I Came to Find a Girl Read Online Free Page A

sweetheart.”
    “You saw my picture online, you know what to expect.”
    “Look, putting the Trade Descriptions Act aside, now is not a good time.”
    “You want – I come back in little while?”
    “It’s inappropriate right now.”
    “I come all this way. You pay my taxi?”
    “I thought I already had. You’re all the same, here, take that and lose the tan – we may have a future then.” The woman snatches the cash and deposits it in her slim Chanel clutch bag.
    Flood shuts the door and then immediately reopens it. “Hold on a moment.”
    The woman pauses and turns around, and Flood says, “I want a closer look.”

    Maciek’s cab, after dark: the car is stationary in a built-up area. Flood must be filming from the backseat, as he’s not visible and yet his voice is audible. “The work is by Douglas Meek. He made two identical pieces – Catch Me If You Can I and II . The first was displayed in an exhibition and allowed to melt as Meek had intended. Nicholas Drake bought the second one and he insisted the gallery deliver it frozen to his home so he could enjoy the melting experience in private. Only he didn’t do that, he’s had a special freezer installed to house the piece.”
    Maciek frowns. “In Poland we have many power cuts. He could go away for a day, come back and find only water.”
    Flood laughs. “That’s like the urban myth about Saatchi’s blood head.”
    “What is blood head?”
    “It’s a piece by Marc Quinn. It’s actually called Self . Basically, it’s a cast of the artist’s head filled with his own blood. There was a rumour that Saatchi had it stored in a freezer at home that got switched off by builders who were refurbishing a kitchen for his wife. But it wasn’t true. He sold it to America for a decent profit. I hate to admit it, but Drake’s on to something.”
    “And he will buy your work?”
    “He’s making the right noises, let’s put it that way.”
    “What is this man who can spend so much on ice?”
    Flood snorts. “He’s a vulgarian.”
    “You do not have respect for him?”
    “These collectors are all the same. They buy to feel alive – to terrorise themselves. They long to feel like their lives are volatile when they are not.”
    The camera focuses in on a man across the street as he doubles up and vomits by the wheel of a parked car. Maciek tuts. “What is the matter with your people?”
    “There’s no poetry in their lives,” Flood says. “It’s all so disappointing.”
    “You have too much.”
    “Don’t think your country won’t go the same way now you’ve joined the EU. Everyone wants to be someone whether they have talent or not.”
    The camera shifts to a figure standing outside the curved window of Saviour’s Bar and Restaurant: jeans, a T-shirt, long brown hair and a slouchy bag. It’s me .  
    A sick feeling rises within me again, and I wipe my hot hands on the sofa, as I force myself to watch my younger self. What was I – twenty or twenty-one? It’s only a matter of a year or so. I look better than I realised at the time, but apprehensive, as I search up and down the street.
    Run, leave – get away . I wish I could shout at that girl who is me, but isn’t me. Go home – save yourself .

Three
    I had arrived early at Saviour’s that night and gone straight through the bar area to the backstairs and storeroom where we could leave our stuff. My mate Donna was already there, sneaking a quick fag as she teased the cockatoo hairstyle that added an essential two inches to her five-foot frame.
    “What you doing here, Mia? It’s not your night.”
    “Covering for Mags – her son’s ill.”
    “What, serious?”
    “No, I think it’s man flu.”
    “Isn’t he about twenty-five?”
    “Yeah, I know, weird isn’t it? How busy are we?”
    “You don’t wanna know.”
    In the kitchen everything appeared as normal, well, better in fact as it was head chef’s night off. Jason, my favourite, was at the main station, his whites