As the screens showed the 4.10 at Monmouth, Jim watched along with the other punters. A selection of long-term sick, the unemployable and pensioners, this was their second home in between a few lunchtime pints and early evening drinks.
A two-year-old, Naughty Bad, romped home by a couple of lengths. Four to one. Jim wished he’d had his three grand on it, but that wasn’t the way to riches. The only winners in this game were ones behind the counter.
“Horsey Dave”, a fellow crim Jim had known inside, had given him various clues on what to look for in racing. Dave was more interested in winning than robbing shops though, but Jim had remembered the information in case it was needed. Greyhounds were a better bet than horses, that’d been his first tip. Smaller races and no rider to ruin things. Jim picked up a paper and looked at the form for a few races. Besides a few grunts and complaints from other punters, the shop was silent. Occasionally, behind him, the two men behind the counter would talk to each other. With every other word a swear word, it was distracting in itself. Settling on a Yankee accumulator of four dogs, Jim wrote out a slip and handed it in.
The big bloke behind the counter didn’t remove his fixed glare, not even when Jim pulled out two twenty pound notes. Looking at his slip, the man screwed up his nose. Stamping his ticket and handing back the counterfoil, the man stayed silent. Buying a powdery tea from the machine, Jim leant against a high table and watched the first race start.
Lady Lassie came first but that was where it ended. The next dog, Hocus Pocus, seemed to prefer running backwards to forwards, My Little Doggie looked afraid of imitation rabbits and the last dog, Bankers Bonus, fought a good race but failed towards the end. Screwing up his ticket, he shook his head and made for the exit. The large man behind the counter, now full of smiles, said, “Come again,” as he left.
Jim left and walked back to the hotel. Maybe choosing a Yankee had been a bad bet. He needed two of them to win to roughly break even. Horsey Dave was right. There was only one winner in a bookies. Only one. Approaching the hotel his phone pinged.
Finished. On
way home x.
I left early today,
Jim replied.
You civil
servants are all the same x,
was her reply.
A few more messages were exchanged as he got ready to meet her at half seven. Picking a woman up from a flat for a date was new, so new to him. A stomach full of nervy worms gnawed at him, trying to upset his poise.
He looked good in one of Raif’s blue shirts. Admiring himself in the mirror, he caught his eyes. The past four days had worn him down. Bags hung from weary, almost bloodshot eyeholes. Drink wasn’t helping either. He’d been sloshed four days in a row now. He had to give it a break. Maybe just a couple of pints tonight, then a few whiskies when he got back. That would be all.
Assuming he came home tonight.
No. He had to remove those thoughts from his head. Nothing should be expected. She was a proper lady. Proper London ladies didn’t do that. He had to be respectful. It had to feel right. It wouldn’t happen like that.
He left his room. Though half an hour early, he fancied a walk to fill the time. Being cluttered up inside, his head was wandering around going through options that would never be there. Wandering past Geoffrey’s flat, he again wondered how easy it would be to get in. Rock climbing the wall seemed to be the only way. Even then he wouldn’t know which flat he was after.
Before long he’d meandered towards Charlotte’s. Still quarter of an hour early, he sent a message.
I’m a bit early. Shall I wait in the
pub down the road?
He stood outside the front door kicking his heels for two minutes before the reply came.
No it’s okay. I’m nearly done.
His stomach was a mess of butterflies that never wanted to eat again. Taking a deep breath and checking no lumps of hair were sticking up, he pressed the door buzzer.
“Hi. That was quick.” Her voice electronically mutilated through the entry phone.
“Yeah.” Was all he could think to say.
“Come in.”
The door buzzed as the lock was released. One last deep breath and he pushed it open then walked into the lower stairwell. He’d seen a glimpse the other day, but now actually inside a crisp freshness filled his nose. Flowers or pot pourri seemed to fill every void. There was another smell though, the smell of a new building. Recently plastered walls and the smell of timber settling in. He’d give it five years before major structural alterations were needed, but for now the residents were living the ultimate dream. Spacious flat, good area, exclusive neighbours. What more could they want?
The eight or nine stairs of bare wood led to the lower gallery. In the background, another flight of stairs reached up. Old bricks and bare wooden beams clashed with new door fittings and handrails.
“Come in.” Her voice called from round the corner.
As he walked up the stairs, the room opened before him. Large wasn’t a big enough word. Three massive leather sofas arranged in U shape stood in the middle, like a field of cows chewing the cud. Facing them, the biggest LCD television he’d ever seen. A small coffee table in front of the chairs littered tidily with magazines, books and remote controls. The evening sun shone in through the large front window accentuating the split level of the galley above. Bookcases and modern prints lined the walls and a Blaupunkt music system took the right hand corner, a small desk occupying the left.
Behind the sofas, a dining table with six chairs was plonked near the far wall. The nearer wall had two doors, one heading under the stairs and barely large enough to be more than a cupboard. At the rear of the room, and under the supported ceiling, Charlotte stood in the kitchen. Jim wondered if the kitchen had been borrowed from a hotel. The ubiquitous central island played host to a sink and work area, while behind it an array of ovens, grills, hobs and oversized fridge filled the wall. It amazed him the sheer quantity of stainless steel that had been crammed into the area. Another door led from the kitchen. Jim hadn’t a clue what would be in it. This had been a warehouse, so it couldn’t be a garden. The bedrooms were above, so what else could be back there?
Smiling, he walked to the kitchen. In Charlotte’s hands were three pairs of shoes, two strapless, one with a lot of straps. He thought she looked stunning, more than normal. Her hair was still damp and a touch frizzy. Make-up had been applied, and the dress, a knee-length black number, suited her.
She held her hands up, the shoes swinging round. “This is my pad.”
“Incredible,” was all he could say. It was more than incredible; he’d never seen anything like it. He tried to close his mouth aware that his tongue was nearly on the floor.
“Sit down.” She pointed at the sofas. “I’ll just finish my hair off.”
He wanted to tell her she looked perfect, but the words wouldn’t come out. Every time he tried, they sounded corny in his head so got no further. He wandered round the middle sofa and sat in the corner feeling lost. The music system was playing a CD at a incoherent volume. Background music. He thought it was jazz or blues, but really wasn’t sure. The speakers either side of the television looked powerful enough to blow the poorly renovated roof off. He wondered what The Clash would sound like at full volume.
As hard as he was trying not to, his brain feverishly totted up the contents. It was a lot more than twenty grand, though, at Terence’s rates, it would be closer to eight.
That didn’t matter though. Charlotte was off limits.
Off limits.
As she went upstairs he flicked through the small stack of magazines. Financial and other highbrow titles. He didn’t know where to start. He supposed a glossy gossip mag or puzzle book was not in keeping with the rest of the place. Picking out a copy of
Private Eye,
he sank back into the cow-sided sofa. It seemed to mould around him, keeping his posture yet giving an immense feel of comfort.
Occasional noise and a hairdryer whirring told him she was nearly ready. Beside him in the other corner of the sofa was a laptop. Gripping the magazine closer, he tried to purge his mind of the thought running through it. The details of her deal would be in the laptop. Information on share prices, investors, maybe home addresses. He could set himself up for life by just walking out now.
Off limits.
Sighing, he put the magazine down. The words weren’t going in. Where the hell could this go? Just exactly where could this go?
The bedroom door opened, her voice sharply following it. “I’m really sorry.”
He turned round. Her face looked hurt again, mortified. He had a good idea what was coming next.
“You don’t have to sit there. The chairs at the dining table are solid wood. Sorry, I forgot.”
Jim wasn’t sure what she meant, but stood up anyway. “Sorry, what do you mean?”
“The sofa. Sorry, I just didn’t think.”
Jim looked at the sofa. Whatever she was on about, he hadn’t a clue.
“Leather?” She looked ready to spell it out. He clicked. Phony vegetarianism had foiled him again.
“Oh. Umm.” He paused, looking away as she descended the stairs, her droopy lock of hair leading her way. “It’s okay. I’m not that much of a ...”
“No, you shouldn’t apologise. God, you must think I’m awful. Please, sit at the dining table.”
Jim walked away from the sofa. He was the awful one and he knew it. This whole vegetarian lark had gone too far. He had to find a way of stopping it.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she picked a pair of strapless shoes from the pile and squeezed her feet in them. Jim was standing midway between sofas and a table, unable to move either way.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Nearly.” She smiled. “Handbag and phone.” She walked towards the kitchen area and picked up her bag. Scouting round for her phone, she paused, her face confused. “Upstairs.”
Jim stood rigid, still midway between the cows and chairs while she went upstairs. His voice had all but disappeared. All the things he wanted to say lost amongst a sea of confusion. He realised his mouth was open again. He felt like an inbred simpleton speaking to a rocket scientist.
She reappeared and walked downstairs. “Ready now.” Her face beamed with a glowing smile.
“Okay.” Was all he could manage as he followed her outside.
Outside, as she triple-locked the door, Jim looked around. People were still milling around either going home or out for the evening. Turning to face her as she put her keys in her bag, he remembered the last time they’d stood here. Two days ago, but a kiss had sealed the start of whatever this was. Her face blushed before him; maybe she was thinking the same thing. Looking down at his feet he pondered making his intentions clear; taking her in his arms. But it didn’t feel right.
“Where are we going then?” she asked.
“Well, considering I’m a bit of a stranger, I was hoping you could recommend somewhere.” But nowhere too expensive he thought, but didn’t say.
Her face dropped momentarily. He guessed she was looking to be surprised. He’d done that alright. Truth was, he didn’t know anywhere. Even if his story was true, how would he have come across somewhere decent to eat so quickly?
Her smile half returned. “Chinese?”
Jim nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
“We need a cab then. I know a good one.” She stuck her arm up in the air briefly. Though not much traffic seemed to come down the back street, there always seemed to be a cabbie around, just waiting. Within seconds, the cab pulled up to the pavement and Jim opened the door. Remembering his manners, he let her in before himself.
“Where to, guv?” asked the cabbie.
Charlotte said a road name that Jim didn’t catch, which was followed by the cabbie tutting and sucking in air. Mumbling something about “North of the river,” he eventually pulled a u-turn then joined the queue of traffic crossing the Thames.
Sat next to her, her perfume filling his nose, Jim caught her eyes and smiled. “Had a good day then?”
“Yeah,” she paused briefly for breath. “Got another investor in today, which was nice. I thought yesterday I’d got the last one, but it just goes to show there’s no harm in looking. Then I caught up on some paperwork that seemed to take forever in itself ...”
Jim noticed the taxi driver looking in the mirror. Catching his eye, he smiled.
“... and then that was it, home time. What about you?”
Her eyes caught him off guard. They seemed to rip the heart from his lies. What could he say? Sold a load of stolen goods, robbed a wallet from some geezer and nearly got caught then went looking for a bookies he could pull an armed robbery on?
“Working on the, erm, GDP update today.” He’d seen a news stand earlier guessing next week’s outcome.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought the Bank of England did GDP. I didn’t realise the ONS were involved.”
Damn. It had to happen. She’d caught him out. Or had she? He didn’t know either way. As far as Jim knew, the Bank of England just printed bank notes. Why would they produce statistics? What was GDP anyway? What the hell did it even stand for?
“It’s like a joint thing, you know.” He hoped that would work.
She seemed convinced. “It’s the talk of the city you know, what some people would give to ...” She stopped midway through the sentence. He followed her eyes to the taxi drivers mirror. What was she about to say that she didn’t want him hearing?
“I just crunch figures really,” he said. “I don’t know what half the people there do.”
Silence filled the cab as they stopped midway across the bridge. He hoped he’d sounded genuine. The cabby hadn’t looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He was just plodding on trying to go somewhere in a city full of people going nowhere.
Crossing the bridge, it occurred to him where her train of thought had gone. She was going to say people would pay for inside knowledge of GDP figures. He was sure that was what she meant. Maybe he could work on that. Information like that must be worth seven grand.
Off limits. Charlotte was off limits.