All the Empty Places Read online

  ‘So do you. What’s that?’

  ‘Paco Rabane,’ I said. ‘I read that he believes that the angels sent him down to earth to bring fragrance to the people, which is kind of worrying.’

  She shrugged. ‘Whatever makes him happy.’

  ‘And rich.’ I said. ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘You said something about a drink. But maybe not as much as last time.’

  ‘So you won’t be compromised?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘I’ll never compromise you.’

  ‘I believe you, Nick.’

  Thousands wouldn’t, I thought.

  We walked down to the main road and went into the boozer. Maybe it wasn’t the most romantic place in the world, but there was a small, quiet bar at the back and I wanted to talk to Sheila alone.

  It was as deserted as I’d hoped it would be and I rousted some service whilst she snagged a table. ‘Gin and tonic?’ I said.

  She nodded in reply.

  When I’d got her drink and a beer for myself I joined her. We clinked glasses and I said, ‘Here’s to crime.’

  ‘And passion,’ she replied.

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’

  So we did.

  ‘What’s the story then?’ I asked when I’d lit us a pair of cigarettes.

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Come on, Sheila,’ I said. ‘Don’t mess about. Is this it? A polite drink and then a peck on the cheek, a promise to be friends, and a sigh of relief when we say goodnight, and never see each other again.’

  ‘What’s the alternative?’

  ‘I think you know that.’

  ‘But do you?’

  ‘Meaning?’ I asked.

  ‘Meaning you might be biting off more than you can chew.’

  ‘I’ve done that before.’

  ‘Not with me.’

  ‘And what’s so special about you?’

  ‘Things.’

  ‘Is that right?’ I was getting a bit pissed off with her. It’s usually me that’s enigmatic.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said.

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Many and varied. It could never be plain sailing.’

  ‘Do you think that’s what I expect? Or for that matter want?’

  ‘I don’t know what you want, Nick.’

  ‘You, I think.’

  ‘Just think. That’s not good enough. You’d have to be sure.’

  ‘And if I am?’ I said.

  ‘There could be trouble. I don’t want to lead you up the garden path.’

  ‘I rarely, if ever, get led anywhere I don’t want to go,’ I told her, which is arrant nonsense if ever I’ve heard any.

  ‘It’s your funeral.’ Although it wasn’t as it turned out, but then neither of us could possibly have known that at the time.

  ‘I’ll risk it,’ I said.

  ‘Then fasten your seat belt, it could be a bumpy ride,’ she said, and we touched glasses and that was that.

  5

  We ate chinese, and although I was excited as hell being with Sheila I managed not to spill any yellow bean sauce down my tie.

  We did what people always do at that stage of a relationship. A lot of talking, a bit of footsie, a bit of touching hands and a few long silences. And even though Sheila had suggested putting a bit of a block on the booze intake we still managed to get through a couple of bottles of wine between us with the food, and two double Rémys each with the coffee. I could tell this was going to turn into one of those alcoholic love affairs if it turned into anything at all. But then what did I care?

  We walked back to her place hand in hand, bumping hips all the way, with the almond and cherry blossom falling onto her hair and my shoulders like confetti at a wedding. I hold that memory now in my heart as I sit here waiting for the police to come.

  As soon as we got inside I grabbed her as her flat door slammed behind us and I slid my hand up her skirt. ‘You’re eager,’ she said.

  ‘S’pose so,’ I said between kisses. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘I’m not exactly a damsel in distress crying out to be rescued.’

  ‘And I’m not exactly a knight in shining armour coming to your aid.’

  ‘A bit tarnished is it, the old armour?’

  ‘You could say that.’ And I kissed her again.

  She pulled back. ‘Listen, big boy,’ she said. ‘Let’s take it easy here.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘I thought we were being a little more abstemious.’

  ‘It helps me relax.’

  ‘I can do that.’ I held up my hands. ‘With these magic fingers of mine.’

  She laughed out loud. ‘What am I doing here?’ she said.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Falling in love with an idiot.’

  ‘What did you say?’ I asked.

  ‘I said that you were an idiot.’

  ‘No. Before that.’

  ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘Something about falling in love.’

  ‘You must have misheard.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe it just slipped out.’

  ‘OK. Have it your way. Got any more brandy?’

  ‘I got a bottle in specially.’

  ‘To get me drunk?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘So you could have your evil way with me?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well let’s get to it.’

  I went and chose some music whilst she broke out the brandy. I picked out a CD by Frank Sinatra. Songs for Swingin’ Lovers. Just right for a romantic night in I thought. Better than the soundtrack for Natural Born Killers anyway. She came back with the bottle and two glasses. ‘You old softy,’ she said. ‘You know what to do to get a girl’s knickers off, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s just one of my inborn talents.’

  She sat next to me and poured out two large drinks. We clinked glasses and drank. She picked up her bag and fumbled inside it for her cigarettes. ‘Do I get the feeling you’re prevaricating here?’ I asked as we lit up.

  ‘I’m still not sure this is such a good idea,’ she said as she blew smoke. ‘I told you I’m a little freaked out around men these days.’

  ‘And I think I told you I wouldn’t fuck you up.’

  ‘Not on purpose maybe.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Easy to say.’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

  ‘I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.’

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Finding out. Finding out you’re just like all the rest.’

  ‘There’s no answer to that.’

  ‘An enigma,’ she said.

  ‘Which is what you are.’

  ‘I never promised it would be easy.’

  ‘I know that. You’re just not giving me much of a chance.’

  ‘Poor baby,’ she said.

  ‘It’s just that we’re doing a lot of assuming here.’

  ‘Assuming what?’

  ‘That this has got somewhere to go.’

  ‘Assuming the assumptions,’ she said.

  ‘And given the given,’ I added.

  ‘Of course. Always given the given.’

  ‘I think this is where we reach a fork in the road.’

  ‘That old fork in that old road,’ she mused. ‘It always seems to come down to that old fork in that old road.’

  ‘Doesn’t it just.’

  ‘Every time.’

  ‘So which direction do we take?’ I asked.

  ‘Nick. I honestly don’t know.’

  ‘Listen, if you
want me to go…’

  ‘No I don’t. I didn’t want you to go on Sunday and I don’t want you to go now. Just give me a little time.’

  ‘We’ve got all the time in the world.’

  She was suddenly serious. ‘No, Nick. I don’t think we do.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning nothing. I’m talking bollocks.’ She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Why don’t you kiss me.’

  So I did.

  Later, when we were both naked in her bedroom in the semi dark with just stripes of light coming through the curtains from the street lights outside, I lay with my head on her stomach. It was white and smooth and I slid my tongue into her belly button.

  ‘That tickles,’ she said.

  ‘Tastes good though.’ I said, and looked up at her. Her green eyes shone like a cat’s in the gloom. Her eye make-up had been rubbed off and she looked about twelve years old.

  I told her so and she giggled. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘That’s my secret. Twelve going on twenty nine.’

  ‘And you smell like heaven.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be like this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘So sweet. You’ve got a bad reputation.’

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘Yes. I thought you’d be more like Johnny. He didn’t go in for foreplay a lot. A wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy.’

  ‘And I’m not.’

  ‘No you’re not. For instance you didn’t force yourself on me the other night. Johnny would’ve loved to have an unconscious woman to screw. Then he could’ve just rolled over afterwards and gone to sleep.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘I know. Or at least I know now. But I’ve heard stories about you.’

  ‘Sheila,’ I said, and pulled myself up close to her. ‘What I do outside in the world is one thing. Sometimes it’s got pretty rough I agree. But that’s what I do. In here with you it’s another thing altogether. It’s private, between you and me. And it’s real. It’s what matters. I’m already beginning to think it’s the only thing that does matter.’

  ‘I feel the same way baby,’ she said, and kissed me.

  ‘Good,’ I said into her mouth.

  ‘So make love to me.’

  And I did that too.

  6

  We lay together shoulder to shoulder afterwards, drinking the remains of the brandy we’d brought with us into the bedroom and smoking. ‘You’re good,’ she said.

  ‘I bet you say that to all the boys.’

  She dug me in my ribs with her elbow. Hard. Hard enough to hurt. ‘I do not,’ she said.

  I could tell I’d boobed. ‘Joke,’ I explained.

  ‘I don’t like jokes like that.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  After a moment she rubbed the spot where she’d hit me. ‘See,’ she said. ‘There I go being daft again.’

  ‘No. There I go being thoughtless again.’

  She gave me a hug. ‘No you’re not,’ she said. ‘You’re good.’

  ‘You already said that.’

  ‘I meant in lots of ways, not just in bed.’

  I was a bit more careful with the reply this time. ‘You’re not bad yourself,’ I said. ‘In lots of ways too.’

  ‘A little out of practice between the sheets maybe.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘Listen, I know I have this not undeserved reputation of being a bit of a ladykiller, but believe me, Sheila, for a long time now I’ve been cuddling my pillow at night.’

  ‘Oh, shame.’

  ‘I agree. But I was waiting for Miss Right to come along.’

  ‘My name’s Madden.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Course I do. So maybe we should practise some more then.’

  ‘I think we should practise on a regular basis.’

  ‘Like how often?’

  ‘At least twice a day until we get it right.’

  ‘But I’m a perfectionist,’ she said.

  ‘So it might take a while.’

  ‘So maybe more than twice a day.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Still might take a while.’

  ‘That’s a possibility.’

  ‘A long while.’

  ‘There’s no knowing how long,’ I said.

  ‘Years,’ she suggested.

  ‘Decades,’ I countered. If only I’d known then what I know now, that we had so little time, that it could have been counted in days rather than years.

  ‘Centuries.’ She was laughing by then.

  ‘Sounds rough to me.’

  ‘A living hell,’ she said.

  ‘But we’ll have to persevere.’

  ‘Perseverance is a virtue.’

  ‘And you’re a very virtuous woman.’

  ‘It’s nice of you to point that out.’

  ‘I try to please.’

  ‘You succeed. Or at least you’ve succeeded so far. Just don’t get lazy.’

  ‘Can’t I just lie back and enjoy it?’

  ‘That’s my job. Your job is to work very hard at pleasing me.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll remember that.’

  ‘You’d better.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘I love you, Nick.’ Her words could almost have been written in multi-coloured neon on the darkness of the wall opposite, so brightly did they shine.

  ‘Did I mishear again?’ I asked after a moment. One of those moments that was as fragile as a soap bubble.

  ‘No. Not this time.’

  ‘Heavy duty.’

  ‘Did I say the wrong thing?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘Don’t do this to me, Nick.’

  ‘What?’ I asked innocently.

  ‘You know.’

  I laughed and grabbed her and kissed her hard. ‘Sorry, sweetheart, I just wanted to get you mad.’

  ‘You’re doing it.’

  ‘You’re beautiful when you’re mad.’

  ‘It’s dark, you can’t see.’

  ‘Well you’re beautiful when you’re not mad so I just assumed…’

  ‘Oh Nick.’

  ‘And I love you too.’

  ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘There’s no “of course” about it.’

  ‘Trust me.’

  ‘I do. That’s one of the reasons I said it to you.’

  ‘I love you, Sheila. Scout’s honour.’

  ‘You were never a boy scout.’

  ‘Sure I was. Eighteenth Streatham, I was leader of the Eagle patrol.’

  ‘Did you wear shorts?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘With your bony knees?’

  ‘My knees are OK.’

  She burst into peals of laughter and it made me feel good to hear her. ‘Jesus, but you’re priceless,’ she said.

  7

  We spent every night that week together. We ate, drank, made love, laughed and talked. Man, how we talked. Or at least she did. I mostly listened. Mostly in the dark in bed after lovemaking with sometimes just the spark of the coals from our cigarettes as illumination.

  She told me about her life. Her mother and father who were both dead, and her younger sister who she didn’t see since she’d taken up with Johnny Tufnell. She didn’t explain why, but I could guess. I presumed that little sister had seen through him like the rest of us and told Sheila some home truths on the subject, which I imagine didn’t go down too well. In fact, knowing Sheila as I did by then I was sure they didn’t, even if she knew them to be spot on. And she told me about Johnny himself. How they’d met and how she�
��d fallen for his oily charms and how she’d stayed with him for nearly seven years of ritual beating and humiliation. Why she’d stayed she didn’t know. But as I lay there next to her I got to really hate him for what he’d done to her, but I said little about it. I sensed that if I’d promised retribution she would have loved me less. And I didn’t want that. I wanted her to love me more. Like I loved her more every single second I was with her. And besides, Tufnell was history. She hadn’t heard of him for months. He was gone.

  Gone, but not forgotten.

  On Saturday morning when she didn’t have to work, I got up quietly, left her in bed and went down to the shops to get the makings of breakfast, Sheila’s idea of domestic and cooking arrangements being a little sparse. I bought eggs, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, a can of beans, orange juice, bread and milk. Plus the papers of course. I went back, checked on her still comatose form and started cooking. The smell of grilling bacon must have roused her because she came into the kitchen in her dressing gown, one shapely breast almost exposed, and said, ‘What’s all this?’

  ‘I fancied cooking.’

  ‘I’m not used to being waited on.’

  ‘Get used to it. I could’ve run a kitchen. Maybe I did in another life.’

  She jumped up and kissed me. ‘Nick. I’ve always wanted a little wife. Looks like I’ve got one.’

  ‘Have fun’ I said. ‘Take the piss as much as you like. Just remember you’ll pay later.’

  ‘Is that a threat or a promise?’

  ‘You work it out.’

  ‘Have I told you lately that I love you?’ she asked after she’d tasted the beans and left a little smudge of juice on her chin.

  ‘Good title for a song,’ I replied, catching the sauce with my thumb then licking it off. ‘And no. Not since about three this morning.’

  ‘I was asleep at three this morning.’

  ‘No you weren’t. And nor were the neighbours the way you were screaming out my name.’

  ‘Must’ve been on TV.’

  ‘Sure, honey,’ I said, flipping two eggs on to plates. ‘That’s your story. I’d stick to it if I was you.’

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ she said, as I laid out the rest of the breakfast and poured coffee into two mugs.

  ‘I always told you that. You just realised?’

  ‘Fool.’

  We sat in the kitchen and ate and read the papers I’d bought, then we went into the living room and she said, ‘What are we going to do today?’