The Quiet Man

Circular

No, you can’t leave the flat, that’s what he said. No, you can’t go to Tesco, even though it’s just around the corner and you’re an actual adult who can take care of himself. It’s too dangerous, he said. The flat is a safehouse now, he said. What happened to all that? Was that just to make me too paranoid to wander out without permission? Well, I’ve got permission now. Here I am, flat-footed on the pavement, just like anyone else would be, except for the gun digging into my lower back. Here I am, my hair is still wet. I’m staring up at the windows and looking for you there.

There you are. Your hair is mussed and sticking up on end in places, you’re pacing in front of the window. You’re nervous. I can do this, Sherlock. I can do this. It’s just Tesco, it’s only down the road. I’ll be back in a moment. I’ll be fine.

I might have looked up at you like this yesterday morning, if I’d known the truth. There was so much I didn’t know yesterday, standing in this exact spot. It’s as if I can see the ghost of myself, my past self, twenty-four hours past, standing here by the door, taking a deep breath. I had no idea. None. I walked in completely blind.

Let me tell you what you’re going to find in there. Let me tell you. You’re not going to believe it.

The white van from yesterday is still parked in front of the flat. What is it? A moving van? It must be hard to find a space to park it around here. A local? Must be. I assumed it was the man here about the boiler, but I suppose not. That was another lie.

“Keep moving, John.”

This is going to take some getting used to. There’s a bit of static, it’s not like a mobile. More secure, you said. It’s certainly louder. I’m sure anyone within a few feet of me is going to be able to hear your voice.

I know these things look like regular earphones, but they feel different to me. It seems really obvious: look at me, I’m taking direction from a man who’s meant to be dead. But I know: no one would think that. They’ll think I’m listening to an iPod, something like that. I’ll look like any other prat on the street with his ears tuned in to something else, pretending his life is different than it actually is. I’ve seen those people. I never think twice about them. I know it looks perfectly normal to have cords hanging across your chest like this, but it certainly doesn’t feel normal to me. It’s not music I’m listening to. It’s you.

“Come on, quickly. Now. Go north.” It’s like you’re shouting into my head.

“Can you turn the volume down a bit?” I can see you peering at me, talking into that odd black device. You’re still in your pyjamas. Your dressing gown is starting to slip off one of your shoulders. You don’t even notice.

“John, it’s best if you don’t talk directly to me unless you absolutely have to.” Right. Well, that’s familiar, at least. You talk, I listen. Fine. “Now go! Go north.”

North? But the Tesco is directly south. It’s just down the road.

“North, John. I need you to go to the Tesco off of Euston Road, all right? Take Allsop Place south, not Baker Street.”

“Euston!” That’s three times the distance. It will take me almost twenty minutes just to get there.

“Shhh, just go. Quickly. Honestly, John, for your own safety, you’ll need to do as I tell you without questioning me.”

I’m sure you can feel the weight of my stare from a floor above and through the window. I’m quite sure you can. I need to do as I’m told without question? Really? Is that how this is going to be? I can hear you sigh.

“John. Please. You can be stubborn at me about anything else, all right? North to Allsop Place, okay? Go.”

Fine. Fine! I’m going. North to Allsop Place, fine. But I don’t need to go down Allsop Place to get to Euston Road. I thought you were the one who had a map of London in his head. It’s certainly telling of how well you know your way to the nearest Tesco, these directions. Allsop Place to Euston Road just to go to a Tesco? Well, fine.