The Other Side of the Door by Nicci French (13 ebook reader .TXT) 📗

‘I didn’t mean that.’

Nat fumbled in his jacket and produced a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He offered me the packet.

‘I’ve given up,’ I said.

‘It’s time to fucking start again.’

He handed a cigarette to Jan and the two of them lit up. I felt an overwhelming urge to join them but instead I jammed my hands into my pockets as if that was a way of avoiding reaching out for a cigarette. ‘So?’ I said. ‘You needed to see me.’

He looked at Jan and then at me. ‘Hello?’ he said, in a raised voice. ‘Hayden’s fucking dead. Somebody dumped him in a reservoir.’

‘It’s a terrible shock,’ I said.

‘That’s right,’ said Jan, in an odd, muted voice. It was the first time he had spoken.

‘How did you get my phone number?’ I asked.

‘Hayden gave it to me one time,’ said Nat. ‘In my notebook I’ve literally got about thirty different numbers that he gave me at different times where he could be reached, most of them crossed out. Now I guess I can cross them all out. Do you want to go for a walk? I’m cold just standing here.’

‘It’s a warm summer day,’ I said.

‘I get cold when I stand around.’

We moved off and made slow progress through the crowd.

‘What is it with these punks?’ said Jan, fretfully. ‘I was a kid when punk happened and people didn’t look like that. The real punks didn’t look like punks.’

‘What do you mean they didn’t look like punks?’ said Nat.

‘Look at the old pictures of the Sex Pistols. They don’t look like punk rockers. The uniform came later.’

‘We all wear uniforms,’ said Nat. He turned to me. ‘You don’t. Were you ever part of a tribe?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘For me it’s always just about the music.’

‘No wonder you and Hayden got together.’

‘We didn’t really get together . . .’ I began.

‘I’m just like those punks,’ said Nat. ‘What we play—played, should I say?—is a sort of alt-country so I dress like I was born in Texas. I grew up in Norfolk, for fuck’s sake. Hayden was never like that. He wouldn’t have seen the point.’ He stopped. ‘We’ve got to toast him.’

I checked my watch. ‘It’s ten past twelve.’

‘We’ve got to toast him.’

Jan looked at me and shrugged, and we followed Nat to a pub by the canal. We sat at a table outside and Nat went in. He emerged carrying a tray with three small glasses containing a dark liquid, and three packets of crisps. He sat down and handed them around. ‘Bourbon,’ he said. He picked up the glass and contemplated it. ‘Bonnie. Do you want to say a few words?’

Now there was a long pause because I really, really didn’t want to say any words at all. I didn’t want to be drinking bourbon at midday with two musicians I hardly knew. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know Hayden the way you two knew him.’

‘That’s true,’ said Jan, in a tone that made me feel sick.

‘Hayden was a great musician,’ I said. ‘Somehow I don’t think it ever quite worked out for him. It shouldn’t have ended like this.’

‘Of course it shouldn’t have fucking ended like this,’ said Nat. ‘That’s not much of a tribute.’

I looked at Jan. ‘Can you do any better?’

Jan dabbed his finger into the bourbon and touched his tongue with it. He picked the glass up. ‘To the memory of Hayden Booth. He took my money. He fucked up my career. He once stole my girl. But the good thing about Hayden: he’d do something terrible to you, but when he’d done it, it was over. He wouldn’t hold a grudge. To Hayden, and short memories.’

‘That’s not much of a tribute either,’ said Nat.

‘The last time I saw you together, there was a fight,’ I said.

Nat gave a grunt. ‘Like the man said, it’s only rock-and-roll. I can do better. To Hayden, who walked the walk.’

‘He did not walk the fucking walk,’ said Jan. ‘He talked the fucking talk, but he did not walk the fucking walk.’

‘Are we going to have this drink or not?’ said Nat.

‘I’m just not going to bullshit about the guy.’

‘All right, all right. What about this? To Hayden. He died young. Or kind of young. He died young and he left a beautiful corpse. What about that, Bonnie? Will you vouch for that? Did he leave a beautiful corpse?’

Until then it had all been oddly detached. It had been a relief to be with people I didn’t know or care about but suddenly the word ‘corpse’ hit me and I saw his body lying on the floor, and the blood and the unnatural position of it, and even caught a certain smell that I’d entirely forgotten. I made myself nod. ‘Yeah,’ I said, in hardly more than a whisper. ‘I guess he did.’

‘Fine,’ said Nat. ‘To Hayden.’

I lifted the glass and just felt the liquid against my lips but then I opened them and felt the hot stinging on my tongue, tipped the glass and swallowed it all in a gulp. Even before I had properly noticed what was happening, Jan had gone, come back and there was another glass of bourbon in front of me. Rather desperately I tore open a bag of crisps and crammed several into my mouth. The saltiness and sweet spiciness were repulsive and I had to force myself to swallow.

‘Why me?’ I said. ‘Why call me? And why are you both here?’

‘What did the police ask you?’ said Jan.

‘When you rang, I hadn’t seen the police.’

‘But it was obvious, wasn’t it? You’re the one he was with. You’d be the first person they’d talk to.’

‘I wasn’t with him.’

‘You were playing with him,’ said Nat. ‘You found him somewhere to live.’

‘I just suggested a place,’ I said. ‘Somewhere to flat-sit.’

‘I saw you together,’ said Nat. ‘I saw the way he looked at you. He depended on you.’

‘He adored you.’

‘The police didn’t ask anything special.