GBH (18 page)

“Howard,” I say to him, “I understand you.”

“If only you truly meant that,” he says, doing a fair enough Janet Gaynor.

“Optics, Howard,” I say to him. “To the optics.”

“But what I can’t understand,” he says, zipping the glasses up and down, “is you knowing what you’re doing and yet lending money to Eddie, which is like injecting capital into British Leyland.”

He sets the drinks down between us.

“Don’t ask me,” I say to Howard. “Perhaps it was a momentary aberration.”

“We all have those,” Howard says. “Only some less momentary than others.”

Howard picks up his glass.

“Anyway,” he says, “to our aberrations. Whatever they may be.”

We drink.

“Men,” says Howard. “I’ll never understand them.”

Which Mickey said, once.

I drain my glass.

“Another?” Howard says.

“No,” I tell him. “I’ve got to be going.”

“Not staying for the wrestling?”

“No, not tonight.”

“It’s not something I’ve said?”

“No, it’s not anything you’ve said,” I tell him.

THE SMOKE

I
N BED, WHILE WE
were making love, Jean began to talk to me, the way she often did, about other people, about what she’d like to do to them, in fantasy, what she’d like them to do to me, what she’d like them to do to her, would I like it, would I like that, would I like to do something like that, would I, would I, and I would say yes, yes, to elevate her excitement, to help to lift her mind and her body, to help in opening the floodgates, and this time, it was Mickey. Would I like to do that to him, she’d like to see him do that to me, what would I feel like if I did that to him, would I, would I, really? Christ, would I, God, my God, would you, Christ. Christ.

Afterwards, I brought us drinks to the bed. She was very quiet, and so was I.

Eventually, I said, “It’s not because of that, is it?”

She didn’t reply, and therefore I knew what her answer would be.

“Because it’s not that kind of situation,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “You didn’t think I was serious, did you?”

I took a sip of my drink.

“It didn’t seem difficult to convince you that it’s down to Mickey. When it was being discussed.”

“James neither, if you remember.”

“That’s true enough,” I said. “But I know you even better
than I know James. So, with you, I have a broader range of motives to select from.”

“Come off it, George. You may know what I’m like, in that respect, but you also know what I’m like as far as the business is concerned, and through that, our mutual self-preservation. And that particular preservation is not coloured by any artificial flavouring.”

“No,” I said. “I suppose not.”

“Although,” she said.

“Dispense with the although,” I said. “Save the although if and until it’s necessary.”

She didn’t say anything.

“And after all is said and done,” I said, “I don’t believe, in your water, or even in your blood, that you believe, that this, in any way, is down to Mickey.”

THE SEA

I
AWAKE
.

I’m lying on top of the bed, still wearing my suit. The far-off sound of the sea murmurs in my ears like sounds from sea-shells. On the bedside table, the scotch bottle is almost finished, the morning sun shining through its transparent emptiness.

I sit upright, reach for the glass and complete the work I started on the bottle the night before.

When I’ve done that, I swing my legs off the bed and stand up. It is not too much of a shock to my system, but I stand there for a moment or two without moving, until my body’s completely sure that that is what it’s meant to be doing.

After that’s been ascertained, I take off my clothes and pick up my robe and walk into the bathroom and while I’m standing under the shower I look at my multi-faceted reflection as the water teems off me. Considering everything I’m still in good shape. The old scars still show, but those are very old, and over the years have almost assumed the same tone as the rest of my skin. Almost, but not entirely. It’s never entirely.

I towel myself down and put my robe back on and plug in my razor and put the toilet seat down and sit on it and watch myself in the mirrors as I shave. As the razor moves over my skin it seems to solidify the slight signs of flabbiness that have appeared over the last few months, and when I switch off the razor and examine my face a little bit closer, I’m not displeased
with the way I’m looking; I’m looking better than I’ve looked for ages.

It must be all the sea air I’m getting.

I have breakfast and when I’ve done that I go back into the bedroom and put on some fresh casual clothes and then I go back into the kitchen and take the jug of iced orange juice from the fridge and take it into the lounge.

I climb the steps and go over to where the champagne is and as I’m crossing the upper level I notice that the screen is half in and half out of the ceiling and that one of the small lamps that is operated from the same panel is still switched on from the night before. I shake my head and put the jug down on top of the piano and go over to the panel and switch off the lamp and operate the screen back up into the ceiling. I swear quietly to myself as I walk back to the piano. These days it’s not unusual to forget switching off lights and to fall onto the bed rather than get into it, but you would have thought, despite the bottle of scotch, that I’d have noticed half-setting off the movie screen.

But really, I think, as I’m mixing the champagne with the orange juice, that’s what it’s all about, the bottle of scotch. A lot is down to that, these days.

I raise my glass in celebration of that profound thought, and drink.

THE SMOKE

“S
O YOU MEAN WE
’
RE
going to do nothing,” Mickey said.

“That’s it,” I said.

“What, fuck all?”

“That’s right.”

“Well,” Mickey said. “I don’t know. What can I say?”

“Not a great deal.”

“But, that bit about the address book. I mean, what does it look like?”

“What do you think it looks like, Mickey?”

“Oh, come on.”

“Exactly. That’s why we’re not doing anything. Let them let the shit fly for the moment; we’ll content ourselves with fielding it.”

“But why? We could dryclean the lot of them in twenty-four hours. Half that time.”

“I know. Which Parsons would highly enjoy.”

“So we fit him up at the same time.”

I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “That way we may clear the decks but we still haven’t flushed out what’s doing down in our own operation. Plus Parsons would need a lot of fitting up. No, the time is not appropriate. But it will be.”

“Well,” Mickey said, “at least I can still talk to Ray’s collectors.”

“I’d like you to leave that as well, for the moment. For the time being, just collect from them. Give whoever it is a false sense of security.”

“I know what I’d like to give them.”

“Yes, but that’s a pleasure to be savoured at a future date.”

After Mickey had gone, Jean came in.

“How much did you tell him?”

“As much as I said I would. Just enough.”

“So if it’s Mickey the Shepherdsons will know we’re not doing anything at the moment.”

“Correct.”

“Which gets us where?”

“Which gets us the Shepherdsons not expecting us to do anything.”

“You promised James.”

“What I said was, I’d keep a low profile until it was worth doing otherwise. And at the moment, it isn’t, is it?”

THE SEA

I
UNLOCK THE DOOR
that leads into the garage and open and close it behind me and lock it again. Then I switch on the photoelectric mechanism and walk across to the Marina and as I’m doing this I stub my toe on one of the bolts that fasten down the trapdoor. Involuntarily I look down, and I notice that the lifting handle of the bolt is not flat to the floor, but sticking up at right-angles.

Looking down at it, I think back to the last time I checked the bolts, which was probably last night. Because I haven’t been down there since I put away the stuff I brought up with me from London. For various reasons.

But checking the bolts has developed into a habit with me; each time I bring in the Marina, I look at them and sometimes even get down on my hands and knees and perhaps slide one of them in and out, as if by doing that I’m making that which lies beneath the garage floor that bit more secure. And I only usually manipulate one, as if to stop myself from going any farther, from sliding back all the bolts and actually lifting the trapdoor and going down there.

But last night I can’t remember doing it. Which isn’t surprising as I can’t actually remember getting into the bedroom and on to the bed.

So I kick the bolt flat and go over to the Marina and unlock it and get in and switch on the ignition.

THE SMOKE

T
HIS TIME
, P
ARSONS DIDN
’
T
accept a drink from me. He even thought quite lengthily about whether he was going to sit down or not, but eventually he did.

“You don’t mind if I do?” I said, indicating the drinks.

He didn’t say one way or the other, so I helped myself and sat down opposite him.

“Well,” I said, “I suppose this time there won’t be such diffident politeness.”

“Possibly not,” Parsons said.

“So,” I said.

“You’ve been very efficient,” he said.

“In which particular way?”

“Getting the evidence away from my colleagues in Amsterdam.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t, no.”

“But,” I said, “I was. And now, what you’re going to say is—because even though you’ve become involved by association with the worst team in London apart from Queen’s Park Rangers, you’re going to play the game—what you’re going to say is that you’re surprised by my initial inefficiency.”

Parsons didn’t say anything.

“That’s what you were going to say,” I said to him. “Weren’t you, you fucking thick copper?”

Parsons remained silent.

“Listen, you cunt,” I said, “try and fit me up all you want. There’s a filing cabinet through in the office; go and have a browse through. Feel free. But don’t come here playing the Shepherdsons’ game. It doesn’t suit you. You’re like a sardine in a trifle. You couldn’t pull off a fit-up if they kitted you out to look like Vince Hill, instead of wearing that clerical grey—you must spend hours on getting it to shine just right. Stick to your rules, Parsons. Stay within the guidelines of your striped suit. Have a get-together with the Inland Revenue, or the VAT boys, go after me that way. But don’t come in here in a haze of the Sheps after-shave and try and play that game. You are strictly not headline material.”

Parsons unbuttoned the lower button of his Gannex and flicked a speck of dust off his trousers; with Parsons, the speck wouldn’t have been imaginary.

“That’s what you think, is it?” he said.

I shake my head.

“You’ll never do it, Parsons,” I told him. “Whatever the Sheps give you, you’ll never do it.”

“You think not?”

“Associating with Farlow and the Sheps? You know what you should be looking at, don’t you? You should be looking at what they might possibly be fitting you up for, not me. That, if I was you, would be the first thought that strayed into my mind after I’d been approached by that particular Band of Hope.”

“Thanks for the advice,” he said.

I looked at him and said nothing. He made me sick.

“Now,” he said, “can I speak?”

“Speak away,” I said.

“I’m only saying this,” he said, “because I like to get things straight.”

As the proverb goes, there is no answer to that.

He continued, “I am in no way involved with the
Shepherdsons. I am in no way involved with Farlow. In fact, if there was no alternative to a choice between Farlow and the Shepherdsons, I would choose the Shepherdsons.”

I still didn’t say anything.

“No,” he said, “I’m not involved, as you imagine. You see, to me, in that way, there would be no satisfaction.”

“Except that you’re quite prepared to pick up anything they happen to leave lying around in a hotel in Amsterdam.”

“I would have picked up anything I could use in evidence against you, yes,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I could be a party to it having been put down.”

“You ever thought of doing a detergent commercial?” I asked him.

“No,” he said, “but what I’ve thought of is this: and that is, you protest too much. However hard you try to steer me towards a fit-up from the Shepherdsons, it won’t be hard enough, because I know that Glenda and Ray, if he turns up, are down to you, and it is for that, and that alone, that I will see you eventually at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. The day I need to play games with Farlow and the Shepherdsons will be the day I hand in the evidence of my commendations which, as you know, add up to quite a collection.”

“It must have been the helmet,” I said. “All those years carrying it around on the night shift, in Paddington. Irreversible brain damage. That’s what must have caused it.”

“That’s right, Fowler,” he said. “That’s what it must have been; but better to have been accidental rather than incipient, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d say what I said to you before,” I said to him. “That you are just a thick copper with nobody and nothing in your pocket. Except for your highly scrupulous expenses chitties, which are no doubt neatly folded and are sometimes not even cashed over the counter.”

THE SEA

T
HIS
S
ATURDAY
, M
ABLETHORPE HAS
a little more life to it than usual.

The season is one more weekend closer. Easter isn’t far away. They’re even getting the funfair ready, just in case anybody comes.

I sit in the Marina at the bottom of the ramp and watch them in their many attempts at raising the ferris wheel. For a while, it’s pretty good fun, but eventually it palls, becoming too predictable. Anyway, I think to myself, getting out of the Marina, nobody ever goes on it anyway, the prices they charge.