by G J Morgan
“I usually have a stack left over from breakfast. I’ll bring them in when I bring your tea. I’ve got a ton of mess to sort out, before they all come back demanding room service and alarm calls. This isn’t a flaming hotel, it’s a guest house, they must think I’ve got staff coming out of my ears. Oh, Tom, can I ask you a question before Alfred consults the internet, God forbid?”
“Sure.”
“What’s an over-easy egg? We guessed what sunny-side-up meant on our own.”
“Fried both sides, Dot,” I laughed.
“Why not just ask for things in plain English? Less of my moaning, you have a rest after your long drive.
“I’ll try,” I said disappearing down the corridor, knowing the last thing I would get would be rest, seeing the competition had arrived in droves.
* * *
I ate the last few mouthfuls from my plate, thick buttered toast, clotted cream, syrup, my arteries knew I was back on Devon soil. I walked back to my room, on my bed was the spread of newspapers. My photo was everywhere, Lilly was everywhere, so was Max. All of it, my doing, the debates, back stories, lies, truths, all of it because of me.
I could hear talking from outside, car doors being opened and closed. I looked out of my window, men loading or unloading, maps spread across car bonnets. For a second I found it funny, this sprawl of energy in the car park, watching podgy Americans work out where the hell they’d arrived or where to start, they were used to right angles and grids. Good luck, gents, I thought, welcome to Devon, a world of potholes and wrong turnings, roads that looked like paths. They didn’t stand a chance, but I was wrong to underestimate them, they would be as hungry as me, if not hungrier, and probably a lot more qualified too.
There’s a scene in the movie Jaws, just after one of the shark attacks, when the whole world shows up on the beach, news vans, reporters, sport fisherman, all wanting a piece of this prize shark. And suddenly little Amity Island, a quaint little seaside town in Massachusetts with rocking porches and boardwalks, was turned into a feeding frenzy for the whole world to see. And somewhere in the endless blue ocean she was out there, this elusive great white.
Don’t know who that made me in all this, I thought, Brody probably, feeding fish guts and chum, hoping she might bite. Or Quint, paid to bring her in, shooting yellow barrels at her, till she has no choice but to come to the surface. Either way I wasn’t happy with the analogy, though it was pretty spot on. Truth was there was a bounty on Lilly’s head, and every man and his dog had just arrived outside with all manner of gadgets and gizmos intent on being the one to catch her first.
What the hell had I done? I’d created this and it wouldn’t be long till they found Lilly’s cottage, if they hadn’t already. I had to do something, but I didn’t know what.
* * *
“Ludovic.” I shouted over a car roof.
“I’m very busy. No time talk.”
“I didn’t know you were staying here.”
“Me neither. Boss sent partner here. We share room now. He snores.”
“I take it you are still after Goodridge?”
“Still yes,” he said, busy with the boxes and bags in his car.
“Any luck?”
“Not yet. Why, you know something?”
“And why would I tell you if I did?”
“Because we friends. I scratch backs, you scratch backs.”
“And how will you scratch my back?”
He leant in, he didn’t smell good.
“I have weed. The best weed. Only best stuff for my friends, understand?”
“How much?”
“This much.” He pulled a small bag out of his coat pocket, stuffed it into my hand.
“That’s quite a small bag.”
“You don’t need a lot. So what news you have for Ludovic?” He closed his boot.
“Heard she is going to Newquay tomorrow morning for a few days.”
“Nookey?”
“Newquay.” I spelt it out as he wrote it on his hand.
“You lie, she filming this week. I know this.”
“She is, tomorrow, but not for long.”
“And what is in this Nookey place? Why she going?”
“She’s going with friends, few of the guys off set.”
“Chris Rogan. Muscle man, he going?”
“He’ll be there.”
“Max?”
“I tell you what else is in Newquay…”
“What?”
“Strip clubs.”
“Strip clubs? You lie.”
“Look it up, Ludo. Newquay is your sort of place.”
“This place is full of titties and pussies?”
“Full of it, Ludo.”
“You go Newquay too?”
“No, I’ve got to head back to London.”
“I shall go. But if I not see Goodridge bitch there, I be angry at you.”
“Hey, man. I can only go on my source. It’s only advice, it’s yours to take or leave.”
“How far Nookey? Close?”
“A bit of a drive. About two and a half hours.”
“Fuck this. That is too far.”
“It’s your call, Ludo. I’m just telling you what I know. All I know is, if I didn’t have to go to London, Newquay is where I’d be heading right now. But one thing, Ludo, and I mean this.”
“What, friend?”
“You can’t tell anyone about what I’ve just told you, no one, not a soul.”
“Trust Ludo. I tell no one, just partner.”
“Shake on it.”
“Shake, yes. Ludo tell no one.”
“Good. I’ll see you around. Have a good time. I’ll tell you what, here’s a twenty. Have a lap dance on me.”
“Thank you. Enjoy weed. Very good. Promise.”
“Remember. Tell no one, OK?”
“Ludo tell no one.”
And I walked off, as did he.
I gave it one hour till the whole car park was on its way there too.
* * *
My plan worked, for the most part. The next few days most of the paparazzi checked out of the guest house and departed towards Cornwall in search of Newquay. Dot, confused by it all, but appreciating the few days of quiet it brought her, said she could now get on with all her jobs, get the place back in order.
And I was left with Lilly. Not that much went on, she barely left her house, not that I minded. I got to sit in my usual spot, under sun and shade watching hours pass by as occasionally I’d see her walk past a window, or every so often venture into the garden, barefoot and full of contemplation.
That was till Saturday. Saturday, it all changed.
My life and her’s.
* * *
It started with a phone call.
“Tommy boy. You up?”
“I am now.” I searched for my clock, my eyes still half closed. “Couldn’t it have waited till later? ”
“Well I thought you’d want to be the first to know that you’ve got eleven thousand dollars in your account.”
“You being serious?” I said, sitting up.
“Hey, do I ever joke about money?”
“Thanks, Vince.”
“No, man. Thank you. You earned it. What you gonna spend it on?”
“The obvious really.”
“What, loose women and fast cars?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m gonna spend it on.”
“What’s going down today? Not had much news from you this week. It’s all gone quiet on the western front.”
“She hasn’t done much.”
“Well fear no more, Vince has more big news.”
“Go on.” I walked over to the kettle.
“Guess who’s flying in from Paris to London. And guess w
ho has ordered a private flight down to Devon.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Lands around lunchtime. I doubt he’s flying down there for cows and ice cream.”
“Does Lilly know he’s…”
“That I don’t know. All I know is flight times. Let’s hope she doesn’t. Makes it more interesting.”
“I don’t think she would invite him.”
“Your job isn’t to understand her, it’s to point your big black camera at her and press click. That’s all your fucking job is.”
“Aren’t you curious?” I ripped a coffee sachet into a mug.
“I couldn’t give two fucks and nor should you. What’s this I hear about LG going to some place called Newquay?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“Newquay was a false alarm, Vince.”
“If things settle down my end, I’m gonna fly over soon.”
“What, here?” I felt my stomach drop.
“In a week or so. Got some loose ends I gotta sort out here first but I wouldn’t mind following LG around a bit, before she heads back home. I’ve been away too long as it is, ’bout time I got over there and showed you how it’s done.”
“You don’t think I can do it on my own? I can do it on my own, Vince.”
“Hey, man. You’re doing a good job. But imagine the money we’ll make when we are both hosing her down. The dream team, hey? She wouldn’t stand a chance. I gotta shoot. Let me know how today pans out. I expect big things.”
“See you, Vince. Talk later.”
“Buona fortuna, Tommy.” I looked at myself naked in the mirror, a half erection and a giant smile.
* * *
That was the first of many bombshells that particular Saturday, the money in my account, the pending arrival of Max. I rang Mum straight after, to tell her about the eleven thousand, I didn’t tell her how much, but told her to take Molly out for the day, treat themselves to something nice, whether or not Mum was proud I couldn’t tell, there were other things we needed to discuss more important than tainted money. She’d just gotten her biopsy results, came back clear, but Mum didn’t seem too optimistic, she would still need monitoring over the next few months, more checks, more white coats. I offered to come home, drop everything, Mum insisted I stayed put.
I got to Lilly’s not long after, she was already busy, cutting the grass with a mower as old as the house, looked like she was struggling pushing and pulling that ancient machine across the garden, and it wasn’t a small garden either. As always Vince’s prediction was right again, Lilly was preparing the house for guests, repositioning chairs, sweeping her patio, axing. It felt wrong to watch, not because she was in shorts and a bikini, but watching a girl battle with logs as big as her, whilst I sat and did nothing. But knowing Lilly, which I was beginning to, regardless of what man would have offered to help, she looked determined to complete the task alone.
A few hours later Lilly had ditched hard labour and was on the move. She had treated herself to a new car and I could hardly keep up, my Jeep was no E-Type and it was a pursuit Lilly was winning as she zigzagged through fields and hedges like she was Jackie Stewart. And what a glorious day for a race, green hills, blue skies, glorious sun. I could’ve followed her for hours, but it wasn’t long till cliffs became white hotels and harbours.
After I parked the car I managed to catch up with Lilly who was in fierce negotiations with a butcher, before walking out with all the short rib in Salcombe. The town was unaware of Lilly Goodridge the celebrity; she was just another tanned ponytail as she looked at window displays, took photos of sail boats, helped a little girl crabbing out by the quay. This was a woman at ease, and I was at ease following her, we were sharing the same day out, just I was ten yards behind. I could live here, I thought, there have not been many places that I’ve said that about, but here was one of them. It was perfect, today was perfect, the town, the weather, Lilly.
Then I saw Ludo, the only frown in a street full of smiles, then I knew it would be spoilt, I just didn’t know when or how bad. And worse, I couldn’t even stop it, or get Lilly out of there before it was too late. It was disgusting what I saw, policeman and paparazzi turn paradise into panic, babies crying, fathers shouting, old people knocked to the ground, and for what? A few photos of a woman eating lunch.
When I got home I felt sick, lay in bed, angry at myself, angry at the situation, deliberated the many ways I could destroy my camera.
* * *
It didn’t feel right to have to go back later that night. I’d have much rather stayed at home, and any other time I would have, left Lilly to her own devices, given us both a night off. But tonight, I had no choice, not with who was expected to show up, there was too much money to be made, and money aside I wanted to see how it was all going to play out, make sure Lilly wasn’t facing Max alone.
I was back at Lilly’s house just after it had turned dark, sat in my Jeep, poured a coffee from my flask, rode out the storm, didn’t want to start my shift off by getting wet, or worse, damp, better to hang back. Besides it was a storm worth watching, that shook fences, loosened roof slates, that hit car windscreens like a round of bullets.
Any chance Lilly had of a garden party had been cruelly cancelled. Shame, I’d seen the work she’d put into it, watched her lug a kettle barbecue across the driveway, push that prehistoric lawnmower around the garden. Still it looked pretty, fairy lights lit up the patio and trees, through my binoculars I could just make out Lilly, she looked stressed, opening oven doors every five minutes, checking her watch. I looked at my watch too, it was getting pretty late for dinner, if Max was coming then it had to be soon, if he was coming at all.
I messaged Mum as I waited, asking if she’d had a reply from Cassie’s folks yet. But Mum didn’t answer, putting Molly to bed I expected. How long since I sent my letter? Less than a week ago when I was in London, they’d probably only just got it, I had to assume it would take more than a few days to cross oceans and freeways. Didn’t even know why I expected them to reply, it wasn’t like I wrote much, not that I gave them the answer they wanted to hear, but hopefully they’d be clearer on where they stood. I hoped it wouldn’t make things worse, that wasn’t my intention, I hoped my words put across the points I wanted to make, hoped it put them at ease a little. I hoped they wouldn’t be mad that I didn’t want to live with them.
Sometimes I thought about it, not LA, not Florida. I had a friend who taught in Boston, that was an option I guess. I’d always liked the idea of Cape Cod, New York too. It would most likely be the East Coast, as far away from LA as I could get and still be in the same continent. I suppose Florida could one day be a realistic option, I could think of worse places to end up, especially having people who could help me get my feet off the ground, so I wasn’t dismissing it completely, it just wasn’t how I saw myself returning. I wondered how far eleven thousand would take us all, not far, wouldn’t even last six months. I’d need more, double that, triple it. I’d need a few more front pages before I had any realistic option of emigrating with any real intent.
I looked back over at Lilly’s cottage, the worst of the storm had gone, the rain now at a spit, the wind enough to rattle leaves, not the branches it was before. The house looked awfully dark, no Lilly, till eventually I saw a torch bulb pacing past windows and doors. A light must have blown or something, Lilly was probably under the stairs or some cupboard, looking for a fuse box. I waited for a few minutes, then a few minutes more, expecting light to resume at any point, but it didn’t, so I too was left in complete darkness. I was tempted to turn my engine back on, light up the dashboard, but I didn’t. Out in the middle of nowhere, dark meant just that, a black wall – if I turned my engine on I might as well have shot a flare gun.
I waited a little longer. I wasn’t particularly scared of the dark, but I still didn’t feel comfortable no matter how many times I’d done
this before, there was an eeriness in those fields, sounds that only came out a night. Least before I had the glow of Lilly’s house, now I was in Baskerville country, looking over both shoulders every time something with a heartbeat made a sound, something with four legs, something with wings, things that howled or growled.
Cassie loathed the dark, therefore our house in LA was never quite dark even at night, bed lamps, landing lights, the TV. There would always be something glowing in order for Cassie to get herself off to sleep without fear of what shadows might become. I used to make a joke about it, jump out, creep up. She’d laugh, give me a whack, but her fear was genuine and I shouldn’t have really taken advantage of it, regardless whether malicious or not. I thought about the crash, I hoped those last few minutes before she died she wasn’t in the dark for too long, her eyes closed, still clinging on. I told her I was right next to her, I talked to her till the very end. Why did I still think of these horrible things? No good could come from it. Think of nice things, the good stuff, that’s what I always repeated to myself, but most of the time it was the never nice stuff I remembered. It was all the rest, the stuff no human being should have to remember, the stuff you only remember when everything around is dark and black.
I needed to get out outside. I grabbed my stuff and crept quickly down towards the garden, it was a walk I knew well and the fifty yards was one I could do without a torch, though this hadn’t always been the case, twisted ankles had made me learn quickly where to tread and where not to. Under the tree I started to set up all my shit, the tripod, the camera, my little fold-out chair, tried to get comfortable for a long night, get positioned, sort out my angles. I was planning on using my latest gadget, something I had picked up in London, the man behind the counter said they were like binoculars for the ears, up to a hundred yards, he said. I thought tonight would’ve been perfect, I’d have been able to listen to every single word, I couldn’t see the meal adjourning outside in a hurry. I shouldn’t have even carried them with me, lucky they were neither heavy nor large.
I heard a car, loud engine, angry tyres.
Max was here.
I took a deep breath.