Linger Awhile Read online

  I came all the way awake and went to where I’d stood to talk to Grace. ‘Irv?’ she shouted.

  ‘I’m here,’ I shouted back.

  ‘I woke up,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Grace?’

  ‘I’m an alone kind of person, really …’ she said.

  ‘Me too,’ I said.

  ‘I was wondering …’ she said.

  ‘Wondering what?’

  ‘Nothing, really.’

  ‘Tell me, Grace, go on.’

  ‘You tell me what you think I was wondering, OK?’

  ‘OK. You were wondering about me?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t stop.’

  ‘Wondering how I feel about you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Grace, when I think about you and me I remind myself that I’m eighty-three years old and I haven’t got a whole lot of future in front of me.’

  ‘Maybe whatever there is is enough, Irv, if …’

  ‘If there’s love?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you waiting for me to say something?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Fnerg,’ said Inner Irv.

  ‘I didn’t catch that,’ said Grace.

  ‘Come on, Grace – I’m too old for this kind of thing.’

  ‘The question you have to ask yourself,’ she said, ‘is, “Do I feel dead?”’

  ‘Well, no.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘Grace,’ I shouted, ‘I love you, OK?’

  ‘I love you too, Irv. Well, goodnight then.’

  ‘Goodnight, Grace.’ We both (she told me later) kissed the air in front of us and went back to sleep.

  36

  Chauncey Lim

  2 February 2004. I knew I’d have to start catching up with my business and I thought I might as well begin on this quiet Monday. I made myself a sandwich lunch, then on my way out I went into the restaurant where Justine was eating latkes Liu Hai.

  ‘Enjoying your lunch?’ I said.

  For a moment she seemed not to recognise me. ‘Sure,’ she said.‘I’m home on the Jewish-Chinese range.’

  ‘I’m off to my place to see what needs doing,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘See you,’ she said.

  As I was leaving I saw Charles, the black man who works at the restaurant. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘there’ve been a lot of dead rats lately.’

  ‘Why tell me about it?’ I said.

  ‘Just sharing the local news,’ he said. ‘They’ve all had their heads bitten off. And no blood in them.’

  ‘Thanks for sharing,’ I said. ‘Mind how you go.’

  ‘You too,’ he said.

  It’s a long slow trip from Golders Green back to town. Some of the people on the train seemed to be staring at me and I tried not to notice but found myself wondering if I’d become someone to be stared at; I knew that I was no longer the Chauncey I used to be before I took up with Justine. My disgust had become depression and my thoughts were dreary. Some things that can be done are better left undone, and Justine was one of them.

  I got off at Tottenham Court Road and walked to D’Arblay Street. There were not many people about in that part of Soho and the streets were full of emptiness. When I got to Chauncey Lim, Photographic Novelties, the place seemed small and from another time, as if I’d come back to the house of my childhood. There were a couple of notes stuck to the door and inside there were some letters on the floor. From Everything for the Office in Bangkok there was an invoice for a gross of Whoopee Spinners, and from Educational Products in Akron, Ohio, a cheque for a gross of After-School Pencil Peepshows. The others were from people who wanted to know what had happened to their orders. The place smelled stale, my photographic novelties were rubbish, and the acupuncture chart and Aunt Zophrania’s calendar on the wall looked stupid.

  I wrote a cheque for Everything for the Office, locked up, posted the cheque to Bangkok, and went on to Berwick Street and All That Glisters. Grace was alone, drinking vodka and looking terrible. ‘What’s the matter?’ I said.

  ‘Haven’t you heard about Istvan?’ she said.

  ‘No. What happened?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  It wasn’t as if we’d ever been that close, but Fallok’s death knocked me sideways. I sat down suddenly and Grace gave me all the details while I listened and shook my head in disbelief. ‘It was J Two that finished him,’ she said. ‘I told Inspector Hunter but he wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘Two Justines!’ I said. ‘Whose idea was that?’

  ‘Mine,’ she said. ‘Irv and I did it together with Irv’s nephew Artie. Artie did most of the work, actually.’

  ‘Where’s J Two now?’

  ‘Nobody knows.’

  ‘And Irv?’

  ‘He’s in hospital.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He came down with double bronchial pneumonia after we spent a night in the nick.’

  ‘You were locked up?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘As I said, Hunter wouldn’t believe us when we told him about J Two and he got pissed off so he nicked us.’

  ‘Of course he wouldn’t believe it, Grace. I shouldn’t have gone up to Golders Green. What you needed around here was a voice of reason.’

  ‘Whatever. I can’t get over it that Istvan’s dead because of me.’

  ‘“If you can’t get over it you must get over it anyway.” Wise words from a famous teacher, Grace.’

  ‘Confucius?’

  ‘No, Rabbi Yisakhar Baer of Radoshitz.’

  ‘Those famous rabbis could sit around being wise because their wives did all the work. Wisdom is foolishness and foolishness is wisdom in my book. What are your plans now?’

  ‘I’m waiting for word from Elijah.’

  ‘The prophet Elijah?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘How’s he going to contact you?’

  ‘In a dream, I expect. That’s how he did it last time.’

  ‘Lucky you. When you see him, maybe you could tell him I’d be grateful for advice if he’s in the neighbourhood.’

  ‘OK. What’re you going to do now?’

  ‘Finish this bottle. Would you like to help me?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. That’s the best offer I’ve had today.’ So we sat there drinking and shaking our heads. Grace put on some music to help us along: Johnny Cash, The Man in Black. She started the CD on ‘Sunday Morning Coming Down’. We were well into Monday afternoon but that was the right song for the occasion.

  By now I was feeling that wherever I was, I should be somewhere else. Trouble seemed to be waiting for me round every corner but if I didn’t go back to Golders Green I was afraid Golders Green would come looking for me. So I went. While I was standing on the platform at Tottenham Court Road I saw a rat down among the cables by the tracks. It was looking up at the platform, and when it saw me it seemed to take fright and scurried back the way it had come.

  The train was half empty; stations came and went as it plodded northward and it emerged aboveground as the sun was setting in the full dreariness of Monday evening. When I got to Elijah’s Lucky Dragon I went right up to the flat. Justine was nowhere to be seen. Elijah greeted me with ‘How’re they hangin’, Chaunce?’

  ‘Don’t be familiar,’ I said.

  ‘Just a closer walk with thee,’ said Elijah. ‘Put on your red dress, baby, cause we’re goin’ out tonight.’ He’s acquired an odd repertoire of gospel and blues from Charles and he was starting the next verse when the doorbell rang.

  ‘Who is it?’ I said.

  ‘Detective Inspector Hunter,’ said the intercom. ‘May I come up?’

  ‘Come ahead,’ I said, and buzzed him in. When I opened the door there were DI Hunter and a sharp-looking black woman. I’d seen her in the Underground but hadn’t realised she was following me.

  ‘This is Detective Patterson,’ said Hunter.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘
Why not?’

  ‘Where’s Justine Trimble?’ said Hunter.

  ‘No idea,’ I said.

  ‘There is a balm in Gilead,’ said Elijah.

  ‘That’s a hymn,’ said Hunter.

  ‘That’s a her too,’ said Elijah.

  ‘Where?’ said Hunter.

  ‘Rice and beans, flour and potatoes,’ said Elijah.

  ‘In the storeroom?’ said Hunter.

  ‘Heal a sin-sick soul,’ said Elijah.

  ‘Where does this parrot get his material?’ said Hunter.

  ‘He hangs out with Charles,’ I said.

  ‘Who’s Charles?’

  ‘Black man who works here.’

  ‘In the storeroom?’

  ‘Wherever he’s needed,’ I said.

  ‘Like Mars bars,’ said Elijah.

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ said Hunter to me.

  ‘No idea,’ I lied.

  Hunter fixed me with a very beady eye. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s visit the storeroom.’

  We had to go through the restaurant and there we encountered Rosalie Chun. ‘So,’ she said, looking at Hunter and Detective Patterson, ‘who are you and what do you want?’

  Hunter and Patterson identified themselves and showed their warrant cards. ‘We’re just having a look around,’ said Hunter.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ said Rosalie.

  ‘We’ll know it when we find it,’ said Hunter. ‘We’ll try the storeroom first.’

  ‘No violations here,’ said Rosalie. ‘I run a clean restaurant.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ said Hunter. ‘Would you like to lead the way?’

  We all went down to the storeroom and there was Justine with blood all around her mouth and a headless rat in her right hand like a Mars bar. Before you could say Jackie Chan she threw the rat straight at DI Hunter. He ducked and it hit Detective Patterson in the face. While Patterson screamed and flailed about Justine scooped up a double handful of rice from a sack and flung it in our eyes. In the moment this gave her she went through us as if she’d been shot from a cannon and was up the stairs and gone.

  ‘Gevalt!’ said Rosalie. ‘After all the wonderful meals I’ve made for her!’

  ‘You can’t expect gratitude from her kind,’ said Hunter.

  ‘Is that a racist remark?’ I said. I couldn’t help it.

  ‘Don’t you cheek me, sunshine,’ said Hunter. ‘You’re nicked for perverting the course of justice and hindering a police investigation. Read him his rights, Detective Patterson.’

  Still wiping blood from her face, Patterson said to me, ‘You have the rat to remain silent, right. But anything you do say will be bitten off in evidence and taken down against you.’ With that we all left Elijah’s Lucky Dragon and that was it for Monday.

  37

  Irving Goodman

  2 February 2004. During the night it blew a gale and the seas were running very high. In the morning wind and sea abated and I was going to give each man a teaspoonful of rum and a quarter breadfruit and a coconut but it was difficult to see anyone. A voice spoke up and said, ‘You are not Captain Bligh, Sir. You are not even Sir.’

  I hate it when dreams become difficult. ‘Give me a break,’ I said. ‘I’m doing the best I can and I intend to sail this boat all the way to the Thames Estuary and Knock John.’ As the fog cleared the old fort came into view and I heard Charlotte saying, ‘Here on Britain’s Better Music Station the time is coming up to what it used to be and Jo Stafford has a song for all you haunted hearts out there.’

  In the night, though we’re apart,

  There’s a ghost of you within my haunted heart –

  Ghost of you, my lost romance,

  Lips that laugh, eyes that dance …

  ‘Charlie,’ I said, ‘is that you?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ she said, ‘always.’

  38

  Justine Trimble

  3 February 2004. That son of a bitch Chauncey, he couldn’t leave well enough alone, he had to stick the police on me. What the hell was his beef? I was giving him as much white pussy as he could handle. So I was doing rats, big deal. Did he think I could live on that Jew-Chinese cooking and nothing else? I didn’t ask to be brought back from the dead and I’m sick and tired of being hounded by everybody and his brother. They made me a vampire and I do what vampires do. If they wanted Shirley Temple they should have used a different recipe.

  I never meant to kill Rose Harland, she was the only sweet thing that’s happened to me since I became undead. I remember the softness of her lips and how she clung to me while I held her to keep her from falling.

  There’s no sweetness for me any more. That fucking Chauncey.

  39

  Ralph Darling

  4 February 2004. The emptiness left by Rachael’s death was bigger than whatever else there was around it. All those years of her gone! After I saw Detective Inspector Hunter I went home and arranged for my foreman to run the farm for me, then I booked a room for two weeks at the Regent Palace Hotel near Piccadilly Circus. Every morning I woke up and looked out of my window at a row of orange wheelie bins with a row of scooters and motorbikes in front of them in Glasshouse Street. Eros was not part of my view. Every day I walked up Brewer Street to Lexington near the corner of Beak, the spot where Hunter thought Rachael had been killed. I had a feeling that the person or thing that had killed her might return to it. I knew that Rachael was with me and I sensed that I could tune into her killer through her.

  People came and went. Day after day and night after night nothing happened until yesterday evening. The dark came early and the street lamps didn’t so much illuminate as just give everything a yellowish cast. I could feel a lurking presence – I could almost see a dim shape as if I were wearing night-vision goggles. Whatever it was was coming closer. I had no weapon but there was a skip full of rubbish and I saw the legs of a wooden chair sticking out of it. I broke off a chair leg and waited. Somebody got between me and the dim shape and I said, ‘Get out of the way!’ but he didn’t, and it was on him. Everything went into slow motion then, I couldn’t see very well and it took me a long time to get to where it was happening. I saw it clearly then, a young woman bending over the man on the ground. She had her teeth in his neck and she looked up at me with blood running down her chin. It was like a Hammer horror film. I knocked her away from the man with the chair leg, then I grabbed her by the hair and jammed the chair leg into what I hoped was her heart. She let out a terrible scream and a geyser of blood shot up out of her. Then she became black-and-white, then flat, then nothing but dust blowing in the wind. There was no blood on the pavement. The chair leg was lying there but she was gone and the man was dead. He was Chinese.

  ‘Was that the one that killed you?’ I said to Rachael, and I felt a heaviness go away from me so I knew I’d got it right. I walked back through the noise and dirt of London to the Regent Palace Hotel and in the morning I checked out and went home.

  40

  Detective Inspector Hunter

  3 February 2004. ‘Shall we put the score at Vampires three, Plod nil?’ said Burke.

  ‘A true Briton would not support Vampires,’ I said.

  ‘Who said I was supporting them?’ said Burke. ‘I’m just telling it like it is. Here’s poor old Chauncey Lim missing all of his blood and found in the neighbourhood of our usual suspects. That makes a hat-trick for the other side. Have you got a clue?’

  ‘You can be very irritating at times, Harry.’

  ‘I’ve been told that before,’ said Burke. ‘I can’t think why. Have you got a suspect?’

  ‘Well, there are two Justines out there now and my money’s on Justine One.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of being right. What’s your next move?’

  ‘That’s on a need-to-know basis, Harry.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Who needs to know?’

  ‘I do.’

  I looked at Chauncey Lim’s dead face, at his bloodless body, at
what remained of whatever he was and whatever he wanted and hoped for. All of that had been drained out of him with the blood and now he was something small and left behind. Might he still be alive if I’d kept him in the nick another day? Probably she’d have got him sooner or later now that she’d come out. There was a tattoo on his chest, a line of Chinese characters. There were no relatives in this country so Rosalie and Lester Chun came to view the body and Lester was kind enough to translate the tattoo. ‘Form, emptiness,’ he said. ‘Emptiness, form.’

  ‘Is that a quote from something?’ I said.

  ‘I think it’s a Buddhist thing,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure. I’m an atheist, myself.’

  41

  Grace Kowalski

  5 February 2004. Irv’s dead. What do I do now? Just the other night he said he loved me but even then I didn’t know what he was to me. Now that he’s gone there’s an Irv-shaped empty space that’s bigger than he was.

  And while mourning him and missing him I’m really pissed off at him because it was his thing for Justine that started all this. How fucking old does a man have to be before he stops being an adolescent? There were four of us involved in the Justine business. Now half of us are gone and Rose Harland’s dead and there are two Justines out there.

  Artie is Irv’s only living relative and when Irv was in intensive care at St Eustace he told Artie that he wanted to be cremated in a cardboard coffin and his ashes scattered at sea. No funeral procession, no service of any kind, just him in a box to the crematorium. So those were the arrangements Artie made.

  From Fulham the streets unrolled behind the hearse through the everydayness of the living; from south London to North London and Hoop Lane with Irv in his cardboard coffin. The day was cold and grey. At the crematorium our footsteps on the gravel had a funereal sound. Some buildings stand, some sit; Golders Green Crematorium abides. It abides in its red brick and the seniority of the bodies it has swallowed. The cloistered entrance to the chapel looked as if hymns should be coming out of it but Irv had said no music so there was none.