inside me and I had to let
it out, and they hit me and locked me in my room
and wouldn't let me out even when I cried and
cried." His eyes filled again. "Nobody hears
you."
"What about your friends?" I asked cautiously.
He shrugged, ground his cigarette out.
"Girlfriends?"
Doll became agitated. He picked at the
cloth of his trousers and his eyes darted off.
"There's a lady," he said. "She likes me,
that's what she said. I told her stuff."
"Stuff like what?"
"Like, things I felt. You know."
"About feelings?"
"Feelings, yeah. And other things. You know."
"Feelings you have about women?"
He mumbled incoherently.
"The feelings you have about women, Michael, do
they make you anxious?"
"Dunno."
"Do you like women?"
He tittered nervously and said, "Course.
There's nothing wrong with me in that area." 81
"I mean, like them as people. Do you have friends who are
women?"
He shook his head, lit another cigarette.
"When you think about the girl who was murdered,
what does that make you feel?"
"That Lianne, she was a girl who'd run
away. Don't blame her either. I ran away,
you know. I always thought my mum would end up getting
me back. I'd smash her face in if she showed
up now, though. Smash it in with one of her
bottles, like, till there was nothing left. That'd
teach her."
"So you wanted to help the police, because you
knew you'd been in the area?"
"Right. I keep going over it in my mind. I
can't stop. I make up stories about it." He
glanced at me, then away. "I go back to the
canal and sit there and I think to myself, It may
happen again. It could, couldn't it? It could happen
again, right where I'm sitting."
"Does that frighten you?"
"Kind of. It ..." He licked his lips.
"Kind of nervous and kind of, you know ..."
"Excited?"
He stood up and started to prowl round the small
room. "Do you believe me?"
"Believe what, Michael?"
"Believe me," he repeated hopelessly.
I hesitated before replying. "I'm here
to listen to you, Michael. To hear your side of the
story. That's what I do: I listen to people's
stories."
"Will you come back again? I thought you'd be all
angry with me, after, you know ... what happened.
But you don't treat me like I'm no good."
"Of course not."
"And you're pretty. Don't get me wrong,
I'm not--you know, coming on. You're a lady. I
like your eyes. Gray. Like the sky. I like the way
they watch me."
----
Furth was sitting gloomily on the stairs.
I almost tripped over him.
"So, what do you think?" he asked, as if I
had just emerged from the insect house at the zoo.
We walked out and got into the car. Doll would
probably be looking at us out of the window. He
would see me with Furth. What would he think? I
would down the window and let the warm wind gust over
my face. A few heavy drops of rain 83
splattered against the windscreen and the sky darkened.
"Poor."
"That's it? That's your profile of him?
Poor? This is the man who's wrecked your
face. Remember?"
I sighed. "OK. Poor, sad,
uneducated, disturbed, self-pitying,
self-righteous, vicious, lonely, damaged,
scared."
Furth grinned. "And you've only had the
starter. Now it's time for the main course."
6
Back at the police station, I splashed
cold water over my face and wiped it dry on
a thin paper towel from the dispenser, scrubbing off the
last traces of lipstick. I brushed my hair
and tied it back more tightly, no loose strands.
I took off my earrings and dropped them into the
side pocket of my shoulder-bag. I felt as
if something soft and almost indefinable was drifting over
my face, like cobwebs or a few thin strands of
hair. The air was warm and thick and stagnant.
Second-hand. I was sucking in air that other people
had just expelled from their lungs. I caught a
glimpse of myself in the spotted mirror. I
looked stern and pale. And plain--but plain was good
right now.
Furth was waiting for me, standing among all the
packing cases. He had a tiny mobile
pressed against his
it out, and they hit me and locked me in my room
and wouldn't let me out even when I cried and
cried." His eyes filled again. "Nobody hears
you."
"What about your friends?" I asked cautiously.
He shrugged, ground his cigarette out.
"Girlfriends?"
Doll became agitated. He picked at the
cloth of his trousers and his eyes darted off.
"There's a lady," he said. "She likes me,
that's what she said. I told her stuff."
"Stuff like what?"
"Like, things I felt. You know."
"About feelings?"
"Feelings, yeah. And other things. You know."
"Feelings you have about women?"
He mumbled incoherently.
"The feelings you have about women, Michael, do
they make you anxious?"
"Dunno."
"Do you like women?"
He tittered nervously and said, "Course.
There's nothing wrong with me in that area." 81
"I mean, like them as people. Do you have friends who are
women?"
He shook his head, lit another cigarette.
"When you think about the girl who was murdered,
what does that make you feel?"
"That Lianne, she was a girl who'd run
away. Don't blame her either. I ran away,
you know. I always thought my mum would end up getting
me back. I'd smash her face in if she showed
up now, though. Smash it in with one of her
bottles, like, till there was nothing left. That'd
teach her."
"So you wanted to help the police, because you
knew you'd been in the area?"
"Right. I keep going over it in my mind. I
can't stop. I make up stories about it." He
glanced at me, then away. "I go back to the
canal and sit there and I think to myself, It may
happen again. It could, couldn't it? It could happen
again, right where I'm sitting."
"Does that frighten you?"
"Kind of. It ..." He licked his lips.
"Kind of nervous and kind of, you know ..."
"Excited?"
He stood up and started to prowl round the small
room. "Do you believe me?"
"Believe what, Michael?"
"Believe me," he repeated hopelessly.
I hesitated before replying. "I'm here
to listen to you, Michael. To hear your side of the
story. That's what I do: I listen to people's
stories."
"Will you come back again? I thought you'd be all
angry with me, after, you know ... what happened.
But you don't treat me like I'm no good."
"Of course not."
"And you're pretty. Don't get me wrong,
I'm not--you know, coming on. You're a lady. I
like your eyes. Gray. Like the sky. I like the way
they watch me."
----
Furth was sitting gloomily on the stairs.
I almost tripped over him.
"So, what do you think?" he asked, as if I
had just emerged from the insect house at the zoo.
We walked out and got into the car. Doll would
probably be looking at us out of the window. He
would see me with Furth. What would he think? I
would down the window and let the warm wind gust over
my face. A few heavy drops of rain 83
splattered against the windscreen and the sky darkened.
"Poor."
"That's it? That's your profile of him?
Poor? This is the man who's wrecked your
face. Remember?"
I sighed. "OK. Poor, sad,
uneducated, disturbed, self-pitying,
self-righteous, vicious, lonely, damaged,
scared."
Furth grinned. "And you've only had the
starter. Now it's time for the main course."
6
Back at the police station, I splashed
cold water over my face and wiped it dry on
a thin paper towel from the dispenser, scrubbing off the
last traces of lipstick. I brushed my hair
and tied it back more tightly, no loose strands.
I took off my earrings and dropped them into the
side pocket of my shoulder-bag. I felt as
if something soft and almost indefinable was drifting over
my face, like cobwebs or a few thin strands of
hair. The air was warm and thick and stagnant.
Second-hand. I was sucking in air that other people
had just expelled from their lungs. I caught a
glimpse of myself in the spotted mirror. I
looked stern and pale. And plain--but plain was good
right now.
Furth was waiting for me, standing among all the
packing cases. He had a tiny mobile
pressed against his
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