Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex: A Funny, Feel-Good, Romantic Comedy

by Robert Bryndza

‘Yes, he’s called Rocco,’ I said. Rocco gave a contented sigh and licked her hand.

  ‘Where is Sofia?’ said Chris.

  ‘Your sister will be back tonight,’ said Lady Edwina. ‘She’s been in Zimbabwe, talking about buying a stake in a diamond mine. Apparently President Mugabe is an absolute sweetie.’

  Chris looked horrified.

  ‘Right Christopher,’ she said going over to the fireplace and giving the bell another pull. ‘We’ve got a meeting about the funeral at one, and then someone from Coutts will be here to record your signature and run you through the accounts.’

  ‘For fucks sake!’ Shrilled Rebecca. ‘He comes in and suddenly it’s all his! Do you know anything about this place? Anything about how it runs?’

  ‘Pull yourself together Rebecca,’ said Lady Edwina.

  ‘No! The house, the business, it’s all his now because he was born with a penis? A penis which he doesn’t even stick in the right places!’ Rebecca’s chubby little face was bright red now. A young girl arrived carrying a wide tray covered in a china tea set. Everyone was quiet as she laid it out on the table.

  ‘Thank you Louise, that’ll be all,’ said Lady Edwina. We took our seats round the table. She sat down and picked up a small plate with slivers of lemon arranged in a fan shape.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake! That stupid girl has forgotten the tongs.’

  ‘Daddy is dead! And all you worry about is how you’re going to put the lemon in your tea? Well I’ll tell you where you can put it!’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Chris-stah-fah ring the bell again, we need tongs and Rebecca needs one of her pills,’ said Lady Edwina.

  ‘I think we’re going to head off Chris,’ I said.

  ‘No, no please don’t leave me,’ he whispered.

  ‘You all have family things to talk about.’

  ‘Yes. We do,’ said Lady Edwina pointedly. A servant was sent out to collect Chris’s luggage from the roof rack.

  ‘Promise me you’ll keep in contact,’ said Chris.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll get the rest of your cases sent up here, and call me, whenever.’

  As we drove away I glanced back at Chris waving from the front door. It felt like we were leaving a little kid on his first day at school.

  ‘When’s the funeral?’ asked Adam as we pulled out of the gates and onto the country road. He changed gear to accelerate but the car screamed in protest. I winced.

  ‘I don’t know. They’ll probably spend so long arguing over the house and money they’ll forget to bury the poor guy,’ I said.

  ‘They don’t seem very happy.’

  ‘Someone just died.’

  ‘No, it’s more than that, like ingrained unhappiness… Aren’t you glad we’re not rich?’ Adam grinned.

  ‘We’re not poor!’ I snapped.

  ‘How come we’re driving a crappy old car then?’

  Adam tried again to get the car to change gear. The engine churned and we lurched forward.

  ‘It’s not crappy. That teenage boy we bought it off said it was very reliable.’

  The car began to shudder violently, and the engine died. He tried the ignition but there was no response. The car slowed to a halt in the middle of the road.

  ‘Shit!’ said Adam slapping the dashboard. ‘Shit! It was all that bloody luggage on the roof!’

  ‘You were grinding the gears!’

  ‘I was not. The clutch sticks.’

  ‘It doesn’t stick when I drive,’ I said.

  ‘Ha! You’re the expert? Didn’t you fail your test three times?’ said Adam.

  ‘Four. But they say it makes you a better driver.’

  Adam tried the ignition again, nothing. I pulled my phone out. I didn’t have a signal, nor did he.

  ‘So what do two poor people do next?’ asked Adam. ‘Revel in the fact we haven’t got too much money to tie us down?’

  ‘Shut up. I’m thinking.’

  It was suddenly very quiet. The car rocked as the wind roared across the fields surrounding the road, making ripples in the grass. Adam tried to put the hazard lights on, but the car was dead.

  ‘We’re in the middle of the road. We’re going to have to move it to the verge,’ said Adam. ‘Come on, let’s push.’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he said.

  ‘You forgot?’

  ‘Coco, look at the bigger picture!’

  Adam got out of the car and told me to steer. I clambered over to the driver’s side and put the car in neutral. Adam went round to the back and started to push. The car wouldn’t budge. He strained and pushed harder. He came back round and I rolled down the window.

  ‘I think you’ll have to get out, you’re too heavy.’

  ‘I’m not that heavy,’ I said.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s normal to put on a bit of baby weight.’

  Then I noticed that the hand brake was on.

  ‘So you didn’t think I might have the handbrake on? You just think I’m some big fat lump of ballast stopping the car?’

  We were still bickering twenty minutes later when a black Mercedes purred up beside us. The tinted windows slid down.

  ‘Need a lift?’ asked Rebecca. We turned and grinned awkwardly.

  Rebecca’s car was seriously cool. White leather heated seats, a screen on the dashboard showing CNN. She dropped Adam off at the local garage and then took me back to London.

  ‘This is very good of you,’ I said when we were on the M25. Rocco sighed comfortably on my lap and began to snore. Rebecca glanced at me nervously.

  ‘Coco, can I talk to you about something?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t worry, I know plenty of people who use, um, marital aides,’ I said.

  ‘What? No, not that. I wanted to see if you could talk to Christopher.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I think you know,’ she said carefully.

  ‘You want me to talk to him about the inheritance?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘He adores you, you’re probably the closet person in the world to him.’

  I was now feeling uncomfortable.

  ‘That’s why we’re so close Rebecca. We never discuss his, business.’

  ‘It should be my business Coco, and Sophia’s. We worked with our father for fifteen years. Chris has just… well he’s been Chris.’

  ‘Do you think dropping me off in London earns you the right to ask me?’

  ‘I’ve got some business in London, and I’m meeting Squiffy at Annabel’s later,’ she shrilled, her pudgy face going red again. ‘And a bloody lift must be worth something?’

  ‘It’s not worth a hundred million quid Rebecca.’

  ‘Coco it’s very common to talk about money... And it’s all tied up you know.’

  We were silent for the rest of the journey. When we pulled up at my house I said, ‘Don’t ever try to use me to manipulate your brother. He is one of the kindest most loyal people I know.’

  Rebecca remained stony faced and said nothing. As I watched her Mercedes purr away, I was inexplicably jealous. She lives in a velvet-lined pocket of British life I can only dream of. Now with this baby coming I realise how tenuous it all is. Adam is right, being poor stinks.

  Just after I got indoors Adam phoned to say the Fiat is dead, which I already knew. We can either spend thousands on a new engine, or buy a new car. Neither is an option. The garage had offered him £50 to take the car away for scrap. I told him to take it.

  Adam got home a few hours later. His train ticket home had cost £49.95. So, essentially, we sold our car for five pence.

  Wednesday 7th March

  Adam had three interviews on Monday. He’s now had phone calls from all of them saying he hasn’t got the job. He’s been told he is ‘overqualified’ that he’s ‘not got the correct skills mix’ and that ‘despite a strong CV other candidates have more to offer.’

  On our morning walk with Rocco I asked him to go th
rough what had happened.

  ‘Were you on time?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Do you think it’s your age?’

  ‘The other candidates I waited with were my age,’ he said.

  ‘Do you think they’re racist?’

  ‘Three of the guys who interviewed me were black, so I doubt it.’

  ‘What about your skills mix?’

  ‘Coco, I’ve worked in management for years…’

  ‘Did you brush your teeth before the interview?’ I asked, exasperated.

  ‘Coco! I just didn’t get the job!’ he said.

  I know he needs comforting, but I’m so worried about money and how we’ll manage. I’m nearly halfway through my pregnancy and my second scan is looming on the horizon. The make or break one where we find out if the baby is healthy.

  When we got home I had a message from the bank to call urgently. I phoned back, and a snotty bloke in their call centre told me our account was several hundred pounds overdrawn, and asked if we were planning to put any money in, as it’s an unauthorised overdraft. We did some detective work and discovered Tabitha hasn’t paid her rent.

  Thursday 8th March

  We’ve tried calling Tabitha, and Adam has been round to the flat, but she’s not answering. He went off to another job interview this morning, so I decided to go and pay her a visit. Tabitha wouldn’t be able to wind me round her little finger like Adam.

  I rang her bell repeatedly, but no one answered. Her curtains were drawn in the window at the front. Then I thought, what about the window at the back? It looks out onto a tiny concrete garden, which I vaguely remembered could be accessed by a little side gate. I walked round the side of the building to the back, and found the gate. It was a little taller than me and made of dark stout wood, beside it was a big square concrete flowerpot full of weeds. I thought about it for a minute, checked no one was looking, and using the pot, heaved myself up and managed to get one leg over the gate. Then I realised there was nothing to step down onto on the other side! I sat there wobbling astride the gate. I could see some people crossing at the traffic lights and coming towards me. I panicked, wobbled some more, and threw my other leg over. Using my arms I half slithered, half fell onto the concrete on the other side. I managed to land on my feet, but yanked my shoulder supporting my weight. I had to wait a few minutes until the pain passed, then took stock of where I was. I was in a dark and narrow passageway. The four-storey wall of Adam’s building was on one side, and the four storey wall of the next building on the other. I squeezed my way down the passage, feeling the bricks brush against my shoulders, until the passage opened out to a tiny square of concrete.

  The walls of the surrounding buildings towered above me, and the only light came from a little square of grey sky high above. The living room/kitchen window of Adam’s flat looked out onto this, but the curtains were tightly drawn. I put my ear to the window and could hear some muffled sounds. I held my breath and listened closer. A voice got a little louder. Suddenly the curtains opened and there was Tabitha, completely naked! Her enormous pale bosoms hung down over a giant white belly. In the background a balding man in his late forties was pulling a sheaf of fifty pound notes from his trousers. Unfortunately he wasn’t wearing the trousers. He was naked too. I froze. So did Tabitha, staring back at me. Then I saw a realisation flicker across her face. She smirked and pulled the curtains shut. I ran back to the gate, but I couldn’t heave myself up. I was trapped. I stood there for a few moments in a panic, then I heard a tapping on the window and her voice echoed along the passageway.

  ‘Coco… Coco… I know you’re there,’ she said. I ignored her. Why had I left the house without my phone!?

  ‘Coco. I think you’re in a pickle…’ she goaded. I marched back to the window. Unbelievably she was still naked.

  ‘Put some clothes on!’ I snapped haughtily averting my eyes.

  ‘It’s my flat. I can do what I want,’ she said. I turned back, taking care to keep my eyes above her neck.

  ‘It’s not your flat, you haven’t paid the rent! Are you a prostitute?’

  ‘What do you think dear?’ she cooed.

  ‘You know it’s illegal…’

  ‘What’s illegal is breaking and entering.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This sad little patch of concrete is classed as my garden. As the landlord you have to give me twenty-four hours’ notice before you come onto the property… So technically you are trespassing.’

  ‘No! Not if you haven’t paid the rent! Are you going to pay it?’ I shouted.

  She didn’t answer, and just stood there, shamelessly, stark naked. I turned and marched back down the passage to the gate and tried to pull myself up, but my arm was killing me.

  ‘Maybe I should phone your delicious husband, Mrs Pinchard,’ her voice echoed down the passageway. ‘What would he think of you spying on me?’

  ‘Phone him!’ I shouted. ‘I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.’

  Then Tabitha was quiet. I leaned against the wall by the gate and waited. After what seemed like an age, the gate opened. Adam was standing with Tabitha and he looked mad, with me! What was most disturbing was that she was completely different around him. Like a kind, if slightly corpulent old lady. I looked at the sensible dress and shoes she was now wearing, and how Adam couldn’t be more apologetic.

  ‘What about the rent?’ I said pointedly, as we made our way round to the front of the flats.

  ‘Tabitha has explained that she’s having some troubles at the moment, but it should be paid very soon,’ said Adam.

  I looked at her.

  ‘I’m on to you,’ I said. She pulled a woe is me face and went back indoors.

  ‘What the hell were you doing?’ asked Adam on the walk back home.

  ‘I saw her through the window, she was taking money for sex Adam.’

  ‘Oh my God, Coco. You can’t just go and break into her garden.’

  ‘Did you hear me? A prostitute. I was right. And that’s not a garden it’s a crappy square of concrete.’

  ‘Coco. Enough. Now thanks to this we don’t have a leg to stand on with getting the rent out of her.’

  ‘She has to pay.’

  ‘Yes but we have to go through the correct procedure. Do you know how many rights tenants have? You can’t just climb into her garden and peer through the windows.’

  ‘This is so unfair,’ I said. We carried on walking. ‘But you do believe me?’

  ‘Coco,’ said Adam rolling his eyes.

  ‘No. You have to believe me. She is a prostitute. Now I know you were being polite to her but you do believe that she is a prostitute?’

  Adam stopped and took my hands.

  ‘Of course I believe you,’ he said. I felt hugely relieved.

  ‘How was your interview?’ I asked.

  ‘I never got to go in. I had a hysterical call from my tenant that my wife had broken in and was being threatening.’

  ‘She threatened me!’

  We came to Baker Street station and Adam stopped.

  ‘Coco, please. I have to go back to this company and hope that they’ll still let me interview. I told them my wife was ill.’

  He took out his ticket and went through the tube barriers. I watched as the top of his head disappeared down the escalator, but he didn’t look back. Then I trudged home.

  Friday 9th March

  Still no rent from Tabitha. We’ve had to transfer some of our precious savings to clear the overdraft. Adam had three more interviews today, and is experiencing interview fatigue. The people from yesterday agreed to interview him, but then said no. He’d told them his wife was claustrophobic and had been scared to take the wheelie bin out.

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ I said. ‘No wonder they didn’t give you the job.’

  ‘It’s not that ridiculous. You can get fined if you don’t take your bin out, then there’re other fines if you put recycling items in with normal waste…’

  Ther
e seemed to be one glimmer on the horizon. Angie wants to meet me on Monday, my publishing house has come up with some marketing ideas they’d like to run past me.

  Monday 12th March

  I helped Adam choose a tie this morning for another interview. He must be doing something right because he keeps getting interviews. He just doesn’t get the jobs. He looked so good in his black suit, so sharp and lean and handsome.

  ‘I would hire you in a second,’ I said. We walked to Baker Street tube together, and parted at the bottom of the escalator. Adam was taking the Jubilee line into the City, I was grabbing a district line train out to Chiswick.

  ‘Good luck,’ I said. He leaned down and kissed me.

  ‘I forgot what a pain it is to wear a suit every day,’ he said grimacing and running a finger under his shirt collar.

  ‘Don’t moan about the pain of looking good,’ I said. ‘Try being a pregnant woman. I need maternity clothes, maternity bras.’

  ‘You might get some sexy new clothes, if Angie has lined up magazine interviews. Don’t they come with stylists?’

  ‘Here’s hoping.’ I grinned and we went our separate ways.

  When I came out of the tube in Turnham Green a text message came through from Angie.

  CHANGE OF PLAN.

  MEETING NOW IN THE GEORGE IV

  ON CHISWICK HIGH RD. A x

  The George IV sounded very pub-like. Would Grazia or Cosmopolitan want to meet in a pub I thought? The George IV was a pub, but a very nice one. Angie was outside smoking furiously. Since the smoking ban she avoids pubs, so my heart lifted a little. For her to set foot inside one meant the meeting must be important.

  ‘Alright Cokes?’ she asked blowing smoke out of the corner of her mouth. I gave her a hug.

  ‘I’m sorry for what I said…’

  ‘What did you say?’

  Shit, I thought, she didn’t remember…

  ‘The thing I said about Barry being a drug addict. I know he’s cleaned himself up and it was a bit of a low blow…’ I started to say more but Chloe came outside.