A Good Year for the Roses (1988)

by Timlin, Mark

  There was a taxi in the outside lane doing about twenty miles an hour, so I overtook it on the inside, then changed lanes to aim the Trans Am at the entrance of the Strand underpass. The Capri was about two car-lengths behind me. The opening of the tunnel was clear, and I must have been doing close to ninety as I hit the downward gradient. I lost control of the car for a split second as I entered the tunnel, and felt the nearside tyre touch the kerb. I swore from fear and pulled the wheel to my right and kept my foot on the accelerator. I could see the walls rushing past. The Capri was with me all the way. If Blondie could get a shot off at me now, it would be perfect for him. I was a sitting target. He stuck the top half of his body out of the car window and fired. I saw a chunk of wall in front of me explode into splinters. At that split second I hit the brakes hard. A terrible screaming sound from the protesting tyres echoed around the interior of the tunnel as the rubber bit into the metalled surface. I cringed at the thought of a blowout. At the same time as I braked I used the engine power to slow me further. I dropped into first and allowed the clutch to spring out. The car rocked and slid, and decelerated so fast that the belt harness dug into my chest painfully. The fat man's reflexes were too slow. The Capri hit the back end of the Pontiac with a deafening crash. Blondie was thrown neatly out of the car onto the road. Steam enveloped the two cars and filled the underpass. Still in first gear I accelerated, and began to pull away. With a screech of protesting metal, something pulled off one of the cars and clattered to the ground. The Capri was stalled in the tunnel with it's radiator split. Blondie staggered to his feet and raised his pistol, but he was too late. I was around the bend and up into Kingsway before he could fire. I drove sedately into Covent Garden and lost myself in the back streets before checking the damage to my car. I parked in front of a shop selling such vital items as pink leather Filofax and transparent plastic wrist watches. Personally I'd take the back of an envelope and a genuine Rolex any day. I sat in the car in the heat and watched myself shake. Eventually I got out and checked the back of the Trans Am. One rear light cluster had gone, leaving only bare bulbs on view. I must have pulled the Capri's bumper off in the crash because mine was still attached to the bodywork. Dented, but firmly bolted on. The primer paint was scratched and the metal had suffered some damage, but no big deal. I blessed Charlie and his garage. I found one bullet hole punched into the rear panel. I'd been lucky, if it had entered on the other side, it would have hit the petrol tank and I'd have been medium rare. I leant weakly against the car and wished for a cigarette. In the distance I heard the sound of police sirens and hoped that my would-be assassins were going to have their collars felt. Fat chance, I guessed. I droved home by a circuitous route and retired to my room to play with my gun collection. I couldn't think of anything else to do.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  The front door bell of my flat rang at about eight that evening. I was sitting on the bed in the semi-darkness, staring at the wall in front of me, holding the Colt Cobra loosely in my right hand. I jumped slightly at the sound, then slid off the bed and went over to the window. The street outside was quiet in the gathering nightfall, and the orange lamps shone faintly against the pale evening sky.

  There were no strange cars parked outside and I couldn't see anyone by the door, so I thought I'd better take a squint. I padded silently down the stairs on my bare feet, gun in hand. I didn't turn on the hall light to avoid making myself a target for any potential shootist who might be lurking at the front of the house. Being paranoid was a state I was adjusting to fast. I carefully opened the front door a crack and peered out. There was a woman standing in the shadow of the porch with her back to me, looking out into the street. As she heard the door open she swung round on her heels. I could hardly see her in the gloom.

  ‘Nick?’ she asked hesitantly.

  I screwed up my eyes against the evening.

  ‘Teresa, is that you?’ I asked. She stood facing me, then put her hands on her hips in that old familiar way, and I knew that it was, for certain.

  ‘God, it is,’ I said disbelievingly.

  ‘Can't you recognise a girl in the dark?’ she asked. ‘Or do I have to smile so's my teeth shine?’

  ‘I don't believe it, what are you doing here?’ I asked, in that dumb way that you do, when someone you used to sleep with, and has now become a stranger again, turns up.

  ‘I've come to see an old friend, what else?’ Her voice had cooled by a degree or two. She was as sensitive as ever to the nuance in my voice. I stepped back and opened the door wide.

  ‘I've been thinking about you,’ I said. ‘I saw Em. It's just such a surprise that you're here.’

  ‘Pleasant?’

  ‘What do you think? Come in,’ I allowed her to enter, then couldn't resist a quick look up and down the street. It was completely deserted. As I stood on the drive I realised that I still had the Colt in my hand and hastily pushed it into the hip pocket of my trousers. I followed Teresa into the house and put on the hall light using the switch by the front door. I looked at her in the yellow glow from the bulb. She was exactly as I remembered her. Beautiful, perhaps even more so than when I'd last seen her at the hospital, almost two years before.

  ‘You look good,’ I said.

  ‘You don't,’ she replied, studying my face closely. ‘You look ill, aren't you sleeping?’

  ‘Not a lot. Did Emerald give you my address?’

  ‘Who else? And don't change the subject. Are you sick, or what?’

  ‘Or what, mainly. Anyway are you a doctor now?’

  ‘You know better than most what I am, what's the matter with you?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Some nothing, do you always greet visitors with a gun in your hand?’

  I smiled in a half embarrassed way. Teresa never missed a trick.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ I said. ‘Let's not tell the whole world. Go upstairs, my flat's right at the top.’

  I followed her up the three flights of stairs, and all the way I watched her bottom as it twitched under her tight leather skirt. It looked good, like water to a man dying of thirst.

  I drew the curtains at my windows before I switched on the lights. She stood in the centre of the floor and looked around.

  ‘Is this all there is? It's not very big is it?’ she asked, with rather more accuracy than I liked.

  ‘Everybody says that,’ I replied.

  ‘Entertain a lot, do you?’

  ‘Yeah, I had a dinner party for eighteen last night, silver service, you've just missed the clean-up crew.’

  ‘Don't be sarcastic, Nick. It doesn't suit you.’

  ‘Sorry, sit down.’

  ‘Where?’ she asked, looking around. Everyone did that too.

  ‘Bed or chair,’ I replied.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and swung her long legs up, showing more than a little thigh, and lay back against the pillow propped on the headboard where I'd been sitting in the darkness.

  ‘This suits me,’ she said. I almost laughed.

  ‘Trust you to choose the bed,’ I said. ‘You don't change, do you?’

  She pulled an innocent face and asked, ‘Don't I?’

  ‘You've probably got worse.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, looking guilelessly through her long eyelashes. All in all she was about as innocent as a back alley tabby.

  ‘Don't be coy with me Tess, I know you better, remember. Do you want a drink?’

  ‘Sure, what've you got?’

  ‘Beer, beer or vodka.’

  ‘Vodka, on the rocks please.’

  ‘Sophisticated lady.’

  ‘Don't take the piss,’ she said, but with a smile to soften the words.

  ‘If I remember rightly, I was the only one allowed to.’

  She pouted prettily and I went to get the ice out of the freezer. As I hunkered down I saw the ugly plastic bag stuffed behind the ice-cube tray. I ignored it and put the chill I felt down to handling the cubes. I was glad to slam the fr
idge door. I threw a handful of ice into each of two tall, thick bottomed glasses and added a good slug of colourless liquid from the vodka bottle.

  ‘No lemon, I'm afraid,’ I said.

  ‘I'm sure I'll survive,’ she replied.

  I handed her one of the glasses and holding mine I sat down on the armchair and rested my foot on the bed next to her.

  ‘How's your leg?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine, most of the time. It aches a bit in the cold.’

  ‘Have you seen the guy who shot you?’

  ‘Yes, a couple of times. Today as a matter of fact.’ I didn't go into any details.

  ‘Friends again?’

  ‘I think so,’ I replied. I'd been wondering about that myself as I sat alone earlier.

  ‘Good,’ she seemed pleased, although I didn't know why, as she'd never been particularly keen on John Reid. In the past she'd often used a particularly rude West Indian slang expression to describe him.

  ‘Do you still dance?’

  I was surprised at the question.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ I asked. ‘I haven't been dancing since I got shot. I'm not exactly in condition, besides I'm too old.’

  ‘Never, you used to be great.’ What a diamond the girl was.

  ‘Thanks, Tess, coming from you that's a real compliment.’ And it was, when she got on the dance floor she set the sucker on fire.

  ‘Don't you remember the old motto?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure I do, can't dance, can't fuck.’

  We shouted it out in unison and then both burst outlaughing, though I must confess mine was rather hollow laughter.

  ‘What did Emerald tell you?’ I asked, changing the subject-quickly.

  ‘Nothing much, he was very close. He said you might be in some sort of trouble.’

  ‘And then he gave you my address, so you could walk right into it. How thoughtful.’

  She moved slightly towards me. ‘Don't blame him Nick, I practically had to beat it out of him.’

  ‘What with? Your suspender belt?’ I enquired.

  ‘Very funny,’ she said. ‘What is the matter? Please tell me.’

  I knew she was worried about me, and I was grateful. But she was just another hostage to fortune, and right then I didn't need any more of them.

  ‘It's nothing I can't handle,’ I said, tough cookie that I was. At any moment I might beat her up, or stamp my foot on the carpet in a fit of pique.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I'm impressed.’

  ‘Did you drive over?’ I asked. Changing the subject again.

  ‘I still don't,’ she replied. ‘I caught a cab. It dropped me off on the corner.’

  ‘I'm glad I was in.’

  ‘I called some friends who live close by. If you'd have been out, I'd've paid them a visit.’

  ‘I feel like a bus stop,’ I said, with more venom in my voice than I'd intended.

  ‘Stop it Nick,’ she said. ‘What's got into you?’

  ‘Nothing Tess, I'm sorry, I'm just a little tense.’

  I remembered the pistol in my pocket and went over and put it into the top drawer of my dresser, where it nestled amongst my clean socks. I left the drawer open. Under the circumstances it was probably not a discreet thing to do. Teresa watched me with wide, frigthtened eyes.

  ‘That sort of tense can be unhealthy,’ she said.

  ‘You're talking like the TV again, Teresa,’ I replied.

  ‘And you're acting like the TV. Who the hell do you think you are?’ I looked over at her from where I was standing by the dresser.

  ‘You tell me, you seem to know everything,’ I said.

  ‘Well I'm sorry, pardon me for living I'm sure. I think I'd better go.’ So saying, she banged her glass down on the bedside table, splashing two drops of liquid onto the polished wood where they caught the light and reflected twin bright spangles at me. Then she swept off the bed and stood glaring at me. I walked over and carefully put my glass next to hers. All of a sudden I desperately wanted her to stay. ‘Don't go,’ I begged. ‘I didn't mean to be unpleasant. It's just that there are things happening that I don't understand. You being here just complicates matters.’

  She moved as if to pass me. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to my body. She tried to pull away, but I held her tightly. I told you I was tough. Jesus, sometimes I scared myself.

  ‘Tess,’ I whispered, close to her ear. ‘I apologise, honestly. I'm sorry I'm acting like a cunt. Remember me, it's Nick, your old buddy.’ After a moment she relaxed and leant up against me. I could smell the perfume in her hair, and the sharp scent of the skin beneath it. I let go of her wrist and moved back away from her. She sat down on the bed again and picked up her glass. As she drank I took a long look at her.

  Her hair was as long and thick and dark as ever. Her face reminded me of a black angel. Perfect skin, brown eyes that could shine like stars or glitter in anger, high cheekbones and luscious lips coated in deep red lipstick. She was wearing a thick white cotton sweater, her leather skirt came to just above the knee, exposing black fishnets and black suede shoes with thin, high heels. The shoes were just beginning to go shiny at the ends of their pointed toes.

  ‘Are you in civvies tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘That's right, no work today.’

  We sat and smiled the sort of silly smiles at each other that started the mutual remembering that was necessary to make our old friendship fresh again. As I looked at her, I saw her begin to twitch inside her clothes. I was almost embarrassed as I watched her subtly begin to turn herself on.

  ‘Oh Tess,’ I said. ‘What the fuck's all this about? Did Emerald send you round as a welcome home present?’

  She never turned a hair. ‘It was a mutual idea,’ she replied.

  ‘What a fucking pair,’ I said. ‘You're unbelievable.’ I jumped up from my seat and went over and sat next to her on the bed cover.

  ‘Why didn't you just call me up?’ I asked. ‘You must have known I'd want to see you.’

  ‘I was scared. It's been a long time.’

  ‘Are you crazy? I was dying to see you again. But you didn't have to come gift wrapped.’

  ‘I'm sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Don't be, I'm glad you're here.’

  ‘But you said I complicate things.’

  ‘I did, and you do. I'm a bit mixed up. I don't know what I do want.’

  ‘You used to. Me.’

  She leaned over and kissed me. The kiss tasted of warm beaches and blue skies. I felt my blood running hot and thick, like lava through my veins. As she kissed me I began to smile.

  She pulled back and regarded me closely. ‘What's the matter?’ she asked.

  ‘I'm just smiling, you don't mind do you? It doesn't happen very often lately.’

  ‘Am I that funny?’

  ‘Shut up,’ I said, and we kissed again.

  As we kissed she touched the back of my head. I flinched at the contact. She pulled me around and studied my wound.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Someone tried to ventilate my brain.’

  ‘Why are you always trying to be so tough? It looks as if whoever it was nearly succeeded.’

  ‘You should see the other guy.’

  ‘There you go again.’

  ‘OK Tess, you win. I could never fool you anyway. I got hit on the head by someone who was trying to frame me on a manslaughter charge. There are some threats flying about concerning Judith. That's why I've got the gun. Now I don't want any of these characters finding out about you, that I care for you, or they might try something on. That's why you shouldn't be here.’

  She sat and stared at me for a while. ‘I'll go in a minute,’ she said. Then she leaned over and kissed me again. This time I was ready for her and kissed her back. Her mouth was wet and warm and fitted mine perfectly. We kissed long and hard. Although I was beginning to enjoy all the attention I was getting, there was just one small problem, one tiny ghost in the machine. I pulled back.

&nbs
p; ‘Do you want to know something?’ I asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I haven't slept with a woman since the last time I slept with you.’

  ‘You're kidding,’ she said incredulously.

  ‘It's true.’

  ‘But that was two years ago, maybe more.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Are you gay now?’

  ‘I don't think so,’ I said. ‘I haven't tried it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I haven't met any men I fancy.’

  ‘Not that, stupid. Why haven't you slept with a woman in all that time?’

  ‘Jesus, Teresa,’ I said. ‘I didn't sign a contract that said I have to act like a bunny rabbit.’

  ‘A rabbit's one thing,’ she said. ‘But total celibacy is another. I just don't understand. You used to like it, hell you used to like it a lot, and you were good at it,’ she added.

  My natural modesty forbade anything more than a simper on my part, but it was nice to know I was appreciated.

  ‘I was ill,’ I said. ‘Up here.’ I tapped my forehead. ‘I took a long time to get over it. And then I never met anyone I wanted, or who wanted me. There were too many women in my past for me to go looking. Too many memories.’