Surface Tension - Chapter 14

Chapter 14

 

“What time do you call this?  Where on earth have you been?  Have you know idea what it’s been like.  We've had the press on the phone.  Admin are going nuts.  The “Authorities” want you now.  You're required in about four different meetings; Uni bureaucrats and the rest of the Stasi want you and want you now.  I've tried you at home, your mobile.  Don’t you check your messages?  I've no problem covering for you Tony, you've done it enough times for me I know but...today?... This? With Liz and Mary suspended? Tony? Where on earth have you been?”

            I shuffle to the desk, survey the library, which looks much the same as ever and with a shrug let the bag roll from my shoulders.  I reach out, place both hands on James's shoulders and stare at him.  Slowly his face relaxes.

            “That's better James.” I look around again. “You seem to have everything under control.” I give him my best goofy grin, pat his shoulders, pick up the bag and turn toward the back of the building.

            “Tony? Tony? Tony!”

            “You're fine James, doing just fine.” I call over my shoulder.

            He's by my side again, his face reddening, “But Tony...”

            I stop and turn to face him: “James, I know.” I enunciate each  word precisely as if I’m talking to a particularly challenging toddler, “ I'm going to the office. I've got stuff to do.

“But...”

“James, let me make this easy for you.” I drop the bag again and place my hands on his arms just below the shoulder. I squeeze. He looks expectantly at me. I can’t imagine what he expects me to do. “Right, no press.  Preferably no Admin. And if the big bosses call,” I tap his arms lightly, “let me know, OK?” He stares. “OK?” He cautiously nods. “Good. You’ve got it all under control, yes? So, I've got stuff to do.” I turn.

            “But Tony....”

            “James, think about it. I don’t blame her but your girl friends got a lot to answer for at present. And let’s just say my job is hanging by a thread. Ooo,” I look at my watch, “If I survive the afternoon James, then, well, it’s a good innings, yeah?”     “Tony?”

            “Look I don’t blame Liz or Mary. I’m sure they acted with the best intentions, yeah? But that doesn’t mean I’m not angry at them and so I need you to do the business James. After all it’s only a library, what could go wrong?”

            I swivel away from him heading for the stairs. The clock on the wall shows 12:15 five minutes slower than my watch; so I’ve turned up to work half a day late on arguably the most important day of my working life, the day where I'll  get chastised, demoted, suspended or sacked or maybe some combination of all four.

But somewhere between leaving Bill last night and being here I’ve decided: I don’t care. 

Something at the back of my mind’s ticking, and there’s a big bit of me that says this isn’t a good attitude but whilst I’m feeling like this I've got to see things through.

            The library’s quiet. James, despite it all, has got everything under control, something I will point out to him latter but now I need time to think. At home, the phone had rung twice before seven. Each time I let it go to answer phone and all I got was a click as someone come up. Someone had been up to the front door with the milk man, but bless her, Mrs Jenner in the ground flat, had seen him off. Watching him trudge back to his blue Vauxhall I had the feeling he was here for me.

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.

 The library seemed a good hiding place, we’ve a room where you can hide. I step inside I sliding the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign into place.

            It's a simple white room.  A heavy, modern wooden door that gives a reassuring click as it swings shut.  A window runs floor to ceiling from the door to the corner, looking onto the library floor. There's natural light, only that which leaches through from the library itself.  Blinds, the long thin vertical ones, mellowed to an off white, hang limply to one side.  I carefully draw them.  As they close the room darkens and so I throw the light switch and a neon tube whirrs and flickers into life, highlighting the sturdy table that runs the length of the room, around which sit eight chairs.  I take the bag from my shoulder, wheeling it down on to the table top. It makes a satisfying thud. I prize it open, pull hard and produce a smaller bag putting it to one side. I tip the big bag up and various documents slither across the shiny table top ending with a sigh and a plop as they tip over the edge.  I’m not interested in them at the moment; it’s the small canvas bag that I focus on.  I wrestle with the clips and flip the top up. 

            I pause. There's a faint knock at the door. I listen. Nothing. So I go back to the bag. The knock comes again and before I can say anything I can hear the door opening. I let go of the bag, it declines and falls, spewing some of its tightly packaged contents.  I’m caught trying to stuff them back into the bag as the door swings open slowly.

            “I’m busy James, really busy.  Just give me five minutes and I’ll be with you.” 

            The door continues to swing. 

            “Look,” this is terse, I'm desperately trying to push the contents back into the bag. “I’m coming, just leave me be.”

            The door pauses half open.  I can see a shadow caught on the wall that gradually merges with a face as Bill pushes her head round the door, she’s grinning.

            “What you up to?”

            A huge sigh ripples through me, “Come in,” moving from terse to testy relief that’s annoyed at her school-girlie silliness.  She closes the door firmly and rests herself against it.  She's wearing a long black skirt, a simple white shirt with a black jumper draped over her shoulders.  Her hair is pulled back from her forehead with a band.  It's the look she wears when she needs to appear professional.

            “Where’ve you been?  Poor James is doo-lalley.”  She pauses as her eyes move from me to the table and the bag that I’m propping up; there is a wad of £50 notes next to it.  She walks over to the table and picks up a bundle. “What on earth?” she gasps.  “Is that what I think it is?  From..?”  I nod assent to both questions.  “Boy, you've changed your tune from last night.”

            “So?”

            “So!”

            “I've had time to reflect.”

 

I'd been shocked by Bill's suggestion to keep the money but the more I thought about it the more it insinuated itself into me.

           

We left the restaurant in silence, letting the cold lap around as we walked back up toward the library and our cars. A group of girls, students, appeared from a side street.  They were talking, rapid words and sentences overlapping.  They were wrapped against the cold but found added warmth in being held together, arms round waists, interlocking limbs, hands held, so that they were both one and many at the same time.  They fell quiet as they flowed round us, liquid against the encroaching cold, kept fluid by their shared friendship.

            “You're thinking about Jonah aren't you?”

            I say nothing, but she's right.

            “It isn't easy Tony and I can't promise anything but, hey, it was him who left me.”

We walk on, and then she pauses, grabs my elbow so I have to turn and face her. She says nothing, just scans my face.

“At some point I have to start living, maybe this is it.” She's wreathed in her own breath. “Yes Tony, yes?”

            I ignore the question and start to walk again. Bill remains still

            “But the money Bill, the money: it isn't ours.”

            “So?”

            “So!” I turn to face her. “Bill!

            “Look on it as a bonus, a windfall, an opportunity.  Given all that you're about to go through Tony, don’t you think you need it. You’re owed it. Maybe, maybe it’s a sign from God”

            “Thanks.”

            She walks towards me and stretches out a gloved hand to stroke my cheek.

            “Look Tony, you don't deserve this. Liz, Mary will be distraught. They didn’t mean this to happen but...”

            “Yes, I know the but...”

            “So think about it, Tony, think.” She slides her arm through mine and begins walking. “A locker full of cash, not exactly the obvious place to bank your money now is it?. What if it's not claimed? It just sits there for years. What if someone else finds it, some fat, indolent business man with a floozy to keep? Help, what if it goes to that stuck up club? So, how about...”

            “Bill.”

            “...Someone who needs it, Tony.”

            “That maybe so but...”

            “I'm not talking about stealing it Tony, because if nobody claims it how can it be stealing? Let's just check it out at the very least, see where it goes. Yeah?”

            We walk in silence up the hill. I enjoy the fact that Bill presses into me for warmth. We part at our cars. She pecks me on the cheek, smiles and is gone. I sit in my car for five minutes, desperately waiting for it to warm up.

 

“So you've had time to reflect and this is what you’ve come up with?” Bill waves the wad at me. “After last night I thought you were going to get all principled on me. Got to do the right thing Bill. It’s not ours Bill. And now... How much is here?”

            “Not all of it. Couple of grand I reckon.”

            She looks askance at me, “You weren't planning to do a runner were you Mr Dafoe?”

            “No,Bill.”

She brandishes the bundle, threatening me with it as if were a weapon, “Your sure?”

“Honest.”

She backs off laughing.

“Couldn't sleep. For some reason.”

            “Oh? I slept like a baby.” The cute smile flicks across her face.

            “Lucky you.”

 

I'd gone to bed but the cacophony of thoughts that raged wouldn't let me settle. In the end I'd given up. I don't know whether it was deliberate or just one of those things but as the clock ticked past six I found myself thinking about the club. And one thing lead to another.

            I was surprised. By the time I got there it was nearly seven and the car park was pretty busy. There were some very nice vehicles lined up.  My battered Micra lowered the tone. I bumbled up to the steps as some other bloke jogged up. He was dressed in shiny, new jogging gear and carried a black leather bag.  My canvas bag felt tatty and I was in jeans. He gave me a look. I smiled and we nodded to each other. Following him in I half expected to be thrown out but, without a flicker, the sentinel let me in.

            Inside there was a hum of activity. The bar area was busy, a mixture of people, some in towelling robes, others in sports gear and a smattering dressed ready for work.  The smell of coffee permeated and there was a long table laid out with all kinds of food, the common theme being it was good for you. Even so it made me feel very hungry.

            I followed the bloke on the steps into the changing room. To my horror it was bustling. My plan had been simple, such that it was. I was just going to check out the locker and leave. I wanted to make sure it was real, that I’d not dreamt it. I’d thought I’d be alone but I couldn’t risk opening the locker with so many around.

And I suppose it was there, that point, that I began to realise that I’d made a decision to keep it, assuming it was real, because why would I be bothered about others seeing it if I was going to give it away.

 I stood like a lemon wandering what to do. I’d not brought shorts or t-shirt, my trainers were the tatty ones I was wearing. I’d really not thought this through. I was  rescued when two guys came in discussing their squash match and the benefits of the sauna. So that's what I did, I grabbed a pearly white towel from the stack, stripped and  went to the sauna.  From there, donning a robe, I had breakfast, sticking to the traditional and avoiding the weird, green, slushy drinks that seemed to be some people's choice of a hearty way to start the day. I enjoyed the coffee and then worked my way through the papers.

            I was content and lost. It was about 10 when I suddenly realised that the place had gone quite and I remembered why I was here.

            I dug in my pockets and produced the key. It was small and silver. I ran my fingers along its serrated edge. I took a deep breath. It had been easy when I'd arrived I'd been buoyed through the door and into the changing by my lack of sleep.  I didn't think, I just did. Now, several mugs of coffee and a good breakfast latter it felt heavier, more difficult.

            What swung it wasn't anything momentous. I’d drifted back to the changing rooms. Another bloke was their preening. I stared at the locker and rationalised things, now wasn’t the moment, Bill should be here too. I dressed, nicked another pain-au-chocolat as I went through the bar and was about to leave when there was a cough.

            “Sir?”

            I turned . My inquisitor  was a petite brunette who’d have been pretty if she hadn’t been swathed in makeup and fake tan.

“Sir? The question hung there. I must’ve looked perplexed,  “The robe?”

            “The robe? Sorry I don’t understand.”

            “The robe, the one in your bag, it’s one of ours. Unless you’re purchasing it?”

            “Oh,” I looked down and there is was stuffed into my bag. “Oh, sorry, world of my own.” I flushed red. “I’ll put it back.”

            “Thank you sir.”

            I gave a little bow and shuffled back down the corridor disappearing into the changing rooms. I could feel her watching me all the way. I was a marked man.

            I don't think I would have gone through even then but for the fact that they were now totally empty. I sort of resented her and the club and it spurred me on, I seized the moment.  Still, it was all very furtive. 

Nervously I unlocked the locker and pulled the bag out. I crouched on the floor and looked at it. It was different. When we'd found it we didn't know its contents, now, well now it was different.

I tugged the strings open and tipped the bag. It vomited money onto the floor, neat bundles of £20 and £50 notes. I picked one up. Each bundle was neatly bound with a loop of paper emblazoned with the statement £1000. I was sweating I'd never held £1000 before. I peered into the bag. There was a lot of money, an awful lot of dosh.

Suddenly Bill's invitation seemed very enticing. 

 

“So, what are you doing with this?” Bill drops the bundle on the table and sits down. She looks up at my. Her face has tightened.

            “You're not getting cold feet are you?” I slump into a chair next to her feeling deflated. I'm not sure why.

            “No,” she says resentfully, “I just thought we'd do this together.”

            “Oh. Sorry.”

            She flicks at the bundle. I watch her trying to sense where this is going. She stands and walks to the window. Her long skirt swishes elegantly as she moves. She parts the blinds and peers out onto the library. Her shoulders drop as if she is carrying a heavy weight.

            “There's something else, Bill”

            “Oh,” she turns back to look at me. “Why the money?” She nods at the bundles on the desk.

            “I got disturbed. I was sitting on the floor feeling quite dazed and wondering what to do when these two blokes came in. It was easier to stuff the bundles on the floor into my bag.”

            “Oh.” She walks gracefully back to the table and fingers the notes.

            I don't know where this is heading so I decide to launch in: “Do you know what? I reckon there’s got to be at least £500,000?  The bundles I couldn’t get back into the locker, this is £6,000.  I’ve never seen so much money. Do you think it is safe in the locker?”

            She pulls one of those non-committal faces, like a carpet that has suddenly got all rucked up, “You’ve changed your tune from last night, Mr Goody Two-Shoes.”

            “That’s a bit unfair.  I said I’d help, I didn’t realise there’s so much.”

            “So size matters?”

            I don't know what to say. “Maybe you're right this is an opportunity.  It looks as if I'm going to be out on my ear, and yeah, maybe this is the Universe putting things right. It redresses the balance a bit. After all its not my fault.” 

Bill picks up a bundle examines it and then places it back on the table, next to the bag.  She meticulously straightens the piles so that they run exactly parallel to the edge of the table.  Her fingers are long and pale; the nails on most have been chewed, so that at best only a small band of white rises from them.

            “So what now?” she asks turning and lifting her head to me.

            “I'm not making any promises but, but I'm prepared to check this out. I've been doing some research.” I point to the other bag on the table that we've ignored up to now.  You don't leave £500 grand in a locker for no reason but if, you know, we can walk away then...yeah. I'd just like to know a little bit more.”

            “Ignorance can be bliss Tony.”

            “Maybe but I'd just like to understand.” I get up and gently place my hands on her arms, holding her. “This is where I need you.  We do this together, yes?”

            She looks at me, purses her lips and nods.

            “Good. It’s McClelland’s funeral tomorrow.  It might be worthwhile going who knows what you might find out.” She backs away. “Come on Bill, you can’t just expect to walk off with the stuff can you?”

            “Suppose you’re right.”

            “The details are all in there.” I tap the bag. “I think the funerals at 4:30pm tomorrow.”

            “Why can’t you go?”

            “Somehow, I think I might be detained elsewhere, don’t you?” 

            She sighs, “OK”.  She looks at the bag. 

            “Everything 's there Bill.  You keep the money, just don’t spend it.” 

            She gives me an indignant stare, “Do you think I'd run off on some shopping trip?”

            “Well...” I smirk.

She frowns. 

“I know you wouldn't” I console. “Look, I’ll speak to you this evening, OK?” I’ve moved across the room to the door.  The cold metal knob is twisting in my hand, the door opening.  I look across at Bill.  She looks small again as if by asking her to be active I have sucked something out of her.  “You OK?” I get a non-committal ‘hmm’ in response and then:

            “Tony, you sort of implied that you’d learnt several things from your digging.  Is this it?”

            I pause, letting the door go so that it comes gently to rest on its catch.  I turn to face Bill, but choose deliberately not to step back into the room.  Several feet separate us and it seems right there should be this gulf.

            “I checked the membership roster; I found a copy hanging on the wall.  Jonah’s a member of the club, an executive member, which means that he had to be proposed by someone.  His proposer was Sandy McClelland.”  I let the words hang in the air, suddenly aware of how warm the room has become.  The words congeal. Bill turns away from me sinking to the table; she looks as if she is having a difficulty to digest them.  I’m caught, not sure what to do when the door butts into my back; it's James.

            “Tony, you’ve got to come, I can’t keep this up,” he says through the door.

            “Yeah, OK, I’m coming,” and I swing the door open.

            “Thanks,” says James, peering over my shoulder.  “Sorry, didn’t know Bill was in there with you.  What you been doing?  Is she all right, doesn’t look it?”  Bill's holding her head in her hands; she seems to have folded up.

            “Leave her; it is time to face the music.”  I let the door silently close behind me.