by Mel Stein
‘Tonight, I guess. But only on Ball Park. He won’t know when we filmed it. Don’t worry, I won’t land you in it.’
And he hadn’t. The rest of the interview had gone like a dream and persuaded Mo that Mark should go to Colombia and then on to Zurich. Yes, the interview had been fine, but the rest of the day had been a nightmare.
He’d knocked on the door of room 201 when the rest of his team had departed with the film in the can.
‘It’s open,’ Jenny had called, her voice a little slurred, suggesting she had not waited for him to start in on the drink that she knew he would not be sharing. He knew that tone of voice, had heard it in his own head a thousand times. It had always meant trouble then and he had no doubt it meant trouble now. He didn’t know why he should be feeling any guilt. He had given Patti every chance to make the two of them a couple for ever, and it was she who had pushed him away, was still pushing him away. He didn’t know what he had done, any more than he knew what he could do. He did not even know if she wanted him to do anything, or if he could raise the energy to do any more himself.
Jenny was lying on the bed towards one side, where a bottle of champagne was open and two-thirds empty. On the other side was an incongruously neatly laid-out tea-pot, cup, strainer, milk jug and sugar bowl. From the state of her, whatever else was going to happen Jenny Cooper was not going to be driving Mark back to London.
‘I’ve got your tea ready,’ Jenny said. She was wearing only a T-shirt and panties and he could see the colour in her face, sense the anticipation and excitement in her voice, in her body. It was not going to be an easy few moments, but he kept his own voice calm and measured.
‘The interview went well. I could do with a good cuppa now.’ He was determined to keep it deliberately chatty, neutral, normal. They both had to come out of this with their dignity intact.
‘Fuck the interview. Fuck the cuppa. Fuck me.’
She was there for the taking. Her boyish breasts rose and fell beneath the blue cotton. He could see her nipples erect through the material, fancied he could see a damp patch on the white silk of her G-string. Despite his determination to remain untouched he knew he was becoming aroused and saw her eyes focus on the bulge at the front of his jeans. She moved her gaze up his body until she was staring straight into his eyes.
‘Are you hard for me, Mark? Do you remember what to do or has that little journalist of yours chopped off your balls and put them in a jar of preservative?’
‘I don’t think this is a good idea, Jenny.’
‘I’m not asking you to think. I’m asking you to get undressed and shag me. I’m tired of having these little babies around me, all making bets as to which of them can be the first to get into my knickers. If I’m going to shag a footballer I’d rather he was at least retired from the game – like you.’
Mark sat on the edge of the bed, feeling stupid as he leaned across her to pour himself a cup of tea. He didn’t want just to walk out of the door and as long as he had the cup of steaming liquid in his hand he didn’t think she was likely to leap upon him. He was wrong. She sat bolt upright, one hand on his mouth to still his protests, the other pulling his head towards her. She released her hold and her tongue was raking his teeth, trying to prise his tongue into her mouth. Just for a second he was lost, was ready to take what was on offer, but then he pulled away and gently put the cup down on the bedside table.
‘I’ll call a cab, Jenny. Another time, when you’ve not had a head start on me, perhaps we can have dinner, try and see if a relationship will work. From a level playing field that is.’
He’d judged it to perfection and he breathed a sigh of relief as she rolled away.
‘You’re a good man, Mark. Someone else would have screwed me and left. We’ll have that dinner and I’ll arrange the cab.’
Suddenly she was sober and they could both get on with their lives.
And he was on his way to Colombia where they would inevitably meet up again. As the plane dropped its undercarriage he wondered whether he should have just given in to his desires. Who would have been hurt? Jenny had wanted it, he had needed it and Patti would never have known. There were times when he wondered just by whose standards he was trying to live. He’d found her attractive, been attracted to her, and although he might have closed the chapter on that particular afternoon he felt that Jenny Cooper was a book that at some time in his life he might actually get to read.
CHAPTER 13
Patti Delaney replayed in her mind the last conversation she’d had with Mark and mouthed an obscenity aimed only at herself. She could not understand what was going wrong with their relationship, yet she was sure it was down to her rather than to him.
In the Burrow she lit another cigarette, studiously ignoring the unemptied ashtray, knowing exactly what Mark would have said if he’d been around. She hated his habit of washing up her ashtrays whenever she turned her back.
‘They don’t taste the same when you smoke them from a clean ashtray,’ she said, only half joking.
There was no doubt he had an influence on her life, although that had fallen short of being able to get her to kick the habit.
‘I’ll stop when I want to stop, not when someone gives me a look of disapproval every time I light up a fag. My flat, my Burrow, my lungs, my life.’
And now she did want to stop and she couldn’t. She couldn’t because she was missing Mark and all there was to fill in the gap between the evening and the night was the rapidly diminishing bottle of wine and equally rapidly filling ashtray. When she’d discovered that both she and Mark were comfortably, if not seriously, rich after their inheritance, she had believed it was the beginning rather than the end. He did not need to work, she did not either, yet they were both driven on by some devilish ego that made them see even less of each other.
She knew Mark did not believe her when she said she was not jealous, that she genuinely disapproved of his involvement at Ball Park – and he was half right. She was jealous; but she also knew enough about Mohammed Halid to disapprove. Yet, Mark would not listen so there was no point in trying to explain that the man was a chancer, an opportunist who was not selective in whom he used to promote his business. Maybe that in itself was no good reason to condemn a person. Hadn’t she been like that herself when she had first met Mark? So, who was she to be so judgmental?
She didn’t enjoy holding the high moral ground that was so hard to take, but she also knew her attitude upset Mark and sometimes that was enough. She wanted it to anger him, but he was hard to anger and that angered her as well. There were times when she thought she might be losing it, might be in need of psychiatric care, but that in itself would be admitting defeat, acknowledging weakness and she was certainly not a weak person.
If Mark did not believe that she was not jealous then he also did not seem to believe that she was on to a story; but she was. And a big one at that, possibly the biggest of her career and also perhaps the most dangerous. Like most good stories it had come to her by chance. She’d bumped into Jessica Brown at Marks and Spencer’s in Brent Cross, inevitably in the underwear department. She’d not seen Jessica since they had left school and it was hard to believe that they were the same age. She’d been a pretty girl back then, English rose pretty, biscuit tin pretty; but those days were long behind her. Now the blonde hair needed a wash whilst the china-blue eyes were themselves washed of all their colour. Her skin was greasy and blemished and she could not have weighed more than seven stone. There had been a time when if Patti had been forced to name a best friend the name of Jessica Brown would have leapt to her lips. They’d lost their virginity on the same night to a couple of policemen they’d picked up in a club that didn’t ask too many questions about the ages of its clientele and that had been enough for a bit of mutual bonding for a year or so. Then Jessica had moved upwards and onwards from the clubbing, the drinking, the sexual adventures and the smoking. That was to say she still smoked, but she had discovered drugs and drugs had discovered Je
ssica. Drugs had sunk their teeth into Jessica Brown and would not release their grip and, as her old friend told Patti over a glass of wine, she was dying. She told her in a calm matter-of-fact way in a little bistro in Fortune Green Road, but even as she told the story the calm ebbed away and it was clear that Jessica was angry and Jessica wanted revenge.
‘I don’t think I believe in fate, but if I did then I’d be confident today’s meeting with you didn’t happen by chance. You know ever since I discovered that I was HIV positive I’ve been thinking of two things. How did it happen and what can I do to those who made it happen? I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to suss out the first. So many needles, so many men, who the hell knows which was infected; but the second? For the last month or so I’ve been wondering who I could tell. You may or may not believe me, Patti, but your name has been on my mind more than once. I’d lost your phone number and, although I’m sure I could have traced you, it would all have been too much effort.’
She held up the empty glass and twirled it around until it caught a glint of sunlight making it seem far more precious than it really was.
‘Sun and wine. If only it could have ended there. If only. Can’t live your life on if onlys my mother always used to say and now I can’t live my life at all. My mother’s going to outlive me. That’s not the way it should be, that’s not the natural order, and I’ve not been able to tell her that I won’t be around for too long. She rang last week and started asking if I had any plans for Christmas. Plans for Christmas? It’s September now and if I get to Christmas it’ll be a miracle and not one I’m really praying for. If I’m still around I’ll be in some hospice with a bunch of nuns and do-gooders bringing me presents I’ll never be able to use. Or singing carols I’ve no interest in hearing and encouraging me to join in and sing along for baby Jesus. Christ Almighty!’
She banged the glass so violently on the table that the stem broke off in her hand. A young waiter came swiftly over to clear away the debris.
‘What’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here?’ she asked. The waiter smiled helpfully despite her tone and Patti nodded her consent to him bringing another bottle.
‘Have you got a fag, Pat, or better still a packet? I was just window-shopping at M & S, or perhaps looking for the chance to nick a pair of new knickers. It’s been a while since I worked, the benefit’s not much and I’ve just about run out of credit with most of my friends. Those who’ve not turned their backs on me in disgust.’
Patti obliged by taking the last two packets of duty free that she had in her bag and shoving them across the table.
‘Here you are then. I know somebody who would approve of that particular piece of beneficence.’
‘Fellow?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Serious?’
‘Could have been.’
‘Could have? Over then, is it?’
‘No, not over. Might still be serious.’
‘Whose call?’
‘Mine.’
For a few moments they were two schoolgirls again, swapping their experiences, the first fondle of their breasts, the first French kiss, and that night they’d both staggered home, leaning on each other for support, wondering which of them would be the first to admit they’d not really enjoyed what passed for proper sex, worrying as to how long it would be before they could be sure they weren’t pregnant.
‘I’m so sorry we sort of fell out of touch, Patti. I suppose you didn’t really want to mix with a loser like me, and I can understand that. I’ve read your articles from time to time. I think you’re a really good writer, but then you always were. Why don’t you have a go at a book?’
‘I’m not so sure I’m ready. I’ve got to find the right subject.’
‘I can give you the right subject,’ Jessica said urgently, leaning towards Patti in a sudden puppet-like jerk of a movement. There were beads of sweat on her brow, her skin was so translucent that her cheekbones carved clear lines through them giving her white face the quality of a skull, a preview of her imminent passing.
Patti was beginning to regret the invitation to a drink. It was all becoming too intense. She felt sorry for the woman, but right now she didn’t need any additional emotional baggage. She was looking to shed her own overboard, rather than reload. She wondered if Jessica was quite in her senses. She could hardly be blamed if she’d lost them, but the last thing Patti wanted was a wild goose chase for a story or novel just because an old schoolfriend thought there was some drama in her sad life. The other woman sensed her change of mood, her desire to be away from there, to be back in the Burrow, in the shower, washing away both the dirt and the guilt. It was clearly something that she had seen and felt before.
‘I’m sorry, you’re obviously not interested.’ Jessica rose to leave. ‘It’s been good seeing you again. Just show me where I get the bus for Kilburn and I’ll be off.’
If it was a calculated act then it was a good one. Patti reached out her hand and gently pushed her down into her seat.
‘No, Jessica, it’s me who should be sorry. I’ve got all the time in the world to listen and I understand …’
‘That I’ve not got all the time in the world to talk?’
‘I wasn’t going to say that.’
‘No, but you were certainly thinking it. Don’t worry. I’m almost beyond hurt when it comes to acceptance of my own mortality. Just hear me out, Patti. I’ll tell you what I know. You’re a journalist. You may make more sense of it than I can. All I know is that I know something important, something that’s a vital part of a bigger picture. It’s as if I’ve got the last couple of pieces of a jigsaw but can’t find the shop that sells the bloody puzzle.’
And when Jessica told her, Patti realised exactly what she meant. It was dark by the time they parted and Patti insisted on ordering a taxi on her account for her old friend.
‘Listen, Patti, who knows if we’ll see each other again, but keep in touch. Let me know if what I’ve told you leads anywhere. Maybe if you get there quickly then I’ll be able to read all about it.’
‘If there’s anything I can do for you, Jessica, financial or otherwise let me know. Here’s my number.’
Jessica looked at the card in her hands as if it were the permanent key to the Magic Kingdom and for a moment Patti was sure she was going to hit her for a loan.
‘There is one thing,’ Jessica said. ‘Lend me your pen for a minute. I don’t seem to be able to keep one on me for very long. I keep putting them down and forgetting where.’
She ripped a piece of paper off the corner of the menu and received a baleful stare from the waiter who’d replaced the broken glass. She waved at him gaily and in that instant Patti could see again the girl that Jessica once had been.
‘Don’t worry, garçon. Plenty more where that came from and I’m sure you’ll be revising them tomorrow. Be a crummy restaurant if you serve the same thing two days running.’
Her breath became a little laboured as she turned her attention to Patti, the weariness winning over the ravaged body.
‘This is my parents’ number. At the end I’ll get a message to you. Will you let them know? I’d rather it didn’t come from a total stranger. And they always liked you. They thought you were a good influence on me.’
‘How wrong could they be? I was always the wild one,’ Patti said with a rueful smile.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. And doesn’t it show now? Anyway, do you mind?’
‘No, of course not. It’s cheap at the price, after what you’ve told me.’
They’d said their goodbyes and ever since then Patti had been unable to think of anything else. Certainly she’d not been able to concentrate on her relationship with Mark and so he had been the unwitting victim of her obsession.
The drug route. It had an end with people like Jessica. The victims. It had a middle as it came in through Europe. And it had a beginning as well. A fortnight on from her chance encounter, the right people questioned and both the story and the geography
were beginning to take shape.
There had been a message from Mark after the conversation. An invitation only a couple of days ago.
‘I’m on my way to beautiful Colombia. I don’t like travelling without you. Why not come with me?’
He never gave up. Perhaps she was relying on that. Testing him out to see how far he could be pushed before he broke. Well, maybe she’d pushed far and hard enough. She looked at her watch. It was nearly two in the afternoon. She hit the code on her phone that got her through to her travel agent.
‘Hello, Gerry. Patti Delaney. When’s the next flight to Bogota and what’s the availability?’
Gerry checked.
‘Tomorrow at ten twenty-five. Nothing in economy, I’m afraid. Club or first class.’
She didn’t hesitate.
‘Make it first.’
She had the money and she needed the time and comfort to ensure that when she arrived she had her story and mood just right for Mark and whoever or whatever else waited at the end of the flight.
CHAPTER 14
The England team camp might have been some ten minutes from the centre of town, but Mark’s hotel was bang in the heart of it. Nowhere he’d ever been had prepared him for Bogota. There may have been traffic signals and controls but for the great majority of the drivers it was as if they did not exist. They had three colours as they did in England – green, amber and red – but none of them had any individual significance to the Colombian drivers, or indeed the pedestrians. It was car versus man and it was a minor miracle that most of the contestants survived to fight another day.
He had never regarded himself as having any bronchial problems, but the altitude mingled with the air pollution, fuelled by so many ancient vehicles, and he could hear himself wheezing within a few minutes of leaving his hotel. The couple of days he had spent there had been windless and the clouds of smoke relentlessly pushed out of the rears of the cars, taxis, buses and collectivos was murderous. Mark’s parents had told him tales of the old London smogs, the pea-soupers where you could not see your hand in front of your face, but they must have been a veritable health farm compared to a bad day in Bogota.