فصل 15

chapter 15

It feels a little like weve been invaded. The CEO stands back, his shirt-sleeved arms across his chest, and laughs nervously. Does … everyone feel like that?

Oh, yes. she says. It is not an unusual response.

Around her, fifteen or so teenagers move swiftly through the vast foyer of Conaghy Securities. Two – Edun and Cam – are vaulting over the rails that run alongside the glass wall, backwards and forwards, their broad hands expertly propelling their weight, their glowing white trainers squeaking as they lift from the limestone floor. A handful of others have already shot through into the central atrium, teetering and shrieking with laughter on the edge of the perfectly aligned walkways, pointing down as they see the huge koi carp that swim placidly among the angular pools.

Are they always … this noisy? the CEO asks.

Abiola, the youth worker, stands beside Liv. Yup. We usually give them ten minutes just to adapt to the space. Then you find they settle surprisingly quickly.

And … nothing ever gets damaged?

Not once. Liv watches Cam run lightly along a raised wooden rail, jumping on to his toes at the end of it. Of the list of previous companies I gave you, weve not had so much as a dislodged carpet tile. She sees his disbelieving expression. You have to remember that the average British child lives in a home with floor space less than seventy-six square metres. She nods. And these will probably have grown up in far less than that. Its inevitable that when theyre let loose in a new place they get itchy feet for a bit. But you watch. The space will work around them.

Once a month the David Halston Foundation, part of Solberg Halston Architects, organizes a trip for underprivileged kids to visit a building of special architectural interest. David had believed that young people should not just be taught about their built environment but let loose in it, to utilize the space in their own way, to understand what it did. He had wanted them to enjoy it. She still remembers the first time she had watched him talking it through with a group of Bengali kids from Whitechapel. What does this doorway say when you walk in? he had asked, pointing up at the huge frame.

Money, says one, and they had all laughed.

That, David had said, smiling, is exactly what its supposed to say. This is a stockbroking firm. This doorway, with its huge marble pillars and its gold lettering, is saying to you, Give us your money. And we will make you MORE MONEY. It says, in the most blatant way possible, We Know About Money.

Thats why, Nikhil, your doorway is three foot tall, man. One of the boys had shoved another and both had fallen about laughing.

But it worked. She had seen even then that it worked. They’ve got to see that there is an alternative to the little boxes they live in, he said. Theyve got to understand that their environment affects how they feel.

Since he had died, she had, with Svens blessing, taken over Davids role, meeting company directors, persuading them of the benefits of the scheme and to let them in. It had helped get her through the early months, when she had felt that there was little point in her existence. Now it was the one thing she did each month that she actively looked forward to.

Miss? Can we touch the fish?

No. No touching, Im afraid. Have we got everyone? She waited as Abiola did a quick head count.

Okay. Well start here. I just want you all to stand still for ten seconds and tell me how this space makes you feel.

Peaceful, said one, after the laughter stopped.

Why?

Dunno. Its the water. And the sound of that waterfall thing. Its peaceful.

What else makes you feel peaceful?

The sky. Its got no roof, innit?

Thats right. Why do you think this bit has no roof?

They run out of money. More laughter.

And when you get outside, whats the first thing you do? No, Dean, I know what youre about to say. And not that.

Take a deep breath. Breathe.

Except our air is full of shit. This air they probably pump through a filter and stuff.

Its open. They cant filter this.

I do breathe, though. Like a big breath. I hate being shut in small places. My rooms got no windows and I have to sleep with the door open or I feel like Im in a coffin.

My brothers rooms got no windows so my mum got him this poster with a window on it.

They begin comparing bedrooms. She likes them, these kids, and she fears for them, the casual deprivations they toss into her path, the way they reveal that 99 per cent of their lives are spent within a square mile or two, locked in by physical constraints or the genuine fear of rival gangs and illegal trespass.

Its a small thing, this charity. A chance to make her feel as if Davids life was not wasted that his ideas continue. Sometimes a really bright kid emerges – one who immediately locks on to Davids ideas – and she tries to help them in some way, to talk to their teachers or organize scholarships. A couple of times she has even met their parents. One of Davids early protégés is now doing an architecture degree, his fees paid by the foundation.

But for most of them its just a brief window on to a different world, an hour or two in which to practise their parkour skills on someone elses stairs and rails and marble foyers, a chance to see inside Mammon, albeit under the bemused eye of the rich people she has persuaded to let them in.

There was a study done a few years back, which showed that if you reduce the amount of space per child from twenty-five to fifteen square feet, they become more aggressive and less inclined to interact with each other. What do you think of that?

Cam is swinging around an end rail. I have to share a bedroom with my brother and I want to batter him half the time. Hes always putting his stuff over my side.

So what places make you feel good? Does this place make you feel good?

It makes me feel like I got no worries.

I like the plants. Them with the big leaves.

Oh, man. Id just sit here and stare at the fish. This place is restful.

There is a murmur of agreement.

And then Id catch one and make my mum cook some chips for it, innit?

They all laugh. Liv looks at Abiola and, despite herself, she starts to laugh too.

Did it go well? Sven rises from his desk to meet her. She kisses his cheek, puts down her bag and sits in the white leather Eames chair opposite. It is routine now that she will come to Solberg Halston Associates after each outing, to drink coffee and report back. She is always more tired than she expects.

Great. Once Mr Conaghy realized they werent about to dive into his atrium pools, he was quite inspired, I think. He stuck around to speak to them. I think I might even be able to persuade him to provide some sponsorship.

Good. Thats good news. Sit down, and Ill get some coffee. How are you? Hows your dangerously ill relative?

She looks blankly at him.

Your aunt?

The blush creeps above her collar. Oh. Oh, yes, not too bad, thanks. Better.

Sven hands her a coffee and his eyes rest on hers just a moment too long. His chair squeaks softly as he sits down. Youll have to forgive Kristen. She just gets carried away. I did tell her I thought that man was an idiot.

Oh. She winces. Was it that transparent?

Not to Kristen. She doesnt know that Ebola isnt generally fixed by surgery. And then, as Liv groans, he smiles. Dont give it a thought. Roger Folds is an ass. And, if nothing else, it was just nice to see you out and about again. He takes off his glasses. Really. You should do it more often.

Well, um, I have a bit lately.

She blushes, thinking of her night with Paul McCafferty. She has found herself returning to it relentlessly over the days since, worrying at the nights events, like a tongue at a loose tooth. What had he thought of her? And then, the mercurial shiver, the imprint of that kiss. She is cold with embarrassment, yet burns gently, the residue of it on her lips. She feels as if some long-distant part of her has been sparked back to life.

So, hows Goldstein?

Not far off now. We had some problems with the new building regs, but were nearly there. The Goldsteins are happy, anyway.

Do you have any pictures?

The Goldstein Building had been Davids dream commission a vast organic glass structure stretching halfway around a square on the edge of the City. He had been working on it for two years of their marriage, persuading the wealthy Goldstein brothers to share his bold vision, to create something far from the angular concrete castles around them, and he had still been working on it when he died. Sven had taken over the blueprint and overseen it through the planning stages, and was now managing its actual construction. It had been a problematic build, the materials delayed in their shipping from China, the wrong glass, the foundations proving inadequate in Londons clay. But now, finally, it is rising exactly as planned, each glass panel shining like the scales of some giant serpent.

Sven rifles through some documents on his desk, picks out a photograph and hands it over. She gazes at the vast structure, surrounded by blue hoardings, but somehow, indefinably, Davids work. Its going to be glorious. She cant help but smile.

I wanted to tell you – theyve agreed to put a little plaque in the foyer in his memory.

Really? Her throat constricts.

Yes. Jerry Goldstein told me last week – they thought it would be nice to commemorate David in some way. They were very fond of him.

She lets this thought settle. Thats … thats great.

I thought so. Youll be coming to the opening?

Id love to.

Good. And hows the other stuff?

She sips her coffee. She always feels faintly self-conscious talking about her life to Sven. It is as if the lack of dimensions in it cannot help but disappoint. Well, I seem to have acquired a housemate. Which is … interesting. Im still running. Work is a bit quiet.

How bad is it?

She tries to smile. Honestly? Id probably be earning more in a Bangladeshi sweatshop.

Sven looks down at his hands. You … havent thought it might be time to start doing something else?

Im not really equipped for anything else. She has long known that it had not been the wisest move to give up work and follow David around during their marriage. As her friends built careers, put in twelve-hour days at the office, she had simply travelled with him, to Paris, Sydney, Barcelona. He hadnt needed her to work. It seemed stupid, being away from him all the time. And afterwards she hadnt been good for much at all. Not for a long time.

I had to take out a mortgage on the house last year. And now I cant keep up with the payments. She blurts out this last bit, like a sinner at confession.

But Sven looks unsurprised. You know … if you ever wanted to sell it, I could easily find you a buyer.

Sell?

Its a big house to be rattling around in. And … I dont know. Youre so isolated up there, Liv. It was a marvellous thing for David to cut his teeth on, and a lovely retreat for the two of you, but dont you think you should be in the thick of things again? Somewhere a bit livelier? A nice flat in the middle of Notting Hill or Clerkenwell, maybe?

I cant sell Davids house.

Why not?

Because it would just be wrong.

He doesnt say the obvious. He doesnt have to its there in the way he leans back in his chair, closes his mouth over his words.

Well, he says, leaning forwards over his desk. Im just putting the thought out there.

How are the kids? she says abruptly. And Sven, with the tact of someone who has known her for years, changes the subject.

It is halfway through the monthly meeting when Paul notices that Miriam, his and Janeys shared secretary, is perched not on a chair but on two large boxes of files. She sits awkwardly, her legs angled in an attempt to keep her skirt at a modest length, her back propped against more boxes.

At some point in the mid-nineties, the recovery of stolen artwork had become big business. Nobody at the Trace and Return Partnership seemed to have anticipated this, so, fifteen years on, meetings are held in Janeys increasingly cramped office, elbows brushing against the teetering piles of folders, or boxes of faxes and photocopies.

Miriam? Paul stands, offers her his chair, but she refuses.

Really, she says. Im fine. She keeps nodding, as if to confirm this to herself.

Youre falling into Unresolved Disputes 1996, he says. He wants to add And I can see halfway up your skirt.

Miriams fine, Paul. Really. Janey adjusts her spectacles on her nose.

So thats where we are, as far as the staffing and office issues stand. Where are we all at?

Sean, the lawyer, begins to run through his upcoming schedule an approach to the Spanish government to return a looted Velázquez to a private collector, two outstanding sculpture recoveries, a possible legal change to restitution claims. Paul leans back in his chair and rests his ballpoint against his pad.

And shes there again, smiling ruefully. Her burst of unexpected laughter. The sadness in tiny lines around her eyes. I was great at drunk sex.

He doesnt want to admit to himself how disappointed he had been when he emerged from the bathroom that morning to find shed simply let herself out. His sons duvet had been straightened, and there was just an absence where the girl had been. No scribbled message. No phone number. Nothing.

Is she a regular? he had asked Greg, casually, on the phone that evening.

Nope. Not seen her before. Sorry to land you with her like that, bro.

No problem, he had said. He hadnt bothered to tell Greg to watch out in case she came back. Something told him she wouldnt.

Paul?

He drags his thoughts back to the A4 pad in front of him. Um … Well, as you know, we got the Nowicki painting returned. Thats headed for auction. Which is obviously – um – rewarding. He ignores Janeys warning glance. And coming up this month Ive got a meeting about the statuette collection from Bonhams, a trace on a Lowry thats been stolen from a stately home in Ayrshire and … He leafs through his papers. This French work that was looted in the First World War and turned up in some architects house in London. Im guessing, given the value, they wont give it up without a bit of a fight. But it looks fairly clear cut, if we can establish it really was stolen initially. Sean, you might want to dig out any legal precedent on First World War stuff, just in case.

Sean scribbles a note.

Apart from that, Ive just got the other cases from last month that Im carrying forward, and Im talking to some insurers about whether we want to get involved with a new fine art register.

Another? says Janey.

Its the scaling down of the Art and Antiques Squad, Paul said. The insurers are getting nervous.

Might be good news for us, though. Where are we on the Stubbs?

He clicks the end of his pen. Deadlock.

Sean?

Its a tricky one. Ive been looking up precedent, but it may well go to trial.

Janey nods, then glances up as Pauls mobile phone rings. Sorry, he says, and wrenches it from his pocket. He stares at the name. Actually, if youll excuse me, I think I should take this. Sherrie. Hi.

He feels Janeys eyes burning into his back as he steps carefully over his colleagues legs and into his office. He closes the door behind him. You did? … Her name? Liv. Nope, thats all I got … There is? Can you describe it? … Yup – that sounds like her. Mid-brown hair, maybe blonde, shoulder length. Wearing it in a ponytail? … Phone, wallet – dont know what else. No address? … No, I dont. Sure – Sherrie, do me a favour? Can I pick it up?

He stares out of the window.

Yeah. Yeah, I do. I just realized – I think Ive worked out how to get it back to her.

Hello?

Is that Liv?

No.

He pauses. Um … is she there?

Are you a bailiff?

No.

Well, shes not here.

Do you know when shell be back?

Are you sure youre not a bailiff?

I am definitely not a bailiff. I have her handbag.

Are you a bag thief? Because if youre trying to blackmail her, youre wasting your time.

I am not a bag thief. Or a bailiff. I am a man who has found her bag and is trying to get it back to her. He pulls at his collar.

There is a long pause.

How did you get this number?

Its on my phone. She borrowed it when she tried to ring home.

You were with her?

He feels a little germ of pleasure. He hesitates, tries not to sound too keen. Why? Did she mention me?

No. The sound of a kettle boiling. I was just being nosy. Look – shes just on her annual trip out of the house. If you drop by around four-ish she should be back by then. If not Ill take it for her.

And you are?

A long, suspicious pause.

Im the woman who takes in stolen handbags for Liv.

Right. So whats the address?

You dont know? Theres another silence. Hmm. I tell you what, come to the corner of Audley Street and Packers Lane, and someone will meet you down there –

Im not a bag thief.

So you keep saying. Ring when youre there. He can hear her thinking. If nobody answers, just hand it to the woman in the cardboard boxes by the back door. Her names Fran. And if we do decide to meet you, no funny business. We have a gun.

Before he can say anything else, she has rung off. He sits at his desk, staring at his phone.

Janey walks into his office without knocking. It has started to annoy him, the way she does this. It makes him think shes trying to catch him in the middle of something. The Lefèvre painting. Have we actually sent off the opening letter yet?

No. Im still doing checks on whether it has been exhibited.

Did we get the current owners address?

The magazine didnt keep a record of it. But its fine – Ill send it via his workplace. If hes an architect he shouldnt be hard to find. The company will probably be in his name.

Good. I just got a message saying the claimants are coming to London in a few weeks and want a meeting. It would be great if we could get an initial response before then. Can you throw some dates at me?

Will do.

He stares at his computer screen very hard, even though only the screensaver is in front of him, until Janey takes the hint and leaves.

Mo is at home. She is a strangely unobtrusive presence, even given the startling inky black of her hair and clothing. Occasionally Liv half wakes at six and hears her padding around, preparing to leave for her morning shift at the care home. She finds the presence of another person in the house oddly comforting.

Mo cooks every day, or brings back food from the restaurant, leaving foil-covered dishes in the fridge and scrawled instructions on the kitchen table. Heat up for 40 mins at 180. That would mean SWITCHING ON THE OVEN and FINISH THIS AS BY TOMORROW IT WILL CLIMB OUT OF ITS CONTAINER AND KILL US. The house no longer smells of cigarette smoke. Liv suspects Mo sneaks the odd one out on the deck, but she doesnt ask.

They have settled into a routine of sorts. Liv rises as before, heading out on to the concrete walkways, her feet pounding, her head filled with noise. She has stopped buying coffee, so she makes tea for Fran, eats her toast and sits in front of her desk trying not to worry about her lack of work. But now she finds she half looks forward to the sound of the key in the lock at three oclock, Mos arrival home. Mo has not offered to pay rent – and she is not sure that either of them wants to feel this is a formal arrangement – but the day after she heard about Livs bag, a pile of crumpled cash had appeared on the kitchen table. Emergency council tax, the note with it read. Dont start being all weird about it.

Liv didnt get even remotely weird about it. She didnt have a choice.

They are drinking tea and reading a London free-sheet when the phone rings. Mo looks up, like a gundog scenting the air, checks the clock and says, Oh. I know who this is. Liv turns back to the newspaper. Its the man with your handbag.

Livs mug stalls in mid-air. What?

I forgot to tell you. He rang up earlier. I told him to wait on the corner and wed come down.

What kind of man?

Dunno. I just checked that he wasnt a bailiff.

Oh, God. He definitely has it? Do you think hell want a reward? She casts around in her pockets. She has four pounds in coins and some coppers, which she holds out in front of her.

It doesnt seem like a lot, does it?

Short of sexual favours, its pretty much all you have.

Four pounds it is.

They head into the lift, Liv clutching the money. Mo is smirking.

What?

I was just thinking. It would be funny if we stole his bag. You know, mugged him. Girl muggers. She sniggers. I once stole some chalk from a post office. I have form.

Liv is scandalized.

What? Mos face is sombre. I was seven.

They stand in silence as the lift reaches the bottom. As the doors open, Mo says, We could make a clean getaway. He doesnt actually know your address.

Mo – Liv begins, but as she steps out of the main doorway she sees the man on the corner, the colour of his hair, the way he runs his hand over the top of his head, and whips round, her cheeks burning.

What? Where are you going?

I cant go out there.

Why? I can see your bag. He looks okay. I dont think hes a mugger. Hes wearing shoes. No mugger wears shoes.

Will you get it for me? Really – I cant talk to him.

Why? Mo scrutinizes her. Why have you gone so pink?

Look, I stayed at his house. And its just embarrassing.

Oh, my God. You did the nasty with that man.

No, I did not.

You did. Or you wanted to. YOU WANTED TO. You are so busted.

Mo – can you just get my bag for me, please? Just tell him Im not in. Please? Before Mo can say anything else, she is back in the lift and jabbing at the button to take her to the top floor, her thoughts spinning. When she reaches the Glass House she rests her forehead against the door and listens to her heart beating in her ears.

I am thirty years old, she says to herself.

Behind her the lift door opens.

Oh, God, thanks, Mo, I –

Paul McCafferty is in front of her.

Wheres Mo? she says, stupidly.

Is that your flatmate? Shes … interesting.

She cannot speak. Her tongue has swollen to fill her mouth. Her hand reaches up to her hair – shes conscious that she hasnt washed it.

Anyway, he says. Hey.

Hello.

He holds out a hand. Your bag. It is your bag, right?

I cant believe you found it.

Im good at finding stuff. Its my job.

Oh. Yes. The ex-cop thing. Well, thanks. Really.

It was in a bin, if youre interested. With two others. Outside University College Library. The caretaker found them and handed them all in. Im afraid your cards and your phone are gone … The good news is that the cash was still there.

What?

Yeah. Amazing. Two hundred pounds. I checked it.

Relief floods her, like a warm bath. Really? They left the cash? I dont understand.

Nor me. I can only think it fell out of your purse as they opened it.

She takes her bag and rummages through it. Two hundred pounds is floating around in the bottom, along with her hairbrush, the paperback shed been reading that morning and a stray lipstick.

Never heard of that happening before. Still, itll help, eh? One less thing to worry about.

He is smiling. Not a sympathetic oh-you-poor-drunken-woman-who-made-a-pass-at-me kind of smile, but the smile of someone who is just really pleased about something.

She finds she is smiling back. This is just … amazing.

So do I get my four-pound reward? She blinks at him. Mo told me. Joke. Really. He laughs. But … He studies his feet for a moment. Liv – would you like to go out some time? When she doesnt respond immediately, he adds, It doesnt have to be a big deal. We could not get drunk. And not go to a gay bar. We could even just walk around holding our own door-keys and not letting our bags get stolen.

Okay, she says slowly, and finds she is smiling again. Id like that.

Paul McCafferty whistles to himself the whole way down in the noisy, juddering lift. When he gets to the bottom he takes the cashpoint receipt from his pocket, crumples it into a little ball, and throws it into the nearest bin.