by Paul Kane
“Picky?” said Rachael. “Just because I don’t fancy a primate?”
Ignoring her, Steph scanned the pub again, expert eyes landing on every face, every bottom. “All right, what about him? He’s nice.”
She followed Steph’s gaze to a man sitting at a table in the corner sipping a Guinness. A large man, muscular rather than bulky like the tattoo guy, Rachael couldn’t deny he had some things going for him. Those blue eyes for one.
“So, does he float your boat?”
“You’re a walking cliché, you know that? He’s ... he’s quite good-looking.” said Rachael.
“Quite?” said Steph, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“But denim?” Rachael was referring to his jeans and jacket—he looked like a throwback to those old aftershave commercials. Not that he’d shaved; no, this bloke was going more for a stubbled, manly look.
“Okay,” said Steph, eyes on the prowl again. “Him. Now he’s been checking you out since he came in.” She was pointing to a dark-haired man not far away at the bar, dressed in what looked to be a pretty expensive suit, albeit with an open-necked shirt; the complete opposite of the denim-clad man’s outfit. And the way he held himself was confident, assured.
“He has not. And don’t point,” said Rachael. “Oh no, he’s seen you now.”
“So what? I do it all the time ... It’s part of the dance, Rachael. The fine art of seduction.”
The man smiled at them, and Steph smiled back. In fact, she waved.
“Stop it,” pleaded Rachael, but it was far too late for that. The man strolled over and leaned on the top of the booth. Now that he was closer, Rachael could take in his clean-shaven appearance, wavy black hair and deep, penetrating eyes. The way that smile lit up his face completed the set perfectly.
“Hello ladies,” he said, flashing it again. “Nice evening for it.”
Steph giggled, and was about to say something when Rachael kicked her ankle.
“Can I buy either of you a drink?”
“Not very original, but since you’re offering. Bacardi, please.” Steph held up her virtually empty glass and waggled it. Rachael shook her head coyly.
While he was at the bar again, Rachael pulled Steph closer and asked her what the hell she was playing at.
“What’s the matter, don’t you like him? I think he’s gorgeous. Suave, sophisticated ... Plenty of money, I’d say.”
“We don’t even know him.”
“So? We get to know him. If you’re not interested, I’ll take him.”
Rachael frowned. “You make him sound like a washing machine or something.”
“Just set him on the spin cycle and I’ll be happy enough,” said Steph with a laugh.
“Look, this really isn’t me. I don’t do this kind of thing ...” Steph shushed Rachael as he returned with her drink, and one of his own—a scotch.
“Cheers,” he said, clicking the glasses together. Rachael held up her drink and he locked eyes with her. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and, to her surprise, found herself smiling.
“So,” he said. “I’m Will. William Oliver Finch to be precise, at your service.” He gave a little bow.
Steph introduced herself and Rachael. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before,” she tacked on to the end.
“No, I’m fairly new to the area.”
“How did you end up in this place, then?”
“Oh, I just followed my nose. And what do you ladies do for a living?”
Rachael opened her mouth, but found Steph answering for her. “I work in a solicitor’s office, but Rachael here ... she’s an actress.”
Will’s eyebrows shot up, obviously impressed. “An actress?”
Now Rachael was blushing even more. “Aspiring,” she corrected.
“She’s been in plays and everything,” Steph added.
Will nodded. “I’ve done a bit of acting in my time, too.”
“Really?” asked Rachael. The night was picking up a little bit after all, and Will was quite a handsome man. “Yes, not professionally you understand—nothing in your league. But I seem to have a flair for it.”
“Well, look at that—you two have something in common, then.” Steph was beaming.
“Oh, I’m sure we have lots in common,” said Will with confidence, grinning again and sitting himself down opposite them in the booth.
Maybe I’m going to enjoy myself tonight after all, thought Rachael. Famous last words, she discovered, as the evening took a decided turn for the worse not long afterwards.
Steph had made the blatant excuse of needing the loo, in spite of Rachael giving her a look that would’ve frozen lava. “Won’t be a tick,” she told them, undeterred. “You two carry on chatting.”
After an awkward pause, they both said together: “So ...” Will chuckled and she found herself laughing too. “You first,” they said again in unison. That did it, and they both cracked up.
Rachael was so busy laughing, she didn’t notice the shadow fall across their table. She was aware of a figure standing there, and was about to tell Steph that she’d been quick, when she realised it wasn’t her at all. Rachael stopped laughing instantly, stunned into silence.
It was Mike. Her Mike. No, don’t call him that anymore, he forfeited the right when he slobbered all over that cow. He looked the same as he had the last time she’d seen him—which, she had to admit, wasn’t that long ago—same tousled hair, same razor slit across one eyebrow. All that had changed was the T-shirt he wore.
“Hello Rachael,” he said, then looked Will up and down. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new ... friend?”
“Mike ...” she managed. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s a free country, isn’t it?”
Elaine ... thought Rachael, her mind working overtime. Had to be. Steph must have told her sister she was coming out with me here. Elaine told Mike. Simple. Why couldn’t they just keep their big mouths shut, why—
“I’m still waiting for an introduction,” said Mike, his voice taking on a more urgent edge.
“Will,” said Rachael. “This is Mike ... my ex-boyfriend.” She emphasised the first bit for both their benefits.
“Ah,” said Will, sticking out his hand. Mike ignored it.
“You two look very cosy,” Mike said.
Rachael shook her head. “Cosy? We were just having a laugh, and anyway, what the hell has it got to do with you anymore?”
It was at this point that Steph did return from the bathroom. “Shit! Mike? What’s he doing here?”
“We’ve done that one already,” said Rachael. “And I want words with you later about it.”
Steph held up her hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t know anything about this, I swear.”
Mike changed tack then, saying, “Look, Rachael, I came to talk to you.”
“I’ve got nothing to say.”
He leaned in close to her, making her uncomfortable. “You owe me that much at least.”
“Owe you!” spat Rachael. “Owe you?”
“You’re upsetting the lady,” said Will, rising. Mike put his hand on Will’s shoulder to stop him from getting up.
“I don’t think you want to do that, friend,” Will told him.
“I’m not your friend.”
Will’s eyes narrowed and he brushed off Mike’s hand. Then he was suddenly up and standing beside him.
Sensing the inevitable, Steph tried to step between the pair. “Now let’s all just calm down a little.” But it was way too late.
Mike tried to push him, but Will grabbed his arms and pushed him back. Though Will looked the perfect gentleman, he was quickly showing that in a fight, it was another story. Mike took a swing, catching Will a
glancing blow to the cheek. He snarled, and tackled Mike to the ground, knocking over a table with some glasses on it.
The next thing, people were wading in—including the burly landlord—separating the men, dragging them to their feet and holding them by the arms so they couldn’t move. It took three guys to hold Will in place. When the men stopped struggling, and after drawing a crowd of onlookers, the landlord began talking about phoning the police and asking who was going to pay for the damage? Will held up his hands for the men to let him go, then reached in his pocket and gave the landlord some notes. “That should cover it,” he told him. “It was just a minor ... misunderstanding.”
The landlord seemed satisfied with that, and the brawlers were made to leave, separately. Mike turned back once to look at Rachael. She couldn’t even face him.
Steph had disappeared it seemed, then Rachael spotted her over the other side of the pub where people were still rubbernecking. Eventually, she returned to her friend.
“I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.” Rachael felt like hiding under the table.
“Hey, I’ve never had two men fighting over me. Don’t knock it ... By the way, his name’s Tom.”
Rachael was thrown by this. “Who?”
“The hunk in the denim over there,” Steph explained.
“I really can’t believe you!”
“Hey, what did I do?”
Rachael didn’t answer her. She just downed the vodka and coke, finally, then slammed her glass on the table. “I’ll tell you what you can do. Get me another drink, and this time ...”
“What?”
“This time make it a double.”
CHAPTER FOUR
They emerged from the bar at gone midnight, long after most of the other patrons had left, holding each other up for support.
“Either ... either there’s something wrong with my eyes,” said Steph, “or I’ve forgotten my glasses.”
Rachael hiccupped. “You ... you don’t wear glasses.”
“Oh yeah!” Steph guffawed. “Must be the world that’s blurry.” She took out her mirror and applied more make-up. Rachael shook her head, not really seeing the point. Then Steph got out her mobile phone. “This ... this is why you need to carry one, Rach. In case ... in case of emergencies.”
Rachael watched her companion trying to reach a taxi service. After several attempts, she gave up. “Can’t get a signal from here.”
Rachael hiccupped again. “See? Useless!”
“One ... one of these days you’re ... you’re going to be glad of one of these ... Come on.”
Steph linked her arm in Rachael’s, and as they were about to walk up the street towards the Holy Grail of phone signals, Rachael suddenly turned.
“What?” asked Steph, having trouble remaining upright.
Rachael stared up the dimly-lit street. She had the funniest feeling someone was watching her.
“What is it?” asked Steph, impatient.
Rachael shook her head. “Nothing.” Her hiccups were gone. “Let’s go and order that taxi.”
But as they stumbled up the road, Rachael couldn’t help looking over her shoulder one last time with a worried expression on her face.
* * *
That could have gone better, he mused to himself.
Still, as introductions went, he’d had worse. At least he’d gained some information, so all was not entirely lost. If that idiot hadn’t shown up and ruined things, he might not have needed to plan this next step at all. Might have been over and done with by now, ditched the friend and gone back to her place. But where would the fun be in that? Plus, he’d have to leave this city immediately—taking on yet another persona. Too many people had seen him tonight, too many unanswered questions would surround her death.
Better to blend into the background for now, to play the game. Then the rewards would be that much greater. He could wait, watch and wait—just not that long.
Tomorrow was another day. And she wasn’t going anywhere—after all that effort to find her today, she’d fucking better not be!
No, she was his for the taking. He smiled at that.
His for the taking at last.
CHAPTER FIVE
The ringing woke her up.
Not all at once, just bits of her. She experimentally moved her head—though not too much as she feared it might come off her shoulders and roll across the bed. Rachael couldn’t work out at first whether the ringing was coming from inside or outside her skull. Then she realised it was the phone out there in the living room; she’d forgotten to close her bedroom door, which usually did a good job of blocking out the noise if she wanted it to.
Groaning, she clambered from the bed—still wearing her clothes from last night, she noted—and half-crawled, half staggered to the phone, which she finally answered, if only to shut the blasted thing up.
“Rachael?” said a voice.
“Who ... who is this?” she spluttered. Her mouth felt like something had crawled into it and died. Then decomposed rapidly.
“What do you mean ‘who is this’? It’s your mother! And I’ve rung twice already today.”
“Mum? Mum, can you keep your voice down a bit—I’m feeling kind of fragile this morning.”
“Morning? Better check your watch, Rachael.”
She looked down at her wrist but couldn’t focus, then stared up at the clock on the wall—until the hands and numbers began to make sense. “Jesus,” she said. “Is that really the time?”
“Yes it is, and don’t blaspheme.”
“Sorry, Mum.” Her mother, the born again Christian.
“So ...”
Rachael shrugged, then realised her mother couldn’t see her. “So, what’s up?”
“You forgot to ring—not that I’m surprised. You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached.”
I’m not so sure it is right now, thought Rachael. But at least that explained why her mother was on the phone. She’d made a promise when she left home to ring on the first Saturday of every month. Today was Saturday the 2nd. Rachael tried to access her mental ‘to do’ list, but couldn’t bring it up.
“I knew this would happen when you moved away,” her mother continued, voice growing louder. “Knew you’d forget all about your poor old mum! I expect you were out gallivanting last night with what’s-his-name?”
“Mum, I wouldn’t know how to gallivant if someone gave me lessons.” But the mention of Mike’s name—or even the absence of it—brought back the events of last night with a vengeance. Rachael went very quiet.
“Are you still there?” asked her mother.
“Yes.”
“I was worried, Rachael. I thought something had happened to you.” And yes, there behind the anger was that familiar concern in her voice.
“Like what, Mum? I keep telling you I’m fine.”
“The city’s not a safe place. You read all sorts in the papers, see things on the news ...”
“I’m fine,” repeated Rachael, rubbing her head. Nothing a few aspirins wouldn’t fix, anyway.
“Fights and gangs and—”
“Mum, there’s nothing ...” Rachael paused. In the last day, she’d seen both a fight and a gang lurking around Handley Crescent, if you could call two youths a ‘gang’. She couldn’t lie to her mother, but at the same time she didn’t want her sitting up all night thinking that her daughter was lying somewhere in a pool of blood. “Look, I’m okay, really. Are you going to stop worrying now?”
“I’ll stop worrying when you come to live back here,” her mother said. It was a standard catchphrase. Ever since Rachael announced that she wanted to move to the city where there was more chance of an acting job (although, so far, that had amounted to a few bit parts in amateur productions, much to her mother’s deligh
t) it had been the same old story. Her other standard was, “I wish I’d never paid for those acting lessons when you were at school now.”
“Mum, you know I can’t come back.”
“You’ve changed a lot, you know,” said her mother with a certain amount of sadness. “You’re not my little girl anymore.”
“I haven’t been your little girl for a few years,” Rachael told her. She hadn’t intended to cause hurt, just to point out that she was a grown woman now, trying to make her way in the world, to make something of herself. But she hadn’t been able to keep the harshness out of her voice.
“Rachael Elizabeth Daniels, I will not be spoken to like that!”
“I’m sorry,” said Rachael, and she meant it. “Look, can I ring you back tomorrow, Mum? This really isn’t a good time.”
“It never is,” came the reply. “You spend your days caring for complete strangers, but when it comes to your own flesh and blood ...”
“That’s not fair, Mum.”
There was silence at the other end of the line. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow then, when you’re feeling better.”
They said their goodbyes and Rachael knew that the next time they spoke, they’d both apologise and her mum would have calmed down. But over that one subject, they’d never see eye-to-eye. Rachael had been the only thing in her life, and she’d left her alone—that was how her mum saw it. And the thing was, she was probably right.
Rachael put the phone down and took a couple of steps. It felt like someone had kicked her all over, but right now they were still kicking her in the head. Aspirin, she repeated to herself, and managed to make it through into the kitchen. She opened up the cupboard where she kept her medicines and reached around for the pack of aspirins in there. Her hands found a foreign object, a paper bag with a green cross on the front. Delving inside, she found two big boxes, tablets with labels on the side. Squinting, because reading was still pretty difficult, she read the name: Miss Matilda Brindle.
Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit and shit!
Rachael slapped her head, which did little to help with the mounting migraine. There’d been something missing off that mental list yesterday, hadn’t there? Rachael had picked up Tilly’s new prescription the other day, but had completely forgotten to give the pills to her. She’d never last the weekend ... If only Tilly had reminded her.