Double Ex: A Romantic Comedy about Lost Love & Lookalikes

by Lee Daniel Bullen

  He was responding to Bryan81’s assessment that Corsica Coleman was no more than a talentlez haw when Nick walked through the door with Lucy. He looked up from his half-written essay on the merits of a broad mind and English syntax and startled at the pair, eventually slamming the laptop shut and shouting, ‘What is you two morons done? The horse said you don’t be seen together!’

  ‘Having trouble getting your words out, Kon?’

  ‘Shut up, you know what I mean.’

  ‘Konrad, I appreciate it’s been a stressful day but I plan to stand by Nick – don’t you think you should too?’ Lucy interjected.

  ‘Privately, yes. Publicly, no.’ he said unremorsefully, ‘Until we know who’s doing this we’d be mad to dismiss it!’ and he collected his laptop and trudged to his room; he turned to the pair at the doorway, ‘I’m sorry Nick but you shouldn’t be seen with any of us outside, you’re putting people at risk.’

  ‘He’s right.’ Nick said, stretching out on the sofa. Lucy went to lie on top of him, elongating her arms around his torso and affectionately rubbing his tense spots with her fingers.

  ‘Maybe.’ she answered, ‘But like I said before, there isn’t anywhere I’d rather be.’

  The following morning Lucy woke to discover Nick missing from bed. She got up, dressed in one of his old T-shirts and found him painting at a decrepit easel in the living room.

  ‘What you doing?’ she asked, sleepily rubbing her eyes.

  ‘Painting, Luce! I feel great… inspired!’

  ‘That’s amazing… what are you painting?’

  ‘I never say till it’s finished!’

  ‘Ooh, mysterious! Where’s Konrad?’

  ‘He left for work. What about you today?’

  ‘Erm, I took a few days off.’

  ‘Yeh? I thought they were angry with you?’

  ‘They’re fine.’

  ‘Okay, give me a minute and I’ll make tea.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m on it!’ she said and considerately kissed him without peeking at his painting, returning minutes later with a tray of tea and toast which she laid on the table, ‘I just got a message from Amanda. She’s going to spend some time with our mum in Surrey, says she wants a few days without my love-life imposing on her work!’

  ‘Deserting the sinking ship is she?’

  ‘It means we can use her apartment if Konrad wants some space?’

  ‘Konrad’s a girl’s blouse who’d die of nerves if he was on his own.’ he said without looking away from his work in progress, Lucy sniggered and went to put milk and sugar in the tea when she noticed something next to the tray.

  ‘I take it you haven’t seen his note then?’ she held up a small scrawled paper.

  Going away for a few days. Available on mobile. Konrad

  ‘What a drama queen! Another rat scurrying off!’

  ‘He’s just scared, Nick.’

  ‘Poppycock!’ he answered, giving Lucy a playful look, ‘He’s been acting weird ever since that Corsica Coleman thing.’

  ‘Yeh? How?’

  ‘Like… happy!’

  ‘Konrad? Really?’

  ‘Yeh! I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s gone to try and find her…’

  Konrad idly waited for his train to Birmingham at Euston station, in part to heed the advice that he shouldn’t be seen with Nick Green but mostly to visit Corsica Coleman’s hometown and attempt to track down the beleaguered celebrity.

  Coincidentally, Amanda was sipping coffee on another platform, venturing south to visit her mother – and also honour the note’s ominous directive.

  Even more ironically, the author of said notes, Samoan Sam, was on a different platform wearing a sickly Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, his feet rested on a large suitcase. Also following orders to lay low he’d booked a two-week holiday to Tenerife – an idea he’s unashamedly borrowed from the group he’d just intimidated, two of which were in extremely close proximity to him.

  Josh, unaware of the mass exodus occurring around his interference in Nick’s life, attempted to call his friend and case prosecutor, Harriet Osborne. Her phone went to voicemail; he declined to leave a message. It wasn’t the first call he’d made to her number that day.

  Leaving Nick to paint, Lucy also decided to take a trip on her own; she told him it was to enjoy a pleasant stroll in the mid-morning sunshine and stop somewhere for coffee but she actually went to visit the cemetery and be alone.

  Chapter 13

  Days & Weekends

  ‘So now I feel really conflicted, I don’t know what to do.’ Lucy said to the shiny black headstone in front of her, ‘I wish you could give me a sign or something, is that nuts?’ She looked up at the brilliant sunshine powering through a thin layer of cloud cover and causing her eyes to stream, adding to the genuine teardrops she’d shed. She rearranged the fresh flowers and carefully wiped the inscribed granite:

  To the dear memory of

  Christopher Hastings

  1986 – 2014

  Forever in our hearts

  ‘If it’s too soon – if I’m wrong to feel this way about Nick – please, please let me know; I feel outside of myself at the moment.’ she confided to the physical remnant of her best friend and love of her life.

  Her memory drifted to the fateful New Year’s Day when holidaying in Rome; the red Mercedes that veered round a backstreet bend, catching the happy couple by surprise following a romantic meal; the blurred violent flashback of Christopher shoving Lucy clear, leaving himself with no time to escape; the gut-churning sound when life changed beyond all recognition; her entire future fading as she cradled him on the cobbled street, watching the fateful sports car speed from view; the surreal night in hospital when her worst nightmare was realised; the following eight months of pain, despair and day-to-day survival coming to terms with the huge hole in her life; and now guilt and mixed emotions over the return of some happiness with someone new and not the man she’d built her dreams around, lying in the ground beneath her now.

  ‘I owe you everything. I wish I knew what to do, how to feel…’ The tears returned, only this time not because of light sensitivity.

  ‘Someone’s asking questions, I have to step back.’

  ‘Harriet, please…’

  ‘There’s no more I can do; there’s too much attention on this now.’

  Josh sighed despondently, ‘So where are we with everything?’

  ‘I’ve influenced things as much as I can – we just have to let it play out.’

  ‘Is a custodial sentence likely?’

  ‘That’s up to the judge and I don’t know who that’s going to be yet.’

  ‘Can you still swing that in our favour?’

  ‘Of course not! Look, I don’t know what’s been going on behind the scenes but for such an insignificant case there’s too many significant people getting involved. I’m sorry Josh but as I’ve said, it’s too risky.’

  He paused, his mind searching for a convincing argument but he sensed Harriet was unswayable; he reluctantly accepted her decision.

  ‘Okay, I’ll call you in a couple of weeks after the verdict.’ He hung up the call and bowed his head in his hands, the stress evident on his face, as was the energy at home since the week’s bizarre turn of events – more than noted by Sofia, whose curiosity had been piqued.

  During that week her heightened female intuition knew something was at play, only confirmed by Josh’s sudden interest in Nick and obsessive questioning regarding his habits. It was normal to want to know things at the start of the relationship but now seven months down the line his renewed interest made her suspicious. Since overhearing Josh on the phone and doing some light digging it wasn’t hard to piece together that Nick has assaulted him and not a random mugger. It was also clear that he’d been charged and was awaiting sentencing but she couldn’t fathom Josh’s involvement beyond that, or why it happened and he chose to lie about it. She’d never seen him take on this persona before; could such a successful man
really hold a petty grudge and risk his entire reputation on it? It seemed so unlikely, there had to be more; and who was Lucy? She had to play a part somewhere but where did she fit in? Sofia decided the best thing was to wait for answers to come, Josh was starting to be careless and from her experience the combination of stress and pillow-talk often brought to light things which were once kept hidden.

  Nick was less intuitive than his former girlfriend to notice Lucy’s contradictory behaviour; too absorbed in his newfound passion for art than Lucy’s conflictive mood swings – one minute pouring adulation on him, the next seeking seclusion, which he just dismissed as typical female hormones. Although Lucy hadn’t told Nick the full truth about her ex, she didn’t hide it either; if he was genuinely interested in her she knew he’d discover it himself.

  Konrad’s week in Birmingham was equally inconclusive. Venturing on a Corsica Coleman fact-finding mission the same time as intense media interest was naïve. He visited known haunts and associates but always on the heels of a snooping reporter, meaning everybody was unwilling to offer information. However, the break from London and mayhem surrounding Nick’s personal life was a welcome relief and he used his mini-break to visit Birmingham’s famous canal network and local museums. His heart was empty at not being able to contact Corsica but at least he felt safe – and somehow closer to her.

  Amanda, also enjoying time away from London and recent events, not only found a productive streak in the tranquillity of Surrey’s rolling hills, she also found a powerful ally in her concern for Lucy’s life choices: their volatile mother, preparing to visit the capital and have a stern talk with her youngest daughter.

  Obsession for loved-ones consumed their week; although coping with events individually, their hopes and worries dominated their thoughts and the need for a prompt resolution to recent troubles was unanimous. With a new weekend upon them the group reassembled in London following their enforced hiatuses and found a more positive vein to the previous week’s drama. There were no further threats or updates on the break-ins and people were content to resume their lives in preparation for Nick’s sentencing and some finality to the period. Ironically, Nick and Lucy, at the heart of everyone’s woe, continued their blossoming relationship with immunity to the intense heat bubbling beneath their feet. During rare moments apart, Nick was engrossed in his private work while Lucy was managing her conflicted emotions and gradually allowing her heart to enjoy the tender intimacy he showered on her. Until the arrival of Mrs. Caulston, who’d journeyed up with Amanda to impart a motherly view on events.

  ‘Lucy, the man’s a convicted criminal and emotional wreck!’ said her imposing elderly mum in a plum accent. Amanda shuffled in her chair at the kitchen table, somewhat enjoying the parental scolding.

  ‘You’ve been listening to her too much.’ she said throwing a sullen look Amanda’s way as she made tea, ‘He’s hardly a criminal!’

  ‘He pleaded guilty to the crime he was charged with – that is the definition of a criminal!’ she said snobbishly, ‘And he could go to prison for it!’

  ‘Well he’s not a wreck!’ Lucy defended, ‘In fact we’re getting along great, and for the first time in a long time I’m actually quite happy.’

  ‘So you’re over Christopher now are you?’ Mrs. Caulston said coldly, shooting a spiteful flare in the air.

  Lucy’s eyes widened, ‘That is so out-of-order… objection!’

  ‘Sustained.’ Amanda replied.

  ‘Then I’ll rephrase…’ Mrs. Caulston paced the kitchen space, ‘What do you think he would make of this union?’

  ‘I don’t know, he’s dead!’ she answered angrily and felt saddened by her reactionary remark; she sat at the kitchen table leaving her mum to finish tea duties. ‘I don’t know…’ she said solemnly, ‘But I imagine if he’d seen how I’ve been this year he’d be pleased for me.’ she looked directly at her sister, ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’ Amanda declined to respond.

  ‘It’s not been easy for you, darling, I know.’ her mum said softly, brushing Lucy’s hair behind her ear, ‘And I’m happy you’re feeling better about things – we both are.’ she placed her other hand on Amanda’s shoulder, ‘But it seems clear you’re attaching yourself to the first person to show genuine interest, and that the man’s a walking disaster!’

  ‘No he’s not!’

  ‘Have you told Mum you lost your job because of him?’ Amanda interjected; Lucy and her mother gasped at the same time, for entirely different reasons – Mrs. Caulston’s was one of shock; Lucy’s was out of disgust for Amanda’s interference and being put in the spotlight. It fiercely shone on Lucy’s horrified expression and she fired as many eye-arrows into her sister as possible. Mrs. Caulston waited for a response; she tilted her head and pierced Lucy with a look only disappointed mothers can give their children.

  ‘It was hardly his fault!’ she explained, ‘It was his birthday and I thought I was finished for the night so I left the concert to take him out – how was I to know the star act wouldn’t show and I’d be needed?’

  ‘That got you in trouble, that wasn’t why you were sacked.’ Amanda prompted.

  ‘Wow, you’re on fire today!’ Lucy said through narrowed eyes and turned to her panicked mum, ‘No. That was because I threw a plate at a band manager during last week’s meeting.’ she said, reddening in the face.

  ‘See!’ Amanda said, rising from her chair and preparing to deliver her closing statement, ‘Do you notice the violent symbology? The clear influence this wild individual has on her? And now she’s unemployed, like him; now she’s aggressive and unstable, like him; and together they’ve managed to ruffle the feathers of some very dangerous beasts – dragging their friends and family into the potent mix. This Bonnie and Clyde fantasy has to come to an end.’ she said, taking her seat after a perfectly-timed circle of the kitchen. The spotlight was again on Lucy.

  ‘Yes, we are like Bonnie and Clyde – but the beautiful Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway version!’ she said and defiantly folded her arms, ‘Case closed!’ Lucy concluded as the doorbell rang; she sprung to her feet to answer as her mother called back.

  ‘Oh, this is far from over, madam!’

  Nick appeared with a broad grin which Lucy quickly made disappear, shushing him from behind the door, ‘Not a good time, Nick. You have to go.’

  ‘You messaged me that your mum’s here and I should come meet her, what you on about?’

  ‘Not a good time; I’ll call you later.’ she said trying to shut the door on him.

  ‘Who’s that, dear?’ Mrs. Caulston asked, walking into the living room.

  ‘Oh, it’s no…’ she said as the door burst open and Nick strode into the room with an assured extended hand.

  ‘Nick.’ he announced brightly. Amanda came into the living room, smirking in anticipation of the motherly ire she was sure would follow. Lucy re-emerged dishevelled from behind the door, cowering as she awaited the same. Instead Mrs. Caulston crumbled like a lovesick teenager at the sight of the striking man in front of her; glowing at his commanding, welcoming manner. She took his strong hand, quivering in places she’d long forgotten about, and he flashed a smile warm enough to thaw a chicken let alone her frosty heart.

  ‘How delightful to meet you, Nick.’ she said lost in his eyes.

  ‘That pleasure, Mrs. Caulston, is all mine.’

  ‘Oh my…’ she sighed with a giggle, slightly weak in the knees – which she put down to arthritis but Amanda knew differently; she grabbed her mother by the arm.

  ‘Excuse us a moment.’ and she pulled her into the kitchen. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You! You’re all… smitten!’ Amanda said, looking her up and down.

  ‘No I’m not!’

  ‘That man is a menace, remember?’

  ‘He seems perfectly well-mannered… don’t judge a book by its cover!’ Mrs. Caulston said sternly.

  ‘Evidently you already are!’ Amanda rep
lied. She shook her head and led her back into the living room where Nick and Lucy were looking at each other bemused.

  ‘Will you stay for tea, Nick?’ Mrs. Caulston asked.

  ‘Only if you’re making.’ he said with a cheeky glint. ‘I bet you have a wonder touch!’ he added, almost laying it on too thick – not that it mattered, he could have said anything and it still would’ve been met with the same girlish titter.

  Konrad was also judging Nick and Lucy’s relationship from afar, scrutinising their strange union from the comfort of the sofa, his feet resting on his unpacked weekend bag. He sipped tea from a recently purchased I Love Birmingham mug, fearfully regarding the two severed horse heads still sitting on the living room table. ‘It could never work; they’re playing with fire!’ he pondered, lost in a train of thought that quickly took him to surreal scenes of his own decapitation, with Nick and Lucy stood over his gruesome body laughing wildly. He shook the dark image from his head and turned to the letter on the table. It was under the door when he came home; Konrad Gruber, 222 Camden High Street printed neatly on the back. Hand-delivered; the last time he received a letter like this it was from the local council warning him to remove his Capitalism isn’t Working placard from the window. He grudgingly opened it, surprised to find an elegant hand-written note.

  Meet me at The Viaduct Bridge. Four o’clock.

  Your lift-mate! x

  ‘Lift-mate? That can only be…’ He checked the time; it was already five past four. He jumped up and flapped around the room, trying to compose himself and gather his thoughts. ‘Viaduct Bridge, Viaduct Bridge…’ he said, pacing the carpet, ‘Hampstead Heath!’ It was at least ten minutes at a hearty jog to the East section of the large public park, realistically quicker than trying to hail a cab and fight traffic. He breathed deeply and decided the best course of action was to leave immediately and run like the wind. He grabbed his keys and dashed out of the apartment, heading north through Kentish Town.