coffee already?’ he says.
‘No. I came to see you,’ I say.
‘I see. And what can I do for you?’
He shuffles along the bench and pats the space next to him. The wood is dry beneath the umbrella and I sit down. He stinks of weed. I try not to wrinkle my nose.
‘Tell me,’ he says.
‘I was wondering.’ I’m suddenly aware of the formality in my voice, the clear and precise enunciation of my mother ordering a slice of Victoria sponge. ‘I need to get hold of a phone.’
His face splits into a broad smile.
‘Do you now – and what made you think I could help?’
‘I don’t know.’ I can’t admit to watching his drug sales. ‘I just thought you might.’
He gives the faintest nod. ‘You come here to drink coffee, one of those tech lot, been here a few months.’
No one in London notices other people’s comings and goings. One of the things I love about it. My mind returns to that feeling of being observed. I make a move to stand up. He places a hand on my forearm. It’s not a menacing gesture, it’s even comforting in some way.
‘Don’t worry, love. I’m not a stalker. Got to watch people in my game – keep an eye out – know what I mean? I’m Garrick, by the way. Everyone knows me around here.’
He extends his hand and I take it.
‘Garrick, like the theatre?’ I say.
‘My mother was a hoofer back in the Sixties. Tells me I was conceived there.’ He smiles. ‘And your name is?’
‘Audrey,’ I say.
I don’t know why I’ve given my mother’s name, perhaps because I’m speaking like her.
‘And what is it for, this phone, Audrey – up to a spot of adultery?’
I don’t answer. Garrick grins.
‘Not a problem, Audrey. No information required. It’s not as though you’re going to be moving in on my patch, are you now?’ He laughs at his own joke. ‘How about you go to the cashpoint up near the station, withdraw two hundred pounds, go for a little walk and by the time you come back I may have a phone for you.’
‘Two hundred?’
‘That’s the price.’
Two hundred pounds – I’ll be living off boiled rice for the rest of the month.
‘It needs to be a smartphone,’ I say.
‘Are you sure? Some people prefer the old-style ones, harder to trace.’
‘No. It has to be a smartphone.’
‘As you desire, milady.’
He takes a shallow bow and withdraws the umbrella, so that it no longer shields me from the rain.
‘I’ll be seeing you, Audrey.’
I stand and walk towards the Tube and the nearest cashpoint.
Garrick won’t want to speak to the police any more than I do. I look at the road behind me as I cross. A man in a dark-coloured padded jacket is standing at the corner of the street, under the newsagent’s awning. The same man as before? The rain leaves his face and figure indistinct. He could be anyone.
Once I’ve taken the money from my bank account, £14.38 is all that’s left before it hits my overdraft limit. God knows what I’m going to do for money. I can’t ask Audrey for any more. I could borrow from the petty cash until my next payday but knowing my luck I’d be found out and get dismissed, which is all I need. I stuff the money into my bra for safekeeping and turn around. A few people are milling about in the rain, but the man in the padded jacket is gone. I still can’t get over the feeling of being watched.
Garrick’s gone when I return. I walk across the square and back to the main road but still can’t see him. I’ve started to circle back when I hear a whistle. I turn around. Garrick’s slouched in the doorway of one of the Georgian houses. As I walk towards him, he forks two fingers, peers down them and scans the road.
‘Sometimes I choose to stay out of sight,’ he says.
Considering the stench of weed, he’s remarkably lucid.
‘Do you have it?’ I ask.
‘If you’ve got the money.’
I pull the money from my bra, which raises a smile from Garrick. After I count the twenties into his hand, he raises the notes to his mouth, kisses them, leers at me and says, ‘I’ll treasure these.’
I step back, having visions of being dragged into the house.
‘I’ve brought the exact money and nothing more,’ I say.
Garrick looks amused.
‘No need to worry. I never harm paying clients – wouldn’t stay in business if I did.’
He disappears into the house and returns only a few seconds later with the phone. It’s an old Samsung Galaxy, badly scuffed, but I’m hardly going to have it on display.
‘I’ve turned the Wi-Fi off for you – no point to an untraceable phone if all your searches come up through your router. You’ll need to set a PIN. And there’s twenty pounds on it. If you want more, go to FoneFirst down the road. They’re very discreet.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Anything else, just ask.’
I’m about to turn away, hoping to God I’m never this desperate again, when I have a thought.
‘You know how you said you keep an eye out for people in the area?’
‘Necessity of the trade,’ he says.
‘You’ve not seen anyone new around?’
‘There’s always someone new.’
‘I think a man is following me.’
He leans back on the wall and lights a spliff.
‘Is that so?’ he says.
‘Have you seen anyone?’
‘That first time you spoke to me a fella was watching. Just being nosy, I think. Not police – I can always spot them.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘He didn’t come close enough to have a good look. All I noticed was that he was older, had grey hair and wore a dark jacket.’
‘A padded jacket?’
‘Couldn’t
