Valentine Present and Other Diabolical Liberties (8 page)

He sighs.

      ‘You really have to get to grips with the nails madam, or who knows what damage you may cause.’

     
‘You should see my thighs Marcus.’

     
‘I’d rather not madam.’

I step nervously from the fitting room and parade in front of Brice Edmunds.

      ‘Perfect,’ he says, nodding appreciatively. ‘Not in the least bit suitable for a Christmas tree.’

     
‘Thank God for that,’ I sigh, attempt a twirl and sway
on my heels.

     
‘Maybe a little less gin though,’ he laughs.

     
‘What I wouldn’t do for a drop of mother’s ruin. It’s these bloody heels. I can’t cope with them, not to mention …’

Marcus coughs diplomatically.

      ‘Language madam, now shall we get you undressed, before you tell Mr Brice about your thighs,’ whispers Marcus.

Brice raises his eyebrows and grins before offering his hand.

      ‘It was nice meeting you again. I very much enjoyed the fashion show.’

I place my hand in his and feel a small tingle rush through me. Please let him ask me for a coffee or something. Or just ask me for the something. God, right now I’d be so up for it.

      ‘Thank you for your advice,’ I say. ‘I’ve got this big weekend coming up and I’ve got to make a good impression.’

     
‘Madam is meeting her future in-laws,’ says Marcus absently, straightening the back of the dress.

Oh great, thanks a lot Marcus. That’s the coffee and something
out of the window isn’t it?

He nods
.

     
‘My pleasure, and I think you will make more than a good impression. I would say break a leg except you’re likely to if you don’t lose those shoes.’

Marcus groans.

      ‘Now he’s an expert in shoes. Perhaps you would like a job here?’

     
‘No, the tie will suffice,’ he laughs as he opens the door to leave, only to have Fiona walk in.

     
‘Sorry I’m so late. I got on the wrong train,
ended up halfway to bloody Croydon. I tried phoning but I just kept getting your voicemail. Jesus, it’s posh around here. I’ve been scared to open my mouth … oh sorry,’ she finishes on seeing Brice.

I shake my head.

      ‘Fiona, this is Brice, he’s been helping me choose a dress.’

She widens her eyes and then gives him a big smile.

      ‘That’s nice, slightly unusual but nice,’ she says.

He shakes her hand warmly and then turns to the door.

      ‘Nice meeting you both. I hope your weekend goes well Harriet.’

The door closes and I open my mouth at her.

      ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’

     
‘And the way he said
Harriet
, ooh didn’t it make your legs give way,’ she grins.

     
‘Madam’s legs have been giving way most of the morning, isn’t that right Miss Harriet?’ says Marcus, escorting me back to the dressing room.

     
‘Why what have you been doing?’ asks Fiona.

     
‘Bloody starving because I can’t eat with these,
Nightmare on Elm Street
nails. I’ve had one stuck in the tumble dryer door. And balancing on these stupid heels is like being on bleeding stilts. I feel like a circus act. I think dancing on ice would be easier. Honestly Fi, I don’t think I can get through this.’

I flop onto the couch and lift my legs to take off my shoes but, of course, the nails get in the sodding way and I end up scraping them along my tights, leaving huge ladders
.

     
‘Allow me madam, otherwise by the time you get to Scotland you will resemble a character out of
Halloween
,’ says Marcus gently.

     
‘I’m dreading the weekend,’ I say, rubbing my
feet.

     
‘Madam, if I may offer some advice,’ he says kindly. ‘Clothing excepted, just be yourself and I am sure everyone will love you.’

Five minutes later and I have a bundle of new clothes, and not to mention a Burberry bag for the daytime and a Givenchy for the evening. Fiona sits in a chair, eyes wide and mouth open.

      ‘God, you’ve got a brilliant riding outfit. I’d die for one of those. I love horse riding.’

     
‘I’ll probably die if I have to wear it. No one is getting me on a horse,’ I say.

     
‘Right madam, you are ready for the weekend. I shall have everything delivered to your apartment later this afternoon and Claude will collect you in the morning and take you to the heliport.’

     
‘Crikey,’ says Fiona. ‘You’re going to look fab. I’m so excited. I wish I could be there with you.’

     
‘So do I,’ I say sadly.

I
feel my stomach churn. I may look fab but I also have to sound fab, walk fab, and eat fab. It’s going to be a Mission Impossible and I have an awful fear the whole thing will collapse around my ears. The thought of ears immediately makes me think of Julian and the three Jacks. It feels like we are in some kind of horrific nightmare and all we wanted was a French restaurant.

A thought enters my head.

      ‘What day is it?’ I ask Fiona.

     
‘Do what?’

     
‘What day is it?’ I repeat.

     
‘Friday, why?’

     
‘Come on, I need to do the lottery. Maybe I can win and then I won’t have to go through with this charade.’

     
‘Great plan,’ she scoffs.

     
‘Marcus said he would get a driver to take me home in his limo. We’ll make a quick stop at the newsagents on the way.’

     
‘I’ll get Alistair to meet us at the flat; I want him to see me in a limo. We’ll get a pizza later shall we?’

Oh, if only life could stay like this.

      ‘First stop newsagents please,’ I tell the driver.

      Jack Diamond is enjoying his favourite dinner. Meatballs and pasta,
just the way he likes it. He likes this
restaurant. The nice checked tablecloths and the traditional Italian music appeal to him. He fancies himself as a bit of an Italian. With his broad shoulders and toned physique he could pass for a good-looking Italian any day. He likes his Valentino suits. They give him more respect and show he isn’t short of a bob or two. They know how to show respect here. They never cause him trouble, not like that little prick Julian Conway. What the stupid bugger thought he was playing at, Jack had no idea. Conway should have known he couldn’t get away with not paying on time. Jack considers himself a reasonable man. After all, wasn’t he doing Julian a favour, giving him the loan and then offering to keep trouble out of his restaurant? What was five hundred a month to someone like Conway?

     
‘Now, I don’t wanna see your lovely little gaff turned over, not now you’ve put all this money into it Julian. There are some terrible thugs in the old smoke these days. You know what I mean? Now, I’m thinking I can ‘elp you out with a little security, think of it like an insurance policy. A monkey will do it, in cash. I’ll pop round at the end of each month and collect.’

How much more respectful can a person be? But not that little prick, he doesn’t know what the word
respect
means. Well, he would find the little sod and if he didn’t have the cash then the little prick would lose just that. And little it most likely is, Jack thought, and chuckles to himself. He’ll send it to that pretty girlfriend of his. If he still didn’t cough up, then there would be no alternative but to make Julian disappear. Satisfied with his plan he begins to tuck into his tiramisu when Mad Jack Junior bursts in.

Jack Diamond sighs.

      ‘What’s the matter with you? Barging in like some kind of thug. What do yer want people to think of us?’ snaps Diamond. ‘Yer wanna give me indigestion?’

     
‘I’ve got some news about that Julian loser,’ Mad Jack Junior grins.

Jack Diamond wipes his mouth with his serviette and takes a
gulp of
wine before gesturing to the waiter to refill the glass. Mad Jack fidgets eager to share his news. Jack Diamond looks down to his son’s shoes.

     
‘You is still giving me indigestion. Can you bleedin’ calm down and eat something. What ‘ave I told yer about your shoes. Polished shoes show you are a man to respect.’

     
‘Sorry Dad.’

     
‘Did you get the worm powder for the cat like your mum asked?’

     
‘Babyface Jack is getting that. He likes the pet shop and looking at the animals and stuff.’

Diamond snorts. Unable to contain himself any longer, Mad Jack throws a newspaper at his dad.

      ‘The bloody
Times
,’ scoffs Diamond. ‘Don’t yer think it’s a bit late to start reading a rag like that?’

Mad Jack exhales in irritation and turns the pages frantically. He rips out the page he needs and sticks it under his father’s nose.

      ‘Sir bleedin’ Sebastian Lancaster would like to announce the forthcoming engagement of his son ‘amilton Lancaster to none other than ‘arriet bleedin’ Lawson. Julian’s tart ‘as got ‘erself a rich poncy boyfriend and I mean mega rich. She’s paid all the staff at the restaurant. It’s still open, but I ain’t saw nothin’ going on and she’s been spending pots of dough in fancy dress shops today. It’s funny that though, cos she’s still working in that laundrette and that ain’t adding up to me, not if she’s marrying that ponce. The bitch never offered us nothin,’ Mad Jack Junior blurts out, unable to keep the news to himself any longer.

Jack Diamond looks thoughtful. Now that is news. So, the pretty little girlfriend has already found someone new has she? He glances at the newspaper announcement and throws it to one side.

      ‘There’s something fishy ‘ere and I’m not talking about the menu. Get that snitch Razors on the blower. Tell ‘im to do a bit of research. He’s as bent as a two bob note. If he can’t find out what’s going on, no one can.’

     
‘You want me to sort ‘er?’

     
‘No, you moron,’ Diamond sighs.

     
‘You know give ‘er a bell and threaten like?’

Jack Diamond’s head snaps up.

      ‘What yer on about?’

     
‘Babyface got ‘er number from the prick’s phone.’

Diamond thumps his fist down on the table.

      ‘What ‘ave I told you about doing stuff like that? That ain’t ‘ow you get birds.’

     
‘Babyface fancied ‘er. Not me. He’s been going in that laundrette and stuff.’

     
‘Bugger me,’ groans Diamond.

     
‘You really think something is fishy?’ asks Mad Jack Junior. ‘With ‘er suddenly getting a rich poncy boyfriend?’

Jack Diamond laughs.

      ‘I think we should take a trip to ‘er flat and talking of fishes …’

Mad Jack Junior laughs.

      ‘Make ‘er an offer she can’t refuse?’

     
‘Something like that,’ grins Jack Diamond while wondering why Julian’s girlfriend would stay in such a poxy flat when she has a mega rich boyfriend. Something very fishy indeed is going on and he ain’t gonna leave it alone until he finds out what it is. If she knows where that wanker Julian is she’ll soon tell them. In the meantime, if she wants to keep that Froggie restaurant open, then she owes him a monkey.

     
Fiona is flushed with excitement by the time we reach Marlborough Mansions. I’m surprised she didn’t spend the journey waving like royalty. Our quick stop for a lottery ticket turned into a bit of a disaster. I never imagined it could be so difficult trying to choose six numbers out of forty-nine. For starters you have to ditch the unlucky numbers before you begin, and in my case this is no small feat is it? I didn’t want to choose
ten
as that was my birthday, and having the gangsters eat my birthday cake is clearly a bad omen. Everyone chooses seven so I didn’t want that one. Obviously thirteen was out of the question, although seriously my luck couldn’t get any worse could it? Four is Julian’s birthday and he isn’t turning out to be a lucky charm is he? So anything with four in it is going to be bad luck, I mean, take fourteen for example. I don’t even want to think about that and the Valentine’s Day catastrophe at the flat
.
At one point Fiona asked the shop assistant if he had a chair.

     
‘We’re a newsagent, not a dental surgery. I don’t have a waiting area,’ he had snapped.

Fiona had suggested thirty-one but of course that adds up to four doesn’t it, and I couldn’t use five as that is the same as fourteen if you add them together. So that also meant I couldn’t use number forty-six
either, as that makes ten, and that’s my birthday again. Honestly, buying a lottery ticket almost gave me a mental breakdown. Eventually Fiona had blown her top and forced me to buy a lucky dip. I ask you with the way my life is spiralling at the moment it is more likely to be the unlucky dip. But I wasn’t in the mood to argue and I was beginning to wonder if I would be able to circle the numbers with my Morticia Addams nails anyway.

I feel quite relieved when Claude, the chauffeur, drops us outside the Mansions. Curtains twitch as we pull up and Alistair rushes towards us, the sight of the limousine comforting him no doubt. I spend a full minute trying to open the door but fail miserably and manage to leave a little rip in the upholstery instead. I don’t think I need be too concerned about a visit from the Jacks while I am Harriet Scissorhands. Mrs Mollard appears in the doorway, a scarf knotted around her throat and a dustpan and brush in her hand. For a second I think she is going to offer to clean the limo but she just stands there open-mouthed.

Fiona casually nods at Claude as though she has been stepping out of limousines all her life.

      ‘Thank you Claude,’ she says in a posh voice.

I give her a startled look. Where did that come from? Sid is at the doorway and so many net curtains are swaying that I am beginning to wonder if there is a small hurricane blowing up in Marlborough Terrace.

      ‘Bucking hell,’ says Mrs Mollard.

     
‘Christ, and I thought she was broke,’ adds Sid.

     
‘I am,’ I say quickly. ‘Honestly Sid.’

     
‘Yeah, I can see that. Traded in your old Mini did you? Still, it’s your business Harriet. You’ve paid your rent so I’m not complaining.’

     
‘It’s c-c-c-complicated,’ says Alistair, his shoulders twitching. Half the street has turned out now and I feel like I should break into song or something. The drug-fuelled yobs begin yelling and rush towards the car.

     
‘Yeah, so is my marriage but I haven’t got a car like that,’ grins Sid.

     
‘I shall see you tomorrow madam,’ Claude says politely.

I nod and
the residents of Marlborough Mansions watch
the limo
drive away.

     
‘Got a rich punter?’ asks one of the youths.

     
‘Oh honestly,’ groans Alistair.

I begin climbing the stairs with Alistair panting behind me, the aromatic smells of curry and exotic foods emanating from behind the doors.

      ‘Oh yeah, I nearly forgot, your brother Jack came by,’ calls Sid.

I turn so fast that my head spins.

      ‘What?’ I croak.

     
‘I wouldn’t have let him in but he had a key and everything. Nice lad. You never mentioned a brother. We had a laugh …’

     
‘You did?’ I say, finding it hard to breathe.

     
‘God, are you okay?’ Fiona asks.

     
‘Nice lad.
He left a little something for you. A late birthday present I expect.’

Oh my God. Please let it be Julian’s ear. Obviously I don’t want it to be any part of his body but if I have to choose then I think the ear is preferable. At least he has another one to hear
with. Maybe it can
be sewn back on, although, with the NHS waiting lists the way they are these days perhaps not. I should have agreed to that private health insurance that Julian wanted; they would have sewn it back on in a jiffy no doubt. Oh Christ, what if it is his tongue. He’ll never be able to speak to me again. I’ll never hear him whisper sweet nothings into my ear. Mind you, he never did that much anyway. Jesus, it might be his penis, what the hell do I do with that? A
vision of Julian bleeding to death in the gutter appears in front of my eyes and I fly up the stairs with Alistair and Fiona trailing behind me.

     
‘I feel faint, the Jacks have been here,’ I say dramatically, fumbling with the key in the lock.

     
‘Oh God,’ says Fiona in a hushed tone. ‘Do you think they’ve trashed the place again?’

     
‘It’s like being in an episode of
The Sopranos
except it’s ten times more sordid,’ quips Alistair, walking slowly behind.

     
‘Maybe we shouldn’t go in without a weapon,’ whispers Fiona.

     
‘Why do we need a weapon?’ I whisper back.

     
‘In case they are still in there.’

     
‘I hardly think they would have locked themselves in.’

Then again, Julian did say they were a bit crazy. I’m feeling just a touch crazy myself. What am I doing? In a matter of days my life has gone mad. It isn’t my fault that Julian’s stupid restaurant has failed is it? I never even wanted the damn place. I was just supporting him. I didn’t ask him to borrow money from loan sharks, and I didn’t see the need for the sodding van, and now because of all that I have bugger all. I can’t even pay the rent because of him and now I am in far
too deep. I’ve already taken half the money and paid off a lot of the debts. I now have just enough to pay the rent and
my tuition fees but if I don’t see this thing through,
Hamilton
will demand the money back. God, this is awful. I don’t know what is worse, the three Jacks or the
Hamilton Lancaster agreement.

The flat looks fine and everything is as it should be. I can’t even see the little present that Sid mentioned.

     
‘See, everything is fine,’ says Fiona, relief evident in her voice. ‘Shall we order
pizza? We’ll stay with you for a while and then you need to rest, you’ve got your big day tomorrow.’

I look around the flat nervously, feeling my shoulders tense. I listen to Alistair stuttering our order down the phone and feel sorry for the poor
bugger at the other end.

     
‘I’ll clear the kitchen table,’
Fiona offers as I begin to relax. ‘Shall I throw this old paper away?’

I freeze. Fiona is holding up what looks like a crumpled bunch of old newspaper
s.

     
‘Oh my God,’ I cry. ‘It’s Julian’s ear.’

     
‘Holy fuck,’ she screams, dropping it to the floor.

We stare at the newspaper in silence.

      ‘How do you know this is it?’ she says, looking horrified.

     
‘Yes and how d-d-do you know it’s his ear?’ asks Alistair.

     
‘Well it isn’t going to be an expensive bottle of French perfume is it? And it wasn’t here earlier which can only mean …’

     
‘Who’s going to open it?’ Fiona asks so quietly that I barely hear her.

     
‘Well I can’t, not with these bloody scissors for hands.’

     
‘I c-c-c-can’t, I’m not good with b-b-b-b- …’ says Alistair.

     
‘Body parts?’ I say helpfully.

     
‘Blood,’ he finishes.

Oh God, I hadn’t thought about the blood. Well I had
, in that I had thought of Julian lying in a pool of it, but not the blood that would come with the dismembered ear/tongue/penis.

     
‘God, this is worse than a Stephen King novel,’ groans Fiona. ‘Maybe we can pay someone to unwrap it.’

     
‘Oh great idea. Where do you suggest we find someone? I suppose we could look in the yellow pages for ‘Specialists in unwrapping severed body parts?’ I say cynically.

     
‘Okay, just a thought.’

     
‘I’ll get a towel,’ I say, rushing to the bathroom.

     
‘Why?’ asks Fiona.

     
‘For the blood of course.’

     
‘I’m phoning the p-p-p- …’

     
‘Christ Alistair, how can you think about pizza now,’ snaps Fiona.

     
‘Police,’ he blurts out. ‘We need to call them.’

     
‘No,’ I yell. ‘God knows what they’ll cut off next. We have to see what’s in the parcel. There might be a note.’

I hand Fiona scissors and give her a reassuring nod. We stare mesmerised as she carefully cuts through the newspaper. Alistair can barely watch and stands clutching the pizza menu to his chest. Two layers later and we have still found nothing. I feel myself begin to relax. Maybe it isn’t anything after all. Maybe it was
sent just to scare us, and God knows it did. Fiona carefully pulls back the next layer and stops.

     
‘I can feel a box,’ she says in a trembling voice.

     
‘Is it big enough for a penis or just small enough for a tongue or …’

     
‘Oh, C-C-C-Christ,’ groans Alistair stepping back.

     
‘Shall I put on an apron?’ says Fiona. ‘You know, for the blood.’

     
‘It isn’t going to exactly spurt out at you is it?’

She takes a
breath and with shaking hands removes the final layer, and we all stare at the small white box. I swallow and Fiona licks her lips. Alistair clenches his knuckles. The only sound is the bass from someone’s stereo thumping in the flat above.

     
‘I’ll take the lid off but I can’t look,’ offers Fiona.

I nod and look to Alistair who turns away. I lift my head, take a deep breath and glance at the goldfish bowl and am about to look back when I realise the goldfish is not in it. Before I can open my mouth Fiona has removed the lid and lying helpless on a box of cotton wool is my goldfish.

      ‘They killed Billy,’ I scream. ‘They murdered my bleeding goldfish.’

Fiona’s eyes snap open and she stares at the fish. Alistair lets out a sigh and says,

      ‘Well at least they didn’t leave its head in your b-b-bed.’

     
‘What the hell does that mean?’ I say stupidly.

     
‘In
The Godfather
…’

     
‘Oh sod
The Godfather
, this is bloody Battersea not Sicily.’

I look at little Billy the
goldfish and sigh.

     
‘Why kill a goldfish? I mean, it’s upsetting but I’m not exactly going to go into mourning am I?’

Alistair claps his hands.

      ‘Of c-c-c-course,’ he says excitedly. ‘It, m-m-m-means that J-Ju-Ju …’

     
‘Julian yes,’ I interrupt.

     
‘He’s getting excited,’ says Fiona, stating the obvious yet again.

God, at times like these do I need a friend who stammers?

      ‘Yes, it means what?’

     
‘Sleeps with the fishes.’

Well that was worth waiting for I don’t think. What does that mean?

      ‘Oh God, like in
The Godfather
,’ whimpers Fiona.

I bloody hate that film.

      ‘It means Julian is sleeping with goldfish, is that what you’re saying and where would that be exactly, at the local funfair or should I pop to the nearest pet shop?’

     
‘It means he sleeps with the fishes at the bottom of the Thames,’ says Alistair confidently. ‘I love
The Godfather
.’