Nomance (13 page)

Gwynne didn’t answer or
even seem to hear. He gripped the edge of the table and gawked at
the rifle, which Carla had angled to point straight at his sweaty
forehead. And with that uplifting image in mind, Carla turned away
and pretty well skipped back up the stairs.

Fourteen
:
Nomance

Gwynne woke at
dawn.

His pillow always got
harder than his head after an evening on the booze.

Louisa lay beside him,
fast asleep. She liked to get a good nine hours a night. While he
listened to her, working hard at filtering all the oxygen out of
the room, he waited with great patience for the agony at the back
of his skull to become unendurable as it rested on what felt like a
bag of stale cement.

When it did become
unendurable he vented a melancholic sigh, got to his feet and
stumped around for a bit, snatching his clothes up from the floor.
He slipped out the door and crossed the landing into the bathroom,
where he put the light on and looked at himself in the mirrored
door of the wall cabinet.

He vented another sigh
– more melancholic than the first.

‘Oh, fucking hell.’

Then he took a shower,
dressed and left the bathroom to go downstairs. But he hesitated on
the landing when he noticed light shining from under Carla’s
bedroom door.

What had brought him up
short was the sudden recollection that in a month’s time he might
well be homeless. For some reason last night that had not seemed to
matter at all, but right now he found himself wanting to clarify
the situation without delay.

He went over to Carla’s
door and tapped at it with just one knuckle, the way his hangover
was telling him to.

‘Yeah?’ The answering
voice didn’t care about his hangover.

‘Carl.’

‘What?’

‘Carl.’

‘What?’

‘Carl.’

The door was yanked
open. Carla was dressed in a new suit and her face was half made
up. ‘For fuck’s sake,
what?
’

‘Shush – Louisa.’

Carla glanced down the
landing. ‘What you done to her?’

‘She’s asleep . . .
Hey, what you mean?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ she
sounded disappointed. ‘Come in then.’

Carla went back to her
dressing table and stooped down to examine her face in the mirror.
Gwynne followed her in and closed the door after him.

‘Did you say last night
you’re putting the place up for sale next month?’ He demanded.

‘Yes.’ Carla scowled as
she poked amongst the cosmetics scattered over her table.

‘That doesn’t give me
much time to find somewhere else, does it?’

‘I told you last night,
didn’t I? I’ll ask David to help you and Louisa with a mortgage.
You’ll have to rent a place for a bit maybe.’

‘Louisa? What’s Louisa
got to do with it? I’m the one who’s house is being sold from under
him. Not her.’

Carla seemed not to
listen. ‘She’ll be paying half the mortgage, won’t she?’

‘Nobody’s that fucking
stupid,’ Gwynne said wistfully.

‘That’s what I thought,
but there you are.’ Carla picked up a tube of lipstick and looked
at it.

‘Why?’ Gwynne asked,
mystified, ‘why would Louisa pay half the mortgage?’

Carla turned to him.
‘She can afford it, can’t she? Her dad will help her out. They
sound well off.’

‘They are. But – ’

‘I know what you mean,’
she said in all sincerity, ‘I wouldn’t do it myself. But some
people just go crazy like that when they find out their daughter’s
getting married – ’

‘She’s getting
married?’ Gwynne was outraged. ‘Fucking bitch. Who to? Did she
say?’

Carla looked blank and
then gave him a fond smile. ‘Oh, you silly alcoholic you.
You
asked her.’

‘Bollocks.’

Carla jeered. ‘Fine
then, I’m making it up, you fuckwit.’

Gwynne stared at her
for a moment. His brows contracted, thus squeezing his aching brain
that little bit more.

‘I asked her if she
wanted to get married?’ He was asking himself as much as
anyone.

‘That’s what she
claimed.’

‘Do you think she was
making it up?’

‘I don’t know . . .
maybe. But she seemed serious last night. Well, I’m not sure now,
come to think of it . . . but still, if she
is
serious, you
have to go through with it.’

‘I didn’t sign
anything!’

‘But you want a decent
place to live in, don’t you?’ Carla snapped. ‘With two people
paying the mortgage, you’ll be able to afford something nice.’

‘
Nice?
’ He
queried with contempt. ‘Fuck it,
Romance
is nice enough. Why
flog it now?’

Carla leaned back
against her dressing table and folded her arms. She regarded him
without emotion as she spoke.

‘I’m seeing David
today. I’ll be signing the contract for the franchise and after
that I’ve got to get the ball rolling. There’s no reason why I
shouldn’t put the shop on the market next week. Okay?’

‘Fucking hell!’ Gwynne
blazed. ‘It’s our inheritance you’re selling. Mom and Dad will be
spinning in their graves.’

‘So tell me now.’ Carla
kept her voice slow and even. ‘Am I going to ask David to help you
and Louisa get a good mortgage deal, or not?’

Gwynne groaned. His old
enemy,
thinking
, was being really antagonistic today. He
soon surrendered. ‘Oh . . . go on then.’

Carla stiffened ‘
Go
on then
,’ she mimicked. ‘You always say that. You know
something? Eh?’

‘No.’

‘You make me sick.’

‘Really?’ He tried to
sound surprised.

‘I mean, you didn’t
even have to try, do you? That Louisa just fell right into your
lap.’ Gwynne was about to take this literally when she went on.
‘And if it wasn’t her, it’d be someone else. And it’s the same with
everybody else, except me. They don’t even have to raise a finger.
They don’t have to think about it twice.’ Her voice trembled with
bitterness. ‘It all just happens for them.’

‘What’s this you going
on about now?’ Gwynne shook his head, and then stopped, because
shaking it hurt.

Carla reddened. ‘Never
mind.’ Her voice was steady again. ‘I’m telling you now, just watch
your mouth with David.’

‘
Him?
What
for?’

‘I’m doing you and
Louisa a favour,’ she declared like a true martyr. ‘But,’ she went
on, emphasising every word, ‘ you say one fucking word to him and
I’ll break your fucking neck.’

Gwynne was bemused.
‘What word?’

Her voice sharpened.
‘You lay off him, do you hear?’

‘I don’t follow you,’
Gwynne said, pleading ignorance. His surefire excuse.

‘You know I’m seeing
him.’

‘Who?’

‘
David
, you dozy
swine!’

Gwynne jumped at her
vehemence. ‘Of course you’re seeing him,’ he said, trying to
appease, ‘he’s your financial advisor.’

‘There’s more to it
than that,’ Carla said. ‘A thing’s started.’

‘I
know
, Carl.
That Westhrop guy is paying him to help you out so he can avoid
maintenance when he gets divorced. See, I know.’

‘No, I mean . . . a
thing. Me and him.’

‘A thing?’ Gwynne
exclaimed in genuine amazement. ‘You and him – a
thing
?’ The
affront to reality was stunning. ‘You’re joking!’

Carla drew herself up.
‘You listen to this,’ she spoke with quiet menace. ‘You spoil this
for me,’ she pointed to the rifle leaning against the wardrobe,
‘And I’ll stick that down your fucking throat. You hear?’

Gwynne followed her
stubby pointing finger and was not the least bit surprised at what
she was going to stick down his throat.

‘I wasn’t going to say
anything,’ he protested, conscious (as so rarely) of his innocence.
‘But, look, Carl. I’m serious. Never, ever did it cross my mind
about you and him. See, it doesn’t stack up . . . ’ he backed away
as Carla leaned forward. ‘Come on, seriously, I just don’t get
it!’

‘No shit.’ Carla
sneered.

Gwynne marshalled his
thoughts over the soggy field of his early morning brain.

‘See. Like. He’s. Look
. . . once, when he first started coming round here, I was on the
loo downstairs and I heard him outside through the window, round
the side of the house, you know. He was on his mobile, talking to
someone called Phil.’

‘Westhrop?’

‘Yeah, most likely. And
it sounded like to me they were planning to move in together, and
when he signed off he said, “Love you loads, honey”. Now me, I
always reckoned David was a shirt-lifter,’ he raised his hands in
self defence, Carla’s expression was terrifying. ‘But if you know
different, Carl, fair enough. And anyway, I promise I’m never,
never ever going to say a word to him. I want a good mortgage, like
you say. Don’t I? So forget what I’ve said. Go ahead and try and
make it work. Who knows, perhaps he swings both ways. And they go
at it like maniacs, don’t they, them gays? There’s always that in
their favour.’ His mouth had got very dry during this marathon
speech and his head was pounding worse than ever. He turned to the
door and opened it. ‘Sorry, Carl. I can’t talk about it anymore,
I’ve got to get an
Alka Seltzer
.’

And with that he went
out and quietly closed the door after him.

Fifteen
:
Prince Alarming

Gwynne took his Alka
Seltzer in the kitchen and slumped down at the table, waiting to
feel a little better.

Minutes later, Carla
strode in, looking like thunder. She had applied her lipstick and
the vivid crimson intensified the strong impression that she was on
the verge of committing murder.

Gwynne sighed and
hauled himself to his feet. Treading very, very carefully with
these, he set about brewing two mugs of tea. Meanwhile Carla
stumped around in dangerous proximity and quite literally threw her
breakfast together.

Gwynne hurried from the
kitchen and went upstairs with the tea.

Louisa was sitting up
in bed, as wide awake as she ever got, and the tea came as a
delightful surprise.

‘Oh, how lovely!’

Gwynne sank into the
chair beside the bed.

Swilling some tea round
his mouth and rinsing it down his gullet, he ventured to say,
‘Morning – Mrs Chalcott.’

Louisa didn’t choke or
anything. Rather, she gave him an adoring smile.

So, it was true! They
were getting married!

He had to shake his
head at this funny old world. She was saying something like
And
morning to you, Mr Chalcott
, but he less than half listened.
Not for the life of him could he remember asking for her hand in
marriage. However, what made his skin prickle now was the
possibility he’d been so drunk last night that he had gone down on
one knee in the pub. There was a chance, therefore, he would never
be able to go to the
Slug and Lettuce
ever again.

‘What’s the matter,
lover?’ Louisa was asking.

Gwynne came back to the
here-and-now. ‘Sorry love, I’m just creased, that’s all.’

‘What does that mean,
sweetness?’

‘Oh, that I’m well
knackered, dear.’

‘Well, sugar, perhaps
you shouldn’t drink quite so much.’

‘Too right,’ Gwynne
agreed. ‘I’m going to be a lot more careful in the future –
honest.’

Louisa gave him her
warmest smile. ‘Good.’

‘Anyway, we’ve got to
start saving now . . . by the way, your mom and dad are supposed to
pay for the wedding aren’t they?’

‘That’s the tradition,
lover.’

‘I only ask because,
you know, Carla’s going to be strapped for cash and as for me –
’

‘Don’t worry about it,
Gwynne,’ Louisa said with a soothing caress across his fevered
brow, ‘I’m their only daughter and my wedding day is something
they’ve been dreaming about for years and years. Especially Mummy.
They’ll want it to be as memorable as possible.’

Once again, Gwynne had
to marvel at this sudden turn of events. It was amazing that he
could get away with such a massive rip off.

‘Yeah, we’ll have to
video it, all right.’

‘Gwynne,’ Louisa said
with concern. ‘You look worried. You’re not getting nervous about
it, are you?’

‘Hmm? Nah, I’ll be
okay,’ Gwynne assured her. However, he knew by experience that
Louisa did not shift gear all that fast and he was not surprised to
see, therefore, that she remained pensive.

She heaved an unsettled
sigh, ‘Gwynne.’

‘Yup?’

‘You know, Mummy and
Daddy . . . they may seem a trifle tense when you first get to know
them.’

‘You’re saying they’ll
be upset about me, aren’t you?’

‘I suppose . . . but
you shouldn’t blame them, sweetness. You see, they’ve been hoping
all along that I’ll marry Prince Charming instead.’

‘Who’s he?’ Gwynne
scowled.

‘Oh, the director of
his own company, I expect. Or a barrister, or someone who went to
Sandhurst. But you see,’ her voice went breathy with earnestness,
‘love just doesn’t work like that. Sometimes it takes you totally
by surprise.’

‘Damn right.’

Louisa’s chest
ballooned at this vehement affirmation of the power of love.

‘But they’ll see the
true Gwynne soon enough.’

Gwynne fought an
impulse to look over his shoulder. But an instant later he worked
out who she was talking about.

Him.

Only she couldn’t mean
him, not really. Lou might be dim, but she wasn’t insane. And that
fact led to the inescapable conclusion that he must have told her a
pack of lies about himself down the pub. Maybe something along the
lines of blackmailing his employers for millions – his all-time
favourite dream. He debated with himself whether he could maintain
the illusion, at least till she and her parents had paid off the
mortgage.