He rang Nadine as soon as he came off stage. Her phone went immediately to message.
The barman had a second tray of drinks waiting on the counter. ‘For the band,’ he said. ‘Left for you with the compliments of a dedicated fan.’
‘Get rid of them.’ Jake longed to upend the tray, smash the glasses against the wall. He ordered a shot, knocked it back and ordered another. A new band came on stage, three teenagers, younger than the twins. His phone bleeped. A text arrived.
Brilliant performance, Jake. Tell Shard they rocked tonight. Always yours, Karin.
Chapter 52
Nadine
I’d spent the afternoon and evening in the Bonnard library and gone directly to Dee Street. Now I’m standing on Aurora’s walkway, glittering with rage. A light is on in her window. She claims she only needs four hours sleep and her light, always the last to go off at night, is like the beacon in Wharf Alley. As usual, she doesn’t look surprised to see me, even though it’s after midnight.
‘Bless you, duck, come in,’ she says. ‘Sit down and I’ll make you a cuppa. Not a good night, then?’
‘Not a good night,’ I agree. Aurora doesn’t need psychic intelligence to gauge my mood.
She clears a choir of angels from an armchair. These hand-carved angels take up all available space. The other kind, the metaphysical ones that hover in the ether are easier to manage, space-wise, that is.
I ask if she saw anyone on my walkway today. It’s visible from her angel shop. Blonde and petite, an elfin haircut – the quiff has disappeared. Did anyone answering that description call into her shop to seek the power of an angel? One of the fallen ones, the damned?
Did the letter I found in my post box when I returned arrive by courier or was she here in person, peering through my porthole windows? Same white envelope, no address, no postage stamp. Just my name printed large on the front. Aurora shakes her head. She only had a handful of customers all day and none answer my description.
I bid her goodnight and return home. My container is warm and enclosed but it no longer feels safe. I should tear this letter and scatter it into the fast-flowing Thames. That would be a victory but, instead, I slip it under my pillow. Tomorrow, when I’m calmer I’ll read it.
I can’t sleep. I’m heading off with my fellow students in the morning. We’re leaving before London stirs. Not that the city ever sleeps but before the surge begins. ‘Time’ is the theme of our latest project and Big Ben is our starting off point. Cameras will click and pencils scrape across sketch pads as the notes of a new day ring out. We’ve been told that a stack of old coins are balanced on Big Ben’s pendulum to keep the minutes ticking. If only it was so simple to balance those moments from our yesterdays? The decisive ones that become weighted down by desire and change everything.
I take the letter from its envelope. I make a pot of tea and wrap myself in a rug. Outside, the wind from the Thames rattles the walkways. Jake rings. I switch off my phone and begin to read.
Dear Max
Today was awful and wonderful. I can’t decide if it was more wonderful than awful or the other way round. The awful bit was fighting with Karin. She’s still annoyed over Jake. She’s a mean, sulky bitch. Like today on the beach when she said I looked like a big red beetroot. When she says things like that I hate her. I’m sorry Max but I do. I hate her because saying it makes it real and that’s how I felt until Jake lay down on the rug beside me and asked if I’d go for a walk with him.
I didn’t want to go. But I went so you’d see how grown up I am. We walked to the rocks. He brought me into this little cave. It smelled disgusting from all the seaweed but the sand was dry and hard under us. I know that’s where he brought Polka Dot Bum and maybe others too. His kisses were rough but not so bad. My face was flushed when we came back. Did you notice? Karin certainly did. She called me a prostitute. That’s one of her worst insults but not as bad as being told I look like a big red beetroot.
I was going to ring my mum and ask her to collect me but Joan started fighting with you about the nomads and going away to the desert. She gets mad for no reason and there’s all this tension when we’re eating dinner and pretending not to notice how much she’s drinking. I was still determined to ring my mum first thing tomorrow and then tonight happened.
I’m glad I woke up when I did. The night was so hot I couldn’t go back to sleep. It was midnight and I thought everyone was in bed. I went outside in my pj’s and sat on the bench. It was so quiet, no kittiwakes shrieking and only the waves splashing off the rocks. The stars were bright like diamonds. I never see them like that at home.
I heard the garden gate open and slap closed. I figured it was you. Who else would be walking all alone on the beach in the moonlight? You were like a ghost coming out of the dark in your white T-shirt and khaki shorts. I should have run back into the house but I didn’t. The bench creaked when you sat beside me.
‘It’s warm tonight,’ you said. ‘Not even a breath of air on the waves.’
My arm felt tingly against yours. Only two people can sit on the bench and we were sooo close. I was glad it was dark and you couldn’t see my face. It was as red as anything. Red as a beetroot! You asked if I’d been going out with Jake for long. Only since the holidays, I said. But we’re not going out. Not really.
I told you Karin likes him better and that she thinks I’m trying to take him from her.
You said I mustn’t pay attention when she gets angry. She’s upset because you’re going away again.
She really misses you when you’re gone. Loads. She’s going to travel with you when she’s eighteen and help with your books.
You gave me a hug. I thought my heart would leap out of my chest. You let me go but you kept your arm along the back of the seat. I could have put my head on it if I leaned back. Did you want me to do that? Karin said men send signals. I don’t know what they are.
Goodnight Max. I can’t wait to see you in the morning. I love you so much.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Chapter 53
Jake
The solid construction of shipping containers amazed him. Wharf Alley was a community of homes, a café and diner, some shops, craft studios, a theatre and an art gallery. A network of steel steps and walkways led to the various doorways and a lift, also constructed from a shipping container, gave access to the higher levels. He rang Nadine’s bell. No one answered. He peered in though one of the portholes and saw the corner of a sink, an easel, shelves stacked with paints and bottles of spirits.
‘You should have phoned Mum first,’ Ali said when he rang. She sounded terse, anxious to end the call.
‘She’s not picking up. Have you any idea where she might be?’
‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Did you have a row with your boyfriend?’
‘Dad. I stopped answering those questions ten years ago. Goodbye.’
Jake shoved his phone into his pocket and stood, undecided. He checked his watch. Where could Nadine be at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning? Could anything have happened to her on her way home last night? He gripped the balcony rail. Madness. Karin Moylan was malicious but to imagine her stepping from the shadows with a knife was ludicrous. But she had used one on his van… and also on Nadine’s paintings.
A heavily-built women emerged from one of the containers. She had an unfortunate face, her eyes, nose and mouth too closely aligned, an ample chin and forehead. Her long skirt brushed the walkway as she came towards him.