Alex drove in silence wondering if his offer for Sergeant Cooper to drop in anytime at Cheyne Walk was a mistake. He loathed the SAS, MI6, ASIS and the CIA, well all spooks. He knew he was tense, being in Hereford had been trying on several levels. He stole a glance at the sleeping Cindy and shook his head. The girl looked peaceful and very young in her sleep, he bet she never had horrific nightmares, bouts of insomnia or crippling self hatred. Manfred had loved his little Sasha enough to chase the demons away. He pondered the fact maybe he needed to see a shrink. He had just pushed all his problems to the side, too busy, to dwell on the horrors in his past. He still missed Jack like an open wound. He tried never to think of Yassen, the assassin who had died for him. Tears welled up in his eyes, he was too emotional. He needed an outlet. Working bloody hard would get him back in synch. If the worst came to the worst he might start stripping again. It paid well, he also knew that Bibbi and Mario had done escort work. Well, that was the polite way of describing whoring yourself out for several hundred pounds a time.
He sucked in and stamped on the hurt, pain, loneliness and despair, which were his constant companions, and concentrated on the drive, noting the skies had darkened with his mood. The heavens were about to open. He then thought of the Dire Straits song...'the sky is crying, the streets are full of tears. Rain come down wash away my fears.' Well, he was here and this was now. He could only walk the road he was on. Now he knew he was in a bad place thinking of soppy songs and neat snippets of philosophy. Doomed, he was truly doomed.
The spray splashed up from the passing cars. The rain beat down on the roof, the windscreen wipers were almost not keeping up with the deluge. The weather was the English speciality of filthy. Fifty miles to the M25, maybe a stop off was required. Hot strong black coffee, not the bottle of vodka he really wanted.
He pulled in and parked at some petrol station with cafe attached. Cindy woke as soon as he turned off the engine. They ran into the cafe.
The pair sat a small table on uncomfortable hard chairs. A teenage waitress approached when Alex made his decision not to suffer alone, but to phone a friend. "Order me a black coffee Cin, I need to make a phone call."
Four, five...six rings and then Simon Smith picked up. "Creaden Designs"
"Si, can you talk. Its Sasha? I'm having a moment." Simon was his sponsor, his crutch and safety net, when he wobbled. On arriving back in London his first port of call was getting his AA meetings, support group and back-up sorted. Vladimir had been managing his alcoholism since the early 1990's, so was an expert on the hard task of staying sober. Maria had picked the perfect mentor for him, one that understood personal demons. Many things drove people to drink, no drunk was happy or well adjusted before they took the pledge.
"I can listen, you talk. Whats happening with you?"
"I have confronted some of the issues that lead me to drink in the first place. I met one of the abusive bastards from when I was a very wayward teenager. Seeing him, dredged up all the crap I've been bottling up for years. I've never cleared the air over all that shit. Its too much. I really really really want to get wasted. I want the oblivion of a few glasses of vodka, a few lines of coke, maybe a bit of speed and a lot of sex. Maybe I just need to get laid." Alex wiped his face. "Its been ten weeks since he died. Ten weeks alone. Only ten weeks but it seems like all my time with Manfred was just a beautiful dream. Christ, life sucks."
"Fell better after the rant?"
"A bit. I'll go play nice with my new student and drink a couple of cups of black coffee. I think I'll indulge myself once I get back to Chelsea. Takeaway, a bubble bath and I'll try and con Serge into giving me a massage."
"Serge, Is he the one who came to your last meeting?" Simon Smith remembered the dark haired stocky joker, who had tried to act as Sasha's protector.
"Yeah, it was so funny when he tried his usual smarmy chat up lines to get Mimi to date him. The guy's bad news. Anything on two legs is fair game. Maybe he has the right idea. I... I think I need to go see a shrink."
"Its an idea kid. You've had a real messed up life. Talking helps, whether its a professional or just someone you trust. Get you head around what's bugging you."
"Waking up every morning bugs me. I have to sort things out. Things were easier in New York. You know with Vladimir's family. It was cool to kind of belong."
"You just have to make your own family, Sasha. You'll feel better back at your house. A houseful, noise and activity will be good, no moping on your own. Take up a few hobbies, you used to do karate, skiing, diving? Take something up, get out there. You are young and their will be someone else out there for you. Don't let Serge play matchmaker, what ever you do."
"Thanks for the chat. I'll see you tomorrow. Ciao."
"Keep it real, kid"
Cindy had listened in, only missing a bit as she ordered the coffees. "Are you OK? I can drive if you want. I have had my licence over a year. Uncle B taught me when I was 15."
"No, I know the way. I just... I fell off the wagon after Manfred died. I got sober pretty quick, but its hard to manage alone. Manfred kept me too busy to have wobbles. I'll be OK once we start working. Two weeks to the ENB's open auditions. Serge is trying out, We both will too. You need a bit of Russian polish. You will hate me by the end of next week, but I am passing on Maria Makarova's dance training secrets. That woman was a total workaholic and completely brilliant. She was taught by a pupil by a pupil of Diaghiliev. She was a true Baba Yaga. I will teach you russian as well so you will immerse yourself in culture." Alex looked at the girl, still a child really but on the way to adulthood. She would hate him but she would learn, grow and shine.
Alex pulled his car in front of his house on the small private driveway shared with the row of twenty houses. The house was worth millions. Alex had seen the deeds. It had been bought for a pittance in the 1970's by John Rider, and rented out. In the 1990's, Ian had renovated, modernised the townhouse and moved in. It should have been John and Helen's martial home, there had also been a house in France. Sold by Ian and the money invested in bonds and shares. Alex Rider was moderately well off and all of it was blood money.
He opened the door and gave Cindy a quick tour. "Now there's a choice of sleepin arrangements, either a camp bed in the box room or sharing with Serge. If you want we could toss a coin, it wouldn't matter as the tart spends most nights elsewhere. So camp bed or sharing a room with a nymphomaniac. Your choice."
"I'll take the box room." said Cindy, completely unsure of sharing with a guy she had never met.
"The two other rooms are all shared so there are seven of us living here at the moment. Serge and I have an en-suite so the rest of you have to battle it out over the shower room downstairs and the larger bathroom down the hall. There is a practice room in the attic. The only house rule is no drugs, no hard liquor. Wine, beer or cider are OK. The rent is £75 a week. No exceptions. If you need a job, you can come with me tomorrow night. Two nights work normally brings in 400-£500 quid. Its dancing, just in a g-string. You can earn a lot more by working the floor. You get a cut of what the john's order from the bar. The more they drink the richer you are."
"John's?"
"Its a strip joint. Nothing more than chat and dancing. I worked there to get my equity card. You do sets there, its an easy way in. Easier if you go to Paul's auditions. Paul owns a string of clubs. Also produces films of a certain type."
"You mean porn." said the girl, smart enough to read between the lines.
"Yeah, I've only done bit parts myself. I never wanted to get down and dirty. Its better than starving."
"Ill take that on advisement."
"The clubs are fun. You drink, dance and get paid. Just for pretending some looser is fascinating and the most interesting person you have ever met. Wird of warning, never date anyine you meet there, especially the work force. Its mafia all the way. Also never do drugs. You get hooked they own you."
Cindy had just fallen down the rabbit hole. To fund your art, you worked your ass off literally. She then looked at Sasha and knew he was painting a bleak and worst case scenario picture. She would go and see, she was no chicken. If this was an easy way into the business who was she to turn her nose up at easy money.
