Deception aka Sanctum

chapter twenty-two

STEVIE RAY IS A BAD MAN, A SELFISH MAN WHO MAKES MONEY BY cashing in on the misery of others, but after meeting him it’s hard to believe he actually means any harm to anyone. He is small and balding in a messy way, not a straightforward receding hairline. He has a brown hairy button on his forehead and thin wisps all over the top. He’s short and fat as well and ties his raincoat belt in a knot at his swollen waist, which makes it look worse. He’s simultaneously repellent and sympathetic. It’s like he’s got his charisma on backward.

I’d dropped Margie off at nursery, more of which later, and was sitting in Greggs waiting for him. I was about ten minutes early, so I ordered a fudge doughnut and a cup of tea (the coffee’s terrible there). I was peeling the frosting off the cake when I heard a commotion at the door. Stevie Ray was a-coming. He’d got tangled up in a pram at the door and was trying to apologize, bow obsequiously, and extricate himself all at the same time. He almost tipped the child out, and the mother became so angry she started hitting him with a full Co-op bag. Things like that must happen everywhere he goes, because he didn’t even mention it when he sat down opposite me. He just flattened a hand over his bald head as if he still had hair.

“Foof,” he said. “It’s windy.”

He ordered tea and a prawn and mayo

“I owe everyone,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I owe the car company, credit cards, the bank is after me, and I’ve got nothing coming in now, because of your missus.” He looked up at me.

“I’m not going to pay you, Stevie,” I said. “I know for a fact that my wife is i

He relaxed a bit. I think it was almost a relief to him not to have to try to chisel me. “You broke, too?” he asked.

“Lawyers don’t come cheap,” I said, thinking of our one and a half mil carefully tucked away. “So go easy on the tea.”

After five minutes with Stevie I felt focused and go-getterish. It’s as though he can’t do status games and comes ready-capitulated. I bet that’s why Gow wanted him to manage his affairs, so he could see him often and patronize him. But then, the thing to remember with Stevie Ray is that with no skills whatever, he made a nice living off the back of Gow. He’s not a stupid man, and that’s something to bear in mind. He filled in every conversational pause with a story about how much he’d lost to the car company, how much work he needed done on his house, how everyone thought he was rich. He was being so unchallenging it actually made me feel suspicious. The roll arrived and he took a massive bite and tried to talk about his troubles through milky lumps of bread.

I interrupted him and told him I wanted to talk about my wife. That shut him up.

I took out the notebook I’d written the questions in. I knew I’d crap out if I didn’t have them written down, knew I’d end up asking how he was and finally if he needed any money. I asked the first question and wrote down notes of what he was saying to busy myself, so I didn’t have to look at him while he answered.

Yes, he said, Gow did talk about Susie. He said she was a lovely lady and had been very helpful in getting Do

“Look, Stevie,” I said, “I want you to tell me the truth. I don’t want you to dress it up.”

Stevie smiled uncomfortably and chewed a hangnail, staring at the table.

“I know Gow didn’t talk like that,” I said.

“Can I have an éclair?”

“As long as you stop lying to me.”

He ordered an éclair. The prawn and mayo

Yeah, Gow did talk about Susie. Stevie glanced at my notebook, looked away, sipped his tea, and then smiled as if he was going to be sick. Gow wasn’t nice about women generally. He said things, pretty bad things, actually. Stevie didn’t agree with them, oh no, he doesn’t think about women that way, but, well, ye know how men are together. His cake arrived and he took a bite.

I laughed and jollied him along. We don’t mean it, I said. Stevie jumped on that, agreeing through a mouthful of pastry; no, nothing means anything, it’s just guys talking, like, you know how guys are. This gave me reason to surmise that Gow had said sexual things about Susie, definitely, but Stevie wasn’t about to tell me what they were. I wrote “JUST GUY STUFF” in the notebook so he could read it upside down.

He took another bite of his éclair and frowned at the page, taking about a minute to read the three complex words. Some of the cream had squished out of the side of the cake and got stuck to his chin. In the ensuing conversation it began to look more and more like a big lump of dried cum.

I saw him mouth the words “just guy stuff” and relax. “Gow said he fancied her, ye know, thought she was good-looking. A nice person and such.”

“Look, Stevie, you can tell me what he said, I won’t be offended.” He looked unsure, so I added, “Susan and I have been living separate lives for a few years now.” He still looked confused, so I spelled it out for him. I said I’d been seeing other people and Susie was free to do the same.

Stevie nodded nervously and took another bite. He kept his mouth open as his molars ground the pastry and cream and chocolate together, his tongue pushing the pale lumpy shit forward in his mouth in a rolling bovine rhythm. “Whose idea was that?” he asked.

“It was hers,” I said, acting resentful, making it okay for him to start in on her.

“And whose is the kiddie, then?” I almost leaped across the table. I was prepared to lie to him and make myself a passive, cheated-on husband, but I’d die rather than denounce Margie.

“Mine,” I said firmly, “she’s mine.”

Anyway, the fib worked. Gow talked about Susie a lot. He thought she had lovely tits. Stevie looked up at me and waited for me to punch him. When I didn’t hit him or seem a

I couldn’t stand him to be confident for a second longer, so I interrupted him to ask whether he was indicating a future intention to use the term “loosely” or whether he was using the term “ladies” in a reckless and all-inclusive ma

He didn’t understand and got flustered, so I repeated myself in a different way. The last one, he meant the last one. Anyway, this twat took him into the toilet in a pub and lifted her skirt and she had on stockings, garter belt, split crotch, the lot. Stevie went on about all the stuff she did and how she loved it and rubbed her tits on the dirty mirror, etc., etc. It was a jazz-mag story, obviously made up by Gow, either because he was an unimaginative fantasist or to take the piss out of Stevie Ray. Stevie believed it anyway. He went pink telling me about it; I’m sure he had a semi, it took him ages to sit back.