LIGHT

'Christ,' said Kearney.

He took another look at Sprake, Sprake was clutching an old electric kettle in one hand and a pamphlet edition of Yeats's Hodos Chameleontos in the other. A moment before, perhaps, he had been holding them up with his arms outspread in the hieratic gesture of a figure on a Tarot card. The floor in front of him was littered with objects that seemed to have fallen out of his lap as he died. Seashells, the skull of a small mammal: Serbian gypsy ornaments which had belonged to his mother. There was a feeling that something else was going to happen in the room. Despite the finality of what had already taken place, something else could easily happen.

Alice Sprake said: 'He was good boy.'

She groaned loudly. The broken springs of the sofa creaked and were silent. After a moment she got to her feet and smoothed her skirt down over her thighs. She was six feet tall, Kearney thought, perhaps more. Her great size had a calming effect on him, and she seemed aware of that. She smelled powerfully of sex.

'I will see to this, Mikey,' she said. 'But you must go.'

'I came because I needed his help.'

The idea seemed to give her no satisfaction.

'It is your fault that he is like this. Ever since he met you he has been mad. He was going to do wonderful things with his life.'

Kearney stared at her.

'Sprake?' he said in disbelief. 'Are you talking about Sprake?' He started to laugh. 'The day we met he was a fuck-up in a railway carriage. He did tattoos on himself with a Bic pen.'

Alice Sprake drew herself up.

'He was one of the five most powerful magicians in London,' she said simply. Then she added: 'I know what you are afraid of. If you don't go now I will send it after you.'

'No!' said Kearney.

He had no idea what she might be able to do. He stared panickily from her to the dead man, then ran out of the room, down the stairs and into the street.

A

Kearney went quietly into the back room and began to empty the chest of drawers, stuffing clothes, books, packs of cards and personal items into his Marin courier bag in the dark. The room looked out on to the central well of the block. Kearney hadn't been in there long when he began to hear voices echoing up from one of the lower floors. It sounded like a man and a woman arguing, but he couldn't make out any words, only a feeling of loss and threat. He got up off his knees and drew the curtains. The voices seeped in anyway. When he had what he wanted, he tried to zip up the bag. The zip caught. He looked down. The bag and everything in it was covered in a thick soft even layer of dust. This image gave him such a sense of his life draining away that he was filled with terror again. A

'Michael?' she said. 'Is that you? That's you isn't it?'

'Go to sleep,' Kearney advised her. 'I just came for some things.'

There was a pause while she assimilated this. Then she said:

'I'll make you a cup of tea. I was just going to make tea but I fell asleep. I was so exhausted I just fell asleep.'

'There's no need to do that,' he said.

He heard the bed creak as she got up. She came and leaned in the doorway in her long cotton nightdress, yawning and rubbing her face. 'What are you doing?' she said. She must have smelt the vomit on the front of his jacket, because she said: 'Have you been ill?' She switched the light on suddenly. Kearney made a futile gesture with the bag in his hand. They stood there blinking at each other.

'You're leaving.'

'A

'How can you bloody say that!' she shouted. 'How can you bloody say it's for the best?'

Kearney began to speak, then shrugged.

'I thought you were going to stay! Yesterday you said this was good, you said it was good.'

'We were fucking, A

'I know. I know. It was good.'

'I said it was good fucking you, that's all,' he said. 'That was all I meant.'

She slid down in the doorway and sat with her knees drawn up.

'You let me feel as if you were going to stay.'

'You did that yourself,' Kearney tried to persuade her.

She stared up at him angrily. 'You wanted it too,' she insisted. 'You practically said as much to me.' She sniffed, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. 'Oh well,' she said. 'Men are always so stupid and frightened.' She shivered suddenly. 'Is it cold in here? I'm awake now anyway. At least have some tea. It won't take a minute.'

It took longer. A

'I've got to go,' he said. 'A

He emptied his cup into the sink. When he got to the door she was already there, standing so he couldn't open it. She had dressed for going out, in a big cable-knit cardigan and fake Versace skirt, and there was a bag at her feet. She saw him looking down at it. 'If you can go I can go too,' she said. Kearney shrugged and reached over her shoulder for the knob of the Yale lock.

'Why don't you trust me?' she said, as if it was already established that he didn't.

'It isn't anything like that.'

'Oh yes it is. I try to help you-'

He made an impatient gesture.

'-only you won't let me.'

'A

'You bastard.'

'So how can you help?'

'I'm not letting you go without me,' she said. 'I'm not letting you open this door.'

She struggled against him.

'Jesus, A

He got the door open and pushed past her. She caught up with him on the stairs and held on to the collar of his jacket and wouldn't let go even when he started to drag her down the stairs.

'I hate you,' she said.

He stopped and stared at her. They were both panting.

'Why are you doing this, then?'

She hit him in the face.

'Because you have no idea!' she shouted. 'Because no one else will help you. Because you're the useless one, the damaged one. Are you so stupid you can't see that? Are you so stupid?'

She let go of his coat and sat down suddenly. She glanced up at him, then away again. Tears poured down her face. Her skirt had ridden up as she fell, and he found himself staring at her long, thin thighs as if he had never seen her before. When she saw that, she blinked her tears away and pulled the skirt up further. 'Christ,' Kearney whispered. He turned her over and pushed her into the cold stone stairs, while she pushed back hard against his hand, sniffing and crying throughout.

When, ten minutes later, he dragged himself away and walked off towards the tube station, she simply followed.

He had met her in Cambridge, perhaps two years after he stole the dice. He was looking for someone to murder, but A