Something in the Water(10)

“Who is talking to that lovely lady over there.” Mark points to a woman who is very clearly an escort. Latex knee-length boots and bored wandering eyes. Richard doesn’t seem to be too bothered by the lack of conversational input and appears to have the talking covered for both of them.

“Wow, okay. Interesting.” I was not expecting that. Wow.

Mark grins and nods and I completely fail to intercept my full-on snort of laughter. He laughs too.

“We’re very close, Richard and I,” he intones with mock solemnity. “He’s over for the day from a Swiss bank. I’m basically his minder. Or carer? Who knows. I just have to take him where he wants to go. Which is apparently…there. What sort of documentaries do you make?”

“At the moment, not many. But I’ve only just started, really. I’ve done a short on Norwegian fishermen. Like a kind of homage to Melville, it’s sort of Local Hero meets The Old Man and the Sea, you know?” I check to see if I’m boring him. He smiles and nods me on.

We talk for two hours straight, going through two bottles of Krug together, which I assumed he’d be covering, as the bill would be equivalent to a month’s rent in my flat. It flowed easily, the conversation and the champagne. In the moments where he smiled, my thigh would tense involuntarily.

Finally the spell breaks when Mark’s friend catches his eye from across the room and gestures that he and his lady friend are off. Having come to some kind of hard-fought agreement, one would imagine.

“On that magical note, I’m going to have to call it a night, I’m afraid.” Mark gets to his feet reluctantly.

“You have to see him back?” I stall. I don’t want to ask for his number; I want him to ask for mine.

“God no, that would be just…no, thank God. I’ll put them in a cab and my work is done. You?”

“Caro’s place is just around the corner. I’ll probably crash on her couch tonight.” I’ve done it before and in all honesty her sofa bed is far more comfortable than my bed.

“You’re North, though, right? Your place? Usually?” He’s stalling now too. Over his shoulder I see Richard, loitering passive-aggressively by the stairs. His date must already be up on street level being bored by passersby.

“Uh, yeah, North, Finsbury Park.” I’m not sure where this conversation is going now. We’re floundering.

He nods his head decisively. A decision made.

“Great. Um, okay, so long story short. I got this projector for Christmas from my sister and I’m really having a bit of a moment with it. I’ve got it shining onto this blank wall in my apartment. It’s pretty fucking epic. If you fancied it? I’ve got some documentaries. Long shot but I’ve been meaning to watch this four-hour doc on Nicolae Ceau?escu?”

I look at him. Is he joking? Ceau?escu? I really can’t tell. This might be the most brilliantly odd invitation I’ve ever received. I realize I haven’t answered him. But he continues to talk, not letting the air out of the situation just yet.

“Former dictator of Romania. Sang ‘L’Internationale’ at his own execution. Too dark? Probably. Fancy it? Pretty sexy stuff, right? He had his own tour bus. Well, Ceau?escu-bus.”

He hangs there for a second. He’s perfect.

“Amazing. That was amazing. I would actually love that. Sign me up.” I pull a freshly minted business card out of my clutch and hand it to him. It’s the third time I’ve done this since I picked them up from the stationers after graduating last month. But it looks well practiced. Fred Davey’s got one, Caro’s got one, and now Mark Roberts has one.

“I’m free next week. Let’s watch the four-hour Ceau?escu.”

And with that I disappear back into the heart of Annabel’s.

It takes all of my self-control not to look back over my shoulder before I turn the corner.





Mark calls me from work at 7:23 A.M. Something’s wrong. There’s panic in his voice. He’s stifling it, but I can hear it.

I sit up in my chair. I’ve never heard even an inkling of this tone in his voice before. I shudder slightly, even in the warmth of the room.

“Erin, listen, I’m in the loo. They’ve taken my BlackBerry and I’ve got to leave the building right now. They’ve got two security guards outside the bathroom waiting to escort me off the premises.” He’s breathy but he’s holding it together.

“What’s happening?” I ask, visions of terror attacks and shaky mobile-phone footage racing through my mind. But it’s not that. I know it’s not that. I recognize the bones of this story already. I’ve heard it from enough people by now. It’s eerie in its sterility. Mark’s been “let go.”

“Lawrence called me into his office at seven o’clock. He told me he’d heard through the grapevine that I’m looking elsewhere and he thinks it’s better for all concerned if I take leave from today. He’s happy to offer references but my desk has been emptied already and I’ll have to hand in my work phone before leaving the building.” The line goes silent for a second. “He didn’t mention who told him.”

Silence again.

“But it’s fine, Erin. I’m fine. You know they make you go straight into an HR meeting after they let you go. They lead you out of the room and straight into another one with an HR rep in it! They cover their fucking backs, by God. Such a load of bullshit! The rep asks, Was I happy here? And then I have to say, ‘Yes, it’s been fantastic and it’s all worked out for the best in the end. Lawrence has done me a favor. Freed me up for the next challenge, blah blah.’?” Mark’s ranting. He can sense my worry through the phone.