One of Us (4 page)

So I told him.

When I had finished, Sean sat back in his chair, picking away at the polystyrene of his cup with his fingers, dropping little flakes of it across the plastic of the table like snow. This was very Sean, part of his shy side, that had him stumbling over words when he was talking to people he did not know very well, the stoop of his shoulders as if he did not want to stand out for being tall, the way that he found it hard to meet the eye of the person he was talking to, instead studying their shoes, the lapels of their coat, or whatever he had picked up and was twisting round and round in his hands. He did this all the time. Pens, cups, the plastic stirrers that we used in the restaurant. Anything that was around. He would pick it up, turn it over and over in his hands as he spoke, spinning it round, walking a pen end over end through his fingers and back again, or pull it to pieces, leave them scattered over the table like confetti.

“You should smoke,” I had told him once. “It would give you something to do with your hands.”

“Christ no,” he had replied. “I’d be on about sixty a day.”

Now he shredded the cup, and did not look at me. “Jesus,” he said. “Jesus, Anna.” His eye twitched, as if he had something stuck in it.

“I should not have told you?”

“It’s not that, of course you should, you know you can talk to me.” It sounded from his voice though that he wished I had not.

“You do not approve,” I said. “You think I am a bad person.”

“Fuck no, no, Anna, no. Not that, not at all. It’s just, Jesus, I’m scared for you, is all. These people you’re working for, bullet wounds? Jesus. This is serious stuff Anna, what the hell have you got yourself into? And they know you work here?”

He was jumping from thought to thought, and it was difficult for me to keep up. “I don’t know—I don’t think—”

“‘Course they do, they know you work here, that guy, what was he called, Daniel? Daniel. He came here, didn’t he. Jesus, I met him, he saw me when he came here. He’s one of them.”

“Not the same as them, not Daniel, he is just like a little boy who tags behind the big children.”

“Oh no, of course,” Sean said, rolling his eyes. “He’s just Mr Fixer. He’s not bad, he’s only a little boy who knows bad people. Christ, Anna, you don’t have a clue what you’re getting into, I’m sorry but you know, you’re in a strange place, new country, you’re too naïve.”

“There were bad people where I came from too, Sean,” I said. I tried not to let the anger appear in my voice. This was not what I had wanted. I had wanted Sean to listen, to be sympathetic, to give me good advice, to be the friend I thought that he was. Something about Sean had always reminded me of my brother. When I was a girl, Aleksey always protected me, stuck up for me when my father was angry, warned the boys who wanted to take me out that if they were bad for me he would kick them from one end of the town to the other. I remember playing with friends in an abandoned house once, shrieking with joy and fear about whether a rat might run over our feet. We crawled through a narrow passage full of brick dust where the roof had fallen down so far you could not stand, and a rat did run over me, although it was my hand and not my foot. I screamed and tried to stand up. I do not remember much else. One of my friends ran away home. The other ran and found my brother, who was playing football nearby. He arrived just as I came round, and he picked me up in his arms and ran with me all the way to the house of a retired doctor who lived near. When we got there, he was too out of breath to even say what had happened.

I can remember the doctor’s calming voice, a kind, rumbling, bass that never stopped as he cleaned the gash on my head, and checked my pulse with his big fingers. He phoned for an ambulance, saying all the time it will be all right, it will be all right. And I can remember my brother, sitting on a chair in his muddy football strip, chest heaving, eyes wide with worry, my blood staining the crest on his shirt. But my brother was dead now, and I looked at Sean and I could not at that moment remember what it was about him that had reminded me of my brother.

“Anna, look.” He dropped his voice, ran a hand back through his hair, leaving it sticking up in little spikes. “This is crazy shit you have got yourself mixed up in. Get out of it. For God’s sake, don’t let it into your life, Anna, don’t bring it into ours, it’s—”

“
Ours
? Is that what you are worried about, Sean?
Your
life? You think these men know where I work so you are somehow involved? This is not about you, Sean. This is nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Guns? Fucking right it isn’t.”

We stared at each other over the table for a moment, and then there were heavy footsteps behind the counter.

“You two going to stay here all night, then, drinking my coffee that you haven’t paid for? I hope the clean-up is finished.” Peter blinked heavy eyelids at us, swayed slightly on his feet as if there was a strong wind blowing.

“It is,” I said, and I got up. “It’s finished.” I picked up my coffee cup, and dropped it into one of the bins. “Good night.”

“Anna,” Sean said.

I walked out of the back door, walked past the green refuse skips that smelt of grease on the inside and urine on the outside, walked down the narrow back lane, and out onto the main street. It was empty under the orange lights. Not even a late night drunk weaving home, following a path that only he could see. If Sean comes after me, I will take a deep breath, and we will talk, I thought.

But he did not. So I just walked all the way home, and when I got to the room I undressed quietly so as not to disturb the others and I lay on my bed and I dug my nails into my hands, very hard, very hard.

CHAPTER THREE

When Daniel strolled through the door of the restaurant, as confident as if he was there to do some kind of inspection, I could see that Sean remembered him. Sean stared at Daniel for a moment, and then busied himself with serving customers, pretending not to look. But every few seconds I saw his gaze flick across, and when there were no customers he started to scrub at the counter near us, even though I had only cleaned it that morning. This surprised me. I had thought that he would have asked Pete if he could take his break early, do anything other than stay near us and risk being noticed. But he did not.

“Well hello,” Daniel said, draping himself over a chair. “How’s the doctor? Can you take five minutes? Come on love, what’s the harm, you look like you’ve been working hard, you deserve to put your feet up. Hey, mate, two coffees over here, eh?”

“It’s not waiter service,” Sean said, glaring at Daniel.

“I’m not asking for a fucking waiter,” Daniel said patiently, as if he were talking to someone who did not really speak English. “Just some fucking coffee. Be a good boy, eh, and bring some over.”

I stood between the two of them to stop this from going any further. “You two shut up,” I said. “I will get the coffee. Daniel, don’t speak like that to anyone here. Sean, I’m going to take my break now, if that is OK.”

Sean shrugged, fine, take it whenever, I do not care. I shook my head. The two of them should have had antlers on. But no, I thought, that’s not why Sean was doing it. He did not think of me like that. Daniel though, maybe he did. I was not sure what I thought about this.

“Sorry love,” Daniel said when I sat back down at the table. “Didn’t realise that he was a friend of yours.” He said it as if it was a question.

“He is,” I said. “But it would not matter even if he was not.”

“Mmm,” he said, and he looked over at Sean again, as if he were weighing him up. “Bit old to be working in a place like this, isn’t he? Usually your spotty sixteen year olds. Something wrong with him? Bit simple or something?”

“I work in a place like this, Daniel. Tell me, am I simple?”

“Obviously I didn’t mean you, things are a bit different with you, what with your uh, status and that. Speaking of which, Corgan’s got me playing messenger boy.” He reached inside his coat, pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. “From the man himself.” He slid it across the table.

I unfolded it. There was an address, and a time: the next day, at eleven in the morning. That was all.

“Kav?” I said.

Daniel shook his head. “He’s fine.”

He got to his feet, stretching out his arms. You’re like a cat, I thought. You act as if you know no-one in the world is watching you. But you know that everyone is. And you want to be stroked.

“Got to run,” he said. “Much as I’d love to stay and talk.”

I held up the note. “So what is this? You cannot not tell me, it is not fair.”

He grinned. Looked over to make sure that Sean was watching, and blew me a kiss. “I dunno for sure. But I think it’s pay day. Ta ta, sweetheart.”

Sean watched him go, looked at me, and then cleaned the coffee machine as if his life depended on it. I thought about all of the things I could say to him, and then I was cross because I thought, why should I have to say anything?

Later in the shift, I kept an eye out for Asif, who delivered the pizzas. When I heard a screech of tyres outside, I knew that he was back. Asif lived a life of speed, roaring from delivery to delivery and back to the restaurant again, where he would burst in through the door, whirl around making jokes and eyeing up any pretty customers and gathering up pizzas when Peter gave him a look that said you’ve been here too long.

Today he came up to the counter so fast that his trainers screeched on the tiles of the floor when he stopped.

“You all right?” he said. I liked Asif. He always found time to ask, and more than this, despite all his rush, he always listened for an answer.

“Been worse,” I said. “You?”

“Hot date when I finish here tonight. Said she’d wait up for me.”

“Don’t tell me you have picked up another customer?” I said. “Lust over the Hot Inferno. Peter won’t like that.”

“He wouldn’t,” Asif grinned, and then he winked at me. “If he knew. Anyway, it was the Hawaiian.”

I shook my head. “When are you going to find the right woman, settle down, Asif?”

He frowned, thinking. “Settle down? Plenty of time for that. Maybe when I’m fifty or something, dunno. Find a nice girl, put me feet up, rest on me laurels. Anyway, you’re not one to talk. When you going to get hooked up with someone, Anna? You know, you get on so well with—”

I knew where Asif was going, so I threw up a roadblock.

“This hot date of yours, you know where she lives?”

Another grin. “‘Course. I’m not going to forget where someone like her lives, am I?”

“Cool,” I said. “So when you finish tonight, will you lend me your A-Z? Just for tomorrow morning, I need it. I’ll have it back to you tomorrow night for the start of shift.”

“Yeah, no problem, no problem. Hardly use it, I’ve got the knowledge, know this place better than most cabbies.”

At the end of the shift he dropped the book of maps off for me, and then leant over the counter.

“How do I smell?”

I tried not to choke from the tear gas assault of aftershave.

“Knockout.”

He winked again, and was gone.

The next morning I left in plenty of time, and walked to the address on the note, Asif’s book of maps in my hand. The air had turned colder and bit at my nose and ears, and the pavements were slippery with wet leaves. The place called itself a hotel, but it was cheap, and no tourists or visitors would ever stay there. It was down a side street of other hotels that were not, and bed-sits where the population changed every month.

In the entrance hall a hatchway opened on to a small room, where a crumpled man sat reading a newspaper. The room smelt of cigarette ash and the dusty heat from the three glowing bars of a portable electric fire. The man hardly looked at me.

“Room 14.”

I walked down the hallway, saw a peeling sign that pointed through a doorway and said, “rooms 11-19”. I went through the doorway, and up a flight of stairs. The door to room 14 was not locked. I walked in, and Corgan was there, looking into a big mirror that hung crooked over the boarded up fireplace. The mirror was cracked in one corner.

“Morning,” he said. “So you’ve come to collect.” It was not a question.

I stood in the room and waited until he had finished looking at his own reflection, playing whatever game he was playing. He stared at me in the mirror. I looked back at him.

“Right,” he said in the end, and he turned and reached his hand into his jacket pocket. “Your papers. This is the real thing, you know, not some tarted-up photocopy with scribbles on it like Danny knocks out from some of his other contacts.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Do you know how you get the real thing, Anna?”

“No,” I said. I did not want to have a conversation with him, did not want to listen to his voice, but he had my future and I did not.

“You buy people. Very expensive business, buying people. Costs a lot of money. Wouldn’t do it for just anyone.”

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You ever been bought, Anna?”

“No.”

He smiled, but not at me, and then he placed a letter on the table in the middle of the room as if he were performing a card trick.

“There you go,” he said again. “Official. Leave to remain for a period of a further six months. In their computers and everything. In return for the good work you did for us with Kav. And as payment in advance for the good work that you will do for us over what we’ll call a probationary period. Pass that, then we’ll talk about something permanent.”

“No,” I said. “No. We had a deal. I did what you wanted, I fixed the man up, the deal was I get my documents, nothing about doing other work, nothing, just the deal, proper papers, a passport, National Insurance, not some piece of paper that runs out in less than a year.”

“And who said you’d get that?”

“Daniel, he told me. He said do this one thing, and you get your papers, that’s all. No more. No ‘deal’.”

“Oh, Danny did, did he?” Corgan smiled at me, and I felt very scared. “You’re a doctor, Anna. Or as good as. Imagine this. You’re working in a hospital. You’re a consultant, top of the tree, you know: bow tie, play golf, flash car, the works. Now imagine you bump into someone in overalls, pushing a trolley around the corridors, maybe a little bit backward, a little slow. Well that’s Daniel. You wouldn’t let him do a heart bypass for you. I don’t let him make deals for me.”

I reached out to take the paper from the table. Corgan slid forward and his big hand came down on mine. It was very warm, and it made my hand feel very small, like a delicate bird. He did not press down hard, but I could feel his strength.

“Here’s how it is. We give you this. And no running to Danny to ask for something else. He’s been told. You get nothing from him. You do what you like, but you stay in this city. If we need you, we call you, you come and do what’s necessary. It won’t be often, but when we need you, you will be there. And if you prove yourself, then we’ll see about getting you what you want.”

“No,” I said, but he carried on as if I had not spoken, and I was not sure that I had.

“If you run, this will be useless, because we will drop the Borders lot, the police, everyone, an anonymous little line telling them that the person using this is an illegal immigrant who obtained it under false pretences. If they get to you before we do, they’ll deport you. But that’s
if
they get to you before we do. Do you know what I’m saying there, Anna?”

I looked up at him, and I saw the faces of the men who had killed my brother like they were kicking a football around. I turned and walked out of the room, down the stairs, through the door, and past the man who still sat reading his newspaper. He did not look up as I went past.

I stood on the pavement outside the hotel, breathing fast. Bastard, I said to myself. Bastard, bastard, bastard. I started to walk one way, turned, walked back the other, stopped. No, I said. No. I will not be used in this way. Once, I can live with, the necessary price, but to work for these men, no, I cannot. I thought of my father. Bastard, I said. I will not work for men like this. I felt tears push at the corner of my eyes, and I rubbed them hard with my hand. I was not going to cry like some little girl. Bastards, all of them. My life had been so good, so happy, and now here I was, standing in this shitty street with its cheap hotels and cracked road and stink of uncollected rubbish wondering if I could let myself be bought like a whore.

Then I laughed, but there was a bitter taste in my mouth, as if I had just bitten my tongue. Hardly the first time, Anna. And that made me think of home. If the Immigration or the police caught up with me, I would be sent back there. No papers, no excuses, I would not stand a chance. You are a grown-up girl now, Anna, and there is no more room for fairy tales. And no-one left to tell them to you.

I turned and walked slowly back into the hotel, past the man who paid me no attention, through the door and back up the stairs. When I walked back in to room fourteen, Corgan was looking at himself in the mirror again. He did not even bother to turn around. He had known I would come back. The papers were lying on the table.

“Remember what I said. You work well for me, you’ll find that you do well out of it.” He turned and walked towards the door. “We’ll be in touch. Don’t worry,” he said, and he nodded at the documents on the table. “You’re nearly one of us now.”

He left, and I stood in the room for a while. Then I picked up my new life from the table and put it into my bag and left the room, taking care not to look in the mirror.