Page 120 of Duplicity

‘Yeah,’ I tell her. ‘I get that.’ My circumstances couldn’t be more different from hers, and I’m a decade older, but being overly reliant on our parents in adulthood is seriously rough. There comes a time when we need to spread our wings and forge our own path.

‘It’s just round to the left,’ Marlowe tells Yan. ‘Second block on the left. It’s a bit of a shithole, I’m afraid,’ she adds, turning to me.

I hate that she’s embarrassed about where she lives almost as much as I hate that she lives here. I hate that she’s so much better than me as a person and yet life has dealt me a far better hand.

It’s not fucking fair.

Yan pulls to a halt outside a grim-looking block of flats with a grey pebble-dashed exterior. My professional guess is that these blocks were built in the seventies and should have been pulled down instead of being sold on privately. They’re not as bad assome of the worst estates in the Docklands, but they’re not the best, either.

‘Thanks so much for this evening,’ she says. ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’

‘You can thank me inside,’ I say firmly, releasing her hand so I can unfasten my seatbelt.

‘No, that’s not—you don’t have to?—’

‘Nice try, sweetheart, but I’m walking you to the door. Come on. Out you get.’

She obeys reluctantly, and we start towards her block of flats. The air outside is thick with the smell of weed. It’s noisy—TVs blaring, music thumping, voices raised in anger. It’s the soundtrack of people who don’t give a fuck about anyone else. Case in point: the fly-tipping. Right by the front door someone’s left an old, stained mattress, a rusty pram and fuck loads of old baby clothes. For fuck’s sake.

‘It’s very different from your place,’ Marlowe says apologetically as we walk up the path.

‘I’m not a snob, love. I just care that you’re safe.’

She enters a code and pushes open the front door, and Jesus Christ. It’s like I’ve been teleported into some gritty TV crime drama. This place is a dump. The first thing I clock is that the smell of skunk intensifies, along with the stench of stale piss. It smells like a public gents’ toilet in here. The next thing, once I follow her in, is the gang members lurking in the dingy lobby. The metal and concrete staircase is to their right, just visible behind them a bank of lifts. They’re all in black hoodies or balaclavas, and they’re loitering in a way that smells trouble.

I’m instantly, horribly, conscious of the chunk of metal on my left wrist, courtesy of Patek Philippe. I’m pretty sure the cuff of my shirt is hiding it, but I daren’t glance down and risk drawing attention to it. They stop talking as we enter and stare at us. Marlowe, I notice, doesn’t engage with them at all. She bowsher head and makes herself as small, as invisible as possible, scuttling towards the stairs. They ignore her, but they don’t fucking ignore me.

‘What you staring at, fam?’ one of them asks as I put my foot on the bottom step. He’s a skinny white guy with a spider tattoo on his face. Charming. I shoot him a look I hope will communicate my derision. ‘I’m looking at you, dickhead.’

Probably not my smartest move, but I’m a fucking leader in business. I’ve got more petty cash in my sock drawer than these losers will ever see in their pathetic, crime-ridden lives. I have no intention of letting these little shits intimidate me.

‘Brendan,’ Marlowe hisses without breaking stride. ‘Come on.’

‘You ‘ere that, Baz?’ Spider says. ‘He called me a dickhead. That’s not very nice, is it?’

His mate steps up, a massive Asian bloke. At least a foot taller than Spider. Built like a brick shithouse. ‘No, it’s not. We don’t like posh, cocky wankers around here. And we have our ways of showing them they’re not welcome.’ He pulls out a knife and flicks the blade open. When he holds it up, it glints in the dim light.

What a prick. My PT is a former marine. I have moves these guys have never seen. So no, I’m not scared of a crappy little blade, but I have no intention of exposing Marlowe to a knife for a second longer.

‘There’s no need for any of that shit,’ I tell the guy. ‘You and I both know it’ll only land you in prison, so don’t do anything stupid, yeah? I’m not here to make trouble.’ I turn to Marlowe as calmly as I can. ‘Let’s get out of here, love.’

She nods, stricken, and begins to take the stairs two at a time. I follow her, hoping my body provides enough of a buffer between her and them. When I look behind me, the gang members aren’t following us, thank God.

‘How far up are you?’ I ask as we climb.

‘Fourth floor. Come on.’

Jesus.I’m more winded than I’d like by the fourth floor. With those wankers blocking the lifts, I suspect Marlowe and Tabby have to use the stairs more often than they’d like.

Marlowe puts her key in the lock and opens the door with a warningshhin my direction. I slide in behind her lest she try to shut me out. But the instant I’m in her flat, my stomach sinks like a stone, because, fuck.Thisis where she lives?

I mean, compared to the lobby it’s practically the Four Seasons, but it’s so small and shoddy. Not her furnishings or cleanliness level, but the actual build. You can tell just by looking at the walls that a well-aimed fist could punch straight through them. Her front door is flimsy as fuck. I can see damp from here on the ceiling over by the balcony, and I bet those windows are poorly sealed. They must let so much heat out in winter.

My internal property survey screeches to a halt, because next thing you know, a big Black guy in shorts and a t-shirt emerges into the living room. He has a smile as wide as his face and a body that saysI lift old people in and out of bed all day and push serious weights all night.

‘Hi Robbie,’ Marlowe whispers, ignoring me. ‘How was she?’

He smiles. The guy is a walking dental ad. ‘Not too bad. She seems a bit under the weather, but I took her temperature a couple of times and it’s in the normal range. She complained of a headache and feeling a bit rubbish in general, so I administered a dose of paracetamol at seven-thirty. Otherwise, she was very sweet. Sounds like you guys have had an adventurous month.’

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