Meanwhile Gardens

by Charles Caselton

  “Do you want the obvious answer to that?”

  Nicky realised her suggestion hadn’t been hypnotic enough. Before she could repeat it Justin continued in his brusque fashion that bordered on unpleasantness.

  “Lady Peters has had a very busy day. I know she and Sir Edwin have things to discuss. I’ll tell her you phoned. Again.”

  “She would want – ” Nicky began.

  “I can’t give you her home number. She left strict instructions not to be called.”

  “But – ”

  “But nothing.”

  “Well fu – ” Nicky caught sight of Auntie Gem covering her ears. Thinking of an inoffensive expletive all she could come up with was, “Go boil your head!” which she shouted into the mouthpiece.

  Auntie Em pulled the phone from her and placed it on the handset. “You don’t want to say anything you might regret,” she advised.

  “Don’t worry. He’d already put the phone down.”

  “Try Johnson again,” Auntie Em suggested.

  The lifestyle enhancer, incommunicado all day, answered after the first ring.

  “Sweetie it’s Nicky.”

  The silence was broken by what sounded like a muffled sob.

  “Johnson?”

  “It’s too terrible isn’t it?”

  “About Rion?”

  “I blame myself of course.”

  Typical, Nicky thought, make it about you. Much as she loved Johnson he never missed a chance of moving centre stage. She didn’t encourage him by asking him exactly why he was to blame.

  “Do you think she’s been white-slaved?”

  The question threw Nicky slightly.

  “I – ”

  “Or starring in a blue movie?” Johnson continued, his voice beginning to rise in hysteria. “I’ve been reading all these dreadful, dreadful stories about ketamine – ”

  “Johnson I need Angie’s number.”

  “ – being slipped in drinks and the girls unknowingly finding themselves in a porn film – ”

  “I need Angie’s number Johnson.”

  “ – or waking up to find themselves being gangraped – ”

  “Johnson – ”

  “ – or worse!”

  Nicky couldn’t – and certainly didn’t want to – imagine anything worse. She sighed heavily. “We’re all upset about Rion but there’s a good chance nothing untoward has happened to her.”

  “After nearly a week?”

  “Ollie and Jake have gone to Bridlington to see if she’s gone home and – ”

  “That’s the last place she’d go!”

  “And the first place to look.”

  “Maybe at this very moment she’s lying in a ditch or – ” Johnson’s voice trembled with emotion as his mind raced through all the macabre possibilities that Nicky was simply unwilling to hear.

  “Johnson I need Angie’s number urgently. It’s about Rion.”

  Realising Nicky was reluctant to listen to his paranoia Johnson reeled off the Holland Park number. “Don’t tell her I gave it to you.”

  Nicky put down the phone to find Aunties Gem and Em looking at her from the sofa.

  “What did he say?” asked Gem.

  Unwilling to give them a glimpse into Johnson’s fevered and, hopefully, unfounded imaginings, Nicky simply said, “I have the number.”

  The editor of Glamourista switched on the fire in the panelled library. Her husband sat in his favourite armchair engrossed in the Sun. He had read and re-read the lead article on the missing young girl – a stroke of genius bumping Peters & Peters from the front page. Edwin folded his hands behind his head, leaned back and smiled, impressed once more by his wife’s PR skills.

  Angie refilled the Baccarat tumbler with Laphroaig and handed it to her husband. “Well?” she inquired.

  “The only thing I’m not too keen on is the ‘beleaguered husband’ bit.”

  Angie rolled her eyes. “Really Edwin,” she said, unable to hide her exasperation. “With Peters & Peters under fire from consumers and ministers alike, the value of the company in freefall and a PR blunder of such enormity it’ll need a mountain of sandbags to shore up, I think beleaguered is the kindest description they could use.”

  “Just joking! It’s a great – ”

  “After all they could have used ‘useless’.”

  Edwin looked hurt, “Steady...”

  “‘In the shit’ would fit,” Angie continued.

  “It’s nice to see your poetry skills haven’t left you,” her husband sniped.

  “Or even ‘totally fucked’!!”

  “They would never say that! It’s a family newspaper.”

  “As the half-naked girl on page three proves,” Angie retorted.

  Edwin couldn’t figure out how they had started bitching when all he had wanted was to thank his wife for taking the focus off him.

  The ringing phone stopped their bickering turning into something nastier.

  “Is Conchita in?” Edwin looked anxiously at his wife.

  “I told her to take the night off.”

  “Answerphone on?”

  Angie shook her head. “It’s probably for me anyway,” she said as she picked up the phone.

  “Angie?”

  The editor immediately knew who it was.

  “Nicky. Sorry I haven’t been able to call – things have been so hectic.”

  “Some days are like that.”

  “If only they were just days sweetie.” There was a pause before Angie purred, “Where did you get my number?”

  “You gave it to me at Wanda’s – remember?” Nicky lied, remembering the editor’s merry state after several glasses of Krug too many.

  “Of course,” Angie knew she hadn’t given Nicky her phone number. She made a mental note to tick off Johnson. “It’s just that I have to be careful otherwise all sorts of people – stylists, writers, photographers – ” Angie let the point sink in, “ – not you of course – ” she added quickly, but not quickly enough, “will be phoning me at all hours.”

  Nicky let the intended slight slip.

  “It’s about Rion isn’t it?” Angie continued. “You might think it strange but I just had to help. Especially after her photo came in with Johnson’s – it’s like fate isn’t it?”

  Auntie Em listening on the extension with Gem rolled her eyes.

  “Also she was going to be Johnson’s assistant therefore directly linked to us, directly linked to the family at Glamourista.”

  Poor Rion, Nicky thought, from one dysfunctional family to another.

  “As a result I felt personally involved. When I saw the photo I called up Johnson straight away and said, ‘that girl would be wasted assisting you’. I said it in a more diplomatic way of course – ”

  “Of course.”

  “She should be in front of the camera,” the editor continued, “such bone structure and those eyes – ”

  “So you did it out of the goodness of your heart?”

  “What else could I do? I had to help.”

  “Making up some story and getting her on the front page of the Sun – ”

  “Was the best thing, no? Firstly, people will be looking out for her, and secondly it’ll do wonders for her career whenever she does show up. At the very least she’ll have the cover and main story in that month’s Glamourista.”

  Edwin chose that moment to make up for his earlier seeming ingratitude.

  He opened the small fridge that some trompe-l’oeil specialist had disguised as part of the library shelves, and removed the everpresent bottle of pink Roederer 1999. Brandishing two fluted glasses at his wife he smiled and began to open the champagne they were so fond of.

  “It’s very upsetting I know – ”

  The pop of the cork was clearly audible at the other end of the phone.

  “ – and I can’t tell you how devastated I am, but something good will come of it. You’ll see.”

  As the phone clicked off Auntie Gem asked, “Was th
at a bottle of champagne being opened?”

  “No doubt to mark her devastation,” Nicky said dryly.

  “But how does she know Rion?” Auntie Em asked.

  “She doesn’t. There was a mix-up in pictures…..she’s just up to something.”

  “By the sound of popping corks it seems to be working.”

  “So she doesn’t care about the girl?” Auntie Gem enquired.

  “All she cares about are her title, the magazine’s circulation and her husband – in that order.”

  Knowing Sir Edwin’s crime, and unwilling to see him get away with it, Auntie Gem was sure more than ever that she had to do something. Obviously it was too late to do anything this Friday, but the next would be perfect.

  24

  STINGS LIKE A BEE

  It had been easy to find the Ward household. All it had taken was a question to the landlord of the Hod & Carrier in the centre of town. Among the pub regulars, who were surprised as any to have found the family of a supermodel in their midst – even a supermodel no-one had heard of nor seen in the media – the consensus was that the Wards lived on the estate on the outskirts of town near Hildethorpe.

  Ollie and Jake doublebacked on themselves before heading along the deserted, windswept seafront. “Is this where Dracula came ashore?” Jake peered through the windscreen at what should be Bridlington Bay but the night, and the rain, kept the immense sands from view.

  “Wasn’t that Whitby?”

  “Or even Grimsby?”

  Ollie sighed out noisily. “Imagine living somewhere like Grimsby – maybe it’s a lovely place but the name alone,” he shuddered, “would soon have you on Prozac.”

  “Life would have to be grim in Grimsby,” Jake agreed.

  “Whereas somewhere like Redcar couldn’t fail to be a fun, soft-top down, wind-in-the-hair kind of place could it?”

  “You’ve never been there have you?”

  “No.”

  They stopped for directions at a chippie to find they were closer than they thought. Standing behind a trio of raucous teen girls who guffawed at everything they said, then mimicked their southern accents, Jake and Ollie succumbed to hunger.

  On the counter were copies of that day’s tabloids, the Sun amongst them.

  “You’re gay aren’t you?” one of the trio asked Ollie.

  Before he could answer the second girl pointed to a particularly large sausage in batter, “You’ll be having the savaloy then won’t you?”

  “Rather than the fish!” the first one added.

  The girls fell about laughing. Not for the first time Ollie wondered at the perception, and foul language, of teenage girls.

  “Is he your boyfriend?” the third asked curiously.

  “No. He’s straight.”

  “So there’s a chance for us is there?” the middle one flicked her hair in an exaggerated fashion that bought another bout of uncontrollable giggles from her friends.

  Jake winked at her, “Depends doesn’t it?”

  “On what?” the first one asked.

  Jake pointed to the copies of that day’s Sun lying on the counter. “On you telling us what you know about Rion,” he said.

  “D’ye mean Marion Ward?” the middle one sneered.

  Ollie nodded, remembering that she would be known as Marion up here.

  “She used to work in Tanya’s Salon.”

  “Plain as wallpaper.”

  “Dull as piss.”

  “Quiet as a mouse.”

  The girls stared them down.

  “Anybody would be quiet as a mouse next to you three,” Ollie ventured with a smile.

  This bought a round of “Oooohs,” as if someone on a game show had admitted to something risqué or intellectual.

  “Where is Tanya’s Salon?” Ollie asked.

  “Buy us our tea and we’ll tell yer,” the first one said.

  Ollie went to the payphone on the wall. “Is Directory Enquiries 118 118 up here as well?” he asked Jake.

  “We’re not another planet you know,” said the second girl.

  Ollie dialled the six numbers. He got no further than ‘Bridlington’ before one of the girls pushed the receiver down.

  “We’ll tell yer.”

  At that moment the assistant grabbed a newspaper from the counter and wrapped their order. Beneath the plaice and chips liberally doused in vinegar Rion’s face stared out at them.

  It had been a long day.

  Remembering Rion’s account of her family life Ollie and Jake were unsure as to whether they could deal with a man such as her father at this time of night. They decided to head for Tanya’s Salon instead.

  The ‘Ladies Hairdressers (Men accepted)’ was found easily enough. It was in the middle of a small shopping arcade at the back of the main street. Several lights glowed through curtains in the flats above the precinct.

  Peering into the darkened salon they were surprised by a voice from the flats, “Don’t be doing anything silly now lads.”

  They looked up to find a woman leaning out the window above them.

  “Do you know where we can find Tanya?” Ollie asked.

  “She’s gone away.”

  “Just our luck,” Jake said to Ollie. “When’s she going to be back?” he shouted up.

  “If you’re journalists she won’t talk to you.”

  “We just want to ask about Rion.”

  “So you are journalists.”

  “No – we’re – ” Ollie began. He looked up to find the woman shaking her head in disgust. As she was about to close the window he added, “Tell Tanya we’re friends of Rion from London.”

  “And how’s she to know that?”

  “Tell her it’s Ollie of Meanwhile Gardens Mews.”

  The window slammed shut.

  “It was worth a try,” Ollie shrugged his shoulders. “Where to now?”

  “Somewhere to stay?”

  Ollie looked around the deserted mini-mall. It had begun to rain again. “Well, I’m not camping on the beach that’s for sure, and neither is Hum – even if he is dressed for it.”

  The hound smiled up at him uncertainly, pleased to be out of the van but uncomfortable in the chunky red coat Auntie Gem had knitted for him.

  “I don’t know. I could easily rustle up a shelter, there’s probably masses of driftwood and – ”

  “No! A November night dodging raindrops on Bridlington beach...such a thought should never, ever be imagined. Besides what would Dr Gidwani say?”

  Jake threw up his hands.

  “Better a lumpy mattress in some b & b than – ”

  “ – a sandy one on Bridlington Beach?” Jake was unconvinced. “Starched sheets and paper thin walls over fresh air?”

  Ollie wasn’t listening. His attention had been taken by a light that had come on at the end of the salon behind him.

  “Jake shhh!” he pointed to the silhouette coming towards them. “Maybe she’ll know where we can stay.”

  They watched as the figure appeared to glide through the corridor of upright hairdryers in the darkened salon. As the figure came closer they could see it was the woman from the window.

  She unlocked the glass door and beckoned them in, “I’m Tanya.”

  The woman led them between the portable basins to a smaller room entered by saloon doors. This side room didn’t have such an overpowering smell of hairspray. It was also filled with sunbeds.

  Near the entrance was a table piled high with women’s magazines – magazines Rion would have escaped in Ollie thought sadly. Posters of empty tropical beaches lined the walls.

  Tanya gestured to the tanning machines, “I don’t use them myself but my clients can’t get enough of them. It seems the more unsafe they’re declared the more they want them.” She went over to a sink beside which was a sideboard filled with mugs, “Tea?”

  As she filled the kettle with water Ollie took a good look at the woman he knew to be Rion’s best friend. She would be about five foot were it not for the
thick platform slip-ons she wore. She was probably in her forties Ollie thought, but looked several years younger – a testament to the creams and therapies open to her as owner of a beauty salon. Her blonde hair was not obviously coloured. It was lightly teased and swept back in the fashion of a restrained Dolly Parton.

  If there was such a thing.

  “Sorry I was abit unfriendly before. There’ve been a couple of break-ins recently and journalists have been sniffing round. Who’s your friend?”

  Jake went over with hand outstretched, “I’m Jake.”

  Tanya smiled, “Pleased I’m sure.” She returned to her tea-making.

  “And this is Hum,” Ollie gestured to the hound who was on his best behaviour.

  “Milk and sugar?”

  “Please,” Jake and Ollie said in unison.

  “Rion used to talk alot about you. You sent her savings to my house. She told me she kept her ipod and other things here,” Ollie said.

  “I used to pay her a pittance of her wages in cash, the rest I kept safe for her. Her father just drank everything she took home. If her sisters had seen the ipod it would’ve been fought over and broken within minutes.” Tanya bought a plate of chocolate digestives towards them. She sat on the only chair, a rickety white plastic number and gestured to the tanning machines, “Have a seat, please.” Ollie and Jake gingerly sat on the closed sunbeds. “Several journalists have been asking odd questions. Really,” she snorted in disgust, “you’d think from the article that the Ward house is a place of happy childhoods. I tried telling them it’s really West country but–”

  Ollie and Jake looked questioningly at each other.

  “Are we in the wrong place then?” Ollie asked.

  “Should we be in Bristol?”

  “Devon?”

  “Somerset?”

  “‘West’ country?” Tanya repeated, then seeing their confusion explained, “As in ‘Rosemary and Fred’”

  “Ah,” Ollie and Jake got it.

  “ – but it wasn’t the angle they were looking for. Mar – ” Tanya corrected herself, “Rion was lucky to get out when she did.”

  “We were going straight there but decided, from what Rion said, that perhaps Mr Ward should wait for the light of day.”