His American Classic (Part 1)

by G J Morgan

  My phone rang. I searched for it in my pocket.

  “Yo, Tommy boy.”

  “Can we talk tomorrow, Vince? I’m not in the mood.”

  “Mood for what?”

  “Mood to be shouted at.”

  “Look man, I ain’t got time for whatever breakdown you’re having right now. I gotta talk quick, I’m at my kid’s school, waiting to be called in.”

  “Called in for what?”

  “Boy’s been throwing his weight around again. Anyways, I got news.”

  “I don’t wanna know, Vince. Honestly, I don’t care.”

  “She’s coming back. Lilly is coming back.”

  “You knew that already. You told me that.”

  “It’s not when. It’s where.”

  “Where what?”

  “London. She flies straight to London.”

  “Why?”

  “Press stuff by the sounds of it. Trying to drum up some enthusiasm for that poor fucking movie she’s trying to make. She’ll be there for a few days, 100%. I need you to be my man on the ground.”

  “Look, I’m not going back. I ain’t in the right frame of mind for this. I appreciate what you’ve done.”

  “Tommy, I haven’t got time for this shit, man, I need you there cos I can’t be. And I need you firing on all cylinders. We need to start earning some green on this job. Some real green.”

  “But Vince, I’m not going back.” I started to walk back towards my house.

  “You’ve been pussyfooting around this girl for too long. I don’t want any more photos of her in her fucking garden unless she’s topless and if she’s not topless she better be doing something pretty fucking amazing otherwise it’s useless to me.”

  “Vince, you’re aren’t listening. I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s over.”

  “Fuck you, it isn’t, Tommy. I’ve spent a lot of money on this and on you for that matter. Do you think that comes from thin air? No, it comes out of my wallet, out of my kids’ mouths. It’s time to get to work. Go big or go home.”

  “Vince, if you want the shots, you fly over here and take them yourself.”

  “You do realise you owe me?”

  “Yes, I appreciate the opportunities. Truly I do.”

  “Fuck your sentiment. You owe me money. Travel, hotels, equipment.”

  “I thought that came out of the money you made?”

  “What money have you made me?” He paused. “You take out more than you bring in. That isn’t the business I run here. If you quit now then you owe me. And I assure you, Tommy, that travel, hotels and equipment ain’t cheap.”

  “You’re fucking me over, Vince. This isn’t what friends do to each other.”

  “Tommy, you are my friend. But this is business. And there are two things you don’t fuck with. A man’s family or a man’s money.”

  “I just won’t pay it, Vince. Even if I had it, which I haven’t.”

  “Look, I don’t want this turning nasty. I’m not threatening you or your family but this job needs to be done. The easy way or the hard way.”

  “I’ll think about it.” I got to my front door, rummaged around my pocket for the door key.

  “Sorry, Tommy. I need an answer now. Yes or no time, buddy. Clock is ticking here.”

  “No, then.”

  “That’s a damn shame. Damn shame. You are a fucking waste of time. You always were and you always will be.”

  The phone went dead.

  An hour later, as I laid in bed, lights off, gritted teeth, head spinning, I got a message from Vince. I read it, then read it again, sat up, turned on the bedside lamp. Lilly wasn’t the only one that was flying to London, a certain Max Salter would be there too.

  15

  I loaded the car whilst the rest of the house slept.

  I’d forgotten how much two-and-a-half-year-olds needed, decided to sacrifice the buggy, mainly to free up boot space, but mainly because I couldn’t figure how to collapse the damn thing. Molly would have to walk, or most likely she would have to be carried. There were a lot of things I’d forgotten which a parent should have known, nappy sizes, shoe sizes, car seats, these were always things Cassie dealt with, nappies and shoes and seats would appear without me knowing why or how. Back then my role as dad was pretty basic, cuddles and stories, making teddies talk. Being a father on my own taught me a lot, but I was still a long way away from knowing my daughter like I should, that was something that would have to change.

  She didn’t take well to be taken away from her grandma either, I should have expected it, in the month I’d been away Mum and Molly hadn’t left each other’s side, so when the time came to wave each other off from the car window it was inevitable there would be some tears and some confusion, I just didn’t predict it would be as distressing as it turned out, poor girl. Luckily the sobbing and screams didn’t last long, by the time I’d filled the car with petrol and filled her with chocolate, calmness resumed and she was back to giggling and singing.

  * * *

  Molly really enjoyed her big day out, I’d say it was a success. She loved the beach, not so much the suncream, or the donkey ride, or the paddling, or the men’s urinal – those she hated – but the arcades, hot doughnuts, the little red train, those, she loved. I tried to tell her she had been to the beach before, Long Beach, Santa Monica, but she was adamant she hadn’t seen ocean or sand before, must’ve been too young to remember.

  I couldn’t believe how much Molly talked either. Whenever I’d spoken to her on the phone whilst I’d been away she’d always be a little shy, one-word answers, me doing all the talking. Well, she’d certainly found her voice now, didn’t shut up for the whole length of the Promenade.

  “Is a donkey a horse?”

  “What colour is mummy’s hair? Yellow like mine?”

  “Why didn’t you both come to my egg hunt?”

  “Mummy doesn’t like spiders, does she?”

  Funny how the brain worked, couldn’t remember the beach but could recall her mother’s phobia, kids knew more than we gave them credit for, conversations we thought they wouldn’t understand, arguments we assumed they hadn’t heard, or vice versa. I wondered when she’d forget Cassie, when memories would become just photographs, couldn’t imagine that happening soon. Mum was doing her best to keep Cassie alive and well, found every opportunity to make Molly feel that Cassie was still close by, that heaven was just upstairs, that Cassie was always watching us. Mum tried to make death whimsical and fairy-like, but how long would that last realistically? Molly wouldn’t be a child forever. Perhaps it would be easier for us all just to forget, let Cassie just be dead, let there be an ending that was hard to swallow at first but truthful at least, not made up or magical.

  Till then, Molly was still all questions, questions about seagulls, about pinball, about Cassie, and I’d do my best to answer them. As we ate fish and chips on our laps, Molly’s last question was whether we could go home to see Grandma, so I carried her back to the car, her hair in my face as she did her best not to fall asleep. The drive home was silent, radio at a hum, Molly conked out in the back as I sat in five o’clock traffic. I looked at all the other drivers, tired and agitated, the face of the middle of the week.

  Devon wasn’t like this, I thought. Different time zones almost, a different speed. Devon seemed unaffected by world news, banking crises, celebrity, it was in its own little world. Dot said that would soon change, the influx of the wealthy as they trickled from the cities in search of holiday homes and guest houses, bringing their worries and stress with them, their illnesses and diseases. Dot talked of tourists like an epidemic, shops getting busier, traffic worsening, high-rise hotels. I tried to tell her it meant more customers, but she said that was the last thing she wanted, said she preferred it when they all shuffled off back home, so she could enjoy the winter in peace. For the mean
time, Devon was still relatively quiet, at least where Lilly and I were staying. After the first photos leaked of Lilly I thought the town would erupt, locals transcending on her little farmhouse, the world’s media flying in from every corner of the globe. But nothing much changed, things stayed the same. Yes, there were a few more paparazzi, but they still hadn’t found the farmhouse, still just me hiding in the bushes, for the time being.

  I’d been surprised how little Lilly had explored her new town when she first arrived, I’d expected her to be a tad reclusive, but I didn’t expect her to be imprisoned in either house or film set. It made for a routine and a structure, one that was easy to read and follow, but unfortunately a life that didn’t make for good viewing and certainly didn’t shift any newspapers.

  Strangely, what changed that was Lilly being caught out drunk and disorderly that night, though it made my life harder and meant my days were hard to predict. The one thing it did was make it exciting, like a holiday rather than a job, like Lilly’s adventures were mine too, and no matter how much I tried to tell myself I was enjoying my time back home, and even though I was, in all honesty, I couldn’t wait to get back down there again as soon as possible. To see Devon, to see Dot, mostly just to see Lilly again, and that made me a horrible father and a terrible husband, too.

  * * *

  I was sat on a kitchen chair, topless, looking outward into Mum’s back garden. It had been raining since we’d all woken up, and seeing as we had no real official plans, breakfast had sort of spilled over into lunchtime, and would probably spill over into dinnertime too.

  “Molly!” Mum shouted. “We’re getting you dressed in five minutes, OK, darling?”

  No response.

  “Molly!”

  No response again. Mum tutted.

  “Just leave her, Mum, she’s happy in there.”

  “She can’t be in pyjamas all day, Tom. I don’t like her being idle.”

  “Give her a bit longer. We don’t always have to be doing a task or errand, Mum, you included.”

  “That’s rich. This is hardly relaxation, is it? Look, I’m nearly finished so don’t move your head or I’ll have your ears off if you’re not careful.” She sprayed my head with more water. “You’ve brought back half of Mablethorpe. My floor looks like a sandpit,” she said, combing with a grimace.

  Mum was taking it all very seriously. Without the confidence of her clippers, which she’d not been able to find, she had to resort to scissors, which meant the process of a hair trim had become both pressured and more time-consuming than she’d first expected. Gave us a good reason to talk, though, trivial stuff mostly, about tomorrow’s polling day, a prospect of a new vegetable patch, my Aunty visiting in the summer. That would be nice, Molly’s family circle was small enough, so it would be nice to increase the circumference, so to speak. I’d told her about Vince, about my pending trip to London, talked a little about Dad, agreeing that we would take Molly over to Hamsterley Forest to show her where his ashes were scattered, she’d probably enjoy it, it wasn’t like death was something new for her.

  “Done,” Mum declared, standing back to observe her work.

  “It’s a bit shorter than I wanted.” I checked my reflection in the glass of the microwave.

  “Cheeky git.” Mum whacked my arm. “You can cut your own next time.”

  “You putting the kettle on?”

  “What did your last slave die of?” she smiled, already filling the kettle with water.

  I opened my laptop as I put my T-shirt back on, checked my emails, nothing. Facebook briefly, I didn’t even know why I was on it, because everyone else was, I guessed. I might delete my profile, I thought, though I never would. It would be hypercritical to invade everyone else’s privacy and not let people take a glimpse at mine.

  I typed in Lilly’s name in my search bar, curious to see how she’d spent her time back across the pond. I wasn’t expecting what I saw. I’d half-expected her to lay low, imagined she’d go home, stay indoors, spend time with her family, that is what I would’ve expected, knowing the girl I’d watched for over a month, but she was unrecognisable. The girl who talked to sheep and watered hanging baskets wasn’t the same girl propping up every rooftop bar in Hollywood. I was starting to believe fame was just millions of people getting the wrong idea of you, but Lilly was doing just what everyone expected her to do, the girl everyone pointed at, the one they whispered about, the one you couldn’t take your eyes off, and for all the wrong reasons.

  Though if Lilly had been busy, the paparazzi had been busier. She’d only been back a few days, but there were hundreds upon hundreds of photos, they were relentless, sunrise to sundown, there was no let-up. And it wasn’t like she was even hiding away, the places she was going weren’t for the social recluse, in fact they were places to go to get spotted, where paparazzi camped out knowing it would only be a matter of time before fame showed up. And I guarantee Vince would be one of them and I was even more sure that most of the photos I was seeing came from his camera lens. I knew Vince would go into overdrive on her return, with the little money we’d made he would be hell-bent on recouping his losses. And although it was a good guess not all the photos were taken by Vince, it would be a fair assumption to say the majority were his handiwork.

  I closed the laptop, I’d seen enough, couldn’t wait for her to be back on English soil where she was less likely to be a target. Surprised she was being allowed to fuck up so publicly, I would’ve though Frank and Sally would have reined her in, outside looking in I got the impression they kept her wildness on a pretty short leash – not as short as I thought.

  Mum came through with a handful of post.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” ripping open an envelope, “Molly has a hospital appointment tomorrow.”

  “I’ll take her.”

  “Good. I hoped you say that. I’ve booked in for a colour and cut.”

  “Another haircut?”

  “Tom. I’ve had my haircut once a month for the last thirty years.”

  “Spending money we haven’t got, by the sounds of it.”

  “It costs hardly anything. Lady across the road does it. Look, I even buy my own dye if that’s OK with you.” She pointed to the contents of her handbag.

  We didn’t talk, Mum reboiled the kettle, the sound of water becoming hot filled the kitchen.

  “You sure you are all right with taking Molly tomorrow? I can cancel my hair if you want me to.” She passed me a cup of tea.

  “Sorry, I didn’t meet to bite.”

  “And you’re fine with the hospital? I know how much you hate going to those sorts of places.”

  “I’m cured now. Had no choice but to get over my whole white-coat syndrome, seeing I’ve been so often with Molly.”

  “It’s two thirty, I think. Dr Malik.”

  “Do I have to take anything?”

  “A couple of quid for parking. I’ve got a stack of notes in the other room. Better to take them and not need them, hey? Molly knows the drill now. Dr Malik is ever so nice with her. Lets her hold his stethoscope and sit in his big chair. Oh, I took Molly to McDonald’s last time we went so don’t be surprised if she assumes the same treat will happen again.” Mum sat down, a stack of envelopes on her lap. “All I ever get is bills, that or how to save on bills. Only thing they’re good for is the fire.”

  “Any letters from Cassie’s parents since I’ve been gone?”

  “A few, yes. In there,” she pointed.

  I pulled open the kitchen drawer.

  “Mum, this letter has been opened.”

  “Sorry, I opened it my mistake. Thought it was addressed to me. Most things are.”

  “Mum, they are all opened, all three of them. You have read them, haven’t you?”

  “Well, you were away, Tom. I thought it best.”

  “Anything else?”

  “N
o, why?”

  “You haven’t written back or anything?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Cos it’s the type of thing you would do, Mum, that’s why.”

  She didn’t say anything. She walked through to the other room, started fiddling with her hair in the fireplace mirror.

  “You did write back, didn’t you? Why?”

  “Look, Tom, I had to. Read the last letter.”

  I quickly scanned over it.

  “Mum you should have told me about this as soon as you got it. This letter is three weeks old.”

  “I didn’t want to bother you with it. Not when you sounded so preoccupied.”

  “I’m taking Molly out for a walk.” I grabbed my coat.

  “Don’t be mad with me. I thought I was helping.”

  “Well you haven’t, Mum.”

  “Do you want to know what I wrote to them?”

  “Not really, Mum. It won’t make a difference now.”

  * * *

  Me and Mum barely talked the next day, purposely I’d managed to avoid her, took Molly out for most of the morning. Took her to the cinema, popcorn and Pixar, not a bad film really, kept her entertained whilst I read my phone and thought about somewhere else.

  Molly seemed to enjoy the visit to the hospital as much as the cinema, cleaning her hands at every opportunity, pointing out wheelchairs, waving at every nurse that walked past. Glad someone enjoyed it as I hated every minute. Like most people I wasn’t too fond of hospitals, no matter how significant or insignificant the appointment may have been, I always prepared myself for bad news. It wasn’t a recent thing either, I’d hated hospitals way before the car accident, must have been some awful traumatic experience I had as a child, when I had my tonsils out perhaps, or when I was circumcised. That was pretty fucking traumatic.