Читать книгу Sad Song - Vincent Banville - Страница 7

The sun was high in the sky as Blaine drove along the quays in the direction of Ringsend. June 16th, the day in 1904 that a Jew named Bloom walked around Dublin and became famous. Blaine glanced in his rear-view mirror. He didn’t see Bloom, but he did spy a bright red van that appeared to be following him since he left Cabra. Then again, maybe he was just imagining it. He visited a number of empty warehouses before he finally found the one he was looking for. It stood by itself, right on the edge of the quayside. If you walked out the back door, you’d find yourself swimming in Dublin Bay.

Scaffolding had been set up against the front of the building, and a fellow and a girl were painting the frontage black. Blaine parked his car and walked in under them. A sign on the door explained that the place was being prepared as a centre for refugees. The inside was huge and had an echo. An Abba tape was playing. The girls were singing about “Money, money, money in a rich man’s world.” A number of young people were doing various things: painting, hammering, drilling holes in walls. Blaine was deafened by the noise. He went back outside, where he leaned against the side of the building and lit a cigarette. The river flowed full and smooth. A tugboat honked. Seagulls screamed. The sky was a pale blue, with just a rinse of white cloud. He smoked for a while, then he turned and glanced back down the quays. The red van was parked some distance away. A bright flash of sunlight glanced off the windscreen, but he was pretty sure there were two people in the front seats. He finished the cigarette, threw it away and went back inside the warehouse. The crowd of workers was taking a break. The tape had been switched off. He went across to the nearest group. They stared at him curiously. The girl he was looking for was not among them.

“Sam Carey?” he inquired.

“Who’s asking?” Blaine gazed at the fat young man with glasses who answered him.

“I’m a friend of the family,” he said. “Just calling in to say hello.”

“As I hear it, Sam doesn’t get on with her family.”

“Surely she has a favourite uncle?”

“And you’re him?”

“I might be.”

The guy looked at the girl sitting beside him. She shrugged her shoulders, then said, “Sam’s in the office. Up the stairs. Door facing you.”

Blaine nodded his thanks and followed her directions. Some of the steps on the stairs were loose and creaked under his weight. He walked along the short corridor at the top and knocked on the closed door. A voice told him to come in. He did so. There were two people inside. A girl and a boy. Blaine did not have to take out the photo to see that the girl was Sam Carey. She was wearing a bright orange bandanna around her hair, a striped T-shirt and paint-streaked cream overalls. Her eyes smiled. The guy with her was big and strong, with muscles that bulged through his singlet. He was wearing cut-off denim shorts that showed his muscular legs. He was also wearing a look on his face that told Blaine to watch his step. Otherwise he might be going back down the stairs head-first.