I’d also tell them Clement’s frustration is not my problem.
Perhaps I can take my own advice, or nearly all of it.
“Listen,” I say, trying to adopt a positive tone. “One thing I’ve learnt in my career is when to step away, and maybe that’s what we need to do here. I can send the notebook back and jack in my job at the paper, but we’ve still got all the Clawthorn names on my computer so if anything else springs up, we can still pursue it.”
“Give up, you mean?”
“It’s not giving up. It’s stepping away.”
“Same thing in my book.”
“What else can we do? We’ve exhausted every lead.”
His answer comes in a grunt.
“Tell you what,” I continue. “After I’ve met with Alex tonight, why don’t we have a blowout … my treat? A bit of food and a lot of drink — what do you say?”
“Not in the mood, doll.”
“Oh, come on, please. It’s my way of thanking you for all you’ve done.”
I get up and reposition myself next to him on the sofa.
“We may not have found the Tallyman,” I smile. “But I’ve found a friend, so it’s not all bad.”
He looks across and I can’t quite decipher his expression.
“So? Dinner and drinks?”
His chest falls as he lets out a resigned sigh.
“You gonna wear that red dress?”
“Can do.”
“Yeah, alright then.”
He finds a half-smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes. For a man who was initially reluctant to pursue the Tallyman, there’s an awful lot of sadness, rather than the relief I might have expected.
I shouldn’t be surprised. As I’m learning; very little about Clement makes sense.
24.
We arrive at The Three Horseshoes at quarter past six. Clement, having spent the afternoon lounging on the sofa listening to an Arsenal game on the radio, appears to be in a slightly better mood.
With drinks secured I scan the pub for Alex but there’s no sign of him yet. The plan is to give him no more than an hour, and then I’ll make my excuses so Clement and I can grab some food, and commence our celebrations or commiserations, depending on how you look at it.
“They got a pool table here?” Clement asks.
I nod towards a door. “Through there. Are you going to play on your own?”
“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll find someone.”
“Okay. I’ll come find you when I’m done with Alex.”
He nods and ambles away.
I lean up against the bar and take a large gulp of wine. Alex Palmer was always a crushing bore and I can’t face him completely sober.
My glass is almost empty when the scent of an overpowering aftershave engulfs me. I turn around.
“Hey, Emma.”
He leans in and kisses me on the cheek.
My skin crawling, he stands within my personal space, grinning like an idiot. My eyes flick up and down and the view is exactly what I expected: a slim-fit patterned shirt too tight around the midriff, age-inappropriate jeans, and his round face pink and blotchy from a recent shave. In some way he reminds me of the boys I dated at secondary school — always trying too hard and never quite pulling it off.
“Hi, Alex.”
“Can I get you another?” he asks, pointing at my glass.
“Please. Merlot.”
He orders my wine and a pint of real ale for himself. I don’t quite catch the name but it’s probably something ridiculous like Badger’s Scrotum.
Drinks acquired, I lead him over to a table where I hope we’re not spotted. God forbid anyone should think Alex is my other half.
We sit down and waste ten minutes on banal small talk. Alex then provides a lengthy synopsis of his career since we worked together — in tedious detail — before moving on to his life in general. Unsurprisingly, he’s still single but hasn’t given up hope on finding Miss Right. If he’s any good at picking up signals, I hope he realises I’m Miss No-Fucking-Chance.
“What about you?” he finally asks, drawing breath. “How’s life been?”
I could tell him the truth but that will only string out the conversation.
“It’s been good. Work has been manic but I like that.”
I catch the look in his eye.
“Sorry, work was manic,” I add.
“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m not bothered because I maintain I did nothing wrong. Six months ago I was told not to contact a potential source. I contacted him this week with a pretty innocuous query and that oversight was deemed enough for me to be suspended.”
“Harsh.”
“Very.”
“But The Daily Standard’s loss is my gain.”
“Possible gain, Alex.”
“Typical, Emma,” he chuckles. “Always playing hard to get.”
Impossible to get as far as you’re concerned, matey.
“Just keeping my options open,” I reply with a wry smile.
Alex then launches into a lengthy pitch about the position on offer and why I’d be perfect for the role. In fairness, he does make it sound appealing, and I’m not exactly in a position to be fussy. And, looking at it positively, the higher basic salary would allow me to bring forward my plans to move to the sticks by at least a year.
“I have to admit, Alex, it’s tempting.”
“How tempting?”
“What’s the downside?”
“Apart from working with me, you mean?”
He laughs at his own joke and I feel compelled to laugh along. It is a genuine downside, though.
“The hours can be long,” he continues. “And the hierarchy can be demanding, but someone with your experience won’t have a problem handling them.”
“And I’d get a company car? My own office?”
“Indeed you would.”
I sit back in my chair and, for the first time since our conversation began, give some serious consideration to the prospect of ending my journalism career.
“While you digest what we’ve discussed,” Alex chirps, “Let me get you another drink.”
He heads off to the bar and joins the growing number of patrons waiting to be served. Saturday evenings can get pretty busy and it appears many have decided to make an early start.
Free from Alex’s chatter I half-ponder his job opportunity and half-ponder this week’s madness. Perhaps they’ve coincided with one another for a reason, and it’s time to make some changes in my life. I don’t necessarily go in for all that fate bollocks but I can’t deny the timing doesn’t feel serendipitous.
Although I’m not sure how I feel about that, there is one thing I am sure about: I could murder a cigarette. However, with my own packet depleted the other evening, I’ll have to ponce one from Clement.
I’m about to get up and head to the pool tables when I spot his unmistakable frame at the far end of the bar next to a fruit machine. He’s not alone.
Late thirties, slim, long brunette hair, and wearing impossibly tight jeans, the woman appears engrossed by whatever Clement is talking about. I watch on as she flicks a strand of hair from her face and smiles up at him. Clement then says something and she suddenly bursts out laughing. Loud, shrill, she cackles away and places a hand on his upper arm. It stays there as she edges a little closer to him.
“One Merlot,” Alex announces, placing a large glass on the table in front of me.
He retakes his seat and sips his pint. Just beyond his right shoulder I can see the brunette’s hand still on Clement’s arm.
“You okay?” Alex asks. “You look miles away.”
“Eh? Err, yes. I’m fine, thanks.”
I snap out of my trance and take a gulp of wine.
“So, Emma. Do you have any questions?”
I look up and face Alex but the urge to check developments beyond his shoulder is overwhelming. I can’t help myself and my eyes flick to the left for just a
second.
Her hand is now resting flat on his chest.
“Well?” Alex prompts.
“What? Oh, um, no. I think it’s all clear.”
“Great. And does it sound like a position you’d be interested in?”
Another glance. She’s moved closer.
“I … possibly, Alex. I need to … to give it some thought.”
I reach for my wine glass and try to silence a feeling which has no place being awake.
“I don’t wish to pressure you, Emma, but we’re looking to advertise the role next week.”
“Of course,” I reply. “I can give you a definitive answer by Wednesday, if that works?”
“Perfect.”
As Alex leans forward and reaches for his pint, I take the opportunity to glance across the bar again. The brunette is now stood inches away from Clement looking up at him like a lovesick teenager.
“Can you excuse me a moment, Alex. I just need to pop to the ladies room.”
“No problem.”
I grab my bag and march purposefully over to the fruit machine. I get within feet before Clement notices my approach.
“Alright, doll?”
“Who’s your friend?”
The brunette turns to me and appraises the threat.
“This is Abbey,” Clement confirms.
I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Abbey. I’m Emma.”
She cautiously accepts the handshake. “You too.”
Despite her smile I get the feeling Abbey isn’t pleased to meet me at all. In fairness, it’s mutual.
I turn my attention back to Clement. “I’m nearly done with Alex. You hungry?”
“Bleedin’ starving.”
“Great. Why don’t you grab a table and I’ll be with you in about five minutes.”
Abbey’s smile is quickly replaced with a stern glare. “Sorry, are you two an item?”
“We’re friends,” I confirm. “Good friends.”
She looks down her nose at me before turning to Clement. “What’s it to be then, big man? Dinner with your mum or some fun with me?”
I answer before Clement gets the chance.
“Tell you what, sweetheart,” I growl, jabbing her in the chest with my finger. “Why don’t you fuck off and find someone else to play with … before mummy gets really annoyed.”
Her eyes flick in Clement’s direction but he just shrugs.
“Whatever,” she spits. “Enjoy your cocoa.”
Abbey then slopes away while Clement looks bemused.
“Fuck me, doll. I wouldn’t wanna cross you on a bad day.”
“I was just making a point. I might not be in the first flush of youth but I can still eat bitches like that for breakfast.”
“No shit.”
“Anyway,” I cough, returning to a more genteel tone of voice. “You go grab that table. I won’t be long.”
Chuckling to himself he shakes his head and does as he’s told. I return to Alex.
“Sorry about that.”
“No problem.”
Within seconds of sitting down my glass is empty.
“Same again?” Alex asks.
“Actually, I need to dash.”
“No, you don’t,” he says dismissively. “Stay for another.”
“I really can’t. I had a prior arrangement I couldn’t get out of.”
“Right,” he frowns. “That’s a shame.”
“But we must do this again, properly next time.”
He glances at his watch. “We’ve barely been here an hour. Are you absolutely sure you can’t you stay a little longer? Isn’t your career is worth more than just an hour?”
“Is it, but my friend is already waiting in the dining area.”
“You’re staying here?”
“Err, yes.”
“Okay,” he sighs. “Another time.”
I get to my feet.
“I’ll give you a call before Wednesday about the job and, depending on how that pans out, we can arrange drinks another time.”
“That would be good,” he replies, with a feeble smile.
As much as I don’t want to spend another second socialising with Alex I do feel bad just abandoning him when he’s not even finished his drink.
“Do you want me to …?”
“It’s fine, Emma. You go, honestly.”
It takes all my resolve but I lean over and peck him on the cheek. If we do end up working together, I’d rather keep him onside.
“See you soon, Alex.”
I leave him to finish his pint.
Fortunately the dining room is in a partitioned area of the pub so I don’t have to sit and stare across at Alex’s sad face. Most of the tables are occupied and as I search for Clement, he spots me first and yells across the heads of the other diners. Some of them turn and shoot a frown in Clement’s direction but the heads soon snap back to their meals once they identify the source.
I make my way over and sit down opposite him.
“How’d your meeting go?” Clement asks.
“Not bad. He’s a bit of a drip but harmless enough. The jobs sounds interesting, though.”
“You gonna take it?”
“Possibly. Probably. We’ll see.”
A waiter delivers plates to the adjacent table and I summon him over before he can escape back to the kitchen.
“Pint of lager and a large Merlot, please.”
“And two whisky chasers,” Clement adds.
The waiter scuttles away.
“Someone’s going for it tonight,” I chuckle.
“If all else fails, doll, get wankered.”
He then hands me a menu; a less-than-subtle hint he’s hungry. I’ve eaten in The Three Horseshoes more times than I care to remember so I know the menu inside out. I also know what to avoid, and what’s just about edible.
“I’ll have the linguine.”
“That was quick.”
“And I’d recommend the mixed grill.”
“Thought you said I shouldn’t be eating that kinda stuff.”
“You shouldn’t, but tonight it doesn’t matter.”
“Not gonna argue.”
The waiter returns with our drinks and I place the food order. As he heads off I raise my glass to Clement.
“Cheers, and sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Cramping your style with that woman.”
“Don’t matter. She weren’t my type.”
“No?”
“Nah.”
“Well, anyway, I apologise for breaking up your little tryst.”
“No need, doll,” he grins. “I know it was only cos you were jealous.”
“Yeah,” I snort. “That’ll be it.”
I grab my glass and take a gulp of wine to quell the sudden and unexpected hot flush. I put it down to an early sign of my impending menopause.
“So, Clement,” I ask, quickly changing the subject. “What are your plans?”
“Don’t have any.”
“What were you doing before … this?”
“Been working at a boozer over in Kensal Green. Landlord had a bit of a problem with drug dealers.”
“Had?”
“I re-educated them.”
“That sounds like dangerous work. Most of the violent crime in the city is down to drugs.”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“Is that where you live, then: Kensal Green?”
“For now. The landlord let me stay in a flat at the back of the boozer, you know, for services rendered.”
“And now those services have been rendered, where will you go?”
“Dunno,” he sighs, before taking a long glug of lager.
For such a resourceful man, Clement doesn’t appear to have built much of a life for himself. Beyond his transient living arrangements, he’s been wearing the same clothes since the day we first met, and nobody appears to care he’s eating crap for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. All told, it seems a sa
d existence.
“There’s no hurry, if … you know, you wanted to kip at mine a bit longer.”
“Despite the snoring, eh.”
“That, and the fact my bathroom is now the subject of a research paper at Porton Down.”
“Porton Down?”
“The chemical weapons laboratory.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I’ve had dodgy guts.”
“Nice. Thanks for sharing that just before we eat.”
“Be thankful I didn’t order the madras.”
“Clearly there is a God.”
His smile vanishes in a heartbeat.
“If there is a God,” he mutters. “He’s got one fucked-up sense of humour.”
“I take it you’re not a believer?”
“Dunno what I believe any more.”
I like to think I’m good at reading people — a useful skill in my job — well, my previous job. In this case Clement’s tone suggests he’s carrying an unhealthy amount of religion-based bitterness.
“You’re not Catholic are you?” I ask.
“No. Why?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Our dinner arrives providing Clement with a handy excuse to drop the subject. We begin eating with an uneasy silence but a shot of whisky and an entire abattoir of processed meat helps to lift his mood again.
Once our plates are cleared away we order more drinks and talk, a lot — or at least I do — and Clement listens. I tell him my hopes for the future, and my fears. I tell him all about my childhood, my early career, and my mum.
“Sorry, if I’m boring you. It’s been a while since I had dinner with anyone I feel …”
I leave the sentence hanging.
“Feel what, doll?”
“Forget it,” I reply dismissively.
“Go on.”
“No. You’ll laugh.”
“Probably, but tell me anyway.”
“Comfortable. You make me feel comfortable, Clement.”
He sits back in his chair and appears to drift off as he runs a finger around the rim of his whisky tumbler.
“Sorry,” I sigh. “I’ve made things all weird now, haven’t I?”
“Nah.”
“I think I have.”
He looks up from the tumbler.
“You ain’t made it weird, and I get you. It probably don’t mean shit, but I feel comfortable too.”
Clawthorn (Clement Book 3) Page 20