Gav is keen to get going so he takes a note out of his full wallet, weighs it down with the salt and gets up. This is fine by me so I start the process of getting up. Gav waits patiently now, though he’s still looking a bit shifty. I wonder if he’s thinking about Roger.
As we head off Gav tells me we’re going to the suite in the Luna Hotel in town. It’s not going to be a permanent residence but it seems that when you’ve just pulled off a significant robbery and got away with it some clichés remain intact.
It’s only a few minutes’ walk away so as we make our way there Gav starts chatting, trying to relax himself I guess. He starts off telling me what he’s going to buy with the money, like a new car and a big flat somewhere in town. He’s talking about how the ladies are going to fall at his feet now he has money because it won’t matter if he’s good looking or not; it grates on my already tender nerves to think that he’s probably right.
I don’t ask him about Angela because I don’t think he knows anything. He’s trying out this new confident persona but I can see enough of the real Gav, the one I’ve known all this time, underneath that. That means that I can tell when he’s trying to hide something. It’s easy really because when he’s got a secret it looks like he’s physically trying to hide it, palming it into his armpits or slipping it into his pockets for instance.
I only realise that I’ve stopped listening when we make it into the lift in the lobby. Gav hits the button for the top floor and then starts telling me what happened when they took the cash again. This time he focuses on how it felt to just walk up and take the money though, the feeling of power it gave him. He hesitates slightly as he edits Roger out of the story and I get the distinct feeling that he’s rehearsing this new version. It’s like he’s trying to rewrite who he is right in front of my eyes.
He stops talking as the lift arrives at the top floor. He leaves first and leads the way down the corridor in silence. He looks nervous. I’m pretty sure that I’ve got a handle on myself but I don’t feel calm. I’m awash with sensation, flashes of nerves in my belly, a heady pulse, a slight breathlessness and a taught twitchiness in all of my muscles. I flex my fingers on the handles of the crutches a couple of times and then nod at Gav.
Gav knocks on the door and we wait. There’s a good ten or fifteen seconds before it opens and as it does every conflicting sensation in my body resolves itself into a tight orbit of relief and guilt. A confused smile flickers onto my face and I feel my shoulders drop physically as the door reveals Angela’s face and her sad smile.
I recover myself and turn on Gav. I’m about to press down on him, although I’m not sure exactly how, when I see the look of shock and confusion on his face. As he begins to work out what this means I see his expression turn to fear as well and he starts to mutter at me, ‘Tel, I didn’t know. I swear mate, I would have told you.’
I stab one of the crutches at the floor in frustration and look at Angela who says, ‘That’s true. He didn’t know.’ She steps back from the door to let me in.
I give Gav a look which says that he should follow me at his own risk, before heading into the suite. Angela appears to have the same idea as me because she pushes the door closed once I’m clear of it.
I don’t go any further into the suite because what I’m looking for is right here. I’m so choked up that I don’t know how to speak. Her beautiful face has my brand left on it, purple, blotchy and violent. There’s a dark red bloom in the centre of it as well where her fresh, pure blood turned hard and dirty against the world.
I can’t even see her hair anymore because I’m staring at her eyes, implacable and unreadable. I can see the slabs of deeper blues preserved in her irises, improbable geometric shapes against the subtle washes of colour behind them. There are tendrils of blood vessels in her left eye as well; a passionate filigree snaking out towards these oceans. These burst tributaries give her a strange stare.
I’m trying desperately not to look around her eyes, to avoid what I have created, but I can’t help it. My eyes keep catching the threads of blood in her eye and following them down to the damaged skin around it. I can feel a tear pricking at me mischievously. I use a finger to squeeze it out of the tear duct, grind it into submission, and finally manage to speak: ‘I’m sorry. I need you, Angela.’
She half-smiles and says, ‘I know.’
We don’t get any more time. Phanuel interrupts us: ‘Terrence. There will be time for that later on, you have my word. Please come in, I desire to converse with you.’
I look into the suite and see his new suit, his open necked shirt, a sharp glint of sun reflecting off his shoes and catch sight of a large bowl of fruit on the table behind him. I’m about to tell him to stick his conversation but swallow it, barbs and all, and turn back to Angela.
She’s not angry but there is a terrifying possibility that she’s heartbroken and scared of me. I’m sure I can only speak to her if I force myself, swallowing down the guilt anew for each word, so I don’t say anything. Instead I lift my arm, the crutch dangling from it like a burden of sin, and reach for her hand.
I feel a rush of elation as I see her hands come up to meet mine, as she takes hold of my hand and warmly grasps it, turning it over so we can only see my clean skin instead of the knuckles debased by skulls and debauchery’s stain.
I can’t do anything about my tears this time because I can’t take my hand back now. She reaches up, and with the same sad half-smile wipes them away for me. Her skin feels as soft as silk and I am acutely aware of her fragility and beauty in this moment. It fills me with sadness at what I’ve done but I don’t want this to end. It seems that only now do I understand love and beauty.
She pulls her hand away when Phanuel calls me again. She gives a very slight indication with her head that I should do as he says and once I see that I make my way in.
