“George…George something. Greek guy. Do you know him?”
“No.” Rez had shrugged and smiled a bit. His sharp little teeth flashing.
“Good bloke, he is. You ever meet a Greek George on a job, tell him Jack the gardener says hi.”
“I’ll do that,” Rez said, swallowing a big forkful of meat and veg. The gravy dripped a little down his big shirt and Callum dabbed it off with a napkin, while Robin smirked before she could stop herself. She saw Callum’s eyes narrow.
“You got something to say?” he asked.
“Me?” Robin said, opening her eyes wide.
“Yes, Robin, you,” he said flatly.
“No, Callum, there’s really nothing for me to say. Is there.”
“Well, I have something to say,” he said, more softly, turning away from Robin and looking to his mum. “Well, we both do.”
Rez had carried on chewing, looking at his plate as Callum said, “I got a job.”
“Oh that’s great news,” Hilary said, smiling and nudging Jack.
“Great news,” Jack repeated.
“Shifts in a call center in Reading. Four days on, four days off. Taking calls from the shopping channel.”
“Telesales?” Hilary had said, trying to disguise her disappointment.
“It’s just a start, Mum. It’s something to pay the rent while I work out what I really want to do.”
“Rent?” Jack had snorted a little. “When have you ever paid rent, son?”
“We don’t want your money, Cal,” Hilary added.
“Well, here’s the thing.” He spread his long fingers on the table, next to his abandoned cutlery. “The job’s in Reading. And Rez is in Reading. So we thought…Well, it makes sense really, since Rez has the space—”
“Oh no,” Hilary said. Callum flashed a look at Rez, then back at his mum, who had stood up to hug him from behind. He stood up and hugged her back, wrapping his long arms around her narrow shoulders.
“It’s just down the road, Mum. I spend most of my time there anyway.”
Robin felt sick. “How are you going to afford rent and all that shit you smoke and shove down your throat.”
“I’ll miss you too, Robin,” he said, and his voice broke and took the wind out of her.
“Are you really going?” she gasped, trying to keep her eyes dry.
“Yeah,” he said.
“I don’t want you to,” she croaked.
“I know.”
When the meal was over, Rez shook Jack’s hand and kissed Hilary’s cheek. He pushed past Robin without saying a word and went to wait in the car.
Robin and Callum had hugged properly then. No sniping, no words, locked tightly together for the first time.
He came back for his stuff the next day.
As Rez’s car bumped and banged down the road, loaded with Callum and his clothes, books and music, Jack held a sobbing Hilary. Robin climbed back up the stairs, angry at her own tears, and kicked her way into her bedroom. There she found a shoe box of demo tapes and half-finished lyrics on her bed, and his acoustic guitar.
THIRTY-THREE
SARAH|PRESENT DAY
Number 68 George Mews isn’t a very impressive house for a rock star.
The windows are grimy and all the curtains are closed. It dawns on me that Robin may have lived here only for a short time before moving on, not bothering to tell Hilary that she’d left the city. I knock but there’s no reply. I listen at the door but can’t hear anything. Even if I did hear movement, it might not be Robin. Maybe she was never even here.
I feel like I’m being watched. Probably because I’m behaving strangely and so I expect everyone around to notice that, but when I look, I can’t see anyone paying me the slightest attention. I hover on the step and look across the green. A few dog walkers, some teenagers sitting on the grass drinking Coke. I think I see a tall figure farther away in the shade of the trees, but the shadows make it hard to see clearly. A figure that makes me shiver. The shape of a long-lost ghost.
It’s far more likely to be a drug dealer or someone waiting for a secret assignation with a forbidden love. For all I know, it’s one of the guys from the Spice Lounge, laughing at me.
ROBIN|PRESENT DAY
Today is a day like yesterday and the day before. Like last week too. But it feels different. It is different. At eight-thirty on the dot, a man called Kevin from the security company is going to knock on her door, be invited inside, and lock her house up like Fort Knox.
She’d still be living in a box, but it would be a safer box. A small, invisible thread would link her to people whose sole job it was to keep her safe. Alarms with automatic connections to security guards, panic buttons, military-grade locks and chains. Finally, she wouldn’t be alone and vulnerable to whoever was targeting her.
She’d woken up about seven and scrambled out from under her bed, where she’d hopefully slept for the last time. She’d had a cup of tea while leaning against the kitchen wall and then made another, followed by a protein smoothie that made her gag.
She hovered in the kitchen for a while, scrolling through the workout apps on her phone. When her smoothie had gone down enough, she went up to the bathroom to brush her teeth and started taking her daily steps from there.
She’d done only three laps of the house when she paused in the gym room, glancing across at the backs of the flats. The old lady was washing up but she wasn’t looking in Robin’s direction. The new guy was standing in his patio door with a mug in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was rocking slightly on his heels and misjudged it, needing to correct himself or he would have fallen on his arse.
Robin moved to Henry Watkins. He’d been up late. She’d seen a light on in his son’s room when she’d gone to the loo in the night, had seen the shape of him in there, as he often was. Had shaken her head and looked away.
Now he’s in his son’s window. He’s not looking her way and appears to be sitting down. Perching, Robin thinks, on the small chair with its miniature table. The one they’d bought for the boy not so long ago and where Robin had seen him doing drawings and making LEGO buildings.
Henry’s profile faces the window, his gray streak more prominent than ever now that his hair is longer. He looks at once wild and caged.
He stands up. Walks to the middle of the room and bends down. He’s fiddling with something when the knock on Robin’s door comes. It’s only quarter past eight, and she was promised eight-thirty. She made it very clear she wouldn’t answer at any other time. But…she’s desperate to get the work done, desperate for it to be Kevin from the security firm. She wavers but continues to watch the flats.
This knock is polite. It’s gentle. It must be Kevin, mustn’t it? She was so clear about the time though.
She hovers on the landing, listening for clues that don’t exist. The knocks come again, and still they’re quiet and gentle.