by Billy London
Playing it back in her mind, she knew when things became different. He didn’t call as much. He was quieter, edgy. Admittedly, he’d never snapped at her, or been rude to her. But when a man spends a good eight months crawling all over you and the electricity supply gets cut? You know there’s something wrong.
The day of disaster started with a phone call. It was his mother who called her. “Anna, is Rocco with you?”
How his mother had her number was inconsequential to the fact that his mother didn’t have a four square check in for him for once. “No, Mrs. Mamione. Why?”
“I think, I don’t know why, but I have this terrible feeling that he’s been arrested.”
“I’ll call you back.” She ended the call, absolutely trusting his mother’s maternal instincts, and called Beppe. “Where is he?”
“Annie, he’s been there for about four hours, he’s about to be—”
“Where?”
“Charing Cross police station. Don’t go there. He’ll call you.”
“Fuck that. Do I look like the sort of woman that’ll sit at home by the phone and fucking wait?” She kissed her teeth and rushed to the station. Please be okay, was the only thought that gave pace to her running. The reception officer at the station was bored and patently uninterested until she mentioned Rocco’s name.
“Oh, are you the girl who’s here to give a statement?”
“Yes,” she flat-out lied. She was going to be a lawyer. The curse was such that she’d have to learn to bullshit on her feet sometime.
“Okay, wait there.”
The receptionist picked up the phone. “Yeah. That witness who said she was with Mamione last night. She’s here.”
Bile burned in her throat. She hadn’t stayed with Rocco last night. They hadn’t slept together for a full week. She’d thought he was tired or stressed. Jesus, they were all stressed! He’d fucked someone else. Obviously that was what stressed him. Oh. Dear. God. The receptionist called out, “Imogen Barnes? Can you wait a minute?”
Imogen Barnes? Her friend Imogen Barnes? Who borrowed her notes, her lip gloss, a tenner here and there and now her boyfriend? That bitch Imogen Barnes? Fair dos. Anna walked out of the police station and went straight to Imogen’s home, which she shared with her parents. As soon as Imogen opened the door, Anna punched her. No questions, no demands for an explanation. Just fist to face.
Imogen collapsed in the corridor and burst into tears, holding her mouth. “I’m sorry!” she mumbled, blood on her teeth. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but the police arrested him about—”
“I don’t care if God himself came down from Heaven and told you to fuck him. You shouldn’t have done it.”
With that, she turned and left. Bizarrely dry eyed. Anna didn’t even mention Imogen’s name for over a year, before her mother’s prompts started to ring with her. Imogen never stopped trying to worm her way back in, and Anna’s mother reminded her, “When something happens to me or your father, I want people to be there for you. She’s sorry. She’s been sorry for a long time. What effort has he made to make it up to you?”
While Imogen was all gushing with presents and apologies before she started rabbiting on about herself and her eternal hunt for a forgiving man, Anna would forever have her guard up around Imogen. After a ten-minute meeting, Mimi said about Imogen quite bluntly, “I don’t trust her. There isn’t a single genuine thing about her.”
“Give her a chance.” Even to Anna’s ears it sounded half-hearted.
“To do what? Fuck me over? Listen, girls like her always have motivation. To be fair, I don’t even think she slept with your guy.”
“How can you even say that after ten minutes?”
“She is so desperate for your approval. You’ve been out of law school for what? Two years. Is she even serious about a job, or just getting married and swanning around in Vanessa Bruno?”
“Meems, you can’t be so judgemental.”
“Yeah, I can. I don’t get it. You forgave her but you can’t forgive him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Mimi’s voice carried across the bar. Imogen, waiting to collect their drinks, turned and waved at them. Anna looked back at Mimi, her friend’s image wavering with tears. “Because I loved him more.” Mimi hugged Anna tightly. “We can’t talk about this again, because it’s ruining my hard girl image.”
“Hmm.” And rather than cutting her up with a scalpel in one hand and surgical scissors in the other, Mimi respectfully left it alone. They all did. There were weeks when she wouldn’t think twice about a Tuesday night. When she’d travel through Wandsworth and it didn’t even faze her. She even looked him up on the Law Society pages to find out where he was working, and found his contact page, amidst a list of accolades and a black-and-white picture of him. He looked as slick as ever, the camera catching him at an angle that sharpened his cheekbones and emphasised his devilishness. “Not dead then, shot by some slut’s husband.”
What did it all matter? It happened so long ago, she could barely remember what it was like to have him tuck a present into her bag, or turn up at her flat with food in tow, or give her a shoulder massage while testing her on business accounts. She couldn’t remember being called Tempesta because of how passionately she argued a point of law. It was just the “Prick Phase.” Meant absolutely nothing. Until now.
Now, he was everywhere. In her office, in her work, in her life, her head. As if it all happened a half hour ago, only to Groundhog Day on her. Rocco would say to her, usually after a verbal lashing to whomever asked for it, “I can see it on your face when you’re about to go nuclear on someone. I sort of feel sorry for them, but stupidity is curable. I like to think you’re being charitable. Almost.”
One hop, skip and a jump from his voice was how his touch was tattooed over her body, just like his mouth on her neck, his palms on her breasts, his thighs between hers and that cock of his. Christ, the way he used it, as if it bent to his will, hitting her just so right, she was taking Strepsils for her throat for days on end. For the first time in such a long time, she let her guard down. Anna Taylor, ice queen who’d stake a Hans Christian Andersen witch with a half-arsed glance, let someone be close to her. Anna Taylor, who hadn’t shed a tear for Rocco and his betrayal, found herself waking up at three, four in the morning, in tears because it turned out her memory was a lot sharper than she’d fooled herself to believe.
Chapter Five
Nothing worth having was ever happened upon with ease. Rocco was very tempted to have that tattooed somewhere painful on his body every time he lost ground with Anna. That she’d taken Nonna’s case was purely incidental. Charles asked just as Rocco was on his way to meet with a QC for a fraud trial, “Is the lovely Ms. Taylor dealing with your grandmother’s case?”
“Yes she is, with as much grace as I thought she’d offer.”
“And you know your contract keeps you here for three years.”
Rocco’s left eyebrow winged upwards. “I’ve just landed a case worth around two million. Do you really think I’m going anywhere?”
Charles smirked. “I’m almost curious to see if Anna can push you out.”
“I’m very good at taking whatever Anna dishes out.”
“What a torrid love affair you two must have had.”
“See you later, Charles.” Rocco didn’t look up from the papers and made his way to the car park. The whole cheating ex-boyfriend role was really wearing thin. Despite his origins, particularly his grandmother’s ancestry with the Sicilian Mafia, Rocco valued his integrity. He’d watched his own mother’s liveliness being flaked away every time she discovered a new mistress, a new girlfriend, a new set-up for the females intent on having jewellery and flats from her husband, Rocco’s father. And it was his father’s lack of foresight beyond anything with breasts that cost him his relationship with Anna.
Rocco had been on the path to working exclusively with pharmaceuticals. It was how he met Beppe and introduced him to b
oth Tony and Nick. What the two of them didn’t know about compounds and chemicals wasn’t worth knowing. The first time his father had been arrested on suspicion of fraud, his mother called him and asked him to get the Da Canaveze solicitors to help him. Rocco sat in the police station, the Blackstone’s Criminal Practice book on his lap while he waited. His father barely escaped without a charge. It had been too close, and the lawyers admitted it. Rocco demanded a copy of the interview tape and saw exactly where the solicitors had gone wrong and almost helped send his father to prison.
So despite Beppe asking how the hell they were going to do what they needed to do, Rocco enrolled himself in a conversion course and inhaled the law. He also begged his father to keep his nose clean until he was fully qualified. A three-year degree condensed into one year didn’t even begin to challenge him. He read more, and he did a master’s degree specialising in criminal law. He applied to some of the biggest law firms in London for a training contract and walked every single interview. While others struggled to even get a look in, Rocco had a choice of firms. He attended the College of Law, and partway through the first tutorial on Business Accounts, he clocked Anna. The top of her red tinted curly head, really, because she was furiously writing down everything, calculator glued to her left hand. As if she could feel his stare, she glanced at him. Rocco sent her a grin. Her mouth twisted in disapproval. His grin widened. She carried on writing. The next tutorial, he sat next to her and watched her workings out.
“You’re right,” he murmured in admiration. “Can I copy?”
“Then how will you learn?” she retorted.
“I know how to do it, I just can’t be arsed today. It involves effort.”
“I’m sure you’d have more if you weren’t so busy humping your way through campus.”
“How dare you? I’ve been untouched except for precious times with my priest.” Anna stared at him in horror. “What, not into Catholic jokes?”
“Child sex abuse is not funny.”
“It is when your priest does try it and he’s found floating in the Thames the next day.”
Anna put her pen down. “You need help. Honestly, I know some counselling services that’d be happy to help you out.”
“How about you help me?”
“I donate to charities via direct debit. I’m not into personal volunteering.”
“It’s not charity if I take you out.” He named the French restaurant two streets away which had two Michelin stars. “What do you think?”
“I actually eat, so offering to go there means your card better not bounce.”
“It won’t,” he promised. “Are you coming then? Help out a damaged young—”
“All right, just shut up and let me take these notes.” He caught the tiniest smile on her face and felt like he’d reached the summit of Everest. When she first smiled properly at him, because he showed up to their dinner in a suit and tie, it was like being given a knighthood. Anna made him earn her affection, and when he had it, blazing sun in the height of summer in the Sahara couldn’t compete with the heat of being with her. She had her own gravitational pull, and even though she could tell a person where to get off with specific directions to the Land of Fuck You, people wanted to be around her.
She crackled with energy, right to the tips of her flame-tinted curls. Her passion was employment law, she informed him, only because just as she was going into teaching, one of her aunts was unceremoniously sacked. Anna, incensed with the injustice of it all, went with her aunt to the Tribunal and won the case for her aunt on discrimination. Of the forty thousand pounds compensation award, Anna was given ten thousand which she used to pay for her conversion course. He heard from others at the college that Anna would get into long and involved debates with the tutor on aspects of the various employment acts and, moreover, the government for siding with businesses for the sake of money.
“It’s like she’s been possessed by the spirit of a thousand trade unions,” one guy sighed. But that was his woman. No bullshit, all smarts, honour and a legal bullet in the eye if you crossed her. Beppe didn’t like Anna at first. It was a typical clash of who knows best—best friend or girlfriend. But it was Anna who suggested a group trip to the Alps to ski, and after that and paying for several grappas for the chalet girls Beppe had his wandering eyes on, Beppe declared eternal loyalty to Anna.
“Because she paid for grappas?”
“No, fool, because she did it without asking. Without seeking my approval. Without being so desperate for it she’d make a show of it. Of all the people she’s started fights with she hasn’t started any with me because she knows that we are bredrins.”
“Don’t use that word.”
“What, I’m from Streatham, of course I’ll use that word. But she understands. So yeah, if you and her say moved in together and had a litter of puppies, the first three to be called Giuseppe, I’d be all right with that.”
And just as Rocco was looking at houses, rings and thinking about how well Anna and his sisters would get on, disaster struck. Massimo Da Canaveze called him. “I will be brief, Rocco, but your father has been extremely careless. He passed on some information to a loose-lipped girl who has been in contact with a detective constable. This detective has been after your father for a long time.”
“What’s happened?”
“Get rid of everything that connects him to her and us. I have told your father to behave as normal, which means the clean-up will rely on you. You know what to look for. If not, speak to Nicholas and Anthony. You will not have very much time to rectify his mistakes. Do your best not to get yourself caught.”
“Yes sir. Thank you.”
Rocco called Nick and Tony to meet up with him, angry that his father was again intruding in his personal life. “What can we get rid of?”
Nick shrugged. “Formulate new attendance notes, change the dates, not just on the files he’s got but on his accounts. Has he been skimming money from dividends as well?”
“Probably.”
Tony winced. “It’ll take some time. How far back am I going?”
“I don’t even know. Your dad said we can’t get caught.”
Nick lowered his lashes and thought. “Tony, can you access the server for his firm?”
“Easy, but there’ll be stuff on his computer as well. Hardware history.”
“We have to do this,” Rocco said. “This will kill my mother.”
“To be honest, mate, it’ll fuck up your career as well.”
Tony caught his eye. “Do yourself a favour. Don’t tell Anna. If this detective is after your dad, he’s probably got an eye on you and her too.”
Rocco looked to Nick for help. “Seriously, don’t get her involved. If she doesn’t know anything, she can’t resent you for giving anything away.”
“Fine.”
So he withdrew from Anna, trying to keep her integrity intact, while the three of them did their best to erase the tracks of fraud in Rocco’s father’s work. The last job was to go to the office direct and remove the same information from his PC and replace it with well-documented client meetings and letters of advice. They got caught. He got caught. The security guard, who had been well paid to run the feed as directed by Tony, let one camera slip, and Rocco was caught on camera in the corridor of the firm. The police pounced and Rocco, for the first time, found himself in the wrong seat of a police station in front of an officer who seemed unnaturally excited about it all. He’d introduced himself as a DS Norcross and landed himself at the top of Rocco’s shit list.
“Where were you last night?”
“Can’t say.”
“You’re not protecting your father, and you’re only going to ruin your career. You won’t be a solicitor if you have a criminal record, Mr. Mamione.” His eyes turned malicious. “That won’t impress your mother.”
Rocco cleared his throat, to prevent himself from ripping out Norcross’. “No comment.”
Two hours into the interview, Rocco’s father manned
up and claimed the video was of him, tidying up some work after a client dinner meeting. “Doesn’t answer the question, junior,” the officer spat, four hours into the investigation. “Where were you?”
“No comment.”
Norcross pressed him. “Maybe I should ask your mother. She’d do anything to protect you and your useless father.” He leered. “Anything at all. Women like your mother tend to be really lonely. All they need is an ear. Or whatever takes their fancy.”
Rocco chuckled, even as his solicitor touched his shoulder. Laughing was better than trying to pull out the man’s paltry brains through his nostrils. “Amateur,” Rocco murmured.
The interview was abruptly interrupted and the officer left the room. Rocco’s solicitor turned to him. “Work with me here, Rocco. Were you there?”
“Don’t be so fucking thick,” Rocco thundered.
“Call your girlfriend.”
“What for?”
“It’s what will help.”
“No,” he refused. “She is not getting in the middle of this.”
“Then you are doing yourself no favours.”
“Can you hear me? I said no.”
Norcross came back in. “Well, well, well. Like father, like son, eh? Some girl has just said you were with her last night. Some girl who says she’s not your girlfriend and you don’t want your girlfriend to know. Sound familiar?”
Rocco didn’t let a flicker of a muscle move on his face. “It’s personal.”
“Don’t play about with me.”
“Look, I’ve said I wasn’t there. Other people say I wasn’t there. The person who was allowed to be in the office at the time says they were there. Why are you wasting my time?”