Authors: Charles Caselton
As he pressed the speed-dial for Angie’s number he felt his stomach seize up.
“It’s me,” Jake managed to croak, the bile burning his throat.
In her swish office overlooking Berkeley Square the editor of London’s best-selling woman’s magazine checked the screen on her mobile. It was Jake’s number all right but it certainly didn’t sound like him.
“Jake?”
“You phoned?” he managed to splutter.
“Yes – are you alright?” Angie used her conciliatory tone, her carefully prepared words all planned, but this croaky voice threw her slightly.
“Just a touch of – ” Jake covered the mouthpiece to mask the sound of his dry retch, “‘flu.”
It didn’t seem fair to break off the relationship if he was ill but fairness, Angie justified, was a luxury at her level.
“Whilst it’s been fun – ” with her voice as soothing as a funeral director’s Lady Peters went into her speech.
Unfortunately as soon as she began Jake, gripped by another stomach spasm, covered the mouthpiece and held the phone away from him.
He managed to put it back to hear, “I really think it’s best that we – ” but his gut contracted robbing him of his breath.
Jake didn’t have to listen to the words though, he could tell from her voice what Angie was saying.
At the other end of the phone all the editor could hear were what sounded like muffled chokings. Lady Peters was surprised. She didn’t think he would take it this badly.
With his eyes streaming Jake put the phone back to his ear. “So we’re breaking up?”
Angie had prepared for this moment. With her voice at honey pitch she breathed into the phone, “Yes but don’t – ”
She wasn’t allowed to finish before Jake, feeling the approach of another spasm, choked out, “Fine,” and clicked off his phone.
Angie was surprised, and not a little disappointed, to have the conversation end halfway through her farewell. It wasn’t like Jake to suffer from pique.
The break-up hadn’t been as fun as she had expected. There was no sense of victory, no hint of the pleasure she had been looking forward to, the pleasure of knowing you are going to hurt somebody but also of knowing there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.
Putting down the phone Jake rushed to the plastic bucket that served as his bin and threw up. In the milky clear upchuck were pieces of his lunch: fish caught the previous night from the canal.
They buried the heron that evening.
It was a simple ceremony. Ollie dug a grave in the soft earth bordering the two-tiered pond in Meanwhile Gardens. Gem ‘n Em, Nicky, Ollie and Rion placed lilies on the bird’s body before Ollie gently lowered the heron to its final resting place.
He had found the dying bird at the start of his daily jog. Poisoned, the heron lay in the rushes below the towpath at the back of the job centre on Kensal Road. The bird’s feathered necklace was bedraggled, its eyes were lifeless, its elegant wings, now crumpled around its slender frame, would no longer swoop down the canal.
Gem was inconsolable. This was her heron. This was her
direct link to Princess Di, or so she’d always thought. What would she do? What could she do?
Although vengeance wasn’t in her nature, revenge was firmly on her mind.
“A
untie Em he’s on next!” Rion sat glued to the tv. The local news, following on from the national and international items, was about to begin.
Behind her, next to the fireplace, Hum lay sedated in his fluffy leopard-print bed. Given antibiotics and solace by Doctor Alexander in his surgery off Westbourne Park Road, Humdinger had now retired, his wounds well and truly licked, to sleep off the nightmare.
It had been decided the hound would recuperate at Auntie Em’s. Ollie was still giving Wayne a hand at lA which, even with the windows open, was too full of dust and fumes for a recovering hound and Hum certainly couldn’t stay alone at Ollie’s.
It was best the dog stayed where Rion could watch over him. Having recently been nursed back to health herself Rion was anxious to pass on some tlc to someone else – whether that was animal or human was immaterial to her.
“Auntie Em!” Rion again called through to the hall where Emma stood at the window waiting for an important package.
Uncharacteristically nervy Auntie Em looked at her watch, sighed and came through to the sitting room.
“Have you set the machine?”
Rion nodded hesitantly, “I think so. I followed the instructions anyway.”
The dvd player had been set for Auntie Gem to watch later. She had phoned mid-morning to confirm her boss’ appearance on
Around You at Two,
the popular local news slot.
Auntie Em checked the machine and was satisfied to see it had started recording.
“Do you think Gem’ll be on as well?” Rion asked.
Auntie Em smiled as the fanfare announced the start of the programme.
“I think she’ll give it a damn good try don’t you?”
They watched as the perky reporter introduced the featured stories. The lead item concerned the London restaurant awards being presented that night. The second was about the Halloween fireworks party on Primrose Hill over the weekend. Item three was the one they had been waiting for.
From the studio ‘perky reporter’ flashed a brilliant smile at the camera.
“Our third story comes live from West London with our reporter at large Alvin Baker – Alvin?”
A clean-cut young man in fashionably oversized glasses appeared on screen.
“He’s in front of the factory!” Rion squealed.
The reporter stood beside the Peters & Peters factory logo. Next to him stood Gemma’s boss.
“That’s Edwin,” said Auntie Em.
Around You at Two
’s science correspondent began his piece to camera.
“I’m here in West London with Sir Edwin Peters – ”
“Sir!” Auntie Em laughed disdainfully.
“ – Managing Director of the family firm at the heart of
the pollution controversy devastating this stretch of the Grand Union Canal.”
Edwin nervously adjusted his tie at the mention of ‘pollution’, ‘controversy’, and ‘devastating’.
“What do you say, Sir Edwin, to the allegations that it is your factory causing the death of all the wildlife on this stretch of canal? Herons are a protected species as I’m sure you’re well aware.”
Sir Edwin visibly bristled as Alvin Baker shoved a microphone in his face. “Firstly there is no truth to these allegations and anyone furthering them will be receiving attention from my legal advisers.”
Sir Edwin thought it best to throw that one in straight away: broadcasters, especially the smaller, local ones, were averse to the threat of legal action and damages.
“I have it on very good authority from independent pollution monitors that the the destruction of the wildlife has nothing to – ”
As Sir Edwin went into his spiel Auntie Em said, “He’s already pulled his ear three times.” In reply to Rion’s questioning stare she explained, “It means he’s lying.”
From then on Rion was more interested in what Gemma’s boss was doing with his hands than in what he was saying.
“ – is due to the addition of chemicals into the canal environment by a certain railway company – ”
“And stroked his hair,” Auntie Em pointed out.
“ – chemicals which of course we as an organic – ”
“And again!” they both protested.
“ – manufacturer couldn’t use. A report from the independent monitors is available – ”
Rion gestured at the tv, “Scratched his nose!”
“ – and thank you for giving me the chance – ”
At this the factory gates behind him opened.
“ – to clear up any misunderstandings.”
The camera followed Sir Edwin as he entered the compound. Helping the security guard close the gate was a figure they both recognised.
“It’s Gem!” Auntie Em laughed.
Just before the gate closed on the cameraman Auntie Gem stuck her head out and smiled.
Auntie Em hugged Rion, “I knew she would!”
As the screen cut back to ‘perky’ in the studio Auntie Em switched off the dvd player. Behind them Hum whimpered in his sleep.
“Poor love,” Auntie Em went over to stroke the hound. “He’s probably re-living the whole ghastly experience.”
“The vet said he’d sleep all afternoon. Will he be ok with you?”
Auntie Em nodded, “I’m going out later for tea though.”
“I should be back by then,” Rion bent to kiss Hum between the ears. “I said I’d go and see Jake that’s all.”
From the hall window Auntie Em saw her visitor with the all-important package coming down the mews. She followed Rion down the stairs.
“Send him my love, angel.” Auntie Em had met Jake several times when Rion had been ill and thoroughly approved of the young man.
Opening the front door Rion found Nicky almost on the doorstep. In one hand the photographer carried a small parcel wrapped in plain brown paper.
Nicky smiled upon seeing Rion, “Have you seen Ollie today?”
“Just a wave every now and then.”
“Is he there at the moment?”
Rion put her head to one side and listened. She could hear the radio coming from lA but it wasn’t too loud.
“And working by the sounds of it. They switch the radio up when they’re – you know – ” Rion felt herself blushing, “ – at it.”
“Ah,” Nicky said slowly as if pennies were dropping left, right and centre. “I was going to ask them to turn it down this morning. It was blasting for ages.”
“That was when Ollie came back from his jog.”
“Well, our boy looks rather fetching in his shorts doesn’t he?” Auntie Em said.
“Especially with sweat dripping down his body,” Rion giggled.
“Let him have his fun while he can,” Auntie Em took the package from Nicky. “I have a feeling it won’t last too long.”
Auntie Em waved Rion off down the little cobbled mews. Before the young girl had turned the corner Auntie Em had closed the front door.
“It’s damn good I think,” Nicky whispered then wondered why she was talking so softly.
Closely followed by Nicky, Auntie Em hurried up the stairs into her bedroom where she ripped open the package. The contents made her gasp admiringly.
“I’m not sure which I prefer,” she turned the object around, looking at it from all angles.
In her hands she held an exact copy of the miniature Candida and Wayne were looking for. Auntie Em took the original from her bed and placed it next to the fake. “We even got the frame almost exactly right.”
Nicky had cleverly constructed the fake by photographing the original on matt paper, dulling the colours and then carefully sticking it to a piece of canvas stretched across board. With the glass, frame and a touch of ageing here and there it looked remarkably similar.
“It won’t fool Candida for a second.”
“But the hired hand will go for it don’t you think?”
“Without a doubt,” Nicky said with certainty. “When do we do it?”
Auntie Em thought for a second.
“Let our boy have another night of fun.”
“Tomorrow then?”
Auntie Em nodded slightly wearily. “He won’t thank us for it.”
“He won’t tomorrow but maybe next week he will,” Nicky put her arm around Auntie Em. “I hate to sound so parental here but – ” the photographer cringed at the approaching cliché, “ – it’s for his own good.”
Auntie Em smiled weakly, “Yes. Yes,” she murmured as she closed the bedroom door leaving both Merlijnche de Poortjes side by side like disjointed twins.
Before going out Auntie Em looked at herself in the bedroom mirror. She was pleased with what she saw but something was missing – what else could she use that would increase her allure? After a few seconds thinking it came to her.
A scarf.
Rifling through the second shelf in her dressing room she tried on several before settling on a red, gossamer, silky scarf with a light yellow and blue pattern – a nice little Nina Ricci number acquired from Killer, the vintage clothes shop at the base of Trellick Tower.
Placing the scarf over her head, she knotted it under her chin and again checked the mirror. This time the image reflected was of an attractive but demure woman. Attractive but demure – just what she wanted to put over.
Leaving the mews she was stopped by a voice calling her.
“Auntie Em!”
She looked up to see Ollie standing at the sitting room window of lA.
“Where are you going looking so Grace Kelly?”
Ollie always knew the words to charm her.
“Never you mind, sweetness.”
“Stay right there!” he ordered. Ollie’s place at the window was taken by Wayne.
Before Candida’s henchman could speak Emma addressed him. “Mr Watson,” she said curtly, hoping to God he wasn’t going to call her Auntie Em, “would you go and see Nicky this evening at six?”
The builder smiled down at her, “Sure Auntie Em.”
Emma gritted her teeth. Before she could remind Wayne of the employer/ employee relationship Ollie had flung open the front door.
In some strange way it hurt her to see how well he looked, knowing his happiness was based on deception.
“Well?” Ollie enquired, arching his eyebrows in a playful fashion. “I’ve been hearing rumours…..”
“So have we dear,” Auntie Em hid her sadness well. “Something about the radio increasing in volume from time to time?”
Ollie burst out laughing, “That obvious huh?”
“Not to me it wasn’t,” Auntie Em said tactfully before mentioning, “Nicky’s feeling abit left out sweetness.”
Ollie avoided Auntie Em’s gaze, “I know, I’ve been stupidly pre-occupied lately.”
If you only knew Auntie Em thought.
“Anyway she says to remind you that Johnson’s going to the studio tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“Did she tell you Vance cancelled?”
“No. Ouch – but she should be used to that.”
“Go and see her tonight, she needs company.”
Ollie’s face lit up before falling. “I can’t. Johnson gave me his tickets to
Love Never Dies
– I’m taking Wayne.”
“Do you think that’s his sort of thing angel?”
“Auntie Em. It’s not like you to judge a book by its cover,” Ollie said crossly. “Just because Wayne’s from Dagenham and obviously works out doesn’t mean he’s thick or uncultured. He loves Dutch painting you know.”