The Other Side of the Door by Nicci French (best novels to read for students .txt) 📕

tipped-up mugs. On the small table there was a pan of burned rice. He picked it up as if he didn’t know what it was or how it had got there. ‘Don’t worry about the mess,’ Hayden said, putting the pan on a chair.

‘I wasn’t. How long have you been here?’

‘Just a week or so. It belongs to a friend. Or, at least, a friend’s renting it, I think. I’m looking for something more permanent. Beer?’

‘All right.’

He pulled the tab off a can and waited until the spume had sunk back into its hole before handing it over. I took a gulp. I already felt slightly muzzy from the wine I’d had with Neal, then Sally’s Pimm’s. Hayden, on the other hand, appeared stone-cold sober although I’d seen how much he had drunk. He took a can for himself, then settled into a sagging armchair and pulled off his shoes and socks, wriggling his toes luxuriously.

‘That’s better.’ He tipped the can back and I watched him. ‘I could make us something to eat,’ he said. ‘Or you could, which might be better. A fry-up, if Leo’s left stuff in the fridge.’

‘I don’t cook,’ I said, and perched myself on the sofa opposite him.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Why?’

‘Do you cook?’

‘Not much.’

‘There you are, then.’

‘But I’m good at eating what other people cook.’

It was true. He ate anything he was offered, as if he was permanently hungry and nothing could ever fill him.

‘I came to ask you something.’

‘Let me guess. You want me to be nicer to that guy. What’s he called?’

‘Amos.’ I knew he remembered.

‘Yeah. Him.’

‘You’re upsetting him.’

‘I think he’s upsetting himself, Bonnie. You and him?’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘He’s still half in love with you, or certainly doesn’t want anyone else to be, and he’s trying too hard to impress you, Sonia too. It’s a bit complicated, like a tightrope act, and he’s wobbling all over the place. Poor guy.’

‘That’s not really the point.’

‘One of the lessons in life is that the more you care the less you impress.’

‘How cruel.’

‘Cruel but true.’

‘I don’t think so.’

He stared at me for a moment. ‘You don’t care much what people think of you, do you? And look at the result.’

‘I care as much as anyone.’

‘And then there’s Neal, of course,’ he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken.

‘I came here to talk about the band.’

‘If we’re not going to have a fry-up, at least let’s have some crisps. I think there are some in that cupboard.’

Before I could think what I was doing, I’d stood up and was obediently searching among the jumble to find them. I tossed the packet over to him.

‘Don’t you want some?’

‘I’m a vegetarian.’

‘Smoky bacon flavour doesn’t mean there’s bacon in them.’

‘You’re sowing discord.’

‘That sounds Biblical.’ He pulled open the bag but didn’t eat.

‘What’s the point of humiliating people?’

‘I don’t mean to.’ A look of puzzlement crossed his face. ‘But it was such a horrible noise in there, and Amos doesn’t really care about music. He just wants to look good, to make an impression. Suddenly I couldn’t be arsed. Do you want a cigarette?’

‘I don’t smoke.’

‘You don’t smoke, you don’t eat meat. What do you do?’

‘Please will you be more tactful.’

‘The young guy’s OK.’

‘Joakim. I know.’

‘And you, of course.’

I felt absurdly pleased by that, then immediately annoyed with myself for being pleased. For some reason, I got up from the sofa and stood opposite him to speak, and then felt stupid for doing that, while he lay back in his chair and smiled at me as though I was some comic act he was taking pleasure in watching.

‘I want to know if you’ll help me,’ I said, very formally. ‘It’s just a stupid thing. I know we’re not very good. I know it’s not important or glamorous or challenging, and there’s no reason that you should be involved at all.’

‘Except, of course,’ he said, ‘there is a reason.’

‘You should leave if you can’t be part of the joint effort. That’s fine, I’d understand. I just won’t have you upsetting everyone for the fun of it.’

‘I can’t leave.’

‘What do you mean?’ It was suddenly hard to speak.

‘You know what I mean.’

He still didn’t move, and neither did I. We stared at each other. My heart was beating painfully in my chest; my body felt loose and hot. I couldn’t drop my eyes but I didn’t know how long I could go on standing in front of him.

‘No,’ I managed at last. I thought of Neal. I fixed his image in my mind. I remembered his smile. ‘I don’t.’

He reached out a hand and took mine. I let him. I let him pull me to him. ‘Look at you,’ he said. ‘Prickly Bonnie Graham.’

‘I’m not,’ I said.

‘One of a kind.’

I could say I didn’t mean it to happen. I could say I forgot myself—what does that mean anyway, to forget yourself, to lose yourself? I did feel lost, adrift on a tide of desire that took me so much by surprise it was as if I’d been punched in the stomach, all the wind knocked out of me, and I sank to my knees beside the sofa with what sounded like a sob. I could say that I didn’t mean it, it wasn’t me, it just happened, but it was me who took his face, a stranger’s face, unfamiliar, between my hands and held it for what felt like ages so that I was conscious of time passing, of cars outside, people’s voices. And then at last he was kissing me and I was kissing him. I knew that this was what I had come for and I knew he had been waiting for me.

‘No,’ I said, as he lifted me onto the sofa, but I didn’t mean it. I know I didn’t mean it, because when he said, ‘Bonnie?’ I said, ‘Yes. Yes.’

After

I lay in bed and stared at the light that was now glowing behind the curtain, projecting its stripes onto the carpet. What was the plan? There wasn’t exactly a plan. There