“Look, look please,” I said, swallowing hard, arms flailing. “Maybe Julio went – ow! Maybe he went to the wrong restaurant?”
“Oh?” Christopher said. He sounded like he’d raised an eyebrow but as my neck was being forced backwards and I had little blood to the brain, I could have been mistaken. “Oh I see, so this is our fault?”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” Pete spat and suddenly I was shoved backwards, head cracking bang against the tiles, baking trays tumbling to the floor in a head-ringing clatter.
“Let him go,” Christopher said. Pete opened his grip and I collapsed, slumping against the wall, head low, breathing deep. I tried to loosen the tight knot of my tie, swallowing huge lungfuls of dry, boiled air.
Jane would be asking about me. On her feet. Asking for the waiter. Coming this way.
“The woman you brought into this is out there somewhere with half a million pounds’ worth of our mark,” Christopher was saying through the fug. I tried to stand up, chest wheezing and whistling. “Are you promising me, hand on wife, you have no idea, not one clue, as to where they are?”
“I haven’t a clue where … What? What did you just – ?”
“So this isn’t some misguided double-cross you and the girl have –”
“Wife?” I said, head banging with horror. “Hand on – ? What are you saying?”
“I am attempting to ascertain –”
“You touch her,” I gnashed, finger pointing, barging forward. I didn’t care, red mist of rage blurring my sight. “You come within a hundred miles of her, and you won’t be faking a head wound, hear me?”
“Back OFF!” Pete bellowed, stepping up, elbowing us apart. I fell back, breathing hard against the sweaty tiles.
Christopher harrumphed for a moment, making a decision. He pulled back his shoulders smartly and straightened his blazer, fixing me with his clear grey eyes.
“Whether we need to speak to Mrs Neil about this is entirely up to you dear boy. Now pay attention. Grayson’s flight is at ten past three tomorrow. He’s going to Heathrow via Kensington. I’ll be there, holed up in bed with bandages and tubes and priceless pants. Grayson will deliver nine hundred and twenty thousand dollars, in cash, at noon. Noon. Understand me?” He checked Mickey Mouse on his wrist. “Just under thirteen hours time. If he doesn’t –”
I swallowed hard.
“If he fails to show. Then the responsibility falls to whoever had him last. I shall be holding your Laura answerable for the debt. Are we clear?”
“Laura? B-but I mean, she doesn’t … I mean be reasonable, she can’t make him –”
“Of course, of course,” Christopher smiled. The mood was shifting, brightening. Somewhere, the sun was peeking nervously from behind a cloud. He clapped me on the upper arm chummily. “Reasonableness is my middle finger. You recommended her, you told us she was trustworthy, she is your responsibility. Naturally the debt will move to you. Payable in twenty-four hours.”
Jane and I squabbled on the chilly pavement a few minutes later.
You said you’d sorted it all out, she shouted. It was just a misunderstanding, I lied.
God, I wanted to tell her. More than ever. Just blurt it out. Explain, come clean, open up. But we were so close. Thirteen hours, Christopher said. Lunchtime tomorrow. I just needed the bank, Maurice, Jane, the world to hang on until then.
In thirteen hours everything would be all right.
I suggested a cab, to spoil Jane a little, repair some damage, but Jane wanted a walk.
Doesn’t sound like we can afford a cab does it? Jesus.
She set off three paces ahead.
We were home and paying the babysitter in fifteen silent minutes. Jane went to look in on Lana, straightening blankets, stroking her cheek. I hung back in the kitchen meanwhile, biting my lip and mumbling. I know I should have been busying myself with the verbal wallpaper, covering the cracks, making good, keeping up appearances. But my mind just wasn’t up to it. It kept slipping back to Laura. Where the hell was she? Had I given her the wrong impression this afternoon? No. No, I had made it perfectly clear. Get him to take you out. Dancing, eating, drinking, whatever.
God. Don’t let her have screwed this up.
I heard Jane mumble into the hall, shutting Lana’s door.
“Hey sweetheart,” I offered gingerly, wandering out, to find the bathroom door closing with a slam and a click. Which I mention because I don’t know what your circumstances are, but in our house you see, that has a meaning.
Bathroom door left open, all is well. Wander in. Sit on the edge of the bath. Pass me a magazine. Talk about the day. Scrub my back. Everything rosy.
Door locked? Well that’s that. It’ll be grumpy bed-socks and duvet hogging and pointed light-snapping-off.
I stared at the locked door for a second with a sigh. Jane was making sink-running noises.
I should knock. Apologise. Hug. Nip this in the bud. Extend the olive branch. I should knock.
I should.
I didn’t.
Instead I moved into the lounge, chewing my cheek. The answerphone (£3 o.n.o. – adapter included) was blinking.
Beeeeep. Neil? Maurice. Where the hell are ya? Huh? Oh you can hide! You can hide but you can’t run! Twenty-four hours you’ve got. I’m getting what I’m owed even if I have to drag you through the courts. And don’t think I won’t. Don’t think this hiding is fooling anyone. Read the letters. You’ve got one more day and then it’s a summons. Thirty-six grand or my solicitor will have you for fuckin’ breakfast you irresponsible little –
I hit fast forward. Another beep. A hang-up.
A third beep. Breathing. Another hang-up.
I picked up the phone in a sweaty grip and 1471-ed it, one ear out for gurgling plug-holes.
“Oh two oh, seven seven three four …” the polite machine intoned with painful enunciation.
I spun a three gently to return the call and listened to it dial and ring, sliding over to the door and pushing it to.
“Yeah?” a voice said. Loud. Confident.
American.
I slammed the receiver down and jumped away from the phone like it had spiders all over it.
It was him. It was him. Grayson. Seven three four. Where the hell was that? The shop was four three nine. Did that mean anything? Seven three –
The phone let out a bakelite bringgg.
He’d called back. Shit, he’d called back. He had my number. 1471-ed me. As I had sown, so had I whassit.
It was still ringing. A splash from the bathroom.
“I got it!” I screamed, fumbling it up. “Uhm h-hello?” I whispered.
“Neil? Oh Jesus, thank the Lord it’s you.”
“Laura, fuck. Hang on,” and I scuttled to the door, pushing it closed. I scuttled back, grabbing up the phone. “Where the hell are you?” I whispered. “Christopher and Pete are going nuts.”
“I’ve only got a second. Grayson’s in the shower.”
“The shower?”
“Shut up, listen to me,” She sounded panicked. Scared. “I called him. Like you said. Said we should go out. He turns up at the shop two hours later. Pulls me out of work.”
“Pulls – ?”
“Literally. By the wrist. The boss starts yelling. Grayson tells him I quit. I’m not coming back. He won’t have me serving coffee any more. He takes me back to his hotel –”
“Quit? Wait, what are you – ?”
“He’s got these dresses he’s bought, all laid out on his bed. Thousands of pounds worth. He tells me he’s split up with his wife.”
“Split – ? What today?”
“No no, like a few weeks ago. Says he wants to marry me.”
“Oh Christ.”
“I know. Says I’m the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. About to do a deal for two million pounds. I can share everything with him.”
“Share? Oh Laura, Jesus –”
I sat down. I stood up.
“I have to come
back to Kansas with him. A millionaire’s wife. Marry me, marry me, over and over. What am I going to do?”
“What did you tell him?”
“I tried to stall him. Told him I was overwhelmed, flattered, y’know? He’d knocked a girl off her feet, all that. But then he – wait! Shit he’s coming back –”
Silence on the other end.
“Laura?” I hissed. “Laura?”
Nothing.
“Neil?” Jane called from the bathroom.
“S’all right!” I hollered back. “Don’t worry. S’nothing.”
“Hello?”
“I’m here. You’ll have to be quick.”
“He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Got violent.”
“Jesus, has he hurt you?”
“No, but he’s scaring me. Shouting. I lavish you with gifts, treat you like a goddamn prom queen, on and on. So I agreed.”
“You did?”
“Well what the fuck was I meant to do?!” Laura spat. “You’ve got me in his room, telling me to keep him happy, at all costs keep him happy.”
“Okay, okay. So what now, he’s still in the shower?”
“We went to dinner, now we’re at some hotel casino place. He’s on top of the world. Singing, twirling me about. I’ve made him the happiest man alive. He’s told me to take a wad of money from his black bag.”
“His bag?”
“On the bed somewhere … here. Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“There’s gotta be … My God.”
“And do what?”
“Huh? Take it down to the casino.”
“Which? Where are you?”
“Berkeley Square somewhere. He said take it down to the roulette table and put it all on today’s date. The fourth. Black four. Fourth of November. The day he got engaged to his princess. What shall I do?”
“You’ve gotta do it.”
“I don’t know. Neil I’m scared. What have you got me into here? I want to leave.”
“No, no Jesus you can’t leave. Look, look it’s just a few more hours.” The cat was watching me pacing, head wiping to and fro like a tennis spectator. “It’s a few more hours. Go. Go downstairs, place the bet. A big wad. Four black. Whatever he says.”
“And then what? What then? Come back here? He’s going to want to go to bed.”
“Shit.” I pictured them both. Laura’s curvy frame, struggling, squirming, eyes tight shut beneath Grayson’s white walrus blubber, pumping and sweating. “Shit, then keep him talking. Get him onto the casino floor. Get him drunk, wait for him to pass out, whatever it is.”
“But I – shit. He’s turned the shower off. Fu –”
“Laura? Laura?!”
Nothing.
I closed my eyes and hung up the phone, heart thudding in the silence.
“Who was it?”
I took a deep breath and turned. Jane stood in the doorway.
“Uhm … Maurice.”
“Maurice?”
“Right,” I nodded. I nodded some more. It felt good. I kept nodding, moving forward. I took Jane’s tiny hands. “Leaving a message. Insurance came through. Everybody’s happy. We’re on for Earl’s Court. Everything’s fine.”
Jane sagged, relaxed, relieved. She smiled and I folded her into my arms.
“Everything’s okay now?” she asked, head against my chest.
I breathed deep, smelling toothpaste, cotton and her hair.
“Everything’s perfect,” I said.
I turned my wrist and looked at my chunky watch.
Twelve hours, thirty-two minutes.
thirteen
“What? The time?” I shouted over the static. I craned around and took an anxious look at Elvis on the wall. “Just after eight.”
“You go hoh sooh?”
“Home? No no, eight in the morning. It’s the morning here. Thursday.”
“Ahh, mornih,” Cheng said. “I in Los Ahngeh. Is midnih he. My buy verh pleeh wih hih post. Verh pleeh, Neih sir. Verh pleeh,” he went on. Something like that, anyway. To be honest, I didn’t care whether he was pleeh. Verh or otherwise. I yessed and really-ed and that’s wonderfulled for a few anxious minutes before getting rid of him, hanging up and breathing out.
The shop was cold and still, Elvis backcombing his quiff minute by aching minute. Despite the stalactites of Magic Trees twisting and fluttering in the office, the place smelled somehow more rotten and damp than ever. A clammy, wet odour of must and fur crawling stale and dank like cobwebs, among which the portable heater whirred and clanked. The morning street was a chill blue, the winter wind catching the shutters and giving them a wake-up rattle.
Cheng’s call had almost killed me. The phone shrilling out as I’d scuttled in, snapping on the lights. I’d wanted it to be Christopher. Or Laura. Pete, Henry, Julio, anyone. Someone just to fill me in, tell me what page we were on.
I moved into the curling lino darkness of the back office, filling the kettle in the kitchen. My hand was trembling about the handle. Only the slightest bit. But enough. I left it standing in the sink and returned to the shop, sifting through the usual post, trying to manhandle the morning into some sort of regular shape.
Something from Earl’s Court I needed to sign and return. Something from the bank. It is of utmost importance that contact is made with your branch manager at the earliest possible and so on.
I put it to one side and took some slow, deep breaths. I would set everything straight when I called in on Holborn in the afternoon. Nice and friendly, terribly sorry, all my fault, here’s a hundred grand, say no more about it, we really must play golf.
The last letter was a second response from Sotheby’s. Was I still interested in a valuation of my item? Our team of experts would be pleased to offer a comprehensive yeah yeah yeah.
I tore it in two and dropped the pieces into the bin. God, I thought, dragging clammy palms over my face slowly. Imagine if I had done it. Put it up for auction. How would I have explained that to Jane. Or to Edward?
Jesus. Lucky break. Luck. Luck was turning.
I jumped at the sound of the door rattling. There was a recognisable silhouette visible through the mesh. A familiar shape of messy hair.
“You spoke to her? When you speak with her?”
“When? Last night. Midnight-ish. I got in from dinner and there was a –”
“And why fuck you not tell us?” Julio was tired as always, great blue rings beneath his eyes. He glugged a steaming take-out coffee, blinking crusts from his face, wiping gunk from his lips and smearing it on his heavy anorak pockets. He dumped his familiar purple Reebok bag to the floor and began to dial his mobile phone, checking his watch over and over. “Eh? Eh? Why you not call? Christopher panicking. We thought whole play was fuck.”
“I couldn’t,” I explained. “It was late, my wife …”
“So what she say? He better still be on for noon.”
“I-I think so.”
“Think?”
“Sh-she said he was in a good mood. He proposed to her. What about you guys? Is everything still –”
“Propose? What propose? What she say?”
“She said yes. I-I think. Y’know, to keep him happy. They were gambling at some casino off Berkeley Square. He told her to take a big wad of cash from his –”
Julio shushed me, holding up his coffee in a gloved hand. He was on the phone.
“Is me. I’m with him now. He said he speak to her last night. Some casino.”
The phone crackled loudly. Somebody, I was guessing Christopher, wasn’t happy.
“Bag? Angry? I not know, hold on,” and Julio put the phone to his chest and glared at me. “Grayson is back at Waldorf. Twenty minutes ago. He on his own and furious. Why so? What she done? She refuse to fuck him? Huh? She cross her legs like some high-school virgin? And what you know about bag? He say anything about bag?”
I shrugged dumbly. Bag?
“He know nothing,” Julio told Christopher. He took some instructio
ns, nodding, glugging some steaming coffee. “Got it,” he said and hung up.
“So what’s going on?” I asked, but Julio was pushing past me, into the back office. I followed him through, worry gnawing at my stomach. He was unrolling a pair of surgeon’s gloves, pulling them on in a snap of latex and talc. He began to load up the Reebok bag. The blue plastic kitchen timer, the can of 3 in 1 oil, grabbing handfuls of Magic Trees from the overhead lights, his eyes scurrying about the floor and ceiling.
“Is it all still on?” I said in the doorway. “Tell me it’s still going ahead?”
He was ignoring me, gathering up old newspapers.
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call, okay. My wife suspects I’m –”
“It still on,” Julio scowled. “As long as you and girlfriend haven’t screwed. Christopher is at Kensington place. Pete getting him set.”
“Henry – ?”
Julio pushed past me, shoving my post to one side and rolling up a set of headphones from the desk. He snatched Christopher’s Rupert-check scarf from about the neck of my cardboard Chewbacca.
“Henry at hotel. Watching for Grayson to leave. We have three and a half hours.”
“And Laura? Where do you think she –”
“Who the fuck know?” Julio spat. He dumped out four sets of shop keys with a crash and zipped up the bag smartly. “That it.” He pulled the bag up and began to head for the door.
“Wait! Wait, what do I do? What if Laura calls? What if Grayson comes here?”
“He won’t. You job is done.”
“But what if –”
“Done,” Julio barked. “Finished, over with. Relax. All back to normal for you.”
“Relax? Sure. Sure, fine. When Grayson’s on the plane and I’ve got my cut in the bank and – with all due respect – you and Christopher and the rest are all out of my life forever. Then, then I’ll think about trying to relax.”
“You wait for call to say buy has take place. Then Henry tail Grayson to airport. Moment plane is in air, it all over. You meet Christopher at flat. Then hey, we go out, have a few drink. Celebrate con well play, yes?” He opened the door with a jangle.
“O-Okay,” I said. “Don’t you … y’know. Don’t leave me hanging here,” I said.
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