One Hundred Names

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

After spending a further few hours with Bob and another of Constance’s homegrown bottles of red wine, Kitty felt far more relaxed about approaching Pete. With a plan in her head, she was ready to pitch to him how she was now going to focus on the people she had met so far and only the people she had met. That particular part had been Bob’s idea. He had helped her to see that despite the fact she had figured out what the link was, she didn’t need to meet ninety-four more people in order to reach the same conclusion. There simply wasn’t the time to do all that dear Constance had planned for them to do. And she had really done it this time: Constance had come up with something grand and wonderful, so entirely full of her teachings, which made Kitty both excited and emotional. It was almost as if this was Constance’s parting message, her final words from the grave, and what perfect words to leave behind.

Kitty wasn’t so nervous about going to Pete with her pitch, knowing Bob was behind her all the way, and also their relationship had evolved so much over the past few days. She smiled again to herself, that schoolgirl feeling of butterflies in her stomach. She was suddenly aware of how she looked, the flush in her cheeks from the wine, the jeans, the blouse, the flats she’d been wearing all day. Should she have changed? She fixed her hair and quickly rooted in her bag for her lipstick and powder. The door to the office opened and the two cleaners stepped out, having finished their work for the evening.

‘Can you keep that open for me, please?’ Kitty called to them, putting her make-up away. She rushed up the steps and went inside the office. It was silent inside, nobody working late apart from Pete, who as usual was bearing the brunt of responsibility. He didn’t have a girlfriend but she could imagine the frustration of sitting at home waiting for him to return at ten at night. She checked herself in the mirror at reception, fluffed her hair, opened another button on her blouse, and then ran through the story in her head, how she was best going to sell it to him.

She heard furniture moving in Constance’s office and she headed in that direction. She was about to call out when she heard a woman laugh. Then sigh. She looked around, wondering if somebody else was in the office but it was quiet, eerily quiet. Then she got that feeling, that uh-oh feeling, and debated turning back and leaving. But it wasn’t in Kitty’s nature to leave a suspicious situation and so she moved forward, continuing to hear the furniture moving now and then, as if somebody was pushing a chair back and forth. She didn’t bother knocking. She knew instinctively that to do that would be to miss out on what she already knew in her heart. She pushed the door open and was faced with Cheryl, her grey office skirt up around her thighs, which were wrapped around the man pole she was currently gyrating against. Hands were all over her back, moving up and down, to her thighs, to her bottom, squeezing and pinching, looking so unromantic and clumsy that Kitty leaned against the doorframe and ruffled up her nose. They were not the hands of an expert.

The sloppiness of their kisses was audible, along with an occasional sigh, and when she heard the duty editor’s voice, husky with desire, tell the acting deputy editor what exactly he planned to do with her in a rather vicious tone, she felt it was the right time to clear her throat. Cheryl jumped so far off the table Kitty wondered if it could be considered actual human flight.

‘Jesus, Kitty,’ Cheryl said, pulling her skirt down from her waist and pushing it back round her thighs. The buttons on her blouse were open and her fingers trembled as she tried to button them and then deserted the idea and instead pulled them closed and folded her arms. ‘We were just, I was just…’

‘About to screw your boss,’ Kitty said. ‘Yeah, I know. Sorry to interrupt you both. It does sound like Pete had proposed a good plan for you both but I popped by, as invited, to share my breakthrough with you. But maybe it’s not the best time for that.’ Her eyes fell on Pete and she suddenly felt emotional. She knew she had very little reason to feel that way but she genuinely felt betrayed. It had been only a few days’ flirtation but it had meant something to her, particularly after the disastrous weekend she’d had with Richie. Her love life was not going well, she was feeling sorry for herself, victimised, when really she should probably blame herself for her own ridiculous choice in men. But she wasn’t going to, not yet. Now she was going for self-pity just because of the way he was looking at her, the soft sorry expression in his eyes. She knew then that she was right to feel betrayed because she could see that he felt as though he had betrayed her.

Pete had barely budged an inch from where he’d been caught. He stood at the desk, his hair a tousled mess, while he looked at Kitty expectantly, uncertain and nervous as to what she’d do next. He at least had the decency to show shame on his face.

Cheryl sensed something was up too because she glanced from Pete to Kitty in confusion. ‘What’s going on here?’ Her two hands clasped her blouse closed so tightly her knuckles were white.

‘Nothing,’ Kitty said, and her voice mistakenly came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat and spoke loudly. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

And on that note, she left.

Apart from feeling a little humiliated, deflated and victimised, in a professional sense, Kitty was empowered now because she suddenly felt that it didn’t matter what Pete said about her article, she would write it exactly how she wanted, how she felt Constance intended it to be, and she wouldn’t bend or be changed in any way, despite his temper, authority or threats. It was what she needed for her work. It had lacked confidence and now she felt nothing but. The ball was in her court, the story was hers to own. She hurried back to Fairview and at 10 p.m. now knew that going to Archie’s home at the flats was not the cleverest idea she’d ever had. Still, she was on a mission. She ran past the kids crowding the footpath and up the four flights of stairs to Archie’s flat. She banged on the door, moving from foot to foot, wanting to do this all now, not wanting another day to be wasted. She cleared her throat. She heard someone do the same and when she turned to the right she saw the young boy sitting on the basketball.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ he imitated her.

‘Is he in?’

‘Is he in?’ he repeated.

She rolled her eyes. He did the same.

She backed away from the flat and ran back downstairs, through the crowd of kids who jeered after her and she ran around the corner to Nico’s chipper. Monday night and there was a long queue ahead of her. She spotted Archie behind the counter flipping burgers.

‘Archie,’ she called, pushing her way through the queue to get to the counter.

He turned around, giving her that familiar amused smile as if the joke was on her and she entertained him. ‘You’ll have to wait in the queue,’ he said, then turned back to his burgers.

‘I’m not here for food, I just want to talk to you.’

She was trying to keep her voice down but even with the news report playing on the radio it was impossible not to be heard in the chipper. Archie’s colleague gave him a dark look and Archie was clearly annoyed. She was getting him into trouble.

‘Fine,’ she said, backing away from the counter. ‘Chips, please.’

His colleague nodded and got to work, lowering a basket of chips into the hot oil. Her stomach rumbled. ‘And a cheeseburger,’ she added.

Archie slapped another cheeseburger on the hotplate and it sizzled.

Twenty minutes later she had made it to the cash register. Archie left his place by the hotplate to personally serve the food to her.

‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all day,’ she said, the excitement building in her again.

‘It’s a common complaint from women,’ he said, dousing her chips in salt and vinegar.

‘You have to help her,’ Kitty said.

He looked up at her, finally met her eyes.

‘The woman in the café, you have to talk to her. Maybe you’re supposed to help her, maybe this is why it’s happening to you.’

He looked at the others in the queue nervously, hoping they weren’t listening.

‘Five eighty,’ he said.

She took her time searching for her money. ‘Meet me at the café again tomorrow morning. She’ll be there, won’t she?’

He squared his jaw while he thought about it, then gave her a single nod.

‘Okay.’ She left the counter and pulled the door open.

‘Do you think it will stop then?’ he asked.

‘Do you want it to?’

She left him with something to think about while she made her way in the cool night, the vinegar chips making her mouth water. Passing Archie’s flats she saw a boy cycling a familiar bike. She stopped, looking around to make sure he had no one to back him up. The crowd that had been hanging around were now gone, either on to a new destination, inside to their homes or were lingering in the shadows.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Hey,’ she heard a voice imitate her four floors up.

Both her and the boy looked up to the source of the sound and then back at each other again.

‘That’s my bike,’ she said.

‘That’s my bike.’

The boy cycled up the kerb to the footpath and circled her. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen yet he intimidated her.

‘If it’s yours, how come I have it?’

‘Because you stole it.’

‘I didn’t steal anything.’ He continued circling her.

‘I left it locked on the railings on Friday. Somebody took it.’ As soon as the words started coming out of her mouth they were immediately repeated by the freckled face boy on the basketball. He was speaking over her so that she could barely concentrate on what she was saying.

‘Must have been a shit lock.’

‘True.’

‘True.’

He went down the kerb to the road, stood up on the pedals and braked hard, causing the back wheel to lift. He did a few more moves in the middle of the road.

‘Do you want it back?’

‘Well, of course. Yes.’

She heard, ‘Well, of course. Yes.’

He stopped abruptly and hopped off the bike. He stood a few yards ahead of her, holding the bike upright by the handlebars. ‘All you had to do was ask.’

She looked around, thinking there must be a catch, that a crew were somewhere ready to jump out at her.

She slowly walked towards him, her burger and chips in hand, the light an orange glow from the streetlight. She reached the bike and waited for something to happen. Nothing did. She took the bike by the handlebars and the boy walked away.

‘Thanks,’ she said, hearing the surprise in her voice.

‘Thanks,’ she heard the patronising echo back at her.

All she had to do was ask.

Kitty was about to get on her bicycle when she had an overwhelming desire to do something. ‘Hey!’ she called out.

‘Hey!’ she heard the voice repeat.

‘You up there on the basketball,’ she said, and there was no response, just a little head appearing above the wall. ‘Want to play?’ she asked.

He didn’t repeat her. The head disappeared instead and she heard his steps coming down the flights of stairs. On the basketball courts beside the block of flats, Kitty was brought back to her youth as she and the young boy battled it out in the dark, neither of them saying a word.

When she got home she was so busy concentrating on carrying her bike up the stairs that she got a fright when a figure at the top appeared in her eyeline.

‘Jesus.’ She dropped the bike, thinking it was Colin Maguire’s crew ready to pounce on her. She might have preferred that because facing her was Richie, evil tabloid journalist. She would have slapped him across the face right then had his eye not resembled a rotten plum, half-closed and purple, and his lip was busted. She wasn’t sure what to say. All of her preprepared nasty comments went out of her head.

‘What happened to you?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know,’ he said bitterly. ‘Just give me my jacket and I’ll get out of here.’

Her blood pumped. ‘Excuse me?’

‘My jacket. I came to collect it. The fella downstairs says you have it.’

‘Your jacket,’ she repeated. ‘And what about an apology? Hello, Kitty, I’m sorry? I’m sorry I was a lying scumbag rat dickhead?’ She didn’t bother trying to control her rage – it all just came tumbling out.

‘Ah, come on, don’t get like this.’ He held his hands up. ‘You know how this game is, you know how it works. I was sent to get the story from you and I did my job.’

‘You did your job? Sleeping with me was part of your job?’ She had her hands on her hips now and was so close to his face she could see her spit landing on his skin with each word. He had the audacity to look slightly embarrassed about that.

‘Look that, that wasn’t… I had too much to drink. That shouldn’t have happened.’

She couldn’t believe her ears. So many times she had played this conversation in her head, how it was supposed to go, her being extremely angry but incredibly eloquent in her insults and also having life-changing effects on Richie, he hanging his head low, so sorry, so very disgusted by his behaviour that he could barely express it, yet he did, in equally eloquent language. But here she was, in reality, listening to somebody who could barely apologise and, when pushed, the only thing he was sorry for was sleeping with her. The sex had been the only decent – well, half-decent – thing that had occurred that night. Her rage was so great she felt her body shaking. She just didn’t want to cry, anything but show this insensitive little shit how much he’d hurt her. She tried to think of the most hurtful thing she could possibly say to him, she racked her brains, conscious of the time that was passing her by as she stared at his beaten face and she realised he was talking.

‘But that was still no reason to send your bodyguard after me. That was ridiculous, Kitty. You’re lucky I didn’t press charges or tell anyone who was responsible for this because, believe me, you could be in a whole lot more trouble.’

‘Bodyguard? What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t “send” anyone after you. I would have been far more than happy to do that to your face myself so you can stop accusing me and start thinking of the numerous amount of people you have managed to insult doing your dirty little job.’

He actually smiled and when his lip stretched and fresh blood drew from the cut, he immediately stopped. ‘First of all, my dirty little job, as you say, is exactly the same as the one you have, so we’re in the same boat, Kitty Logan. And secondly, bodyguard or boyfriend, I’m not sure which, but did our night out get you into trouble, Kitty?’ he said smugly. ‘The last time I annoyed Steve Jackson was when I accidentally knocked his pint over you in the college bar so you can be sure I know exactly who it is that came after me and why.’

‘Steve? Steve did this to you?’

‘Are you going to pretend you didn’t know about that like you pretended you didn’t know a whole pile of other things on Thirty Minutes? I don’t have much more time to waste on this so, my jacket?’

Kitty wanted to punch his other eye but she was so shocked by his behaviour and the revelation that Steve had hit him that she simply unlocked the door, retrieved his jacket from the couch where she’d thrown it and brought it back to him.

‘Never come here again,’ she said firmly as she handed it back.

He gave her an amused look as he slithered down the stairs. ‘Hold on,’ he paused and came back up the stairs. ‘My USB, where is it?’

‘What USB?’

‘It must have been in my pocket. It’s what I’m here for. My novel is on it.’ He suddenly came over all worried little schoolboy as he stood before her, checking the pockets in a panic.

‘Well, I don’t have your USB so perhaps you should ask the dry-cleaners about it. Maybe they put it through the steamer for you.’

He genuinely looked panicked about that. ‘Seriously, have you got it? It’s the only version I have.’

‘Well, you should have backed it up.’ She folded her arms, enjoying watching him suffer.

‘That was my back-up, my computer crashed… shit! Kitty, have you got it?’ he asked desperately. ‘Seriously, have you got it?’

‘No,’ she said firmly, the anger returning. ‘I do not have your stupid novel, nor do I want it. Please do not come one step near me ever again or I’ll call the police,’ and she slammed the door in his face.

She sat at the kitchen table, head in her hands, taking in deep breaths, slowly in and out, going over their conversation so many times that she wanted to open the door and challenge him once again, properly this time.

Finally she had a moment of clarity. She walked to the couch where she had thrown Richie’s jacket before leaving to stay in Sally’s house, and she searched around the floor, then the couch, then, when she didn’t find anything, she felt around the cushions. Her hand hit something. She pulled out the cushion and laughed as she was faced with Richie’s USB.

‘Payback time,’ she said.