Three Steps Behind You

From Farringdon, I take the Tube to Liverpool Street. People in dark suits zap around holding document cases. I do not exist to them; I have to stand aside in the street to let them past otherwise we would just collide, and I would have to apologise. I try to be how Luke must be – imagine the suited swagger, battering people out of the way with his broad chest. I make an attempt but I don’t have the armour, so I am knocked off the pavement into the gutter. Nicole is close behind me, I know without looking. The red ties and poppies that people are wearing remind me. Nicole and I are like the poppy really – I am that deep black circular centre, and she is the red, constantly surrounding me, but flimsy. I could tear her away in an instant. But Luke in all his greenery is our stem, uniting us. Pinned to Adam until he chooses to cast us off.

Adam’s building is like a granite spaceship. I step on an escalator at street level, and am carried up and up through dazzling black and glass, until I reach reception. They won’t let me past the security barriers without an appointment, so I phone Adam and try to make one. His mobile is off. I sit down on a cream leather sofa next to the barriers and consider my next move. As I do so, I see one of the side gates open, and a man comes out, depositing a pass on the counter. The gate is still open. The receptionists are busy with new visitors. I could slide through it, if I go now, now NOW!

And I’m in.

But I don’t know where Adam is to be found. I walk to what I think are lifts, but there are no buttons to press, just a small digital display on the granite pillars between each one. I stand staring at them. A suited man appears beside me.

‘Infra-red,’ he says, holding his pass to one of the displays. ‘Visitor?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ I say.

There is the sound of an ocean. I can’t think why and then I see the man go into the lift. I was expecting a ‘ping’ but apparently here tsunamis announce ascension. I get into the lift with him.

‘Which floor?’ he asks.

‘Banking,’ I say.

He stares at me. I try to remember more detail about where Adam works, and my brain delivers a name. The suited man nods.

‘Me, too,’ he says, waving his pass at another digital – or is it infra-red? – display. The lift starts to carry us up. ‘Who are you here to see?’

‘Adam,’ I say. The man waits expectantly. Apparently there is more than one Adam. ‘Lomax,’ I add.

The man nods and the lift door opens. I wonder if that is his party trick.

I follow him through to another reception. Women with red neck scarves sit behind a shiny white curve, blocking my way.

‘Good meeting, Mr Shipley?’ asks one of the women.

‘Nothing to the pleasure of seeing you,’ Mr Shipley replies.

The woman smiles and blushes lobster-red to match her scarf. I wonder how many times a day she has to do that, whether it’s stipulated in the job description.

Mr Shipley does a sideways head movement in my direction.

‘He’s here to see Adam Lomax,’ says Mr Shipley.

The women notice me for the first time.

‘Take a seat, sir,’ one of them says, dismissing me. ‘He’ll be right with you.’

I sit down on another white leather sofa and wait. Beyond the receptionists is a city of glass. Glass rooms interconnect with other glass rooms through glass corridors. Everyone can see everyone – but they can’t touch them. Inside their little glass boxes, they strut around, men standing, women sitting. Imprisoned, in their own way. I spot Adam in one of the closer rooms. I see him talking but there is no one in the room with him. Then I see a blue glow emanating from his face. Bluetooth. Or digital. Or infra-red. Nothing physical. Adam looks up in my direction, and he nods to me. I nod back. He doesn’t come out, though. I can see him, can communicate with him, but I still cannot get close.

Finally, Adam walks out of the room, through the glass maze, and opens a glass door into the reception area. His poppy sits on his jacket lapel, pretending it is an innocent icon. He winks at the receptionists as they walk past. This time they’re not just blushing because it says they must in their job description. They must think he’s flirting, but he’s not. Or rather, he is, but it’s not sexual. He flirts with everyone, makes them feel loved, gives them a promise of sharing with him. It’s up to him whether he delivers. With me, he doesn’t need the routine – I know what we mean to each other.

‘What brings you here, mate?’ he asks, shaking my hand because we are in business world. The additional touch on the elbow is a concession to our friendship.

‘They mentioned Feltham,’ I say.

‘Shh!’ Adam looks over his shoulder at the receptionist. ‘Not here,’ he whispers, turning back to me.

‘I thought everyone here knew?’ I ask.

‘Not everyone,’ he says. ‘Come with me, we’ll go somewhere private.’

He leads me through the glass labyrinth and I wonder how we can possibly be private with everyone watching us. He takes me back into the room he was in earlier, when I arrived.

‘Soundproof,’ he says

I wonder if they are also bullet proof – I imagine one shot being fired and shattering all the offices into tiny shards, people and rooms fragmenting.

‘Who mentioned Feltham?’ asks Adam. ‘HR or the police?’

He knew, then, that the police were coming?

‘HR weren’t there,’ I say. ‘It was my colleague, Prakesh. Why would the police be there?’

Adam shrugs. There is a little bit of sweat on his forehead. He takes off his jacket, so that the poppy is no longer next to his heart. I would like to pin it to his shirt, let the pin graze his naked skin, but I resist.

‘So why did Prakesh mention it?’ Adam asks.

‘Previous conduct,’ I say.

‘Did you indecently assault anyone at work?’ he asks.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Not at work.’

Adam looks at me.

‘No,’ I say again, more conclusively.

‘So it’s not relevant,’ he says. ‘And besides, it’s a spent conviction.’

I nod. ‘That’s what I told them.’

Adam flicks through some paperwork on his desk.

‘So, what else did you talk about?’ he asks, studying a bit of paper.

‘Jeremy Bond.’

Adam looks up at that.

‘What about him?’

‘Loaning cars to him without proper paperwork, who he was, all that kind of stuff.’

‘You didn’t tell them anything?’

‘No,’ I say.

Adam takes a breath. ‘Good,’ he says.

It’s nice of him, always to be so concerned about me.

He goes back to looking at his papers.

‘They’re keeping an eye on me, the police,’ I say. ‘They were at Narcissus Road. I think Nicole called them.’

Adam frowns.

‘About last night? She said she wouldn’t.’

I shake my head. ‘About Helen.’

Adam stands up and thumps the table. The people in the glass boxes nearby look up. He sits down again.

‘Mate, you’ve got it wrong. Why would Nic do that?’

‘Are you saying I’m paranoid?’

He doesn’t answer. I think about the red that followed me on the train. There was no way that could be paranoia.

‘She’s outside now, if you want,’ I say.

‘What? Where?’ asks Adam, looking around.

‘You won’t be able to see her,’ I warn him. ‘She’s hiding. Biding her time.’

‘Right.’ He nods. There is a pause. He does, he thinks I’m paranoid. ‘Well, I won’t disturb her now, but I’ll talk to her. Tell you what – we’ll go out to dinner, all three of us, start over. Lobster and champagne – our treat.’

‘Do you need me to do the kill?’ I ask.

He looks at me blankly.

‘The lobster,’ I say. ‘Do you want me to kill it for you?’

Adam laughs. ‘No, mate – the chef does that for you. Lobster halves, all nicely cut up, bit of mayo.’

‘Oh,’ I say. I thought I could have been of use. ‘I’ll get a suit.’

‘No need to dress up, mate, it’s just us.’

‘With the money,’ I say. ‘They offered me a settlement agreement.’

‘I’ll have my lawyer look over it,’ Adam offers.

‘One of those nice suits, in Moss Bross.’

‘You don’t want a suit, mate. Have one of my old ones – you’ll have to lose that gut though.’ He slaps my stomach. His hand pauses there. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Seems you already have.’

‘I’ve been running,’ I say. ‘You can see if you like.’ I start to untuck my polo shirt under his hand.

He jerks his hand away.

‘You’re in a glass box, mate – not the time to show off your abs!’

I nod.

‘Maybe later,’ he says. ‘Show them off to me and Nic.’ He winks at me. I am beyond blushing. Instead, I think about how we can have a best torso competition. The loser has to eat lobster off the abs of the winner.

‘Anyway, mate, you don’t spend your cash on a suit,’ Adam tells me. ‘Live a little. Get something that makes your heart race.’

I wonder if he knows what he’s inviting.

Chapter 18

The indecent assault thing didn’t make my heart race, back then. Or at least, not in the way Adam means. Mostly, I was just worried about us getting caught. We didn’t, but she told on us. So we got caught out. It was bad form, Adam said, to kiss and tell. Sometimes I want to do that, but I can’t, so I write it instead. But I can never publish. Unless of course I use a pseudonym. But that seems kind of dishonest. Plus the people I most want to know my story never will.

Even though she was a slut, who, as Adam said, was asking for it, she never got ‘it’. It was just touching. Adam started it, when we were alone with her, in the common room. They let girls join our sixth-form. ‘It’s just for girls who want to shag through their A-levels,’ Adam told me. That was a bit odd, because they mostly just huddled in a group by themselves when we tried to talk to them. ‘They’re playing hard to get,’ Adam had said.

So he suggested we ‘get’ one of them. We were in the common room, late, one winter evening – I’d been waiting for Adam to come back from football so we could walk home together. I’d been chatting to Olivia. She was in my English class. We were discussing Daphne du Maurier when Adam strode in, full of testosterone and sweat. He invited us to feel his shirt, so we did, flattered by the invitation. Then he said we should all feel each other’s shirts. Underneath. Olivia wasn’t keen, but she obliged, because that’s what you do when Adam asks you something. But then Adam wanted to be underneath everything. He said I had to as well, unless I was a faggot – how could I touch him and not her? He put my hand on her. In her. While he held her down.

But that doesn’t really count, as experience. Which is annoying, given the months we had to pay for it. I tried to stop Adam having to pay for it, said it was my idea, my fault, but the girl told a different story.

The time inside, with Adam, was not of itself a problem. But here’s the rub: Luke still needs experience.

The alternative is this, which would not go well:

Luke surveyed her lying on the bed. Finally, he had her here. So he unzipped his trousers, lifted her skirt, turned her over, and wondered what exactly he ought to do.

No. So I need to find out, for Luke, what he ought to do, so that when he does it, with Nicole, he does it right. Because that time will really matter. For Luke and I both to experience the closeness that we need. And indeed, I need to test that he can do it at all. Because it’s not clear whether his heart will race, and his blood will pump, in the right way. And if that doesn’t work, he will not really get close, where it counts.

I get the Tube to Moss Bros in Oxford Street first. Nicole is with me for the whole journey in the red of the Central Line. At first I think she hasn’t followed me out of the station but then, just as I get to Moss Bros, I am nearly hit by a red bus zooming up at me from behind. I shake my head as I hurry into the shop. Nicole really is out to get me.

Inside the shop, there is no red. No femininity. Just suits for men. I decide to hire, not buy. That way, I will still have some cash left, for the other needs. I hire the best one they have – it even has tails.

‘You going to a wedding?’ asks the assistant.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Are you?’ I will need to practise small talk, for later.

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