Our Kind of Cruelty(20)

I wonder if that’s what alcoholics feel like when they have a drink after a long time sober. As if every nerve ending has been smoothed, all your blood warmed, your mind stroked. I walked as if I was on a cloud – I’m surprised I didn’t glide, didn’t rise up into the sky and float above the hordes of people on the pavement. I thought up heroic deeds and noble sacrifices. I made speeches which made others cry, I solved tensions, stopped wars, made peace. It was like my heart was a balloon which someone had finally filled with air and the only possible expression I could hold was that of a smile.

But of course the peace didn’t last very long, not even into the evening. And just like an alcoholic I craved my next fix. I searched my brain for reasons to call V up and wondered how odd it would be to ‘bump into’ her again. I let my mind play and thought that maybe the mere sight of me would have been enough to make her also want to forget the Crave and cut to the end. At any moment of any day I thought it was possible she was telling Angus it had all been a terrible mistake and that really she loved someone else. I strained to hear the ringing phone or doorbell I knew was coming.

After a few days of living in this state of constant anticipation I realised I must have done something wrong. V always had very strict rules and guidelines and clearly I hadn’t behaved entirely properly. She had as good as told me that she still loved me when she had stopped me from talking about Angus because ‘it was too hard’, but there was clearly something more she wanted from me, some ultimate proof that would make me worthy of her love. But, like a fool, I couldn’t yet work out what it was.

Naturally I knew the location of her office; I’d met her outside Calthorpe’s discreet entrance enough times and it wasn’t actually that far from where I worked. There was a bar opposite and I took to leaving work early and sitting in a table by the window. I saw V on only my second night, which was like a sign that I was meant to be there. She emerged from the large, revolving doors just before half past seven, before I’d even had time to sit with my pint at the table in the window. She was wearing a pale blue dress with white trainers on her feet and the grey bag slung across her body. Her hair was in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck and she was reading something on her phone which made her mouth turn downwards. Perhaps Angus was being annoying about some aspect of the wedding. Or perhaps she was wondering how to get out of the whole thing. After she had finished reading she stood for a minute in the street and she looked tired and distracted. I sipped at my beer and wondered if it would be possible to get a decent shot of her on my iPhone, because even the sight of her, just the knowledge that she was so close, had slowed my heart for the first time since our too brief encounter a few days before.

A man approached her, holding an open map in front of him, a small backpack sitting between his shoulders. He asked her something and she replied, leaning over the map and pointing. My body tensed as I watched, knowing that with his height advantage and the angle of her body he was probably able to see down the front of her dress. She finished talking and stood back but he was still standing too close. He said something else and she took a step back, shaking her head, her smile now fixed and closed. He reached forward, but she pulled back her hand and her smile dropped. I stood, my hands clenched at my sides.

It seemed suddenly obvious that V knew I was here watching and that she had engineered this Crave for me to see.

I went and stood in the door of the bar and as I did so I saw her hand shoot to her neck and grab on to the silver charm which could only have been her eagle. She was calling me as clear as day and I was here, right where I could save her. I stepped on to the road, but the man shrugged and began walking away. V stepped forward and raised her hand and a taxi pulled up almost immediately. I watched her get in and speak to the driver, relaxing back against the seat as they drove away. And then I found my breath hard to reach because there was no way that could have been a coincidence. She had been talking directly to me.

The man with the map had stopped again, but now he turned the corner and so I ran across the road and fell into step behind him. He walked annoyingly slowly, stopping often to either look at his map or up into the sky. I slowed my pace and slunk into doorways or leant against walls when he stopped. It was quite interesting actually; it made me realise I rarely look up in cities, but that there are some amazing sights to be seen if you do. London, it appears, is looked over by gargoyles. They sit above windows and doors, snarling and laughing at us all, casting evil spells.

I had no real plan as I walked, but I couldn’t stop following. I alternated between wanting to ask him if V had paid him to enact that scene and wanting to mash his face into the ground. He was tall, but he was out of shape and he walked with a lolloping gait which made me think he had a bad knee. I was sure I could pulverise him in minutes. I could have him lying bloodied and broken on the floor quicker than it would take him to lose consciousness. I could take his stupid backpack and go through his phone for messages from V. And the police would put it down to a mugging and he’d go back to wherever he came from and tell the story for the rest of his life. But of course this wasn’t possible. It was a balmy summer evening in central London and all the streets were heaving with witnesses. I probably wouldn’t even get as far as my first punch before someone called the police.

The man went into an off-licence and came out with four bottles of Beck’s which he carried with his finger through the top of the box, in a very irritating way. I was certain by then that we were heading for St James’s Park, which was odd because we must have walked a long way and I hadn’t realised we were even going in that direction. The light had started to sink and the sky was a deep orange, hazed by pollution. I checked my watch and it was nine fifteen. Once in the park the man sat on one of the first benches and produced a Swiss army knife from his pocket to open the first beer.