at least my sister is soothing to be around.” He bent to tie the laces of his boots. “Anyway, what do you mean you know? How do you know?”

“The police are downstairs interviewing your flatmates. They’re all in a state. One of them is shitting it because he’s got drugs stashed in his room. One of the others is crying about his computer. That girl, what’s-her-name, is saying that she feels like she’s been violated.”

“So much fun in one day.”

“They thought you were out.”

“Why?”

“Because your door was locked and you didn’t answer when they banged.”

“The door was locked. And no, I didn’t answer. Why did they let you up?”

“I said I had a spare key.”

“You are such a liar.” He looked around for his wallet. “How did you get in?”

“You left the key in the door,” she said.

“I left the key in the door in case anyone did have a spare key.” He put on his coat.

“So I poked the key out onto a piece of paper on the floor and then dragged it under the door.”

He shook his head in genuine consternation. “What are we going to tell the police?”

“They’re all in the kitchen in the basement. If we leg it, we’ll be fine.”

“Seems a bit suspicious, given the general state of things.”

Isabella said, “Okay. You go, and I’ll tell them you aren’t here.”

“Jesus. Why am I never allowed to be where I actually am in my life?”

Outside, the sleet had finally made up its mind and a thin, ethereal snow was falling, though with no chance of sticking to the streets, which were running wet. The driver had turned and was idling on the other side of the road. Gabriel crossed and stood waiting behind the cab in case someone other than his sister came out. He was struck by the thought that Grafton Terrace looked oddly beautiful now—the street, unusually wide for London, stately even, broad enough for the cars to park diagonally to the curb, and the tall white terraces, London brick, London stucco, with the people warm and snug in so many rooms, and the streetlamps with their halos of light and flurry. Isabella appeared in the doorway, ran down the steps, and motioned to him to get in. He was no great lover of the word, but, well, it looked… on the way to Christmasy. Numinous. Maybe the snow would stick overnight.

The meter had already climbed past thirty pounds. The cabbie did not turn to look at them but spoke into his driver-to-passenger microphone. “Back to the pub then, is it?”

Isabella answered, “Yes. Back to the pub.”

“No problem, love.”

They braced themselves for the speed bumps.

Gabriel’s curiosity was a starving crocodile. “Okay. Tell me.”

“No. I… I can’t tell you in the cab.”

“Isabella, you said you’d tell me.”

“Another lie.”

“Tell me.”

“Gabs, I honestly can t. I need you to understand all this for yourself. The same way I have.”

“Understand what? This better be—”

“You won’t guess.” She looked at him, her eyes glassy and bright. “I don’t want to guess.”

“Well, don t, then.”

“I can’t think of anything that you would come and get me for like this.”

“Please, honestly, we’ll be there in five minutes and then you’ll understand. Everything will be clear. Everything in your whole life.”

He looked across.

There was so much excitement in the air, raw and crackling, that he could almost taste it, like the near singe of lightning. He realized that the two of them were probably very close to hysteria, but he didn’t care.

She paid the cabdriver his filthy millions, but she was first in through the door just the same. And for an awful, stalling second she thought she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. She had not even brought the letter. Gabriel would think that she was…

No. There he was.

Thank God.

He had just moved seats for some reason. She hurried over. She’d been gone, what? Half an hour, maybe more. She was aware—madly, peripherally—of two men talking about her as she passed their table. He was now sitting at a place for four, by the wall, underneath some fake-old advertisement for laundry detergent.

“Hi, Arkady, hi… Sorry, sorry it took longer than I thought. My brother was asleep and everything. Are you okay?” She bit her tongue. She was treating him like a child.

“Yes. I am okay.”

“You moved tables.”

“Yes, I moved the table—because now there is three of us and it seems a good idea.”

She looked over her shoulder. Gabriel was inside the door, looking around. She felt a sudden surge of loyalty as she motioned toward him.