The Boxer's Dreams of Love Page 11

  He’d been given a table at the back of the room, far from the stage and surely out of her line of sight. The room was unrecognisable from their first encounter, dressed now as it was in black and red balloons, low-level light and glitter on the tables. He was the first one there, the real guests still in the bar, he could hear them, the low din, the first breezes of the hurricane that would lay waste to the room. He played with the cutlery, wondering why there was so much of it. He undid a button on his shirt, felt like a drink himself but he’d wait, he was so nervous he couldn’t understand it. He wanted to be with her now. She was only two minutes away, in a cloakroom dressing-room, agonizing over every item of clothing even though it was too late now. The tables were filling up, sardines in clothes, drunk and debauched already, slobbering their first courses. Corpulent flirtations, whispers of ludicrous erotic suggestions. They gave Eddie no second glances, hardly even a first. He sat near the door like a lazy bouncer, a ticket-stub collector where there were none to collect. The slobbering gypsy women with their oversized earrings worn like trophies from previous forays into the carnal nights. Was this what Eddie had to look forward to if he stayed in his job? Offal office parties full of piggish indiscretions. He’d rather take the dive in a thousand underground fights. The waitress appeared at his table and laid another free drink down. At least there were some benefits to be had from the evening. It tasted like sweet nectar and as he raised the cool glass to his mouth he saw them. Couldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen them before. There weren’t that many in the room for them to blend in as they did. Whatever corporation this table of men belonged to, it certainly wasn’t the same one as the rest. There were no women. They sat in funereal silence, they drank more but with far less effect, in fact with no effect at all. Their serious drinking wouldn’t start until long after the others had retired to their adulterous rooms. They dressed in uncomfortable suits, black, grey, their eyes all scanned the room like radar. Eddie had no idea what they were doing here. Was one of them Zinny, he wondered?

  More food arrived, caverns of drink, the tables swayed with that hideous cheer that only an outsider can see. Outsiders like Eddie and the men at the table. Speeches were made, cheap prizes given, the name of the company was mentioned several times but Eddie kept forgetting it. One of the men from the men-only table stood, none of the others paying the slightest attention. All focused on what? Eddie paid him little attention until he came back into the room, passed by his table. It was him. Stand at as many doors as Eddie, see, study as many faces, get to remember. It was Derek, the man they called Derek Derek, airport frequenter, thief, he worked for Manny and Manny worked for…

  Dreaming, Eddie, that’s what it is. What the fuck would he would doing here? They called him Derek twice because he was so ordinary, there were a million like him. Paranoid Eddie, broke, bitter Eddie seeing conspiracies everywhere. Why the fuck would they follow you here? They had taken everything there was to take. Another drink placed at his table, a bad idea but he took it willingly anyway. He knew he shouldn’t, he should keep a clear head, if only for her. Wouldn’t be long now, surely.

  They flowed like black rivers, mascara-riddled tears that fell on her new dress. This wasn’t a dressing-room, this was a closet, dust swirled and caked her make-up. She remembered at the last minute to take her pills. She also took a shot of cheap whiskey, pilfered from the Polish waiter who took a kind of pity on her. Still nothing from Tommy. As for the band, if that’s what you could call them, nowhere to be seen. They’d worked on a couple of songs earlier that afternoon. They could hardly see the point in rehearsing. They played the same set in every place, the same places, they followed their own shadows around. She saw death in their eyes, any passion for music long extinguished. She didn’t know where they were now, probably still in their coffins in the bowels somewhere. As if reading her unkind thoughts, the drummer knocked on the door, stuck his bald head inside and nodded that it was time. She nodded back, fixed her face once more, fixed her dress. In that moment of objectivity she thought herself stunning, a reminder of the girl from years ago, the girl that swaggered and sashayed to the stage and heard the intake of breath from men and women alike.

  No long meandering walk up to the auditorium, just a short walk along a bright orange hotel corridor, passed by two elderly guests who looked at her like an alien species. She opened the doors and the smell of drink and perfume assailed her. Stopped her in her tracks for a second. The band were waiting, drummer already dropping the first notes, not even waiting for her. She ascended all of two steps to the platform, walked almost apologetically to her spot. A smattering of lukewarm applause. This was a mistake, she wanted to run, she remembered Eddie and she scanned the room looking for him. All the faces looked the same. The keyboards had now started, the guitarist was staring at her as his hands worked the fret.

  Her black diamond fingernails on the microphone sounded the first notes of her performance. Static. Static audience, her voice rose soft and nervous to the top of the waves. The first words over, too late now, no going back, the comfort of familiar lyrics strengthening her voice, isolating her thoughts, focusing. She closed her eyes, kept them closed and she felt the audience go quiet, heard them start to listen.

  Listen to the heartbeat, listen to the soul Listen to the thousand silent heartaches Alone, alone, alone

  Eddie lifted his head from the table, voice in his head, song in his head. He knew that voice, invading his dreams. His table was littered with empty glasses. But he was the only one at his table so who they did all belong to? His head pounded with unbroken hammers. He tried to stand and almost fell. Faces from the other tables turned his way. What was wrong? He remembered where he was and then he saw her. No dream, she stood maybe fifty feet away but it could have been across the ocean. He could never reach her and she would never see him. What was happening? Another drink appeared on his table and he tried to stand again. Suddenly they were there at his elbow, helping him or pretending to, painted smiles, two men from the table that didn’t belong with the rest. He wanted to sit back down but they were intent on bringing him elsewhere. They were carrying him out of the room and he hadn’t the strength to argue or even to call out. All he could manage was a look back, through the drunken tables, past the balloons and the glitter to Edie on stage, lost in herself. He hoped she hadn’t seen him, not the way he was. How could he have let this happen?

  They carried him across the lobby, not towards the lifts though. This wasn’t the way to his room. He felt the night air on his face, the world turned upside down and inside out. ‘hey’ was all he could manage. He was carried across the car park, to a large car where another man waited at the wheel. Eddie fell in the back seat, glad to be lying down again. They wouldn’t even let him do that. They lifted him up and his stomach churned, nausea, he looked with pathetic self-pity at the unremarkable man beside him. They had driven five minutes maybe when the car stooped suddenly. The door on Eddie’s side opened and he almost fell out. They let him get sick on the pavement and wiped his mouth with a blanket before bundling him back into the car. He lay with his head against the window and they moved with speed through unseen streets.

  Lay down, lay down, he switched off and saw or heard no more. The paucity of applause wasn’t enough to bring her down. She was shaking with excitement. Adrenalin shot through her. She looked back at the others expecting to see the same glow of satisfaction. But their faces hadn’t changed, still the same painted veneers, frozen faces with that dusty pallor. They looked at her with the same incomprehension as if she’d told a joke they didn’t understand. It couldn’t bring her down though. Turned back to the audience, but they’d turned back to themselves. She searched for Eddie again. Surely now she’d find him, he’d make himself known. While the band shuffled back to their lairs, Edie walked down to the tables, down through the room, past the vast wafting smell of alcohol and selfsatisfaction. The table at the back of the room, the table for one, was full of empty pint glasses, just the
dregs left in one or two. Used cutlery, crumpled napkins. She opened the door to the corridor, walked to the toilets, looked inside the gents, where a sodden retired soldier type barely reacted to her presence. She went to the lobby, conscious now of her dress, catching a glimpse in a mirror that served little purpose, and approached the pasty receptionist who sat lonely at the counter.

  ‘Hi.’ What else was she going to say? The pasty girl glanced up from her magazine and gazed in banal wonderment at the dress in front of her. ‘I’m looking for someone. Eddie Brogan. We’re in room three-two-seven. Can you ring the room and see if he’s there? Please.’ The girl lifted the phone as if it was a ton weight. Listened, heard nothing. Shook her head.

  ‘No answer, love.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Edie. She wafted away from the desk, across the lobby, back into the room, back to the bare stage, back behind the stage to her cloakroom. She found her phone, pressed his number and waited with heavy breath. Nothing. Straight to his hesitant voicemail. ‘Hey, it’s me. Where the fuck are you?’ She tried to make a joke of it at the end but she reckoned it was a little late. He must have been there, must have been. At some stage. But she hadn’t seen him all night, had both wanted and not wanted to. Felt his presence might be a distraction although she wanted him close by. Just in case. Maybe he had never been there. Stayed in his room. Not in his room now though. She felt a throb of pain that was part of no real sickness. She could sit here and think and feel more miserable by the second. Move, move, he’s waiting somewhere. He must have slipped out of the room before the end, he was off somewhere preparing a surprise, this was all a game, all in on it, even the receptionist, she’d leave her faerie dressing room and they’d all be waiting, champagne corks would pop, glitter fall, kisses would rain down on her, all for her.

  Concert clothes packed away, make-up cleaned off, she opened the door to no royal reception. She thought of trying Tommy, maybe something had happened. She knew he had other clubs, other people, other priorities, but still. Not even a text. Lift door opening, door closing, expecting something behind each and everyone. The key in her bedroom door, darkness, still expecting them to leap out of the shadows and tell her it had all been just a game. They wouldn’t forget her, couldn’t. Looked at her phone, switched it off, fuck him, fuck them all. She had done it, come back, performed again, sung again, and that was all that mattered.

  Wasn’t it?

  Stripped, showered, she lay on the bed, a bottle of water was all the stimulant she could find in the room. She rang room service and ordered whiskey. Waited for an eternity before hearing the knock at the door.

  She took her time going to answer it. She closed her dressing gown, pushed her still wet hair back, attempted to adopt a swagger of nonchalance. She waited at the door, waited until they knocked again, pushed the frustration to the other side of the door. Put her hand on the door, looked through the spy hole and saw something she wasn’t expecting.

  She faced a flush red friendly face that bore traces of having hurried here, beads of sweat, a handkerchief barely taking it away as it was brushed across the forehead. On his head strands of hair stretched like surface grains of sand on the windy desert floor. He wore a neat blue blazer, bright shiny brass buttons, a patterned tie that came with membership of an exclusive club.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, Miss. I wonder if you be so kind as to accompany me on a short trip across town?’

  ‘What? Who are you? Is this something to do with Eddie?’ She prayed it was. He smiled as if reading her thoughts.

  ‘I can’t really say. Not supposed to. I told them you wouldn’t just come without knowing. But then they said it wouldn’t be a surprise.’

  Eddie.

  ‘Is it far?’

  ‘Five minutes’ drive, miss.’ Cut glass English accent, down south, London posh, a man content with his station in life, knows where his place is.

  Decide, Edie, come on, stay here in this miserable fucking room alone and drink stale whiskey to the sound of heartache heartbeats and the life of the city outside. Or…

  ‘Give me five minutes. To put something on.’ He nodded obediently and she closed the door on him. It took her less than five minutes, trying to keep calm, practicing the look she’d give when she saw Eddie, and the others, whoever they were. Casual, clean, just jeans and a black top, hardly time to brush her hair, she followed the intriguing little man out of the hotel. As they pushed through the glass door to the piercing late night she noticed how quiet he had become. She supposed he had said too much, revealed a little more than he should. But if he hadn’t she would never have gone with him.

  Her spirits lifted further when she saw the car, black limousine, he held the back door open for her, bowed a little as she descended into the back seats. He assumed his position behind the wheel and she half expected him to don a cap for the journey. Worth it, she thought, all the pain, the pills, worth the suffering for even just a few hours in the dirty gloom of Glasgow. Five minutes passed, she didn’t know the city but she knew they were now far outside of it, certainly far beyond the places where decent people ventured in the wee small hours. Could Eddie be this elaborate, this extravagant, this anything? The driver carried the quiet countenance of a tired actor who had played his part too long.

  ‘Are we nearly there?’

  ‘Nearly, miss.’ No cheer in the man’s voice now. They were beyond the lights, beyond the traffic, they were moving through harsh streets of downtrodden houses, deserted, boarded up, bored teenagers lingering, waiting, wanting.

  ‘What’s happening?’ She tried hiding the concern but to little avail. Don’t open the hotel door, too late now. Maybe she had fallen asleep, dreaming, drowning.

  The car slowed, stopped, the back door was pulled open and Edie was dragged from the car. Two men on either side, leading her up the drive of a two storey tumbledown house with a broken porch light. She was too scared to speak.

  Through a dark hallway to a kitchen. She was stopped for a moment, she saw light under the door, heard voices, heard laughter, the two men pushed her on, in, into the light. The faces were a blur, trying to take everything in. Four men at the table, cards, glasses, bottles, casual laughter, and someone else, in the corner, out of the corner of her eye, Edie looked down on a girl, on her knees, on the floor, naked from the waist up, long flowing brown hair, lost eyes, lost soul, clearly drugged, tearing bits of paper into smaller bits.

  The oldest man, tight, clean, rich, the only man still wearing his tie, his jacket, he didn’t sweat, he would never allow himself.

  ‘Welcome’ he said and gestured for Edie to sit down, glaring at one of the other men for not offering her a seat. His accent came from everywhere but she thought there was South African at the base of it. Why that mattered now she couldn’t understand. She sat down for lack of anything else to do.

  ‘Not what you were expecting,’ the man said. ‘Eddie couldn’t make the party I’m afraid. He sends his regards, obviously. I won’t introduce you to everybody if you don’t mind. Would you like a drink? Might relax you, allay your fears. Because you are afraid, aren’t you Edie? You’re terrified. I know.’ He looked at his hand of cards, shuffled them, and she watched them mesmerized as if they held all the answers.

  CHAPTER 19

  Eddie has lost her

  The rain woke him up. Crawling down his face like an unwelcome fly. He brushed it off but it kept on coming. In the first few seconds he was okay. Then the mind switches on, the brain remembers. His head exploded and he bent over to find some relief. When he stood up again he felt violently sick. He looked down at his feet, mud splattered shoes, and the broken glass that lay scattered on the path around him. He saw a young man throw a pebble at a window high above him. He scowled at Eddie.

  He was outside a bar, the Nook and Crannie. He pushed himself away from it, to the edge of the pavement and looked back at the building. It meant nothing to him. He had been drinking, he knew that. Just not where. Or why. The pebble thrower gave up and walked aw
ay.

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Eddie but too late. The man was gone. He was on Brannock Street, that’s what the sign on the corner above the shuttered butcher shop read. He assumed he was still in Glasgow. He could smell his own body. ‘Jesus,’ he muttered as he thought of Edie, remembering the night before. He started running even though he had no idea where he was going. He stopped a kid on his bike and asked about the hotel. The kid spoke in a fog of accent so Eddie just followed the pointing outstretched arm. He stopped a few streets later at a café, to ask for clearer directions, to get some coffee, and mostly to vomit at a level he didn’t think was possible.

  He walked for another forty minutes at least before he found the hotel. He asked for the key, then remembered that Edie would have it as she was in the room, so he was surprised the key was handed to him. He didn’t ask any questions. He hurried to the lift, out of it, down the corridor, to the room.

  Empty. Of everything except his bag, his clothes, toothbrush, all trace of her gone. The car keys were still there. He sat on the bed, then he had to lie down on it. What had he done? Besides drink, what in God’s name had he done? Contrary to all instincts he fell asleep. He only woke when the woman came in to clean the room. She apologized in a foreign accent and he knew it was pointless asking about Edie. At least his head had cleared a bit. His stomach had nothing more to give, thankfully. He showered and changed his clothes, felt a little more human and lot more scared. He remembered his phone. In the pocket of his dirty, discarded trousers now on the floor. He tried her number, nothing, no connection.

  He waited behind a queue of people at reception, all checking out at the same time. He went into the bar, ordered a 7-Up, clenched his teeth against the unbearable sweetness of it. He wasn’t awake yet, not fully, wasn’t thinking. He watched them cleaning the bar, preparing for another day and the whole process starts all over again. The room. In his hurry to leave the bar he knocked over the glass. He thought of trying to clean it up but decided to leave it to the staff who were doing that anyway. One more glass wouldn’t make a difference. Through glass double doors the room looked hungover from the night before. Remnants of a rowdy night. He saw his own table, a girl was in the process of clearing all the glasses away. He tried to remember her from last night.