Double Kiss

by Ronnie O'Sullivan

  ‘Now I must say she does look a tad tiddly to be trying that,’ said a man, appearing at Frankie’s side. A tall geezer. The kind who got rained on first in a storm. And wearing nothing but a pair of gold-rimmed mirror Aviator shades and a pair of matching, stretchy gold lamé pants. ‘Oi!’ he shouted down. ‘Stop crunching the gears, or you’ll kill the bloody box.’

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘Sure. Jeremy.’

  ‘Funny name for a bird.’

  ‘No, not her. Me.’ Frankie saw he was smiling and holding out his hand. ‘Jeremy Algernon Entwhistle,’ he said.

  ‘Frank Antonio James.’

  They shook hands. ‘Frank James? Like the bank robber?’

  He meant the Wild West bandit, brother of Jesse. An old joke Frankie had heard plenty of times before.

  ‘Yeah, which is why most people call me Frankie,’ he said.

  ‘And are you having fun here tonight, Frankie?’

  ‘Sure. A real blast.’

  ‘Good. I’m delighted to hear that.’ He pulled a half-smoked spliff out from where it had been tucked into the waistband of his pants. ‘You don’t happen to have a light, do you?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I do.’ Frankie dug into his pocket and pulled out the two books of matches and handed them over. ‘Take your pick,’ he said.

  ‘Indigo Blue, get you,’ Jeremy said, noticing the logo on the first book as he sparked up from it. ‘You’ve been there?’

  ‘No. A dwarf gave them me.’

  ‘Ah, one of the proppers.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘That’s what they call them, all the cool young things working back in the West End in Sant An and outside all the bars, handing out matchbooks and flyers and trying to get tourists like you into their clubs.’

  ‘And it’s a good one, is it? This Indigo Blue?’

  ‘The best.’ He took another long drag of his spliff and smiled. ‘You should check it out, a player like you. It’s the biggest party of the year there tomorrow night.’

  ‘A player?’

  ‘Well, yeah. Look what it says here.’ He nodded down at Tanya’s name and number scrawled on the other matchbook, the one for the beach restaurant.

  ‘Oh, yeah. That. It’s complicated,’ Frankie said, taking it back.

  ‘And I saw you partying with all of those dudes in black back there,’ Jeremy said.

  What? Had this bloke been watching him too? Surely not, because when Frankie looked up at him, he didn’t seem remotely interested. Instead, he was staring back down into the car park, where the Porsche had ceased its shunting at last. He must have been hanging out in the VIP area, that’s all.

  ‘They looked pretty hardcore,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Frankie said. ‘They were. Russians. Or most of them, anyway.’

  ‘Bloody foreigners. No offence,’ he quickly added to Frankie.

  ‘Er, none taken,’ Frankie said. Because surely this guy was more English than him? His voice couldn’t have been more plummy if he’d tried.

  ‘But, God, I hate them, the way they just come here and think they can take what they want . . . I mean, it’s just not cool, you know? And it’s just not how it works on an island like this. You’ve got to be much more . . . well, respectful. And pay your dues, and attention to traditions, because that’s how it’s always worked . . .’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much,’ Frankie said, not really getting what he was on about, and figuring he was probably just stoned. ‘I don’t reckon they’re going to be back here in a hurry. The bouncers saw them off fairly firmly. They were pretty hardcore too.’

  Jeremy grinned at this. ‘Hmmm. Scousers, eh, and ex-Paras, that’s a pretty lethal combination.’

  Paras? Frankie had made the right call there, then, not taking that fellah on when he’d stopped him getting past that rope.

  Down below, the Porsche’s sunroof had now started sliding back and forth. Frankie caught a flash of blonde hair at the steering wheel, a glimpse of a green and yellow butterfly on top. Shit. Really? That girl from the dance floor? So that’s where she’d gone.

  ‘Maybe someone should tell her,’ Jeremy said.

  ‘Tell her what?’

  ‘That she’s too drunk to drive.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure someone or something eventually will. Maybe a sheep, or a tree, or a car.’ Frankie sighed. ‘Or maybe me. My guess is I’m the only one sober enough round here to help.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Jeremy, smiling. ‘A knight in shining armour. Or linen, anyway.’ He pinched the collar of Frankie’s jacket between his forefinger and thumb. ‘And good linen too.’

  ‘Right, well I’d best be going then. Nice talking,’ Frankie said.

  ‘You too.’

  ‘And can you let them know for me, the bouncers, the Paras, that I won’t be needing a cab any more?’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  Frankie headed down the metal fire escape, the same way Duke had gone.

  ‘Take good care of her,’ Jeremy called after him. ‘I mean the car as well as the girl.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And next time you feel like paying a visit to the VIP area up here, make sure to just tell them my name.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ Frankie called back. But he wasn’t even sure Jeremy could hear him any more, with the bass rising up from the club.

  ‘How about you let me do you a favour?’ Frankie said, reaching the car. He leant against the passenger door and stared into the girl’s eyes.

  ‘Do I know you?’ she asked, gazing up, more curious than alarmed.

  ‘No. Well, apart from on the dance floor just now – you accidentally spilled my drink.’

  She looked him slowly up and down. ‘Oh, yeah, the boy in the suit. And I kissed you afterwards, I remember you now.’

  ‘Boy?’ Frankie smiled. It had been a while since anyone had called him that.

  She took a cigarette out of a half-crumpled Marlboro Lights pack on the dash and fumbled with a box of matches to light it. He reached in quickly and grabbed the burning match from where it had just landed on her bare thigh.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, shuffling in her seat and pulling her short skirt down as near as it would get to her knee, ‘that would have hurt.’ She passed him the matchbox and asked him, ‘Do you mind?’

  He lit her cigarette for her.

  ‘So where exactly is it you’re trying to go?’

  ‘Trying?’ She looked annoyed for a second, but then laughed. ‘Huh. Yes, I suppose that is right, isn’t it? I can’t seem to get this bastard into the right gear.’

  ‘A hire car?’

  ‘No, just not my car, I’m used to automatics – a friend lent it to me.’

  ‘Nice friend,’ Frankie said. Jesus. What kind of friend lent out a motor like this? Someone with way too much money, of course. But that was this place all over, wasn’t it? Unreal.

  ‘Why don’t you budge over a minute?’ he said. ‘And let me have a go.’

  ‘You’re not going to nick it, are you?’ She pouted, clambering over into the passenger seat. ‘Only the friend of mine who lent it to me wouldn’t be very pleased.’

  ‘Likewise if you wrote it off.’

  ‘Fair point.’ She looked him up and down again. ‘But what about you? Are you sober?’

  ‘As a judge.’

  ‘And the drink I spilt?’

  ‘Water.’

  Jeremy was still up there on the balcony, waving down at them. A red-haired girl had joined him and he already had his arm round her waist.

  ‘You a friend of his?’ the blonde asked.

  ‘Who, Jeremy? Nah, we’ve only just met.’

  She was looking up at the balcony. Jeremy waved again and gave them a big thumbs-up.

  ‘Well, he obviously seems to approve of you. So I suppose I’d better give you the benefit of the doubt.’

  They introduced themselves; her name was Sky.

  ‘In that case, why don’t I drive you
home?’ Apart from doing her a favour, this was going to be a lot more fun than a cab.

  ‘OK, but I’m warning you, don’t get any silly ideas in your head. Either about me or the car.’ She tapped her little black handbag knowingly. ‘I’ve got a gun in here and know how to use it,’ she joked.

  Not funny, he’d seen enough guns for one night. Strike that, one life. ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her. ‘I won’t.’

  He got in and turned the ignition. The engine gave a satisfying purr.

  ‘For a knight in shining armour, you’ve got a very wicked glint in your eye,’ she said, gazing across at him.

  ‘I just like speed.’ Shifting the car into gear, he headed for the exit. He glanced up at the balcony to wave goodbye, but Jeremy had already gone.

  ‘It was him, Jeremy, who suggested it, actually, that I drive you home,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, well, you should have said earlier, any suggestion of Jeremy’s . . .’

  ‘He’s that smart a fellah, is he?’

  ‘Well, you’d have thought so, owning a club like this.’

  ‘This is his?’ So that’s why he knew all about the Russians, because those Scouse Para bouncers were working for him.

  ‘Well, I say his. It’s actually more his mother’s.’ They pulled out onto the road. A steady stream of cars was still heading into the car park, but ahead of them the road was clear. Frankie let it rip, gunning the Porsche along the straight, before cutting tight into the next turn.

  ‘His mother?’ he said, slowing back down. ‘Christ, I hope she doesn’t know what her little boy’s going out dressed up in these days.’

  ‘Oh, she knows and doesn’t give a monkey’s so long as he makes her a decent profit and he definitely does that. She’s one of the ten, you know.’

  ‘The ten what?’

  ‘The families who run the island, stupid. Loads of the clubs are run by women who’ve been here since long before the tourists came.’

  ‘Why women?’

  ‘Because the men, the old men, way, way back in the old days, used to leave the best land, the farmland, to their sons, and give the useless land, the impossible-to-farm coastland, to their little girls. Only now . . .’

  ‘Ha ha. Yes. Guess who lucked out. Sounds like some kind of rough justice to me.’

  ‘Well said.’

  ‘But if it’s all girl power out here, then what’s he doing in charge of the club?’

  ‘Well, that’s the funny thing, his mother’s only had boys. Three of them. One from an English daddy.’

  ‘Which is Jeremy.’

  ‘And two more from Spanish stock.’

  Well, at least that explained Jeremy’s apparent irritation at foreigners like those Russians. This was his island and he didn’t like seeing it messed with.

  ‘As well as Kooks, his mother owns Indigo Blue.’

  ‘Yeah, he told me to go there tomorrow night. Said it was the best.’

  ‘Oh, it’s the best.’ Sky looked at him knowingly. ‘And I’ll be there too so you should definitely come. What happens there, well, as they always say round here, you’ve got to see it with your own eyes.’

  The way she looked at him when she said it . . . that little half-smile . . . well, there was obviously something that was amusing about it, maybe something he really did need to see.

  ‘Maybe I will.’

  ‘Jeremy owns a few hotels too,’ she said.

  ‘Including, let me guess, the Mandalay?’

  She looked surprised. ‘Yeah, but I thought you said you didn’t know him.’

  ‘And I don’t, but I’m suddenly thinking he might know me.’

  Because, yeah, suddenly it was all falling nicely into place. Bob getting that call. Frankie haring it over here. Frankie leaving a message on Bob’s phone confirming Tanya was here. And then bouncer Jimmy and his boys turning up in the nick of time to help save Frankie’s arse, and doing his damnedest to split Tanya off from those wankers as well.

  Yeah, no wonder old Jeremy had just been checking in on him and had even arranged for him to get a ride home. It was almost certainly him who’d put the call in to Bob to begin with, to let him know Tanya might be there.

  ‘But even though the boys have got it good now, one day they’ll settle down, and whoever they marry, well, you can bet their mummy’s going to want that female line to take over again . . .’

  ‘And what about you?’ he said. ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a funny story, I used to be one of his proppers.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Frankie said. ‘Like the girls you see back in the West End?’

  She elbowed him hard in the ribs. ‘A lot bloody classier than that, I’ll have you know. I used to work for Privilege, or Amnesia, and get rich kids up from their parents’ yachts in Botafoch Marina into the clubs. I was bloody good at it too, so that’s why he wanted me working for him. That and because we were tribe, still are.’

  Tribe. Yeah, that made sense. You only had to look at the two of them. And what they were both wearing. Or, rather, what they weren’t.

  ‘And your destination, please, madam?’ They’d reached the main road junction at last.

  ‘The Marina. Straight on.’

  ‘Where you used to sign up rich kids?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Any hotel, club or bar in particular?’

  ‘No, I just want to go back to my boat.’

  The roads around Sant Antoni and the Old Town were still logjammed. Luckily, though, Sky knew plenty of shortcuts. As he drove, she explained she’d been brought up on the islands – here and Mallorca – which was where her father still lived.

  ‘I’m heading across in the boat to Palma tomorrow,’ she told him, as they finally pulled into the Marina car park.

  Despite being knackered, Frankie’s heart still thudded in his chest at the word. He thought of the envelope in his pocket, the one Duke hadn’t taken, the one with the postcard with the lipstick on it and the photos of his mum. Sky took his hand in hers as he switched off the engine and gently turned his wrist round to face her so she could see his watch.

  ‘Or rather, today,’ she said. ‘Do you fancy coming along for the ride?’

  He didn’t need to answer, it was clearly written all over his face.

  ‘But first I need a couple of hours’ sleep,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s go crash. You look pretty knackered as well . . .’

  24

  ‘Well, I hope you’re wearing some swimming trunks under those trousers.’

  ‘Whuh? Huh?’

  ‘Because, if not, I guess you’re just going to have to come skinny-dipping, like me . . .’

  Well, that certainly made Frankie open his eyes all right. A shadowy flash of movement in a circle of bright light and a tinkle of laughter and she was gone. Where? In fact, whoah? Where the hell was he anyway?

  He rolled over onto his back and tried sitting up. Big mistake, shit, that hurt. He gripped his forehead tight with both hands where he’d just hit it. And rubbed it, gritting his teeth – it was all he could do not to yell out. But what had he hit it on? He peered into the gloom. A padded ceiling. He reached out and ran his finger over its soft white leather, less than two feet above him.

  Then came a splash from outside, followed by a whoop. Phew. He twisted round to look, that circle of bright light making him wince all over again. Ugh, he was knackered, even worse than hungover. Christ, he couldn’t remember being this tired in his whole life.

  ‘Come on, what are you waiting for?’ The same woman’s voice as before.

  And, oh yeah, now he remembered. The beautiful, drunk girl from last night. The one he’d driven back from that club to the harbour to her boat. The one she’d said she was planning on taking to Mallorca today. He half rolled, half crawled off the double bed. Shit, did that mean she’d . . . ? Had they . . . ? No. No, surely he’d have remembered if they had? And no way would he have either, right? Not with her being as pissed as she was.

  But, ev
en so, it was weird he couldn’t even remember coming to bed at all. The boat, he remembered that for sure. It was a fast-looking speedboat, called something crazy-sounding. Yeah, the Savage Monkey. He could remember parking that Porsche in the posh private car park she’d had a gate pass for. Then climbing on board and making them both a coffee. Christ, they’d stayed up talking for ages, up on deck with a billion stars shining down from above, and her sobering up. He remembered her making him laugh.

  There’d been a moment too. A ‘maybe we could’ moment but he’d been too far gone by then and had a headache of all things. That was it, the last thought he remembered, but certainly not getting to bed.

  Then more splashing sounded outside, so he crawled across the tiny cabin to the steps leading up into the light and ducked to make sure he didn’t make the same mistake again with his head. Slowly he climbed up out of the cabin, into the cockpit. Instantly, something felt wrong.

  Fuck a duck, the harbour was gone. And not just the goddamned harbour, the whole bleedin’ island. He grabbed hold of the steering wheel to steady himself, suddenly becoming aware of the boat rocking gently beneath him, and looked around. All he could see was clear blue sky and deep blue sea, with a couple of white sails on the horizon. But apart from that they were in the middle of nowhere. Alone.

  ‘Off! Off! Off!’ the girl – Sky, that was her name, right? – started shouting. She was swimming five yards from the boat, grinning across at him, her wet face and hair glistening in the sun.

  Well, in for a penny . . . He turned his back to her and stripped off, then walked over to the side railing and took a deep breath. Hardly his natural environment down there . . . and bloody hell it looked bottomless. Were there sharks in the Med? Jellyfish? Giant squid? Only one way to find out.

  The water hit him like a sledgehammer. He surfaced, gasping, to see Sky already swimming across to join him.

  ‘Isn’t it glorious?’ she said.

  ‘Er, yeah . . .’ He was trying to be a gentleman and not look down, or too obviously, anyway. Well, hell, he was trying, at least.

  ‘You certainly look refreshed. I told you that pill would work.’

  ‘I took a pill?’ No wonder he couldn’t remember.

  ‘We both did but don’t worry, it was just Valium. I didn’t actually tell you it was a Valium, I just said it would sort out your headache, which of course it did.’