Chapter 6 #3
“He’s being modest,” Baxter called from where she was seated at one of the computer desks across the room. “Ask him to show you his etchings.” Her cackle was positively filthy, but her tone was warm and proud.
“Etchings?” I echoed. I wasn’t that na?ve; that was old-time code for sexy times, but I doubted Baxter meant that.
Edwin was leafing through papers on yet another desk. “This isn’t Evergreen Council work, this is my own stuff. Here, have a seat.” He even held out the chair for me.
Page after page of unframed pen and ink drawings covered the desk surface as I worked my way through them slowly.
Some of them were places I recognised as local to Poplar, like Chrisp Street market, a church I’d passed on my walks, and what looked like part of a park.
There were other pictures of famous London landmarks like Big Ben, but loads more that were more like little snapshots of times gone by: cobbled streets, crooked narrow buildings, and a really ancient pub with those tiny criss-cross panes of glass, whatever they’re called.
Every single picture made me feel I could step into it and walk around. I said as much, not needing to be a genius at reading body language to interpret Edwin’s delight.
He immediately covered his joy with a shrug. “I’ve had a lot of time to practise.”
Baxter, who was tapping away furiously on the other side of the room, made a rude scoffing noise.
“Oh please, you were born artistically talented, you twat. There’s no point pretending false modesty now.
” Even with her back to me, I found her easy to hear and understand; she must have exactly the right pitch for my ears.
I poked the top picture with a careful fingertip. “These are bloody brilliant. Do you sell them?”
“Maybe. I have done with others, and I probably will do, once I can think of a name to sign them with.” I blinked at him while I processed this.
He continued, “It might not be a great idea to sign it with the name of a bloke who’s been missing, presumed dead since 1922.
” He winked at me. “Because they didn’t find a body, obviously. ”
“Plus you’d be in the Guinness Book of Records for your ancient self’s ability to defy ageing,” I muttered. “Can’t see that ending well.”
He began gathering the pictures up. “No, so you see why I can’t just scribble something and stick ’em on Etsy or wherever.
It takes planning. Whatever name I go with, I’ll need documentation to match.
A bank account at the very least. And I need to be reasonably happy with the style I’m using so I don’t get bored with it and just stop drawing.
That’s happened a couple of times, which made the whole creating an alias a pain in the bum when it turned out to be shortlived.
” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Madam gets snotty if I make her do stuff for no reason.”
We didn’t stay downstairs much longer, Edwin insisting that I would be bored.
Instead, he and Baxter brought out a huge selection of board and card games.
Baxter fetched a bottle of wine, and we took turns choosing what to play.
I limited my drinking until it turned out Baxter was a lot more organised than Edwin and before we’d even arrived had ordered food to be delivered.
We stopped playing so they could both watch me fix myself a hot meal.
I was touched she’d gone to so much effort when I’d have been happy with a sandwich.
When I said this, she fixed me with an indignant glare.
“You’re Edwin’s—” She paused. “I was gonna say property, but that’s icky.
Responsibility, or employee.” She leered at me.
“Sex toy. Anyway, he knows he needs to look after you properly.” She lost her teasing tone.
“He is doing that, ain’t he? ’Cause I will fucking hurt him if he don’t treat you right. ”
“He’s amazing. Please don’t hurt him.” I was still astounded I was managing to spit out full sentences around this woman, but when she wasn’t threatening people, she was easy company in spite of her stunning looks and fiercely competitive nature; boy, did she like to win.
Baxter giggled. “You really are quite sweet. I have no idea what stars aligned to gift you to Eddie. I do hope he doesn’t fuck up.
I’d rather like you to stick around. Now,” she eyed me hopefully, “want another cuppa?” I had the feeling that tea-making was possibly Baxter’s only culinary skill, so I said yes please.
Her radiant smile made me quite weak at the knees.
We ended up staying over, which I’d half assumed we would have to after checking the times for sunrise. Edwin seemed surprised I wasn’t bothered, but when I fished my toothbrush and deodorant from the depths of his backpack, he gave me a knowing grin.
“I didn’t know you’d put those in there. No clean underwear though? That’s not very Boy Scout of you, is it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Cute you think I was ever a Scout. I’ll cope.”
We slept together in one of Baxter’s many bedrooms, curled around each other like needy kittens.
Okay, I did the needy curling, but Edwin liked me close, or so he said.
I woke before him, slightly unsettled at the unfamiliar surroundings, and helped myself to a mug of tea in the kitchen, thankful Baxter did at least own an electric kettle.
Next to the mugs was a key fob, and a note in Edwin’s recognisably loopy handwriting, urging me to stay safe when I went for the wander he fully expected me to indulge in, along with eighty quid in tenners.
Buy whatever you want. Sorry it’s not much. Remind me to set you up with a new bank account so you have regular money to spend. Keep your phone ringer turned up or the vibration on. I know what you’re like for ignoring me .
Edwin.
I smiled at his gentle nagging. He’d decided I should always wear clothing with a breast pocket so I’d feel my phone vibrate when he called me. I’d accused him of being an angsty old grandpa. We’d batted the argument back and forth before I finally agreed to check my phone every half an hour.
I let myself out, stowing the keys in one jeans pocket and the money in another.
Eighty quid ‘not being much’ was another place where our views differed.
I’d assumed Edwin was, not poor exactly, but not overburdened with wealth, which considering where he lived wasn’t an unreasonable assumption.
Now that Baxter had spilled the beans and I’d seen for myself her place, which Edwin appeared to consider his as much as hers, I was rapidly recalculating my initial assessment of his financial status.
His artwork alone probably sold for tons.
From what he’d said when I’d asked him, he’d been selling his pictures since not long after he’d been turned into a vampire.
If he did other work on top of that and had a wardrobe that would have stocked a good-sized shop on a posh High Street, he couldn’t be hard up.
I snapped a picture of Baxter’s house, showing the number, then the street name at the end of the road, because the last thing I wanted was the hassle of getting lost. Online maps were great, but you needed to know where you wanted to go for them to work, and I was rapidly realising that London was huge.
The first direction I went in landed me on the riverbank, staring out over the Thames.
To be honest, I wasn’t overly impressed.
Yes, it was big and you could see loads of buildings and bridges, but it was murky and depressing when you stared into its depths.
I’d been into the countryside a few times over the years.
Rivers there were different. The water sparkled, there were fish and plants, and the riverbanks were lined with trees that dipped their branches into the swirling currents.
I liked the idea of city centre rivers, but so far both Leeds and London had failed to convince me their rivers held much merit.
I retraced my steps and headed north. If I hadn’t known by the size of the properties, I’d have worked out this was a monied area by the amount of green stuff everywhere.
I checked my map and worked out Baxter lived on one side of what was called a square, but was actually big enough to be a park.
Get me, I knew someone who lived in a house that overlooked a park.
As I walked, I did a search on house prices in the area.
Holy shit. Most of the estate agents were showing prices for flats.
Baxter owned the entire five floors. Six if you counted the basement.
Feeling a bit faint, I found myself at the end of the road.
On impulse, I turned right, which was handy as I almost instantly stumbled across a little café.
Without bothering to check the menu or the prices — that eighty quid had gone straight to my head — I went inside and sat down before my legs gave way.
A cappuccino and some kind of gooey pastry slid down while I contemplated my new knowledge.
Did it matter that Baxter was presumably the richest person I’d ever met?
Were all vampires on the iffy side of legal when it came to making a living?
Perhaps they had to be. As Edwin had pointed out, he could hardly keep selling paintings under his own name for over a hundred years.
I chewed the pastry and considered my options.
I was a nobody who’d got by since leaving school — not that I’d gone much anyway — by living on his wits and as many cash-in-hand jobs as I could juggle.
I owned a suitcase of clothes, a phone, admittedly a decent one, a handful of books, a smaller handful of model cars one of my foster dads had given me, and Lettuce, my bedraggled toy rabbit that had come with me from my birth mother when she’d been made to place me in care.
Oh, and a pathetically meagre album of photos and certificates detailing my advancement from scrawny, carrot-topped toddler to thankfully less flame-haired adult, by way of some mortifying swerves into the dodgy territory of early 2000s children’s fashions and care home haircuts.
At least my hair colour was no longer liable to earn me cruel nicknames. Small mercies and all that.
It took me another coffee to decide I didn’t have the emotional energy to waste any more time philosophising about vampires and how they earned their money.
I wasn’t exactly Mister squeaky clean, so any moral high ground I might consider myself on was imaginary.
Plus, and this was the kicker, I really wanted to stay with Edwin.
Did that make me dodgy? Possibly, but it wasn’t going to bother me enough to give me any restless sleep, so I kicked my ponderings into a dark cupboard and locked the door on them.
Feeling good I’d made a decision and buzzing from too much caffeine, I made my way back to Baxter’s.
She and Edwin were both awake and dressed. Their expressions as they looked up at me when I poked my head around the living room door were serious.
Edwin said, “We’ve had a call from Dalziel.”
Dalziel? Who was Dalziel? Oh, him. The dark-haired, brooding dude I’d met briefly at Sorley’s place. The guy that everyone seemed to look at like he was some kind of boss. Well, that didn’t sound good. I plopped down into a chair, still feeling the effects of the coffees racing through my system.
“So,” I said, ignoring my clanging heart at the thought of what a vampire considered concerning, “what kind of badass shit does he want you to do?”