The Actuality Page 21
Tucking the watch and chain into an inside pocket and rewrapping his boa around his neck, he strides back towards the light, his high-heeled shoes echoing on the wet stone.
Evie clambers to her feet and unsteadily begins to follow. If she can catch up and leap on his shoulders, maybe she can bring him down. Though such a notion is suspect logic and likely the result of a shorted circuit.
With her gyroscope impaired and with the latest blow to the head still ringing, she weaves helplessly, banging into the bins on left and right, stumbling and sliding on the slime. Unable to maintain a straight course or even hold herself upright, she falls hard against the wall, sliding down the brickwork, and ends seated on the wet cobbles.
She tilts her head to watch him leave. With no more strength left to pursue or to fight, she slumps forward, head in her hands.
Evie hears the girl rise to her feet the other side of the alley and, stepping around the fallen lids, cross the cobbles and kneel beside her. The girl’s arms close around her neck. What is she stealing now? she wonders. I have nothing for her to take.
‘Did hee hurt you?’ she asks gently, stroking Evie’s neck, trailing her fingertips over the contours of her cheek and the bridge of her nose. A fingertip curls inside her ear. She discovers the edge of the blonde wig and, lifting it, frees her hair. Is that it? Is it just the bright hairpiece she is after?
Despite the poor light, the girl’s face is close enough to reveal a layer of bruises beneath the grease paint.
‘A bit,’ she murmurs.
A tear rolls down the child’s cheek. Slow as a snail. Leaving a silvery trail. Is this sympathy? Evie’s heart lurches, even though she’s seen her perform, with spontaneous ease, such a feat on stage.
Evie shakily stands and starts to hobble away.
The girl wipes her face with the backs of her fingers. ‘Here,’ she says, extending her palm, a wad of cash held in front of her.
‘What? Why?’
The girl shrugs. ‘You can ‘ave it, but you must take us with you.’ She picks up the small dog and holds it to her chest.
‘Take us?’ The sharp bend the encounter has taken brings her up short. It is the oddest place, this stinking alley, to be conducting such a negotiation, that in fairness would be peculiar anywhere. Does the girl really think she is able to buy her?
The money is as suddenly withdrawn. Too fast for the eye. ‘Well?’ the girl asks.
‘I don’t understand?’
‘Cos je fancy somethin’ better than thees.’ She glances around at the dingy brickwork. ‘And moi fond of you.’
‘Fond of me! You know nothing about me.’ Even as Evie probes the request, she wonders why she is doing so. Isn’t this what her heart desperately wants?
She absent-mindedly reaches for the money but again, lightning-fast, it is removed from her reach.
‘I can tell enough,’ the child says.
‘Where are your parents?’
The girl stares back. Hostility enters her look. Even the dog yelps crossly. Then her expression relaxes and she shrugs noncommittally.
She holds the notes out again, the negotiation back on. ‘Everythin. Tout. Everythin. You can ave it.’
The child picks up her hat from the ground and twirls it on a finger. When it comes to a stop, she flips it over and takes out a second sheaf of notes from inside the band.
‘Je ave this aussi.’
Evie stares open-mouthed.
The child fans the greasy dollars and neuros, sliding them through her fingers as slipperily as a sharp.
‘But you have a home.’
‘Not so much un joli maison, je think.’ The girl nods towards the grimy brickwork of the theatre wall. ‘Do you believe moi like being slapped around tout le temps? Je ne une grande idiot.’
‘I don’t have anywhere,’ Evie says.
‘Moi loves an adventure.’
‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘Mon nom ees Sola.’
‘Sola,’ Evie repeats helplessly. She murmurs a nervous, ‘Okay,’ realising as she does so that she had been prepared to capitulate from the start. That she would have accepted such a deal from the moment the child stole her ribbon in the park.
30
As soon as they are away from the vicinity of the theatre, Sola takes Evie’s hand, as if such familiarity between virtual strangers is the done thing. Maybe the girl doesn’t trust her not to desert her, now that she has thrown in her lot.
After a few turns, Evie stops to make sure none of the child’s rather alarming actor acquaintances are following. The child, oblivious to her caution, paces joyfully, whistling music hall tunes to the little dog.
‘You wouldn’t tell me earlier about your family?’ Evie asks, risking the question again. Wondering how crazy she has been in allowing events to develop like they have.
‘Ma mère, she died,’ Sola replies dismissively.
‘Oh!’ She should have spotted that one coming.
The child, seeing her blush, smiles. ‘Tu es sweet, I think that’s why I like yer. Elle was also too. Always concerné.’
This makes Evie ponder. Had the girl really picked her out, identified her as a potential opportunity to jump ship? It is hard to believe that such a sweet face could be so scheming. But that’s what thieves do, they spot their mark and reel them in.
‘Did your parents work in that place too?’
Sola snorts. ‘No way! We had une immense villa with pool in le country. Maman was très beautiful. Elle une grande actress.’
Now it is Evie’s turn to smile, amused by the fairy-tale imagination feeding empty boasts. In reply, her tone is sceptical. ‘And with all that money, there was no one else to look after you?’
The child tightens her grip, but this time painfully, crushing Evie’s fingers. ‘Je ne tell you nuthin, if you’re not moi believin.’
They carry along in a mistrustful silence, until Sola breaks it, pointing to a holo projected from the wall ahead. The image is of Evie and David, head and shoulders only – a pair of mugshots suspended in the air.
Evie’s instinct is to turn and run but doing so will just draw attention and instead she grips the child’s hand tighter. She recognised herself immediately despite her straight hair styled in waves, something she has never thought to do. The Realhuman logo floats below – suggesting the clip could have been recorded in the factory. In the holo she blinks repeatedly, something she does when nervous, as she certainly would have been then, absorbing the sights and smells of her new existence for the first time.
‘It ees you?’ Sola asks, puzzled, glancing from one to another. ‘Why?’
‘Keep going,’ Evie mutters.
‘Why do they ave your holo?’ The child is distracted by the likeness and has missed completely the one-million-neuro reward below in bold flashing-one-at-a-time letters, a strange oversight for such an opportunistic thief, however small-scale.
The hotel is only just around the corner, but with heart racing faster than an atom racer, Evie makes them wait in the shadows of a littered doorway opposite, giving a chance for anyone following, alerted by her reaction to the holo, to reveal themselves.
Satisfied they’re alone, she leads the child across the street and underneath the canopy. The man in reception, a one-armed ex-militiaman of the ongoing colonial wars, judging by his tattoos, glances up, but there is no recognition, no awareness that a mouth-watering sum awaits the return of his guest to the hands of its ‘rightful owners’. It is helpful also that Sola passes undetected, head below the level of the counter. Not that Evie can imagine a fuss being made, unless it be a demand for additional rent, on top of that already extorted.
She reaches their room door and puts her head around, wondering how she will explain Sola to David. Their journey is complicated enough without another pothole or bump.
But he is not there.
Evie had not anticipated his absence. She knows she upset him, but she thought they’d talked that through.
‘Where ees he?’ Sola asks, ‘le boy in le holo?’
‘I don’t know.’ Evie walks back across the room and closes the door. Her pack is on the side and she checks inside to see if his few things are still there.
‘He your friend?’
‘Yes,’ she says, wondering if it is true.
The train they’d intended to take leaves in an hour. What if he went out searching for her? What if he’s lost? This afternoon, everything had felt so certain and now she’s messed it all up.
Sola sits in the window, peering out. ‘Is that heem down there?’
‘What can you see?’
‘Le boy, he talk to les cops.’
Evie comes over.
‘Well?’
David is in the street, surrounded by three uniformed men, jutting chins tucked behind stiff collars and brows hidden by peaked caps. They could be gendarmes but as equally could be some brand of corporate security. He has gone out without shoes and shirt despite the weather – that would only have helped draw attention.
They try to manoeuvre him towards their vehicle. He stands his ground and they prod his side with batons, which sends him reeling.
‘Why they hurt heem?’ Sola asks.
Evie runs from the room and down the stairs, past the reception again, stopping outside at the top of the hotel steps.
Sola emerges from the doorway behind and takes hold of her arm.
David’s eyes connect with hers but, as they do, the men reach out with their sticks again to his chest, making him twist on the spot and drop to his knees, his shoulders in spasm.
Now that he is down, two grab for his arms but he is already rising again, even before they can make contact, and knocks them sideways. As they struggle to recover, David bolts down the street and leaps the iron bollards at the end, leaving the two men staring at one another, before gathering their wits and following.
Evie’s first thought is to flee herself – but if she does, she will lose David for sure. If he is able to, or wants to, he will look for her in the hotel.
Her thought processes are in turmoil. What if she ends up trapped? What do these men in uniforms know? What might David tell them if they catch him?
Evie pulls Sola into the shadows. ‘We’ll wait for him in the room.’ She can’t desert him. It isn’t how she was made.
‘Who is he?’ the girl whispers back, more curious than scared. ‘Is he your boyfriend?’
They go back upstairs and, locking the door, lay together on the bed in the dark. After the child falls asleep, Evie takes the charger from the pack and plugs herself in. The warm buzz of electricity, on which normally she likes to drift before surrendering to sleep, tonight lights her nerves, leaving her tense from head to toe. She is conscious of Sola’s hand pressed against her hip and of the snuffle of her breath in the chilly air. But more than anything, she is conscious of the level of her abandon – the child lies on her back, arms out by her sides, legs stretched apart, taking up almost as much of the bed as David had – possessing a sense of freedom she herself has never felt.
*
During the night, Evie hears the handle of the door turn. Hoping it is David, she tiptoes over and crouches with her ear against the wood. The sharp tap of footsteps retreat and descend. Whoever it was, it was not David. Could it have been the hotel owner? Should she take her chances and leave now?
More anxious than ever, she returns to the bed and wraps her arms around the sleeping child, drawing the heat of her body into her chest.
Evie is woken again in the early hours by a rattle at the window. It swings inward, allowing in a rush of night air. David enters and crouches by the bedstead.
The presence of Sola doesn’t register with him, although, exhausted as he is, he is in no state to question anything. Evie picks Sola up and lays her on the chair, offering David the space. He collapses on the mattress, his head sinking into the pillows.
While he sleeps, she wets a towel and wipes the crust of filthy gel from his damaged feet. She then pulls back the skin below his ribs and connects her own charger, causing him to shudder but not wake.
When David comes to, it is early afternoon. The child is perched on the windowsill, cross-legged, teasing the dog with a ball of wool, making him jump for it like a cat.
Evie lies in the chair. ‘Are you all right? she asks him.
David doesn’t answer but stares at the ceiling.
‘What happened?’ she asks.
‘I outran them.’
‘They didn’t see where you went?’
‘They followed me but I hid under a bridge.’ He sounds as if he is concealing something.
‘There’s blood under your nails,’ she says.
He lifts his hands and studies his fingers. The tips quiver in the muted light. ‘Unfortunately they doubled back.’
‘I think les poor cops bought it,’ Sola says to the dog, shaking her head.
‘What’s she doing here?’ David asks, tension overflowing into his voice.
‘Her name’s Sola. She’s the child from the park yesterday.’
‘I recognise her. Where did you find her?’
‘Outside her theatre.’
He huffs. ‘Is she really such a good idea?’
It isn’t his decision but rather than tell him that, Evie diplomatically replies, ‘It’s a long story. Believe me, it’s going to be easier to take her than to try not to.’
Sola shoves the dog onto the floor and crosses to Evie’s chair where she clambers onto her lap. Draping her arm tightly around Evie, Sola smirks back at David. ‘Je paid moi way.’
The three of them leave the room at dusk. They sneak through reception but move rapidly once on the street.
They only need to reach the train station, but Evie feels exposed. Anyone they pass could be after them and indeed they soon appear to have picked up not one but two tails. Both are bulky men in faded winter jackets. They could be innocuous but it feels wrong.
They round the next corner quickly and, from the safety of a doorway, watch the men pass.
Evie peers out. Nothing moves on the street. ‘They’ve gone,’ she says.
They emerge and, taking the next left turn and the next right, enter the parallel road.
Hearing distant footsteps, she glances around. The two men are in sight again, but together now, a hundred metres behind.
‘We need to get away from here,’ Evie says.
At the junction ahead, they see a third man, dressed as the others in the same drab hooded jacket. Again, it could be nothing or, as seems more likely, they are being boxed in.
‘What do we do?’ Sola asks, looking behind.
A woman in a sleek coat with a silver fur collar emerges from a doorway opposite and crosses the road towards them.
They watch her approach. What does she want? She is drawing attention to them.
The woman comes up alongside. ‘Yes, they after you very much,’ she says in a throaty voice. ‘Come with me now quickly, before they catch you.’
31
With no other choice, Evie, David and Sola follow the woman. She leads them a couple of metres to their right and then along a dark alley, the narrow entrance to which had been invisible in the gloom.
‘Who are you?’ Evie asks, as they emerge back into the light at the other end. She tries to make out the woman’s face behind the fur of her high collar.
The woman gives her a closed-lip smile. ‘I Yuliya.’ It isn’t much of an answer and Sola stares up at her suspiciously, clearly tempted to tell her as much.
‘Je thought we taking le train,’ Sola mutters. ‘Now we lost those men, we can still do eet.’
‘You lost them but they not lost you,’ Yuliya replies sharply, walking on briskly, obliging them to keep up. ‘They not give up just like that.’
Evie, tucking aside her own uncertainty, takes Sola’s hand tightly in hers,
concerned the girl may decide her interests are best served at this point by deserting.
‘So, where are you taking us?’ David asks.
‘Somewhere safe,’ Yuliya says, glancing behind. ‘We not talk now or they hear. We be there very soon, then talk all we need. For now, no more chitter-chatter, all be quiet as mice.’
Yuliya leads them along at a rapid pace, managing to keep a half-pace ahead despite her boots’ slender metallic heels. Over their tap-tapping, Evie listens hard for pursuit.
The neighbourhood quickly improves, second-hand clothes stores making way for upmarket antique shops and hova showrooms, behind the high windows of which shiny vehicles dangle illuminated like Christmas baubles.
Reaching the river, the air thickens and the houses lining the distant bank merge into the charcoal smudge of the swollen water.
They cross a stone bridge onto an island. The winter tide has risen over the lip of the quays and laps the brickwork of the buildings.
Passing along a residential street, they enter under an arch into a courtyard. Reaching a door, Yuliya draws out a key and unlocks it. She steps through and holds it back. The hallway beyond is dark and wafts an odour of trapped decay. It is more like the gate to a prison.
They hesitate to enter but what options do they have?
Reluctantly they follow her through.
Once they are inside, Yuliya puts her head back out and glances both ways. She then closes the heavy door, shunting the stiff bolts home, dislodging a swirl of plaster from the high ceiling onto their hair.
Evie, David and Sola try to make out their surroundings from the single remaining bulb in an ornate chandelier.
‘This way,’ Yuliya says, steering them up a wide, dusty staircase.
Hearing feet outside, they come to a sudden stop, but whoever it is passes. ‘That them,’ Yuliya says. ‘You lucky, we make it just in time.’
They breathe in and continue up.
At the top of the stairs, Yuliya holds open one of a pair of tall doors.
The room beyond is opulent, like something out of a palace. Three of the walls are panelled with intricately gilded wood and hung with full length mirrors. Their images reflect back from the depths of the speckled glass, repeating and echoing, as if they are somewhere distant, small and lost. In the wrong place. The end wall is hung with a tapestry of men in robes sitting behind a table, the threads so bright the image bursts from the gloom.