Dark Winter

17

When I got back to the car and hit the cell keys the meter was just about to run out. I’d come out expecting to get a fond farewell from Sundance and Trainers, but they weren’t anywhere to be seen. With their job done for the day they’d probably slunk back into their holes.

How the fuck was I going to get out of this? I didn’t know yet. What I did know was that I’d better get my act together and prepare for the job, just in case I really did land up belonging to the Yes Man. It was an unsparing world. George was right – but, then, he usually was.

I got a crackly ‘Hello?’ Carmen must have been stuck down a well for him to have permission to answer. ‘Jimmy, it’s me, Nick. Listen, I—’

‘Here, best I pass you over to Carmen.’ The sound of the TV in their front room filled the earpiece and world order was restored.

‘Hello?’ It was her martyred voice.

‘Sorry, Carmen, I don’t know if I’ll get back tonight.’

‘Oh, really? What does that mean?’

‘You’ll need to take her to Chelsea. It’s important she doesn’t miss any of the sessions. Look, I’m trying to get back and take her myself. I want to see her.’ I could hear the sharp intake of breath as she prepared to give me a speech, but got in before she had the chance. ‘Listen, Carmen, let’s cut the bullshit, I haven’t enough time. It’s only a few more years before she’s old enough to look after herself, and then we’ll never have to talk to each other again. The only reason I put up with your constant moaning is Kelly. So just talk normally, will you? Are you going to take her or not?’

She huffed and puffed. ‘But we don’t know how to get to this psychiatrist. Jimmy won’t be able to manage the Underground.’ She just couldn’t stop herself.

I tried to keep my voice level. ‘Carmen, don’t take the Underground. I’ll tell you what, book a taxi tonight – a pile of those minicab cards comes through your door every day. I’ll pay. There, it’s all done.’

‘But what time does she have to be there? We can’t just go on a wink and a nod. Taxis need a time to come and collect, you know. We just—’

‘I’ll give you all that stuff in a minute. Is Kelly there? Can I speak to her?’

Her tone changed again. She was rather pleased with herself. ‘She’s very angry with you at the moment, I can tell you. We can’t get a word out of her. Whatever you said to her certainly made her very upset. But never mind, we’ll get by.’

‘Carmen, why can’t you just cut the crap? Are you going to take her tomorrow or not?’

‘I’ll take her.’ She had to force it out.

‘That’s good. Thank you very much. Oh, and I nearly forgot. I’m expecting a package in the post. It’ll be arriving tomorrow or Monday. Can you just hold it for me until I can pick it up?’

‘Well, I suppose so.’ She made it sound as if the package was going to be the size of a small car.

‘Thanks. Now, can I speak to Kelly?’

There was mumbling in the background as she got up and took the telephone out of the living room. I wished Kelly had a mobile, but hers wasn’t tri-band so she’d left it in the States. The TV chatter died and there was scuffling before I could hear breathing. ‘Kelly?’

‘I know, you can’t make it. You’re working. Whatever.’

‘It’s not like that. I’m stuck. I’m trying to get back tonight but if not they’ll take you to Dr Hughes’s tomorrow and I’ll try to meet you there. I’m sorry, I’m trying to get out of it, I really am.’

She’d heard it all before. ‘Sure, whatever. Do you want to talk to Granny now?’

‘No. I just want to talk to you.’

‘What’s to talk about? Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, then, eh?’

The phone went dead. I understood why, but it still pissed me off. I redialled and Carmen answered. I gave her the contact details and timings for Hughes, then hung up.

I drove out of the parking space and headed for a multi-storey, eyes skinned for the Volvo.

One carrier-bag full of washing kit and a black nylon bumbag from Superdrug later, I went into a corner shop-cum-post office and bought a pen and an A4 Jiffy-bag. In went my Nick Stone passport, wallet with Citibank credit cards, and all my other Nick Stone bits and pieces including the key to Carmen’s front door. I hated it when the Firm took away my real documents: it was like losing my personality, my life; I felt exposed, undefended. This way, at least I knew where they were, and if all went well and I got binned I’d be picking them up soon anyway. I couldn’t help a little smile as I addressed the bag to myself. Carmen had decided to call the bungalow the Sycamores, and got Jimmy to put up the sign – but you still had to write No. 68 or your mail never got there.