Masquerade

Twenty-four

I feel overwhelmed by a dizzying sense of loneliness. I don’t fucking need him. I lie on the bed holding my vibrator. I lean my head back on my pillows, close my eyes and part my legs. I switch it on. And I think of him. I think of him when he kneels down in front of me and puts his mouth between my parted legs and drinks from my sex, and the desire roars through my body like a storm. The way dark blood rushes to my clit and everything becomes a flooding liquid. Just sucking and heat and hunger and furious fucking. I open my eyes and throw the vibrator across the bed.

I have a key to his home.

I call for a minicab and go to his house. I stand outside and look around me. A woman is walking her beautifully coiffured poodle. She gives me a condescending look. As if I’m in the wrong neighborhood. At another time I would have said something to her. But my mind is blank. I go up the steps and put the key in the door and then I realize I cannot go in. I will set the alarms off. I left the code at home.

I ring the bell. No one answers. I turn away and walk toward the Tube station and feel even more unhappy than I had felt before I came and saw the deserted house. Maybe I’ll get the code and come back, but I know I won’t. I feel drained.

I take the Tube home in a blank daze. I sink heavily into a seat and look up at the map. Only five stops and then I become so sad I can hardly move when it is my stop. I force my stiff body up and stumble out of the doors. At home I go and sit on the bed. For a while I am so stunned I sit and stare blankly into space. It doesn’t matter what he has done, I want him so bad I want to punch him for being so stupid, for using me, for cheating. Eventually I work myself up to a grand rage.

Absolutely livid, my mind falls upon the idea of getting drunk, getting so totally wasted that nothing matters anymore. I think of the vodka bottle that is in the kitchen cupboard. A full bottle. I haven’t touched it since I made that promise to Jaron at the island. I haven’t needed it. I need it now. I feel like a caged animal. Today I need that feeling of calm spreading in my belly. Like warm milk. I will sleep then.

I go into the kitchen and yank open the cupboard door where the vodka is kept. With a furious grunt I yank it from the shelf and something flat and small wrapped up in a piece of paper falls to the ground. My hair stands on end. For a few seconds I cannot do anything but stare at it. I put the bottle on the counter and run my suddenly sweaty palms down my trousers. Then I pick up the package curiously. The paper is a note and it guards a key. My throat feels dry. I unscrew the vodka bottle and take a swig. My head feels as if it is spinning. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look again at the note.

Go to the other place.

Beware of being followed.

112986316

It’s all yours. JR

For many seconds I do nothing. My mind ticks furiously. He knew what I would do, but he also hid this note. The first thing I do is let my eyes carefully scan the room. Sorab’s cereal box is out farther than I usually leave it. I walk out into the living room. The leg of the sofa is not sitting in its old indent on the carpet. I run to my workroom and my drawings are in totally different places from where I left them.

I go back to the kitchen and study the note again. Then I exchange my bright red top and blue pants for a gray hoodie and black jeans. I learn the numbers by heart. I make a pocket in the pad of one of my bras and slip the key into it before wearing it. I take the battery out of my mobile phone before stuffing it with two large cloth bags into a small handbag.

Then I slip out of my apartment and walk to the Tube station. There I surreptitiously look around me. A man—he is young and thin—looks away as I meet his eyes. I won’t look in that direction again. The train comes and I board it. Five stops later I get out and start walking to the opposite platform. I sit on the bench and wait. A train comes but I don’t get on it. I look around casually and notice the man standing at the far end of the platform. When the next train comes I get into it. As the doors are closing I lunge out. The train whooshes away.

I look around me. There is no one but me on the platform. I run up the stairs and make for the Central line. There are only two Asian guys and a woman with a pram on the platform. An elderly woman appears. She looks at me with hostility. I have never seen her in my life. I am being paranoid.

The train is due to arrive in one minute. It arrives. I get on it and change again at Tottenham Road. I sit alone in the carriage and watch the train tear through the darkness of the tunnel. I get off at Goodge Street station. Here the amount of people thronging around me makes me feel safe. I get out of the station and take a taxi. I don’t go directly to the apartment.

I go to the coffee shop down the road and order a glass of orange juice. I sit with my drink and settle my nerves before going to the toilet and removing the key from the padding of my bra. I slip it into my pocket and casually walk to the building. It is on a quiet street. Most probably why he got it in the first place. I look around me and there is no one about. I read the names against the bells. So Myra lives in Flat 3. I give her direct neighbors a miss and ring bell number thirteen. No one answers. There is no one at Flat 14 either. I hit gold with Flat 15.

‘Hey,’ I say making my voice sound as young and apologetic as possible. ‘This is Myra from Flat 3. Could you please let me in? I’ve left my key at home.’

There is a rude grunt and the door buzzes open.

I push it and enter. The lobby smells dank. I have a flashback of coming here with Jaron that first night. I was so high and excited I did not notice the smell or the dankness of it. I am too hyped to wait for the lift. I run up the stairs and hear my own footsteps reverberating loudly in the empty stairwell. To the third floor. I put the key in Jaron’s door and enter.

Inside I lean against the door panting for a minute. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear myself think. All the curtains are drawn shut and it is dim. The flat is exactly the same as it had been that night. Spartan. Clean. Unwelcoming. In fact it has that sepulchral, crypt-like aura about it. I put my handbag on the hardwood floor, hurry to the bedroom and switch on a light. It is cold in the bedroom. I look around me quickly. The bed is made. I have an image of it unmade with both of us naked and clawing at each other. I don’t dwell on the image. It is not lost. I can still have it back.

It is almost a cliché but I run to the wardrobe and tap on it. Well, what do you know? It is almost too easy. I feel a surge of excitement. I tap in different places and find that the whole fucking thing comes back hollow.

I sit back on my heels and stare at it. I yank all the clothes from the clothes rail and throw them on the ground. I start looking around the sides. The edges are all smooth and clean. It is too neat and well built. I know what I am looking for and I am closer than I think. In the end I find it. A little button just behind the door. I push it down and grin.

The panel slides back, so smoothly and silently that my eyebrows rise with admiration. The admiration turns to awe as the panel reveals what lays behind it. An oblong vault door made of solid steel. The rivets are so huge they are like those you see in bank heist movies. An electronic lock blinks at me. There appears to be a fingerprint scanner but Jaron must have switched it off and only one light is glowing red. Shaking with nerves and excitement I key in the numbers in my head and the light becomes green. Grasping the massive lever I heave the heavy door toward me. It swings open slowly.

A room, an actual room yawns at me.

My skin tingles with anticipation as I take a step toward the darkness. I have the feeling that entering into it is akin to crossing an imaginary threshold into another world. Jaron’s world. I enter it without a second of hesitation. I feel the sides of the door and locate the light switches. The spotlights that come on blind me. I blink and then my eyes widen with wonder.

Wow!

I look around, my mouth open. The room is no bigger than about six by ten feet, but its walls are lined with glass cases and in them are the most marvelous, staggeringly beautiful jewels. There is a large armchair a step away from me and I collapse into it. This is where Jaron sits admiring his loot. I bring my feet up and curl up in the comfy seat. There is a small round table next to the chair with a remote.

I press play and the classical music fills the room. I don’t rate classical music. I have always thought it is boring music for boring people. I kinda like being tasteless and the lover of the lowest common denominator, but at this moment, this piece of music is perfect. It is fast and precise and full of drama. I imagine Jaron sitting here, with a glass of champagne, simply admiring his beautiful jewels.

By their fruit ye shall know them.

For a long time I sit in the armchair looking at the dazzling pieces of jewelry in wonder. For the first time I understand what he meant when he said jewels are frozen music. The clarity is fierce and all-consuming. I know what I have to do.

I spring out of the chair and going back out into the flat I retrieve my handbag and take out the cloth bags I had stuffed into them. It seems I had always planned to do this. I take the cloth bags back to the secret room. For a moment I stand framed in the doorway. I wish I could take a photograph, but I can’t for obvious reasons. Never mind—I will never forget this sight as long as I live. This amazing room that Jaron created. I go to the first showcase. It is not even locked. I press the glass and it springs open silently. I run my finger on the square pink stone. It must be a pink diamond. He has touched this. I take it away from its black velvet stand and hold it in my palm, savoring the weight of it. I hold it up to the light and it sparkles like crazy, scattering little pieces of light on the floor.

I roll them all in toilet paper and bag them all quickly.

In less than an hour the room has been ransacked. It looks strange. I feel a bit sad to think I have dismantled Jaron’s life’s work. But I switch off the light, close the safe, slide the panel carefully back, put the clothes back into the wardrobe and close it. I switch off the light and, opening the door, leave the flat carrying two plastic shopping bags. I go down the stairs and taking a deep breath exit into the street.

No one pounces on me. Phew.

I walk quickly down the road and disappear into the Tube station. When I emerge it is in Victoria station. I buy a couple of small suitcases and put the bags into them. Then I head on over to left luggage, check the bags in and return to the Underground. On the Tube I put the battery back into my phone. I emerge out of the network in Green Park. I get out of the station and call Lana.

‘Hey,’ I say. ‘I need to talk to you and Blake.’