The Hunger Trace Page 18

  ‘You’ll be rate then, won’t you?’

  When Christopher left, they sat in silence for a while, Adam grinning. ‘That’s my neighbour,’ Louisa said.

  ‘Right,’ said Adam.

  ‘He’s going to get his rocks off,’ Louisa said.

  ‘Aye. I know. He said.’

  ‘Do you want to come along?’ Louisa said.

  ‘You bet.’

  * * *

  ‘Have you ever had a beard at all, Adam?’ Christopher said. They all sat up front in the van, Adam in the middle seat. Louisa drove, in the hope that it might take her mind off the tension she was feeling.

  ‘No. I can’t really have a beard because of my job.’

  Louisa looked at him for longer than was safe on a dual carriageway.

  ‘You mean you have to be smart for the office?’ Christopher said.

  ‘Aye, sommat like that,’ Adam said.

  ‘I started to grow a moustache once but I was afraid I looked like the one out of Freddie Mercury,’ Christopher said. ‘Erm. Do you think Freddie Mercury was strange, at all?’

  ‘I think he was barmy, youth,’ Adam said. ‘But I reckon it went beyond facial hair.’

  ‘Oh right,’ Christopher said.

  A film of rain sheathed the windscreen between each beat of the wipers. The ruddy bricks and grey roofs of Spondon stood below the flyover, the colours of a pebble beach. When the windows began to steam up, Louisa turned on the heaters. She soon felt Adam start to sweat beside her. He smiled, apparently in no discomfort.

  ‘I just want the simple life, Louisa,’ Christopher said.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Louisa said.

  ‘Do you think she’ll be my Marian?’

  ‘Let’s wait and see.’

  ‘I wonder what she’ll be wearing. Erm. I bet she’s hot just like an oven.’

  ‘Careful, kid. I’m feeling fragile,’ Louisa said.

  Adam laughed. He put his hand on the back of Louisa’s headrest and stretched. Louisa felt the presence of his arm, could smell his wrist.

  ‘Have you not seen a picture of her?’ he said to Christopher.

  ‘Not full length. I haven’t seen a, erm, full frontal,’ Christopher said.

  ‘Could be in for a surprise, then,’ Adam said.

  ‘Yes,’ Christopher said. He looked out of the window. ‘Erm. Of course, it was all jerkins and bodkins in those days,’ he said.

  Louisa weaved quickly through the Saturday afternoon traffic. She tried not to think of Christopher explaining this road trip to Maggie.

  ‘People always say, “be yourself”, but I don’t think that’s, erm, the right thing to do in all situations,’ said Christopher.

  ‘Well, I don’t think you should put on airs and graces,’ said Louisa.

  Christopher nodded his approval at the phrase. ‘No way. Erm. But I don’t want her to think I’m the biggest loon this side of Christendom.’

  ‘Just . . . you know,’ said Louisa. She curtailed her advice to overtake a horsebox, got a flash of the chestnut rear of the beast within. Adam assumed her role in the conversation. ‘There’s nothing wrong with acting a certain way. We all do that a bit. As long as you don’t tell lies,’ he said.

  ‘Oh right. It’s just that sometimes I think it might be a good idea, rather than being myself, to be someone else a bit better,’ said Christopher.

  ‘Yeah, but who?’ Louisa said, distracted.

  Christopher seemed to ponder this for a while. Then he smiled. ‘Louisa, do you think Carol-Ann will run across the marble floor, and jump into my arms, at all?’

  ‘Don’t reckon it’ll be marble,’ Louisa said, ‘in the Travelodge.’

  She felt Adam look at her. She could not tell if it was curiosity, desire, or disapproval.

  ‘Oh, right,’ Christopher said.

  Spiky roadkill blemished Brian Clough Way. They drove out from under the weather, the clouds like blue ink from a black ink pen, petroleum rainbows climbing up the spray. ‘Erm. Next exit to Brooklyn,’ said Christopher.

  They came off the carriageway and pulled into the car park, which was almost empty. Adam took out a cigarette.

  ‘Not in the van,’ Louisa said.

  ‘No?’

  ‘Bad for the hawks.’

  They all got out, leaned against the doors.

  ‘Can I crash one of those?’ Christopher asked. Adam took a Marlboro Red from the pack, lit it with his own cigarette, and gave it to Christopher, who held it like a flute. He sucked a little bit, and exhaled immediately. ‘Mmm. These are good,’ he said.

  Adam laughed.

  ‘Do you think women like men to smoke, at all?’

  ‘I don’t do it when I’m with a lass,’ said Adam, winking at Louisa.

  ‘Oh right,’ said Christopher.

  ‘What do you think, Lou?’ said Adam.

  Louisa loved the taste of cigarettes on a man’s mouth. Adam had smoked on that first night, despite his pronouncement. ‘I think it’s not good,’ Louisa said.

  ‘I might take it up, anyway,’ Christopher said.

  ‘You mean you don’t smoke?’ Louisa said.

  ‘I do now,’ Christopher said. Louisa witnessed his first nicotine rush and shook her head. He steadied himself against the van. ‘Do you think it’s cool, at all?’

  ‘Nothing cool about emphysema,’ Adam said.

  ‘Oh right,’ Christopher said.

  Louisa could see the head of a man in an old Volvo estate parked near the hotel entrance. She took him to be Carol-Ann’s father, as did Christopher. ‘He doesn’t need to be here, erm, protecting her,’ Christopher said. ‘I care about Carol-Ann just as much as he does. I feel like saying something to him.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Louisa said.

  ‘I feel like asking him if he thinks I’m some kind of psycho. Some kind of Peter Sutcliffe wannabe.’

  ‘Listen,’ Louisa said. ‘It might not even be him. And for God’s sake don’t mention Peter fucking Sutcliffe.’

  Adam spluttered with laughter, which set Christopher off, and soon Louisa surrendered to it, too. The laughter lasted for nearly a minute. Adam’s face turned red, and he looked a little helpless, as though he wanted to stop.

  ‘It’s just not first date material,’ Louisa said through her tears.

  ‘I was only going to say it to her dad,’ Christopher said.

  Adam whooped. ‘Oh, that’s alright, then,’ he said, wiping his eyes.

  Louisa looked away and tried to stop smirking. A growl rolled in the back of Christopher’s throat for a few seconds after he had stopped.

  ‘Hey, it’s time to get in there,’ Louisa said.

  ‘Aye. You don’t want to keep a lady waiting,’ Adam said.

  ‘That’s right. I approve of chivalry,’ Christopher said.

  ‘Go on then.’

  He did not move. ‘Erm. Thanks, guys,’ he said.

  ‘That’s okay,’ Louisa said.

  ‘Erm. Guys?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, Christopher,’ Louisa said.

  ‘I hope that you two get a mortgage together.’

  Louisa’s shoulders dropped. She did not reply.

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ Adam said. ‘Although, to be honest, I think I might have some trouble filling in the forms.’

  ‘Oh right. I hate bureaucracy.’

  They fell silent for a moment, and then Christopher revved an imaginary engine. ‘Erm. Erm. Mansell versus Piquet, Silverstone, 1987,’ he said, and left the van.

  ‘Goo on lad,’ Adam said.

  Louisa watched him cross the car park. He headed for the Volvo, but veered away at the last moment and disappeared through the glass doors. Adam and Louisa got back in the van.

  ‘Fucking Ada,’ said Adam. And then, ‘Are you alright, duck?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Nothing. I was just thinking of this time in a car park.’

  She thought of the herd of ibex,
stomping, and scanning the horizon, their hooves like high heels on the concrete. The beat of the kid’s heart against her chest. Adam put his hand on her leg.

  It had taken all of her effort to deal with how she felt about Adam, to acknowledge her desires, and to satisfy them. She had avoided considerations of the future. And now, with Christopher’s blessing, the full weight of reality came down on her. The future. There would be no mortgages, no family, no real relationship. How could there be? The futility of it was crushing.

  ‘Are you – working, tonight?’ she said.

  He nodded, and there was only the sound of the heater. What she found hardest was Adam’s reluctance to rise to the bait, and his consistent kindness to her. If he was going to descend into the surrounding villages every evening to fuck other women, then he could at least act like the sort of person who did such things.

  The knock on the window made her shout. It was Christopher. He had been gone for less than five minutes. She buzzed down the window. ‘You scared the shit out of me, Christopher,’ she said. The man in the Volvo had turned around.

  ‘What’s wrong, youth?’ Adam said. ‘You forget sommat?’

  ‘Erm, erm, let me in,’ he said.

  ‘It’s open,’ Louisa said.

  Christopher got back in the van. ‘Erm. Let’s get the eff out of Dodge,’ he said.

  ‘Hey,’ Louisa said. ‘Just relax. It’ll be fine. You’re just nervous, that’s all. Relax. Get back in there and have a chat with her.’

  ‘I did,’ Christopher said.

  ‘What happened?’ Louisa said.

  ‘Erm. Not my type.’

  ‘Not your type?’ Louisa said.

  ‘She’s a few too many rungs down the evolutionary ladder for my liking,’ Christopher said.

  Louisa glanced at Adam, who pretended to clear his throat with his hand over his mouth. Christopher began to chew the skin on his fingers. Louisa looked towards the Travelodge. The man in the Volvo drove closer to the entrance. A woman came out and got in the passenger seat. Louisa could not see her face.

  ‘Right,’ Louisa said, starting the engine. ‘No point hanging about, then.’

  ‘Nope,’ Christopher said. ‘Let’s leave Dodge behind.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you. Erm. It’s a crying shame things didn’t work out between me and Carol-Ann, but it’s for the best.’

  Louisa hung back and waited for the Volvo to get onto the carriageway. Then she put the van in gear.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Adam said. ‘Good lad.’

  They waited to join the traffic. ‘I could see her, erm, bending over a hot stove,’ Christopher said, and Louisa knew what was coming because she had heard it from David, had watched the film with him. ‘But I couldn’t see the, erm, stove.’

  * * *

  That night, Adam’s vibrating phone crawled across the table, the face lit green. Nothing could change a mood like it. They looked at each other like gunslingers, Louisa’s smile still fading from an earlier joke. He picked up the phone and read the text.

  ‘That your mother, was it?’ Louisa said.

  ‘No. My mother an’t spoke to me for years. You know that.’

  ‘Sister?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You could at least do me the service of lying,’ she said.

  In the early days she had been pragmatic. She told him she knew the deal; it didn’t matter. She could not imagine ever having felt like that now. She went upstairs and got dressed, listening to the mumbled voice. The laughter. He came in a few moments later. ‘Look, I won’t go if you don’t want me to,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘It’s just one visit – I can afford to miss it.’

  ‘I can’t believe you can stand there and tell me it’s about the money. It’s nothing to do with money – it’s in your nature. You enjoy it.’

  ‘That might have been true, in the past. But it’s not now.’

  He paused. ‘Look. What if I stopped? Altogether. We could both get proper jobs, pool our earnings.’

  ‘Proper jobs? What do you think I do all day?’

  ‘How much do you make a year? From the birds?’

  Louisa fidgeted. She added a thousand pounds to the true total. ‘Six,’ she said.

  ‘You live on six grand a year?’ he said.

  ‘My hawks do. I live on my savings. Anyway, that’s not the point. I’m not going to work in a stupid office where some idiot schoolkid tells me—’

  ‘I’ll quit,’ Adam said. ‘We’ll get by. I’ll find the money for the lass. We’ll get by. You could teach. They must want teachers for this kind of shit at the agricultural college. I’ll go back on the building sites. We could get a place. A normal life. A good one. I’ve been thinking about it almost since I met you. You’ve made me think it’s possible. I’ll quit, for you.’

  There followed a silence in which Louisa slowly shook her head. ‘Don’t you go making it about me, Adam. Don’t put me in that position.’

  He laughed once and then stopped, waited for her to continue. When she did not, he left.

  She watched from the window as he got in his car and slammed the door. It wasn’t that she didn’t want a life with him, she just didn’t think it was possible.

  As it happened, Adam did not get as far as the roundabout that afternoon; he was back in four minutes. Louisa thought it was Christopher calling again, and was about ready to burst when she came to the door.

  ‘There’s a lot of traffic,’ Adam said, without meeting her eye. ‘So I cancelled.’

  They went into the living room. The rush of relief enabled Louisa to postpone any more big talk for the time being. She reached for the gin with one hand, his belt with the other, and ignored the look of defeat on his face.

  TWNETY-ONE

  The lights rippled up and down the triangular peak of the Odeon’s plastic awning. From the roof, the CCTV cameras filmed the retail park: the expanse of orange brick, and the childish blocks of DFS and B&Q. Maggie parked the Land Rover and walked towards the cinema. Through the glass front of the building she could see the toad-green mass of Christopher huddled over the bright wall of pick-and-mix. She went to buy the tickets.

  They had loved coming to the cinema together, before. David would drop them off and then go to the pub. They used to play air-hockey before going in, Christopher’s size and forthright politeness scaring off the youths who haunted the arcade area.

  Maggie had noted, amongst the teen flicks and blockbusters advertised in the newspaper, that the film club were having an eighties season and showing ET. She figured it was worth a try. She walked over in time to see Christopher swipe a fistful of sweets. The moustaches of dirt beneath his fingernails were stark against the pink shrews.

  ‘I hope you’re not eating as you go,’ Maggie said. ‘Because that’s a felony. Here’s your ticket.’

  Christopher looked at it. ‘Of all the features in Christendom,’ he said.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial, that’s what’s wrong.’

  ‘I thought you liked it.’

  ‘One: I don’t like animals.’

  ‘He’s not an animal.’

  ‘And B: this is a student ticket.’

  ‘You’re a student,’ Maggie said.

  ‘I don’t want to be associated with, erm, institutions and repressive, erm, regimes.’

  ‘Principles cost money, kiddo. You didn’t have to pay for the tickets.’

  ‘Neither did you.’

  Maggie was sick of that argument. She closed her eyes slowly, and when she opened them she was just quick enough to spot the expression of care disappearing from Christopher’s face. ‘Why are we doing this, anyway?’ he said.

  ‘Well, I thought it would be nice. I thought it would remind us of the Good Old Days,’ she said, trying a catchphrase.

  ‘Why, erm, would we want to do that?’

  Maggie took a big bre
ath and tried to keep smiling. ‘Well, you know. We used to have a good time. Me and you, off to the movies.’

  ‘Movies is okay, but I hate it when people say, erm, cinemas. Erm. “I’m going to the cinemas.” Stupid. I’m only going to one cinema.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Maggie said.

  ‘So we’re travelling through time then, are we? A blast from the past?’ His arm shot out to simulate a rocket.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Like, erm, Marty McFly.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I like Back to the Future,’ Christopher said.

  ‘It’ll probably be on in a few weeks. They’re doing a whole season.’

  Christopher puffed out his cheeks and exhaled in a long, sweet whistle.

  ‘Oi. Give us a shrew,’ Maggie said.

  Maggie hadn’t been to the cinema since David had died. They took seats by the aisle. She realised that their clothes smelled of the outdoors: metallic in her case, fungal and damp in Christopher’s. The couple in front of them seemed to notice this, too, and ceased their embrace in order to sniff the air and half turn against the light of the screen. Maggie figured the smell of the hotdog and nachos which she had purchased for her stepson would crowd out their alien odours.

  She watched Christopher bite into a nacho loaded with various mush. He closed his eyes while he chewed, and sighed with pleasure, as if he’d just taken some life-saving antidote. Crisp shards fell into his hand, which he had readied below his chin for that purpose. He pushed the crumbs in, too. Against all odds, it was fun to watch. When had Maggie last enjoyed food to such an extent? She laughed, and Christopher laughed, too, unable to contain his pleasure.

  When the film started they watched quietly until the scene in which the young Drew Barrymore sees E.T. in her brother’s room. ‘Holy shit,’ shouted Christopher, when Barrymore screamed. The couple in front looked at each other, united in their sense of injustice. Maggie opened her mouth to whisper a warning to Christopher, but she thought of David, how he would laugh guiltlessly at Christopher’s public histrionics. She shifted her feet, unsticking her boot heels from the floor.

  ‘She turned into an absolute, erm, humdinger, that Drew Barrymore,’ said Christopher, not whispering. ‘I’d like to make an honest woman of her.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ Maggie said.