I just nod. It’s only now starting to sink in. Mathilde tucks rain-damp hair behind her ear.
‘Will you come back? Here, I mean?’
‘I don’t know.’ I’m surprised and moved that she’s asked. I wish I could say, but the decision won’t be mine to make.
‘You should stay until morning, at least.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘My father will calm down. Besides, there won’t be many cars on the road this late.’
She has a point. If I go now I’ll either be walking all night or still outside the gate come morning. I glance back at the house. ‘I don’t want to cause any more trouble…’
‘You won’t. And I have to talk to you before you go.’
‘What about?’
‘Not now.’ She’s standing close to me. Her grey eyes seem huge. ‘Can I come to the loft later? After midnight?’
‘I… OK. Sure.’
Her hand rests lightly on my chest. ‘Thank you.’
I stare after her as she hurries back to the scaffolded house and disappears inside. Then I’m alone in the post-rain quiet. A breeze causes the old weathervane to twist and creak on top of the stables, carrying a rustle of the distant trees. Clouds slide across the not yet dark sky, fitfully obscuring a rising moon. My thoughts are in a tumult as I set off across the wet courtyard to the barn. Everything seemed so clear only minutes ago. Now I don’t know what to think.
Or what Mathilde might want.
A sudden wave of doubt takes the strength from my legs.
It’s time to face up to what I’ve done.
IT’S DARK WHEN I arrive in Docklands. I’ve no idea what the time is – the numbers on my watch face seem part of an illegible code – but it’s late. The bars and restaurants I pass are closed, and the only sound is the echo of my footsteps.
I’ve reached that stage of pseudo-clarity that feels like being sober. Jez said the gym was near an undeveloped quay, but after wandering at random all I’ve accomplished is to get myself completely lost. The area is a maze of unlit tower blocks, gentrified dock buildings and derelict warehouses overlooked by faltering regeneration.
It’s beginning to sink in how stupid this is. Even if I find Jules, what would I do? Any idea of retribution now seems pathetic, an alcohol-fuelled fantasy to stave off my own guilt. As I walk the empty streets Yasmin’s accusations play in my head like a looped recording.
The beginning of a hangover is starting to throb in my temples. I feel tired, sick with regret and self-disgust. All I want now is to go back to my flat, but I’ve no idea how to get there. The streets all look the same; tunnels of brick, chrome and glass that as often as not lead to dead-ends of dark water and silent boats.
Then I turn a corner and see light coming from an open doorway in a warehouse. A car is parked on the other side of the road, but other than that the street is deserted. I walk faster, hoping to find someone who can tell me where I am. I’ve wandered well away from the more affluent parts of Docklands. Apart from the warehouse, all the buildings around here are derelict. Beyond a fenced-off strip of wasteland is the black sheen of water and a run-down quayside. But it isn’t until I notice the developer’s board outside the warehouse and the skeletal frames of exercise machines through the ground-floor windows that I fit it all together. I slow down, still not quite believing this can be what I think, and then someone comes out of the doorway and crosses the road to the car.
The electronic squeal of it unlocking carries in the quiet street. I’ve stopped, watching as the man goes around to the back and opens the boot. I lose sight of him for a few moments, then the boot is slammed shut and the figure goes to the driver’s side and gets in. I stand motionless, no more than twenty or thirty feet away, as Jules is revealed by the dim interior light. Whatever stomach I had for confrontation has gone as I watch him slumped at the steering wheel. There’s nothing smug or arrogant about him now. The stubbled face looks tired and defeated, his eyes shadowed.
