The Other People: A Novel(47)

She put the snacks on the tray and walked back to the living room. Gracie was intent upon Peppa Pig and Sam was spread out across the sofa, watching Spider-Man on his iPad. She hovered for a moment in the doorway, soothed by the sight of them, happy and safe in their cocoon.

Her mobile rang. She reversed, put the tray back down on the kitchen table and picked it up.

“Hello.”

No reply, but Katie could hear breathing.

“Hello?”

“Is that Katie?”

A young girl’s voice, hesitant, nervous.

“Yes. Who is this?”

Another pause. “My name is Alice. Fran told me to call you if I was ever in trouble.”

Alice.

“Where’s Fran?” Katie asked.

“I don’t know. Please, can you help me?”

Katie debated. She peered in at Sam and Gracie. Warm and secure in their cozy home. She couldn’t just leave them here, on their own. Then she thought: what if they were lost, alone and scared, in the dark? She would want someone to help them.

“We have to find her. Before something terrible happens.”

“Okay. Tell me where you are.”





A hotel corridor. Gabe stumbled along it, staring at doors with numbers. It felt as strange and unfamiliar to him as an alien spacecraft. He glanced at the card in his hand: 421. He squinted at the directions on the walls. Right, then left, left again, and he found himself in front of a door bearing the matching number.

For a moment, he couldn’t think what to do with the piece of plastic in his hand. Then it came back to him. He swiped it in the slot by the door handle. There was a buzz. He pushed the door and walked inside.

Gabe fumbled for a switch. Nothing happened. He tried again, felt bemused. Then he remembered. The card. He had to put the card in another slot by the door. He stuck it in and the room flooded with light.

He stared around. To most people, this room would probably seem small, basic. To Gabe, it seemed immense. It had been a long time since he’d slept in a proper bedroom. A bedroom with a double bed, a desk, a bathroom. The contrast hit him like a sledgehammer. He had spent so long existing in his small van he’d forgotten what it was like to live like a normal person. The space felt extravagant. As did the cost. Gabe had a reserve of savings from the sale of the house, and his outgoings were minimal. But he couldn’t afford to do this for more than a couple of nights.

He chucked his bag on the bed and took out his painkillers. He walked into the bathroom and filled a plastic glass with water to swill them down. He avoided glancing in the mirror. He’d never liked mirrors and he knew what it would show him. A pale, thin man with greying hair and too many lines for his age. A face carved with lost hopes and regret.

We talk about life like it’s some magical elixir, he thought. Yet life is your own slow crawl along the dead man’s mile. Doesn’t matter how many diversions you take, eventually we’re all heading one way. The only difference is how long the journey takes. He placed his hand on the wound on his side. Tonight, he almost took the fast lane.

He closed the bathroom door and walked back into the bedroom. He sat on the bed, suddenly at a loss. What to do? He flicked idly through the folder telling him about the hotel’s services. TV, free wi-fi, bar/restaurant and something sticky between the final pages. He hastily put it down again.

It took several attempts before he managed to summon a few blurry channels on the TV. He gave up and walked around the room. He looked in the wardrobe—a few hangers fastened to the rail and some extra pillows. He opened the drawers beside the bed. Empty except for a small Bible. He stared at it, thinking about the other Bible. The underlined passages. An eye for an eye. The Other People. He slammed the drawer shut again.

He should be exhausted. And a full-sized bed was a rare luxury. But he had gone past exhaustion. He felt alert, wired.

He thought about the hotel services. Bar/restaurant. He probably wasn’t supposed to drink, after the blood loss and on top of all the painkillers. But he was marooned in a strange hotel, with no purpose, no food and nothing better to do.

He picked up his card key, grabbed his phone and wandered downstairs to the bar.



* * *



—

HE ORDERED A glass of red wine and took it to a quiet table in a corner. From speakers somewhere above him, Neil Diamond crooned about “Sweet Caroline.” This was after Phil Collins had opined that she was “an easy lover,” following on from Lionel Richie saying “Hello.” He was pretty sure that somewhere along the line Robbie Williams would be declaring his love for “Angels.” Which was somewhat ironic on a playlist obviously forged in hell. Bar music, Gabe thought—music for people too drunk to get away from it.

He sipped at the wine. It tasted a bit sour. He wasn’t sure if that was a reflection on the quality of the bottle or just the fact that he hadn’t drunk wine in a long while. He and Jenny always used to crack open a bottle—or sometimes two—in the evening. They would sit around the breakfast bar and talk to each other about their days over the rims of their glasses. At least, they used to. Later, he would end up drinking alone with his reheated dinner after Izzy had gone to bed and Jenny had retreated to the snug with a book.

And yet, he really wished Jenny was here. The thought slunk in out of nowhere like a stray cat. And once settled in his mind, it refused to move. He remembered her arms around him, the citrusy smell of her hair. Her warm breath on his face as she told him that it would be okay.