Forward Slash. Mark Edwards
Читать онлайн книгу.
flat down Herne Hill towards Brockwell Park. Katherine lived at the cheaper end of Norwood Road, the only end where a teacher could afford to buy. When Amy moved to London after leaving university, to take her first lowly job as a marketing executive at a publishing house, Becky had spent several weekends with her sister that included a riotous night out in Brixton and a hungover day at the Lambeth Country Show, the only low point being when she got whiplash on the waltzer. After finishing her PGCE, Becky had managed to get a job in the same part of London. Now she lived in Denmark Hill while Amy was in East Dulwich, off Lordship Lane. Amy couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
As she waited at the traffic lights on Herne Hill, her mind hopped frantically from the subject of Becky’s whereabouts – the word ‘disappearance’ kept trying to creep in but she was holding it at bay for now – to her To Do list. Site updates, customer emails, talking to a supplier, some pay-per-click ads, an interview with a local magazine …
Even on a normal day it would have been enough to send her spiralling into a mild panic, and she couldn’t help but curse Becky for putting her through this. If you’re happily browsing duty free at this moment while I’m chasing around London looking for you … She didn’t finish the thought. Because, really, that’s what she hoped Becky was doing. What was the alternative?
A white Audi cut her up as the lights changed and she raised her middle finger. Dickhead. She had a theory about people who drove expensive white cars. This theory didn’t stretch much further than thinking they were all dickheads, but they proved her hypothesis again and again.
She rode past the row of shops where, last year, somebody had beaten a woman half to death for no reason. To the right lay the beautiful park with views towards central London, the Gherkin and the Shard glinting in the sunshine. But she didn’t give any of that a thought today. She concentrated on the road ahead.
Katherine’s cottage was easy to find. Amy parked the bike outside and unzipped her leather jacket, expecting to see steam coming off her like a baked potato removed from a microwave.
Katherine opened the door and stepped forward to give Amy a kiss.
‘Would you like a cold drink?’ she asked, wiping her cheek. ‘I was sitting out in the garden. Come through.’
Amy followed her through the cottage, surprised by how messy it was: clothes spilling out of an open hall cupboard, dishes stacked in the sink, a layer of grime on every surface.
She stood on the small, square lawn and waited while Katherine searched for a clean glass. A Kindle lay face down on a metal table beside a packet of cigarettes. Katherine came out and made a big show of dragging a chair, filthy with cobwebs, out of the shed.
Amy sat down. ‘How are you?’
Katherine did not look great. Her auburn hair hung in greasy clumps and she was considerably thinner than Amy remembered from their previous meeting. She seemed nervous, picking up the pack of cigarettes and lighting one, taking a hungry drag. Amy didn’t remember her being a smoker either, though it was a detail she could easily have missed.
‘Yeah, I’m OK,’ Katherine said. ‘So happy school’s out at last. By June every year, I think if I have to mark one more piece of shitty Art homework I’m going to go berserk.’ She smiled with one corner of her mouth.
‘How’s the jewellery-making going? I still want you to write that article, if you get time.’
‘Oh. I haven’t made any new pieces for months. I’ve been too busy.’
‘That’s a shame. How’s your man? Clive, isn’t it? Is he here?’
Katherine’s expression didn’t change. ‘We broke up.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. He was a nightmare.’
If she’d known this woman better, Amy would have asked more, but thought it was best to move the conversation on. Especially as Katherine was acting like a junkie who couldn’t wait to get her next fix.
‘This was the email I got from Becky.’
Amy handed Katherine her phone and watched her read it, her brow furrowing.
‘That’s nuts,’ Katherine said.
‘I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so. She never said anything to you about going away?’
‘No. Definitely not.’
‘She was OK on Wednesday at school?’
Katherine stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit another. She stared into the garden and Amy turned to see what she was looking at. But she was staring into space, a peculiar smile on her lips.
‘Katherine?’
‘Huh?’
‘Are you all right?’ Amy asked.
Katherine blinked. ‘What? Yeah, I’m cool.’
She still had that look on her face, as if she found the whole thing amusing – or at least intriguing. She was swinging her leg in the same way Gary had been and Amy noticed that she had bruises around her ankles. ‘You were saying about Wednesday.’
‘Oh, yeah. We went for a drink after work – most of the younger teachers – to celebrate the end of term. Becky was there.’
‘For the whole night?’
‘Yeah. Well, we both left quite early.’ Katherine looked over Amy’s shoulder again and this time a black-and-white cat appeared, running past Amy and disappearing into the house. Katherine watched it go.
‘And how did she seem?’ Amy asked.
‘Normal. Fine. In fact, she was all excited.’
‘Excited? What about?’
Katherine crushed out her cigarette beneath a flip-flop. As she raised her leg, Amy spotted a fading yellow bruise on the inside of Katherine’s thigh. It looked like a bite mark. She looked Amy in the eye. ‘She had a hot date lined up for Thursday night. She was really looking forward to it.’
Wednesday, 15 May
Kath and I are having a great laugh round at mine, going through the profiles on CupidsWeb.com. I have enlisted her help after the date with Tedious Shaun, which, incidentally, pretty much sums up the inherent flaw in Internet dating: no matter how flirty your texts are before you meet, or how attractive their photo is, or how much you have in common on paper, there is still every chance that you won’t like each other when you do meet; that the most important ingredient of all – sexual chemistry – will be missing.
Kath keeps telling me to do speed dating instead, but I can’t handle the idea of it. It does make sense, first impressions and all that, but I’m rubbish at making small talk at the best of times, and the thought of some geek asking if I was an item of food what would I be … no thanks.
‘I’ll do it if you do it with me,’ I said, making a face at her.
‘OK, you’re on,’ she replied, a glint in her eye, clicking back to the main menu and scrolling down a list of thumbnail pictures of men that I can tell, even from a photo one-inch square, I’d rather stick needles in my eyes than date.
‘What? You can’t do speed dating! What would Clive say?’
‘Between you and me, Clive isn’t going to be for ever.’
‘What do you mean?’ She and Clive have a mortgage on a tiny cottage that backs onto a railway line. I’ve been to their house for