The Hollow Places (11 page)

Firdy drew
back the covers. The man was naked beneath. Beautiful, toned abs,
strong thighs; his penis was small and uncircumcised; his pubic
hair was shaved.

Given the
opportunity, he would have swapped his body in half a heartbeat. A
new body, new memories, a new life. He would have swapped with
almost anyone.

The man
grunted and slapped himself in the face.

It was time to
act before he woke up. He pulled out Simon’s mobile phone and
punched in another message to Sarah. He sat on the edge of the bed,
like a gargoyle, waiting for a reply.

Apart from the
smell, it was a pleasant room. It would be nice to sleep here.
Comfortable. The floor-to-ceiling curtains glowed pink and orange
with the rising sun. It was pretty. He had no desire to draw the
curtains, because sunlight didn’t agree with him. Pale skin. No
melatonin. He was thankful that it was autumn. Summer had been
almost unbearable.

He paced the
room and while he continued to wait for a reply to his text a large
screen television showed him another reflection of himself. This
time he saw himself grey and deformed. He stared at himself,
horrified, desperate to be done with this place.

It occurred to
him that he had neglected to search one place. On all fours, he
looked under the bed. No girl clambering out the other side.
Disappointed, he rolled the nearest of a pair of dumbbells toward
him. It bore three metal weights on either end and was too heavy
for him to lift. Of course it was. His fingers screamed as he
unscrewed the clamp. With consistent pressure, the lever turned,
giving up its grip on three of the weights, which he guided off the
bar. He attempted to lift it again and this time he was able to
raise it, arms shaking, above his head.

Without the
Third, the gloves were off, so to speak; he had to get to the truth
quickly and he felt no shame in enjoying the process. In about five
minutes, he'd either have Sarah's new location or a means of
finding her, as well as anything else he wanted to know.

He positioned
himself beside the bed, ready to begin.

Sarah had known that Simon would be infuriated to
find that she had left the house, after his text had told her to
stay put, but she'd had no choice. He'd have to be satisfied with
her new location. He'd always stressed that she should stay in a
public place if she was in danger and a theatre/community centre on
the opening day of a play was a pretty good find. Geraldine had
rushed in already, late because her husband had decided he needed
the car and she had had to rely on Sarah for a lift.

The double
doors were wide open. Sarah decided that she would walk right in.
She imagined that that was what Simon would do.

Had to move from house.
Sorry, but will explain when I c u. Now in community centre in
Walthamstow. All ok. Not sure what the door no. is but on the high
st, nr station I think.

It was a touch
too long for one text and she didn't want to sound like she was
gabbling, so she started to condense it. She was concentrating,
tapping quickly, when the phone rang and she almost dropped it.

She waited,
looking at the number, which had an Essex code but was otherwise
unrecognisable. While it could have been Simon calling - maybe the
battery had run down on his mobile phone - she had expected him to
have reached London by now. Maybe there was a problem. Maybe this
was the reason for the sense of dread she'd been unable to shake
off.

It wasn't long
before the phone stopped ringing.

If it was
Simon, she'd know in about ten seconds.

Two.

Four.

Six.

The same Essex
number appeared on the display. She waited three rings and it rang
off.

It was
him.

It rang a
third time.

On the fourth,
she answered the call.

“We need a
quicker system,” Simon said.

“Thank God
you’re ok. You're still coming to get me, yeah?”

“You think
that I contacted you earlier, Sarah, but whatever was said, it
wasn't me. A man has my phone. He's the one you replied to and he's
looking for you right now.”

Are you
ok?

I'm ok
now.

Where are
you?

Where are
you?

“Fuck.”

“What did you
tell him, Sarah?”

“I gave him my
friend's address, where I was staying. I texted him.”

“Was
staying?”

“Yeah. I
moved. I was about to text you. Or him as it turns out.”

“What happened
to our code, Sarah? The one we worked out. The one you said you
understood.”

“I woke up and
there were four missed calls. I thought I'd slept through the code
… are you there? I'm not at the house now anyway. I'm in a theatre
in Walthamstow. Well, it's a community cen-”

“Stop. Don’t
be specific. I'm back, but I don't know for how long. Do you
understand? You can't tell me exactly where you are yet. Now that I
know you're at a community centre, I need you to move again, in
case I'm not myself by the time I arrive. It's very, very
important.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t go back
to your friend's place for anything.”

“Is she in
danger?”

“Don't go back
there, Sarah. Stay in public. Don’t go anywhere by yourself, not
even to the toilet. And leave the car. It'll make it too easy to
find you.

“Okay, Simon.
I'll leave it here.”

“Listen to me.
Look out for a small guy – skinny, scars, sick-looking. He might
wear sunglasses; he's got a dodgy eye. He might be wearing a hat,
covering himself up.”

“I
understand.”

“If you even
think you see him, walk the other way. Stay public.”

“Simon, I'm
scared.”

“Do as I say.
I’ll call you with more instructions when I reach Walthamstow.
It'll be from a payphone. I'll do the code, but let's make it three
rings. I've got to go.”

“Simon?”

The line had
gone dead and she had gone limp. She felt as she had done when
watching Geraldine walk through the double doors without a look
back; only this was ten times worse. Her loneliness swamped her. It
had been waiting to do so.

She closed her
eyes and put her head down, sobbing so hard that it made her throat
ache. Knowing that nobody would see or hear her for the moment, she
let go, coughing, tears dropping from her cheeks and splatting on
the coat that Simon had made her wear. It was the full works and it
left her breathless.

A few minutes
later, she wiped snot from her nose with the back of her sleeve and
tried to stop shaking. That morning, she had thought that if she
started crying she would do so forever, but it wasn't so bad in the
end; it seemed that she could only make so many tears and now that
she was empty, she could get on with life for a while.

She got out of
the car, pleased to be ditching it, because that was where this
nightmare had started. There was even a smudge on the door where
Simon had tried to yank it open while she was moving.

Head down, she
headed towards the double doors.

“What are you
so upset about, darling?”

The woman was
wearing brown, leather boots, faded-blue, skinny-fit jeans and a
long white coat over a fluffy, pink jumper. Evidently, she had
slipped out of the community centre for a cigarette. She held it
unlit in one beautiful hand. Long fingers, but short nails. With
the other, she pushed neat, rectangular glasses up her ski-slope
nose. Sarah smiled at her and scrubbed her face.

“I'm fine,”
she said and continued towards the entrance.

“Darling, if
you're feeling sensitive, I think you're better off out here. It's
like Piccadilly Circus in there and they want to minimise traffic.
They don't really want me in there.” She pointed to a poster in the
window that was advertising the play. “And I wrote the fucking
thing.”

Sarah walked
over to have a look. The play was called 'Sunrise Sunset'. The
woman's name was Clare Harris.

“I suggested a
couple of changes,” Clare said. “Didn't go down well. They're not
bad people, but they're under a lot of stress. You too by the looks
of it. Are you meant to be working in there?”

“No. I'm with
my friend. Geraldine.”

“Uh-huh. Well,
it doesn't seem to be a spectator sport. Pre-match nerves.”

Sarah
nodded.

“Smoke?” Clare
said.

Sarah accepted
and pulled one from her packet.

“Got
enough?”

“You look like
you need one more than me; that's saying something.”

Sarah sighed
and put it in her mouth. She wasn’t supposed to smoke, but Simon
wasn’t here to see.

She was
alone.

“Sometimes I
think life would be easier without other people,” she mused as she
lit Sarah's cigarette for her and then returned the cheap, plastic
lighter to her coat pocket. “Present' company excepted, of course.
Actors? We could definitely do without those.”

“Aren't you
nervous too?”

“Shitting
myself. Talking to you makes me realise that I need some normality.
I can't stand the tension in there. It's not even nine o'clock and
I'm thinking about getting drunk.”

Sarah laughed,
for the first time in hours.

“You too, eh?”
Clare said.

Sarah nodded
and took a deep drag on her cigarette. It tasted foul and she tried
not to retch, hoping that the nicotine was flowing into her system
quickly and would do some good.

There wasn't
much of a view. Across the road was a large grocery, which had
already been open when she arrived, servicing a slow but steady
stream of customers. On either side of that were uninspiring
enterprises: estate agents, a textile store, a fast food chicken
restaurant.

Can you have
fast food restaurants? she wondered. Isn't that a misnomer?

Up above, a
flock of about a dozen birds broke cover, taking up a triangular
formation, like an arrow, as they passed overhead.

“Have you ever
wished you were something else?” said Clare.

They locked
eyes then and Sarah knew that they could be friends. Although, that
was the way she had felt about Geraldine and she had made a mess of
that.

A bus pulled
up nearby, wheezing like a wounded animal. The engine grumbled.
Sarah's eyes flitted over the windows. Every face she met seemed to
be looking out at her. She glared back, angry, vulnerable. As the
bus moved off, she stuck her tongue out and felt better for it.

Even the
drivers of cars were looking at her as they accelerated by. She
found herself searching their faces for sunglasses or a gammy
eye.

He might be
wearing a hat.

Covering
himself up.

I need to get
off the street, she thought. The street is too public.

Clare flicked
her cigarette up in the air and it bounced off a taxi cab window
before landing in the gutter.

“Shot,” said
Sarah.

Clare shoved
her hands into her pockets. “I'm going down the road for a coffee.
Nice to meet you, babe. Try not to worry too much. And don't go in
there unless you have to.”

Sarah watched
Clare walk away, hips swaying naturally in her long, white
coat.

Ever wanted to
be someone else? Yes. I'd swap places with you in a heartbeat.

“Wait,” Sarah
said.

Clare turned,
looking to see if she had dropped something.

Simon had
warned her to move location. “Do you mind if I come?” she said.
“I’ll buy you a coffee.”

Clare wandered
back towards her.

“You seem like
a nice girl,” she said, “but I've got a lot on my mind. I wouldn't
say no to some company, but if you start crying again, I don't know
if I could bear it.”

“I'm not going
to cry again,” Sarah said, not sure if it was true, not sure that
she wasn't going to cry at that exact moment. Accordingly, Clare
didn't seem convinced and so Sarah thought of Simon and what he
would think of her if he saw her like this. “I'm fine,” she said
and this time she believed it. “I'm buying.”

There were no
more flocks of birds to punctuate the moment. The sky, the air, the
faces in the windows: all empty.

“This way,”
Clare said and Sarah's shoulders sagged with relief.

As they
walked, Sarah looked out for Simon, and also for the man he had
warned her about. She did her best not to appear frightened, but it
was difficult because seeing one of them would mean life and seeing
the other … she didn't want to think about that; not while there
was hope.

“I'm looking for Sarah,” Firdy said. “Who the fuck is
Jerry and why the fuck should I care?”

The man spat
blood. Firdy had hit him too hard. Or too many times. In minutes he
would be no more use.

Jerry. Jerry.
Jerry. That's all the man was saying. Who was …

“Geri,” Firdy
said. “Geri is your wife?”

The man
managed to nod.

“Sarah is with
Geri.”

“I … don't
know … I think … so.”

Firdy clenched
and unclenched his fist. It wouldn't do to hit him again. Not yet
anyway.

“And where is
Geri?”

The man's eyes
rolled back in their sockets and Firdy slapped him, grabbed his
mouth between finger and thumb. “Tell me where she is, and I'll go.
I won't hurt you anymore. I won't kill you.”

The man's
teeth, those he had left, were bloody. “Play,” he spat. He pointed
to the bedside table.

Firdy pulled
open the drawer, expecting to find a dicta-phone, but instead he
pulled out a bible, some scribblings and letters, more Ultimate
Fighter magazines and a flyer.

“Oh,” Firdy
said. “Play. Like the theatre.”

The man
wheezed.

The play
opened this afternoon and then would be performed again tonight.
Geraldine was on the cast list. She'd probably be rehearsing.