My Demon (33 page)

“Hello?” Alex walked in, a bell attached to the door announcing her arrival. She worked her way through the maze of aisles, the faint scent of kerosene and the stronger odor of cigarettes greeting her.

“Can I help you?” a voice called out. Alex rounded a last misplaced aisle and arrived at an out-dated counter with cold items in a glass display on one side and chilled sandwiches and the like on the other. In the center was a tatty wooden hatch. A tiny round woman with frizzy black hair curling into an afro stood behind the counter, clutching her cigarette and framed from behind by dozens of large jars, each filled with different kinds of sweets.

“Hi,” Alex had finally arrived at the place where her father lived, and now nerves clamped down on her, silencing her words.

“What do you want, darling, I haven’t got all day you know.” The woman dragged on the cigarette, the glow illuminating up her face momentarily in the feeble lighting of the shop.

“A pack of Silk Cut please,” Alex blurted out, unable to ask for what she wanted.

“You want a lighter with that?” The shopkeeper had a funny accent; East London mixed with Latin something. Probably Italian. Suddenly she remembered the demon, and her heart jumped in her chest. Stay away, she thought and tried to concentrate on the shop woman.

“Sure. I mean, yes please. I’d like a lighter.”

“You not from around here,” the woman said as she rang in the items on a clunky old till.

“How can you tell?” Alex wanted to ask: Why, do I remind you of someone who lives here? But she didn’t have the nerve.

“It’s in the eyes,” she replied, pointing two nicotine stained fingers towards Alex. “You look like this is your first day in London.” She smiled as Alex handed over a twenty.

“Actually it is,” Alex admitted.

“You’re kidding me, first time!” she snorted a laugh. “Hey, Gerald, I was right, I told you,” she called out behind her into the other room from where the smell of kerosene came.

“Okay Nicoletta.” A short indifferent response echoed back.

Alex waited to see if the dispute was over, and the proven was proved.

“So why you here? I mean London’s a big place, lots of galleries, clubs, why you out here?”

Alex took her change and the cigarettes and crinkled the plastic cover between her fingers. “I came looking for my father.” Those words again, she could hardly believe she was here at Harry’s address.

The woman named as Nicoletta took an eager drag on her fag, eyes lighting up at the possibility of a tale of human woe. More likely she was after some respite from her companion out in the back room.

“Your father?”

“Yup, he left when I was seven. That was twelve years ago, and today I was told that this is his address.” Alex found the story easier to tell the second time.

“Really?” Nicoletta turned her round body just a little. “Hey, Gerald, she’s looking for her father, says he lived here…” the shop keeper turned back, “…what’s his name?”

“Harry Walker, I’m his daughter, Alex. Do you know him, does he still live here?” Alex blurted out. The color rose on her cheeks, and she stepped up to the counter, almost leaning over.

“Harry Walker?” Nicoletta’s olive colored skin turned a shade of pale. She called into the other room again, this time keeping her black-brown eyes on Alex’s. “Says she’s Harry’s girl.” Her words were met with silence, then the creaking of springs, and a man with an old grey face appeared next to Nicoletta’s.

“Well you’d better come back here,” Gerald said and swung the wooden hatch up, He ushered Alex through to the rear with a sideways wide eyed expression of amazement directed at an equally surprised Nicoletta. There was no way Alex could miss the exchange.

They led her into a dirty and dusty rear room, with an old sink in one corner and two love seats bumped up against each other at right angles, almost as if cuddling around the heater. A grimy window opened out onto a concrete garden and Nicoletta led Alex to one of the sofas, pushing her down to make her sit.

“Your father actually Harry?” she said, dropping the ‘H’.

“Why, does he still live here? If he doesn’t, do you have an address for where he went?” Alex almost got up again, ready to take off and try to find him. Find the stairs and run up them shouting his name, pound on the doors until he appeared.

“Sit child, we need to tell you somethink first.” Nicoletta sat next to the man Alex guessed to be her husband and they glanced at each other nervously. Nicoletta lit up another cigarette and after a puff, tapped it repeatedly into the overflowing ashtray on top of the heater. “I don’t know how to tell you this…” She turned to Gerald for support, perhaps even hoping he’d speak, but Gerald opted to stay silent. Nicoletta began speaking again. “You see ‘Arry was nice enough. We liked him, didn’t we Gerald,” she said.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, ‘Arry was here for about a year…”

Alex interrupted, “Do you have any idea where he went?”

“Sweetheart, he didn’t leave.” Nicoletta dragged on her cigarette again, watching Alex with her beady black eyes.

“I don’t get it, what do you mean he didn’t leave? But he was only here a year, I don’t understand…”

“Alex, he died in this building. In the top flat,” Gerald said and reached across to pat her leg. Perhaps thinking better of it, he sat back next to Nicoletta.

“No … no, he can’t have. I just found out about him, came looking for him. Harry can’t be dead. It’s not fair!” She stared at them, tears in her eyes. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, I need to talk to him.” Alex felt so incredibly lost. “How did he die?”

“We found him in the middle of the living room. Doctors said he died of an…” Nicoletta turned to Gerald for help.

He continued, “An aneurysm, he dropped dead. Apparently you don’t get any warning and no pain. No way to know it’s coming…” Gerald trailed off.

Alex pulled frantically at the Silk Cut packaging, unable to find a way in.

“Have one of mine, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. We liked ‘Arry. Lovely bloke. Real shame.” Nicoletta passed her a cigarette and leaned over with the lighter. “We kept some of his stuff, not much, but a few things, in case anyone ever came by asking… guess you were right, Gerald.”

“Some of his things?” Alex held onto the cigarette, needing something to fiddle with and hold onto. Keep her grounded.

“Yeah, in the basement.” Nicoletta stood up and walked to the door. “You’ve got his nose you know,” she remarked as she left the room. She peeked back in a moment later. “You coming?”

Nicoletta handed Alex a cardboard box, an insignificant brown box, dusty from a year of being ignored in the cellar. Alex thanked her and left the shop after too many intense hugs and promises of staying in contact. She surveyed the street and spotted a pub at the end of the terrace. She headed straight there.

“One pint, will that be all?” the barman asked.

Alex delved into her pocket and handed over some coins. She didn’t wait for the change. After a little consideration, Alex picked a seat in the darkest corner of the pub. As she took the first sips of her pint, the large box waited on the table. She sat, tasting her beer and tracing the name
Harry
in the thick yellow dust on the lid. She waited until the glass had only froth in the bottom before she even contemplated picking at the edge of the parcel tape. Hopefully, the demon would stay away a little while longer.

Ignoring the couple of Podis-people stood staring at her, she ordered a second pint, only then deciding the time had come to open the box.

Alex scratched at the corner of the tape, still stuck surprisingly well after a year in a damp basement. She worked slowly, deliberately, wanting to make this last. She was about to meet her father.

Alex balled up the tape and stuck it to the ashtray, her fingers sticky from the residue. She wiped them on the table top and pulled open the box. Alex took a long, deep breath and a large slurp from her fresh pint. Heart twitching in her chest, butterflies turning circles in her belly, Alex peered inside. The first thing she found was a black baseball cap with NYC emblazoned in gold cotton on the front. She took the cap out and ran her finger around the soft rim on the inside before holding the inside to her nose. A musky odor met her nostrils, not unpleasant, and she inhaled her fill.

This is the smell of my father, she thought, and placed the cap on the bench beside her.

Under the hat she found a black leather jacket, a well-worn biker type with a multitude of zippered pockets. Alex felt as if she were in a dream as she opened and closed each pocket in turn. She discovered an old stick of gum in one pocket, a tissue of dubious history in another, and then she found a silver zippo lighter that was covered in numerous scratches and dents. She flipped up the lid with a satisfying clunk-click and flicked the flint. Nothing happened. Alex made a mental note to buy lighter fluid, she wanted to see the flame her father once stared at. Shaking the jacket out, she ran her eyes over the faded leather, so deliciously soft and supple. She slipped it on, enjoying the heavy solidity as she tried to imagine what Harry might have looked like wearing the coat.

Slightly swamped by the large jacket, she pushed the sleeves back, her eyes glazed with dreamy visions of her absent father and peered back in the box. She gulped at the lager, now medicinal for calming frayed nerves and slowing her hands. Inside were two more items, a bulky black wallet and a shoebox. She debated for a moment before selecting the wallet.

The first thing that struck her was the lack of plastic. No debit cards, visas or even store loyalty cards graced the pockets. But she did find notes inside. Lots of money. Twenties and fifties all stuffed in the middle. Alex gasped and glanced up, nervous in case of prying eyes. She unzipped a pocket and discreetly hid the wallet, slightly surprised the couple from the shop had been so honest.

The last item was an old shoe box, the sides mostly split. Alex took it out, holding the box carefully so as not to spill the contents, and put it on the table. The cardboard box, now empty, she placed by her feet. Only the shoebox and the pint glass remained on the tabletop. She reached down and grabbed the hat off the bench seat beside her, smelling the inside again before tucking her blonde hair behind her ears and placing the cap on her head. Gingerly, she picked the lid off the shoebox.

Inside, on top of a pile of photos, was a beautiful and ornately carved and polished wooden handled switchblade. Alex snatched the knife out, and got it out of sight as fast as she could. Without a second thought, she found the secret button and pressed it. A shiny metal blade shot out, and Alex bumped back in her seat, not ready for the swift mechanism.

“Jeez,” she whispered and pressed the button again, pushing the blade against the underside of the table until it clicked into place. Seconds later, she zipped the blade into another of the leather jacket’s pockets.

Underneath where the knife had been were a few photos. In the first, a small baby grinned toothlessly into the camera. Alex turned the picture over and found writing in thick black ink.

“Alex, six months old,” the words informed her.

Alex flipped the photo over again and stared, now seeing the dog-eared edges and the way greasy fingerprints smudged the surface. She pulled out some more photos. Most were of her as a baby or young girl, all had the ragged edges of a well-loved photo. The last two made her stop for a moment. One was of Alex being held by a man. She tried to dredge out her memories of Harry. He’d been buried for so long in the locked box that contained her hurt that she’d painted a blank face on him. But here he was, in the years before he died.

Alex held the photo up close. She did have his eyes and nose, even the texture of his hair. A tear dripped off the end of her nose and splashed onto the photo. She wiped the drops away carefully, loath to ruin the precious picture. She pulled out the next photo. This one was a family portrait. Her mum and dad were cuddled up close together with Alex sat in front smiling into the camera. Suddenly she remembered Harry, remembered how he constantly joked and laughed, how he was constantly teasing her mother about something. She remembered the way that her mother always smiled back then, and how they went on trips all the time, even if it was only a picnic in the middle of a field. Alex’s vision fuzzed as she delved into a forgotten world.

Alex forced herself back to reality, and tidied the photos into a neat pile before finishing her pint. She felt a little woozy. Before coming here, she hadn’t eaten much and the alcohol had gone straight to her head. While she decided whether she should drink a third pint, she pulled the last item from the box. Harry’s diary. Actually it was a simple A5 spiral notebook. Alex opened up and flipped through, scanning the small neat writing that filled its pages. Curious, she turned back to the first page.