DEATHLOOP (5 page)

But an hour later, following a leisurely shower and a change of clothes, Zack felt his old self again. In fact, he was pleased he had delayed that call, because now he decided he did want to meet up with his old friends, (especially Clarissa), but more than that, he needed to. If he put it off, as he first thought he might, the events of the day would hang over them like a thunder cloud waiting to burst. The first Wednesday of the month at Bellini’s was the one routine they all enjoyed together, and they prided themselves that barring holidays, they had never broken it.

Clarissa had panicked at Zack’s wild outburst in the flat. She had never seen him like that before. She had never seen anyone like that before, and of course she blamed herself. All her other guinea pigs had been willing participants and only too eager to see what past lives might reveal. Zack, on the other hand, had agreed to the regression under sufferance and Clarissa felt guilty now that she had put him through such an ordeal. Clarissa had asked Sam to delay his arrival at the restaurant so she could speak with Zack alone. The last thing she wanted was for Sam to start worrying, he was extraordinarily protective of Zack which alternately amused and infuriated her.

“He’s a grown man… he can look after himself can’t he?” Clarissa had said to Sam on numerous occasions when he was fussing about Zack, endlessly.

“Less so than people think,” was Sam’s stock reply.

Clarissa knew there were skeletons in Zack’s cupboard because Sam had said as much, but he refused point blank to elaborate, despite Clarissa’s many attempts to get him so to do. Clarissa was exasperated by this, but she also rather liked it. Sam’s loyalty, when it came to Zack, was absolute.

Two huge warehouse type buildings flanked Bellini’s on either side. One was a wholesale wine emporium run by an eccentric bunch of Greek Cypriots, the other, a development of luxury flats recently carved out of an old toy factory that had lain abandoned for years while inheriting family members wrangled over their spoils. The restaurant itself, elegant and low key, was set back a little way from the wide pavement but from the best tables the view was good, if this was the kind of view you were after.

Zack’s arrival at Bellini’s caused the usual stir. Dressed for dinner he looked sensational. Tonight he wore a very pale grey lightweight Gucci suit, an immaculate white shirt open at the neck, Italian suede shoes, and that perpetual boyish grin. He waved over to Clarissa as he weaved his way through the tables towards her.

Women diners would always follow Zack’s progress closely, for a few moments barely hearing what their partners had to say, and often demanding to know who Zack was. Waiters were told to say: ‘Something in the city’ ‘Married?’ ‘Sorry, we couldn’t say’.

Once, a big blonde American stand-up comedian had insisted she be introduced to Zack, offering a very handsome tip if one of the waiters would arrange it. Zack was civil, but declined her invitation to go back to the Holiday Inn and fuck her brains out. Zack was not flattered by this kind of thing at all, reminiscent as it was of his mother’s desperation, actually, he found it rather sad.

Zack dropped a kiss on Clarissa’s cheek as he sat down beside her. They didn’t speak for a while, just watched people streaming up and down outside.

“You’re okay?” she said eventually, grabbing his hand.

“Listen, Clarissa, I’m so sorry, I threw you across the room I think.”

“You think?”

“Okay, I did.”

“Tell me…”

“Nothing to tell, I saw no great vision of my past, I wasn’t a gladiator in ancient Rome or the Marquis de Sade, I wasn’t even holed up on the beach at Dunkirk waiting to be shipped back to Blighty…”

“So what scared you so much?”

“Let’s just leave it at that shall we?”

In the same way that Zack worried about Clarissa telling Sam how he had been totally out of control, so Clarissa worried that Zack would complain to Sam about the trauma she’d put him through. She dreaded getting a lecture from Sam about needlessly freaking Zack out and so she was debating whether to ask him not to mention it. As it was, Zack got there first.

“Please don’t tell Sam that I manhandled you Clarissa,” said Zack, “I’ll never hear the last of it - you know what he’s like.”

“I won’t, if you won’t,” she said, and he knew immediately what she meant.

“Done,” said Zack.

They flung their arms round each other and shared a kiss.

On the other side of the street Susan could see this, and from the other side of the street, the kiss looked much more damning than it actually was. Susan had always had her suspicions about Zack and Clarissa, they were a little too familiar for her liking. Zack professed to adore Sam Stein, but Susan thought it might be his wife that was the attraction, and it looked like her suspicions were correct if this cosy little dinner was anything to go by, plus, no sign of the midget anywhere.

Susan had found it easy to follow Zack’s Mercedes without being spotted because Zack had seemed more than a little distracted tonight. Susan liked to think it was because he was having second thoughts about dumping her but she doubted that somehow. Probably he was listening to his I Pod and therefore oblivious to the clanking whine emitting from the engine of her 10 year old Fiat Panda, which someone once told her, on a clear day, could be heard in Hull.

She used to ask Zack why he liked her, and all he would say was that she was odd and he liked odd. The pneumatic cleavage type of woman was not for him, which was just as well thought Susan, as she had nothing in that department at all.

Zack used to drop into the organic juice bar where Susan worked just about every day. She was usually covered in fruit pulp when he turned up, early afternoon, asking for his pick-me-up, carrot juice, with ginseng and ginger was his favourite. He was always friendly, always polite, and always gave her a tip, very few people did that. Susan didn’t think much about him really, apart from acknowledging the fact that he was way out of her league, but one day when she was sweeping up, sweaty, sticky, with strawberry bits in her hair and ginger smeared across her cheek he came in and asked if she fancied a drink.

Susan didn’t get it. “What kind of drink?” she said.

“Any drink you like,” said Zack, “you’re the boss.”

Susan presumed he wanted information, possibly the low down on the lease of the building which was up for sale, so she went along after work expecting nothing. She realised quite early on that it was a date, and thought she had blown it, she looked an absolute mess.

Back at her rented studio flat in Stoke Newington, showered and spruced, she apologized, and kept on apologizing, until Zack told her to put a sock in it, it was no big deal. But to Susan everything about Zack was a big deal. He wore suits and worked in the city, and had a flash high rise apartment and a bank account in Nassau, and he was exquisite looking. What on earth did he see in her? He told Susan that he had always been attracted to arty girls, creative girls, oh and he loved her eyes too.

“They’re too close together,” she said.

“Technically,” said Zack, “but as your mouth is too big and your nose is too long - it kind of works.”

Zack had done so much for Susan’s self-esteem, but now she wished she had never met him, because she’d become hooked. He was an addiction, and for her drug to be snatched away like this was the cruellest cut of all. She had heard that expression somewhere and now she knew what it meant. There was not one part of Susan that did not ache. The emotional hurt was one thing, the physical hurt was something else and totally unexpected. It had caused her to keel over twice that day and Zack Fortune had been entirely responsible. He must get off on this, she decided, scooping someone up from the gutter, making them believe that anything is possible then dropping them back down again from a great height.

Susan opened the boot of her car and reached inside. Her father’s antiquated old jack lay there, solid, heavy, like it meant business, she struggled to lift it out with one hand, but closed the boot back down again and set off.

Zack and Clarissa were still alone, still talking, heads together, so they did not see Susan cross the street and stand right up against the smoky grey window. But they did hear the smash as she slammed the jack against the plate glass, once, twice, three times, causing a sudden frosting to spread out, forming a network of small white lines, like veins on a leaf, right across the window until it was opaque, and then, with one more smash, a section of glass collapsed inwards as confused diners fled.

Zack grabbed Clarissa and half carried, half dragged her back, but it was not an easy manoeuvre to extricate her from the heavy chair, the table. A couple of people, slow off the mark looked like they’d been caught in a snow storm. As it was, Clarissa’s hair managed to trap a fair selection of little glass daggers making her look as though she’d broken her halo.

It took some time for people to grasp what had happened. Waiters stood rooted to the spot, not quite sure what to do.

“Call the police. Has anyone called the police?”

“Was it a car?”

“It was a woman.”

“Did she fall?”

“A woman?”

“She hit the window with something, a pole or something.”

“What sort of pole?”

“Why? Why would she do that?”

“It wasn’t a pole.”

“That bloke has gone to catch her I think.”

“Who?”

“He just ran out.”

“Does anyone know her? Do you know her, Carlo?”

“What? You think I know these nutters?”

“So why did she do it?”

“This used to be a desirable neighbourhood, now look, crazy people we have to put up with!”

Zack heard none of this because as the diners and the waiters and Carlo absorbed the shock, he was racing along behind Susan through the crowds. Susan was a good runner and she was nimble too, adept at side stepping passers-by, better at it than Zack by far. They continued running, not much distance between them now but despite the adrenaline pumping, Susan was tiring.

Susan sped along towards the Aldwych, free of the crowds she had more space to run, but equally she was easier to spot. People stood back when they saw them, unnerved by the panic in Susan’s eyes and by Zack’s intensity. Some people looked concerned for Susan. Why was this guy chasing her like this? And more to the point, what was he going to do to her when he caught her up?

As Susan turned, heading up towards the Old Bailey, a stitch clutched at her side. She tried to ignore it, she tried to concentrate just on getting away but Zack was still behind her and gaining ground. He remained focused on her thin little legs pounding the pavement, her skirt dancing, her Oxfam cardigan flying up on either side of her like wings. Finally he was within arm’s reach. He stretched out his hand, clutched at her thatch of dark hair and tugged. Susan yelped, struggled to get free, struggled to prise his hand from her head but he held on tight.

Zack managed to steer Susan towards a narrow side street and frogmarched her along with him, still gripping her at the head like a puppet, then Zack pushed her up against a wall and held her there. For almost a minute they remained face to face, too puffed out to speak, allowing their breathing to recover.

“What is wrong with you, Susan?”

“Nothing, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Are you completely insane? You could have killed someone, was that the idea? You want to kill me now, is that it?”

“It’s your fault!”

“It’s my fault that you are so messed up is it? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Last week you wanted me, now you don’t, I’m the same person, it’s you - you’re the one that’s mad. Or is it you and Clarissa now? Is that it? Or has it
always
been you and Clarissa?”

“It didn’t work out, that’s all.”

“Because of you!” yelled Susan, scrunching her hands up into two fists and boxing Zack around the face. “You think you can treat me like some piece of shit, well we’ll see about that!”

Zack tensed himself, letting her rage against him and wear herself out. It didn’t take that long. Frustrated that her blows seemed to be bouncing off him and making no purchase, Susan slumped back against the wall, howling. But Susan’s attack did one thing, it reminded Zack that he really shouldn’t treat people like this, but he had, and there were consequences, and now he had to face them.

“Susan, listen to me…” said Zack softly, putting a hand to her face, brushing away her tears.

“Now do you see what you have done? Do you?”

“I’m sorry, Susan. I’m sorry.”

“Come back, come back home with me,” she said, clutching at him like a greedy child.

“We can’t put it back together again,” said Zack, “it doesn’t work that way.”

After a brief hesitation, Zack backed off and started to walk away. At the end of the street he turned back to see Susan, motionless, gazing after him.

The following morning Zack turned out of Brunswick Street and was absorbed by the crowd. He knew he should go home and get changed, but for some reason he decided to walk to work instead, just like he was.

The old black guy stood up as he pushed his way into the building, and was about to accost him, when Betty called over.

“It’s all right, Patrick, it’s Mr Fortune!”

Yes, and I only walk past you each morning thought Zack as Patrick sat down again, still scanning him for signs of recognition. Betty didn’t miss much. Zack liked her in a funny kind of way. She was a dragon of course, but you know where you are with dragons. Zack went up in the lift fielding looks from the suits that surrounded him. He went straight into Sam’s empty office and sat behind his desk.

“Padre,” said Sam taken aback as he walked in ten minutes later, “what gives?”

Zack looked at Sam and Sam knew enough about his old friend to realise that something was up, and big time. So Sam closed the door, pulled up a chair and looked for hints, praying it had nothing to do with the stupid regression thing yesterday, which Clarissa admitted had not gone well.

“Brunswick Street, you know it?”