Meanwhile Gardens (24 page)

“Yes.”

Ollie thought Wayne’s voice sounded somehow different, even that single word sounded cold. “Are you ok?”

The builder thought it best to get straight to the point, “I won’t be coming tonight. In fact my plans have changed completely.”

“There’s not much happening here anyway. I’ll stay for the fireworks and then come back.”

“I’m not going to be here mate.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Wayne stopped for a second. How could he make himself clearer?

“I’m not going to be here tomorrow
either,
” he said firmly.

“Well – ” Ollie began, slightly thrown at the way the conversation was going.

“It’s best we don’t see each other again. Something’s come up.”

“Like what?” Ollie asked starting to get rattled. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re over. It’s me not you. I can’t explain.”

“Can’t or won’t?” he asked angrily but Wayne had
already clicked off the phone. Ollie looked up to find a large cuddly toy grinning down at him from the shooting range. It was some grotesquely sweet bear of an indescribable green. “What are you looking at?” he kicked the side of the range making the stall shudder.

A potentially violent voice from the other side made him think twice about hitting any more fairground property.

“Ollie?” Rion ran up.

He put his arm around the young girl, “I hate it when they say – ‘It’s me not you.’ It’s so damn condescending isn’t it?”

“Who was that Ollie?”

“I mean – does he think I can’t take it if he says, ‘I don’t fancy you anymore?’ or, ‘You never put the cds away, it drives me crazy,’ or even, ‘Your dog makes me sneeze’?” Ollie punched the air. “You can use that excuse with people who have pets can’t you? ‘Oh my allergies have flared up, I can’t live with you any longer’ – why couldn’t he have used that one?”

“Ollie?” Rion asked concerned.

“He dumped me Rion. I’ve been dumped.”

“Wayne?”

Ollie nodded, “I’m the dumpee, I’m Stig of the Dump, I’m Dumper Dumps of Dumpsville. I’m – ” running out of things to say Ollie simply shrugged his shoulders, “ – going to get drunk.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, “I’ll be rotten company, I always am when I’m pissed, so you wait for Nicky,” Ollie glanced at his watch, “she won’t be long.”

Rion looked at the crowd gathering on Primrose Hill above them, “You’re not going to stay for the fireworks?”

Ollie shook his head, “We’ll come back on Bonfire Night – it’s bigger and better and only next week.”

“You’ll be ok?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. You have money?”

Rion nodded, patting her wallet in her front pocket, “Auntie Em gave me a twenty.”

Ollie hugged the young girl to him, “Wait at the look-out for Nicks. She’ll be here soon.”

Wayne parked the pick-up outside Candida’s flat in Holland Park. He was glad the job was over. All that remained was getting his bonus and getting out of there.

He could see Candida at the second floor window but didn’t get out of the van. Instead he pulled his battered workbag to him and pulled out the gilt-framed miniature – Merlijnche de Poortje gazed back at him from the shadows.

It had crossed his mind on more than one occasion that he could simply try and flog it for a better deal. But that went against his principles. He also hadn’t a clue who to approach about a painting. Whoever he went to would rip him off, that was clear. He might as well stick with Candida.

Had it all been worth it?

He had done two jobs, been paid for one and would soon be paid for the second alongwith a handsome bonus for successful recovery of the item. He’d also had a lot of great sex – that couldn’t be discounted – but had it been worth it? Wayne wasn’t sure. He smiled. He could think about it next week when he was in Florida couldn’t he?

With the painting in his hand he walked quickly up the glasscovered walkway to the front door. Candida’s voice came through the intercom before he could press the buzzer.

“You’re late.”

The door clicked open. Deciding not to take the small, woodpanelled lift he ran up the stairs to the second floor. The door to the flat was open.

“Where is it? Where is it?”

His employer was standing in front of three elaborate
mirrors in the hall of the elegant apartment. She wore a floorlength peach silk nightgown with tiny straps over the shoulders, a string of pearls and heels. Normally this would have got a rise out of Wayne but on this occasion he just wanted to exit fast.

Wayne gave her a flash of the painting, “Where’s the money?”

Candida sighed. She went over to the antique French commode with its spindly legs, picked up a bulging envelope and waved it at Wayne.

“This is a bit ridiculous isn’t it?” Candida kicked the envelope along the parquet floor where it span into Wayne’s feet.

“You’re the one into cop shows.”

Wayne picked up the envelope and flipped through the wad of deliciously crisp fifty-pound notes.

“Is it all there?”

That was something I won’t miss, he thought, the haughty sarcasm.

“Good enough,” he grunted.

He put the painting face down on the dresser and left.

Wayne had hardly got to the first floor when he heard a scream. As he hurried out the front door to the van he heard sash windows crash open on the second floor above him.

“You bastard!”

Wayne looked up to find Candida smashing the small miniature on the windowsill. She threw down the gilded frame, shrieking in rage as it splintered on the concrete beside the pick-up, missing Wayne by inches.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted up, but all he could see was Candida ripping the painting from the board. She looked at the canvas for a moment then shrieked even louder.

The backboard came next. It bounced harmlessly off the windscreen before landing on the ground. Finally Candida scrunched the canvas into a ball and threw it down. She slammed the window and vanished from sight.

Deciding it best to make a quick getaway Wayne picked up the oddly crinkly ball of canvas and hopped into the van. It was only when he was safely through Notting Hill Gate that he pulled over.

Wayne smoothed out the ball, immediately feeling that it wasn’t canvas but some sort of thick paper, “What the hell – ” Now that he held it in his hands, without the disguise of the glass and frame, it was obvious that it was a photographic image cleverly touched up.

He turned the paper over to find a message written on the back.

“With love from all at Meanwhile Gardens Mews”

They’d known all along! Wayne laughed. He’d been done and it had never felt better.

He was still laughing as he drove east through the city, heading for Dagenham and home.

The fireworks started fifteen minutes late but were worth the wait. As Halloween had long ago been hijacked by the Americans it was only fitting that the sizeable expat community sponsored the display.

Rion looked on entranced as blue, red and dazzling white flashpoint streamers flared into the sky. These were followed by all manner of giant Catherine Wheels spinning for all their brief lives were worth, magic lanterns that loomed out of the
darkness, enormous rockets that seemed to touch the moon before exploding in a riot of deafening bangs and glittering stars, fireballs of myriad colours flashing over Regents Park, Jack-o’-Lanterns, Fireflies and Will-o’-the -Wisps blazed, gleamed and glittered in the moonlit night. It was magic made all the more so by the domed silhouette of St Paul’s Cathedral in the distance.

The blackout, when it finally came, was preceded by a dazzling display of pyrotechnics. Six flares sped towards the stars. At their zenith a distant muffle was heard heralding their separation into white blooms that slowly unfurled as they fell through the blackness.

Another puff and the small white blooms blossomed into larger blue petals and fell further. A louder pop right above their heads and the large blue petals burst into scarlet and became even bigger. In their final incarnation they loomed over the open-mouthed crowd like the tendrils of some gleaming, astral plant that had somehow lowered the ceiling of the sky, appearing so close you felt you could touch it.

A smattering of applause greeted this final display.

Rion looked at her watch. It was after eleven. She looked around anxiously for Nicky but there was no sign of the photographer. On the other side of the lookout she noticed a man looking at her.

“The animals must be driven crazy by it all,” he said gesturing to the dark mass of London Zoo below them.

Rion looked round to see who he was addressing but it was apparent he was talking to her.

“I have two cats and they hate any sort of fireworks, imagine how a lion or tiger might react.”

Rion hadn’t noticed the man during the display but that wasn’t surprising, she figured, as she had been staring skywards the entire time. The man wore a Trilby hat which,
on anyone else, might have looked trendy but atop his fleshy face it looked rather comforting, rather old-fashioned. What slightly disturbed Rion was how he looked at her.

“Sorry for staring,” he said, “but do you live near Golborne Road? It’s just I think I’ve seen you near there.” The man didn’t want to alarm her by mentioning exactly where he’d seen her.

“Yes,” Rion felt relieved. He had seen her around that’s all, she thought, he had recognised her. Why, she was almost a Londoner now wasn’t she? “Yes, I do actually.”

The man’s eyes twinkled, “I thought so!”

“Is this the only lookout on Primrose Hill?” Rion asked.

“If not someone is waiting for me somewhere else – anyway they’ve probably gone by now.” The man’s face looked sad all of a sudden. “Have you been stood up too?”

“I guess so. Sort of anyway. Funny coincidence how we’re both from the same area and we’ve both been stood up at the same place,” Rion couldn’t help herself smiling but the girl was too young to realise there was no such thing as coincidence.

The man’s face broke into a grin, “Isn’t it?”

“Well,” Rion said. “I’d better be going.”

The man saw his chance slipping away. “Would you like to share a taxi back?” he asked hurriedly.

Rion hesitated.

“It would be cheaper.”

Would Auntie Em allow it Rion wondered?

“I mean if you wouldn’t mind?”

Rion was in a dilemma. She needed to get home. It was obvious Nicky wasn’t going to turn up.

“You could see Salt and Pepper,” the man gave a bashful smile that made Rion warm to him, “they’re the cats,” he explained. “And then go on.”

Why not Rion thought? He was polite. He seemed ok, besides he liked animals didn’t he? He probably wouldn’t hurt a fly. “Ok. That would be nice,” she said overcoming her initial hesitation.

They walked down the slope to Prince Albert Road that separated Primrose Hill from Regent’s Park. With the firework display well and truly over the street was busy with countless people trying to get cabs. At the first glimpse of a yellow light scores ran for the vacant taxi.

As yet more people scrambled for the few available taxis Rion noticed several badly dressed men waving others over to their parked cars. The cars seemed to be old, mainly in a milky, off-brown colour and to have more than their fair share of dents.

“We could get a mini-cab,” she suggested.

The man followed Rion’s gaze, “You don’t want to get in one of them,” he said. “Can’t be trusted. You never know where you might end up. They’re just as likely to drug you as drive you anywhere.”

Well, at least he had her safety at heart Rion thought. She walked over to the side of the road. Below her she could see the moon reflected in the dark waters of the Grand Union Canal. Several couples strolled along the towpath beside it. Remembering Ollie’s earlier words she turned to her companion, “We could take the canal couldn’t we?”

The man couldn’t believe his luck. The young girl was now suggesting a walk that would take them right past his front door.

“I wouldn’t do it myself of course, especially not at night, but I’ll be alright if I’m with you won’t I?”

“Of course you will,” he reassured her. “It should only take about forty minutes.”

“Probably faster than if we had to wait for a taxi isn’t it?”

The man looked at the crowds still waiting for taxis, “Probably. We’ll also go right past my front door. I live on a barge on the canal you see.”

“I’ve always wanted to live on a boat,” said Rion dreamily.

“Really?” This was getting better and better the man thought. “I’m moored opposite Jason’s Restaurant in – ”

“Little Venice!” Rion said excitedly. “What’s your boat called?”

“Longfelloe.”

Rion clapped her hands. She knew she was ok now. “I know exactly where it is! We walked past there this evening!”

The man didn’t want to tell her he knew.

They went down the stairs to the towpath. Before they had gone a few steps Rion stopped. She offered the man her hand, “My name’s Rion by the way.”

“I’m Nigel,” he shook her hand formally.

They walked on beside the silent waters of the canal. As they vanished into the darkness of the first tunnel the man said, “But my friends call me Gorby.”