The
streets of London were bustling with tired co-workers making their way to the
nearest pub to drown their sorrows, groups of tourists that had preferred the
late afternoon tours through the capital and teenagers shouting abuse at each other.
The young man taking in the last drag of his Camel cigarette was leaning
against a shop window and shaking his head at the world in front of him. Would
London always be like this, he wondered as a red-faced Swiss couple with a
shrieking toddler moved past him. Is that what I’m going to become in ten,
fifteen years’ time?
He
chucked the cigarette stub in the air, missing the nearby bin by a mere
centimetre. He huffed, walked over and picked it up from the ground. Something
caught his eye. He disposed of the finished cigarette in one smooth movement
and shifted closer to the small black, green and golden ticket poking out from
underneath a dirty cardboard box.
It
read “K. Midnight” on one side and had an address scribbled by hand on the
other. The
elaborate design around the writing in the middle suggested that it was some
sort of invitation or reminder for an elite party, some place the young man
would never dream of going. He gently lifted the box, pulling out the card and
without thinking twice, putting it in his pocket. It had been the most
dangerous thing he had done all day.
The
journey home was taking longer than expected, but Alice and Arthur didn’t mind.
The gentle rocking of the train was casting a delicate bubble of calm over both
of them. Everything had been organised to welcome the new arrival at midnight
the next day. It would be at their usual place, the hidden warehouse off the
motorway, a place so desolate no one would ever dream of coming to look for any
of them there.
Arthur’s
head dropped slightly. He had fallen asleep. Alice tilted him towards her so
that he wouldn’t rest against anyone else. They wouldn’t thank him for it.
Everything
had been prepared. Everything was going to be fine. More than fine, it would be
perfect.
Lara
turned in Achilles’ arms. The absinthe had long lost its power of joy over her
and she had sunken into a deep sleep on one of the sofas in the warehouse. The
fact that she hadn’t left with anyone by that time meant that for once, she
wanted to spend the night at home. Achilles paid the cab driver, grabbed the
black crocodile bag and heaved her out of the car. They were alone on the quiet
street once the taxi had disappeared into the night. Achilles turned towards
the old Georgian house and began walking towards its long, pointy gate. He
opened it with a firm push of his body weight and slipped through. Walking
swiftly through the garden, he noticed that the watch dogs had been fed
recently, which to him made no sense. It must have been just after three. Clearly
no one was expecting intruders tonight.
As
Achilles stopped on the porch, Lara’s head rolled back, tilting away from him.
Her pale face was illuminated by the candles burning from inside the house,
shadows playing a game of fire on her. He sighed as he began looking for her
keys.
