The Messenger by Megan Davis

Author:Megan Davis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction

THEN

Early December

Twenty-Five

Saint-Germain

I

LAY IN BED, THINKING ABOUT the woman I’d just seen in the bathroom. Was it Céline? If so, why hadn’t she said something? My presence in the apartment was hardly unexpected, so why did she scream like that? It made me feel guilty and unwelcome, like an intruder.

I listened for my father’s tread, for the soft knock at the door. It was like I was ten again, waiting for him to come into my room, sit on the edge of the bed and console me. Instead, I heard his muffled voice through the wall, his measured tones interrupted by hers – agitated, disjointed. They spoke for a long time and when they finished, I waited, and when he didn’t come, expectation soured into frustration, and I hated myself for my neediness.

My feelings seesawed like that until I fell asleep, and I woke to a morning of leaden emptiness. I had no school to get up for, and instead of relief, I felt exhausted at the thought of what lay ahead. Ranged against me were my father, Tomas, Mme. Vaux and potentially the police. I couldn’t face them all off, or even just sit it out. I needed to escape until things died down, so I packed a bag and left the apartment.

Outside, it was cold and grey, the street loud and jarring. The city’s tension invaded my body, short-circuiting my nerves.

I turned on my phone to a barrage of texts from Tomas, demanding his money back, threatening to beat the shit out of me. He sent pictures of the door to my building, Lisa’s house and other places I went, making it clear he knew where to find me. I must have lost the cash in my rush to leave the party, or somewhere on the metro. My father was convinced his computer had been hacked so he’d added extra security. I couldn’t steal from him again even if I wanted to. It seemed the only solution was to try and get the money back from Nick – I’d explain that the pills were bad and perhaps he’d see sense. It seems hopelessly optimistic now, but I was desperate. I called Sami endlessly, but he didn’t answer and neither did he call me back.

I knew he worked near the market at Clignancourt some mornings, and it didn’t take long to find him on the edge of a damp underpass of the Péri. Fake watches gleamed along one arm, gold chains hanging from the other. He looked hopefully at passers-by, extending his arms towards them in a glittering embrace.

He shook his head when I started pleading, not taking his eyes off the passing crowd.

‘There’s no way I can get that kind of money back from him. And anyway, there was nothing wrong with the pills. Your friends drink too much,’ he said, as he fell into step with a man who’d glanced at the watches. A little further down, they stopped to haggle.

There were two large holdalls near my feet. I nudged them open.

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