Holding On To You (14 page)

When she's gone, and the table is clean again, River leans back and lights up a cigarette.

'Feel better?', he says.

'Yes. Thank you', Maddy agrees.

They sit there in silence for a while, River smoking and watching Maddy, while Maddy watches the rest of the restaurant, conscious of his eyes on her, and trying her best to avoid them.

'What?' she eventually says.

'Nothing', River says. 'Just trying to work you out Princess, that's all.'

'Work me out? I thought you'd already done a pretty good job of that.'

River pulls on his cigarette. 'You want to go on somewhere else?'

'Somewhere else where?' she says to him.

'A bar.'

'To drink?'

River blows smoke into the air above him.

'To get to know each other better', he says.

'You think I want to do that?'

'I think you're on the edge looking in. I think you're enjoying yourself and you're ready to let yourself go. It could be a step in the right direction for you.'

'And you're going to hold my hand and lead me there?' Maddy asks.

'If you want to put it like that, then yes', River says.

'You don't think it's a little risky being outside at all?'

'Why does that worry you? If we get caught, I go to prison and you get to go home.'

'So why are we here?' Maddy says.

'Because that might happen anyway, and if it does, I want to have had fun on the way there, instead of hiding out in a shitty motel room flicking through repeats on cable TV. Besides which, I want to get to know you.'

'This isn't a date', Maddy says seriously.

'And here I was thinking you were sweet on me', River says.

'That's funny.'

I'm glad you find me amusing', River says. 'The ability to make someone laugh is a likeable quality. I read that in a magazine once.'

'It depends on the joke', Maddy says, deadpan.

'So what do you say?'

'I want to know why you are really doing it.'

River leans in.

'Maybe I'm sweet on you', he says and leans back, as though he's just shared a secret. Maddy isn't convinced it's anything but badly glossed shtick.

'I don't think you're sweet on anything but money', she says.

'Well why don't we find out?'

'We get caught, it's not my fault', Maddy says.

River puts out his cigarette, blowing the final cloud of smoke into the air above him.

'If we get caught then it'll be a first date to remember', he says.

'We're not on a date', Maddy reminds him.

'Then there's no reason for you not to accompany me.'

'I don't get a choice, I'm the hostage remember', Maddy says, her arms folded.

'If you want to see it like that.'

'How else am I meant to see it?'

'You're not in handcuffs anymore are you', River says. It's a statement rather than a question.

'Then let me walk out of here', Maddy says.

'I'm not stopping you.'

Maddy looks at the world outside, through the windows of the restaurant. She has no idea which town they are in, and it hasn't occurred to her to ask.

'If I try and leave, you'll shoot me. Isn't that what you said before?'

'I've changed my mind', River says. His arm is rested on the moulded, fixed-in plastic chair next to him in complete contrast to Maddy's closed body posture.

'Why?' she says.

'Because I think you have too', River says.

He takes out his papers and tobacco and begins to roll another cigarette.

'Why would I believe that?' she says.

'Why wouldn't you?'

A moment of silence passes, while River licks the gum of the cigarette paper, turning paraphernalia into finished product. For some reason, Maddy remembers a time in her life when she was happy. She's playing hopscotch with a friend, her mother is there, sat on a bench and watching her. It's snowing, and she can't be more than four years old.

'I don't agree with what you did', Maddy says, eventually unfolding her arms and laying them on the table in front of her. 'With what you do.'

'You think that what someone does defines them? River says. The cigarette placed behind his ear now, ready to smoke at a later date.

'I don't know', Maddy says. 'If you do something for long enough, maybe it does.'

'How long is long enough?'

'I think you'd have to rely on someone else to tell you that', Maddy says, turning over her hands and looking at them, as though they weren't her own or she'd seen something in them she'd not seen before.

'Someone who knows you well enough?' River says.

'Somebody like that, yes.'

'And what if you don't have enough time to get to know someone?' River asks.

'Well then I guess you'll never find out', Maddy says. She looks up from the table and into River's beautiful blue eyes. A feeling, so alien to her that she almost doesn't recognise it, begins to invade her thoughts, until confusion and fear push it away again, and she looks back down to the table, a single tear drop railing down her cheek.

'Come on', River says after a moment for his own feelings to sink in, 'let's get out of here before someone recognises your face, or even worse, my arms.'

They pay the bill and head back out onto the street, where the last of the day's light is just about hanging in the sky. As they walk, no particular destination in mind, a sense of freedom unlike anything Maddy has ever experienced before begins to dawn on her. River wraps his arm around her shoulder, hugging her tightly to his chest against the cold, and she doesn't stop him. It feels both natural, and like pretty much the best thing that has ever happened to her.

Frank peers inside the microwave suspiciously. There's a coating of grease on the window from several years of use, and not a single moment of cleaning. His dinner turns ominously, every now and again the plastic lifting up at the corner, so it appears to be winking at him.

'You'll fry your brains if you stand that close.' 

The young female officer smiles at him, warming her hands on a mug of coffee. It's not someone Frank has had the pleasure of meeting before.

'That's what they say huh?' Frank says. 'Your noodle for your noodles.'

The female officer laughs. 'Something like that', she says. 'Of course, you don't have to stare at it to make it go round.'

'I like to keep an eye on them', Frank says.

'So they don't get away?'

'Something like that', Frank says.

The microwave pings. The female officer places her cup in the sink. 'Enjoy your dinner, Frank', she says to him and leaves too quickly for Frank to ask for her name.

Like everything else that comes out of a microwave, Frank's dinner has been heated to a temperature of approximately a thousand degrees. He burns his fingers putting the plastic dish onto a plate, and burns them again taking off the thin plastic lid. Back in his office, he has to wait five minutes for his dinner to cool down, by which time the temperature has dropped from surface of the sun to stone cold stodge. It may cook things quickly, but those things never retain heat for long enough. If his mother was alive and could see him, she'd smack him on the side of the head for eating something that looks like it's come out of a bin. At least he had pasta for lunch. At least he hasn't been a completely bad Italian.

Frank washes his noodles down with a large gulp from a half mug of scotch and milk, and two antacid tablets the size of horse tranquillizers, which he has to break in half to swallow. On his computer, he watches in close detail, the mobile phone footage from the bank robbery earlier that day. He zooms in as best as he can to River's balaclava covered face, but no matter which angle he looks at it from, it's all just a mess of pixels, and blocks of grey.

'Who are you?' he says, and knocks back the rest of his whisky milk cocktail, while River's grey eyes stare at him challengingly, locked behind the curved glass of the TV screen.

Chapter 11

In a TV studio reception area, a young actress by the name of Alexis Carver flicks through a gossip magazine and waits patiently to be called. She's half way through an article titled, 'Fifty ways I please my lover', when the production assistant rushes out.

'Alexis? ' she says, addressing the bright eyed girl. 'Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Tina, please come through.'

As they walk down the corridor to the studio, Tina hands her a script.

'Thank you for coming at such short notice', she says.

'So wait, what, who am I supposed to be again?' Alexis says. 'They just told me to come over and read something.'

'They didn't tell you what it was for?'

Alexis shakes her head. She has long eyelashes and fake nails. Her high heels look difficult to walk in. For the first time Tina looks her up and down, taking the girl in. By contrast, Tina's never painted nails have been bitten to the stubs, and the one and only pair of high heels she owns, bought as a present by an ex-boyfriend, remain at the bottom of her wardrobe, never once worn.

'That's typical', Tina says. 

'Does it matter?' Alexis says. 'They said it wasn't a difficult job. I've done TV work before. Adverts mostly. I'm really more of a model.'

'A woman was kidnapped this morning', Tina says by way of an explanation. 'We need you to make an appeal to her robber to try and get him to release her.'

'That's what this is?' Alexis asks, holding up the script.

'More or less. It's a guide. Kind of like a timeline of your history together', Tina says. 'Stuff you've done, how long you've been friends, that kind of thing.'

'And the rest?'

'Well that's up to you', Tina says. 'I can call the agency again, if you don't want to do it.'

'I can do it', Alexis says confidently.

'Good', Tina says, and leads her from the corridor into the studio.

Alexis adjusts her hair and posture, and pouts down the barrel of the camera, while the sound recordist mics her up.

'Where the fuck did you find this girl?' the director says, via the microphone and headphone system all of the crew are plugged into. In a professional sense, it's a communication system that means everyone in the gallery can pass important technical or creative information to the studio floor, without any of the 'talent', hearing them. More importantly, and most usually, it's also used to bitch and gossip about the 'talent', without them having any idea that they are being talked about.

'That's who they sent', Tina whispers, making sure she is quiet enough that the sound doesn't travel across the studio floor to Alexis.

'You want me to cry?' Alexis says to the hunched shadow of the floor manager, who is crouched behind the cameraman. 'I can cry really easily if you want.'

'Tell her to bawl her eyes out as much as possible', the director says to the floor manager.

'Cry as much as you can sweetie', he says to her.

'Without looking over the top', the producer adds.

'But try and make it look convincing', the floor manager says.

Alexis begins to tear up, waving her hand theatrically in front of her face as though she's trying to waft away a fart. 'How's that?' she asks, tears already rolling down her cheeks.

'Perfect', the floor manager tells her. 'Are we ready to go?'

'Ok wait', Alexis says. She sweeps her hair behind her neck and undoes her top button so a decent amount of her cleavage is showing.

'Fucking hell', Tina whispers to herself. 'Are you kidding me?'

'Everyone wants to be a star', the producer says.

'Everyone wants to be a whore more like it', the director says. 'You reckon she can do this or shall we get someone else as back up?'

'Are you asking me that question?' Tina asks.

'This is seriously the best we could get?' the producer says.

'I think she's hot', the cameraman says, zooming in and out of her cleavage.

'Shut up Matt', the producer says.

'Are we ready to go?' the director says. 'She's giving me a headache.'

'Are we ready to go Alexis?' the floor manager says.

Alexis nods. 'Sorry, it's just, I think I'm crying for real now. It happens sometimes.'

Tina puts her head in her hands. She could have done the appeal herself instead of having to deal with this. She did an acting course at college as part of her media degree and could have had this over with in ten minutes.

'We've got thirty minutes to pull together a five minute appeal', the director says. 'Just roll on this and try and get her talking.'

'Already rolling', Matt says.

'Less cleavage Matt, lets keep this tasteful', the producer says.