Apartment 16

Thirty-four

There he was, standing in the side street directly across from where they sat.

The silhouette emerged from the dusty shadows and orange light emitted from the interior of a bar; hands in pockets, the oval mouth of the hood turned in their direction, watching. Briefly it disappeared behind the shambling passage of a number nineteen bus and then reappeared. ‘Barrington House,’ he heard Apryl say, as if it were some cue for the hooded figure to appear and molest their privacy.

And now she was looking too. Out into the darkness that quickly fell and absorbed detail, merging brick with concrete with car with road, swallowing walking legs and fading colour into the vagueness of London dusk. But no matter how keen her pretty eyes were, he already knew she would be unable to see that sentinel. Watching and waiting, the figure was there for him and him alone.

‘What is it? Someone you know?’

Seth shook his head, his face draining further beyond its normal pallor. ‘No. I thought it was.’ He turned his attention back to her, but failed to concentrate on what she was saying as his eyes darted, continually, back to whatever it was on the street that had so abruptly stolen his attention from her. ‘Tell me about Felix Hessen,’ he said, suddenly serious and failing to acknowledge the arrival of two plates on the table, one sizzling, the other steaming. ‘Please.’

He ignored his food and listened intently while she concluded a brief history of Hessen by telling him that his vision had remained unfinished because none of the apocryphal oils had survived. But she never gave him the full story. She often checked herself. There were certain details she omitted to tell him. Particularly from the unofficial history she had pieced together. She didn’t tell him of what Mrs Roth or Tom Shafer or Lillian had said about the changes in the building, or of what they had all dreamed of after Hessen’s arrival: the things they saw in mirrors and paintings and on the stairs, and heard behind his front door. All of this she didn’t mention, preferring to portray Hessen as a misunderstood eccentric and recluse, thinking it would appeal to Seth’s sense of himself.

He began to ask tight, direct questions. Probing her about Hessen’s study of the occult, about theories of his disappearance, what was known about his ideas, his obsession with death, the titles of journals and books that mentioned his peculiar life, why he studied anatomy, and what she thought he was trying to achieve. And during her attempts to satisfy his insatiable need for information, she mentioned the Vortex.

Seth’s face stiffened with shock, or fear, she wasn’t sure which. His eyes became wild and his voice shook as he pressed her, over and over again, for details of this Vortex, for clarification of Hessen’s desire to stare into it. Did she have other books? Could he read her great-aunt’s journals? It was important, he said, and he even stretched one hand across the table to hold her wrist tightly. ‘I have to know, Apryl,’ he said, looking into the street, his bottom lip moving as he muttered something to himself. ‘Please, it’s very important to me. To my work. Can you help me?’

‘Why, Seth? Why is it so important?’ she said, smiling and trying to put him at ease.

‘I can’t really say why. Not yet. But maybe soon.’

‘I really want to help you, Seth. And do whatever I can. I’m so intrigued by your work. Miles will be too. I think he will want to help you once he sees how talented you are. And he’ll be better at explaining Hessen than me. I’m no academic.’

‘You do all right.’ Seth looked down at his plate. Pushed some basmati rice about with his fork. Closed his eyes for a few seconds, then excused himself and went to the toilet. Where he remained for ten minutes.

When he came back one of his hands was shaking. She pretended not to notice, but asked him why he wasn’t eating. At which he sniggered nervously and said he preferred to smoke. Then looked back outside again, to that spot across the street that so fascinated him.

Apryl was losing him. He looked so utterly miserable. His fidgeting had become manic and he was trying to catch his breath as if in the clench of an acute anxiety attack. At any moment she suspected he might make an excuse and leave.

She reached across to him and held his hand. ‘Something’s wrong, Seth. Don’t be embarrassed. I can see you’ve been under a lot of strain. Would you feel better if we went back to your place? Maybe you could show me your work. If you feel uncomfortable here.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I. It’s just. I. ’ But he couldn’t finish.

‘Let me get the bill. We’ll go somewhere more comfortable.’

Outside on the street, Seth walked too fast for Apryl to keep up in high heels, and she asked him to slow down.

‘I’m sorry. Really sorry, Apryl,’ he said three times.

‘It’s OK. It really is,’ she said. It was freezing. A dry dusty wind whipped them from behind.

‘Sometimes. It’s just. I get. It’s hard to describe.’

‘Then don’t try. Let’s just get you home.’

‘It’s good of you. Really is. I feel so embarrassed.’

‘Don’t be silly. Shall I get something? Maybe some wine?’

‘I have some, I think. In the fridge. There’s not much in my room. Just a fridge and a bed. It’s more a place to work. But it’s pretty shocking. I mean, it’s a bit of a mess.’

‘You don’t have to apologize, Seth. You should see some of my old apartments back home.’

‘Yeah?’ But he was distracted again and jumpy. Watching anyone who passed them, and peering across the street into darkened shop doorways or up narrow side streets.

From Upper Street to where he lived in Hackney, the atmosphere changed. She felt it as much as noticed it. There were fewer people on the streets and the shops were run down. They passed betting stores and unappealing pubs, a plethora of fast-food places with home-made advertisements in the windows. Large rectangular cages of social housing surrounded by iron fences loomed up and over the pockets of cramped Victorian buildings.

‘I hope I’m not being too forward. I don’t want to intrude.’

‘No. Not at all,’ he said, distracted, then looked over his shoulder. ‘I’d really like to know what you think. There’s no one I want to show more than you, Apryl. I think you’ll understand. I really do.’

‘Why?’

‘Everything you’ve said about Hessen’s vision. I think I’ve been chasing the same thing.’