The Last Girl by Stephan Collishaw Page B

want, it’s out through there.’ She indicated the direction with an impatient sweep of her hand. ‘I’ll get you the key.’
    â€˜It’s not the toilet I want,’ I said, equally impatiently. ‘I need to speak to that young man.’
    â€˜What young man?’ She frowned. The perspiration on her forehead glittered in the harsh light. She was so close I could feel the heat of her body.
    â€˜The young man that just walked through these doors,’ I said. ‘I must speak with him.’
    â€˜Gintas?’
    At that moment Gintas appeared, looking clean and fresh in a white shirt. He stopped short seeing the two of us, there, in the small passageway. The young woman looked at him relieved.
    â€˜Everything OK?’ Gintas asked.
    â€˜He says that he wants to speak to you,’ the young woman said, rolling her eyes, not caring that I saw.
    â€˜Really?’ he said, puzzled.
    â€˜You were working here two nights ago,’ I told him. ‘I was in here having a drink or two.’ I recalled, as I said this, his politeness in the face of my abuse. I felt a blush of shame pass up across my face. I pressed on. There was no indication in his eyes that he remembered me. ‘I left something very important here, in a bag. It was a blue bag, plastic. Inside there was a manuscript. You see, it wasn’t mine. It’s very important that I get it back. A young girl gave it to me to read.’ I tailed off, seeing the confused look in his eyes.
    â€˜I’m sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t recall there being anything left.’
    I grabbed his arm desperately. He was a little taken aback by this but remained polite. He gently removed my arm. I let it drop.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Only this means so much to me.’ Suddenly, feeling the hopelessness of it all, I turned to leave.
    â€˜Wait,’ the young man stopped me. ‘Last night, you said?’
    â€˜No,’ I said. ‘Two nights ago.’ I paused. The young man obviously wanted to help and was searching around fruitlessly in his memory.
    â€˜I had too much to drink,’ I said.
    He laughed. ‘A lot of people have too much to drink here.’
    â€˜You told me I had had enough. I told you that I would tell you when I had had enough. I was unpleasant. I’m sorry about that.’
    The young man’s face suddenly lit up. Then he frowned. ‘I remember,’ he said, clapping me on the shoulder. ‘You’re right, you were a bit unpleasant.’ He laughed.
    â€˜And do you remember the bag?’ I asked quickly.
    He thought. But then he shook his head again. ‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t remember any bag.’ But he caught my arm. ‘Listen, I’m not really the person you should be speaking to. I don’t really do any cleaning up here after hours. You should speak to the cleaning staff.’
    â€˜Are they here now?’ I asked.
    He shook his head. ‘Jonas comes in the morning. Come here at about eight in the morning and you’re bound to catch him. If anybody knows, he will.’
    â€˜Jonas? Do you have an address?’
    The young man began to look a little impatient.
    â€˜Or just a telephone number?’ I said, desperately. ‘This is important.’
    He thought for a moment, and then sighed. ‘Fine, wait a moment, I will get his number for you.’ He walked over to the counter. I saw the young woman address him, nodding her head in my direction. He pulled out a small book from under the counter and wrote a number down on a menu pad.
    â€˜Thank you,’ I said as he pressed it into my hand.

Chapter 11
    When I dialled the number, later that evening, from my apartment, nobody answered. I stared at the large black receiver, willing a response, but after listening to it ringing for minutes on end I finally dropped it back into its cradle. I went to bed early and tossed around before