Clapham Lights (32 page)

‘You can’t just ignore everything though, mate. It makes things worse. I should know.’

‘Yeah, I know you’re right. You’re both right.’ Mark sighs. ‘I told Amy I love her the other night.’

‘You said you loved her? Do you?’

‘I don’t know. I’d had quite a lot of wine.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She said that I should stop drinking so much.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I fell asleep on the sofa watching TV. She put a blanket over me.’

‘Did she say anything the next morning?’

‘No. I didn’t mention it either. I don’t know why I said it. I just made myself look stupid.’

‘I’m sure she understands.’

‘Yeah I know. She could find someone… better. I don’t blame her.’

‘I sure that’s not what she’s thinking.’

‘I just… I just think… I don’t know. I don’t know what I think about a lot of stuff at the moment.’ Mark pats his stomach. ‘She keeps telling me to look forward rather than back. And that in six months I’ll probably have an amazing job-’

‘You probably will. And I’ll still be hanging out in Norwich with my mum and dad.’

‘You don’t have to go back. The economy
must
pick up soon. We’ve
just got to ride out this blip and try not to top ourselves in the meantime.’

Craig downs the last third of his pint.

‘You’re not going are you?’ Mark asks.

The bell rings for last orders.

‘I better go in a minute, mate. My train’s at eleven thirty.’

‘OK.’ Mark nods but his mouth is turned down at the corners. ‘What are we doing about the flat?’

‘My dad’s going to cover the rent for the next few months.’

‘What all of it?’

Craig smiles, briefly. ‘No, just my half. Text me when we get any bills and I’ll transfer the money.’

‘Haven’t we got some kind of release clause?’

‘We did, but only after six months, so we have to pay until the
contract
is up now. Don’t you want to stay there?’

‘Yeah, but it’s not cheap is it. And it’s a bit big to live in on my own.’

‘Mate, if there’s anyone you want to move in for a few weeks, you can.’

‘I don’t want anyone to move in. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to go back there on my own. It’s depressing.’

‘I’m sorry mate. I’ve really got to go.’ Craig gets up and puts his bag on his chair.

Mark stumbles around the table. ‘Well,’ he says. There are tears in his eyes. ‘I hope everything is OK at home.’ He lunges forward and wraps Craig in his arms, burying his head into his shoulder.

‘Cheers mate,’ Craig says, gently patting Mark’s back. ‘I’m probably coming back at the weekend.’

‘I look forward to it, mate,’ Mark says, stepping back. He’s left a damp patch on Craig’s sweatshirt. ‘I don’t really want to go back to the flat without you. You’re my best friend down here. Who else am I going to take shopping and watch football with?’ Mark dries his eyes on his sleeves. ‘Sorry. I’m being embarrassing. Good job there’s no one here.’

‘Don’t worry. It’s the drink talking.’ Craig lifts his rucksack onto his back.

‘No, it’s not.’

‘Sorry, I’ve really got to go. But I’ll text you when I’m coming back down. OK?’

‘Yeah. Sure,’ Mark says, clearing his throat. ‘Go. Go on. I’ll text you.’

‘Take it easy, mate. Don’t have anything else to drink.’

‘I might as well get smashed. It’s not like I’ve got to get up early. Craig, just one last thing: you’re not… you’re not leaving because of me are you?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, why would I leave because of you?’

‘Because I’ve been a bad mate and you hate me?’

‘I don’t hate you, I don’t hate anyone. But I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon, take care.’

Craig walks out the pub, turns right towards Clapham South tube and fades away into the night. Mark drops onto his seat, almost toppling backwards, and pours the last of his cider. The Australian barman strides across, takes Mark’s glass and says it’s time to go. Mark asks for two more minutes and when his request is refused, tells the barman he should be deported for being a fucking bellend. The barman grabs Mark by the collar, marches him outside and bolts the door behind him.

Mark is sitting beneath the pub’s giant lantern, looking out through the trees towards the main road. It’s cold and he rubs his forearms. An empty double-decker bus trundles past on its way to Clapham Junction and he jumps up and runs four paces, but it’s too far gone, so he shuffles back to the table and lays his head down, using his arms as a pillow.

‘Are you all right?’ a young woman asks.

‘I’m fine,’ Mark says, his eyes closed.

The girl crouches down to check his face.

‘I’m fine,’ Mark repeats, his words half-muted.

‘You don’t look fine,’ she says, standing over him. She has long dark hair and is wearing a grey woollen poncho done up to the neck. She sits down next to him and asks if he wants a cigarette.

Mark lifts his head. ‘Yeah, thanks,’ he says, his eyes shimmering.

The girl takes a packet of Marlboro Lights from her handbag and hands him one.

‘I don’t normally smoke,’ he says.

‘I can see that.’

He holds the cigarette away from his face. ‘You work here don’t you? Behind the bar.’

‘Yes. I saw you were a bit upset inside. Sorry about you getting thrown out.’

‘It’s OK. I’m just a bit tired.’

‘Pissed, you mean.’

Mark inhales and coughs. ‘Yep. Pissed. And tired. Sorry.’

‘That’s OK.’

‘My best mate just told me he’s moving home.’

‘Was that the guy with the rucksack?’

‘Yep. He quit his job and says he can’t afford to live down here any more so he’s gone back to Norwich.’

She has a long drag on her cigarette. ‘Is it just the two of you?’

‘Yes, we’ve got a place off Lavender Hill. Do you live around here?’

‘St John’s Hill.’ Her cigarette goes out so she re-lights it. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting home? Haven’t you got work in the morning?’

‘No. My company shut down. A bank collapsed so I lost my job.’

‘What did you used to do?’

‘I was a fund manager for an investment company in the City.’

‘That sounds important.’

‘Not really,’ Mark says, flicking ash onto the ground. He rubs his arms again. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Annabel.’

‘I’m Mark.’ They shake hands and Annabel blows smoke into the air. ‘How long have you worked here for?’

‘Four months. Since I left uni. I’ve got two jobs at the moment.’

‘What else do you do?’

‘I’m on a six-month internship at an experiential marketing
company
in Soho.’

‘What’s that like?’

‘Not great. I’m basically free labour. The only people who do any work are the ones who aren’t getting paid.’

‘Sounds shit.’ Mark coughs. ‘Where did you go to uni?’

‘You wouldn’t have heard of it: UEEC.’

Mark coughs again and smiles.

‘It’s a shithole,’ she says.

‘I know. I went there.’

‘Really? When?’

‘I graduated in 2005.’

She looks at him disbelievingly. ‘
Really
?’

‘Why would anyone lie about going there?’

‘Fair point.’ She smiles. ‘I bet it was easier to get a job then.’

‘My uncle got me my old job, so I don’t know really.’

‘I wish someone would help me. I didn’t go to uni for three years to work in a pub. It makes you wonder what the point in having a degree is.’

‘Huh. There is no point. That’s the only thing they don’t teach you. You know, if your job’s really that bad and you don’t want to work in a pub, you should leave. Go home, go travelling or something. Is there a job at the end of the internship?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Then quit. Seriously. When you’ve done your time, they’ll say thanks very much, we’re really sorry but we can’t take anyone on at the moment and let you go, and the next day they’ll have another work
experience
girl come and take your place.’

‘I know.’

‘The worst thing you can do is carry on because it’s the easy option.’

The lights in the main bar are switched off as two police cars speed towards Balham followed by an ambulance. There is a long silence.

Annabel puts her cigarette out and gets up. ‘Thanks for the advice. Will you be OK getting home?’

‘How are you getting back?’

‘Walking. I’ve not got enough money for a cab.’

Mark twists his legs out from under the table and rubs his eyes. ‘Would you mind if I walked with you, please? I’ll keep you company. I don’t want to go home on my own. We’re going in the same direction.’

J
anet knocks on Craig’s half-open bedroom door and pokes her head in:

‘Dad said not to worry about going into work.’

‘Oh. OK. Why?’ Craig’s tie hangs undone around his collar and he’s holding a pair of cufflinks.

His mum has her coat on. ‘He says he wants to talk to you later.’

‘Has he gone already?’

‘Yes, he left at seven.’

‘Why did he leave so early?

‘He’s got a meeting in Cambridge.’

‘Oh, right. But couldn’t he do with some help? I’m sure there’s something I could be doing.’

‘You’ll have to ask him.’

‘But what am I meant to do here?’

‘You can help me with the garden after lunch.’

‘But he definitely doesn’t want me to go into the office? I might ring him and-’

‘He’s not had any time to plan anything yet, love. He’ll explain
everything
later. I don’t think he wants you to be bored and don’t-’

‘But I’m meant to be working to pay you back.’

‘Yes, I know love, but it might not be quite as simple as that.’

‘But I can’t repay you if I’m not working? And what am I meant to do here?’

‘Craig, Dad will talk it all through with you later, don’t start getting in a tizzy. We thought you might need a couple of days to relax anyway.’

‘Thanks, but I’d rather just get on.’

‘We know why you want to do it love, but perhaps it would be better for you just to take things easy for a day or so. Get some fresh air and catch up with your friends.’

‘They’re all at work.’

‘Go into town and have a look around the shops then.’

‘I can’t even pay the bus fare, so I’m not going to go window
shopping
.’

‘Take this,’ Janet says. She hands him a £20 note from her purse which he reluctantly accepts. ‘You don’t have to spend it but if you want to go and watch a film or get yourself a coffee, you can.’

‘Thanks Mum.’

‘I don’t want you worrying about money all the time; it’s not good for you. Now I’m going to be out until after lunch as I’ve got a few people to see but if you need anything just ring me, I’ve got my mobile. Come on,’ she says, giving him a hug, ‘cheer up. It’s not all bad.’

Craig waits for the front door to close, hangs his shirt and trousers back up, and falls asleep on his bed.

Craig is watching BBC
Look
East
when his dad’s car pulls up on the drive. It’s almost seven o’clock. He turns the television off and heads into the kitchen where his mum is cooking. There is a shepherd’s pie in the oven, a bowl of salad on the worktop and three places laid at the kitchen table. He offers to help but Janet doesn’t need any, so he asks if she wants a cup of tea.

The front door slams and Peter goes straight upstairs. Craig is standing by the kettle whilst his mum flicks through a
River Cottage
recipe book.

‘What’s wrong with Dad?’ Craig whispers.

‘Nothing as far as I know.’

‘Why did he run upstairs then?’

The bathroom toilet flushes and Peter comes down into the kitchen. He’s taken his tie off and put a jumper over his work shirt. Craig says hello and quickly turns back to watching the kettle boil.

‘I was desperate for the loo,’ Peter says. ‘I thought I wouldn’t make it back to the house at one point.’

He pecks Janet on the cheek and mouths ‘Is he all right?’ at her, pointing at Craig. She nods.

Craig pours the tea, passes it over and disappears into the living room.

‘Are you sure he’s all right?’ Peter says, keeping his voice down.

‘He’s been a bit quiet. I think he’s worried.’

‘About us or about work or what?’

‘A bit of both. I think he was expecting to go to work with you this morning.’

‘I didn’t expect him to come back here at that time last night. I should have said something then. I-’

Craig comes back into the kitchen, avoiding his parents’ gaze, and sits at the table with the
Eastern Daily Press.

‘Craig,’ Peter says. He looks up from the newspaper. ‘Would you like a glass of wine? I’m going to have one.’

‘I’m fine thanks.’

Peter brings his drink to the table. ‘What’s happening in the world?’ he asks.

Craig’s reading a story about a robbery at a Fakenham Post Office. ‘Not much,’ he replies.

‘What have you done to your hair?’

‘I had it cut.’

Peter frowns. ‘We were a bit surprised to see you last night. You should have called rather than getting a taxi.’

‘I didn’t get a taxi, I walked. I thought you’d be asleep. Anyway, I thought you wanted me at work this morning.’

Peter clears his throat. ‘Craig, it’s not going to be quite as simple as that. We need to have a little chat about things. I don’t know if Mum told you but Cuthbert’s Kitchen Warehouse have gone under.’

‘No, she didn’t. Did they owe you any money?’

‘Fortunately not a lot, but obviously losing their account is a bit of a hole to fill and we’re going to have to be very careful over the next few months.’

‘OK.’

‘I think we’ll be able to get by without making anyone redundant, but equally we won’t be taking anyone on.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I won’t be able to take you on, in the short-term.’

Craig pushes away the newspaper. ‘Dad, but I thought you wanted me to come back to work for you?’

‘That was just a suggestion but I’ve thought things through and there’s really nothing you could do for me. I can’t just create a job that
doesn’t need doing to pay you so you can pay me back. In effect I’d be taking money out of the company and paying it into my own bank account, so there’s no way I’m doing that.’

‘And there’s definitely no one looking to leave or you could let go?’

‘Craig,’ Peter snaps, ‘don’t be so bloody selfish or I will get angry.’

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. That came out wrong. I didn’t mean that.’

‘I should hope not.’

‘Peter, no need to shout,’ Janet chips in.

‘But how am I meant to pay you back then? If I can’t work for you, I’m not sure what else I’ll be able to do, unless I take a job in a pub or restaurant, which I’ll do if you want me to.’

‘Craig, I think we should put the issue of your debt to one side for a minute. A lot of this depends on you. In an ideal world would you really want to move back here and go back to your old job?’

‘If you want to move back, you can,’ Janet says, checking the oven.

‘Craig, we both love having you here, but we want what’s best for you. And I don’t think living here and working for us again is necessarily what’s best.’

‘But I want to pay you back.’

‘We know you want to pay us back and we’re happy you do, but if you’d have enjoyed working here and living here so much, you wouldn’t have gone down to London in the first place. I know you like it here, but I don’t want you to spend the next two or three years paying us back and then suddenly finding yourself approaching thirty stuck in a career you’re not interested in.’

‘It’s not that I wasn’t interested, it’s just that after university,
coming
back here and working for you again seemed a bit… It was like I had nothing to look forward to any more.’

‘We understand that.’

‘But I preferred it to being in London with no money.’

‘But did you though? You’ve had plenty of opportunities to come home before now.’

‘I know. But I couldn’t carry on getting further and further in debt.’

‘Nobody likes having no money, Craig. You might think you were trying to be responsible and independent, but you’ve got to be mature enough to know when to ask for help. The problem wasn’t going to go away.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘You don’t have to keep apologising, we feel responsible as well. I never wanted you to feel you couldn’t talk to us.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

Janet puts her oven gloves on and brings the shepherd’s pie to the table.

‘Me and your mum are both in agreement that you can stay here if you want to, but if you want to go back down to London, we’ll support you.’

‘Thank you. But it’s not really an option, is it. What would I do?’ he says with a shrug. ‘I’m the one who’s made a mess of everything. I don’t want it to end up costing you even more to get me back on my feet.’

‘But you’ll never be able to pay us back on Norwich bar job wages, that’s my point.’

‘And it’s better you owe money to us than to banks or credit
companies
,’ Janet says. ‘Love, we just don’t want to see you getting yourself into problems.’

‘Look, we know you’ve not done any of this deliberately but it’s important that you learn to ask for help rather than trying to do
everything
on your own, because you’re not on your own.’

‘We just don’t want you to be unhappy,’ Janet says.

‘I know, I know.’ Craig has a tear in his eye but swiftly wipes it away.

‘It’s time to draw a line under what’s happened and work out what you’re going to do next,’ Peter says, taking the salad servers from Janet. ‘To be perfectly honest, I’m not happy with you living here when we’re paying for a room in a flat in London which nobody’s using. Do you know anyone who’d want to move in?’

‘No. Nobody.’

‘I’m not surprised at that price,’ Janet adds.

‘What does Mark think about all this? He doesn’t want to live on his own does he surely?’

‘Mark’s lost his job.’

Peter puts his fork down. ‘Since when? You didn’t tell us.’

‘It happened a few days ago. His company shut down.’

‘Christ almighty,’ Peter says, exasperated. ‘So he’s up the creek as well? What’s he going to do?’

‘I don’t know. He’s taken it pretty badly. I think he’s got enough
money to last him for a while though.’

‘Has he got anything else lined up?’

‘Not as far as I know.’

‘Poor lad,’ says Janet. ‘It can’t be good for him. No job and sitting there on his own all the time.’

‘You two could both do with getting out of that place as soon as possible.’

‘Our lease has another six months.’

‘If I was you I’d go through that contract with a fine-tooth comb. They treated you bloody awfully so I wouldn’t have any qualms about trying it on with them. Have you got a copy of what you signed?’

‘Yes, it’s in my file upstairs.’

‘Would you mind if I have a look at it? If they’re as disorganised and dishonest as you say they are, you can almost guarantee that the contract won’t be worth a penny.’

It’s Wednesday night and the family are in the living room watching a repeat of
Midsomer Murders.

‘Craig, would you be against going back down to London?’ Peter asks unexpectedly, getting a glace from Janet for talking over the TV.

‘Not until I can afford to.’

‘How about if we covered you, initially? If the economy goes the way it looks like it’s going to, I think you’ll be better off down there than you are here.’

‘You think?’

‘I can’t imagine there are going to be many opportunities in
Norwich
, unless you want to work in insurance.’

Peter coughs and asks Janet to pass him the
Radio Times
before
looking
back to Craig:

‘Look, I hope you don’t think I’m interfering, but I made a few phone calls this afternoon to some of my contacts and dropped into
conversation
that you may be looking for work.’

‘Of course I don’t mind.’

‘I was a bit concerned that you’d think I was trying to get rid of you or push you into something you didn’t want to do.’

‘And we’re not trying to get rid of you, love, we’re just trying to think
of what’s practical,’ Janet says.

‘I’ll do anything. I don’t mind what it is,’ Craig says.

‘I had a word with Phil Symonds just before I left the office, do you know the name?’

‘No.’

‘His company lease office furniture. It’s a very successful business. I was talking to him and he said there’s a possibility that he might want to take on another account manager.’

‘Right. Where’s that?’

‘I think he’s based in Wimbledon. That’s not too far from you, is it?’

‘No. A few stops on the tube.’

‘Now this is no guarantee of anything, but he said that if you were interested, you should give him a ring.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘I said I’d ask you.’

‘Do you know anything else about it?’

‘You’ll have to talk to him yourself. I’ve told you as much as he told me, but Phil’s a good man, he wouldn’t have you doing any old rubbish. So you’ll speak to him will you?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Good. I’ve got to ring him tomorrow about something else anyway, so I’ll tell him that you’d like to talk to him and I’ll arrange a time for you to call him. How does that sound?’

‘Great. Thank you.’

‘Good,’ Peter says.

Janet leans across the sofa, checks her husband isn’t looking and says quietly:

‘Love, you know you can always stay here with us, don’t you?’

It’s three o’clock on a cold, grey afternoon and Mark is in the City, sitting in the garden of St Boltoph-without-Bishopsgate Church. He hasn’t shaved but is dressed in a suit and tie.

The church is surrounded by high-rise glass-panelled office blocks and dwarfed by the steel skeleton of another new tower being constructed across the road. There are two other people on the row of benches; a cycle courier who takes regular sucks on a water bottle, and a podgy-faced
woman reading a chick lit novel.

Mark shivers and stuffs his Pret bag into an overflowing rubbish bin by a tree. A pigeon swoops down and pecks at a discarded sandwich crust at his feet. He straightens himself up and turns left out of the church along Bishopsgate. He looks at the ‘Three free shirts with every suit over £130’ offer in the window of Taylors the Tailors, and then wanders down towards Liverpool Street station. ‘UK ON BRINK OF RECESSION’ is the headline on the
Evening Standard
boards.

Mark stops outside The Broker, which is virtually empty, and then takes a left down Old Broad Street. There are ‘Office Space To Let’ signs hanging in the former MenDax offices, and all evidence of the company has been removed from the reception. Mark gazes up at the building and is being watched by a security guard when his phone rings.