Konrad pulled up at The Viaduct Bridge and leafy surroundings panting and clutching the left side of his torso with his free hand, his arm-cast tight across his chest. He contorted his face and frame hoping to find instant comfort from the stabbing stitch and distressful breathing pattern he was struggling to overcome. His gaping mouth sucked in as much air as possible, he’d never run so far or fast in his entire life and it was during this particularly unattractive moment that Corsica appeared from behind a large bushy tree, barely recognisable in a tatty tracksuit and baseball cap. Her pony-tail showed her hair dyed black, evidently preferring to not be recognised.
‘Hi tubs! You made it I see!’ she quipped, lightly punching his gut. He pretended it didn’t hurt but the additional jolt to the system – albeit playful – made him nearly vomit.
‘Cors… Cors… Corsica!’ he said through intense wheezing and gave her a sweaty cuddle, which to anyone passing looked more like a tired boxer holding onto his opponent to avoid further beating. Corsica broke the hold and Konrad threw in his towel, he was severely winded and unable to continue. ‘I only… just saw… letter…’
‘Don’t worry, I’m really glad you came.’ she said, taking his hand and leading him along the lush, dappled path and down to pond level. They sat on mossy logs by the water’s edge and looked to the shimmering surface; Corsica casually skimmed pebbles waiting for Konrad to regain use of his faculties.
He watched her a moment, innocently playing by the pond’s majestic setting and a wave of sadness washed over him, ‘All this will be gone soon.’ he said seriously.
‘What?’ she said turning to Konrad and missing her pebble skim a personal-record seven times.
‘They’ve done what land owners around here couldn’t for 200 years and allowed parts of the heath to be developed; all this around the bridge and beyond that brow.’
‘Well it shouldn’t be allowed!’ she said incensed.
‘It never has until now, but money talks louder than ever and oligarchs and big business can do what they like today.’
‘Don’t be silly, of course they can’t!’
‘What hasn’t been bought and rebranded recently?’ he said leaning forwards. Corsica was stumped; she returned to skimming stones.
‘I know you tried to find me in Birmingham.’ she said after elegantly arcing another pebble along the surface.
‘How?’
‘The owner of the fan club you went to see – she’s still my best friend.’
‘Ah, I thought she knew more than she let on.’ he said taking a large sludgy pebble and launching it at the pond surface in hope of emulating Corsica’s successful skims. It sank like an anchor.
‘Thank you.’ she said warmly.
‘Not too stalkery?’ he joked.
‘I wanted to contact you before only it’s been, well, very difficult; the press are everywhere.’
‘So I’ve been reading.’ he said stealing an appreciate glance while she breathed in the scene. ‘You seriously wanted to contact me?’
Corsica searched his eyes for confirmation of her trust; she felt completely at ease in them, ‘I always think of that night in the lift, what it meant…’
‘And what have you decided?’
‘I don’t know.’ she replied looking out to the treeline, ‘I do know that I needed to see you. Spend time with someone… honest.’
‘I’m always here.’ he answered with a relaxed smile; she returned it with a more radiant one and his heart sank like the pebble he just tossed.
‘I’m going away for a few weeks to get away from all the fuss. I fly in a few hours, would you like to spend some time with me before I go?’
‘Of course, Corsica, I’d love to.’
‘Obviously hiding here in the heath – incognito!’
‘Obviously! I couldn’t think of a better way.’ he said to the deep unknown behind her eyes.
Mrs. Caulston was also looking dreamily into a deep pair of eyes, attentively watching Nick sip the last of his tea at Amanda’s kitchen table. He consciously placed the cup on its saucer, feeling the full weight of Mrs. Caulston’s stare, and looked to Lucy for help; she could only shrug back.
‘Would you like more tea, Nick?’ she asked, drawing groans from her daughters, embarrassed by the blatant fawning.
‘No, thank you. I really have to be going.’
‘Of course, you probably need to get back to your painting and finish that latest masterpiece of yours!’ she said, needlessly helping him to his feet and grabbing handfuls of muscle.
‘Thank you everyone.’ he said with a wave to the room and Lucy stood to see him to the door.
‘Good luck with the sentencing in a fortnight.’ Mrs. Caulston said as he turned to leave, ‘I’m sure the judge will see you were provoked by that horrible man. They’ll go easy on a fine young man like you, don’t worry about that!’
‘Thanks Mrs. Caulston.’
‘Oh, stop it! Call me Daphne, please.’
Chapter 14
Hell & Back
Nick and Konrad, besuited and primly-presented, walked out of the grand entrance to Blackfriars Crown Court in shock, stopping short at the steps to contemplate what had just occurred. Konrad unwittingly loosened the grip on his briefcase and it dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Lucy came running out of the court building and stood in front of them with a stony expression, anxiously scanning their pale faces. They were so numbed they failed to notice she was there.
Samoan Sam lazily tanned himself on a sun-drenched beach – enjoying the breeze on his face, soothing sounds of rustling palm trees to his ears, and ice-cold cocktail in his hand – when his tranquillity was broken by the phone. He tutted loudly at the rude interruption and rested his drink on his flattened stomach to answer.
‘Sam? Where are you?’ barked the voice on the other end.
He breathed deeply, trying to block the unwelcome stress shattering his cosy calmness, ‘Laying low, like you said.’ he answered, sitting up straight and spilling the cocktail over himself.
‘I need you back.’
‘Oh…’ he groaned aloud, patting himself down and bemoaning the abrupt turn to the day.
‘Is that a problem?’ Josh shouted, ‘Are you my battering ram or not?’
‘Yes, boss.’ he replied glumly.
‘Then you’re mobilised. Get back here!’
‘It’s not more spy shit is it?’
‘No, we’re past that. I need some bones broken.’
‘Whose?’
‘Tell you when you get here. Hurry up!’ Josh slammed down the phone and marched over to a set of six wrapped paintings resting against his study wall; he set about the artwork with flailing fists and kicks, screaming primevally until a mass of shredded packaging and canvas littered the floor.
Sofia coolly entered the office with a dustpan and brush, pausing to cast Josh a contemptuous look, and without enquiring about his welfare or cause of the mess she quietly tidied the trashed paintings while he rested his hands on his knees, panting for oxygen and revenge.
‘Congratulations!’ Lucy and Konrad cheered, toasting Nick’s outcome with a bitter tequila shot as an elderly karaoke singer lingered on the small stage of the local pub longer than her rendition of Will You Love Me Tomorrow justified.
‘A fine and community service! You lucky sod!’ Konrad teased.
‘Bugger off.’ Nick said, trying to enjoy the freedom and release cascading over him like a waterfall – especially during a welcome break from the karaoke din.
‘Discrediting your own input as luck, Konrad? Unlike you to be so modest!’ Lucy joked.
‘He knows I’m only kidding.’ he said ruffling Nick’s hair and noticing the table’s empty glasses of various sizes and alcoholic associations, ‘More drink!’
‘Next up we have Doris. Could you come up here please Doris?’ called the pub’s rockabilly compère. Doris leaped from her bar stool, jewellery jangling from every limb, and sashayed her way to the stage giving a
confident curtsey to the two people who’d bothered to look up. Trevor the compère, sensing something spectacular was at hand, started the song with optimised timing and gave Doris a flattering burst of strobe lighting to accompany the emotional vocal intro, which was delivered with tremendous comedic value. Nick and Lucy burst into laughter on each other’s shoulder as Doris swayed and postured with tuneless arrogance, delivering the song like she was undergoing pubic-depilation with pincers.
‘Why on earth did we come to this pub? Is geriatric karaoke really how you want to celebrate your freedom?’ Lucy shouted over the suffered squeals of I Just Don’t Know What to Do with Myself.
‘It beats bingo!’
‘Seriously, you wanna go somewhere else?’
‘No! I couldn’t think of a better place to be right now!’ he said in awe of Doris’s erratic footwork.
‘That star up there in Cancer… the bright orange one… that’s Asellus Australis.’ Nick told Lucy, sprawled on the public bench they were sharing outside the pub; her head in his lap, looking up at the illuminated night sky. ‘I’ve always liked that one.’ he said with a drunken grin and took a swig from his bottle of beer.
‘Oh yeh, it’s orange!’ she said mesmerised, taking a drag on her cigarette and staring dreamily into the worlds beyond.
‘It’s got another name.’ he said leadingly.
‘Has it?’ she played along, ‘Let’s hear it then.’
‘It’s a special one, the longest of all star names…’
‘I’m ready.’ she replied, quickly tiring of the game.
‘Right, hang on.’ he prepared himself, ‘Arku… Arku-shanan… Arkushanangarushashutu!’
‘Wow!’ Lucy coughed out in a malodourous alcoholic cloud; she hoped Nick didn’t notice, ‘How do you know so much about stars?’ she asked covering her mouth.
‘A hippie background does have some benefits. My mum taught me, she knew every single one.’
‘I bet she was amazing.’ she said, sensing Nick emotionally tensing. She looked up at him; the stars filled the space beyond his head, nostalgia filled its interior.
‘You must think I’m crazy?’ he said feeling exposed; a small tear welled and he patted it away pretending it was a bothersome winged insect in an absurd act to disguise his own humanity. Lucy sat straight, grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him with slightly-painful force.
‘If anything it makes me love you more!’ she said still holding his face, now contorting with confusion and fear.
‘Love?’ he said hesitantly, unsure if his head was in good hands or upon an executioner’s block. In the void of time and indecipherable electrical current that followed Konrad appeared from the pub holding aloft a pint of lager and sloshed half of it down his arm, which then filtered into the cast of his other arm. He shouted across to them.
‘Nick! Lucy! You’re up!’ and he turned a little too rapidly, needing a moment to orientate himself. He regained his bearings and double-stepped into the pub without further delay, banging his arm-cast on the way in.
‘Should I be worried?’ Nick said turning to Lucy.
‘About what?’ she asked nervously.
‘About your mum!’ he prodded a finger in her ribs, ‘She messaged to say congratulations and invited me down to Surrey for the weekend!’
‘I told you not to give her your number!’ Lucy said, reluctantly getting to her feet.
‘She was adamant!’ he stood and straightened his stiff back, ‘I mean, who sends messages on a day like this? You can only say sympathies for your sentencing! or well done for getting away with it! and neither are really appropriate!’ Lucy laughed and he gently took her hand and pulled her into his embrace, shrouding her shoulders like a vampire preparing for the fatal bite. He cuddled into her neck and lost himself, wandering deep off-planet before returning rejuvenated for the job at hand in the present dimension. ‘Let’s go nail this song!’ he said with a glint of cosmic pluck and led her towards the pub bearing his full teeth to the wind.
Nick and Lucy finished I Got You Babe with a pitch-perfect warbled climax and stepped down from the stage, barely big enough to contain them, to a thunderous reception from five of the six people watching. Doris was seething at being upstaged and declined to applaud out of the sheer gall of it all.
‘Bloody kids taking over our pub.’ she said to a wrinkly local she occasionally sang duet with.
‘I rather liked them actually. The bouncy girl had a nice way about her.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ she snapped, ‘What do you bloody know? You do a shit Tom Jones anyway!’
Nick and Lucy joined Konrad at the table where full drinks were waiting.
‘Impressive Sonny & Cher!’ he said trying to applaud with his hindered hand.
‘I didn’t know you could sing that well?’ Nick said nudging Lucy and taking a rewarding glug of something gassy and ill-advised.
‘Or you!’ she said nudging back, ‘You sly old fox! What other talents you got?’
‘Show you later!’ he said taking the innuendo-bait and leaning in for a cute nose-rub.
‘Oi! Pack it in you two!’ Konrad tutted from across the table, ‘Anyway, it was only a tacky karaoke song!’
‘Karaoke is not tacky!’ they shouted at the same time, laughing their way into a long embrace and neck nibble that forced Konrad to look away and make unfortunate eye-contact with Doris the glam-nan. He turned back before she could entice him with a neck-cracking flick of her hair, nearly resulting in paralysis.
‘What else do you sing?’ Nick asked her, eagerly browsing a tatty folder of song options, ‘I bet you do a good Amy Winehouse.’
‘Wow, you really take karaoke seriously don’t you?’
‘Of course, it’s great primal scream therapy!’
‘I’m sure it is!’ she laughed, ‘So what else do you sing?’
‘I have half-dozen safe numbers before things get forced!’ he confessed as Doris straightened her rolls of chains and bracelets and made her way to the stage, seizing the microphone from Trevor like an infant claiming a toy – there’d be no special-treatment lighting for her this time, Doris’s raw energy would have to win through without aid from his arsenal of limited visual trickery.
‘Oi!’ her voiced boomed through the pub’s sound system; Nick saw she was looking directly at him.
‘What?’ he called from the sidelines.
‘We’ll ‘ave a bit of bloody order in this pub!’ she growled into the microphone. ‘How dare you talk through our songs! Look at you all high and happy, probably off your heads on drugs!’ she said, swaying on the small stage and sloshing her double gin and tonic. ‘You swan in ‘ere, into our pub, with your flashing phones and big boobs…’ for some reason Konrad looked down at that comment and not Lucy, ‘…you make me bloody sick!’ she shouted deep into the microphone, optimising maximum feedback. ‘Not you!’ Doris whispered to Konrad as the ringing in everyone’s ears abated; she turned dizzily to Trevor, gave him a smile that appeared more menacing than genuine, and signalled she was ready to launch into song.
‘Certainly Doris!’ he said nervously and started the song before she turned her changeable attentions onto him.
It was unfortunate that Konrad caught Doris’s eye before as he now had to endure I Just Want to Make Love to You with every syllable sung for his benefit, ‘What does she think she’s doing?’ he mumbled, eyes transfixed on Doris and trying to come to terms with the situation. Nick and Lucy, snubbing Doris’s act with a defiant show of public petting – on occasion borderline lewd – broke free and noticed Konrad looking pale and sinking in his seat.
‘You alright Kon?’
‘No.’ he replied, his hypnotised stare inexplicably drawn to Doris’s disturbing performance, ‘I feel a bit sick.’
‘Do you want to leave?’
‘Yes, please.’ he whimpered, ‘Let’s do one…’
The Joshua Arnaud Art Gallery was bustling with activity; equally as vibrant as an opening night full of VIP gu
ests and broadsheet journalists, only without the designer frocks and fancy canapés. The clientele on this particular afternoon were more crass than class, with a preference for black overalls over glitzy labels. Recently-delivered artwork filled the open white spaces and workmen busied with trolleys and forklifts allocating exhibits to relevant halls and wall spaces.
‘Just follow the instructions, it’s all there.’ Josh said to a gallery worker as he handed him a folder, ‘Once they’re on display come and see me about the next phase.’
‘What are we doing with these six?’ the worker asked about the destroyed paintings from Josh’s office lined up against a wall.
‘Ah yes, The Swan Series.’ he said, pacing in front of the smashed pieces, ‘The artist’s most treasured work – and his exhibition’s pièce de résistance!’ he exclaimed with smug proudness, ‘They were sent separately you know?’ The workman shook his head, unsure what to say. ‘For an exclusive show – at my house no less.’ he boasted, further confusing the worker. ‘And were damaged en-route here. Call the insurers and get someone round.’ Josh turned to look at a commotion at the entrance where a large colourful oddity was swamped by men in black overalls, forcefully trying to pin it to the ground; he turned back to the workman, ‘Make sure you ask for Jeremy, he’s very favourable to work with.’ He returned to the noisy disturbance and saw bodies of workers sent splaying by the caged beast within. From the settling dust Samoan Sam emerged unscathed wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt and clutching a broken sculpture.
‘Ah, there you are!’ he said spotting Josh and marched over to him, ‘Sorry, boss. I broke this.’ and he handed him the pieces.
‘Put this with the others.’ he said casually, passing them to his employee, ‘That’s now seven exhibits damaged on delivery!’ He turned to Sam in his vibrant attire, ‘Where the hell have you been?’
Double Ex: A Romantic Comedy about Lost Love & Lookalikes Page 13