In The Frame Read online

  “Do what?”

  “Come and stay with me. Just till this all gets sorted. You can have my room and I’ll go on the sofa. The others won’t mind, there’s always hangers-on about the place.”

  “Danny, I...” I shook my head. “I couldn’t. I’ve caused you enough trouble already.”

  “Are you always going to be like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Forget it. Look, I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you to do it. I do. So will you come?”

  “I don’t know what to say.” It didn’t take me long to assess the options. I looked up at his kind eyes and wanted to lose myself within them.

  “Yes,” I said eventually. “I’d love to.”

  “Brilliant. It’s done then. Let’s pop back to yours and get an overnight bag, then I’ll introduce you to the delights of Kentish Town.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, come on.”

  The bus stopped. We got on, Danny holding my hand. To anyone else we must have looked like two young lovers, but I was having feelings the likes of which I’d never felt before.

  14

  IF there was one advantage to Danny’s injuries, it was that he didn’t fancy all of the stairs and escalators of the Underground, so he accepted my suggestion of getting the bus from the hall of residence back to Kentish Town. Obviously it would have been insensitive to declare this as the upside of him taking a beating, so I kept quiet. However, as I sat next to him on the journey through Camden, I perhaps snuggled in a bit more closely than Shelley would have appreciated.

  The streets were vaguely familiar. I’d been here once to buy some Dr. Martens shoes from a shop just by Camden Town station, and I’d had a couple of memorable nights at the Camden Palace in my first year in London. But Kentish Town itself, which lay just beyond, was unfamiliar territory, and as Danny led me up the stairs to his Victorian terraced house, I was beginning to lose my bearings.

  He opened the door and flicked a light switch as we entered the high-ceilinged hallway. Nothing happened.

  “That’s typical,” he said. “Leave your bag here and I’ll introduce you to the others.”

  Danny led the way, ignoring the first two doors, and then past an impressive-looking staircase. I hadn’t given much thought to his housemates. The door at the end led to the kitchen, where a man with a beard and scruffy hair was sitting on a bench that ran alongside a wooden table, rolling something that looked suspiciously like a joint.

  “Anna, meet Wedge. Wedge, Anna,” said Danny.

  Wedge?

  “Cool man, you bagged a goth chick,” said Wedge, who stood up, offered me his hand to shake, and then bowed as I accepted.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said, “though technically not a goth.”

  “Hey, you’re cool, you be whoever you wanna be.”

  “Anna’s come to stay for a bit,” Danny continued. “Is Gary in?”

  “In his room, man. Anna, come and sit next to the Wedge.” He moved along the bench and patted the space next to him.

  I gave Danny a look, but he just raised an eyebrow. In for a pound.

  “What’s happened to the hall light?” he asked.

  “Big bang, man. I pressed the switch and... boof! We shall embrace the darkness.”

  “Fair dos,” said Danny, who then turned to me. “Cup of tea? Or something stronger?”

  “I never say no to tea, normally. But stronger’s good.”

  “White wine?”

  “Perfect.”

  Wedge raised his can of Red Stripe.

  “Not for me, I’m spoken for,” he said. “So, Anna, where have you come from, and how come my man Danny’s been hiding you? If you were with the Wedge I’d be putting up posters to tell the world.”

  “You’re very kind,” I said. “We met at the bar but it’s a kind of long story. So, er, Wedge, are you a student?”

  “Student of life, man. And he’s moving you in already? The Danster is an operator.”

  “Not really moving in, just staying for a bit while I sort a couple of things out.”

  “You can stay as long as you like, babe. We always have room for beautiful ladies.”

  I couldn’t work him out. Seventies throwback or just stoned? I suspected the latter. Danny reached into the fridge for a bottle. It was a gift-wrapped opportunity.

  “You make it sound like Danny brings a lot of girls home. Am I just the latest of many?” I asked.

  “The Wedge does not divulge secrets, man.” He turned to Danny. “She’s checking up on you. She’s keen.” He laughed, but the laugh turned into a cough. He lit the joint, then offered it to me, but I declined. “What are your troubles, young beautiful Anna? I shall make them all go away.”

  “That’s another long story,” I said. “But go on, tell me all about Danny and his girlfriends. I’d love to know.”

  “Wine’s ready,” said Danny, putting a glass down in front of me, clearly keen to change the subject. He sat down opposite, and gave me a warning look. Wedge stood up.

  “I shall leave you two to gel,” he said. “Later, people.”

  “So that was Wedge, then?” I said once he was out of the room. “Seems nice.” I chuckled.

  “He’s a character. Useless at paying his rent, though.”

  “And who’s the other? Gary?”

  “Yeah, Gary’s kind of the polar opposite. He’s like a super-fit athlete.”

  “Ooh, I like the sound of him already.”

  “I’d better make sure he stays out of the way, then. Cheers.” Danny raised his glass and we did the chink thing.

  “Thanks for this,” I said. “And for looking after me. I know I keep saying it.”

  “My pleasure. I suggest we get pissed and see if everything looks clearer with a hangover.”

  “You’re not going to use alcohol as an excuse to make some sort of drunken pass at me?”

  “As if. Told you, we’ve got an agreement.”

  “That’s a shame. You could, though, now we’re here, show me some of your pictures of Shelley. Maybe read some of her poems.”

  “God, you are relentless. Let’s go to the front room. I’ll bring the bottle.”

  And so the evening developed. It was just what I needed to take my mind off things. A few miles away, it transpired, the police were searching for me, having come to arrest me, but we were oblivious.

  We curled up together on the sofa and talked and talked. I revealed my wayward past, bunking off school to take pictures for a local newspaper (on the good days) or bunking off school to stay at home and drink Country Manor (the bad). I told Danny things I’d never told anyone before, including about my parents, and my mum’s less-than-wholehearted support for my photographic endeavours. Danny told me about his Sunderland days, and afternoons in the fog at Roker Park, or walking along deserted beaches planning his assault on the pop charts. He played me a demo tape he’d recorded when it looked like his band was going places. It was surprisingly good. I was genuinely impressed.

  At one point Gary appeared. I saw what Danny meant. He had an incredible physique. And two girlfriends, apparently, which seemed to be causing issues that he explained at length, much to Danny’s amusement. A second bottle of wine appeared, which Gary shared, and then Danny said he had to pop out for a moment, and returned with a delicious-looking Indian takeaway, along with a third bottle. It was like a magic trick. By the time we’d done justice to the last of the wine, I was having difficulty speaking and borderline fancying a fag, but didn’t want to tarnish my reputation any further on that score.

  It was just past midnight when Danny showed me up to his room. He was as good as his word. I collapsed onto the wonderful double bed while he said he would take the sofa, back downstairs. I thought about telling him he could stay with me, but it wouldn’t have been right. Not in those circumstances, while drink could be blamed for making us both do something that either one of us might regret. Why risk a friendship for something you probably wou
ldn’t remember anyway?

  It occurred to me that he still hadn’t shown me any pictures of Shelley, but I didn’t want to search his room for evidence of her existence. That would have been a breach of trust, and Danny deserved much better. But lying there, in his bed, looking at his ceiling, I had a feeling of calm that I’d been denied for the last few days, and passed into a deep, restorative sleep. If only I could have stayed there forever.

  15

  Friday, November 24th, 1989

  WHEN I finally surfaced, the sense of slight disorientation was soon replaced by a crushing headache. The third bottle of wine had definitely been an error, Gary’s assistance or not. I may have been an expert on the futility of relationships, but I still had much to learn about my body’s ability to process alcohol.

  I heard a door bang downstairs. I edged carefully out of bed, leant against the wall for support, and pulled back the edge of the curtain. The daylight was almost blinding. Wedge was on the path downstairs, mounting a bicycle. I saw him pedal off, on the road, against the flow of the traffic.

  Danny was already in the kitchen, fully dressed, when I eventually made it downstairs.

  “Speak quietly,” I said as I walked into the room.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I doubt I was looking my best. I hadn’t been in the shower, my make-up was non-existent, and my hair almost certainly looked electrified. Danny didn’t seem to recoil too badly, though, which was encouraging.

  “Tender. You?”

  “Been better. Did you sleep well?”

  “Actually brilliantly. You have a very comfortable bed.”

  “Did you dribble on my pillow?”

  “Quite possibly, but I dread to think what you get up to in there, so we’re probably even.”

  I took a seat at the kitchen table, and then felt guilty when Danny got up and offered to make me tea and toast.

  “How are the injuries?” I asked.

  “Sore. I’ve got ibuprofens if you want some.”

  “Just pass the whole packet. Actually, a glass of water would be good.”

  I took the glass and swallowed the tablets, hoping they’d kick in quickly.

  “Did you have any moment of clarity overnight?” I asked, once the toast was served and Danny had rejoined me.

  “No, not really,” he said. “I keep going over things in my mind, but there are bits I just don’t understand.”

  “Such as?”

  “All of it really.”

  “I know that feeling.”

  “I’ve got aspirations to be an investigative journalist, and yet frankly I think I’m useless.”

  “Don’t be hard on yourself. If nothing else you’ve made the last few days bearable. It’s been brilliant getting to know you. Even if I’m going to be sent to Holloway imminently and I’ll never see you again.”

  “It won’t come to that.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “It won’t, honestly. Even if they can persuade a court you did it, you’re looking at a fine. They’re not going to bang you up for a first offence of two cameras.”

  “But they keep talking about a whole load of other stuff. As far as I know, I’m a serial burglar. I may have a warehouse full of nicked equipment and God knows what else. I’m a walking crimewave.”

  “Well, if they charge you, at least it’ll give us something else to look into.”

  “It’s pointless, though. I may as well face it. I’m fucked.”

  I looked at Danny, wondering what he really thought of me. I’d made my problem his problem, but really he had better things to be doing with his life. Student protests or not, he was missing lectures because of me. He’d been beaten up because of me. And what did I have to give him in return?

  “If you ever get your band back together I’ll do some pictures for you,” I said, at last, clutching at straws.

  “That’s not going to happen. But thank you.”

  He reached across the table to me and gave my hand a squeeze.

  “You’ve got lovely hands,” he said. “I especially like the black nail varnish.”

  I laughed. “Are you doing the goth thing again?”

  “As if.”

  “Oh Danny, it’s all a bloody mess. I just want to wind the clock back and start this week all over again. Everything was going so well up until Monday, apart from Todd being a pain in the arse. I’d spent all day in my room, writing an essay on colours and music, and then it just all fell apart. Everything was fine, then bang!”

  Danny let go of my hand.

  “Say that again,” he said.

  “Say what again?”

  “What you just said.”

  “Something about wanting to start the week all over again.”

  “That’ll do. And winding the clock back. And Todd.”

  “Something like that. Why?”

  “I’m going to have to go and talk to somebody. Wait here till I get back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the Polytechnic. I think I know how they’ve done it.”

  “What? Tell me.”

  “No, you’ll think I’m mad. I just need to check something. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  And then he was gone.

  16

  DANNY ran up the escalator at Oxford Circus as best as his injuries would allow, then pushed his way through the crowds on Regent Street, on his way to the Polytechnic building. Timing could be vital, and there wasn’t a minute to lose.

  “Hi again,” he said to Terry at the reception desk. “Sorry to bother you, but I need to speak to the person in charge of the storeroom.”

  Terry gave a look of immediate recognition.

  “You’ll need to sign in,” he said. He passed Danny a pen. “Third floor. Lift’s through the double doors. Ask for Anish.”

  “Thank you, you’re a star.”

  Danny took the lift with two other students. When they got out at the same floor, he asked them for directions. Moments later he was standing at a wooden counter, beyond which was a room with shelves full of equipment. There was evidence of recent repairs to the door frame.

  “Hi,” he said to the man in the lab coat behind the desk. “Are you Anish?”

  “I am. And you are?”

  “Danny Churchill.” He showed his student ID card. “I’m from a different faculty but I wonder if I can ask you a couple of questions?”

  “About cameras?”

  “About the break-in.”

  Ten minutes later he was back outside, and dialling a number from the callbox opposite the Polytechnic building, desperately hoping she’d pick up.

  She did.

  “Anna, quick question,” he said. “When did Todd last stay with you?”

  “I told you. Last Saturday.”

  “And he stayed in your room.”

  “Yeah, Friday and Saturday night.”

  “And you had the party in the common room on Saturday?”

  “We did.”

  “And whose idea was it?”

  “I’m not sure. One of the girls, I think.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Danny, what is going on?”

  “Stay there. I think I’ve nailed it. I’m heading back now.”

  He replaced the handset and clenched his fist in celebration.

  17

  I HAD no idea what Danny was up to, but when he returned to the house he had a huge smile. He gave me a hug and kissed me on the forehead.

  “What’s going on, Poirot?” I asked.

  He told me. And I couldn’t quite believe the treachery.

  We called the police and arranged to meet them at the hall of residence at 5pm. They seemed keen. There was a warrant for my arrest. But if Danny was right, and I had absolutely no reason to doubt him, then I had nothing more to fear. I’d been carrying the weight of suspicion, of doubt and failure, and complete lack of comprehension. But now everything made sense, within the context of nothing really making sense a
t all. The rank deviousness astonished me.

  Suddenly I felt free. I wanted to stand on a rooftop and shout “Bastards!” into the breeze, hoping my voice would carry, specifically to Todd and those who had doubted me. This was my moment. Our moment. I would have been lost without Danny. Who knows what my life would have become? I wanted to put everything behind me and move on, but at the same time, I knew that the experiences and the bond formed with Danny over the last few days would shape my life forever.

  I made sure I was looking my best, although now, looking back, there was a hint of vampire. We perhaps made an unlikely couple as we boarded the lift to the eighth floor. Sophie and Amelia were in the common room as we passed. I saw them look at us. I heard my name. Good. Let them talk about me. Let them say whatever they wanted. I looked forward to seeing their faces soon.

  The police came just before five. There was a knock at the door. The same two detectives were there: DS Phil Matthews and DC Gordon Kendrick. They didn’t look pleased to see me, but for once I was very pleased to see them.

  “Come in,” I said. “Have a chair, sit on the bed, wherever really. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  DC Kendrick spoke: “Anna Burgin, I’m arresting you in connection with the theft of photographic equipment...”

  “Can I stop you there?” said Danny.

  “And you are?” asked the detective, noticing him for the first time.

  “Danny Churchill. I’m a friend of Anna’s. And if you can just give us two minutes of your time, I can tell you what really happened. Trust me. We can clear this all up in an instant and you can arrest the person who’s actually responsible.”

  He looked at his colleague, who shrugged, then nodded. Both were still standing.

  “Go on, then. Two minutes and not a second more,” he said.

  “Okay,” Danny began. I looked at him and smiled. I was desperately proud. “We all know the facts, the storeroom was broken into, and the cameras were found in Anna’s room. But it wasn’t Anna who put them there. Her boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - stayed with her the previous Saturday.”