Page 54 of A Face in the Crowd
‘Now?’
I almost say yes – but am reluctant to be out in the dark. ‘It’s a bit late.’
‘I’ve got work in the morning.’
He sounds so pathetic that I almost laugh. I glance across to Billy, who raises his head as if anticipating what’s about to happen.
‘I’ll have to bring my dog,’ I say.
There’s a sigh from the other end: ‘Fine.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘I’m so sorry, Bill.’
Billy is decked out in his winter coat and booties that protect his paws from the salt they put on the pavements when the frost comes. He’s walking slowly and stopping every time another firework goes off. I figured being with him outside with the fireworks was better than leaving him inside by himself. After the scare at the vet’s, I’m not sure I want to leave him anyway.
The guy from the bus company must live close because he suggested the park that’s nearest to where I live. I walk to the gates where I confronted the man with the green jacket covered in sew-on badges. It seems like days ago, but it was only this morning. So much has happened. It’s only when I get there that I realise the gates might be shut. There’s a sign about the park closing at sunset each day – but, though the gates are closed, there’s no lock. They open with a loud creak and I hurry inside, pulling them behind me.
This park is part of Billy’s regular walking route and he seems to recognise it, tugging on his lead to go in one direction as I head in the other.
‘Come on, Bill,’ I hiss and he does as he’s told, following at my side.
I agreed to meet here without really thinking about it. It was close, so I thought it would be simple – but I now realise how vulnerable I am. It’s dark and there are no street lamps. The only permanent light comes from the moon attempting to glimmer through the low cloud. There’s temporary illumination too. Sulphur hangs in the air and another rocket whizzes up over the trees on the far side of the park. There’s a bang and pink sparks fly in all directions. Poor Billy stops walking and I have to crouch at his side to persuade him to continue.
The ‘bench near the fountain’ that my mystery man mentioned is a quarter way around the path that loops the park. There’s no one around when I get there, although Billy does pull ahead to lap the water at the bottom of the fountain. I let him at first – and then remember what the vet said about him possibly ingesting something harmful, so pull him away.
Another firework fizzes and bangs from the same direction as the previous one. There’s a second or two in which the entire park is illuminated and then, as quickly as the light came, it’s gone. As far as I can tell, there’s nobody here but me.
I do a lap of the fountain and then arrive back at the bench. The shadows feel darker and deeper than they did moments before. I’m not sure what else to do, so I sit. Billy takes this as a cue and plops himself on my feet. The cold wood of the bench is like needles through my jeans.
‘Sorry, Bill,’ I whisper. It’s cold enough that I can see my own breath.
I check my watch. The person on the phone said ten but it’s already five past.
I almost jump off the bench when my phone buzzes with a text. It’s Harry, telling me he’s slept most of the day. He’s attached a selfie of him with the bandage stretched diagonally across his head. ‘What do you think of my war wound?’ he asks, along with a smiley face and thumbs-up emoji. I think about replying but do nothing for the time being. I’ve already led him on with the kiss and don’t want to make it worse.
Another firework bursts from the beyond the trees and then, as if from nowhere, someone in a hoody is barely steps away. The person’s head is down, hands in pockets. Billy hasn’t moved and I yelp in alarm. This stops the hoody on the spot. I have to wriggle my feet out from underneath Billy’s body so I can stand.
‘Have you got the money?’ the hoody asks. If anything, he sounds even younger in person. His voice trembles as his breath spirals into the air.
‘Have you got the photos?’
He reaches into his top and pulls out an envelope. ‘Money first,’ he says – and I’m as sure as I can be that he’s seen this in a film at some point.
I take three twenties and a ten from my pocket – more of the money that isn’t mine – and hold it towards him. He stretches for the cash with one hand while slowly offering the envelope with his other. It’s laughable, really. As if it’s a cartoon Cold War and we’re completing some sort of illicit handover. I suppose we are in a park after dark.
He takes the money and I end up with the envelope – but, when that’s done, neither of us quite knows what to do next. It’s more shy than spy.
The hoody bobs on the spot and puts his hands in his pockets. ‘Right, see ya then,’ he says. The stuttering nerves have gone now he has the money and he’s talking as if we’re mates who’ll catch up again in a few hours.
‘Bye,’ I reply, and then he turns and dashes off towards the gates.
I unstick the envelope and pull out a stack of paper, though it’s too dark to make out anything more than vague shapes on the pages. I tell Billy it’s time to go and then we follow after the hoody. By the time we’re through the gates and onto the pavement, the road is clear. It’s a short walk back to Hamilton House and then, when we get into the flat, Billy saunters off to his bed, while I sit on the sofa.
The contents of the envelope are seemingly as promised. Images from a bus security camera have been printed on regular paper. They’re grainy and monochrome and, initially, I’m sure they’re from the wrong bus. I can’t find myself in any of the first dozen pictures – but then I realise it’s because I’m hidden by Mr Stinky. Once I identify him with his raised arm and phone in the other hand, I see myself slotted in behind. It’s like a Where’s Wally? puzzle.
The bus is even more packed than I’d realised at the time. The me from the past is looking down in every image, a complete irrelevance. When I was in the middle of it, the crowd felt hostile and overbearing. From the images, there’s more of a friendliness. Many people are talking and smiling. Of everyone featured, it feels like it’s only me who is disengaged.
