Читать книгу Three Steps Behind You - Amy Bird - Страница 25

Chapter 13

In the car shop, Prakesh can hardly contain his excitement. His leg jiggles under the table as he calls the investigatory meeting to order. It is a tight squeeze in the back office, what with Chris and Steve there too. Chris says he is here as my ‘workplace representative’. In other words, he just didn’t want to miss the gossip. Steve is here as the aggrieved party.

If I wanted to, I could look at Prakesh’s notes. There is something headed ‘Script for Investigatory/Disciplinary meeting’. I wonder if it ends by me being given a Maserati. Probably not.

‘We are gathered here today,’ Prakesh begins.

‘That’s the words for a wedding ceremony!’ mutters Chris. Perhaps he has forgotten he is supposed to be representing me.

‘You’re only meant to be observing,’ says Prakesh.

Chris pouts and tries to sink down in his chair, but he is obstructed by the collective knees under the table.

‘Now, Dan. You know why you’re here,’ continues Prakesh. ‘You punched Steve—’

‘Allegedly,’ I say.

Prakesh turns to look at Steve. He has a dressing strapped across his nose. Prakesh turns back to me and raises an eyebrow.

I lift my sellotaped, Adam-bandaged wrist slightly. ‘Doesn’t prove anything,’ I say.

‘Bet he put that on for the sympathy vote,’ says Chris. In theory, he could be talking about me or Steve. But I know he means me. Perhaps I should ask for a new workplace representative. Bring Jimmy back, so he can help me, like he used to.

I begin to peel the Sellotape off my skin. Prakesh continues talking.

‘That’s not the only reason we called you in here, though.’

My skin lifts up to join the Sellotape, puckering slightly. Rip, the tape sounds as it pulls away.

‘While you were gone, we found some paperwork irregularities …’ Prakesh is saying.

Rip, sounds another portion of the tape. Some of the hairs on my wrist come with it. I examine them. Some are grey. I wonder if you can dye wrist hair.

‘Around the procedures for renting out cars.’

I rip away the last section of the tape. Now just to reveal the blood. I hope it will be impressive.

‘In particular, the letting of cars to one Jeremy Bond, two years ago,’ Prakesh continues. ‘It seems you didn’t get the correct …’

Prakesh pauses as I lift the cotton wool from my wound. I see his eyes take in the deep welt, part dried almost black blood, part fresh crimson.

‘… deposit,’ he continues. ‘Or identification documents.’

‘That’s not news,’ I say, because it isn’t. I went through that with the police, back at the time. Once they’d finished questioning Adam. Nearest and dearest always makes for the clearest suspect, at first.

‘Who is Jeremy Bond?’ asks Prakesh.

‘A guy who’s not big on deposits or ID documents,’ I retort.

‘I can do you for aiding and abetting,’ says Prakesh.

‘If the police can’t, you certainly can’t,’ I point out, turning my wrist around so I can see the blood from all angles.

Prakesh changes tack.

‘And then there’s your previous conviction.’

I look up.

‘How did you know about that?’ I ask.

Prakesh shuffles the papers around on the table and mutters to himself. I consider asking him to speak up, to tell me why what I did back then is relevant. But I know that won’t help. So I place my hands calmly on the table, remembering what Adam had told me.

‘That’s a spent conviction,’ I say. ‘Anyway, it’s not relevant to my employment and you can’t penalise me for it.’

Adam’s lawyer told us both how to respond, when Adam’s employers tried to make an issue of it. Advice worth the money Adam paid for it.

‘All this leads us to conclude … to conclude …’ Prakesh is scrabbling round the table. Steve hands him a piece of paper. ‘That a disciplinary panel may well find you guilty of gross misconduct and that we could terminate your employment without notice or salary,’ he reads, breathing only at the end of the sentence. He looks up at me then looks down at the paper again. His eyes scan up and down it, clearly having lost his place. Steve helps him out and points to the relevant bit in the script.

‘Oh, yeah … so: but we don’t want you to have to go through the indignity of that. And we understand there may be some bad feeling about the events leading up to the assault, and that in these circumstances you may assert a discrimination or bullying claim.’ Prakesh looks up at me. ‘Do you assert that?’

‘Okay,’ I say. Why not?

‘So we’re going to offer you a settlement of two months’ salary if you sign up to the terms of this agreement.’

‘I want to raise a grievance,’ I say, remembering Adam’s advice of this morning.

‘What about?’ asks Prakesh.

I shrug.

‘If you raise a grievance, I press charges,’ says Steve.

I consider. Two months’ money is not very much. Not enough for me to afford a Maserati. But then, I don’t drive. Not really. Not like Jimmy. Plus I could get a job in the City. I could go to work with Adam. I could buy Luke some proper grey suits and really inhabit him. Or I could just devote my time to researching book number four.

‘Okay,’ I say.

Prakesh hands me a settlement agreement and tells me to see a lawyer. Why is everyone so obsessed with lawyers? Only the guilty need them, right? The confessedly guilty.

‘Am I free to go, then?’ I ask. It reminds of all those police interviews over the years. The second set, after the accident, I was just ‘helping the police with their inquiries’, so I generally was free to leave. So I would go, leaving them to listen back to the hour after hour of me on tape, telling them nothing of importance. Luckily, Adam didn’t give them book two. Or they might have found their motive. But in the first set of interviews, in the years before that, it was a mistake to ask that question. Because I wasn’t free to leave at all.

Prakesh tells me I can go. Eight knees move away from each other under the table as we push our chairs back.

‘Do I need to clear out my locker?’ I ask, walking towards it.

Prakesh shakes his head.

‘You’ll have plenty of opportunity later,’ he says, ‘after you’ve signed the agreement.’

‘And am I supposed to be working until I’ve signed it?’ I ask.

Again, Prakesh shakes his head. ‘You’re still suspended, mate. Plenty of time to write your diary.’

Steve snickers. I consider punching him again. But they would probably reduce the settlement to one month’s money. Besides, I have done my research now, about what fist against jaw sounds like. Were I to attack again, it would need to be with a different implement. A knife, say.

So I just nod at them all, and head for the door.

Outside, I catch a flash of red.

Nicole and her beret! Watching me again?

No. Just sun on Skoda.

No Nicole, with her midnight frowns.

I run over to Hendon station. Crossing the bridge over the railway line, I see a train approaching. If I run faster, swipe my Oyster, I could just make it. I can go wherever it’s going. Luke could do with the exercise, so I start to sprint. I build up speed, pushing people out of the way so I can reach my goal. As I come level with the station hut, the slope running down to the car park, I might just make it. But then I see the cars. And Adam.

Not Adam himself. Just essence of Adam. His car, the rear end sticking out beyond the rest of the cars in the car park, calling to me. I speed up my run, racing Luke to the car.

Who would win the race? [Breathe] Would the last lunge across the line make the difference? [Breathe] Would his opponent recover himself? [Breathe] Or would this be the end for Luke’s ambitions?[Last breath?]

Book four could end on a cliff-hanger, like that. Although I’m not sure who Luke’s opponent would be. Or why the race to the finish would be so important. I haven’t got that far in the plotting.

I slam into the back of the car, reaching my goal. I double over, recovering myself. There’s still a way for Luke to go, or for me to go, on the fitness stakes, if I want to seduce a girl by way of research. Which I do. I need to – want doesn’t come into it.

Behind me, I hear the train gather up speed again. I’ve missed my moment. I run my hands over the boot of Adam’s smooth black vehicle. Even the licence plate gleams, its personalised personality shining through. ‘AN12 XXX’. A gift from Nicole on their wedding day. I wish the plate was dirtier, less well looked after. I could give him another personalised plate, with my settlement money – fasten my love to both ends of the car. But I’d probably get the message wrong, overdo it, like with book two, and he’d leave it languishing in the garage. Nicole would win, again.

I imagine him waxing and polishing, the strokes of his hand over its shining skin, working so furiously that his wrist aches. I trace my hand over it too, so I can share in his rhythm. Back and forth I imagine us going, back and forth together.

But I’m kidding myself. He will pay someone else to clean it. This car hasn’t been touched, loved, by Adam at all. His fun happens inside it, controlling it, commanding its journey along the road. Without him in it, it’s dead. Adam inside gives things their significance, their importance. Things such as Nicole.

I hear another train. This time, I will catch it.

Leaving Adam’s car behind me, I run up the slope, into the station building, swipe my Oyster and run down the steps to the platform. I take a quick glance at the indicator. Perfect! An Adam train. I enter, pushing myself between the doors. Question is, shall I get off at Adam Central, aka West Hampstead, where he will not be now, or Adam City, aka Farringdon, and find him at work? Perhaps it’s too needy to follow him to work – although I could do with his advice on the lawyer. Besides, Nicole is as much use to me as he is, right now, given her significance, for my research. And with him out, she will be alone.