Marco put his foot on the projecting wall, reached up with his arm and felt around in the gutter for the torch. After having almost fallen into the shaft that they had started to dig here in the past few days, he didn’t want to take another step without the thing.
‘Hurry up!’ Diana yawned and, feeling the chill, wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I’m dead tired.’
Marco shone the torch into the courtyard. The plank that he had placed across the ditch that morning was still there. ‘Take care.’ He offered his hand to Diana. ‘There’s quite a steep drop here.’
‘By the way…’ Diana balanced on the plank and then leapt across. ‘I’ve found a job for you. A private function, middling size. There are three of us girls doing the waitressing and they also want a bloke. I told them I’d ask you.’
‘How much?’
‘Fifty euros.’
He pushed open the door to the staircase and pointed the light at the well-trodden steps. ‘Where?’
‘Up in Dedinje. Košutnjak.’
‘Some VIP event?’
‘A politician. Celebrating a milestone birthday.’
Marco shot her a glance. ‘Not the baldy, the guy who passed you his number at the do in the Sava Centre the other day?’
Diana shrugged her shoulders. ‘What if it is?’
‘I don’t get it! Be honest – is there something going on between you two?’
‘Look, compared to the rest he really is in a different league. He’s got something… what do you call it? I bet he’ll be president one day.’
They climbed the staircase side by side and Marco put his arm around Diana. ‘The guy’s a pig,’ he said. ‘What do you want with him?’
‘He’s got connections; he knows people, including some directors and film producers. Look, love, it’s just how these things work. If you constantly play by the rules, you shouldn’t be surprised if you miss the bus.’
Marco didn’t reply. When Diana set her sights on something, she could be really ruthless, whereas he hesitated and prevaricated. The story with Nat was a case in point. The man wanted concrete information: where was Goran? What were his plans? And Marco produced… nothing. He did everything to ensure that Nat would lose interest. And yet all he had to do was tell the guy what he wanted to hear! Marco unlocked the apartment and switched on the light.
‘Will you be there on Thursday? Shall I tell them you’re up for it?’ Diana threw her bag on the sofa and picked up the CD lying on the kitchen table.
‘Yep.’ He yanked off his tie, opened the fridge and uncorked a bottle, while Diana pushed every button on the old CD player.
A moment later, a cacophony of voices could be heard, making nasal-sounding announcements like in an airport. Sounds fell like drops into a water glass, interspersed with a chirping sound as if a cricket were in the room. Diana turned up the volume.
A synthesiser kicked in, then a saxophone established the beat. In the distance, a strange rushing sound could be heard, like a comet. Its arrival into the soundscape was greeted with sacred chanting. Diana closed her eyes, stretched out her arms and tipped her head to one side in expectation. Marco took a gulp and put down the bottle.
They danced, abandoning themselves to the rhythm, that framework within which there were no questions, no standing still, only the rolling wave motion, which swelled, broke and then started to build once more. Marco forgot that he was penniless and alone, and that life was complicated and the future unclear. There was only the here and now, this room, and in the middle of it two bodies, Diana’s and his, in harmony with the universe. Marco’s kitchen, on the fourth floor of a building earmarked for demolition in the east of Belgrade, was the best dance floor in the world, and for a few minutes life felt great.
As the music faded and the rhythm morphed into another, they collapsed exhausted onto the sofa. Marco passed Diana the bottle; he watched her drink and then reach for her mobile phone.
Marco flung one leg over the armrest and rested his head against her shoulder, felt her warmth and tried to think about nothing, especially not about Pascal and how he was most likely partying relentlessly in Ibiza. He knew he oughtn’t entertain such thoughts, but he mused bitterly that his family had scraped together eight thousand euros for his brother back then. Eight thousand! To pay the people smugglers who had got him across the Hungarian border and over to Germany. His father, mother, uncles, aunts and cousins – the whole clan had chipped in, in expectation of a good return. Yet in the interim his brother had been returned, put on a plane by the German state, and the money was gone for good. Marco could have told his brother and the whole rotten clan: the idea that a Kosovan Albanian would be granted asylum in Germany or anywhere else was absurd. But he hadn’t been consulted or involved in any way in this decision. His views and his way of life counted for nothing with his family.
A sudden flash of light jolted him from his reverie. Diana looked at her mobile screen, laughed and wordlessly handed him the smartphone. Marco zoomed in on the faces in the selfie she’d taken of them. ‘This politician bloke’, he asked, ‘what’s his name again?’
‘Božović.’
‘Does he have any contacts at the passport office on Sava Street?’
‘Why not ask him yourself ?’
‘Very funny.’ Irritated, Marco put the bottle down. ‘You’re the one who’s sleeping with the guy. You’ve definitely got the better connection there.’
‘I’ll tell you something for free right now.’ Diana waited until he looked her in the eyes. ‘You’re a real shit, you know.’
‘Why? Because I ask you a favour?’
‘I know your Frenchman was fed up with Belgrade, and that you’re stuck without a passport in this shit country where nothing works. But it’s your own fault.’
‘Pray enlighten me.’ Marco leant back and took a photo of her as she continued.
‘What I’m saying is, you’ve got good looks and brains. Why don’t you do something with them? Like I do!’
He inspected the screen with a grin. ‘Hmm, I’m not so sure about that. Just look at your mouth in this picture…’
‘Show me!’
There was a scuffle, they laughed, and he took another picture, when suddenly the James Bond theme broke in. Diana’s retro ringtone. Marco held the phone at arm’s length. Caller not recognised.
‘Don’t take it!’ Diana tried to take the phone away from him, but he was stronger. The movement of his thumb was almost accidental, and the connection was made.
‘Hello?’ asked a male voice at the other end. ‘Diana?’
Marco pressed the phone against his ear, while Diana punched him, and replied, ‘Diana can’t talk at the moment.’
‘Marco?’ asked the man. ‘Is that you?’
‘Goran!’ Marco took his feet off the sofa in surprise.
‘Are you partying, or what?’
‘Where are you?’ Marco got up and turned down the music.
‘Could I speak to Diana, please?’
‘Diana?’ He looked at her. She shook her head and waved her hands defensively. ‘I’m sorry,’ Marco said.
‘Don’t mess with me. I know she’s sitting right next to you.’
‘If you like,’ Marco offered, ‘I can pass a message on to her.’
‘Doesn’t she ever listen to the messages on her voicemail? She should get a grip on herself. But what do I care? Just tell her that I’ll drop by tomorrow at six. I just want to talk to her and, if it’s all the same to her, leave something with her.’
‘And what’s that, might I ask?’
‘None of your fucking business! Have you understood what I’ve told you?’
‘Calm down, man. Tomorrow, eighteen hundred hours. I’ll tell her.’
‘Do you know if someone came to see her and asked her about me?’
‘No idea. Not that I know of.’
‘And tell her she shouldn’t upset herself about this business. She’ll get her money. And another thing…’ There was a pause at the other end.
‘Hello?’ Marco asked.
‘Tell her I love her.’
Marco looked at the display. The connection was cut. He put down the phone. ‘Idiot.’
‘What did he want?’ Diana asked.
‘To meet you.’ Marco blew a strand of his hair from his forehead. Tomorrow Goran would come to Diana’s flat. At last, some concrete information. Marco rubbed his eyes. Maybe this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Don’t rush things, now. If he were going to pass that information on to Nat, he had to somehow keep Diana out of it.
With her hands in her trouser pockets, she stood in front of him and asked, ‘When does Goran want to meet me?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Marco answered mechanically.
‘What time?’
‘Six o’clock.’
She turned away in disdain. ‘How nice for him. Did he at least apologise?’
‘He said you shouldn’t upset yourself.’
‘God, that guy bores the arse off me.’ She flopped onto the bed. ‘I can’t tell you how boring he is!’
Marco poured the rest of the beer into the sink. ‘He wants to store something at your flat.’
‘What’s that? Boxes? His dowry? Every day he clogs up my voicemail with this rubbish. But I’ve got my own life to lead, you know? He needs to just leave me alone.’
‘Right.’ Marco threw another pillow onto the bed. ‘You don’t owe him anything.’
She lay there, motionless. Was she crying? ‘Hey,’ he whispered, squatting down beside her and gently stroking her hair from her face. ‘Is everything OK?’
She fumbled around for a handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘Tell me,’ she took a deep breath. ‘Do you remember that guy from the Zeppelin?’
Alarmed, Marco stared vacantly into space. ‘Guy from the Zeppelin?’ he repeated. ‘What guy?’
‘With the dress handkerchief and the big-shot gloves. Don’t you remember? We kept laughing about him all evening. What was his name again?’
‘Nat, wasn’t it?’
‘Mr Natty – exactly! He gave you his telephone number, didn’t he? Have you still got it?’
Marco sighed audibly. ‘I’d have to look for it. Why?’
‘Did he ever get back to you?’
‘What gave you that idea?’
‘I mean, he asked after Goran, so maybe he’s got something to do with Goran acting so strange now. You know, suddenly disappearing, then reappearing again out of the blue and asking to store something in my flat. I find the whole thing really weird.’
‘Then there was that woman asking after Goran too, that criminologist.’
‘That old bag didn’t have a clue,’ Diana sighed. ‘You know what?’
He put his arm around her.
‘I’ll go there tomorrow and meet Goran. I’m not going to hide any more. I’ll listen to what he has to say, be totally noncommittal and then we’ll see. What do you reckon?’
‘Good idea…’ Marco hesitated. ‘On the other hand, though, if you feel uncomfortable meeting him – maybe there’s another solution.’