The Bricks That Built the Houses Read Online Free PDF Page A

in the circle follows behind like bridesmaids, entranced, including Aisha and the agent, until only Becky and Harry are left, stunned in the aftermath, staring around like it’s the morning at a rave. Harry wants to reach for her hand and take it and see what happens. But there is no part of her that would actually allow her to do that, and so she drains her glass in a fast gulp and reaches for another from the smiling tray-bearer who appears beside her.
    ‘Interesting man,’ Becky says, following Marshall and his disciples with her eyes.
    Harry watches the top of Marshall’s head as he sashays across the room. ‘I was interested,’ she says, ‘definitely.’ Becky hears the familiar accent of home: south-east London’s curving vowels and glottal stops. ‘You in the band?’
    ‘No, I’m a dancer. I was in the video.’
    Harry is impressed. Looks at Becky with wide eyes. ‘A dancer, yeah? What kind of stuff?’
    ‘All kinds.’ She brushes over it.
    ‘You in a company or something?’
    Becky looks at Harry strangely. ‘No. Not at the moment. Just videos and telly stuff.’
    ‘You enjoy it?’ Harry watches her face. Some lonely distant thing behind the smile.
    Becky nods. ‘Yeah, it’s really cool . . .’ She heaves a deep sigh. One hand goes up to her hairline, strokes her forehead a couple of times and drops back down again. ‘What about you?’ Becky drinks, watches Harry over the top of her glass. ‘You work with these lot then?’
    They look around at all the cackling crotch-hungry monsters. Throwing their heads back.
    ‘Yeah.’ Harry nods. ‘I’m in recruitment, I work with a couple of guys from the record label.’
    ‘Lucky you.’ Her sarcasm is well practised. It lives deep in the tissue of her language.
    Harry also knows the code. ‘Yes,’ she says wearily, ‘lucky me.’
    A fat hand lands on Harry’s shoulder and pulses there, leech-like. ‘Harry!’ a man says. ‘Lovely to see you, sweetheart.’
    Harry looks round. ‘Julian,’ she says, and an awkward silence descends on the three of them. Julian grins into it, begins to guide Harry away towards the corner of the room, Harry looks from Julian to Becky and digs her feet in, pulls him back. Stands her ground.
    Julian, confused, smiles at Harry and lifts his hand. ‘Harry?’
    ‘It’s OK,’ Harry says, mouth dry. ‘She’s a friend.’
    Becky feels pride swimming through her, pausing at the shallow end to shake its hair and flex its muscles.
    Harry, allowing herself a rare departure from routine, looks briefly around her as she takes four chunky wraps from the pouch attached to the inside of her waistband and, in one subtle movement, presses them into the fat-handed man’s palm. So swift it is almost invisible. They shake hands. Vigorous. Friendly. The cash in Julian’s palm is transferred to Harry’s pouch. The man sends his froggy eyes over Harry’s body, and then over Becky’s. Harry’s heart is thumping hard as marching troops.
    Becky watches the exchange like it’s a piece of immersive theatre. Wondering what she is meant to be discerning from it.
    ‘Friend of Harry’s?’ Julian asks her, his bloated face bobbing.
    ‘Yeah,’ Becky says, looking away from him.
    ‘Lovely, just lovely. What a picture.’ He grins. Flashbulb wink. He nods enthusiastically. Sniffing and swallowing and jerking his face around. His voice is a bellow. As if he has never known shyness. He roars. ‘AND AND AND AND HOW ARE YOU, HARRY? HOW’S THINGS? YOU LOOK WELL, DON’T YOU? yOU LOOK VERY WELL.’ He looks her up and down, sniffing loudly, huge darting eyes, lips moving faster than the words they’re trying to say, brain pulsating almost visibly through his skull.
    Harry smiles patiently at him, talks slowly. ‘I’m fine, thanks, Julian. Getting by, you know. Getting on.’
    ‘Oh that’s great to hear, that’s great.’ He spits as he talks, brittle flecks explode from his Ss. ‘OK, well. My drink’s getting cold.’ He forces