Anne Billson - Suckers

'Rotnacht, ' I repeated, trying to stop my face from taking on a lean and hungry look.

Ruth was observing me closely. 'Heard of it?'

'Never.'

'Neither had Charlie. If there was anything to know, he'd be the one to know it. Anyway, Grandpa said this lookalike was hanging around in Paris with an American woman.' She looked at me as though I ought to know what she was talking about. I shrugged and shook my head.

'She was blonde,' she said, still looking at me in that strange way. 'And very beautiful. Her name was Marguerite.'

I shrugged again. 'I've no idea. You tell me.'

'I'm talking about Duncan's mother.'

This was not what I'd been expecting. 'You're kidding.'

'Marguerite Pearson Fender . That was her name. I've still got the cuttings somewhere.'

'What the hell is this? You've kept a file? On Duncan?'

'No, but he keeps cropping up in all these other dossiers. Or his parents do. Grandpa collects things. Some of it on suspected war criminals. Other stuff on… this woman.'

'I see. Your grandfather is really Simon Wiesenthal. And this woman is Martin Bormann in drag.'

'No, of course not,' Ruth said crossly.

'Anyway, I thought Duncan's father was a painter.'

Ruth squinted at me. 'Don't pretend you don't know.'

'I don't know,' I protested. 'This is all news to me, and I'm not sure what you're getting at. What about this film — does your grandfather still have it?'

Ruth said no, he didn't have it any more. 'It disintegrated. The pieces turned to dust.'

'God, I'd have given anything to see it.' The words slipped out — I hadn't intended to sound quite so bursting with curiosity.

'You do know something, don't you? Come on, Dora, tell me what happened with you and Duncan.'

'Nothing happened. Except we bust up.'

'It was this woman again, wasn't it? This Clara Weill? Grandpa used to call her Veilchen . And he used to tell me stories, like this one by Gogol, called The Viy , and he said Gogol had known her too and had written this story about her. It used to scare the shit out of me. Do you know what I'm talking about?'

'No,' I lied. The story was in my Roger Vadim's Book of Bloodsuckers . 'The Russians were never on my reading list. What's it got to do with anything?'

'You never met Duncan's parents, did you? No one did. They died when he was little. Tell me, how much do you actually know about Duncan?'

This was ridiculous. 'I know a damn sight more about him than you do,' I said, feeling a sudden surge of anxiety. I wanted to get back downstairs so I could pick up Duncan and take him as far away from that house as possible. 'I've had enough of this,' I said, getting to my feet.

'Wait, don't go,' she said, but I turned my back on her and stomped downstairs.

The room was so packed that it seemed to have a living, breathing life of its own, everyone except me part of a homogenous whole which was throbbing along to its own irresistible rhythm. All the non-smokers had suddenly produced packets of cigarettes, and the air was thick with fog and loud voices. Whenever I tried to move one way, the tightly packed mob would propel me in the opposite direction, until I grew dizzy with frustration. I searched in vain for Jack or Charlie or another familiar face, and eventually I spotted Duncan. He had scarcely moved since we'd last spoken, except that Francine had disappeared and been replaced by another woman. Duncan was squinting at her, as if that were the only way he could see one girl instead of two.

I began to elbow my way towards him, and the tide changed and I suddenly found myself pressed up too close and unable to step back. 'Hey,' I said in his ear, 'I think we should go home now.'

The woman twisted round to look at me and smiled. 'Don't go,' she said. 'Things are just warming up.'

'It's too hot for me already,' I said. 'Duncan?'

'I'm waiting for Lulu,' he said bullishly.

'Lulu's not coming,' I said. 'Ruth was telling porky pies.'

He looked outraged. The woman wrinkled her nose as if I smelled bad, and said to Duncan, 'You should stay, you know. We'll have a really good time later on.'

'He's got a headache,' I said, grabbing his arm. For a moment, the woman looked as if she were going to step between us and sink her teeth into me, but I waggled my crucifix at her and she didn't flinch. So she wasn't a vampire. At least, not yet.

'Who do you think you are?' she sneered. 'The Pope?'

'We can't go home,' wailed Duncan.

'Yes we can,' I said. 'I don't think we should stay another minute. Honestly, I really think we should go.' I had an irresistible urge to get him as far away as possible from Ruth. He was too far gone to raise any further objections as I led him in the direction of the front door. Someone whispered, 'Shall we dance?' and two or three people tried to detain us and start tedious drunken conversations. I managed to squirm free, but Duncan kept stopping to chat, and needed constant prodding and pulling. I looked around one last time for Jack, hoping he might offer us a lift to W11, but neither he nor Roxy were anywhere to be seen.

At the very last minute, Ruth materialized out of nowhere and stood guardian-like in front of the door. 'You're leaving?'

'Looks like it.'

She tried stalling us. 'Have you seen Charlie?'

'He was messing around with the tapes.'

'Not any more,' she said. 'He's gone.'

Duncan snapped out of his daze. 'You told me Lulu would be here.'

'She said she would come,' Ruth said. 'It's not my fault she hasn't turned up.' She checked her watch, and I thought she was going to say it was early days yet, there was still plenty of time for Lulu to arrive. But she didn't.

'Charlie must be somewhere around,' I said. 'Look, Ruthie, we have to rush. I'll call you.'

'Please, Dora. Call me tomorrow . There are things we've got to talk about.'

'Yeah, yeah,' I said. 'Bye now.' I yanked the door open and booted Duncan out into the night.

'OK,' she said, seeming to shrink back into the room. The party noises swelled, and then the door closed and the sound was instantly reduced to a muffled wassail.

We walked down the road, our breath turning to vapour in the cold night air. Duncan was concentrating hard on placing one foot in front of the other. The roads were busy, but this part of the world was strangely empty of pedestrians, not like Notting Hill at all, though we heard what sounded like the distant howling of teenage jerks on the rampage, animal noises echoing through the underpass. As we trudged down the Archway Road, the wind at our backs, there was a sudden screech of tyres, followed by a loud metallic crunch on the road behind us, but we didn't stop. We kept on going till we spotted a cab.

Duncan annoyed me by babbling about Lulu all the way home. Why hadn't she turned up? Hadn't Ruth said she'd be there? Why hadn't she phoned? Everyone liked the ads on TV, but wasn't Multiglom exploiting her, driving her too hard? He was worried, really he was. No one had seen or heard of her for days. 'Ruth saw her in Gnashers,' I reminded him, and then I told a tiny lie. 'Ruth says she was fine.'

Duncan sat bolt upright. 'Gnashers? Hey, let's go there right this minute .' He leaned forward to speak to the cab driver, but I pulled him back. 'No,' I said firmly. 'You've had quite enough wild socializing for one night.'

'But what if she's there?'

'She won't be. Not now. Models have to take care of their skin, otherwise they start looking ropy. No late nights, no boozing, no drugs. Lulu's too old to get away with anything like that.'

'But she's only twenty-five. Only a baby.'

'Old for a model ,' I said. 'Your place or mine?'