Coco Pinchard's Big Fat Tipsy Wedding: A Funny Feel-Good Romantic Comedy (21 page)

The boys say I can stay as long as I like, but I need to get a grip. I’m lying here at three in the morning, clueless what to do next.
 

April

     
Friday 1st April
 
16.33

TO: [email protected]

When I opened my eyes this morning there were blurred figures milling about. Then I heard Ethel’s voice saying,

‘Ere, I’ve found what it is… old Chinese.’

The room swam into view and Ethel was fishing leftover crispy chilli beef out of the little fireplace near the bed. She handed it to Rosencrantz and Oscar, then shooed them out of the door.

‘Afternoon,’ she said pulling the curtains open. ‘The neighbours must wonder what yer up to, with the curtains drawn.’ There was a sticky sound as the seal on the window parted then cold air sank down over me. I pulled the covers up to my chin as she eased herself onto the end of the single bed.

'Where’s Rocco?' I said sleepily.

'E’s gorn out with that Wayne for a run in the park — although I can’t see ‘im running, unless the bakery is about to close.’

'Ethel, he’s nice, he’s been looking after me,' I said. 'They’ve all been looking after me,'

She picked up the mug of the Queen’s Coronation.

‘I suppose ‘iss not worth asking if e’s got a girlfriend,’ she said. Then she spied a little silver bell on the bedside table.

'Woss this?'

‘The boys said I should ring it if I needed anything.’

'Christ! What are you the Dowager Countess of Lewisham?’

‘Ethel. If you’ve just come here to gloat…'

‘Oh I’m not ere to gloat love… I’m ere to tell you to get off yer arse and up and about.’

'I’m happy being down and nowhere,' I said turning over to face the wall.

‘You need to listen to me. I bet that Judy Garland would ‘ave snapped out of it if she’d ad me in ‘er ear and not all those poofs telling ‘er she was a tragic ‘eroine.’

‘Wayne and Oscar don’t see me as a tragic heroine.’

‘Don’t they? They’re making things very cushy for yer. Is this what yer gonna do fer four years? Loll about in a back bedroom and ave three poofs ferry food up on a tray?’

I pulled the pillow over my head. ‘It’s only four years if he gets early release.’

'Now you listen ere,' said Ethel grabbing the pillow. 'It’s not you stuck in Belmarsh doin’ bird. It’s that poor innocent man of yours. You need to be the strong one!'

My eyes began to water.

'Now no tears!’ she said. ‘Yer gonna get up, ‘ave a wash, an do something with that hair so when Adam sees you ‘e ‘as something to look forward to when he gets out. Right now one look at you and e’ll be knocking on the Governors door asking for ‘is sentence to be extended.'

'I don’t know when I’m going to see him,' I said.

'Woss this then?' she said holding up a visiting order. I grabbed it. It said that I could visit Adam in Belmarsh on Monday!

‘Oh Ethel! How did you manage to get this?' I said hugging her for the first time I think, ever.

'It was on the mat when I came in,' she said shrugging me off her. 'Now, you need to go see that Lawyer, get an appeal going, then you need a place of yer own. You can’t make fatty sleep on the settee for ever.’

'You think Adam’s innocent?' I said sitting up.

'Course e’s innocent!' she said. 'You ‘eard that Sabrina girl by the Thames, mouthing off about the cash. You just need to prove it was er.'

'How do I prove it?'

'Well, you won’t find out anything lolling in bed.’ I was shocked Ethel was on my side. It gave me hope.

'Yer family Coco, whether we like it or not. An’ family looks out fer family,' she said. 'Now where’s yer sponge bag?' I pointed to a pile of clothes and Ethel fished it out.

‘Get across that landing and ‘ave a wash, I thought it was that old takeaway that stunk but iss you!'

When I came out of the shower, Ethel had gone, but she’d left the visiting order on my pillow with a first class stamp. I filled it in carefully, and then sealed the envelope. I found something clean to wear, did my hair and makeup and caught a train over to Charing Cross. I dropped the visiting order into a postbox outside the train station, then walked up to the offices of Spencer & Spencer on The Strand.

I was shown through to Natasha’s office straight away, and even offered coffee. I realised why when she slid her bill across the table. I peeked inside the envelope and saw how much it was.
Forty-six thousand pounds
. I stuffed it into my bag and hoped she didn’t see how pale I went.

‘I was very disappointed it wasn’t the verdict we so desired,’ she said in typical Lawyer speak.

‘Well, you did lose,’ I said. Natasha gave me a chilly smile.
 

‘How do you feel about launching an appeal?’ she said.

‘Launch it as soon as you can,’ I said. ‘When do you think we could be back in court?’

Then she dropped a bombshell.

‘Coco I can’t just file an appeal willy-nilly,' she said. 'I would need to find new evidence, solid evidence, something overlooked by the police to justify an appeal. Trials cost thousands of pounds.’

Yes, they do.
I thought, feeling the imaginary weight of her bill in my bag. The buzzer on her desk rang and her secretary said she has another client waiting.

‘So you’d like to retain me as Adam’s Lawyer?’ she said.
 

‘Yes. I think the first thing you should look into is this Sabrina girl, the witness,’ I said. ‘Sabrina Jones.’

‘Yes, Coco, of course,’ she said already at her computer and on to the next meeting. ‘I’ll be in touch in a fortnight with what we’ve dug up.’

‘Just so I have an idea of cost, how many of your associates will be digging?’ I said.

‘Just one. We won’t be billing too heavily in the early stages…’

 
I came out of her office and went straight over the road to the Wetherspoons. I am sat amongst the winos with a quid bottle of lager trying to make plans. I need to sell my car, sharpish. I think I need to get a loan too. The bill is due in twenty-eight days.

Has Marika been in touch? I thought she might call. Have you spoken to her? If so what did she say?

Coco x

Saturday 2nd April
 
22.14

TO: [email protected]

Thanks for your voicemail with the news. So, the release of Agent Fergie has been postponed indefinitely. I expected as much. I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to the last instalment of the advance just as much as I was.

I got the bill from Adam’s lawyer yesterday then went straight to the pub. After a few drinks, I got mad, very mad, and searched around for someone to blame. I kept coming back to Sabrina Jones.
 

With the cheap lager in my blood, I walked up to Holborn and waited across the road from the offices of XYZ Events. At 6.06pm, Sabrina emerged from the big glass doors and walked right past (she was looking down and concentrating on her iPhone). I was going to dash across and confront her, but instead I crossed the road fell back a bit and kind of, followed her home…
 

I know it sounds mad, but suddenly the prospect of finding out where she lived was too enticing. I wanted to have power over her; she seems to hold so much over my life.
 

She boarded Central Line to Bank then walked through to the Docklands Light Railway. I followed close behind and boarded a DLR train that said Woolwich Arsenal on the front. By now she was plugged into her iPod and reading a magazine so it was quite easy to just stay further down the train carriage as her shadow. It was getting dark when we got off at Woolwich Arsenal Station. I hung back as the crowds poured off the train and became bunched together at the ticket barriers. As a practised commuter, she had her Oyster Travel Card inside her wallet, and barely looked up from her iPod as she swiped her way through the barriers. I scrabbled around for mine in the bottom of my bag, hoping I had enough credit. I made it through the barriers and emerged from the station. I noticed her further up the road, passing an area of rundown terraced houses and followed. It must have been rubbish day; I had to pick my way through scores of wheelie bins out on the pavements. Most of the houses had been carved up into flats and bedsits with concreted over front gardens.

Up ahead Sabrina suddenly turned and vanished from view. The rest of the street was deserted. I crossed the road and hurried on. It was now almost dark. Most of the streetlights were out and I stood across the road in the fine drizzle, trying to work out which house she’d gone into. After a minute, a light came on in a top floor front window casting a square of yellow over the wet road in front of me. Sabrina came to the window and I ducked down behind a cluster of wheelie bins as she fiddled with a blind. I got a glimpse of her happy face as a guy with a shaved head came and put his arms round her waist, she smiled up at him then the blind shot down the window and I was in darkness again.

I crouched there in the cold angrily. Why does she get to come home from her day at work to a warm flat and a partner? Suddenly I was possessed with rage. I stood up to go and bang on her door and confront her, but I had a dead leg and had to grab a wheelie bin for support and wait for the pain to subside.
 

As I was wiggling my toes in my shoe, a car approached with dipped headlights and they dazzled me. It was a long Volvo and it pulled to a stop beside me. The window slid down and a face I recognised leaned across the passenger seat. It was Mr. Cohen, my next-door neighbour from Marylebone.

'Mrs. Pinchard?' he said.
 

‘Oh, hello Mr. Cohen,’ I said.
 

'This isn’t your neck of the woods!' I didn’t know what to say. I rather fluffed around saying I had been meeting a friend for tea.

'Would you like a lift?’ he said. ‘This isn’t the nicest place to be walking around at night. Lots of strange people.’

I suddenly realised I’d been stopped from doing something stupid. I said yes and got into his warm car. The back seat and the boot were full of books.
 

'What are you doing out here?' I said as he indicated and pulled away.

'I’ve got a lock-up in Woolwich, for the book shop.’
 

'Book shop?'

‘Yes, my bookshop, antiquated books on Marylebone High Street. Woolwich is cheap and safe, no one round there wants to steal books!’ he grinned.

'I didn’t know you had a bookshop,' I said.

‘Yes, I’m full of mystery,’ he grinned. It felt oddly comforting to see my old neighbour. We were speeding towards Central London when I realised.

'Oh, I’m not living in Marylebone anymore,' I said.

'You’re not?’

'No, I had to rent the house out.'

'Oh,’ he waited for me to elaborate, but when I didn’t he said, ‘Where do you live now?'

‘Lewisham… if you go through Blackheath, it’s on the way.' He didn’t ask anymore until we pulled up outside Rosencrantz’s flat.

'Thank you Mr. Cohen,' I said unclipping my seatbelt. ‘I owe you one. You’ve really gone out of your way.’

‘A pleasure,’ he said. ‘Oh, you
could
do something for me.’

‘Yes?’ I said. Mr. Cohen took a deep breath.

 
‘I really like you Mrs. Pinchard, more than you know and I’ve always wanted you to do something, but I’ve always been too embarrassed to ask.'
 

He unclipped his seat belt and leaned toward me. I froze in shock. He seemed to be moving in to kiss me. I panicked and came over all British and sort of half puckered my lips. He had after all given me a lift… At the last moment, he veered to one side and began feeling around in a box behind my seat.

'Ah! Here it is,' he said and pulled out a first edition hardback copy of Chasing Diana Spencer.
 

'Would you sign this? I’m building up a library of signed first editions, for the shop.’

'Yes! Yes, of course,' I grinned relieved. I found a pen in my bag and signed the book.

‘Mrs. Pinchard. What did you think I was going to ask you for?' he said, bemused.

'Oh, um… I should go,' I said. ‘Thank you.’ As I closed the car door, I could see the look on his face; she’s a madwoman.
 

When I got in, I went straight upstairs and took a long shower, trying to wash away the crazy that clung to me. I came out and I went to Wayne’s room and found Rocco asleep on the bed. He opened his eyes and stretched and I pulled him onto my lap.
 

'I’m not mad, am I?' I said holding Rocco up. He regarded me with his little wise eyes as if to say,
you’re not far off.

Please email me if anything happens, work wise. If they decide to go ahead and publish Agent Fergie, or if anything else comes up.

Coco x

Tuesday 5th April
 
09.41

TO: [email protected]

I went to visit Adam yesterday. Horrible, horrible, horrible. The whole process, the whole situation, and I’m not even the one who has to deal with it.

I took the train to Plumstead Station, and I seemed to be in the prisoner’s wives carriage. To be honest, they scared me; even their children scared me, running riot, full of e-numbers. We all got off at the Station in the rain and filed along a grey road to the Prison Visitors Centre.

The windows were all steamed up inside, and it stunk of industrial floor cleaner. We had to line up and go through a metal detector, then put our belongings in a locker. You need a pound for the lockers, and many of the women didn’t enough money, so their stuff had to be bagged up and left in an office, which took ages. We were led to a waiting room with a view of a brick wall and lots of leaflets about drug abuse and eating disorders lining the walls.
 

Finally, we were called through into what looked like a huge gymnasium, with row after row of plastic chairs and tables. The prisoners were all sat facing us as we entered. They were wearing yellow sashes (I later found out this is so they can’t just blend in with the visitors and walk out at the end of visiting).