Not Gonna Happen

by Adam Carter

  And all that was set to change if Corsac pulled out.

  “J, I need this job,” she said, placing her elbows on the table and leaning towards him so she could speak lower. “Before this, I didn’t have much. Before this I had a disturbed boyfriend, a poky flat and a dead-end job. You changed my life, Mr J; the comedy hero from my childhood riding in on a white steed to whisk me away into the sunset. But that’s how the story ends, J, that’s how the story always ends. The hero gets the girl and rides away into the horizon. The happily ever after.”

  “Happily ever after is a myth, Liz.”

  “It needn’t be.”

  “When you say Richard is disturbed, what do you mean exactly?”

  “This isn’t about Rich, J,” Liz said, desperately trying to control her anger.

  “But I just ...”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. Just tell me why you want to ... why you want to destroy my dream like you are.”

  “I don’t want to destroy your dream, Liz,” Corsac said, taking her hands in his and meeting her gaze for once. “You have to believe that, if you don’t accept anything else. I want what’s best for you, I do. But the show will carry on without me.”

  “That’s just it. How can you guarantee that? How can you even suggest that when the opposite is so clear instead?”

  “I am not the show, Liz,” he continued to protest, although this time he seemed a little half-hearted in the action.

  “But you are.” Liz tried to find her next words carefully and finally said, “Jack, you don’t realise just how important you are. To the show, to the audience, to me. You are the hinge, the fulcrum, the ... the King Lear of comedy.”

  “Whoa, hold on, the King Lear of comedy?”

  “Blinded so badly that you don’t realise you can make mistakes; then you end up destroying yourself because of it.”

  “Which would make Sam my Cordelia: the daughter who I’ve spurned but who only wants the best for me.”

  “And me the fool, unfortunately. Tarry, nuncle.”

  There was a brief moment of silence and then they both exploded with laughter. Corsac wiped at his eye. “Dear, dear, I should write that down. So,” he said, and Liz could feel the mood had lightened somewhat, “you want me to stay?”

  “Yes.”

  “I just don’t know whether I can, Liz. I mean ...” He closed his eyes. His argument was now loose, and they both knew he was wavering. “I’ll talk with Sam, see what she says. Maybe I could go for a break instead, something along those lines, and see what happens after that.”

  “Castle would go with that in an instant.”

  “Did he send you, by the way?”

  “Yup.”

  “Thought so.”

  “So you’ll stay?”

  “I’ll talk to Sam.”

  Liz all but leaped across the table and embraced him. Corsac went rigid with shock as her lips met his, and he felt ashamed that he did not pull away. She held him for only a few seconds before releasing, more excited that he had ever known her. “Thanks, J. You don’t know how happy you just made me.”

  Corsac tried to speak, found his tongue caught in his throat, coughed and said, “Welcome.”

  “Call me,” she said, all but jumping up from the table. “Call me right after you’ve spoken with Sam. In fact, come over and see me. Come see me and we can celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?” Corsac asked, his mind still reeling. “I haven’t even spoken with her yet. I don’t know what she might say.”

  “She’ll be fine.” She made an excited noise, somewhere between “Oh” and “Ah” and hugged him again. Then she trotted out the door, waving him a loose goodbye.

  “Someone’s happy,” Frank said from behind the bar.

  It took Corsac several moments to register the man had said anything. Perhaps he had been talking all along, he didn’t know. “I think I made her day,” Corsac said without realising it.

  “You OK?”

  “Fine.”

  “Only, you look a little flushed.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Only,” Frank said and Corsac noted now the man was speaking in a very dry, very slow and serious tone, “last I checked, you were married.”

  “And that means?” Corsac demanded, rounding on him with far too much conviction.

  “That you’re sitting there like a teenager who’s just been randomly kissed by the girl he’s had his eye on the last six months. Only in this case it’s the girl the whole country’s had its eye on the last six months.”

  “Liz and I are friends. You have female friends, Frank?”

  “Sure. But I don’t kiss ‘em and if I did in passing I wouldn’t get a hot flush over it.”

  “Frank, she’s old enough to be my daughter.”

  “So why get angry with me over it?”

  “I’m not getting angry.”

  “Defensive, then.”

  Corsac did not reply. Instead he rose from the table. “I have to go see my daughter, Frank. Sorry I can’t stay to finish this uninteresting and rather pointless debate.”

  “Only a debate if the facts are still uncertain, Jack.”

  But Corsac wasn’t listening. He was already halfway to the door, his fingernails digging into his palms. He was angry, but he knew he had no right to be. Frank was looking out for him, it was what friends did. True, Frank was only his barman, but the two men had known one another for a number of years now and it was nice Frank was trying to help. The only problem was that Corsac did not want his help. He could handle his relationship with Liz Henderson just fine: a relationship which was one of friendship and nothing more.

  Just the way the both of them wanted it.

  Both of them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It was all so cleverly orchestrated. Starke had returned from the game show with far more information than expected. He went home to his bookshop, paced a lot and voiced aloud plenty of things he was considering doing before tossing them all out. He eventually decided to go and see Liz in person, although realised he had no idea where she was. Potentially she was with her mother, but Starke wanted to avoid seeing her if at all possible. He called Liz, but all he got was a message saying the number wasn’t being recognised. The people at Deadlock had effectively disappeared her. Disappeared her and then hid her in plain sight. Liz was available to be seen, but no one could contact her. These people were clever; but they had not reckoned upon the keen intelligence of Richard Starke.

  For Starke knew there was another aspect to all of this. Most people would have missed the connection, for the fish girl had been a contestant, not a part of the production team. But Starke knew she was connected, knew what she carried in her violin case and knew she was the key to it all.

  Plus, thanks to that night so long ago now, he knew where she lived.

  Starke would have preferred to go after the host. Jack Corsac. Where he lived remained a mystery: all Starke knew was that he wasn’t listed in the directory. He thought about phoning 118 and asking for Corsac’s phone number but very much doubted they would have it and wasn’t about to call them unnecessarily. After all, the bizarre men with their twin moustaches unnerved him and they didn’t even seem to know where bacon came from.

  No, if he was to do this, he would have to do it himself. Starke was already resolved to this end and now that his decision was made, he would stick by it.

  He threw a few things together in a bag. Nothing special, just a torch, a length of rope (always handy), a sandwich and his notebook. Never travel without your notebook. Starke intended to travel light for the very fact that he knew he would have to move quickly. Throwing the bag across his shoulder, he made his way through the front of the shop, passing all the books he would rearrange come the morning, and as he reached for the door, it opened.

  He did not recall having left it unlocked, but it opened nevertheless. There was a man standing upon the other side. He was tall and balding: what wispy white hair he had rema
ining was focused about the sides. His beard and moustache were grey and well-trimmed and his expression was a mixture of gladness and sorrow.

  “Richard.”

  “Uncle Pete?”

  “I thought I told you to come and visit?”

  Starke did not know what to say, whether to hug the man or pinch him to see whether he was real. “I thought you’d gone to live in New Zealand.”

  “So did I. But when I sent you a postcard and you decided not to reply – at all – I thought something must be up so I came back to see what it was.”

  “You didn’t think to telephone?”

  “I didn’t think to telephone.”

  “But, Uncle Pete, what about the mob? They’re after you, aren’t they? That was the reason you left in the first place.”

  “Could you get around to offering me a cup of tea sometime soon, please?”

  “But what about the mob?”

  “You worry about the tea, I’ll worry about the mob.”

  Starke found himself nodding meekly, still in shock over the sudden appearance of this man upon his very doorstep. (Or his own doorstep, if Uncle Pete was taking back the business. Was he taking back the business?)

  “Are you taking back the business?”

  “Taking back the business?” Uncle Pete asked, horrified. “Whatever for?”

  “Well, being home and all.”

  “I’ve come back to see you, boy. To visit you, not to take over your livelihood. God, man, I had enough of nursemaiding you when I did live in this country, I’ll be damned if I’m going to be doing it from half a world away.”

  Starke was pouring tea by this point and scrabbling to locate some biscuits while Uncle Pete was looking about the place. He inspected everything, ran a finger over a book and distastefully rubbed the dust between thumb and forefinger. Starke knew he was in for a lecture: Uncle Pete always lectured him about something. He loved complaining and making him feel insecure.

  “Where you off to, Richard?”

  “Off to?”

  “The backpack.”

  Starke suddenly realised what he meant. “Oh. Right.”

  “Right. So, where?”

  “Out.”

  “It’s the middle of the night, Richard. Where would you be going to in the middle of the night?”

  “Asda.”

  “At midnight?”

  “24-hour.”

  “I wasn’t asking for a schedule of its opening times, I meant what could you possibly want from anywhere in the middle of the night? You have enough tea bags and that’s all that matters in life. A man always has enough on his plate when he has a plentiful supply of tea bags.”

  “On his plate?”

  “You know what I mean, don’t contradict me. And answer questions when I ask you them. Where were you going?”

  Starke noted he was speaking in the past tense. It had already been decided Starke was staying in for the night. Uncle Pete was always like this. Starke thought he had got away from him and now he had turned up out of the blue and started giving orders all over again. Starke knew he would have to stick up for himself, else he would be subservient to this man forever.

  “How’s the tea?” Starke asked meekly.

  “Fine. You’re not going to tell me where you were going, are you?”

  “I was going to see a girl.”

  “Liz?”

  “Liz and I split up.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “You didn’t even like her.”

  “No, but I know you did. Maybe it’s best you’re shot of her after all, Richard. I mean, she did tend to use you quite a lot.”

  “She did not.”

  “Oh she did.”

  “You think she was two-timing me, don’t you?”

  “I never said that.”

  “But you thought it. You said it too, last time we spoke.”

  “I’m sure I didn’t.”

  “You did.”

  “It’s not my place to say such things, Richard. Although you’re better off without her.”

  “Is that a professional opinion?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  Starke ignored him.

  “So,” Uncle Pete said when it was clear his nephew had clammed up, “who’s the girl?”

  “Girl?”

  “The girl you were going out to see who wasn’t Liz.”

  “Oh. Doesn’t matter.”

  “Matters to you.”

  “Her name doesn’t matter.”

  “Do you even know it?” Uncle Pete asked without emotion. When Starke did not answer, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Richard, are you sure she’s real?”

  “Yes, of course she’s real,” Starke exploded. “She came in here with a gun, she ... she bought a book and then I saw her again on TV, so yes she’s real.”

  Uncle Pete took in all of this information calmly, sipping his tea. “She had a gun?” he asked at last, very simply.

  “In a violin case.”

  “Could it perhaps have been a violin?”

  “That’s what she said, yes.”

  “She did?”

  “On the telly.”

  Uncle Pete nodded. “And she bought a book?”

  “Yes.”

  “From a bookshop?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you think that’s weird because?”

  Starke paused. “It wasn’t the act of buying the book, it was the way she bought it.”

  “And the TV? When was she on TV?”

  “I don’t know. Not yet, a month away maybe, I don’t know.”

  Now Uncle Pete was gazing at him sympathetically. “Richard, this isn’t good for you, you know.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “You know precisely what I mean. It’s happening again, isn’t it? And you were doing so well.” The way Uncle Pete spoke was patronising, yet in a professional way. It was as though he had been trained to patronise and didn’t necessarily know when he was doing it, or to what extent it was annoying.

  “I’m fine,” Starke said after a while.

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You miss Liz?”

  “I’m coping.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes. Would you stop saying that?”

  Uncle Pete set down his tea and subconsciously crossed one leg over the other, placing his hands in his lap. His eyes did not leave Starke. “Richard, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but I would advise against contacting Liz again.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “No?”

  “They’ve done something to her phone anyway.”

  “They?”

  “All I get is a message saying the number doesn’t exist.”

  “Which means she’s changed her number.”

  “Or they have.”

  “They?”

  “I ignored that question the first time, what makes you think I’m about to answer it now?”

  Uncle Pete thought a moment. “Richard, leave it alone. Liz is her own woman, with her own ambitions. If you want me to be frank with you …”

  “Which I don’t.”

  “… I think you’re much better off trying to pick yourself up without worrying about her. She hasn’t thought of you since she left, Richard. She hasn’t thought of you because she doesn’t have to. Can I assume the money your uncle left you is all gone now?”

  “I … well, mostly.”

  “And you’re having difficulty in meeting the rent for this place?” He indicated the shop.

  “I get by.”

  Uncle Pete was silent another moment, but when he spoke it was with conviction. “Richard, perhaps it would have been better for you were I to have been completely open from the start. Maybe it would have saved you a lot of trouble. But I’m going to be open with you now. Liz is gone because you have no money. It’s nothing to do with you, no matter what she said when she left.”

  “How do you know what she s
aid when she left?” Starke asked accusingly. “I thought you were supposed to be in New Zealand at the time.”

  “It’s nothing to do with you, it was all about your money. She saw you as an easy target and she exploited you. Now, legally I can’t see there’s anything you can do about it, but I shall certainly look into it for you. There may be something, extenuating circumstances or something. I don’t know.”

  “Do about what?”

  “You really don’t understand any of what I’m saying, do you?”

  “Well, it would help if what you said made any kind of sense.”

  “Do you even know who I am?”

  “Uncle Pete. Don’t be dumb, I know that much.”

  Uncle Pete finished his tea. “I’ll look into the legal matters for you, Richard. Just please don’t do anything foolish in the meantime. And forget this girl with the violin case.”

  “I have to talk to her.”

  “I’ll talk to her for you.”

  “You will?” Starke asked, brightening.

  Uncle Pete laid a hand upon his shoulder. “Just leave everything with me, Richard, and I’ll sort it. You don’t need to do anything.”

  “You sure? I don’t like sitting around.”

  “I’m sure.” He offered Richard a rare smile. “Just kick back and relax, Richard. Go to bed, it’s late enough. I’ll call when I have something.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Pete. I knew you’d sort everything out.”

  Uncle Pete was a good man and Starke was glad to have him back at last. Even as he locked the door and flipped the sign over to closed did Starke feel a weight lift from his shoulders. It may have been a cliché thing to have said, but it was true. His chest felt lighter, like all the pressure of worry was gone. Uncle Pete would fix things – he would even know how to spoil the aim of the girl with the Uzi in her violin case.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  He had spoken with Sam and Liz had been right. Of course, he knew Liz was going to be right, since he already knew himself what Sam was going to say. That was why he had avoided talking to Sam in the first place. Now, though, Corsac had spoken with his daughter/agent and, after a lengthy and disparaging conversation which so very often threatened upon the borders of debate and argument, had reached the conclusion that he was staying. At least for the moment. He had offered to stay until Christmas anyway, but Sam truly thought it in his best interests to stick it out for the long haul.