Untouchable Things Read online

  She shook her head. “He was tired. He needed to rest.” Her eyes swept Rebecca’s face, brows drawing into a frown. Then she looked away. “I don’t know anything more.”

  Her hand made a stop sign as they rushed in with more questions, and she straightened her spine. “This family has been through a terrible time. I will not be answering any more questions, not now and not in the future. Please let me pass.”

  Rebecca rummaged in her bag, pushing a card into her hand as she turned. “Please call me if you hear from him. I just want to know he’s safe.” Lucilla took it without a word and stalked away. As Rebecca watched her go she noticed a tall man at the end of the street looking in their direction. He pivoted immediately and disappeared round a corner with a loping, familiar gait.

  Rebecca turned back to the others. “I could have sworn that was Jake.”

  Scene 13

  This morning, José can barely dress himself. As soon as he lifts an arm to fasten a shirt button it slumps back down to his side. His body is an empty bottle, all its energy glugged away. He sits like a half-dressed school boy, legs kicking the side of his bed then giving up, like the rest of him.

  He’s taken as much as he can take. His body can no longer sustain the surge and crash of misguided adrenaline. He isn’t in a Hollywood thriller; there’s no obstacle to overcome or heroic task to fulfil. He’s been clinging to a frayed lifeline all these weeks – Seth is in trouble, Seth needs rescuing – and it’s finally snapped. And, unlike a film set, there’s no one to call Cut.

  He thinks of yesterday, how his heart nearly smashed its way out of his chest when that strange woman said she’d seen Seth. In a flash he had fast-forwarded to the happy ending and rolling credits. But Seth has slipped through their grasp again; turned with a little wave before vanishing into thin air. And now they must face the fact that Seth hasn’t been kidnapped, that he’s okay, and that he has no apparent intention of coming back.

  He was with another man last night. His third visit in a week. He’s doing all he can to feel bad about himself, to self-destruct. He thinks of the man’s chewed fingernails, the wart under the pubic hair. His shoulders slump lower, producing small ripples of flesh over the line of his boxer shorts. He stares at them loathingly. Even his flat stomach is an illusion, created by holding in, being constantly watchful. His nostrils flair into a sneer. After all those years of pretty, serious-eyed girls and his mother’s nudged innuendo, he is still living a lie.

  Scene 14

  Thank God.

  Charles lets the relief rock around him. He buries further down, feet propped up on the end of the too-short bath. Seth is not coming back. Only now can he feel what that means, now the fraught emotions of the day are draining away.

  Thank God. He means it; he is offering thanks to a real God, a white-bearded God left over from his childhood. Perhaps he should also be asking forgiveness for giving up on his friend, betraying him in his heart as Seth has betrayed him in deed. He closes his eyes but it is Catherine, not Seth that he sees. Her voice on the phone yesterday morning, asking him to drive her to the funeral, was thrillingly tentative, gentle and grateful like her usual self. But then she hardly spoke to him all day. Of course it was difficult for her, it was difficult for all of them – and bumping into the others like that. His toes curl and he bends his knees to allow them back into the water.

  Still, he’d expected more. He’d allowed his hopes to billow like her beautiful raspberry-coloured skirt that allowed a glimpse of shy, tapered ankles. But he has to curb his eagerness, wait for her to come to him in her own time. Perhaps today will mark some sort of closure for her. Seth didn’t turn up, he isn’t going to. Charles breathes into the relief again but finds it diluted by uncertainty. There is no telling what Seth will or will not do. He flexes his fingers and watches their distorted reflections grapple under the water. The only thing he can do is to be prepared to fight.

  Scene 15

  Curtain opens to reveal Michael sitting at his desk holding a small bottle. The room is dingy, badly lit. A pile of photographs and papers lie on the floor. The fingers of one hand tap rhythmically on the desk while he clutches the bottle with the other. He shakes the bottle and we hear the rattle of tablets. Slowly he pours a large glass of clear liquid from a larger, squat bottle on the desk. He smells it and closes his eyes, remaining like this for some time. With no warning he tips a handful of pills into his mouth and drains the glass. He lays his head on the desk. The lights go out and the curtain falls.

  Scene 16

  Rebecca crunches along the gravel like an advert for autumn. Crimson coat, looped red and orange scarf, matching hat snuggled over hair that bursts into flames in the October sunshine. She watches her boots mark out the path that Seth showed her. She’s retracing a walk they took together earlier in the year on a sudden urge to get out of London. It turns out to be only a few miles from his childhood home – not that he told her at the time. Just a little further is the cluster of rocks where they sprawled and talked and offered themselves up to the early spring sun. It’s a Sunday and her route is punctuated by families like knots on a rope that she must leapfrog in order to progress. She wonders if he is here, following her. She has never mentioned it to the others, that scalp-pricking feeling of being followed. It’s something she keeps for herself.

  And it gives her hope, alongside the fear. There’s still the knife in the gut that he didn’t show up on Friday, but there must be a reasonable chance that he’s in the vicinity. Was it March they came here? Yes, he’d quoted Emily Dickinson to her:

  March is the month of expectation, the things we do not know.

  There was so much she didn’t know then. But at the time she’d taken his arm and felt a thrill of anticipation for what lay ahead. Now, seven months later, she revisits the places they went together like a grieving spouse. But she must play detective too, still looking out for clues, for a glimpse of a face behind the wall, a shadow in the trees.

  An unseen bird coughs and stutters like an old car trying to start. Faraway voices move in and out of the gush of river. What if he’s here, watching her? She quickens towards the rocks, picks out the centre one where he sat, lit to perfection by weaving strands of sunlight. If this were a film the camera would cut to her now, wheedling in for a close-up of the distraught heroine with head in hands. Hold it now. That’s good. Then, after half a minute, it would zoom out to reveal the dark-haired man stepping out from the bushes and going to sit beside her. Lovely. Look up at him now. She raises her head to blurred acres of silent woodland. She is alone.

  The film crew has left her stranded, bottom hardening into the cold stone seat. Dead leaves drop sporadically from the sky with a log fire crackle as they brush and nudge each other down. The forest is burning itself up in a last act of defiance, igniting its own funeral pyre as the shroud of winter closes in. She keeps to her spot like a loyal bride and does not struggle.

  Scene 17

  I’m a little surprised to see you again, Mr Maslowe.

  There’s something I didn’t tell you. We didn’t tell you. A missing scene in our account.

  I’m curious as to the relevance now. As you’re aware, we have made an arrest in connection with Clive Rothbury’s murder. With regards to your friend, he’s off the missing persons’ list. He came in to see me shortly before the arrest of his mother.

  Oh… I see.

  You look surprised, Mr Maslowe.

  I suppose I am. We still haven’t seen him. But, yes, I think it’s become increasingly obvious to us that Seth is staying away because he wants to, not because he’s in trouble.

  Do you still wish to proceed with your statement?

  I think I do. I want this on record. Just in case.

  Just in case?

  I don’t know. We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want Seth to look bad… and because we were worried about being implicated. Myself, Anna, José, Michael and Catherine that is. Rebecca and Jake weren’t on the scene then, though Jake
knows about it. We don’t come out too well from this episode. But it’s not really about us. It’s about Seth. And the possibility that he may be… dangerous.

  I see. Please go ahead, Mr Maslowe.

  It was Sunday 22nd of January, 1995. I’ve checked the date. We were all due for Sunday lunch at Seth’s.

  He was going to cook them a roast. Something spectacular, he said, a big bird with every imaginable trimming. He’d built it up all week, dropping culinary hints and thumbing cookbooks ostentatiously. Charles thought it was probably a goose; Anna said she wouldn’t put it past Seth to nab one of the Queen’s swans. José was kept sweet by the promise of some vegetarian delicacy. The email teasers and cryptic text messages bouncing around amounted to a full-on marketing campaign. They were ordered to fast from midnight on Saturday.

  They were ordered to dress up, too. It was the first time Charles had donned a DJ at 10.30 in the morning, shining his shoes and adjusting his bowtie with an indulgent smile. Seth was like an overgrown kid at times like this. But his excitement had rubbed off on him, on all of them. With Seth around, weekends were to be looked forward to all week. Occasionally Charles imagined a mundane weekend, listening to the radio and sorting through his admin, with a slight wistfulness. Mundanity, Seth’s nemesis, conveyed a certain comfort to him: everything in its place, no surprises. Seth held no truck with that view whatsoever. Carpe diem, Charlie boy. One day I’ll abandon you to your pipe and slippers. But not yet. There’s plenty of time to get old.

  He arrived on foot at 11.23, just as Anna was pulling up with José in her MG. Round the corner came Michael, replete with cagoule and cycling helmet. Catherine arrived a couple of minutes later, slightly flustered, clutching a foil-covered glass dish; her bus had been late. Seth was very particular about punctuality but all of them were well in time for the 11.30 kick-off. They giggled at each other, all dolled up on a Sunday morning. Catherine in particular looked stunning, hair swept up from a neck he rarely got the chance to see. He found himself wondering what her dress would look like.

  Anna grabbed José. “Come on, it’s feckin’ freezing out here. And I’m feckin’ starving.”

  José raised his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you feckin’ fasted?”

  “Too feckin’ right I did. And I won’t be doing that again anytime soon, I can tell you.”

  Turns out they’d all followed the instructions and refrained from eating all morning.

  Shows you the power he had over us. He could even control us remotely.

  So it seems, Mr Maslowe.

  Michael bent to remove the clip from the leg of his trousers as he locked up his bike. “This had better be something special. I’m not in the mood for silly pranks today.”

  Anna snorted. “I’ll take any prank if someone feeds me first. What’ve you got there, Catherine?”

  Catherine blushed slightly. “Just an apple crumble. I said I’d bring pudding. I probably should have done something a bit fancier…”

  “You’re kidding? Apple crumble’s my absolute favourite.”

  Catherine blushed brighter at the unusual compliment from Anna. Charles resisted the sudden urge to skip up the path.

  Seth buzzed them in and they sauntered up the stairs, still debating what was on the menu. The door to Seth’s flat was closed.

  “It’ll be on the latch. Give it a shove.”

  Michael rapped hard, giving them all a sideways glance. “What did I tell you? God knows what he’s got up his…”

  The door opened onto Seth. Charles noticed the striped dressing gown first; so, things were running late. The smell of smoke hit him next, making him wince and recoil towards the clean, cold corridor air. Only then did he take in Seth’s face. Bloodshot eyes, dense black stubble. And two deep, bloody scratches down one side of his face.

  He smiled slightly. “Thank God you’re here.”

  His breath reeked of whisky. They stared like wide-eyed dolls. Charles thought of Michael’s words outside. Could this possibly be a prank?

  Then Anna took a step forward. “What’s happened? What’s wrong with your face?”

  A raised eyebrow, pulling at one of the scratches. “I’m in a bit of a mess. Come in and see for yourself.”

  They stumbled after him, exchanging worried glances that were caught by the hall mirror. Empty beer cans lined the skirting boards. Cigarette butts on the polished floorboards. It smelt like there’d been a house fire. Charles felt in his hip pocket for his inhaler. He’d need it in a minute.

  As they approached the drawing room they heard a husky female voice, a voice that didn’t belong in this flat. Oo the fuck is that?

  Michael stopped short so that Anna bumped into him. “What’s going on, Seth?”

  But he didn’t answer. The first thing Charles saw from the doorway was an overturned chair. The curtains were closed and the air thick with cigarette smoke, almost unbreathable. He pulled out his hanky and held it over his mouth. His dinner jacket would never be the same again. As he swivelled in the doorway he saw a half-naked woman appear through the haze, dressed in a short, ruffly white nightie and clutching handfuls of clothes to her as she turned away. The back of her long, red hair was matted and wild.

  What the bleedin’ ’ell? came the voice.

  Even Anna was silenced. It was rude to stare but what else could they do? Michael muttered an obscenity as Seth extended an arm. “This is – sorry, I don’t think I caught your name, pet.”

  “Pet? I’ll bleeding pet you.” The woman turned and they gasped now as she loomed out of the smog like something from a horror film. Her middle-aged face was contorted and smeared with blood. Her right eye was half closed and her upper lip swollen. A thin, red stream ran out of her left nostril towards her chin. Drip drip drip, plopping rhythmically onto the cream carpet, splattering crimson into abstract patterns. Dark smudges of bruising or make-up criss-crossed with the blood. Catherine let her dish of crumble slide to the floor, dropping it clumsily by the wall, but no one even looked down. They stared, mesmerised.

  It might sound odd but even then part of me wondered if it was a set-up, a trick.

  “For God’s sake. Use this.” Seth pushed his own handkerchief at the woman and waved an ineffectual arm at the smoke. “Look, can you at least get dressed? We’ll give you some privacy.”

  They were rooted, gawping; he had to push and pull at them to herd them out.

  Michael’s face was ashen. He grabbed Seth’s arm, hissing, “What the hell’s going on? Is this some kind of sick joke?”

  “If only.” Seth gestured them into the study and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “Just that.” He pulled his dressing gown tighter around him and Michael looked away. Seth cast his eyes round the room. “Where the fuck are my cigarettes?”

  “Leave it, Seth. Just tell us what happened.” He nodded at Anna and they all gathered round him, squashed like children sharing a secret. “Look, a few chaps came back here last night.” Charles reads the looks around him, hurt and jealousy that he hadn’t asked any of them to join him. “It was pretty full-on.” José folds his arms. “I must have passed out about two o’clock. When I came round this morning the place was empty apart from the charming lady in my drawing room, whom I assure you I had never seen before. I presume someone got a little over-excited at some point and ordered her in, so to speak.”

  “Ordered her… what, like a Chinese takeaway?” There was disgust in Michael’s voice.

  “Precisely. Late night appetites and all that. Don’t shoot the messenger, old bean.” He held his palms up in appeal. “Anyway, when I got up I found this woman spitting like a wild cat and bleeding all over my cream carpet.” He put a hand up to the side of his face. “Don’t think she was particularly pleased to see me either.”

  Michael frowned. “She just attacked you?”

  “Oh, it gets worse.” He lowered his voice and the
y leaned in further. “She claims she’s been drugged.”

  “Sweet Jesus.” Anna.

  “I know.” He looked at them with an expression of bewilderment, lingering on Catherine who reached out a hand to him. “Let’s just say I could be in a lot of bother. I didn’t do anything but it’s my house, of course. Who would believe me?”

  “Can you get hold of the other people who were here?” José asked.

  Seth blew out a sigh and shook his head. “Not a chance. Casual acquaintances, at best.” He looked at Catherine again. “Sorry, I’ve been a bit stupid.” She had red rings around her eyes and hadn’t spoken yet.

  Michael was still frowning at Seth. “But we have to call the police. We have to find out who did this. Just because she’s a… sex worker doesn’t mean she should be beaten to pulp.”

  Anna stepped closer. “But, Michael, Seth’s right. He’ll get done for this. It’s him who’ll be locked up, not the nut job who did this.”

  Michael made a guttural sound through clenched teeth. Seth looked from one to the other, eyes wide, throwing himself on their mercy.

  “I’ll be guided by you. If you think we should call the police that’s what we’ll do. I know I can’t do anything without your help…”

  His voice petered off and José squeezed his arm. “We’ll help you. We’ll help you in any way we can.”

  Michael glared at him. “Will we? How?”

  Everything was unfolding in its normal way, other people debating and deciding and he, Charles, watching from the edge, unsure of what he thought and what to do. Embarrassingly, his stomach let out a long whine.

  Seth laughed a little through his nose. “Yes, sorry about that, chaps. You must all be famished. I haven’t exactly got very far with lunch yet.”

  No one replied. They were all still standing in their winter coats. Anna suddenly threw hers off and began to pace in a black shift dress. Her bracelets clanked as she turned. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do.” She turned to Seth. “How much cash have you got on you?”

  “Cash? Oh, I see. One second.” He opened the door and reached his wallet from the hall shelf. “Ah. Empty. I presume that was her friend.”