Raig felt like he was in a time warp. Where did she find them? What next, Perry Como and Magic Moments? There was a thought. He decided she needed another email. Hopefully one she’d laugh at.
She did. As the song ended, he heard her laughing. “Welcome back. I’ve had a very nice email from a listener. He wants Rod Stewart singing Da Ya Think I’m Sexy? for his lovely lady. So here it is. Then we’ll check out some more emails. I must say our mystery person has got a lot of sympathy from you. Even from those of you who say he was in the wrong.”
His laptop beeped to indicate an incoming email. Brief. To the point.
Sexy. But still a wanker.
Aha. Presumably Stevie was seeing the emails. He checked again and felt he’d won the lottery. Across the bottom it stated, sent from my iPhone.
So, no Stevie to read and comment, that was a step forward. She hadn’t suggested she play Return to Sender either.
This sexy wanker really is sorry. He admits he still hasn’t told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but he is working on it. Hopes to be working on you one day!
Too much? He still pressed send.
The rest of her show passed uneventfully. He received no more emails and wondered if he had been too blatant.
Just as he went to log off, he heard the familiar bleep. Twice. One said, read first.
He opened it.
A work in progress? Let me know when you’ve finished.
Oh, he’d do that all right. He opened the second one.
Should I be flattered? Or annoyed? Guess I’ll think about that and let you know. Meanwhile sleep well. Sweet dreams!
Not much chance of that. Even those few words had raised his hope. And his cock.
In a considerably better frame of mind, he went to bed. Frustrated and horny as he was, he had no intention of doing anything about it. That would be infidelity. He kept his hands strictly at his sides and woke up feeling better than he had in days. He even whistled as he got ready to head for the first of several of what he thought would be difficult meetings. He wasn’t wrong. His ideas were argued against. Everything he suggested was counter suggested. Vehemently.
“Look, Raig, I can see where you are coming from, but it’s your life at risk here. That heroin gang meant what they said, you know. Michael Dooley is a dead man. He’s a dead man walking, that’s there very words. You can’t risk it. No way. If it’s not them, it will be someone else.”
Raig was stubborn and determined—it was his future at stake. “There has got to be a way. We need to find it and make it work. I was out of it soon anyway. I need to make it official. Finished. You might have been hoping I’d sign on for another stint, but I told you, you know, Kenny. Enough is enough. Next week is it. One way or another.”
The man sighed and ran his hands over his sparse hair. Hair that, he joked, had been thick, dark and luxurious until he’d met Raig. “Okay. Let’s see what we can do. I still think you may need to be ultra-cautious though. No exposé, just a getaway.”
Raig grunted. He’d guessed that already. It was how it would be done, that was the important thing. Already he had managed to bring the meeting forward. Now he just had to bring the demise of Michael Dooley forward as well.
“It matters,” he said now. “More than anything has ever mattered. Even more than all this.” He waved his hands around the tiny room. “She is my life, I hope. She’s everything to me.” Trite but true. “My da always said I would see her and know. And I have. We’ve got to get this right, Kenny. Too much is at stake.”
“You’re telling me, but somehow I don’t think we are talking about the same things.”
“Probably not,” Raig acknowledged. “Nonetheless, both are very important. Right, so I can leave it up to you for now? I’ll be back on Monday.”
Kenny nodded, his eyes grave. Raig felt a moment’s pity. He’d blithely said what he wanted and was leaving it up to Kenny to make sure it happened. Raig touched his shoulder.
“Thanks,” he said simply. “It will all be worth it, I promise. I won’t do anything stupid, will do as I’m told, but even so, for my sanity and future, it’s got to be over.”
“I know. I’ll get things rolling. We’ll go for Thursday next week, as arranged.”
Raig smiled as he left the room, his heart heavy, where it should have been light. Nevertheless, no one understood more than him just how much he was risking. Half of him wished it could be over and done with sooner, the other half knew how important it was to get it right.
As he drove back to the fairground, he went over everything in his mind. He was going to have to make sure Vairi understood it all. That might prove tricky. He had to ask her to wait for another week before he revealed everything, before he was up front with her. Would she do that? He needed help. Jonny. He was the only person, other than Kenny and his helper, who knew exactly what he had been doing. Who Michael Dooley was, and what he was to Raig.
So tonight after close-down, he’d enlist Jonny.
“You’re fucking mad. Absolutely off your trolley. Deathwish dot com, that’s you. Crazy, fucking crazy.” Jonny threw his hands up in disgust. “Ninety pence short of a quid. Hello, I like having you around. Your ma will kill me if I tell her I’m about to arrange your funeral. It’s impossible.”
“Not if it’s done properly,” Raig argued. “I need you to help me, Joh. If I give you what and where, I need your help. No one else can do it. There’s no one else I trust.”
He thought, hoped, he had mollified Jonny. It was true. Only he could help now.
Jonny sighed deeply and nodded. “I’ll help,” he said gruffly. “But for fuck’s sake.”
“Be careful,” they said together.
“Oh, fuck you, Raig. Just please, please do as you’re told. Seriously, your ma would never forgive me if it all goes tits up.”
Raig laughed. “Never mind Ma, I wouldn’t forgive myself. Right, I’m for bed. I’ve a lot to do in the next few days, not just here. Thanks, Joh. I owe you.”
Jonny grimaced. “That you do, Raig, that you do. I’ll remember.”
Raig laughed. “I bet you will, you bugger.”
Jonny’s promise of help gave him the fillip he needed. He slept well and woke up on Friday morning ready for anything life threw at him. So he thought.
His determination was tested almost as soon as he got up and went to the Ready Room. Phil had a face like a wet week in June.
“What’s up?”
Phil scowled. “Half the fucking stallholders, that’s what. Bloody throwing up. D and V courtesy of Tessa Willows and her bloody mushroom soup. Magic bloody mushrooms. We’ve got environmental health all over us like a rash.”
In spite of the fact that it seemed like half of the stalls wouldn’t be able to open, Raig couldn’t help but laugh. Tessa was famous for adding something extra into her cooking. Her devotees had got more than they’d bargained for this time. Unfortunately, however bad their resultant headaches might eventually be, the one Phil had now was much, much worse.
“So, worst-case scenario, Phil?” His own problems would need to wait. “What are we down?”
“Anything from ten to twenty won’t be fit tonight. Tessa is being the original weeping willow and fucking useless. Typical though, she’s fine of course. Never hits the one who causes it, eh? We can cover about half the rides, but”—he shrugged—“let’s hope it’s a quiet night.”
“Not likely on a Friday. I’ll see what I can do to get help. Give me a while.” He walked away from Phil, who was already muttering and cross-referencing people to stalls and rides, and pulled out his mobile. Okay. Denny would be working, but that had never stopped him answering his phone before. God willing, it wouldn’t this time. It didn’t.
“Hey you. How’s the dick?”
Nice greeting that. Expected, but nevertheless…
“Still attached. Look, Denny, we need help. Not me, the fair.” Briefly, he explained about the dodgy food.
He heard the i
nterest in Denny’s voice as Denny chuckled and asked teasingly, “What sort of help do you need?”
Rapidly, Raig went over what he thought they needed. “I know I can’t use anyone to man the rides, because of health and safety, but as general dogsbodies, that sort of thing would be a great help. Hell, anyone who can string three words together and speak intelligibly will do. Oh, and they need to promise not to eat anything that Tessa Willows offers them. She seems to have a cast-iron stomach, nothing affects her, but by God, her cooking can’t half affect others. We’re in a real hole at the moment, Den. We’ve only got another three nights here, I really don’t want to have to close half of the attractions for one of them.”
“I’ll see what I can do. What time?”
Within seconds Raig put down the phone. He’d done all he could. Now he had to wait and see how things panned out.
Phil looked harassed as he re-entered the Ready Room. “Bloody Tessa. Why does she never experience the results of her handiwork? That’s another two feeling queasy. Although to be fair with these two, it could be cider and not soup.”
Raig shut the door behind him and put the kettle on to make a large pot of coffee. “I’ve asked Denny if he can sort any helpers for us because he’s got the rugby club to call on. They can do all the grunt work and let the professionals cover the rest. I’ve given him your mobile number.” He leaned against the work surface until the kettle began to whistle, then busied himself with making the brew.
“All we can do for now, I guess.” Phil took the proffered cup with a word of gratitude. Raig looked at him, thankful for such a good manager. He was even more thankful he was not the one to sort all the problems out.
“We’re lucky it’s only Tessa and her soup that’s the problem, or we would be in big trouble,” Phil continued. “As it is, I contacted the authorities when I heard, and we’re on top of it. We can’t open any food stalls, but the rides and sideshows are good to go, if we have enough bodies to man them. Or woman them, no sexism allowed here.” He smiled briefly, although Raig noticed it hardly reached his eyes. Phil was tired, irritable and rightly fed up. “Bloody Tessa. She’s a liability, Raig. This is costing us, big time.”
He nodded. “You’re the boss. If you feel we can’t use her any more, over to you. Fortune-tellers are ten a penny. Actually, no, they aren’t, but still, no one is irreplaceable. I wonder if she read all the trouble she’s caused in her tea leaves? If she’s as good as she says she is, she bloody well should have. Anyway, up to you.”
“Thanks a lot, boss! I’ll let you know.” Phil sounded resigned.
Raig nodded. Boss in name only. Phil well knew all fair hiring and firing was up to himself. Raig was definitely the sleeping partner. The man with the money. The way he liked it. Now he needed to go and earn some of that money.
“I’ve an appointment with my computer.” He finished his own coffee and set down his cup. “I’ll keep my phone on, so you can disturb me if you need to. I mean it, Phil, today, you can disturb me, it’s fine.”
“Cheers, now bugger off and let me worry in peace.”
He laughed, and with a brief wave, did as he was told. However, once back in his trailer, he couldn’t settle to anything. His mind kept returning to Vairi and that email. Did it really mean anything, or was he reading things into it that weren’t there? One way to find out.
Slept like the proverbial log!
Would she get the innuendo?
Very stiff when I woke up. How about you?
He found the right email address and pressed send. Nothing else to do, except wait, get on with his own work and try to forget everything else. To his astonishment, he did just that and an hour or so later registered the fact he had earned a considerable sum of money. Wheeling and dealing got his adrenaline going and made his bank manger happy, that was for sure. If only he could deal with the rest of his life as satisfactorily.
His personal inbox remained stubbornly empty no matter how often he refreshed it—a good sign or a bad one, he had no idea. Resigned, he resolutely turned to the next work matter on his mental agenda. The demise of Michael Dooley. Truth be told, he was sick of him, the way he had infiltrated his life and tried to take over was scary, especially with the underlying threats involved. He would be more than glad when he no longer existed.
Diligently he planned and plotted, and when he was satisfied, he emailed his suggestions to Kenny. Waited again. Something he was not very good at doing. To help pass the time, he stripped and remade his bed, reluctantly losing the faint scent of Vairi that had been sustaining him. Onward and upward, Raig, he told himself as he put the bedding in the washing machine, added powder and switched it on. You don’t need the scent of her to remember everything. His cock twitched as if to agree with him. He glanced wryly in its direction. Down boy. I didn’t mean that sort of upward. Not the state to be in at the moment, but it was easier said than done.
The beep of his laptop took him by surprise. He was taken aback by his disinclination to look and see who it was from, in case he was disappointed. Before he had walked to where he had left it on the table, it beeped twice more. He took a deep breath and opening up his emails, checked his inbox.
Kenny, Kenny, and—oh thank you, gods—Vairi. He opened that one first. Sod the ‘waiting is good for you’ diktat. Not at the moment it wasn’t.
I don’t get hard. I do get even. Ache and learn. P.S. Wet here.
The laugh that erupted took him by surprise. Clever Vairi, it was brilliant sunshine, wall-to-wall blue sky and warm. No precipitation anywhere.
It could get wet here with a little help. Any takers?
He pressed send and wondered if she would reply. She did, and remarkably quickly.
No. Ache and learn. See you later.
Did that mean what he hoped it did? Would she be one of Denny’s helpers? Ache indeed. His whole body throbbed with need.
The other two emails were more complicated, and he had to think long and hard before he answered them. In the end, he reluctantly agreed to Kenny’s demands, knowing realistically what he suggested—demanded—was the only way to go. His stomach rumbled, and he realized with a jolt he hadn’t eaten anything all day. It was now or probably never.
He took a lasagna out of the freezer, and with a brief prayer of thanks to his ma for all her cooking and baking, Raig popped it in the microwave.
He had just finished eating when his phone rang. He checked the caller. Phil.
“Hi, what’s up?” Even though he had told Phil he could contact him for anything, it was not like him to take him up on his word.
“Not a lot really.” Phil sounded upbeat. “Denny has organized well over a dozen helpers, including a D.J.” He chuckled, knowing the inference Raig would take from his last words. Vairi was one of those co-opted for the evening. “Three mushroom morons are okay to work, and a couple more will be fine to man the phones and the ticket booth. As we can’t have the fast food stalls or candy floss open, we should just about scrape through. I’ll know more nearer six. You okay to be here by then?”
He answered with more composure than he thought possible. “No problem. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Would Vairi be there? He could only hope.
The Ready Room was crowded by the time Raig squeezed in. A last-minute phone call from Kenny had held up his arrival. A well worthwhile hold up—his plans were progressing better than he could have imagined and there were just four more days to go before they were able to start putting them into practice. In a week, it would all be over.
Raig scanned the room and added his thanks to Phil’s telling everyone how relieved he was they had offered to help. “I’m leaving the what you do to Phil. He tells me what to do—and often where to go,” he added as there was spontaneous laughter. “We really do appreciate you helping us like this. Just don’t eat anything Tessa, our fortune teller, offers you. Great fortune teller, as long as it doesn’t involve her, but a terrible cook. To say she takes creativity to its limits is an
understatement.” Stepping back, he leaned against the wall, deflated he could see no Vairi, before spotting her tucked in behind a big, burly rugby player type.
Phil began placing people to jobs. Raig, watching them leave, half listened, more intent on observing Vairi. She looked tired, dark shadows under her eyes, a droop to her luscious mouth.
“Raig, you take the gallopers with Vairi. Okay, Vairi?”
She nodded. Didn’t look at Raig.
He looked at her though and drank in the view. Her long, dark hair was tied back into an intricate braid, her breasts confined under a bright pink T-shirt that hurt the eyes but drew them back. Her long, shapely legs, encased in dark denim, ended in those hard-on-inducing, sparkly flats, all designed, he was sure, to make him want to take every last piece off her. His cock, having behaved up to then, immediately changed its mind about the state it was in.
He watched her eyes drift down and widen slightly before returning to his face. Although she made no comment, he heard her breath quicken. Not unaffected, thank goodness.
“Come on then, Vairi My Queen,” he said cheerfully, not bothering to either hide or quell his reaction to her. “Let’s hit the horses.”
She winced.
“You’ll not be on them. I need you to man, oops, woman the gates for me.”
She nodded and let him usher her out of the room. He saw Phil’s grin. Matchmaker, mischief-maker, or meddler? What’s in a name?
“I’m still pissed,” was the first thing she said to him as they made their way over the well-trodden grass, the noise of the generators beginning to fill the air.
He nodded. “Guessed you would be. I appreciate your help.”
Her eyes were everywhere except on him. Patiently, he waited to see if she would add anything else.
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