Simon’s cottage was made of stone.
Neal felt stupid when he thought about the third little pig who was safe when the big bad wolf came huffing and puffing, but figured he was glad to be thinking at all, tired as he was. Allie was asleep as he pulled the car slowly up the dirt trail that led through the moor and up to the cottage. Far below and behind, the chimneys of the small village peeked above the last line of trees. They had driven north out of the rain, and the ground beneath the wheels was hard and firm, so he had no trouble pulling up to the cottage.
Leaving Allie in the Keble, he got out, stretched his sore legs and back, and looked around him. He’d never been anyplace like this. The view commanded miles of the barren moor. The cottage sat on a plateau beneath a sharp, rocky slope. The moor ran fairly level to both his left and right, and in front of him, the hill ran down to a small stream and a copse of frees, and a mile or so beyond that, the village. Faint purple heather, scrub grass, and rock covered the ground. It was windy up here, and the cool breeze that dried the stale sweat on his face felt wonderful. His eyes ached from fatigue, and as he took a deep breath of the fresh air, he knew he wanted sleep… needed sleep.
He looked back to make sure Allie was still asleep, and then walked up to the cottage. It was a two-story affair, gray stone built around thick wooden beams. He found the old skeleton key under a rock, right where Simon had said it would be, and let himself in. The first floor was low-ceilinged, and he stooped even though he really didn’t have to. A large fireplace dominated the front room, which had a stone floor, an old wooden table, and two old overstuffed chairs. A small bedroom ran off to the left. It was filled with books, no surprise there, and a small bed covered with old quilts and a thick army blanket. A kitchen of sorts ran off to the back. It had creaky wooden counters and a few shelves and cupboards, and a wood-burning stove. There was a basin but no tap. A narrow wooden door opened onto the slope of the hill and a stone retaining wall. Someone had made a weak attempt at gardening out back, and a sad rose trellis marked the effort. A narrow staircase led from the kitchen up to the second floor, which contained three bedrooms. Each was furnished with quilted beds and cane chairs.
The whole place had that comfortable discomfort of the beloved getaway. Old framed photos of Simon and family and friends decorated the walls and bedside tables. Cheap paperbacks and slightly moldy hardcovers lay scattered about. Neal went back downstairs and out front. He found the generator shack, read the carefully printed directions thumbtacked to the wall, and started it up. He might as well, he thought, have such comforts as electricity. An outhouse stood near the generator shack, and a cottage. He solved the mystery of water when he noticed the well about thirty yards in front of the cottage. He cranked the handle and, sure enough, a bucket of water came up, just like in the old movies when the city slicker goes to the country and learns real values. He took a sip of the water: It was clean and cold and tasted great. He hoped he wouldn’t die from it. A true New Yorker, he believed that water should come out of faucets.
Hmm, well water, outhouses, a bathtub set in the open air. He could get used to this, he thought. And the quiet. He noticed it just then. The complete and utter absence of mechanical or human sound. He listened. Way off in the distance, perhaps over the hill, he could hear the faint sounds of what might have been sheep. He could hear the soft gurgling of the brook below him. That was all. That was it. He could hear his heartbeat. This was all new stuff to Neal Carey, who thought he had seen it all.
Remembering why he was up here, he walked back to the car and opened the passenger door. Allie was curled up, her head resting on the top of the seat. She was sticky with dried sweat and her face was puffy and pale. The next few hours would be bad, Neal thought. But he had to get it started. No more candy for baby Allie.
“Hey, wake up,” he said, shaking her. She mumbled a few dark threats and cuddled up into a ball.
“Alice, c’mon, up.”
“Donwanna.”
“I don’t give a shit what you wanna,” said Neal, who was damned if he was going to carry her anymore. He still hurt from last night.
He pulled her out of the seat and let go. She tumbled out onto the ground.
“Hey!” she said, with more indignation than wit. She sat on the ground looking up at him, and then looking around. It took her only a minute to realize they weren’t in downtown London.
“Where the fuck are we?”
Which reminded Neal of an old joke about pygmies that he didn’t bother relating.
“We’re ’on the lam,’” he said. He watched her search her memory. He watched real carefully. How much did Allie remember?
“Where’s Colin?”
“I don’t know.”
She got up from the ground and brushed herself off. “I want to go back to London.”
“No.”
“Right now.”
“Forget it.”
She brushed past him and headed for the driver’s door.
I didn’t want to do this, Neal thought. He grabbed her by the elbow, stuck his foot behind hers, and threw her down. She got over her surprise in about half a second and started to get up, but he lifted her up by the shoulders and tossed her down on her back. She landed hard but got up and headed back toward the car. He stood in her way and she took a swing at him, a clumsy, looping swing that he caught easily, turning her wrist and bending her arm in back of her. He grabbed her hair with his other hand and forced her to her knees. He bent her over until her face grazed the ground.
It shocked him that he wasn’t sorry, that this felt good, and he wondered whom he was so goddamned angry at, and he wondered where his mother was and whether she was even alive, and he wondered whether Allie was the only fucked-up person on this barren, beautiful hill, and why he had taken this job in the first place.
He lifted her up and turned her around so that they were face-to-face. It didn’t help. He wanted to hit her. Hard. In the face. He wanted to tell himself that he would do it to settle her down, to get her in the house, part of the job and all, but he knew it wasn’t true. He wanted to hit her because she was a woman and a junkie and a whore, just like the girl who hadn’t married dear old Dad. That knowledge sickened him, tired him out more than everything he’d been through. He let go of her shoulders.
She knew, though. He saw in her eyes that she had seen it in his: the rage, the violence. She had flinched and braced herself for the slap she knew was coming. He saw that to her he was just another man who beat up women.
The slap didn’t come. They stood on the windy hill staring at each other. Neal could hear his heartbeat all right; it pounded along with his lungs reaching for breath. Finally, he said, “I ripped Colin off. He thinks you helped me. I let him think that-”
“Jesus… you asshole… who told you to-”
“Because I don’t want you to be with him anymore. I don’t want you shooting smack anymore.” The words came out between gulps of air, and it was as close to telling the truth as he could go right then. He walked past her into the cottage.
Allie caught her breath for a moment and then walked to the car.
Neal was trying to build a fire when she came back in. The afternoon had turned suddenly cold. He wasn’t having much luck and thought that maybe he should have joined the Boy Scouts instead of Friends of the fucking Family, when she came through the door.
“Where are my drugs?” she demanded.
“Somewhere on the M-11.”
“You sleazy cocksucker!”
“‘People who live in glass houses…” He touched the match to the old newspaper and it caught flame. He blew gently on it, as he’d seen in the movies, and had a modest success. “Don’t you think it’s cold in here?”
“It’s fucking freezing!”
“That’s because you’re starting into withdrawal. It’ll get worse. There are some wool sweaters upstairs in a wardrobe. I suggest you get a couple.”
“I suggest you get me some dope, or I’m driving right back to London.”
“Good idea. Call Colin when you get in. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”
He let her draw her own conclusions.
“Thanks for fucking up my life!”
“You’re welcome.”
“You at least owe me some dope!”
Neal added a small piece of wood to the fire and almost smothered it. He shifted things around with the poker and the fire came to life. He was concentrating hard on making the fire. It settled him down.
Then he took his shot. Carefully, because he knew that she wouldn’t be lucid much longer.
“What I owe you,” he said, “is ten thousand pounds. I figure that’s more than fair, seeing as you didn’t do a goddamn thing to earn it. But that’s not your fault. What I owe you is a chance to get off the junk and stay off, because that was also part of our deal. No more junk, no more dates.”
“What deal? We didn’t make any deal.”
“Yeah we did. Feeding the ducks. There are all kinds of ways to make a deal, Alice. Sometimes it’s on paper, sometimes it’s in words, and sometimes it’s just understood. We had an understanding, and you know it.”
“You’re crazy!”
“Okay. How crazy am I? I have the books and I have you. I cool out here for a while, then go back to the States. I call the buyer, he gets on the next plane, and I get twenty thousand pounds. Crazy? Okay.”
He poked the wood around a little more, as he’d seen in the movies. He could feel Allie thinking behind him.
“Now let’s ask how crazy you are,” he said. “I’ll give you… give you… half the money… ten thousand pounds. All you have to do is get off the stuff, come to the States with me, and still be clean when I make the sale.”
Her hands were starting to shake. Soon her whole body would start in.
“Why?” she asked. “Why would you do that for me?”
She wasn’t grateful, she was suspicious. That was okay with Neal; suspicion was easier to deal with.
“I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for me.”
“I don’t get it.”
“What a surprise. Listen, you didn’t think I was going to trust Colin to hide me out and keep me safe, did you? Why would Colin take half when he could get it all? He’d stab me in the back- literally-the second I turned it on him. I was always planning to screw him, just like he was always planning to screw me.
“I didn’t plan on… liking… you. I didn’t want to leave you behind to be on the street for Colin until he used you up and booted you out. So I took you. We can say it was against your will if that’ll make you feel better, but we both know the truth.”
“Maybe you think-”
“Shut up and listen. So now that I’ve got you, what do I do with you? We have some time to spend together up here, and I don’t want to have to tie you up and all that shit, I don’t want to have to worry about you running off to the cops screaming that you’ve been kidnapped, and I especially don’t want you deciding that heroin and hooking are your true lifestyle and getting to a phone and taking your chances with old Colin.”
“Yeah, so…”
“Yeah, so I’m making you my partner. I want you to have a rooting interest in my survival. There are going to be a lot of angry people looking for me over the next few months, and I don’t want you standing there, pointing and saying ‘He went that-away.’”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Let’s just say I’m giving you a little motivation.”
She tried to come up with her best spoiled-brat smile, the same one he’d seen her use with Colin. “Motivate me with some smack.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need to trust you, and I won’t trust a junkie. Junkies will do anything. You get the money if and when you’re off the stuff.”
She was starting to shake but she was also listening. It took an effort. “So you think you can buy me.”
“Sure. Ten thousand pounds. Current exchange rate… about sixteen thousand dollars. You could be a very comfortable runaway for a long time on sixteen large, if you don’t have a habit to support. It’s called a fresh start, and they don’t come around too often. Not this easily, anyway. I’d take it if I were you.”
Her eyes were starting to tear up. Pretty soon, her knees would start to rattle and her ears would hum, and it would be no good talking to her. The, smack would do all the talking, and she would listen. It was starting already.
“What if I don’t take your ‘deal’? What if I say no?”
“You won’t. I’m only doing what you told me you wanted. Keep you off the smack and off the street.”
She put her hands over her ears and shook her head. Thinking was hard-her junkie body was telling her brain to get out of the way. “I can’t get off the junk, Neal. I can’t. I thought I wanted to, but I can’t!”
“I’ll help you.”
“What do you mean, help me?”
He turned away from the fire to look at her. “I mean help you. Couple of hours, things are going to get bad for you. You’re going to get pretty sick. I’ll help you get through it.”
She looked scared. It surprised him. He’d never seen her look scared before. She said, “Who are you, Marcus Welby?”
“I know a little bit about this stuff.”
“You were a junkie?”
“No, I wasn’t a junkie. I just know about it.”
Yeah, okay, Diane. More secrets, more holding back. More not trusting. Fuck you. Why is every woman in my life coming to visit just now?
Allie started to pace around the room. She ran her hands over the stone walls. “You bastard. You prick. You got me into this! Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” Good goddamn question.
“I don’t want to quit!” she continued. Her pacing picked up. Neal saw she was starting to panic. “I can, I just don’t want to! I like it, all right? Who the fuck are you to do this to me?” Another good goddamn question.
Neal stirred his coffee. Allie sat on the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees and hung her head on her hands. She started to rock, slowly at first, then faster and harder, back and forth. Neal barely heard her crying, and when he looked over, he had to look hard to see the tears wetting her face. The pain in his chest felt like his heart breaking.
He fought it. It was like his body was wrapped in barbed wire and he couldn’t move. It was like being ten years old and watching his mother fight it and lose, and walk out of the apartment and come back stoned. It was the rage he felt, and the hatred and the contempt, and the heartbreak, and it wrapped him up so tightly, he wanted to scream. He remembered stroking his mother’s head with a wet cloth, and holding her hand and telling her it was all right, she could do it. But she couldn’t. Not for him, not for her, and he hated her for it. For leaving him. For loving it more than him. For what she did to get it. He heard Allie’s quiet, choking sobs, and saw her hugging herself, holding on to herself, and he couldn’t move. Damn it, why couldn’t he move? Grief and anger kept him pressed into the chair, and he couldn’t breathe, and he wanted to scream, to yell, to shout out his fury, and he couldn’t. Instead, he got up, and went over to her, and sat down beside her, and held her while she rocked. She grabbed his wrist and he rocked her then, back and forth, saying “I know, I know.”
He left her a little while later to build a fire in the oven to heat water for tea. He couldn’t find any sugar, but there was a large jar of honey in the cupboard. He spooned a large dollop into the tea, and held the cup while she sipped at it. Then he rocked her some more.