Deep Black - Andy McNab [21]
He stood up with me. ‘Come home with me, come see Renee and Chloë. We’re not far.’
‘I’m sorry, I—’
He just wouldn’t give up. ‘Come on, my car’s just round the corner. I’d like to show you some of my work. It got a whole lot better since the last time we met.’
I hesitated as we reached the door.
‘Come on, man. Come home. I’ve told Renee a hundred times about that day . . . She’d never forgive me if I didn’t bring you back.’
Short of me pulling a knife on him, there was no way he was going to let me just walk away. ‘I make great coffee too.’ We set off through the door. ‘None of that Arabic crap.’
16
We headed out of DC towards Chevy Chase, along the main drag. Massachusetts Avenue took us past all the embassy buildings and eventually to row upon row of nondescript apartment buildings. By then he had finished telling me that Renee came from Buffalo, not far from Lackawanna, she was a freelance picture editor, and up until recently she’d stayed in her small apartment because he was always away. But soon after they married, Chloë came along and it was time to move. Why they were here in DC, he didn’t get to say.
His last job had been covering the anti-government violence in Venezuela. ‘I got some great shots of protesters going toe to toe with National Guard. You see them in Newsweek?’
We turned left alongside one of the apartment buildings, then down a ramp and into the underground lot. He closed down the engine, and turned to face me.
‘Don’t you want to stay at home now, Jerry? I mean, if I had a child right now I think it would stop me bouncing along to wherever the shit’s hitting the fan.’
Rather than answering, he fiddled with a set of keys as we walked to the elevator. ‘Security,’ he said. ‘You need to unlock a lock just to get to the lock in this place.’ He had a little trouble with what key went into the elevator, but at last we were on our way up.
‘Just one floor.’ Jerry was beaming like a Jehovah’s Witness who’d just added a brand new member to his congregation. ‘Hope she’s in. We normally take Chloë to the park about now.’ He turned towards me. ‘Nick . . .’ His voice dropped. ‘I never really got round to thanking you once we got back to Sarajevo. I’ve replayed it in my head so many times. I just want to say—’
I put my hand up to stop him. ‘Whoa, it’s OK. It was a long time ago. Don’t worry about it.’ I didn’t want to go into all that stuff right now. Better to let it stay in its box.
He was a little disappointed, but nodded all the same. ‘Thanks anyway. I just wanted to tell you, that’s all.’
The elevator stopped and Jerry played with his keys as we headed towards the apartment.
The white-walled corridor was lined with good grey carpet. The place was spotless. Most of the inhabitants probably worked in the embassies we’d driven past.
The moment he pushed the key into the door of 107, I was hit by the smell of fresh paint. He pointed along the passage. ‘No stroller. Coffee? We’ll go in the lounge. Too many fumes everywhere else. Sorry about the mess. You know how it is with moving.’
I didn’t really. I hadn’t been lying to George: my whole life fitted into two carry-ons.
The doors to two bedrooms were open on the right. Each had just a mattress on the floor, and piles of boxes and clothes.
The lounge was stark white. No curtains yet, but a TV, VCR and music centre with red illuminated LEDs. It didn’t look as if they were planning to keep the old carpet: it was covered with fresh paint stains. Everything else was baby stuff, changing mats, nappy bags and the smell of talcum powder. In the corner stood a blue carrycot on a stand, a plastic mobile with stars and teddy bears above it.
I could see a parade of pictures of all three of them along the mantelpiece. There were even a couple of Polaroids of Chloë on her own, looking very blue and wrinkly. The normal thing proud parents