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‘No Jack here,’ he says. ‘What is it with everyone asking for him?’
It was always the way back then, to treat everyone with suspicion. Admit to nothing, and never give anything away. That’s what these places thrived on – denial and secrecy. And I had been a part of it.
‘He must be man of the moment,’ I say, keeping a serious face. No point in getting chummy. ‘Do you know him?’
He shakes his head and his eyes narrow to buttonholes. ‘There was two lasses asking for him the other day,’ the weaselly man says. ‘Sure you got the right place?’
‘How about Darren?’
It’s true. I’ve been avoiding using his real name. Hearing those two syllables slip out of my mouth feels like spitting out something that has been stuck between my teeth, festering. Admitting to myself that my daughter is planning to marry Jack was a marginally easier pill to swallow – almost as if the possibility that I’d got it all wrong still existed. But it doesn’t. Whatever he calls himself now, he’s still Darren.
The man circles round me, then heads over to the bar without confirming if Darren is here or not. He beckons me over, holding up a whisky bottle. These places are fuelled by alcohol, and way worse, so if accepting his hospitality gets me information, then so be it. I nod, sitting down on a stool opposite him. He slides a shot at me.
‘Thank you,’ I say, raising the glass at him. ‘So. Darren?’
‘Depends who’s asking.’
‘Me, obviously.’ This time I smile, hoping it’ll soften his wasplike frown.
‘He’s around. Sometimes.’
‘Does he work here?’
‘A lot of questions, eh? You a cop?’
‘What is it with everyone thinking that about me?’ I laugh. ‘Do I look like a cop?’
‘Not really,’ he says. ‘Though I don’t look like a doorman either, do I?’
It’s true, he doesn’t. No shaved head or six-foot-four bulky stature with a menacing stare.
‘I own a cleaning business,’ I tell him.
‘You after work as well?’
It’s true I’m winging every word that leaves my mouth, having come here on a whim and without any kind of plan. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘We offer business contracts, and a plant rental and care package too. Looks like this place is a bit dark for plants though.’ There are no windows at all. Just a large, dark space that I imagine, when filled with drunk men and virtually naked dancers, would provide an atmosphere to wilt even the hardiest of specimens.
‘Leave a card. I’ll make sure the right person gets it.’
‘I was told to ask for Darren.’ My eyes dance about, searching for the cameras I know will be dotted around. ‘Or Vaughn,’ I add, chancing my luck.
‘You know Vaughn?’
Got him, I think, seeing how weaselly man’s expression changes from suspicious to fearful.
I nod. ‘I used to.’
‘Used towhat?’ he says, looking around as if we’re being watched.
‘Work for him, actually.’ Admitting that is even worse than saying his or Darren’s name. I remind myself that no one I care about has heard my admission. My secret is still safe.
‘Then you’ll know he owns a lot of places, Vaughn. Doesn’t mean he’s here, though, does it?’
‘Still elusive, then.’ It was true – back then, in London, even the mention of his name had us on edge. His visits were thankfully scarce, unravelling the false sense of safety we’d rigged up around us. Living at the Cloisters, we’d all adapted in our own way to what we were given – no questioning what was expected of us, just shaping our young lives around it. ‘And what do you mean, “as well”?’
Weaselly man looks confused.
‘You asked if I was after workas well.’
