The Girl on Paper Read online

  Tereza opened the door with her set of keys, and stared in horror at the bombsite that greeted her. Then she pulled herself together and started to attack the mess. She put on the dishwasher, mopped then vacuumed the floor, did a load of laundry and cleaned up the remains of the tsunami that had devastated the terrace.

  She left the house three hours later, after sorting and putting out the trash.

  *

  It was just after 5 p.m. when the truck came to empty the garbage cans in Malibu Colony.

  As he loaded the contents of one of the dumpsters into the truck, John Brady – one of the workers on duty that evening – caught sight of a new-looking copy of the second volume of the Angel Trilogy. He rescued it, and at the end of his shift took a closer look at it.

  Whoa! And it looks like some kind of special edition! Nice watercolour illustrations and Gothic lettering and all that.

  His wife had read the first book and was impatiently waiting for the sequel to appear in paperback. This would make her so happy.

  When he got home, Janet was indeed overjoyed with the present. She started to read it in the kitchen, whipping through the pages with feverish excitement, so absorbed in it that she forgot to take her macaroni and cheese out of the oven. She was still devouring chapter after chapter when she got into bed and John realised that he was not going to get any action and would be sleeping at the Cold Shoulder Hotel that night. Grudgingly he resigned himself to sleep, furious at having shot himself in the foot by bringing that damned book home, ruining both his dinner and his plans for the rest of the evening. He nodded off, comforted by a dream in which the Dodgers, his team, won the World Series by thrashing the Yankees. So Brady was in a very happy place when suddenly he was woken up by a shriek.

  ‘John!’

  He opened his eyes, filled with panic. Sitting up in bed next to him, his wife seemed deeply upset.

  ‘You can’t do this to me!’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘The book stops right in the middle of page 266!’ she said reproachfully. ‘The rest is nothing but blank pages!’

  ‘How is that my fault?’

  ‘I know you did this on purpose.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t! What makes you say that?’

  ‘I want to know what happens next!’

  Brady put on his glasses and looked at the alarm clock.

  ‘But, baby, it’s two in the morning! Where do you expect me to find the rest of the story?’

  ‘The 24 Market is open all night. Please, John, go and buy me a new copy. The second one is even better than the first.’

  John Brady sighed. He had married Janet thirty years ago, for better or for worse. This evening it was definitely for worse, but he put up with it. He wasn’t so easy to live with himself, after all.

  He dragged his old bones out of bed, still half asleep, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a jumper, before going down to get his car out of the garage. When he reached the 24 Market on Purple Street, he threw the faulty copy into a nearby trash can.

  Stupid damned book!

  *

  Mexico

  We were almost there. If the road signs were to be believed, we were less than 100 miles from Cabo San Lucas.

  ‘We’re down to our last tank,’ remarked Billie, pulling up at a service station.

  She hadn’t even switched off the engine when Pablo – according to the name badge on his T-shirt – rushed over to fill our tank and clean our windshield.

  It was getting dark. Billie squinted, trying to read a wooden sign in the shape of a cactus that listed the specialties of the station restaurant.

  ‘I’m starving. Do you want to grab something to eat? I’m sure they have some amazing junk food in there.’

  ‘You’re going to give yourself indigestion with all this eating, you know.’

  ‘It’s fine – I’ve got you to take care of me. I’m sure you’d make a very sexy doctor.’

  ‘You’re sick in the head, that’s what you are!’

  ‘And whose fault is that? Seriously, Tom, you have to learn to let go. Worry a bit less. Let life be good to you, instead of always being afraid it might hurt you.’

  Look who thinks they’re Paulo Coelho all of a sudden.

  She got out of the car and I watched her walk up the wooden steps that led into the restaurant. With her spray-on jeans, fitted leather jacket and silver vanity case, she was working a cowgirl look that blended in well with the general decor of the place. I paid Pablo for the gas and followed Billie up the steps.

  ‘Give me the keys so I can lock it.’

  ‘It’s fine, Tom! Relax. Stop looking for danger everywhere. Forget the car for a second; right now you’re buying me tortillas and stuffed peppers and then you’re going to describe them for me!’

  I gave in and walked into the saloon-style restaurant, where I guessed we would be spending some time. But that was without taking into account the bad luck which had plagued us along every step of this surreal journey.

  ‘The… the car…’ stammered Billie, just as we sat down at a table outside, about to tuck into our corn tortillas.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘It’s not there any more,’ she said, a note of panic creeping into her voice, and pointed at the parking spaces opposite us.

  I stormed out of the greasy spoon, leaving my food untouched on the plate.

  ‘Stop looking for danger everywhere, huh? Relax? Great advice you give! I knew that something like this was going to happen. We even filled up the tank for the bastards!’

  She looked ashamed for about half a second before her usual sarcasm came to her rescue.

  ‘Well, if you were so sure we were going to get robbed, why didn’t you lock the door? Everyone has to take responsibility for their actions, you know.’

  Yet again, I had to keep myself from trying to strangle her. This time, we had no car and no luggage. It was now pitch dark and it was getting cold.

  *

  Rancho Santa Fe

  Sheriff’s office

  ‘Wait, Sergeant Alvarez is with you?’

  ‘Yeah, and?’ said Milo, handing the officer his driver’s licence and the insurance papers for the Bugatti.

  Looking a little shifty, the sheriff rephrased his question, gesturing towards Carole, who was filling out some paperwork with the secretary on the other side of a glass partition.

  ‘Your friend, Carole, is she your girlfriend, or just a friend who’s a girl?’

  ‘Why, you planning on asking her to dinner?’

  ‘If she’s available, I wouldn’t mind, I’ll admit it. She’s so…’

  He stopped for a moment, searching for the right word, careful not to say anything stupid, but then thought better of it and left the description unfinished.

  ‘Go for it, buddy,’ said Milo. ‘Try it, then see whether I punch your lights out or not.’

  Looking as though he had just received an electric shock, the sheriff’s officer checked the vehicle documents before handing the keys over to Milo.

  ‘You can pick it up now. Everything should be in order, but try not to go lending your car to just anybody from now on.’

  ‘I didn’t lend it to just anybody – I lent it to my best friend.’

  ‘Well, then maybe you should pick your friends more carefully.’

  Milo was about to respond in kind when Carole came back into the office.

  ‘When you stopped them, Sheriff, are you absolutely sure it was a woman who was driving? Absolutely one hundred per cent sure?’

  ‘Trust me, Sergeant, I know a woman when I see one.’

  ‘And the guy in the passenger seat was definitely him?’ she asked, holding up a book with Tom’s picture on the back.

  ‘To be honest, I didn’t really get that good a look at him. I mainly spoke to the blonde chick. A real pain in the ass, she was.’

  Milo saw they were wasting their time and asked for his documents.

  The sheriff handed them over, before asking a qu
estion he’d been dying to ask ever since he’d laid eyes on Milo.

  ‘The tattoos on your arms, they’re from the Mara Salvatrucha, aren’t they? I’ve read about them on the internet. I didn’t think it was possible to get out of gangs like that.’

  ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet,’ said Milo, turning to leave.

  In the parking lot, he inspected every inch of the Bugatti. The car seemed fine. There was gas in the tank, and some luggage in the trunk, a sign of the previous occupants’ hasty departure. He opened the bags to find they were stuffed with women’s clothes and toiletries. In the glove compartment he discovered a road map and a gossip magazine.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Carole. ‘Have you found something?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he answered, showing her the route that had been marked out on the map. ‘So did that jerk ask you out to dinner then?’

  ‘He asked for my number, and if I wanted to go out sometime soon. Why, does that bother you?’

  ‘Not at all. He’s no Einstein though, is he?’

  She was on the point of telling him where to stick it when something suddenly occurred to her.

  ‘Have you seen this?’ she exclaimed, showing him the photos of Aurore and Rafael Barros in their little corner of paradise.

  Milo pointed at a small cross on the map and made a suggestion to his childhood friend.

  ‘What would you say to a weekend in a luxury hotel on the Mexican coast?’

  *

  Mexico

  El Zacatal service station

  Billie seductively caressed the silky fabric of a short nightdress, edged with Chantilly lace.

  ‘If you give her this, your girlfriend will do things to you she’s never done before. Things you haven’t even heard about, they’re so dirty.’

  Pablo’s eyes widened. For the last ten minutes Billie had been trying to swap her vanity case for the gas-pump attendant’s scooter.

  ‘And this really is the latest thing,’ she carried on, producing a crystal bottle with a stopper that sparkled like a diamond.

  She opened it and looked at him mysteriously, like a magician about to perform her most impressive trick.

  ‘Smell that,’ she said, waving the bottle under his nose. ‘It’s an enchanting scent, isn’t it? It’s so seductive, so alluring. Just let the violet, pomegranate, pink peppercorns and jasmine take over your senses.’

  ‘Stop trying to seduce the poor boy!’ I said. ‘You’re going to get us into even more trouble!’

  But Pablo seemed only too happy to be hypnotised by Billie, smiling as she opened her mouth to continue her spiel.

  ‘Experience the intoxicating top notes of musk, freesia and ylang-ylang.’

  I looked at the scooter doubtfully. It was ancient, a knock-off Italian Vespa that a local manufacturer must have introduced to Mexico in the 1970s. It looked as though it had seen more than a few paint jobs, and was covered in vintage-looking stickers that had started to blend in with the paintwork. One of them read: World Cup, Mexico 1986.

  Behind me Billie’s monologue continued.

  ‘Trust me, Pablito, when a woman wears this perfume, she enters a magical secret garden, overflowing with sensual scents which turn her into a wild tiger, desperate to—’

  ‘All right, show’s over!’ I cut in. ‘Anyway, the two of us will never fit on that scooter together.’

  ‘It’ll be fine, I’m not exactly obese, you know!’ she shot back, completely forgetting Pablo and the essence of feminine charm, apparently contained in Aurore’s vanity case.

  ‘And it’s too dangerous. It’s dark and the roads around here are in such bad condition, full of pot holes and humps.’

  ‘Trato hecho?’ asked Pablo.

  Billie grinned at him. ‘It’s a great deal! Trust me, your girlfriend’s gonna think you’re a god,’ she promised, grabbing his keys.

  I shook my head.

  ‘This is ridiculous! This thing is going to give out after ten miles. The belt is probably totally worn down and—’

  ‘Tom.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This kind of scooter doesn’t have a belt. Stop playing macho man; you don’t know the first thing about mechanics.’

  ‘I bet no one’s even been on it for twenty years,’ I said, turning the key in the ignition.

  The engine spluttered a few times before settling into a low hum. Billie climbed on behind me, put her arms round my waist and laid her head against my shoulder.

  The scooter sputtered off into the night.

  20

  The city of angels

  It’s not how hard you hit. It’s how hard you get hit…and keep moving forward

  Randy Pausch

  Cabo San Lucas

  La Puerta del Paraíso Hotel

  Suite 12

  Pale morning light filtered in through the curtains. Billie opened one eye, stifling a yawn, and stretched out languorously on the bed. The digital clock showed it was after nine. She rolled over. A few feet away on a separate bed, Tom was curled up in the foetal position, still fast asleep. They had arrived at the hotel in the dead of night, exhausted and aching all over. Pablo’s ancient scooter had given up the ghost a few miles before they’d reached their destination, and they’d had to finish their journey on foot, calling each other every name under the sun as they slogged towards the resort.

  Wearing underwear and a camisole top, Billie hopped out of bed and crept towards the couch. Along with the two queen-size beds, the suite had a central fireplace and a spacious living room furnished with a mixture of traditional Mexican furniture and hi-tech gadgets, like a flat-screen TV, wireless internet and an impressive set of decks. Shivering, Billie slipped on Tom’s jacket, wrapping it around her like a cape, then walked out onto the balcony.

  The sight that greeted her as she stepped outside was enough to take her breath away. When they’d collapsed into bed the night before, it had been pitch dark, and they had been far too worn-out to appreciate the view. But this morning was a different story.

  Billie stood on the sun-drenched balcony that looked out over the tip of the Baja peninsula, that magical place where the Pacific Ocean met the Sea of Cortés. Had she ever seen such an incredible landscape? Not that she could remember, anyway. She leant on the balustrade, smiling to herself. A row of little houses lined a white sandy beach lapped by a sapphire sea, the mountains towering behind. The name of the hotel – La Puerta del Paraíso – promised a door to paradise, and she had to admit it lived up to its billing.

  She looked into the telescope mounted on the balustrade. It was meant for budding stargazers, but instead of looking up at the sky or at the mountains, she pointed the lens at the hotel swimming pool. Three infinity pools, each on its own level, led down to the beach and seemed almost to merge with the sea itself.

  Exclusive little islands were dotted about on the water, where the beautiful people sunned themselves under straw parasols.

  Looking into the distance, Billie did a double take.

  I swear that guy in the stetson is Bono! And the tall blonde with her kids, she looks exactly like Claudia Schiffer…

  This was enough to keep her entertained for a few minutes, until a cool gust of wind made her curl up in a wicker armchair. As she rubbed her arms to warm herself up, she felt something in the inside pocket of the jacket. It was Tom’s wallet. It was old and tattered, made of rough leather, with corners that curled. She had no scruples about opening it, curious to explore the contents. It was stuffed full of bills, the result of pawning the picture. But she wasn’t interested in the cash. She pulled out the photo of Aurore that she had noticed the night before and turned it over to find a handwritten message:

  I love you because you are the knife that I use to search within myself.

  A.

  Hmm, a quotation that the pianist must have copied from somewhere. It was self-obsessed, tormented and full of pain, aiming for a Gothic-Romantic effect.

  Billie replaced the phot
o and examined the rest of the contents. There wasn’t much, just some credit cards, Tom’s passport and some Advil tablets. And that was it. But what was this bulge at the bottom? On closer inspection, she discovered a cut in the lining that had been sewn up with thick thread.

  She took out her hairclip and used it to unpick the stitches. Then she shook the wallet upside down until a metal object fell into her hand.

  It was a spent cartridge from a shotgun.

  Her heart was racing. Realising that she had just violated someone’s secret, she quickly shoved the cartridge back into the lining. Then she felt there was something else in there too. It was a yellowing, slightly faded Polaroid. It showed a young man and woman hugging in front of a metal gate and a row of concrete high rises. She recognised Tom immediately; he couldn’t have been more than twenty at the time, and the girl a little younger, more like seventeen or eighteen. She was beautiful, with South American looks. Tall and slim, she had strikingly light eyes, which glittered in the photo despite its poor quality and age. Judging from her pose, she had been the one taking the photo by holding the camera up above them.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’

  Billie jumped, dropping the Polaroid. She turned round.

  *

  La Puerta del Paraíso Hotel

  Suite 24

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ shouted a voice.

  His eye glued to the telescope, Milo was scrutinising the attractive physiques of two half-naked nymphs who were soaking up the sun at the edge of one of the swimming pools, when Carole burst onto the balcony. He started and turned round to find his friend looking at him disapprovingly.

  ‘You know that thing’s meant for studying Cassiopeia and Orion, not for ogling girls!’

  ‘They might be called Cassiopeia and Orion, you never know,’ he said, pointing out the two pin-ups.