Out of Sight Out of Mind (11 page)

‘What’s going on?’ Madison took off her jacket and flung it over the back of the chair, before stepping out beside him. ‘Scott was very mysterious, downstairs. Oh!’ Her eyes went wide when she saw. ‘Jay! It’s lovely.’

‘I thought maybe you would like to sit out here, in the evenings.’

‘I would, I will – I’ve never really thought of doing something like this.’ She was walking slowly from pot to pot, fingering the leaves, and inhaling the scent of the jasmine. ‘I love it, I really do.’

‘That’s all I wanted to hear.’ He shrugged awkwardly. ‘I need to get rid of this mess.’ He indicated the few remaining plant carriers.

‘No, wait just a moment.’ She put out a hand. ‘I haven’t said thank you. No one’s done anything like this for me … well it’s been a while.’

‘It’s okay, as long as you like it.’ He brushed past her, head averted, carrying the boxes.

Madison stood watching him, then looked back at the balcony. The plants were nodding in the breeze. Scent washed over her. There was a tightness in her chest, and the prickle of something behind her eyes that could have been tears.

Jay had just blown a huge hole in her objectivity. Which meant she had to try even harder to give him back his life.

Sandra polished the big front window thoughtfully, watching the man from the florist unloading yet another bouquet for the lady in 401. This one was a riot of blue and purple and long stiff leaves, with a huge pink, spiky thing in the centre that didn’t look like anything that grew on planet earth at all. 401’s hubby was abroad, somewhere hot, and obviously missing his wife like crazy. Or else he was getting his end away over there, and the flowers were because he was a guilty bastard.

Sandra sighed and polished harder. It would be nice to get a bunch of flowers once in a while, or even a plant. Greg never thought about stuff like that, except for a poinsettia from the garage, at Xmas.

‘Miss Albi was dead pleased with what Mr Jackson did with all them pots on her balcony,’ she told Scott, when he came to stand beside her, ready to let in the delivery man.

Scott puffed out his chest as he swung open the door. ‘You know who gave him the idea, don’t you?’

‘You never?’ Sandra said admiringly.

‘What you been doing now, Scottie?’ The delivery man handed over the bouquet, winking at Sandra.

‘He helped Mr Jackson plant up the balcony for Miss Albi.’

‘Did he now?’ The delivery man looked impressed. ‘Albi? She’s the hot brunette on the top floor, right? This bloke Jackson, he’s her fella, is he? Lucky sod.’ He gave a dirty laugh.

‘Mr Jackson
works
with Miss Albi,’ Scott said, stiffly. ‘There isn’t none of that sort of thing going on.’ He hefted the flowers and stalked off.

Sandra watched him, hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. ‘You know you don’t want to get him going like that.’ She turned to the delivery man. ‘He doesn’t like people talking about the residents.’

‘No one ’cept him, you mean. Go on, you can tell me.’ The man nudged Sandra’s arm. ‘Them two having it off up there in the penthouse, are they? She finally got over that other chap you was telling me about?’

‘Nah, nothing like that,’ Sandra said regretfully. ‘Pity really, ’cos Mr Jackson seems ever so nice.’

Jay lengthened his stride as he approached the apartment block. Whatever Madison had stuck him with today had worn off, leaving him clearheaded, but with a raging thirst. He shut his mind on the memory of another failure, and focused instead on the image of a long, cool glass of water, followed maybe by a beer, and a dip in the basement pool. After that he had the rest of the afternoon to fill.

He’d been turning ideas over in his mind ever since yesterday. Madison’s obvious pleasure in what she’d christened her sky garden had made him wonder about other things he might do. Practical stuff – like cooking her dinner, maybe? He could do that. The kitchen in the studio was small, but adequate. He could ask Sandra for a few ideas. Nothing fancy, and not anything that would give Madison the wrong impression, or scare her. It would just be two friends, sharing a meal.

He’d almost reached the front steps, deep in plans, when the sound of a scream jerked his head up.

‘Callum!’ A woman was standing on a balcony a few stories up, her hand to her mouth. Even at this distance Jay could see her face was ashen. He followed her horrified gaze. Halfway along the decorative ledge that ran around the front of the building, a small figure, dressed in the distinctive red and blue of a Spiderman pyjama suit, was spreadeagled against the brickwork, alongside an even smaller bundle of black-and-white fur.

Jay leaped past an open-mouthed Scott, heading for the lift. A quick glance showed him the lift light, stationary on the fourth floor. He swerved to the emergency stairs.

‘Call the fire brigade,’ he yelled back over his shoulder to Scott. ‘There’s a kid out on the ledge.’ He slammed through the fire door without waiting to see what Scott would do.

By level four his breathing was fast, but not out of control. Blessing the hours in the gym and the pool, he powered along the corridor. The door of apartment 401 was open. A large cardboard box was flattened against the wall beside it, with more piled inside. Jay stepped over them, dodging round an enormous arrangement of exotic flowers on the hall table.

‘Hello?’

‘Here. Thank God!’ The woman from the balcony appeared in the doorway, tears streaming down her face. ‘Callum. It was only a moment. The recycling—’ She made a helpless gesture with one hand. ‘He’s going to fall.’ She crammed her fingers to her mouth, stifling a scream.

‘There’s help coming. You go on out there and talk to him.’ Jay took her arm and turned her around. ‘Keep him from looking down. Go on.’ He pushed her gently towards the open balcony doors.

There was a clatter behind him. Scott had arrived in the hall, wide eyed and breathing heavily, tie askew. ‘Dialled 999.’ He leaned against the wall. ‘Sending fire crew … but there’s … big blaze … A40. They don’t know … how soon. They said … keep him talking.’

‘Mother’s already doing it.’ Jay shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on the floor and testing out his shoulder. He flexed his arm, grimacing. There was still some slight weakness in the muscles but it would have to do. ‘We can’t wait. The kid’s too young. If he panics— Who’s next door? Anyone home?’

‘Mrs Glover. She’s in Spain, but—’

‘You got the pass key?’

‘Yeah.’ Scott was fumbling at his belt. ‘But—’

‘It would be easier to guide him back from this side. Plus I’m going to have to pick up the fur ball that’s out there with him. I just hope whatever the damn thing is, it doesn’t have claws,’ Jay muttered as he strode past Scott to the door of the next apartment.

‘I—’ Scott was dithering, the key ring in his hand. ‘The fire brigade— Mrs Glover—’

‘Look!’ Jay rounded on him. ‘Do you really want to wait and risk having that kid splattered all over the front steps?’

Scott gave up the keys, looking green.

Jay let himself into the flat, throwing open doors until he found the room that gave on to the balcony. The place was sparsely furnished, but what there was looked expensive. Jay skirted a low table with a fragile glass vase. A second key on Scott’s ring unlocked the balcony door. Jay slid it open and stepped out. The young woman was crouched inside the adjacent railing, talking softly to her son. She had her tears under control, but the knuckles gripping the bars were white. Jay gestured to her to warn the child that he was there. For a heart-stopping second both of them froze as the boy’s head jerked round and the small body wobbled.

Jay let out his breath in a hiss as the grasping fingers found a hold on the brickwork.

‘Callum,’ he called softly. A frightened pair of dark eyes in a narrow, pinched, white face gazed up at him. Jay knelt down and leaned in, as close as he could. ‘I’m Jay. I’m going to climb out to you, and then we’re going to go back to your mummy. Is that okay?’

A tremulous nod. ‘And Zorro?’

Jay looked down. The fluff ball quivering on the ledge beside the boy was a very small rabbit, with a band of black fur across its eyes, like a mask. ‘And Zorro,’ Jay confirmed.

The narrow shoulders sagged with relief. ‘Zorro got through the railings. I was rescuing him. But then I got scared.’ A small Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘I don’t want to be Spiderman any more.’

‘Even Spidey gets scared sometimes. But he’s brave, even when he’s scared.’ Jay gripped the rail. ‘You just hang on and pretend you’re him, just for a few more minutes.’

Jay hoisted himself over the rail, testing the ledge before he put his weight on it. It was reasonably wide, an extension of the balcony floor. He edged slowly sideways, back against the wall and eyes fixed on the child, feeling his way with his hands, flat against the rough bricks.

After half an eternity of shuffling progress, checking with each step to see that the ledge would continue to bear his weight, he reached the rabbit, which was cowering in a ball by the boy’s leg. Sliding down, Jay scooped it up and tucked it into the front of his shirt, hoping it would have the good sense not to wriggle.

‘Zorro is fine.’ The child was watching him anxiously but with complete, heart-wrenching trust. Jay shoved the hot ache in his shoulder, and the pull of tense and overstretched thigh muscles, out of his mind. He needed all his concentration for the few feet of brick and concrete that still had to be negotiated.

‘Callum,’ he spoke softly to the boy, as if they had all the time and space in the world. ‘I want you to move one foot sideways and then the other and then stop. And I do the same. We keep doing that, until we get to your mummy.’ He shot a glance at the other white face, watching their every move from the balcony. About a million miles away. ‘Can you do that?’

‘Think so.’

‘Good. You go now. One foot and then the other. That’s good. I’ve got you.’

Together, infinitely slowly, they inched towards safety. Jay bent to splay his hand over the boy’s back, keeping him close to the wall. Zorro was warm, and mercifully still, against his chest.

They stopped finally, within reach of the balcony. Callum’s mother was on her knees, hand stretched through the railing. Jay urged the boy forward, sending up a silent prayer of thanks when he scrambled over and into his mother’s arms.

Jay hauled himself up, feeling his hand slip as the half-healed shoulder failed to take his weight. With a stifled curse he hung for a second with his whole body weight on his good arm, muscles screaming, before his feet found a hold and he was over, half swinging, half stumbling, on to the balcony.

A ragged cheer, followed by what sounded like applause, made him look down. He was puzzled for a moment about what he was seeing. A small crowd had gathered in the street below. People were yelling, clapping, waving. One or two women seemed to be crying. In the distance he could hear the sound of a fire siren. Callum’s mother, face again streaked with tears, reached up to hug him.

‘That was unbelievable. How can I ever thank you?’ She was laughing and weeping, all at the same time.

‘Tell you what you can do.’ Jay’s shirt front had begun to undulate. He reached in, with fumbling fingers. Now that it was over, his hands and his knees were shaking, he realised in disgust. At last he got a grip on the wriggling bundle and pulled it out. ‘You can find somewhere safe to put this bloody rabbit.’

‘Local Hero,’ Madison read aloud, voice husky. ‘Jay
Johnson,
today snatched toddler Callum McBride from certain death—’

‘Where the hell do they get that stuff?’ Jay grunted, refusing to look at the copy of the
Evening Standard
Madison was holding.

‘Mr Johnson, a research scientist at a local laboratory—’ she kept reading.

‘Huh!’ Jay interrupted her. ‘Scott must have talked.’

‘Probably.’ Madison brandished the paper. ‘You might at least look at it. There’s a picture.’

Reluctantly Jay took it from her. The shot was fuzzy, probably culled from a mobile phone, but even the indistinct lines made the little boy’s plight startlingly clear. Jay could feel the sweat starting out afresh across his back. One missed step—

Something in his face must have given him away. When he looked up, Madison’s brown eyes were regarding him intently. He’d never realised they had gold flecks in them, near the centre. Never let himself look. ‘The worst didn’t happen,’ she said quietly. ‘You got the child.’

‘And the rabbit. Don’t forget Zorro.’

‘I don’t forget anything.’ The way she was regarding him was making him uncomfortable.

‘Look – despite what it says there, I’m no hero. It was sheer bloody adrenaline that got me out there, and then I was shitting bricks in case the kid panicked. And my shoulder all but gave out. That could have been a picture of the firemen peeling me off the side of the building—’ He stopped abruptly. Focusing on Madison’s eyes, he hadn’t properly noticed the pallor of her face, or the tension around her mouth. He back-pedalled, fast. ‘Oh hell, I wasn’t in any danger, except of looking a fool. That ledge was as wide as the road.’

Without thinking he put out his arms. For a wavering second Madison was still, then she came into them, head against his chest. Amazement flooded him as a sob quivered through her. She was soft and warm and
crying
down his shirt.

‘Hey!’ Awkwardly he patted her back, shifting so that his hip wasn’t pressed to hers. The feel of her – and her scent … God! He was getting hard. ‘It’s okay. Don’t—’ Despite himself his arms were tightening on her. His head was tilting towards her. In a second—

She broke away, hiccupping, scrubbing her face.

‘Oh damn, I’m sorry. What on earth must you think?’ She retrieved the newspaper from the floor. ‘Do you think anyone will recognise you, from the picture? It could be a real opportunity—’ She was babbling, high pitched and breathless.

‘To hell with that.’ He brushed the paper out of her hand again. ‘My own mother wouldn’t know me, assuming I still have one.’ He grabbed Madison’s shoulders, turning her to him. That was better. He could hold her like that, at arm’s length. And he had to ask, even though it was as clear in his head as a voice. ‘Someone you loved, they fell.’ Ice dripped down his spine. Her anguish was bleeding into his mind. ‘The guy you lived with? He had an accident?’

Madison was staring up at him, with a mix of horror and fascination, her mouth open and her eyes stretched, so he could see the whites. ‘Neil. His name was Neil. We were engaged.’ Her voice wavered, heartbreakingly. ‘I was going to marry him.’

Jay’s fingers were biting into her arms now, but he couldn’t control his grip. The certainty of her loss and terror was driving him. ‘I thought … the clothes. I thought he’d walked out – left you.’ Madison’s head jerked, in a soundless denial. ‘Madison. You have to tell me, how did Neil die?’