by Nigel May
Scott’s mind wandered to what he planned to say. He was only a couple of sentences in when he felt the weight of a fist connecting with his face. He could hear the crunch of his nose as it gave way under the weight of the heavy object smashing against his skin.
His legs buckled underneath him and he made a vain attempt to look up at his assailant as the coldness of the concrete swept across his body. The last thing he saw was a foot swinging towards him and smashing into his face. As the metallic flavour of blood flowed across his taste buds and everything wrapped in black, Scott was vaguely aware of thinking what a very smart shoe it was for a mugger.
Sixty-Seven
Every inch of the tomb she was in was becoming familiar to her. The blackness had turned to the darkest of greys. She could see the four walls, the steps, the bareness of everything else. The food she had been left was virtually gone. The water jug she had been supplied with was nearing empty. The one thing that wasn’t was the bucket that shared her cell. The squalid mixture of urine and feces was nearing the top. Why wasn’t someone coming to empty it like before? The stranger who she had grown to hate, the person stopping her once vibrant life from having any light, any joy, any hope. It was clear she was alone.
The only stitch of colour in the throw of darkness came from the small rectangular outline of light around the outside of the door at the top of the steps. With what little strength she still possessed, she had managed to pull herself up the steps and rest her body against the door. Walking was no longer an option, her legs hollow with fatigue.
She pressed her ear up against the crack of light and listened to see if any noise was coming from the other side. It wasn’t. The crack was too small to see through but she knew that whatever was on the other side was light. Escape. Freedom. It may as well have been another galaxy as there was no way she could get there.
Pressing her nails, or what was left of them, into the hairline of light, she attempted to scrape away at the wall. Miniscule pieces of it gave way and fell across her fingers and onto the floor. For a few short seconds there was hope. A sliver of something to live for at the end of the end of the tunnel. But then the pieces stopped. She carried on scraping, her nails and fingers starting to bleed as she dug them as far as she could into the crack around the door. Nails that used to be so pristine, so beautifully painted.
Any force she had left within her was zapped within seconds. Her focus on the crack seem to fade. Was this it? Was this death creeping towards her? After the shortest, brightest of lives, was this how it was to end? She prayed not, willing thoughts of herself at school, kissing her first boyfriend, euphoric nights out with friends into her mind. That was another lifetime. One to which she could no longer relate. Images of happier times were replaced with the horror of the night that had passed just a while before. The heat of the night air, the heat of her burning core, the heat of a stranger’s breath as she was manhandled away.
But her prayers stopped as her eyes closed and she rolled back down the stairs and across the stone floor. Only the bucket slowed her momentum as she crashed into it unaware. The dark toxic liquid inside sloshed from side to side and then emptied itself across the floor as the bucket fell on its side. She was mercifully oblivious as the contents splashed up against the wall and then ran back towards her soaking her already filthy clothes.
Sixty-Eight
Evie Merchant had never intended for her charity party to be a media frenzy. That had not been the idea at all. It was to raise money for charity and to raise awareness about the ongoing disappearance of Mitzi Bidgood.
But as Evie’s car pulled up in front of the event, even she, as an award ceremony veteran who had seen many a crowd, was amazed by the sea of flashing lights and inquisitive reporters standing outside the venue flanking the red carpet.
As she stepped out of her car and a barrage of questions fired at her, Evie took stock in her head. Normally red carpets meant questions about her latest film, lovers both on-screen and off and her predictions for Oscar season. She would just talk about Mitzi. Let the press report on that in the morning. She knew how to work them. Every ceremony from the BAFTAs to the Brits had taught her well.
Little did Evie know that as the first question about the event fired her way and she gave a clear, concise, controlled answer, that reports in the next day’s press would hardly mention Mitzi at all. The night was set to be remembered for a completely different reason altogether. One over which the actress would have no control whatsoever.
Sixty-Nine
Jack Christie had always been told that one of the major secrets of being a good criminal was the art of timing. Picking the right moment to get the job done. Nothing was impossible in his mind, and it was an opinion he shared with Andy North as they perched behind the wheelie bins at the back of the event venue.
As Jack would say, ‘We just need to bide our time.’
The two men had been staking the venue ever since Chloe had delivered the invitation to them several days before. Despite being dressed in head-to-toe Savile Row and certainly looking the part, there was no way the two of them were risking entering into the building along the red carpet. Too many cameras and too many chances of being discovered afterwards. It would only take one pap shot of a frocked-up reality TV star with a couple of dodgy looking crims skulking around in the background to put two and two together and make a connection that could see both of them back behind bars. And the only bars they intended to be seen near in the future were the boozer dives near their beloved flat.
Mind you, if tonight went well, then maybe they’d be trading the flat in for something a little swankier. Jack had been watching a lot of those A Place In The Sun type shows and maybe a villa in the sunshine of Ibiza or a bolt hole in Majorca would be the perfect place to get smashed, trashed and gashed. The women would love it and flock to them like bees around a honey pot. Plus it was pretty much party season all year round. And that was win-win in Jack’s eyes.
But tonight needed to be a success first, and for that to happen both he and Andy needed to work out how to gain entry to the venue.
Which is why they had been hovering together behind the wheelie bins for about twenty minutes waiting for their moment. The pair of them had seen caterers and event organisers coming and going all week, using the back entrance to prep the venue. Andy had been watching and waiting for a good thirty minutes before Jack had even arrived and had already seen ice sculptures, floral arrangements and crates of booze being delivered. It promised to be a brilliant party in more ways than one.
The men had also seen various members of the waiting and catering crew standing outside every now and again for a crafty cigarette. It was this that picked at both Jack and Andy’s criminal minds.
They had watched one young woman in particular. Slightly overweight, her hair was tied back into a bun in a style not overly flattering to her moon-shaped face and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She couldn’t have been more than about twenty in age and she kept popping outside for a sneaky puff with almost synchronised timing. Just by herself, not really speaking to anyone, it seemed, and somewhat glum at the thought of having to work. ‘Dowdy’ would be the word on most people’s lips. But every twenty minutes, there she was. As she made her latest appearance, Jack and Andy swooped into action.
Moving towards the back door, they both lit up a cigarette and joined the woman. Their arrival didn’t appear to shock her and she summoned up a one-word greeting. ‘Alright?’
‘Hello there, gorgeous,’ opened Jack, his proclamation bringing a smile to the girl’s face and a smudge of red to her cheeks. ‘You’re a dirty smoker like us too? That’s why we crept round the back, we can’t be seen having a ciggie on the red carpet. Not good for the career. One pap shot in the papers and we’ll be strung up and never touched in Hollywood again.’
‘Why? What do you do?’
‘You don’t recognise us, darling?’
The girl shrugged as she took a long drag on
her cigarette. ‘No, should I?’
‘Only if you’ve seen any of our films. We’re both action stars in Hollywood. We’ve been working with Evie Merchant.’
‘Who?’
Jack and Andy smiled at each other. If she didn’t even know the name of the award-winning party host then getting her to believe that they were Hollywood royalty would be a breeze. They’d picked her as she didn’t look clued up and their instincts had been right. This was going to be like taking candy from a baby.
‘Yeah, we’ve just finished working on Expendables 5, or was it 4, I don’t know?’ joked Jack. ‘Could have been number 12 for all I know. We just turn up, blow a few shooters and get paid a fortune. Stallone, The Rock, all the muscle greats. You a fan?’
‘No, I like sci-fi, that’s it.’
‘We’re supposed to epitomise health and fitness so we can’t be seen with these.’ Both Andy and Jack consciously stubbed out their cigarettes as the girl did the same to hers. ‘Right, we’d better get into the party. Here’s our invitation.’ Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of card.
‘Can we crash through here, sexy? It’ll save us working our way down the red carpet answering shedloads of as dull-as-bat-shit questions.’
‘Please yourselves. Are you famous then? What are your names so I can tell my mum?’
‘You tell her you met Jack Daw and Tommy Thrush, alright.’
Andy let out a cough of hilarity at his made-up name. Surely the girl would realise they were taking the piss?
She didn’t. As the two men walked through the corridors at the back of the building and made their way into the main arena of the venue where A-list guests were already gathering, nobody questioned why they were there. They looked the part and their timing had been perfect. The girl was back stacking plates in the kitchen trying to remember the names of the actors who had called her sexy by the time Jack and Andy picked up their first flute of champagne.
It was only as Jack raised his glass to his mouth that Andy commented on the appearance of his bloodied knuckles and the bruised skin around his jackdaw ring. ‘You might want to clean that up, mate, looks a bit sore, what you been up to?’
‘Just had a little something I needed to do on the way here. Hold that, I’ll just go and clean up.’ He handed Andy his drink.
‘And you might want to clean your shoes up and all,’ stated Andy. ‘They look scuffed to hell. This is supposed to be a posh do.’
Jack looked down at his shoes. Andy was right. ‘Fuck, kicking the crap out of someone ruins your frigging leather,’ he moaned to himself as he headed to the toilet. Still, with the money coming his way after tonight, The Jackdaw could buy as many pairs of designer shoes as he flaming well pleased.
Seventy
Victoria was feeling mixed emotions. On one side she was feeling elated that, thanks to her treatment at The Abbey Rehabilitation Centre over the past week, she was feeling both brighter and more in control of her own body than she had in a long while. The past few days had been hideous and hard, but worth every agonising moment as she had been taught about coping with the pain in her side and dealing with it without reaching for another of her little white tablets. Or at least those little white tablets. According to the experts at The Abbey it had been those that had sent her brain into meltdown and made her emotions so erratic. For a while Victoria’s life would have to be withdrawal assistance drugs and incremental dosage reduction but if that was what it would take to put her life back on the straight and narrow and maybe bring her family back together, then so be it. She would do everything required to keep herself away from her former drug-addled state. There were too many people that she didn’t want to disappoint. She’d spent too much time doing that recently and it was time for it to stop.
That was why she had come to the party. It would be a challenge but one that she wanted to face full on. Evie had believed in her and given her the help she required. If it hadn’t been for her famous friend, she would have ended her life as a corpse in a bathtub full of tepid water. Her children would have only been able to be close to her at her graveside. At least while she had life, she still had hope.
The red carpet was an obstacle course for Victoria. A few days ago she was unknown, and would have been able to glide down it with ease, ignored by the scavenging reporters and click-happy photographers. But after that photo of her and Charlie in Gran Canaria had been posted across the media she was somebody who could give their hungry minds answers. Was there something between her and Charlie? Was she competition for Georgia? Had it gone beyond kissing? What did her husband think of it all?
Victoria knew that tonight was the night when she would have to face so many of those she had hurt, and indeed those who had hurt her. Charlie, Georgia, Nova, Jacob, Scott, Chloe, Evie. All in one place. Her brain told her not to attend, the sensible side of her mind saying that she was entering the gates of Hell, and that given her somewhat fragile state, she risked more than simply having her fingers burned.
But this was a new Victoria. One who was indeed determined to take pole position once again and have some pride in her existence. As she walked down the red carpet, her Erdem print dress framing her inwardly-weakened body to perfection, to the outside world she seemed strong and sure of herself. She ignored every question that was fired at her, knowing that if she did start to talk her voice would wobble with nerves. Hadn’t she always longed for some kind of notoriety? When she’d left Farmington Grange hadn’t she wanted to succeed? To one day be in the spotlight like her friend Evie, like Mitzi, like Georgia? Well, now, for all the wrong reasons, she was. She was the centre of attention and as she moved off the red carpet and into the warmth of the event, the cries of the reporters still baying like cattle behind her, Victoria would have swapped all of that attention for a lifetime cuddled up on the sofa watching Bake Off or Sewing Bee with Scott and the children by her side.
And she knew that the warmth of the venue was about to turn icy cold as she faced so many people that she needed to say sorry to. How ironic that a harpist in the venue lobby was playing ‘Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word’ as she spotted Nova, Georgia, Jacob and Charlie ahead of her. Mixed emotions indeed.
Seventy-One
Jack’s evening was running like clockwork. In fact it was running better than he had even dared hoped.
He and Andy had already managed to dip their fingers into a variety of coat pockets at the venue cloakroom. The original plan had been to try and sneak in there when the attendant on duty wasn’t looking but when their dowdy cigarette-loving friend from the back door had appeared as the night’s chosen cloakroom worker – a surprising choice given the grandeur of the occasion but a welcome one nevertheless - Andy and Jack could pretty much come and go as they pleased as long as they gave her a cheery ‘hello gorgeous’ or winked at her as they went in. In her delirious state of adulation about having met ‘Jack Daw’ and ‘Tommy Thrush’ she seemed oblivious to the fact that neither man had arrived with a coat or that they seemed incredibly forgetful when it came to ‘just fetching my glasses/ciggies/raffle tickets/lighter’ or whatever excuse they managed to concoct next. Seeing as they were the only people that had actually noticed her existence all night she was more than overjoyed for them and their cheery compliments to come and go as they pleased, oblivious to their thieving hands in coat pockets and handbags that were laden down with wallets and purses, unneeded thanks to the free bar in operation. A mere two hours into the evening they had already amassed an illegal cash total of nearly ten thousand pounds. And the night was still young.
Jack was fuelling himself between sessions in the cloakroom by dipping his fingers into a sizable bag of coke that he’d brought with him. Andy had shared a few lines, but there was something about the euphoria of the evening’s event and the ease with which they were reaping their ill-gotten gains that spurred Jack’s greedy side into action. The constant buzz of the coke in his system mixed with a never-ending flow of expensive fizz was a coc
ktail he was loving.
It was as he was coming out of the gents that he bumped into two people. The first was someone he recognised as the showbiz reporter from the breakfast TV show. He’d sometimes seen him when he and Andy were still snorting a cheeky line in the early hours back at the flat after a night out on the rob, their brains too wired for sleep. ‘Good looking chap, better in the flesh than on TV,’ thought Jack as he held the toilet door open to let him pass.
The second person was Chloe, who had been waiting patiently for him to come out.
‘Alright, bird.’ Jack went to kiss her, his eyes wide and jittery as he did so. She pushed him away before he could make contact. He didn’t appreciate that and glared at her accordingly.
‘Okay, calm yourself, sister. You need to chill. Care for a line?’ He patted his pocket.
‘No I don’t. Christ, Jack, you’re wired. What the fuck are you doing? Just do whatever you’ve come to do and get out of here.’
‘And what have I come to do, Chloe?’
‘Steal stuff. What you always do. I’m not aware of you having any other function in life.’
Something was obviously eating Chloe and Jack didn’t appreciate her tone. He didn’t want anything to spoil the high from his coke, certainly not Chloe.