Bang: Memoirs of a Relationship Assassin (24 page)

It all came pouring out. I’d only wanted to hear her voice really, but it ended up being the longest phone conversation I’d ever had. I’d mentioned Darren to her before, when she asked out of the blue about my friends. But now I talked about him at length. About how we’d grown up together. How he knew me better than anybody. And how this new girl, Vicki, now seemed to occupy all his time. How I’d hardly seen him at all since she turned up. How he’d changed into someone else. What was his
problem?!

Later, I was amazed I’d talked about this at all. Blokes don’t moan about not seeing other blokes! What’s that all about? But Becky listened. She let me blurt it all out. Then she told me new things. Things I’d never known, or suspected, about people.

“Everyone does this,” she said. “When you find somebody new, girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever, you do spend a lot of time with them, in the early days. It’s normal, really. I s’pose it’s kind of a honeymoon period.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you focus on the new person for a bit, and if that works out then you kind of, what’s the word, integrate them into the rest of your life. But it always settles down after a while, and you start seeing your mates again.”

“Really?”

“Well, it’s never the same, to be honest… you only ever see your mates loads when you’re single. When you’re with someone, you tend to work around your partner and slot your friends in whenever you can. God, John, this must have happened to you before! You’ve had girlfriends, right?”

“Er… yeah, of course. I guess this is just… different. I mean, Darren’s never been with a girl longer than one weekend.”

“Ah, one of those lads, is he? Well, he obviously sees something in this Vicki. Maybe she’ll be good for him. Calm him down a bit.”

Wonderful. I was a teenage sedative. “So it’s normal then, what Darren’s doing?”

“Oh yeah, don’t worry about it. He’ll find time for you when he’s ready, you won’t lose your mate or anything. It’s completely normal.” She paused. “I’ve probably been doing the same thing. Not seen my friends that much recently.”

“Why not?”

Becky laughed. “Because of you, you pillock!”

“Me?”

“Yeah you! I was meant to go shopping on Saturday with Lisa and her sister, but I blew them out to stay round yours. Actually, apart from my work lot, I haven’t seen my mates for a while now.” I could hear her smiling. “Just as bad as Darren, aren’t I? You’re my Vicki!”

Couldn’t hang up quick enough.

Was that who I was?

Not much sleep that night, and when I woke up I didn’t know who I was meant to be. Too many things in my head. I couldn’t concentrate on any of them. I would start thinking about one thing but then another face would pop up, Emma’s or Becky’s or Megan’s or Darren’s, and I’d start worrying about something else. Nerds in wellies with clipboards were turning up at my flat to get a look at my crop circle.

It was early Tuesday evening, and I’d just made my thirteenth cup of coffee –
unlucky
, mate – when Barry called me. Wondering why I hadn’t sent him an update. Just the sound of his voice, that tone he took, made me grind my teeth. I told him there was nothing to update him about. If he wasn’t prepared to give me any help, then I didn’t see how I had any chance of cracking the case.

“So you’re quitting,” said Barry.

“Look, I’ve been working hard on this! I told you she was just too famous for it to work.”

“So that’s that then, is it? You’re just gonna let a quarter of a million pounds slip through your fingers, are you? ‘Cos you can’t be frigged?”

Red flag. Snort.

“Fuck you, Barry! Just
fuck you!
I’m telling you this can’t be done! And if you’re so confident then why don’t
you
try and seduce Megan MacLeod! Go on, you have a go! Maybe she’s got a thing about fat Irish arseholes!”

Barry stammered, perhaps finally sensing with his acute Barry-sense that he might possibly have pushed me just a smidgen too far. Bitten by a radioactive potato he was, you know. Could that be hostility he was sensing?

“You stupid thick greedy bastard!” I added.

“Look… look, I’m trying to say… I know you can do this, Scott. I know how good you used to be. I mean
are
. How good you are.”

“Well pardon me if I’m not living up to my rep, if I’m not one of your
exemplars!
But this whole thing is ridiculous, Barry, I’ve just had enough of it!”

Barry didn’t reply to that. It took a few seconds before I realised what I’d said. Exemplars. I’d just let him know that I read his secret business plan.

I hung up, feeling like I’d cut part of my own body off by accident.

Unlucky
, mate.

Within minutes I was storming out of my flat, straight round to Becky’s. I wanted to be John. Badly. I needed John’s thoughts in my head.

Once, years ago, I’d asked myself how normal people get through all the crap that comes with everyday life. I’d always blagged and schmoozed and lied and sometimes shagged my way out of trouble, but I knew most people didn’t live like me. It had always eluded me, their mechanism for coping with things. I’d wondered: what magic do ordinary people use to get by?

I now asked myself: was this it? Is having a girlfriend how ordinary blokes survive?

Becky made me feel better. Just by listening and talking to me. Okay, so she thought I was somebody else, but we all change a little to adapt to people, right? That’s all it was, really. I wanted to be with Becky so she’d change me into John. I was in control when I was John. I wasn’t enjoying being Scott any more.

“What’s wrong?” she said as soon as she opened her door.

I sighed, suddenly realising how pointless this was. How could I tell her about Barry? About any of my real problems? So I said “Nothing, I just… ah, just a bad day, you know? I just wanted to see you.”

Becky reached out and squeezed my hand, smiling. “I wish you’d texted me first, you’re in big trouble now. Come on, might as well get this over with.”

I allowed her to lead me into her flat, down to the kitchen. Voices. My heart froze. She had visitors.

Oh my God, I was going to meet her friends. Worse – maybe Sajjan was there, trying to get back with her. I started saying that maybe I should go, probably a bad time, I’ll just leave Becky alone with –

“Ooooooooh, hello John! Lovely to see you again!”

“All right there son, how’s tricks?”

– her Mum and Dad.

There they sat in her kitchen, perched on chrome stools at the breakfast bar, sipping tea and dunking custard creams. Every instinct in my body was to RUN!!!. But instead, John’s warm smile beamed from my face, his cheery hellos in my voice. John had no problem meeting the girlfriend’s family, no worries. It was me who was shitting himself.

Becky flicked the kettle on and went about making me a cup of tea, while her folks chatted away, asking how I was, talking about the DIY stuff her Dad was doing to her flat, blah blah blah. I let John do all the polite nodding and smiling, on autopilot. Becky’s Mum couldn’t take her twinkling eyes off me, nor the wide grin off her chops. Me walking in had made her day. Her Dad was more discreet, but listened intently to anything I said.

I noticed Becky smirking, knowing she’d put me on the spot. She was enjoying herself!

I knew Becky had told her parents she’d called it off with Sajjan, but not why. No details, just that it was over. She’d also remarked that they hadn’t been especially upset. That didn’t surprise me one bit. Her Mum wanted a Hindu wedding for her daughter like I wanted a vasectomy. So now here I came, waltzing into Becky’s kitchen for the second time. No wonder their eyes lit up. You didn’t need to be Einstein to work out why Sajjan was suddenly the ex.

While we chatted, Becky handed me my tea (not asking how many sugars), I took it without saying thanks or even looking at her (both done it so many times), then she stood next to me leaning against the sink (well within my personal space). I don’t think she consciously planned to do it, but the effect was the same. She was giving her Mum and Dad their first proper look at the two of us, as a couple.

I could feel the crosshairs. Target acquired. Future son-in-law detected.

I was starting to find it hard to breathe. Chatting in the kitchen, tea and biccies, so normal, so ordinary… I was out of my depth.

“So how’s work then, John?” her Mum asked me.

“Tell her what you’re doing!” said Becky before I even opened my mouth. Then she told them anyway, explaining how I had jacked in my courier job and wanted to do something better with my life, maybe go back to college, maybe take up journalism or IT or any of the dozen options we’d discussed over the weekend. Should have heard her, bubbling away like an excited kid. I felt a weird kind of tingle listening to how proud she was of me.

John, I reminded myself sadly. She’s proud of John.

Her Dad frowned. “Hang on a sec though, I thought you were a manager or something at Becks’s firm?”

Stomach drop. FUCK.

That’s how they knew me. Not John the courier, but John the work colleague.
There was more than one John Holmes!

A silent second went past. I should have thought of something by now. But I’d locked up. What could I say, what excuse to give, how to explain that away? Oh shit I was screwed –

“He is,” said Becky. “He’s both. He’s got two jobs. The HR one is his main job, obviously, but he does courier work at the weekend. To bring in a bit extra.”

Brilliant!
“Yeah, I’m a workaholic,” I said jokily, back on track. “Well, until recently. It’s just crazy, I think, working so hard, I’ve realised there’s more to life than just earning money, you know? So I’ve resigned from both jobs, to find one good job, something I’m genuinely interested in.”

“I see,” said her Dad. “But you’re all right money-wise, are you?”

“Oh yeah, my savings cover me for a good six months if they have to, but I won’t be out of work anywhere near that long.”

“Good,” he nodded, satisfied.

Becky’s Mum babbled on about how lovely that was, while I resisted the urge to slide my arm round her daughter and hug her. She’d saved me. I’d frozen up and she’d rescued me. Becky you superstar, I thought, God I bloody love this girl!

“Oh, I wish you’d do the same,” Becky’s Mum said to her. “I keep telling you you should do something with your life. You’re so clever, you don’t make use of your brains, do you?” To me: “She should take a leaf out of your book, John, why don’t you try and get her to see sense, you can do it so there’s no reason she can’t, is there?” Before I could reply, a sly wink to Becky: “He’ll be good for you, this one.”

Bloody hell, they had the church booked already.

Becky picked up her telephone. “Security to the kitchen, please. Got some old people for you to take away, quick as you can.”

I burst out laughing, imagining a troop of security guards stomping into her kitchen and dragging out her parents. Been a while since she’d pulled a phone gag. I’d missed it. They chuckled too, accustomed to their daughter’s sense of humour.

I sipped my tea. Dunked a custard cream. Chatted and laughed. Felt Becky pinching my arm when her parents weren’t looking. Accepted their offer to come round for dinner some weekend.

I smiled, drowning in normal life.

Long after they left, gone midnight, I slowly slid out of Becky’s bed. She stirred but didn’t wake up. I walked barefoot through her flat in the dark. Thinking. Couldn’t sleep with my failure lodged under my skin, like a splinter.

“You
amateur
,” I whispered.

I couldn’t believe how I’d frozen up like that. Becky’s Dad had found a hole in my cover story and I’d just locked up. This had happened to me hundreds of times on missions, being asked something I hadn’t prepared for, and I always came up with little lies to patch the hole. But that time I’d been useless.

What had happened to me? I’d lost my edge. Everything felt fuzzy and mixed-up. I didn’t quite know who I was any more. What was I doing, sleeping over Becky’s house again? Why couldn’t I just let her go?

I replayed the incident with Becky’s parents in my head, wondering what I might have done differently. I smiled at the memory of Becky calling in security guards to remove her own Mum and Dad. It sounded like the sort of thing Megan might do if I came out of the blue and started hitting on her. Summon her security people, whoever they were, to…

Whoever they were. Who were Megan’s security people, exactly? They always seemed faceless, almost a force of nature. Why hadn’t I ever looked into this? I’d just assumed I could never get past them, but maybe, if I knew more about how they worked…

I found myself in Becky’s living room. Switched on her computer. It was a clunky old one with a dial-up connection, given to her by her brother years ago, only ever used for email and Facebook. I jumped when the modem squeal-buzz-popped, smothering it with both hands, trying not to wake Becky. But I couldn’t sleep until I’d checked this.

I found what I needed to know. Swore louder than the modem.

For an hour after that I paced, naked in the dark, giving Becky’s living room a matching crop circle. Finally, I decided what to do. What I had to do, even though it scared me.

But I couldn’t do it alone. I had to get help. And the only one who could help me was the last person in the world who’d want to.

It was time for a deal with the devil.

An old university building in Lambeth. Corridors and stairwells, classrooms and lecture halls. My footsteps echoed off the concrete walls as I headed down into the basement. There were still quite a few people around that Wednesday evening, but not many students. The university hired its facilities out to the public, so it was mostly night classes and community events going on.

As I walked into the gym block, the odour of stale sweat triggered a rush of school memories. The racks of ageing equipment. A varnished hardwood floor with faded markings for various sports. I felt like a kid again. That schoolboy panic – did I remember my kit…?