Jane’s body craved it, but sleep proved impossible. Her mind was too full of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. When she did drift off in the early hours of Sunday morning the dreams that came to her were muddled and alarming and woke her up again.
She pushed back the covers and lay gasping in the half-light as a solitary car passed slowly up the street outside. Pri had been there. Her and Pri, in the shower, but watched over by the man from the station. One moment, he was dressed as she had seen him, but when she glanced back he was naked and eager for her. Jane had gone from one to the other, one leg up on the washbasin to accommodate him, and looked back calmly at Pri’s outraged face. Behind her, an enormously fat woman sat laughing so hard her whole bloated body shook like a jelly in an earthquake while a line of other naked men stood ready, patiently awaiting their turn.
There was nothing for it, no use fighting it. She glanced at the bedside clock. Four AM. The time when the body was at its lowest ebb. She’d read somewhere that most hospital deaths occurred about now, in the hour or two before dawn.
Avoiding the lights, working by feel, she made her way downstairs and switched on the kettle. It was a game she played with herself sometimes; pretending she was blind, wondering how she’d make out. Testing and topping up the kettle, finding cups, teabags and a spoon were easy enough, but pouring was a problem, getting the level right then adding a splash of milk. She cheated, opened her eyes to the starlight and city glow that came in through the kitchen window then took her cup into the lounge.
What was it? What was bothering her? Friday night, of course. It had been nice, fun, a glorious release but ... But what? She didn’t know.
She went to the window, parted the curtains and looked out into the silent orange glow of the street as she sipped her tea. It was an experience, she didn’t regret it, but was it her? Was it in her future? Something quietly said no. There was excitement and elation afterwards, but now in the cool, clear light of dawn all that seemed strangely removed. She thought of her reaction to the man at the station – Robert/Bob – and of her eagerness that, that if he had observed her and Pri’s parting, it not be misinterpreted. She thought of the wanton image that flashed through her mind as they left the station and her confusion and embarrassment. What was her brain trying to tell her?
A match flared in a car across the road and she caught a brief glimpse of a man in a hat. The image was like something from 1940s noir film; all sepia tones and shadows. He shook out the match and the tip of his cigarette glowed in the dark interior. What was he doing out there at this time of the day? Waiting for someone, of course. She closed the curtains again and thought, aren’t we all?
*
Sunday visiting hours didn’t start till one o'clock, but exceptions could always be made.
‘Good morning, George. Don’t tell me you’ve been here all night.’
‘Oh good morning, Mr Johns. No, no, sir, I’ve just come on duty.’
‘I know this is a bit out of order, but I wonder if I could pop in and have five minutes with my brother? It’s a bit naughty, I really should wait till after lunch, but I have to be in Exeter this afternoon and won’t be back till late tonight.’ A pair of fifty-pound notes found their way across the high counter of the security booth and dropped onto the guard’s desk below. ‘Is there possibly anything you could arrange?’
‘I think so, sir, especially for someone like yourself.’
‘Do we need all the ... formalities?’ Montgomery Johns waved a hand over the visitor’s register.
‘Not at all, sir. Just five minutes, wasn’t it? And may I suggest you take the stairs? It’s mostly cleaning staff at this time of day, but ...’ he tapped a finger on the bank of monitors to his left, ‘... the lift lobbies ...’
Montgomery Johns gave him a wink as the electronic lock-release unlatched with a faint buzz and a loud click, and he made his way quickly through the foyer and up the stairs, seeing no one. When he reached his half-brother’s room, he slipped inside without knocking. Ron, wearing a dressing gown, was wedged in the room’s only armchair gesticulating at the cast of some early morning soap opera on the television. He glanced across, his expression still angry with what he’d been telling the performers, then his face transformed and he began forcing himself to his feet. ‘Monty! Monty, old man! Good to see you.’
‘You too, Ron. No, no, don’t get up.’ He hurried across and eased his half-brother back into his seat before perching on the corner of the bed. ‘I was just passing so I thought I’d pop in and see how you were.’
‘I’m splendid, splendid. A box of birds. I expect I’ll be out of here today. I was telling that cleaner chap, what’s his name? Boris, I think. Ukrainian or Polish or something. Terribly nice chap. Very polite. Did a good job too. I mistook him for a doctor at first. Thought he’d come with my release papers. We had a laugh about that. Wouldn’t suck my cock though.’
Montgomery Johns frowned inwardly but kept his expression neutral. When he’d visited his half-brother on Thursday night he’d be sleepy and taciturn. What the hell had they put him on?
‘I was just telling this lot, but that fat cow on the left wouldn’t believe me.’ Ron gestured at the television. ‘Kept saying “No, no, it’s not right”. Called me Eric too. Silly cow.’
‘You’ve not made any phone calls lately, have you, Ron? Or asked someone to make a call for you?’
‘Me? Phone? No, why?’
‘Remember that number I gave you for emergencies?’
Ron laughed. ‘You know me and numbers, Monty. I can barely remember my own birthday. But I wrote it down somewhere.’
‘Did you now? Can you remember where?’
But Ron’s attention was back on the television. ‘Who the hell’s that? Where did fatty go?’
‘Ron, this is important. I need you to concentrate.’ Montgomery took the remote and turned off the TV. His half-brother looked briefly outraged then saw who’d done it and relaxed.
‘Sorry, Monty. What did you say?’
‘That number I gave you. Can you remember where you wrote it down?’
‘Kept it with the computer, didn’t I. Best place for it, eh? Keep all that stuff together.’
‘And where is that computer now?’
‘What? At work, where I left it. Wouldn’t let me bring it with me. Wouldn’t let me bring anything. Still, I expect Jane will look after it.’
‘Jane?’
‘My deputy-assistant-underling-wotsit. Wouldn’t mind having her under me, if you know what I mean. Tits could do with a bit of a boost, but apart from that ...’
Montgomery Johns relaxed. The call had come from a Jane; a Jane Child with a South London address. Obviously just curiosity. Stupid Ron had stuck the name and number to his laptop and she, quite naturally, had called it in case it was important. A daughter, perhaps. Or a wife or sister who didn’t know Ron had had a breakdown.
Matter resolved. He’d phone Burbridge from the car and tell him to call off the hounds.
‘That’s splendid, Ron.’ He leaned over, patted his half-brother’s knee and handed him the remote. ‘Look, I have to dash, but I’ll pop in and see you again in a day or two.’
‘Off to see her now, are you? Jane?’ Ron said, switching his soap back on.
‘Absolutely,’ Montgomery said to humour him.
‘Lucky man. Didn’t know she was in on it too. You might have told me.’
Montgomery paused by the door. ‘In on what, Ron?’
‘The reminders. Big Becky and the others.’
‘What?’
‘The pictures, Monty. On the laptop. You know, Toady Hargreaves and all the rest.’
‘This ... Jane ... knows about the pictures?’ Montgomery said slowly. His brother nodded. ‘How, Ron? How does she know about them?’
‘I thought you must have told her.’
‘No, I certainly did not.’
‘Well, she was asking how it worked. Our little setup. She thought we were using the pictures to milk them.’ Ron laughed. ‘Smart girl, but not that smart. Still, I suppose we could, couldn’t we? I mean, in addition to the old reminders, eh?’
‘This Jane has been here to see you then, has she?’ Montgomery said carefully, being equally careful not to add, ‘In your current state?’
‘Yes ... um ... yesterday, I think it was. What day is it today?’
‘Never mind, I’ll look at the register on my way out. What else did you tell her, Ron?’
‘Oh, nothing much. Just about the reminders.’
‘You told her about the reminders?’
‘Had to put her straight, didn’t I? Thought we were milking the buggers.’
‘We, Ron? Who is we?’
‘Us. You and me. She did well though. Pretended she didn’t know you. Cover story, eh, in case your Rebecca finds out? Good on you, Monty. Nothing like a bit of wotsit on the side.’
‘So what did you tell her, Ron?’
‘I laughed, old man. Said I thought everyone knew my brother.’
‘You really said that, did you, Ron?’ Montgomery returned and sat heavily on the corner of the bed. Ron beamed at him, nodding, then turned back to the TV screen.
Montgomery’s face was grim. He patted his brother’s shoulder and said very quietly, ‘Silly boy, Ron. You silly, silly, boy.’
*
‘Don’t start thinking this is normal,’ Sally warned her over lunch. ‘I expect there were even quiet moments as the Titanic was going down.’
‘Oh, he's not as bad as that, surely,’ Jane said, glancing at the small slumbering figure in the sun room.
‘Try telling me that at four in the morning,’ Paul said.
‘Poor Paul, having to work his elbow at that time of day.’ Sally mimed a nudging action.
‘Hey, I do my share!’
‘If that’s that case, you can have the next one.’
‘Oh my god, you’re not ...?’ Jane began.
‘God no,’ Sally said. ‘Once bitten and all that. That’s just a warning.’ She glanced at Paul. ‘For next time he comes near me with that thing.’
‘That’s about all I do these days, Jane,’ Paul replied with dour look. ‘Come near her.’
Sally gasped in horror and slapped his arm. Paul and Jane laughed. Baby Dylan gurgled.
‘Now look what you’ve done!’
They left Paul with the dishes and the chance of an afternoon nap, wheeling Dylan through a nearby park to look at the ducks.
‘Do you regret it?’ Jane asked.
‘Dylan? God no! Ignore my carping, Jane. He had a tummy ache last night and whined a bit, but he's over it now. And you know what I’m like. Je ne regrette rien.’
‘But your career and everything?’
‘It’s just on hold. It is the twenty-first century, you know. We’ve got the vote and everything. Once this one’s old enough to go out and sweep chimneys I’ll be straight back into it.’
She glanced at her friend. ‘Is that what you’re thinking about, careers and kids?’
‘Sort of. I suppose this DM business has brought it all into focus. Sacrifices and stuff.’
‘Whatever you do is a sacrifice. The problem is we don’t get a second shot at things. We can't go, now that’s the me that chose X and the me that chose Y. I should definitely go with X because she’s much happier. You just have to muddle through. Make a choice and make the best of it.’
‘What if you can't make a choice?’
‘I know what you’d do; toss a coin. Isn’t that the Jane Child way?’
Jane smiled. She had been thinking of grilling Sally about that drunken night long ago. Had she really forgotten what had happened between them? Now the question suddenly seemed unimportant. She’d made her decision. No coin toss necessary.
A handful of ducks approached, hearing the rustle of the bread bag.
‘Are hats making a comeback?’ Jane asked.
‘You mean baseball caps? Where have you been, girl?’
‘No, proper hats. Homburgs and fedoras and fancy hats like that.’
‘Thinking of new look for your new job?’
‘Maybe.’ She smiled and looked across the park to a man seated on a bench smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a homburg. ‘I think it’s one of those things. You know how once you notice something you suddenly start seeing them everywhere.’
‘Are you talking about hats or men? Because if it’s the latter, it’s about bloody time.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Jane felt her cheeks colour and fought to maintain a neutral expression under the spotlight of Sally’s arched eyebrow.
‘Oh come on, Jane, you’re such a wallflower. And for no reason. I bet half the men in this park would jump your bones if you gave them a come-hither look.’
‘Jump my bones. What an expression!’
‘It’s one of Paul’s. Look,’ Sally patted her knee, ‘I know you still carry a scar from losing your Mr Right, and that you think no one will ever quite measure up, but there are loads of Mr Nearly-Rights out there. You’ve just got to put yourself out a bit more.’
‘You mean stand around under streetlights at night?’
‘No, I mean ...’ Sally took a breath, started to speak then stopped again and looked away.
‘What, Sal? Come on. Spit it out.’
‘Just ... don’t take this the wrong way but ... you might think of spending a little less time at work. There’s a whole world out there beyond that bloody bank, you know.’
Jane said nothing, sensing there was more.
‘Paul and I were talking the other night, after your news. We’re really pleased for you and everything, but ... is it what you really need right now? More responsibility? Still more work?’
‘It is only temporary, and it’s not that much more work. Jonson was useless. I’ve pretty much been doing his job for the last year anyway,’ Jane said, the words sounding flat even as she spoke them.
Sally stooped to Dylan and handed him another piece of bread, which he threw ineffectually. The ducks huddled closer, bumping and nudging each other. ‘You know best, of course. Just ... I thought it might be something to keep in mind.’
‘No, I will. Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it, Sal. This last week’s been a bit of a whirl what with one thing and another. You’re right, I really need to do some careful thinking about this.’ She looked away across the park to where the man in the Homburg was lighting another cigarette.