Pretend We're Dead

by Mark Timlin

  She looked up at the house, and I turned and saw that Tracey had put on Dawn’s dressing gown and was back at the window.

  ‘I might have known,’ said Dawn. ‘That girl will do anything for a bed.’

  ‘Why did you sleep in here?’ I asked.

  Dawn shrugged. ‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

  ‘But it was our wedding night.’

  ‘If you were so worried, why did you leave me here?’

  There was no answer to that. Except that I’d been too out of it to realise I had. So I just stood there without saying a word. Then I realised that the two coppers were listening intently to our conversation, and I knew they could get free teas in the canteen back at the station for weeks on the strength of it.

  ‘I’ll move the car,’ I said to him. ‘Sorry to have bothered you.’

  They looked at each other, shrugged, sighed, then the taller said, ‘I’m sure we could do you for something here.’

  ‘I’m sure you could,’ I agreed. ‘But give us a break, mate. I’m in enough trouble as it is, can’t you see?’

  They both looked at me, Dawn, and then up at Tracey who was still leaning out of the window watching us, and I saw them both smile before the taller one said, ‘All right. I’m a married man myself, and it looks as if you’ll have your hands full for the rest of the day with these two. But we’ll be watching out for this heap, and if you as much as park on a yellow line…’

  ‘Not a chance, officer,’ I assured him. ‘From now on, you’ll have no more trouble from me.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, and the two of them walked towards their patrol car parked opposite.

  As they went, the shorter one turned and called out, ‘Congratulations, by the way. Enjoy your honeymoon,’ and I heard them both laughing as they got into their car.

  I blew a sigh of relief, and reached in and unlocked the driver’s door, opened it and slid behind the wheel. The Chevy started on the button, and I pulled it on to the front, well out of harm’s way, then turned to Dawn and said, ‘Who drove home last night?’

  ‘Tracey.’

  ‘Christ. She’s never driven a car like this.’

  ‘She did all right.’

  ‘Up until the end at least. Come on, let’s go inside and have some breakfast. We’ve got a room booked in Hastings, don’t forget.’

  ‘Did you fuck her?’ said Dawn as we got out of the car.

  ‘No. Course not.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Course I am.’

  We went upstairs in silence and when we got inside my flat, Tracey had the kettle on and was spooning instant coffee into three mugs.

  ‘Hello, Dawn,’ she said. ‘Enjoy your honeymoon night, did you?’

  ‘Did you?’ asked Dawn back, as she sat at the stool by the counter I like to refer to as the breakfast bar.

  ‘No. Lover boy couldn’t get it up.’

  ‘Just as well for lover boy,’ said Dawn, giving me a slitty-eyed look.

  ‘Oi,’ I said. ‘I am here you know.’

  ‘Fancy,’ said Dawn.

  ‘Are we going to Hastings?’ I asked, trying to change the subject.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take Tracey?’ asked Dawn, and the two women collapsed into giggles.

  ‘Sorry, darlin’,’ said Tracey, as she passed us each a mug of steaming coffee. ‘I didn’t mean to spoil your big night.’

  ‘From the sound of it, it wouldn’t have been all that much cop,’ said Dawn. ‘Now, are you sure you don’t want to come to the seaside with us? I’m sure we could find you a bed.’

  Oh Christ, I thought. What the bloody hell have I got into here? And my head started thumping again.

  6

  The two of us did eventually get away on our honeymoon, just before eleven. Without a third party, thankfully, although it was touch and go there for a while. I phoned ahead, and spoke to the hotel manager, and, although he was a little miffed that we hadn’t arrived the previous evening, business wasn’t so good that he’d let the honeymoon suite go. I promised to pay for the night we’d missed, and ordered a couple of bottles of champagne to be put on ice, and he was a lot less frosty when he put down the phone than he’d been when I first told him who I was. We dropped Tracey off at her flat and picked up Dawn’s bag, and headed back down the south circular towards the A21. We arrived in Hastings at about four, after stopping for a sedate lunch and a couple of pints at a mossy old pub on the outskirts of Tunbridge Wells. By then Dawn had seen the joke and forgiven me. A very forgiving woman is Dawn. Just as well really, knowing me as I do. I’m the sort of person who needs forgiving often.

  At the hotel we were greeted by a uniformed porter, who, on hearing that we were the tardy honeymooners, whisked our bags away to the lift and left us to check in.

  The manager was at the desk to take our particulars personally. He was a tall character in a black suit, gleaming white shirt and conservatively striped tie.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Sharman,’ he said. ‘At last. Your room is ready if you’ll just sign the book. It has a view over the cliffs, and I hope you enjoy your stay. Until Tuesday morning, I believe?’

  I nodded assent, and he banged the bell on the counter, and a juvenile in a similar uniform to the porter’s arrived to show us the way to our room. The porter was waiting to show us around the suite when we arrived. There were flowers everywhere, a big bowl of fruit, three bottles of champagne in the fridge – my two, plus a complimentary from the management – next to half a dozen bottles of imported beer, and the usual miniature spirits and mixers. The bed was big and round and covered in a scarlet satin bedspread. The sitting room had a huge TV set in one corner, and a scarlet three-piece suite. Then the porter took us back into the bedroom and threw open the door to the bathroom. It was massive. The jacuzzi was big enough to hold a round-table meeting inside, and even the shower stall had plenty of room for two. I tipped the staff generously, and they left us in peace informing us as they left that dinner was served at seven.

  ‘Not bad,’ I said, when they were gone and I looked round.

  ‘Tart’s parlour,’ said Dawn. ‘But what am I but an old tart anyway?’

  ‘My old tart,’ I said. ‘And don’t you forget it. Want some champagne?’

  She nodded, and I opened a bottle and poured two glasses.

  ‘Want a joint?’ she asked. ‘Chill out.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, and she hunted about in her bag, and pulled out a crumpled ready-rolled, which I just knew would taste of her perfume. She lit it and took a long hit before passing it over.

  I won’t elaborate on our honeymoon. It’s kind of personal. But we had a great time. I always have a great time with Dawn. She helps me forget. And I couldn’t ask anything more from anyone than that.

  Tuesday morning I paid the bill, thanked the manager, and we headed back to London. On the way I told Dawn about my new case. What with one thing and another, or the other, if you want me to be crude, there hadn’t been time before.

  ‘Jay Harrison,’ she said as we joined a traffic jam on the outskirts of Sevenoaks, close to the M25. And that sodding road was built to ease congestion. ‘He was in that band they made a film about, wasn’t he?’

  I agreed that he was.

  ‘They were great. Bit before my time of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asked.

  ‘Do what?’ I turned and looked at her, and almost rear-ended a Mini-Metro, which the Chevy could have eaten up and spat out without rippling a bumper.

  ‘I’ve got nothing else to do. You wanted me to stop work.’

  Work, in her and Tracey’s case, being taking her clothes off in sleazy pubs and clubs and occasionally allowing punters to have their evil way. For cash.

  ‘Well, I’m all for a woman hav
ing a career, but when it entails her coming home with her knickers all crusty, even I’ve got to draw the line,’ I said.

  ‘You know it never meant anything.’

  ‘It started to mean something to me.’

  She leant over the length of the bench seat and put her hand over mine on the steering wheel.

  ‘That’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard,’ she said.

  I turned my hand and gripped her fingers.

  ‘So can I?’ she said.

  ‘If you want. I don’t know what’s going to happen yet. It could be a hoax. Probably will be. It’s not the first time this has happened apparently. A chancer going for a few quid. I mean, the geezer’s supposed to have been dead for twenty years. So we just go through the motions. A couple of days’ work and that’s that. A nice little earner, and us back at the Grand Hotel for our second honeymoon.’

  ‘Fair enough. If that’s what it is, that’s what it is. At least you’ll have company.’

  ‘All right, Dawn,’ I said. ‘You’ve got a deal.’

  ‘And we’re partners?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that. But you can carry the sandwiches.’

  She punched me in the ribs. Hard. ‘Chauvinist,’ she said.

  I nodded, and overtook a McDonald’s truck that was big enough to carry a million burger patties.

  ‘When do we start?’ she asked.

  ‘Today. I’ve got to phone Chris Kennedy-Sloane. He should have a copy of the letter by now. And he’s paymaster on the deal. He’s got a big fat cheque for me.’

  ‘Us.’

  ‘Us,’ I agreed, as the suburbs got more citified, and we drove into London proper.

  We were home by eleven, and Dawn stuck on the kettle, and I unpacked our bags and put our washing into the machine. Domestic bliss. When our undies were having a significant relationship under the Daz Ultra, and I’d copped for a cup of tea, I called Chris Kennedy-Sloane on his hot line.

  ‘How are you, dear boy?’ he asked, after I’d been sieved through a receptionist, two secretaries and a personal assistant. ‘How was the honeymoon? A little less fraught than the reception, I hope.’

  ‘You’d be amazed,’ I replied. ‘Did you get away in one piece?’

  ‘The lovely Angela cut a swathe through the mob, brandishing one of her stilettos. We were just one step ahead of the cops, if you’ll excuse the pun.’

  ‘Much damage done?’ I asked.

  ‘Who’d know in a place like that? Rustic is the word that springs to mind.’

  ‘I must go and see the guv’nor. What’s new your end?’

  ‘A sheaf of faxes for you, and a cheque.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. When can I come in and pick them up?’

  There was a pause. ‘I have a window at three,’ said Kennedy-Sloane.

  ‘Don’t give me all that window bollocks,’ I said. ‘If you mean you’re available then, just say so.’

  ‘Sorry, Nick. You know it impresses the clients.’

  ‘But I’m not a client.’

  ‘Precisely the opposite. An employee almost.’

  ‘Very almost,’ I said. ‘And don’t you forget it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, old boy. I know how exact you always are.’

  ‘How much is the cheque for?’

  ‘Seven days at a thousand per. Plus, I thought another K for exes. Does that suit you?’

  ‘Chris. I’ll almost admit to being your employee for a cheque like that. You don’t know how much this weekend has cost me so far.’

  ‘Always ready to oblige a friend. So three o’clock it is. What are you driving these days?’

  ‘A Chevrolet.’

  ‘Dear God. Why don’t you get something sensible?’

  ‘Like a Porsche?’

  ‘Touché. Anyway I’ll tell Craig in the parking garage to expect some trans-Atlantic leviathan at three o’clock. Parking round here is a pain. Just drive round the back and head downwards. He’ll put you right. Then the lift will bring you straight up here. You remember where I am?’

  ‘How could I forget?’ I asked. ‘And I’m bringing Dawn.’

  ‘My word, we are taking the marriage stakes seriously. This is not like you.’

  ‘I’ve turned over a new leaf,’ I said.

  ‘Delighted to hear it. So until three,’ he said, and hung up. I told Dawn what was happening.

  ‘Eight thousand quid for a week’s work?’ she said. ‘It’s all right for some.’

  ‘Yeah. But it might be the only week’s work I do this year.’

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘I’m just the best,’ I said. ‘You didn’t know who you were marrying.’

  ‘And half the money’s mine.’

  ‘Not so fast,’ I said. ‘I think we’d better go up the bar, see Simon, and find out what the damage was for that do on Saturday. Chris and Ange had to beat a hasty retreat. I don’t know what happened after they left.’

  ‘Was there a lot of trouble?’

  ‘Enough. We’d better go up and settle the bill. And don’t forget, half’s yours,’ I added.

  ‘Charming. I thought you were standing for it.’

  ‘I was, until you decided you wanted to be my partner.’

  ‘All right. Come on then,’ she said, and we got ourselves together and went to see Simon. I took my cheque book with me.

  The place was deserted when we walked in except for a barmaid behind the counter, polishing a glass and looking a little puzzled at the concept, and Lenny Kravitz, whose latest album was on the stereo.

  ‘Hello, Ash,’ I said. ‘How’s tricks?’

  She pouted and shrugged.

  ‘That good?’ I said.

  She nodded, and went back to the glass, then put it on the counter and said, ‘Drink?’

  ‘Rattlesnake,’ I said.

  ‘Mineral water,’ said Dawn.

  As Ash got the drinks, I said, ‘Simon in?’

  ‘Out back,’ she replied. ‘Getting the food ready.’

  I went through the restaurant to the kitchen, tapped on the door and opened it. Simon was mixing a big bowl of tuna, onion and mayonnaise for sandwich fillings.

  He looked up as I went in. ‘Hello, Nick,’ he said. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Hastings. I came in to settle up for Saturday… And apologise?’ I queried.

  ‘No apology needed. There weren’t a lot of breakages, and what there was I’ve put on your bill.’

  ‘I thought you would. What’s the damage? Break it to me gently.’

  He pulled a face and smiled. The sort of smile bar owners wear when there’s a great deal of readies about to enter their sphere of influence. ‘I’ve got the bill in the office. Let me finish this and I’ll get it.’

  ‘OK. No rush,’ I said, and went back to join Dawn.

  I sipped my beer and saw Simon come out of the kitchen and go out the back way and up the stairs at the back of the place. He came back carrying a till roll which he gave to me.

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

  ‘The bill. Almost a complete roll. I changed it that morning. You can check it if you want.’

  I shrugged. ‘And this is the total?’ I pointed at the end where, neatly printed in light purple ink, was £2465.91.

  ‘That’s the baby.’

  ‘Jesus. You’ll have to take a cheque. I don’t carry that much petty cash these days.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Simon.

  Dawn took a squint over my shoulder, and raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. There was nothing to say.

  ‘I’m getting some dough this after,’ I said. ‘Can I post-date the cheque ’til Friday?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Simon.

  ‘It’s good,’ I said. ‘I just want to get the cheque I
’m being given cleared.’

  ‘All right,’ said Simon. ‘I trust you.’ And I took out my cheque book and wrote him a kite.

  ‘What happened to that geezer?’ I asked.

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Whassisname. The Arsenal fan.’

  ‘Oh, the Crystal Palace lot tried to hang him from a lamp post with his scarf.’

  ‘I bet they had a job,’ said Dawn. ‘He’s a big lad.’

  ‘Big enough to put three of them in hospital. Then he escaped across the cemetery,’ said Simon.

  ‘Did he get captured?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ said Simon, folding the cheque and putting it into the breast pocket of his shirt. ‘Got away clean as a whistle. They’ve got wings on their feet, Arsenal fans, when they’re running away.’ But he supported Tottenham, so he would say that. ‘By the way, I’ve got a whole load of parcels that belong to you in the back. Your wedding presents I think they are.’

  I’d forgotten about them in all the excitement. ‘Cheers,’ I said.

  ‘Want another drink while I get them?’ he asked. ‘On the house of course,’ he added. And I should think so too, as I’d just about paid for his eldest daughter to go to private school for two terms with that cheque I’d given him.

  I nodded, and he fetched me another Rattlesnake, and Dawn was tempted into having a gin.

  7

  We got to Chris Kennedy-Sloane’s office just before three. It was up by Tower Bridge. I followed his directions, drove round the back, found a sign pointing to the garage, and took the ramp down. There was a young guy sitting in a booth at the bottom of the ramp. He came over when I drew up and I told him who I was. He directed me to park the Chevy in a shadowy bay at the far end of the garage, and Dawn and I walked back to the lift and took it to the top floor. The receptionist in the front office of Kennedy-Sloane & Partners was as cute as nevermind, and did she know it. Her breasts were perfectly lifted and separated under a white blouse that was just translucent enough to show the lace of her bra beneath. Her lips were pink and bowed, her false eyelashes hovered over her baby blues just enough to drive you crazy, and her helmet of blonde hair could have been sculpted from gold. I don’t think Dawn liked her much.