Meanwhile Gardens (25 page)

N
icky charged out of her house as soon as she saw Gem ‘n Em come down the mews. “You didn’t take your phone did you?” she said accusingly. “I’ve called everywhere trying to find you – Maramia Café, La Galicia, Thai Rice, even E&O – ”

“That’s abit above our price range angel,” Auntie Em smiled.

“Where’ve you been?”

“At the Ripe Tomato, child,” Gem replied.

“In All Saints Road?” Nicky smacked her palm to her forehead. She should have known the small family run restaurant would have been where they were. “The most terrible thing has happened,” she wailed as she followed Gem ‘n Em up the stairs into their sitting room. “He’s got it, he’s got it,” Nicky couldn’t stop babbling. “After everything he’s got it!”

Whilst Auntie Em opened a bottle of wine Auntie Gem sat Nicky down in one of the overstuffed armchairs on each side of the fireplace. “I mean she’s got it, she’s got it!” Feeling overwhelmed by pronouns Nicky simply wailed, “Oh,
they’ve
got it!”

Auntie Em poured a glass of wine and gave it to Nicky. The photographer gulped it down in one before handing it back for a refill. Auntie Em obliged then went into her
bedroom returning seconds later to the main room.

“I’m so stupid! How could I – ? Oh he’ll kill me!”

“What are you talking about dear?”

Nicky looked up at Gem ’n Em through tearfilled eyes. “The painting!” she sobbed. “Wayne’s got it!”

“Well he would have done if I hadn’t gone into my room to check,” Auntie Em pulled the miniature from behind her back and handed it to the distraught photographer. “Not that I didn’t trust you angel,” she said hurriedly.

Nicky looked at the original painting of Merlijnche de Poortje in her white stole. “Is this – ” she blinked back the tears. She didn’t have to finish the sentence for she could see it was the original. “Oh Auntie Em, imagine!” Nicky curled up in horror. “It would have been awful. I’ve been burning in Hell ever since I realised my mistake!”

“In these situations it’s best to check and doublecheck. Isn’t that right Auntie Gem?”

“That’s what I taught you child,” Gemma looked up for a second before turning her attention back to the report that so interested her.

Without being asked Auntie Em refilled Nicky’s glass. The photographer gulped it down as she had the previous two, still finding it hard to believe the crisis was over. “Aren’t you heading back to Primrose Hill?”

The photographer shook her head, “I’m going to get pissed Auntie Em. I think I’ve earned that – and – ” she clinked glasses with Emma, “ – so have you!”

Auntie Em put the bottle of wine beside Nicky, “I find I can’t drink like I used to. It makes me so – so uncertain.”

Nicky filled the glass to the brim but sipped this one more slowly. The feeling of unease that had plagued her all evening was slipping away. A couple more glasses and she could wave it goodbye.

“But if you have any of the other?” Auntie Em made a rolling motion with her fingers.

Nicky reached into her pocket for the two small joints Ollie had given her and put them on the table.

Auntie Em took one, “And Rion’s ok?”

The photographer nodded, “She’s with Ollie.”

Ollie woke early on Sunday morning after an eighteen-hour sleep and went for a jog. The canal was empty at that time, the anglers hadn’t set up and, as Sainsburys wouldn’t be open for a while, there were no Sunday shoppers clogging the towpath. Since it was Hum’s first jog since being assaulted Ollie decided to do the shorter run. Instead of turning left out of Meanwhile Gardens and heading for the cemetery he turned right and made his way down to Little Venice.

He lumbered under Carlton Bridge and past the bus depot, increasing his pace as the busy Westway curved above him. The run was painfully satisfying, every step a reminder of the abuse he had put his body through on the Friday night that had so easily stretched into Saturday afternoon. His creaky joints told of hours on various dancefloors, the sweat imbued his t-shirt with the residue of poisons his body was eager to get rid of. Memories of the evening were characteristically vague and that was how Ollie preferred it. All that remained of the long night was the feeling that he had indeed enjoyed himself – and that was the main thing wasn’t it? Wrapped up in his thoughts about Wayne Ollie soon found himself jogging past the council blocks and the string of canal boats on the approach to Little Venice.

Unbeknownst to him Rion lay trussed and gagged inside one of the prettily coloured barges. A crack in the curtains
let in a bit of light and the outside world. The young girl couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw Hum’s face at the porthole.

The hound wagged his tail and began to bark upon seeing his friend.

Rion tried to say something but all that came out was a muffled throaty sound. With Herculean effort she managed to get her hands free. Rion ripped the tape from her mouth, hopped over to the porthole and banged heavily on the glass. If Hum was there Ollie or Auntie Em wouldn’t be far away.

“Help!” she yelled. “HUM!”

The door opened quickly, hands pulled her away from the porthole, snapped shut the small curtains and threw her back on the bed. Before she could scream Rion felt the now familiar, sickly sweet smell of chloroform and lost consciousness.

Hum’s excited barking broke into Ollie’s thoughts. He turned round to see the dog frantically pawing the side of a barge.

“Hum!” he called but as usual the hound was intent on doing his own thing. Ollie jogged back to find a rather frumpy couple coming up on deck. “Sorry,” he said dragging Hum away.

“Is the door closed Ted?” the woman asked.

“Yes Mary,” her companion replied.

The woman smiled sweetly at Ollie, “We have cats you see.”

Ollie clipped Hum to the lead. He carried on the short way to the Canal Café before turning round and heading back the way he came. He was glad Hum was on the lead for the dog went berserk as they passed the Longfelloe. This time the couple had been joined by someone else. Upon seeing Ollie the vaguely familiar looking man, wearing an old-
fashioned Trilby, returned below decks.

“He doesn’t normally mind cats,” Ollie gasped as he passed them.

The couple smiled and waved. When Ollie was out of hearing range their manner changed. “That must
never
be allowed to happen again,” Mary said angrily.

“We’ll move her tonight,” Gorby removed his hat and lightly drummed his fingers against his birthmark. “I’ve rostered everyone off. We won’t be disturbed.”

“Make sure we’re not,” Ted said curtly.

“But in any case I’ll dose her up. She won’t be giving us any trouble.”

Ollie jogged slowly into the mews with Hum trotting at his heels.

“Good boy!”

The dog smiled up at him, his mischievous eyes shining behind his fringe.

“He’s so much better isn’t he?” Auntie Em called from the middle of the mews where she was loading the spacious old Citroen with a blanket and some baskets. She went to examine Hum. His cuts had almost healed, the bruising almost gone. The only sign of the vicious onslaught were several bald patches where assorted beaks had ripped the fur from his body. “We’re going blackberrying on Wormwood. Care to join us?”

“Hum would I’m sure Auntie Em. I’d love to but Johnson’s coming round for the TQ lunch – do you think Rion might like to go?”

“Are females allowed?”

“Of course they are – as guests. I’d like to get her together with Johnson. He’s been muttering something about needing an assistant for this Glamourista column he’s doing.”

“Well, she could do that, couldn’t she?”

“As long as Johnson doesn’t bully her too much, but he seemed to like Rion from Nicky’s shoot last week.”

“It’ll be much better her working for Johnson rather than for Glamourista directly. All she’d do there is make coffee and get trampled on all day.”

“Can she handle Johnson though?”

“I think you’ll find Rion can handle most things. Johnson and a TQ lunch will be a breeze.”

“Is she up yet?” asked Ollie.

Auntie Gem, Sunday papers in hand, joined Emma by the car. “Let her sleep in. She probably needs it!” Gem winked at Ollie who knew how Nicky, like himself, needed little encouraging to party on a Friday night. Ollie wondered where Nicky had taken the young girl.

“I’ve put a map through her door saying where we’ll be.”

“At the magic bush at the top of the Scrubs?”

There was one particular blackberry bush on Wormwood Scrubs that, like some plant of myth and legend, could be stripped of fruit one day only for the next its brambles to be full of the sweet juicy berries. It also stayed in fruit much later than the others due, some said, to it being situated above an ancient spring that warmed its roots.

“Where else?” Auntie Em bent down to stroke the dog. “Hum seems to be on the mend sweetness.” She straightened up to look him level in the eye, “What about you?”

“I’m ok,” Ollie answered honestly.

Auntie Em looked at Gemma, “Shall we tell him?”

“You can’t say something like that in front of some one,” Ollie protested, “unless you
are
going to tell them.”

Auntie Gem took a deep breath. “Tell him,” she said.

When they had finished the story about Candida, about Wayne, about the real and the fake Merlijnche de Poortje,
about everything except how Nicky had nearly ruined it all – that could wait for a later date – Ollie just smiled. “You know, I thought I’d be more cut up about Wayne but I’m not and that,” Ollie paused for a second to think through his words, “makes me feel surprised and pleased.”

Auntie Gem put her arm around him. “It makes us feel surprised and pleased too child.”

“Maybe I’m growing up eh?”

“Maybe,” Auntie Em planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, “but aren’t you going to ask if it’s true?”

“Oh, I know it’s true. You know how?”

Gem ‘n Em shook their heads.

“Well, there were several things I was being wilfully blind to but I saw a number on his mobile. At the time I wasn’t sure whose it was but now, well there’s no doubt it was Candida’s,” Ollie smiled. “Basically he was a hired gun wasn’t he?”

Auntie Em nodded, “More like a sex pistol I’d say sweetness.”

“Just how much do you remember of Friday night?” Johnson asked Ollie.

They were in the middle of a group of twelve gay men seated around a table in the basement of the Hungry Hearts Diner. The restaurant on Kensington Park Road was the venue for the Tragedy Queen of the Week club to decide who, amongst them, had had the most pitiful week and so was worthy of the title. Johnson had been begging Ollie to take him for ages.

“Not much. The normal really, rampaging through Soho, a couple of e’s….”

“How Essex,” Simon sniffed from opposite.

“...clubbing at Popstarz,” Ollie continued. “Then afterhours at some dive south of the river before staggering back here and going to bed yesterday afternoon.”

“The only tragic thing about that,” Johnson sighed, “is that I can’t do it anymore.”

“And StJohn didn’t pop up at any time?” Lyle asked from the far end of the table.

The mere mention of the name was still enough to make Ollie furious and sad at the same time. He did have a fleeting memory of StJohn’s loathsome face looming out of the blur of the evening. Ollie wasn’t sure if this could be classified under reality or false-memory-induced-by-hallucinogenic-drugs syndrome. Ollie managed to rein in his feelings before answering Lyle. “I can’t really remember too much, I was trying to put things in place on my run – ”

“You run?” Peter squealed from his place beside Simon. “God, how butch!”

“Don’t knock it – jogging tightens up everything,” Murray said. “I tried it once but,” he dismissed the subject with a flutter of his hands, “it was too much effort.”

“Does wonders for your calves though.”

“Yes,” Johnson agreed, “but it’s easier to get implants.” He was enjoying himself immensely. “I know the most – ”

They were stopped by a rap on the table.

“Boys, be quiet,” Tim commanded. The banker was chairman for the week and had been running a tight ship. “It’s Ollie’s turn.”

“I bet StJohn remembers,” Lyle continued. “Afterall a fist in the face is pretty hard to forget.”