The sky was gray and overcast, as always. It’s a design feature of Portsmouth, coming as standard with the concrete obtrusions, bland, featureless precincts and timid sea. Accompaniment to the shrieking gulls, docile pigeons and cracked pavements. Shades of gray, as far as the eye could see.
No one smiled as they lurched to and fro, dressed in multiple layers and resembling citizens of the old communist blocs. In such a bleak landscape, it’s hard to stand out. Everything seemed shrouded in fog, colours eked out, hues washed and drained. Skin, too, suffered from this malaise, grayed and dry. Nowhere was vibrancy apparent, nor did anyone appear possessive of vigour or good health. Coughing and spluttering, the figures around me were stooped and hunched to better protect themselves against the elements. Whilst they had no wish to prolong their struggle through the biting cold, they seemed unable to muster enough energy to up their pace, heavy legs hardly propelling their frames at all.
If not for the biting cold, I might have assumed I was in hell. I wasn’t. I was home.
Teeth chattering, I rubbed my hands together in a futile attempt to generate warmth and trudged along wearily within the throng. Each of us on the street avoided eye contact, keeping our heads and eyes downcast, concerned only with our own problems. There was no space left for sympathy, the room having already been consumed by our own demons.
After a couple blocks of slow moving misery I stepped out of the crowd and waited for an opportunity to cross the road. Traffic was heavy, engines sending plumes of exhaust into the dull sky. The lighter gray emissions mingled with the low cloud like lovers, until they became as one. As I looked to up, I came to the conclusion that rain was impending, then remembered that the sky always looked that way. It was no accurate indicator.
Spying a gap in the flow, I shuffled across the cracked and uneven road surface, then merged with the pedestrians on the other side of the street. I was with them only briefly before taking a right turn and heading towards the large, depressingly ugly, concrete multi-story car park that absorbed shoppers into its gaping maw. Its proximity to the city centre ensured that it never went hungry. Each automobile in the long queue patiently waited its turn before motoring up the in-ramp and into the gloom. Occasionally, it appeared as if the reverse was true, the huge behemoth edging forward and swallowing the vehicles like a whale consumes its meals, but the vision swiftly faded. This was no place for imagination, or fantasy. Misery, yes. Hopelessness, sure, but little else.
I walked alongside this monstrosity and headed down the alleyway that extended adjacently along half the car park’s length, before opening out into a road at the back. I didn’t travel that far, pausing halfway down. I glanced around furtively and slid into the high-walled residents parking area that branched off from the path. The road further along provided an exit for the cars stored within here, and for the non-driving residents whose flats backed onto this courtyard, though I hoped that no one would be coming or going during my search. There’s a beauty to simplicity that can never be overstated; yet hoping for it is generally futile. Still, prayed to whatever Gods might listen for some good fortune on this occasion. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t feel like I was owed some.
After pulling off my gloves, I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, only too aware of the warmth slipping away, like air from a punctured tyre. I clutched the key in my left pocket, transferring my last remaining heat to the conductive metal and ran my finger along its familiar contours, working my way around in a clockwise motion. Whilst doing so, I counted the number of doors in the square. There was roughly thirty, which wasn’t so bad. I’d expected it to be a more arduous task than it was proving to be.
I expelled a stream of a cold air that came out almost white against the more colourful background of garishly painted garages. Unconsciously, I patted my pockets for a cigarette, remembered that I no longer smoked and scowled angrily. Bad habits die hard, yet it was the act of smoking rather than the cigarettes themselves that I sorely missed. I never really knew what to do my hands. On this occasion, I kept them buried deep within the lining of thick jacket and made my way to the first door on the left, crunching across the sanded asphalt. The plan was to work round the area in a U, ending up at the door opposite my current position if none of the locks yielded to the key beforehand. It was a plan without complexities, which was why I liked it.
Fumbling the key between my numb digits, I inserted it into the first hole. It was a tight fit, wouldn’t turn and then took some force to remove. At least this indicated that I had the right type of key for these doors. I moved to the next along, and repeated the process.
‘What are you doing?’
I dropped the key in surprise and bent down to locate it before turning to confront the face behind the voice. No one was there. I stepped back in surprise, and looked around.
‘Up here.’ The same voice said.
I raised my sight to the balcony above, where a young girl of about eighteen or nineteen peered backs from up high. She was a fairly pretty girl, big eyed and symmetrical, although still carrying some puppy fat, especially in her round face. She was dressed for a night on the town, wearing a short black dress and high heels, which was a little odd considering the time. I would have said considering the weather too, but I’m not that old yet. Health comes a distant second to fashion in the minds of most females under a certain age.
Presumably she was returning from an evening out, but seemed remarking fresh and clean, her make up immaculate and hair neatly held up in a ponytail. Now that I was paying attention, I could smell the perfume wafting down, a subtle, tangy odour slightly reminiscent of strawberries. She reminded me a little of a girl I thought I was in love with once, before I realised that I wasn’t; not really. I felt a slight pang from this comparison, and put it down to the bleakness of the day. It was enough to make anyone sentimental.
‘Aren’t you cold?’ I asked as a shiver coursed through my body.
‘No.’ she responded, with a half-smile. She looked up at the sky above for a considerable duration and I followed her gaze after a while. I couldn’t see anything to warrant such interest. It was a thick blanket, shapeless and unimaginative, like it wasn’t making any effort. I rolled my neck and took to appraising the girl’s appearance once more. She had a glow that was out of place here, a sheen that encapsulated her skin, as if she was in a soft focus shot. Only her eyes failed to reflect this shine. They were dulled and defeated orbs, holding such sadness as to force me to turn away.
She repeated her earlier question, her voice soft and melancholic. It gave the impression that I didn’t need to answer, but the fact that she had asked it for a second time contradicted her lack of interest in the subject matter.
I had a spiel already memorised in case anyone challenged me. After all, the possibility hadn’t passed me by. It can’t fail to seem a little odd to see someone trying the same key in different locks. Hopefully, my brazen behaviour made me look confused rather than nefarious though, as if I’d had a memory lapse with regards to which place was under my ownership. It was an unlikely scenario but in this town people rarely challenge others anyway. And any reply they received, no matter how unbelievable, would be enough to ease their troubled conscience.
‘My friend asked me to collect something for him, but I haven’t been here in a while and can’t recall which one is his. So I’m trying them all until I find it.’ I reported, trying to maintain eye contact throughout to display honesty, but I was unable to meet her cold, dead eyes for a protracted period.
Disinterestedly, she pointed across to one at the far end on the other side. ‘It’s that one.’
‘Thanks.’ I said, moving to the next door along and trying the lock.
‘What are you doing now?’
I looked up, a little impatiently. She was leaning right over now, studying me. ‘Trying to find the door.’
‘I told you which one it is.’ She said, face scrunched up in bewilderment.
‘Right. Be careful you don’t fall leaning over like that.’ I warned, changing the subject.
In truth, the girl’s odd behaviour made me uncomfortable. It was like she wasn’t all there. I returned to my work, inserting the key once more, without success.
‘He isn’t really your friend.’
She was directly above me now. With a sigh, I tilted my head back and made my annoyance clear as I asked: ‘Shouldn’t you be inside or something?’
‘I am.’ She responded sadly.
Shaking my head, I muttered a profanity. Still she persisted.
‘Not your friend.’ Her mouth was set in a pout.
‘You seem certain.’
‘Yes, but I don’t think you know who I mean.’ She tittered girlishly and then turned serious, frowning at me. ‘Why don’t you just try the one I told you to?’
‘I like to work methodically.’
‘But you’re wasting your time.’
‘You seem to have time to waste, so we’re breaking even.’
The key almost got jammed, and I worried that it might snap as I prised it out. I inspected it carefully, pleased that it had retained its original shape. Breaking the key would not be one of my finer moments.
‘See. You’re just making things difficult for yourself.’ The girl pointed out helpfully. ‘If you break it you won’t be able to open the one it fits. He won’t be happy with you if you do that.’
I stopped what I was doing. Maybe I should be taking her more seriously. It might just have been a coincidental turn of phrase, or she may actually know what this was all about. I put the question to her, and she giggled, swinging back and forth on the railing. A strong wind ruffled my hair and jacket, the cold travelling on wings to penetrate my layers. She appeared unaffected, almost oblivious to the gusts.
‘Which one again?’ I asked, relenting.
She pointed it out, and I followed her finger. It looked no better or worse than the others. Certainly, there was nothing about it to influence her choice. Painted light blue with flecks of shiny metal showing through, it offered no answers at a distance. I turned back to the girl, less my voice be lost in the wind.
‘And you’ll leave me alone once I try it?’
She nodded. ‘It’s the reason I’m here.’
‘To show me the right one?’
‘Uh-huh.’
I pondered that for a moment. From her expression, she believed what she said, no matter how preposterous. Like a ball of string, I picked at an end and unraveled it. ‘ So what if I hadn’t turned up when I did?’
‘I would have waited.’ She advised, confidently.
‘What if I’d never turned up?’ I said, belabouring the point. I didn’t even know why I was having this conversation. It was fairly ludicrous, and a waste of energy but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to show her that she was being silly, get her to go indoors and stop making me feel so soft for feeling the cold through three layers whilst she stood, unaffected, in flimsy material.
She considered my question, then answered gravely. ‘Then I guess I would have been here a long time.’
Almost as irritated by this response as anything else, I decided to try the door she wanted me to. I marched over and pushed the key into the lock. With any luck, she’d leave me alone after it failed to-
The tumblers fell into place with an audible click.
‘How the-‘ my words tailed off, much like the though before them. She was no longer on the balcony. I looked around but the girl was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the whole area, but the girl had vanished. She was good to her word, yet I would have liked to ask if it was a lucky guess. It would have made me feel less uncomfortable and stopped the hairs from standing up on the back of my neck.
For a time I stood still, key left in the door, listening to the wind swirl around me. I wasn’t tempted to look inside. I was told not to, for a start, and beyond that didn’t have much interest in the contents anyway. Maybe that’s what made me reliable. A lack of inquisitiveness - I didn’t ask questions, snoop or nose around in other people’s business.
I found Mr. Laker’s number in my phone’s directory and listened to it ring four times, five, six.
‘Hello, Moscow.’
‘Mr. Laker.’
He sounded warm, not wind-chilled and numb. I imagined him sat at home, or in a gentleman’s club, brandy at his side and a log fire crackling. Maybe a faithful hound lounging at his feet, too and soothing music on the stereo. I shook off the thought – it’s Mr. Laker on the phone not an Old Etonian.
‘You have good news for me, I trust?’ he said.
‘Yeah.’
I gave him the location, as I turned the key back and removed it. After we finished speaking, the silence on the line extended for so long that I had to check he was still there. ‘Hello?’
‘Sorry, Moscow. I was lost in thought.’
‘No need to apologise.’ I murmured, by rote.
‘Well, nonetheless.’ He expelled a deep sigh down the line, and his voice seemed nervous when he spoke again. Almost hesitant. Maybe my imagination had gone into overdrive but, to my ears, it resembled the grown up equivalent of a four year old asking his mother to check in the cupboard for monsters.
‘Would it be a terrible imposition for you to perform one further task for me?’
I held the phone away from my ear and grimaced. Of course, I knew this was coming. I didn’t need anyone to tell me. Even so, it made my heart sink.
‘No imposition.’ I lied.
‘You don’t know what it is yet.’
We both laughed hollowly, before our customary silence kicked back in.
‘I want you to look inside for me.’
‘What am I looking for?’ I asked.
His voice softened, and I had to press the phone against my ear to make him out.
‘Have you ever looked at a girl and thought her so beautiful that you couldn’t envisage a day when she would look different?’
‘Once.’
‘That’s enough times to recognise the feeling though, isn’t it?’
I cast my mind back to that girl, the image conjured in my mind was the original once more. ‘Yeah.’ I admitted, reluctantly.
Dead air. Then: ‘Tell me what you find.’
Click.