I smiled and suddenly realized why Mr Sparks sat playing games all day. ‘What about seventieth birthday parties?’ I asked mischievously.
His agent, obviously lacking a sense of humour, said, ‘I’ll need to check with him.’
I knew it would probably immediately be added to his list of prohibited activities. ‘Look don’t bother, I don’t want him to do that anyway, Mr Burns. What I’m looking for is something a little . . . well . . . different. More personal.’
‘He’s not gay, despite what the press says.’
I laughed down the phone. ‘I didn’t think for a moment he was. Do you think I could speak to him personally about it?’
‘About being gay?’
‘No, about my request. . . .’
‘Which has nothing to do with gay activities?’
‘No, it’s about a girl I like. . . .’
‘Is she gay?’
I immediately got a mental picture of Molly in a soft-focused pornographic lesbian scene. I shook my head to get rid of the image.
‘No, she’s not gay.’ I suspected Paul Burns had some kind of homophobic thing going on.
‘Right, well if it has absolutely nothing to do with anything gay he might be interested. What’s it about?’
I gave him a rough outline of my plan and the agent agreed to put the proposal to Colin Sparks.
I sat in my car for twenty minutes waiting for a call back. Eventually my mobile rang, the moment of truth. I answered before Katy Perry finished the words ‘You’re a’, which in old money was about one and a half rings.
‘Mr Hunter?’
‘Yes.’
‘Paul Burns here, Mr Sparks is intrigued by your request and wants to talk to you in person. Can you go to his flat and I’ll meet you there in about half an hour? You’re sure you’re not gay?’
I laughed. What was it with the gay thing? ‘No, Mr Burns I don’t have a gay bone in my body.’
‘OK then the address is 12 The Quadrant, Fountainbridge.’
I shivered involuntarily. That was the same block of flats where Carrie lived. I wondered if they knew each other, I hoped not. I couldn’t remember the number of Carrie’s flat because I wasn’t paying that much attention to detail the last time I was there.
‘Fab, thanks. I’ll see you there.’
I started the engine and drove through the busy streets, cutting through Holyrood Park on my way.
I parked outside Colin and Carrie’s block and noticed with relief that Colin Sparks’s apartment was on the opposite side to hers.
I pressed the intercom buzzer to his home and after a few seconds he buzzed me in without asking who it was.
I climbed the stairs to the third floor and the door to number twelve was slightly ajar. I was nervous at the thought of entering the modest home of a once-famous pop star. It occurred to me that someone who had been idolized by thousands of screaming girls, sold out huge arenas across Europe and made umpteen TV appearances, should live somewhere a little grander than this.
A gravelly Glaswegian voice called out, ‘Come on in, I’m just in the toilet having a shit. Go into the living room and I’ll be there in a minute.’
I smiled. That first sentence to me from the former pop legend made me think that maybe he was in the right place after all. I closed the front door quietly and walked along the short hall into the living room. The room was surprisingly tidy. For some reason I’d expected it to be some kind of clichéd den of iniquity, with used syringes and empty whisky bottles everywhere. Instead it was sparsely furnished with a cream leather couch, a small chair and a modest flat-screen TV mounted on the wall opposite the window. His flat didn’t have a balcony like Carrie’s, but then he was on the other side of the building overlooking a busy road rather than the canal.
I sat on the edge of the couch and waited for Colin Sparks to finish his ablutions. He came through and held out his hand for me to shake. I grasped it and hoped he’d washed it.
‘So, you’ve got women trouble?’
I laughed. ‘Yeah you could say that.’
‘Something I know all about, well knew all about. These days it’s only middle-aged harlots with bad breath and huge arses that seem to fancy me.’
I smiled. I liked Colin Sparks’s self-deprecating sense of humour and immediately thought ‘you can take the boy out of Glasgow but not Glasgow out of the boy’. I sat back down on the couch and said, ‘Well I guess the middle-aged women were the nubile teens when you were singing.’
Colin didn’t answer me. Instead he glanced longingly at the Xbox sitting blinking quietly in the corner. Then he moved his gaze to me and stared at me for a moment, his green eyes sparking with more intelligence than perhaps I’d given him credit for. ‘So, this girl of yours, is she likely to be swayed by the appearance of a washed-up rock star?’
‘I thought you were a pop star.’
‘Same difference.’
‘Not really,’ I answered. I didn’t want to upset him, but I got the feeling that sucking up wouldn’t work.
Colin narrowed his eyes, as if reappraising me. ‘What’s the difference then?’
I smiled. ‘Credibility.’
He laughed out loud – not a reaction I was expecting. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
His mobile chimed, and he fished it out of his pocket and took the call. He grunted into the phone and hung up. ‘My agent’s not coming, got something more important to do. I’m way down his list of priorities these days.’
‘Is that because you won’t do much personal appearance work?’
‘He gave you the list then?’
I smiled but didn’t answer.
Colin obviously felt he needed to offer me an explanation and sighed. ‘It’s depressing.’
I nodded but didn’t push for any more details. I could see in his face and demeanour that his soul ached for the past, for something he could no longer have. I knew the feeling well and didn’t want to have that conversation with him.
I tried to distract him for both our sakes. ‘Will you help me?’
‘I used to be her hero, you said?’
‘Yeah, and she’s not middle-aged with bad breath.’
‘Big arse?’
‘Lovely arse.’
Colin grinned. ‘That would make a nice change.’
‘How much would it cost? Your agent didn’t really give me any info, he was more obsessed with whether anyone was gay or not.’
Colin nodded. ‘Yeah, he has a few problems with that. He’s also not great at fee negotiation either.’
I had thought that was what agents were for but kept my opinion to myself. I waited for Colin to sell himself.
‘I reckon I could do it for . . . oh I don’t know . . . a grand?’
I shook my head. ‘Five hundred.’
‘Seven-fifty?’
‘Six hundred. I really can’t afford any more,’ I lied. ‘It’s for a good cause.’
Colin Sparks smiled. ‘OK then, six hundred quid but I want it in advance, and if she wants me instead of you, no hard feelings?’
I smiled, to cover the doubt that was nagging at me. Molly used to adore this man sitting in front of me and she was vulnerable right now. It was a risk but I needed to take it. I reached over and shook his hand. The bargain was struck.
I then outlined the details of what I wanted him to do.
‘Kittens!’ he exclaimed. ‘I need danger money for kitten scratches.’
I laughed. ‘It’s a kitten not a tiger.’
Colin was serious. ‘Have you ever had a cat?’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, years ago.’
‘I had a cat until last year, died of cancer, was glad to be rid of the fucking thing. Vicious little bugger, used to leap at me when it was dark and dig his claws into my scalp.’ He rubbed his head at the memory.
>
A thought occurred to me. ‘Have you still got a cat carrier and litter tray?’
‘Yeah somewhere but that’ll be an extra fifty.’ He smiled, waiting for me to haggle him down.
‘Deal. As long as we leave in ten minutes, we can pick up the kitten then swing by her work and you can brighten up her afternoon.’
‘Yeah, OK, I’ve got nothing else on anyway, but remember I might brighten up more than her afternoon.’
I nodded. ‘That’s a chance I’ll take.’
‘You’ve got it bad then?’
I puffed out my cheeks. ‘Maybe.’
I phoned Carol Davis and arranged to pick up Trooper.
Colin insisted on coming into Carol’s chaotic household with me. She opened the door and beckoned us in. She barely glanced at Colin, but once in the kitchen she narrowed her eyes and gave him the once over.
‘You remind me of someone,’ she said. ‘Did you used to be on the telly?’
Colin grinned. ‘Sometimes; I was a singer with the band Laser Lights.’
Carol smiled in recognition. ‘So you were. I never liked your music much. It was too,’ – she frowned searching for the right word – ‘poppy.’
Colin stopped smiling. ‘We were a pop band.’
‘Exactly, that was what I didn’t like. There was no substance to your songs – all throw-away lines and forgettable tunes.’
Colin tried to defend his artistic integrity. ‘ “Lost in Your Eyes” was a huge hit and people still use it for their first dance at weddings.’
Carol shrugged. ‘I preferred the Biggles Bakery version to be honest.’
I laughed out loud. The Scottish bakery firm had used the tune in a TV advertising campaign a few years earlier, changing the words from ‘Lost in your Eyes’ to ‘Lost in our Pies’. It had been a huge success.
Colin was not amused. ‘Yeah, the record company only told me about that a week before it started, still the royalties came in handy.’
While Colin had been talking, Carol had picked up Trooper and, after kissing his nose, placed him in the carrier I had given her.
‘So,’ she said, ‘who is the lucky new owner of Trooper? It’s not for you, is it?’ She scowled at Colin. He was obviously not used to that kind of reaction and looked uncomfortable.
I intervened. ‘No, it’s for a friend of mine. . . .’
Colin Sparks interrupted. ‘He’s got the hots for someone called Molly at his work, and reckons that the combination of me and this kitten will get her in the sack.’
Carol turned to me. ‘Molly Jenkins in HR?’
I nodded sheepishly. I thought about trying to contradict what the washed-up pop star had said but decided that might just make me look worse.
Carol was puzzled. ‘I thought she lived with her boyfriend?’
I shook my head and said, ‘Not any more. I didn’t know you and Molly were friends?’
She shrugged. ‘We’re not really, I just know her to talk to. So what happened to her boyfriend?’
I shook my head. ‘It’s a long story and probably now’s not the best time to explain.’ I rolled my eyes towards Colin Sparks.
Carol relented, ‘OK no probs, I’ll get the goss another day.’ She turned towards Colin. ‘Are you doing this out of the goodness of your heart?’
Colin smiled. ‘No, for the money.’
‘How much?’
Colin glanced over at me for approval. I nodded.
‘Six hundred quid.’
‘I hope you’re not going to sing?’
He flashed his smile at her. ‘I might if asked.’
Carol was obviously not at all impressed by the thought of having a celebrity in her kitchen and turned back to me. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’
I shook my head. ‘Not really, but I can’t think what else to do. I guess I’ve reached desperation stage.’
Carol laughed. ‘Yeah you must have, to employ this aged Lothario.’
‘I’m not that old,’ exclaimed Colin.
Carol looked him up and down. ‘You’re at least forty-five, right?’
I smiled and bet Colin wished he’d stayed in the car.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman, I’m thirty-nine.’
Carol frowned, not liking the way ‘woman’ was emphasized. ‘Really? I was actually being kind, I thought you were nearer fifty.’
I could tell Carol was winding him up. Unfortunately Colin couldn’t and stormed out of the room.
I laughed, thanked Carol and followed the ageing Lothario into the street. Once we were safely seated in my car Colin glanced quizzically at me. ‘I hope this Molly girl is not as mean as her friend back there.’
I shook my head. ‘No, Molly is an angel with a heart of gold.’
‘And a nice arse?’
I laughed. ‘Perfect arse.’
That seemed to pacify Colin Sparks and with the promise of meeting the perfect arse we hardly spoke on our way to the Perennial Mutual building. It was nearly four o’clock when I pulled the car to a stop outside the main door and explained to Colin what he needed to do.
‘Just go to the reception desk and ask for Molly Jenkins. The receptionist will buzz her and she’ll come down to see you.’
Colin nodded. ‘Would it not be more of a surprise to go and see her in her office or whatever?’
‘Yeah probably, but they wouldn’t let you in without a pass, especially carrying a cat basket.’
‘Could I not use your pass?’
I smiled. ‘I don’t have one anymore, just lost my job.’
Colin regarded me strangely. ‘Not having a lot of luck at the moment, are you?’
I sighed. ‘Not really, no.’ He didn’t know the half of it.
Colin nodded. ‘OK, just you shoot off, I’ll do my bit and phone you later and let you know how it went. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get a taxi home.’
Reluctantly, I left him to it and drove home. I parked in my underground space and took the lift up to my apartment. As soon as I opened the door I knew instinctively that something was wrong. Nothing looked out of place. My new iPad wasn’t broken, nor was there any shattered plates or glasses strewn about the room, but something was definitely amiss. Then I realized what it was, I could detect a faint scent in the air, I recognized it but couldn’t quite place it.
I shook my head and blamed my overactive imagination. I kicked off my shoes and went into the bedroom to change out of my suit. It might be a while before I got to wear one again. When I opened the wardrobe to take out a coat-hanger I leapt back in shock.
All my suits had been shredded. Every one of them had both the sleeves of the jackets and the legs of the trousers cut off. I opened my other wardrobe but only my suits had been attacked. I had meant to get the locks changed as I’d promised the detective sergeant, but hadn’t got around to it.
I turned, sat down on my bed and stared at the mess. Then I noticed an envelope sitting propped up against the lamp on the bedside table.
It was small and pink and on the front in neat-handwriting was my name. I picked it up and detected the same scent I’d noticed when I came into the apartment. It was Amanda’s perfume. Bitch.
The note inside was brief.
Dear Bas-turd, (I like that – not bad for a dyslexic girl huh?)
I had to give her credit for spelling dyslexic correctly anyway.
I almost had you down as marriage material as well. I will need to readjust my criteria for that I think.
Anyway I hope you like the adjustments I’ve made to your suits, not that you’ll be needing them anytime soon – fucking loser!
I enjoyed myself this morning, almost as much as I enjoyed organizing your last little surprise. Despite the fact that you humiliated me I’ve decided to let you off lightly. I won’t be visiting your apartment again
and I might even forgive you eventually – but I doubt it. My change of heart has nothing to do with you, but I reckon you will find out the reason soon enough. In the meantime, Mr Hunter, please take this as a warning not to mess with women’s emotions, especially psychotic Irishwomen LOL.
I hope your life turns to shit.
Love Amanda
XXXX
PS your keys are in the fridge
I re-read the note a couple of times and then walked through to the kitchen. There in the fridge, beside a carton of apple juice, were my keys, wrapped in a pair of red panties (Amanda’s, I assumed).
I removed the keys from the panties and put them on the worktop. The panties had obviously been worn and had a certain crispiness to them which hinted at dried bodily fluids. I tossed them in the bin and washed my hands. I know some people pay money for used panties and stuff but that wasn’t my scene. Besides, in Amanda’s case they could just as easily have been laced with anthrax or something as equally unpleasant. I shivered and took the black bin bag out of the bin, tied a knot in it and put it outside the apartment door to take down to the rubbish bins later.
I considered phoning a locksmith in case she had copied my keys, but decided to leave that for later as well.
I then broke my golden rule about not drinking alcohol before 5 p.m. (unless on holiday or now if I was subject to break-ins by psychotic women) and poured myself a glass of red wine. My mood was sombre and I flopped down on the couch and stared out of the window. My gaze wandered over the windswept bay and I wondered what would happen next.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I didn’t need to wait long as my phone started ringing (or rather the Perry started singing). I didn’t recognize the number but answered it anyway.
‘Andy?’
I recognized the Glaswegian twang of Colin Sparks. My heart skipped a beat. Anxiety or excitement? I wasn’t sure. Maybe both.
‘Colin. How did it go?’
There was a slight pause. ‘It went well, she’s an absolute honey.’ His tone was very upbeat and that made me nervous.
‘And. . . ?’
‘Well, I’ve got good news and bad news.’
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