Saint-Germain
I CALLED SAMI THE NEXT AFTERNOON, but he didn’t call back. The shelter at Montparnasse had gone – a greasy stain on the pavement the only trace left. There’d been another crackdown, and the tents around the city had vanished. The Seine, Gare du Nord – all swept clear. The newspapers were full of stories about the ‘Immigrant Invasion’, and images of shanty towns and dirty, half-starved children filled the pages as they bulldozed the camps.
In our own apartment building it went on too. The residents vowed to douse any shelters that sprouted up on the pavement below with buckets of water from their balconies, like castle defenders in a medieval siege.
As I wandered the streets of Montparnasse looking for Sami and the girl, I tried to imagine where they might have gone, and whether there were even places that would take them. The girl and the baby – surely there would be some place for them, and so perhaps they had gone together to a refuge of some kind. But then I thought about the way Sami spoke of the authorities and I knew there was no way he’d be anywhere official. Each time I passed the greasy mark on the pavement it seemed to expand, until it took on an air of ugly familiarity, like the outline of a body at a crime scene. I wanted to find Sami because I needed the drugs, but the longer I looked for him the more anxious I became and the gloomier I felt. I started noticing things on the streets I otherwise wouldn’t – drunks, addicts and other homeless types that drifted through the streets like ghosts. They had always been there, but I had never really seen them.
I’d almost given up when I saw the girl outside the metro a week later. Instead of the baby, she was with a small boy about four or five years old.
She looked frightened when I ran up to her and shrank back, pulling the boy with her. When I asked after Sami, she demanded money first, while the boy stepped forward and tugged at my pockets. I tried to grab his hands, but they slipped from my grasp, and then he lunged at me, laughing through gapped teeth like it was a game. I gave him a coin and wrote a message for Sami.
I passed it to the girl and she beamed at me, obviously thinking it was money. When she saw what it was, her face fell and I felt ashamed of myself, and the shame made me angry.
It was terrible they were on the street like this, dependent on the whim of strangers, on individual pity. I opened my wallet and gave her the note Tomas had given me the previous week, which I hadn’t had the stomach to spend. It eased the guilt a little, or perhaps just made me feel a bit less helpless than her.
As I walked away, an old man shook his finger at me. ‘These people are pests. If you give them money, you just encourage them to live on the streets like rats.’
*
At about midnight that evening, I heard my father come in. He opened my door a crack, and I pretended to be asleep. Afterwards, as I lay there, I had an idea – the first of many that seemed good at the time.
I waited until all was quiet then went into his study. He had a new laptop and a different password was scribbled on a Post-it note next to the keyboard.
I logged into the bank account he used most often and saw the withdrawals I’d made the week before camouflaged among similar payments to restaurants and bars. Scrolling through the list of payees, I found my account and transferred two hundred euros. I was just about to log out when I got greedy and went into another, dormant account for a second transfer of the same amount.
My palms sweated as they moved across the keyboard and once I’d done it, I felt ill. It was a lot of money I’d just stolen from my father, to do what? Buy drugs for Tomas and Lisa? I knew it was stupid. It was madness. But I was also thinking: how hard could this be? I was fed up with them pushing me around, throwing money at me, telling me what to do with their hungry eyes and inflated egos.
Just call him, just this once, and make the arrangement. We’ll do the rest.
No, you won’t, I thought. I’ll do this properly, myself, and on my terms. I’ll turn it round, and get the drugs with my own money. I’ll win at this game, and you’ll realise you’re the ones who need me.
Like Tomas said, it would be worth my while, but not in the sense he meant. I’d buy the drugs alone, and then afterwards, once it was all done, I’d figure out how to pay back my father. I closed down his laptop and sat there for a few moments, my head spinning.
*
Sami called me the next day and the line was noisy, full of static. I was excited to hear from him again, almost euphoric, and asked to meet that afternoon, before he changed his mind and I lost him again. When I told him how many pills I needed, he didn’t sound surprised but said we couldn’t meet in the neighbourhood this time as there had been trouble with the cops. He gave me an address up near the Péri and told me to meet him on Saturday, the day of Tomas’s party.
I arrived early at the edge of a large street market. Stretched out along the road was a patchwork of blankets strewn with sunglasses, watches and cheap leather goods. Further down, people haggled over clothes, shoes and other junk. Hawkers jostled between the stalls, selling fake perfume and cigarettes from bags slung over their shoulders.
As I waited, two police cars pulled up. Their arrival sent a convulsion through the crowd and the stallholders scooped up their blankets, everyone scattering like birds. Within seconds the market had cleared, and in the space up ahead was Sami.
‘See what I mean,’ he said, nodding towards the cops who were checking the papers of some vendors they’d caught. The cops roughed them up a bit, putting on a show for those who watched from the shadows, waiting to set up again.
Sami darted across the road, and I followed, walking fast to keep up.
‘We’re going up north this time,’ he said. ‘Zone One is crawling with cops. They’ve stopped me three times this week.’
‘What do you mean, up north?’
I patted the cash in my pocket for the hundredth time. I wanted to get the deal over with, and didn’t want to go to whatever suburb he had in mind.
‘Don’t worry. They’ll never stop you in this,’ he said, pulling my collar. ‘You look rich, so you can do anything. If you’re poor, you’re treated that way.’
I caught a glimpse of us in a shop window. He was right. His clothes were someone else’s, even his trainers were the wrong size, making him shuffle and drag his feet. Although he had his own unique brand of confidence and swagger, he stood out, but it wasn’t just what he wore. His face had a desperate, hungry look that nothing could disguise.
‘We’re meeting my cousin up at the camp,’ he said, as we passed a row of butchers. Slabs of flesh and offal filled the greasy cabinets that faced the street. Further up, a group of women sold dried fish threaded on strings and bottles of home-made ginger juice from crates at the side of the road.
We took a bus north, leaving the cobbled streets behind as we followed a road flanked with sex shops and moneychangers. The bus swung through the tunnels of the Péri, then onto a motorway that cut through a low-rise stretch of warehouses and factories. Finally, we reached the Stade de France – the massive silver football stadium that hovered like a spaceship over the grey suburban wasteland.
We climbed over a metal barrier at the edge of a slip road and followed an overgrown track towards the canal. Rubbish clung to dusty trees on the side of the path, and plastic bottles lay wedged in the branches like toxic fruit.
After a while, the path widened and the camp appeared like a hallucination – a chaotic shanty town of cardboard, plastic, and corrugated iron hunkered in between a stagnant section of the canal and a building site. A smoky haze hung over the shacks, and the air felt close, almost thick enough to chew. A chill rose from the damp ground, and there was an eerie stillness to the place despite the roar from the motorway.
I stopped. It was getting dark and a sickening fear rose in me. ‘I’m not sure about this,’ I said, my skin starting to crawl.
Sami grinned and took my arm. His touch was like a flame and I recoiled.
‘What is it?’ he said, as I rubbed my arm wildly. ‘Why are you always scratching yourself?’
‘It’s just eczema,’ I said, trying to resist the urge to scratch my arm again. ‘It’s always worse when I’m nervous.’
‘Come on, it’s fine. You’re with me. I won’t let anything happen to you.’
I was reassured a little by his fearlessness, but I stayed close as he led me along the edge of the canal, past discarded oil drums and a burnt-out car on blocks. There was a stained mattress in the back seat, buckets and washing equipment in the boot and piles of rubbish all around. In one of the shacks further in, men watching television eyed us silently as we passed.
‘There’s power here?’ I asked.
Sami pointed to thick cables twisting overhead and I saw the whole camp was rigged up to the mains electricity from the base of one of the floodlights on the Péri.
We passed some ragged kids poking at debris in the canal with long sticks, and I wondered what it was like to live in a place like this – right in the middle of a thriving city, but totally severed from it all, having to beg and steal for everything, even electricity.
I sensed the desperation of the place and was on high alert, patting my pocket constantly. As we went further into the camp, everything closed in behind us and I knew if anything went wrong, I’d be trapped. Chills spidered up my neck, but it was too late to back out now – I had to see it through.
‘Do the cops ever come here?’ I asked weakly, trying to sound calm, but wanting to see some sign of them now.
Sami shook his head. ‘Everyone ignores this place – the government, the police. They keep talking about developing the site, evicting everyone, but nothing ever happens. If there’s a fire, you can’t get a truck, and no ambulance will ever come. But a no-go zone for them means a safe place for us.’ He took my arm once more, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t part of what he meant by ‘us’.
Up ahead was a tightly built area of corrugated shacks leaning in against each other, rusted and falling apart like wreckage. Sami called out and a man appeared from one of the huts. He was short, but the forearms that stuck out from his sweater were like muscled ropes, covered with faded prison tattoos.
Sami took my cash and introduced him as Nick. I stayed back, trying to give the impression I wasn’t nervous, but my heart thudded so hard I thought I was going to faint, and the whole landscape swooned around me.
‘Whatever you need, call him first and then come here to collect it. Bring all the money, no credit,’ Nick said in English as he counted the money. He had a strong accent, and spoke with a kind of slur as if the words were difficult to get out of his mouth. I couldn’t take my eyes off his nose, which was flattened across his face like someone had tried to punch it through his head.
Nick and Sami spoke together in French for a while about some other deal, and then Nick raised his voice and threw in some angry hand gestures. I felt light-headed with fear, but I also got the sense Nick was putting on an act for my benefit, to let me know that even though he was short, he was tough. I had no doubt he was dangerous, probably capable of anything, but he’d overdone the performance, and it took the edge off my fear a little.
Finally, Nick turned to me with a cold stare, fanning the cash. ‘There’s not enough money here for what you want,’ he said.
I watched him wave the money at me with a similar crazy confidence to Tomas, and suddenly my fear crystallised into an urgent need to get out of there. Something kicked into gear and I fell into role.
I looked at Sami. ‘You already told me the price. Don’t let him piss us around.’
Sami said something to Nick, which I didn’t catch, but I got the sense he was on my side.
Nick spat onto the ground, the oily gob of phlegm landing near my foot.
We stood there arguing and trading prices for a while. Nick’s face was hard and gave nothing away and although I was thinking fast, I realised I was stuck. Nick was already holding my money, and I had no idea how to even get out of this place, or what other dangers it held. Where there were drugs, there were also guns and knives, and I saw myself being chased by armed men along the paths between the huts if I even tried to make a run for it.
I knew I just had to tough it out as we haggled and Nick drew in closer.
I kept eye contact as I nudged my price closer to his, my heart thudding like a drum, until finally my persistence, or lack of options, paid off. Nick responded with a sharp nod as if we’d reached an understanding.
‘This four hundred now, the rest next week,’ he said.
When he said the amount like that, I felt a sudden paralysis and wanted to stop, to call the whole thing off. I knew it was reckless buying so many drugs, but I was in too deep, too high on the danger and smell of the deal, and so close to getting it, that there was no going back.
‘Yes?’ he asked, raising his hand. I thought he was about to hit me and I threw my arm up as a shield, but he laughed, grasped my hand and shook it in mid-air, then did a high five.
Finally, it seemed, we had a deal. The panic subsided and I felt a surge of relief, and a sense of power. I’d done this myself.
Nick invited me into his hut. A single bulb hung from the roof and damp rose from the bare dirt floor, which was covered by rugs a bit further in. A corridor of blue plastic sheeting led off to the left, to another room and the sound of a television. Nick pulled a plastic bag from a wall of milk crates stacked up as shelves. He counted out the pills, bagged them, and then watched as I rubbed the powdery residue from the bag along my gums the way I’d seen Lisa doing. It tasted bitter and I thought I saw him smirk as he watched me.
I felt like a fool standing there pretending I knew what I was doing. I thought of Lisa and Tomas, safe and comfortable on the other side of town, probably laughing together about their little drugs mule. But fuck them – here I was, doing this alone and they never could.
As I said goodbye to Nick, my phone rang. I reached for it then hesitated. It was the most valuable thing I owned. I didn’t want Nick to see it in case he wanted it as collateral for the rest of the money I owed him, but he smiled and gestured for me to look at it.
When he saw my old phone, he laughed and went over to one of the crates, reached into a box and handed me the latest fake iPhone saying it was a present.
He shook my hand as we said goodbye. ‘Don’t forget the rest of the money next week,’ he said.
Sami and I took the bus back. It was raining, and I watched through the windows as the darkening streets and factories turned back into smart apartments and tree-lined boulevards once we’d crossed the Péri. People relaxed in cafés, eating, drinking and enjoying their evenings.
I could still taste the powder, bitter on my tongue, and Sami looked at me with a new kind of respect. I wasn’t just a pile of banknotes to him now, and back there with Nick he’d been on my side, helped me, and I hadn’t embarrassed him. I felt closer to him now than Tomas or Lisa, or any of my so-called friends.
‘I think my cousin likes you,’ he said, putting his arm over my shoulder.
I laughed. ‘What about you? You don’t seem to get on that well for family.’
He winked. ‘He’s not really my cousin.’
‘So who is he, then?’
‘Just some guy I know who uses that camp as a front. He runs bars and clubs in Paris. Near where you met me that day.’
I thought back to when I’d met him and my admiration grew. He didn’t have an overbearing father dragging him down, he was free from that, at least, but he was alone. Nick wasn’t even his family.
‘And you work for him?’
He didn’t answer, and when I looked back, he’d gone. He was up ahead, behind a man with a map and a guidebook. As the man craned towards the fogged-up window, Sami took something from his pocket. The man hadn’t noticed, just kept looking from the wet streets, back to his map. Sami weaved slowly through the crowded bus towards the doors and when the bus stopped, he leaped out into the night.
The bus lurched forward and I searched for Sami in the murky shapes beyond the wet glass but he’d gone. A police car levelled up, its red and blue lights hazing around the bus, its siren wailing. I zipped up my jacket and pressed myself into the seat as it swept past.
*
Tomas’s party was held on a barge moored on a desolate stretch of river just south of Auteuil. Light from the motorway stretched across the water as I walked quickly along the bank, a cold wind driving through my jacket. I was tense after the trip to the camp and in no mood to celebrate. I knew I’d been invited to the party for one reason only, and I wanted to get the job over with – to give the pills to Tomas, get the cash and leave.
I hesitated when I saw the barge – a dark, rusty hulk strung with coloured fairy lights. Bad rap music blared from an empty dance floor on the first level, and it looked like a ghost ship that had drifted away from a theme park. A woman with a clipboard stood at the entrance above a red-carpeted gangplank and eyed me suspiciously. I patted my pockets, checking the pills were still there and then moved up the ramp.
Inside, a group of women sat around a table sipping champagne from brightly coloured flutes. I wasn’t on the guest list, and the woman with the clipboard spoke to them, gesturing towards me as though I was a stray dog. As they sized me up, I realised that dropping pills here was not just a bad idea, it was insane.
Just then, Céline Chambière appeared with two bottles of champagne. She did a double take when she saw me.
‘Alex!’ she exclaimed. ‘Come in. I didn’t know you and Tomas were friends.’
I felt like a patient being admitted to hospital for some kind of awful procedure as she pulled two green rubber bands over my wrist – tokens for the bar.
A woman with big hair swung a camera towards me just as Lisa and her friends arrived. Lisa was back in party girl mode and wore a silky gold dress, her bare shoulders dusted with a kind of glittery powder and draped in a white fur stole. She squealed and threw her arms around my neck.
‘I’m so pleased to see you,’ she whispered, her breath smelling of alcohol and, faintly, of vomit. A dark slick of liner rimmed her eyes, the lids covered in glitter.
The woman with the camera veered towards us, and the girls fell into position, pouting as the camera flashed. I can still see those pictures now – Lisa’s arm draped round my neck, Jeanne’s head on my shoulder, their pupils dark pools. Seven months later, the papers got hold of those images and used them after my trial – a warning to the world about the dangers of too much pocket money. In those pictures I look like a pumped-up moron with a conceited, dimpled smile, but all I remember was feeling anxious and way out of my depth.
I followed the girls to the top deck. The barge swayed on the river, the breeze off the water cold and sharp. Up ahead, the river widened around a small island and distant city lights stained the clouds a dull yellow.
Lisa took a joint from her bag, toasting it carefully above a lighter, her white teeth glinting in the flame.
‘You need to be careful tonight,’ she said, holding the smoke in her lungs, then smiling mischievously as she exhaled. ‘They think someone’s dealing.’ She tapped the end of the joint with a glitter-encrusted nail. ‘Tell him, Jeanne.’
Jeanne took the joint and leaned against the railing. ‘My mum found your skunk in my desk.’
‘It’s not my skunk,’ I said.
‘And when I got hold of her phone, I saw a thread about someone bringing dope to the party.’
‘That’s why all the mums are here. To keep an eye on things,’ said Lisa, taking another drag. ‘Don’t look so worried. All I’m saying is they’re onto it.’
‘Of course I’m fucking worried,’ I said, wondering whether I should just throw the pills overboard, like a drug smuggler avoiding the coast patrol.
‘Relax,’ said Jeanne, taking out her phone. She put the joint in my mouth and took a selfie with both of us in the frame.
‘Don’t worry, they’re just jealous. And besides, they’re too busy getting drunk downstairs,’ said Lisa, finishing the joint before throwing it over the side.
At the bar, we traded our wristbands for tiny glasses of champagne. Lisa threw hers back, refilling the glass with vodka from her bag. Coloured lights strobed the dance floor, and a few people danced in a fog of dry ice. There was a queue along the gangplank now, and people from school who usually ignored me waved through the windows.
Lisa toasted my glass. ‘Your new best friends.’
I smiled, but the talk of the snooping mothers had made me think that the more people arrived, the bigger the problem.
It wasn’t long before that hand was on my shoulder again. This time Tomas was completely out of it – pupils dilated, swaying and giggling, looking nothing like his usual hockey jock, psycho self.
‘Your party’s crawling with parents,’ I yelled above the noise.
He laughed hysterically and led me across the room to a small utility cabin, the crowd parting before us. He was sweating, but the maniac was gone and his grin was just creepy under the bright cabin lights.
‘I’m sorry about what happened before, man,’ he slurred, taking the bag of pills from me and waving them around. He held them up to the light, trying to focus. ‘I thought you were some kind of a loser, you know.’
He fished into the bag and took out two pills. Yellow powder flaked off on his fingers, and then he dropped the bag on the floor, the pills rolling around his feet.
‘Oops,’ he said, dissolving in a fit of laughter as he crawled around scooping up the pills.
When he stood, he moved in close, stuffed a roll of notes in my pocket and put his arm around me. ‘I want us to be friends,’ he said. He was hot and clammy through his shirt, swaying and waving the bag around. He lost his balance, and we both lurched towards the wall.
I was getting the sense that being his friend, even his pretend friend, might be worse than being his enemy, and I pushed him away.
There was a banging on the door and loud yelling above the music.
‘This is a bust!’ Lisa said, forcing the door open. She laughed at our expressions and went from Tomas to me, looking for the pills. Her arms were around Tomas now, and she held him in a way that was familiar to them both.
It was my cue to leave. ‘Have a great time you two,’ I said, and I left them to it as I hurried from the party.
The steady rocking of the metro soothed me on the long trip back to Saint-Germain, and my breath returned as the train took me further away from Lisa and Tomas and their crazy world. I felt like I’d won this bout, got Tomas off my back and clawed back some status and power. Yes, I’d been reckless, but now that I’d done it, I felt exhilarated. I had them in my hand now, and they needed me. You don’t get all that without taking risks.