Half Moon Chambers (31 page)

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I went to lie down next door. I
must
've dropped off."

"I didn't know you were here. If I had, I
wouldn
't
--
"

"Where else would I be?"

It was such a simple question. I couldn't
answer
without insulting him, so I shut up. He took
his
time about refreshing my water glass,
straightening
my sheets. "The baby's doing well.
Chrissy says she put on two pounds last week."

"That's nice."

"Oh, and the landlord of that second flat we
saw
called me back. The one with the garden that
goes
down to the edge of the Dene. The other
people
who wanted it have pulled out, so we could
have
it if we liked."

That's nice.
I was going to say it again. I
pressed
my lips together.
That's bloody wonderful
would
have been more appropriate, because we'd
both
loved that place
--
a huge sunny apartment in a
quiet
street, one room already being used as a
studio
. We'd consigned it to the near-miss list,
because
another couple had got there first.

And although the tenancy included use of the
garden
, it was on the second floor. We hadn't
talked
about that. "We couldn't afford the rent on
that
one, could we? I mean... we could, but he
wanted
a month down, a month deposit and a
month
for privilege of looking at his shiny face,
as
I remember."

"Yeah. He's a bit more reasonable now he's
had
a fall-through. Anyway, I
--
I sold a picture."

I sat up. "Damned if you did!"

"Yeah. The big canvas I did in your flat. The
one
where I got carried away and continued it onto
your
sofa."

City Gods.
I'd sat and watched, in danger of
being
painted myself, while he'd conjured that up.

He'd had nothing stronger than a cup of PG Tips,
but
still he entered a kind of trance for his art,
oblivious
to distraction and soft furnishings. He'd
taken
the view of the city I'd stared at for so long
and
transformed it, the concrete and the walls
rising
up to form the lower limbs of two young sky
gods
, embracing between the arcs of the Langring
bell
tower and the Tyne Bridge. I'd suggested he
open
an online gallery, and he'd shyly agreed,
expecting
nothing. "That's brilliant. But I love that
painting
. I almost wish it hadn't sold."

"I'll make you another. Vince, you sat up."

I glanced down at myself. I'd pushed upright
without
thinking, bracing my hands to the mattress.

And there'd been no thought because for the first
time
in half a year there'd been no pain. "Okay," I
said
faintly. "But it doesn't mean I can... That might
be
all I can do."

"It's time to find out."

I curled up. That didn't hurt either, and I made
the
most of it, lacing my fingers defensively behind
my
head, burying my face on my knees. He didn't
push
. Instead he came to sit beside me on the bed,
as
if we'd been at home, not in a busy post-op with
staff
and visitors passing in the corridor outside.

Bill hadn't closed the door behind him. Rowan put
an
arm round my shoulders. "You're frightened
you
're not cured."

I couldn't speak. I ducked my head once, and
he
ran his fingertips down the back of my skull,
lightly
scratching at my nape the way I loved.

"I didn't tell you much about St Mary's. My
last
bash at getting clean."

I didn't understand the subject change but I
was
glad of it. We'd talked about almost
everything
else during our safe-house confinement.

If for some reason he could talk to me now, I was
listening
--
raised my head a little to show him.

"It was a bitch. Withdrawal turns you into
someone
you wouldn't recognise, a rabid bloody
animal
you'd shoot if you found it in the street. You
start
off calm and sedated in a nice white dressing
gown
, and eight hours later you're swinging a chair
at
the bars on your window and screaming at
anyone
who'll listen that you'll suck them off and
give
them every penny you've got in the world if
they
'll just let you out."

I swallowed dryly. "Oh, Jesus. Rowan."

"I'm not just saying this to freak you out, love.
I'm telling you because I'm not cured either. I never
will
be. And no matter what they have or haven't
done
to fix your spine, nor will you. You might be
able
to walk and do all the stuff you used to, but
you
'll never be the same cop. Will you?"

I thought about it. I thought about Bill Hodges'
hard
-arsed young rookie. Bill was too polite to say
so
, but that had been me when I'd started
at
Mansion Street. I'd changed over the years, but not
enough
. I'd still relied on rage and bitterness to get
the
job done. "No. I don't know what sort I'll be.
But not that."

"And I'll never be the kid I was before
Val
Foster got her hands on me, the one who thought he
was
being wicked as hell if he nicked a sherry
from
his dad's cocktail cabinet. Beyond a certain
age
--
a certain amount of damage
--
I don't think
there
are
any cures. Just..." He put both arms round
me
, so tight that my ribs popped, tight enough to
make
me see stars. "Just the day that we're in, and
the
chances that come with it. Come on, Vinnie,
sweetheart
. Take the chance."

"I love you." I hadn't said it to him yet and
now
it tore from me, raw with my fears. "But I
can
't. I can't!"

"I love you too. Do you remember when you
stopped
me jumping off the bridge?"

"Am I likely to forget?"

"You told me I could paint when I was sober.
You said I could dance that way, too."

"So?"

He got off the bed. I waited for retreating
footsteps
, the closing click of the door. Who could
possibly
bear me like this? But there was only a
warm
silence. When I raised my head to look, he
was
waiting for me, one hand outstretched. "So?"
he
echoed. "I will if you will."

I could have wept at his beautiful stupidity. I
couldn
't even get out of bed
--
I was almost, almost
certain
of that now. A tiny shred of me was still
unsure
.

And while that part was making up its mind to
die
, my body reacted on its own. I flashed back to
the
basement car park where I'd first seen Rowan
dance
. My memory discarded the thuds and the
vibe
of the bass and picked out from the music
its
Bittersweet Symphony
phrase, the twelve-note
melody
that put fear and pain to bed, resolved all
tensions
to a sunny moment, a hand reaching out for
another
human hand. I pushed back the bedsheets
and
surged upright. "Easy!" he gasped, reaching to
catch
me, but I didn't need it
--
I was fine. I walked
into
his arms, and he couldn't hear the music in my
head
but he moved as if he did, wrapping an arm
around
my back, seizing my hand into his. "There
you
go. Oh, thank God. Thank God."

Footsteps scraped in the corridor. I didn't
care
. I was in my lover's arms, dancing to silent
music
in the sun. He was clasping me, barely
moving
, but the world was swaying all around us
in
response, an unimaginable waltz. I didn't resist
when
he drew me to a halt. We could just stand
here
if he wanted
--
all day and all night, if he
wanted
. For me that would still be a dance.

"Vince," he said softly. "Jack's here."

I turned, not letting go of his hand. I wasn't
quite
as steady as I'd thought
--
the lack of pain was
making
me dizzy, barely subject to gravity's pull.

There in the doorway was my handsome ex. He
was
pale, as if I might have given him as well
as
Rowan a sleepless night, and I couldn't interpret
the
expression in his eyes. "Jack," I said lamely.

"Bill told me you'd been here. I didn't
--
"

"Jesus, Vince, you make it hard for a man to
act
like a decent loser." Before I could reply, he
leaned
his shoulder on the frame and turned his
attention
away from me. "He wouldn't even open
his
eyes for me, Rowan Clyde, or whatever you're
called
. So I go downstairs for a coffee and come
back
to find him dancing."

"Jacky, don't speak to him like that."

His ironic smile faded. He'd never been much
good
at sustained bitterness. "Sorry," he said,
pushing
his hands into his pockets. "You don't
know
the things that are going to turn you into an
arsehole
until they come along. Look, I... just came
to
give you something, Vince. Bill told you I was
going
back to America, right?" I nodded. "Well.
My mum told me she'd sell all my stuff at a boot
fair
if I didn't take it out of her spare room, and
when
I was going through it, I came across this. Do
you
remember?"

He was holding out a small glass
paperweight
. It was the counterpart of mine, the
little
crystal mountain with its tiny mountaineer that
had
sat on my desk in Mansion Street. We'd done
the
Scafell Pike climb together, stood at the top
like
kings of the world, as if nothing could ever
bring
us down. "Yes. Of course I remember."

"Bill said you'd ditched yours. But I knew
everything
was going to turn out all right for you,
even
if you didn't, so I brought this in to remind
you
of all the stuff you'll be able to do again now.
You, er... You seem to have made a good start."

I took the paperweight from him. I didn't let
go
of his hand. With Rowan still steadying me
from
behind, I reached up and kissed him
--
just
once
, but properly, for everything we'd been
through
and for goodbye. He closed his eyes and
held
me for a few mute seconds. Neither of us
knew
what the hell more to say. He released me,
gave
me one last quick smile and walked out.