Remix

by Lexi Revellian

  “No. Too many things I don’t know,” he said. “What’s Caz short for?”

  I stared up into his eyes. “Cassandra.”

  “Cassandra…” He pulled me against him. Oh dear…

  He said, “What were you like before I knew you?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Uh…who was your last boyfriend?”

  “You’ll laugh.”

  “No…” Ric’s mouth was on my cheek, my neck, my ear. Ric was good at kissing. I didn’t want him to stop. My mind still doubted; my body had its own agenda.

  “An IT guy called Kevin.” I could feel Ric’s silent laugh in his ribcage, and in his breath against my skin. “There, I told you…”

  “Would I laugh at you? So who was your first?”

  “Chris. He was nice – a genuinely nice guy. We were eighteen, and he had it all planned…we’d share a flat, and get married after he finished university.”

  A pause, while we kissed. I wrapped my arms around him. I was filled with a wild recklessness. I didn’t care about Emma. She was lying. I didn’t believe her.

  “Why did you split up?” he murmured.

  “I met someone else.”

  “Who was that?”

  I leaned back, but kept hold of him, and smiled. “Now who’s like the sodding Spanish Inquisition?”

  Ric’s face was shadowed, but I could see his eyes, glinting in the dark. “I thought, if I kept you talking, you might not notice when I led you upstairs to your bedroom. And maybe, if you got really interested in the conversation, I could take off all your clothes, and you wouldn’t mind. A cunning plan. Would it work, d’you think?”

  My heart beat fast. “I don’t know. You could try it and see.”

  He let go of me, took my hand in his, and drew me towards the flat.

  Chapter

  19

  *

  I woke as cosy as a hamster in its ball of straw, with Ric’s warm body next to mine. Moving slowly, I turned to sneak a look at him as he slept. His mouth curved in repose; his eyebrows were like an osprey’s wings; I could see dark roots among the blond where the real hair colour was growing through, matching his stubble and the hair on his gently-moving chest. A big smile spread itself over my face. I felt light, radiant, fizzing with happiness, as if all pain and trouble were far away, insignificant and easily dealt with.

  Ric’s mobile rang. His eyes opened, and he smiled.

  “Caz.”

  “Ric.”

  His hand reached for me under the duvet.

  “Aren’t you going to answer the phone?” I said.

  “No.”

  “It might be Phil.” What is it about a phone, that makes it so difficult to ignore, like the cry of a baby?

  “And your point is?” He pulled me on top of him. It didn’t seem to be bothering Ric. And very soon, it wasn’t bothering me either. When the ring tone ceased, I didn’t even notice.

  We lay, some time later, limbs tangled and comfortable, putting off getting up for breakfast. The sun moved across the wall; random thoughts drifted through my mind. How little, really, I knew about Ric. I propped myself up on one elbow and pushed my hair back.

  “How many girls have you slept with?”

  He half opened his eyes. “D’you mean had sex with? You don’t want to know.”

  “I do.”

  “I stopped counting after a hundred. It seemed a bit adolescent. Keeping score.”

  “More than a hundred!” I felt a pang at being the most recent of so many. “Will you even remember this after?”

  “Oh, yes.” His finger caressed my despondent mouth. “You’re not forgettable, Caz. You’ve got more substance than the rest…you’re grittier, gristlier, less bland…more likely to get stuck between the teeth…”

  “Thanks…”

  Ric grinned at me. The cello ring tone started again. He stretched out a lazy arm, and held the phone to his ear.

  “Phil.” I could feel his relaxed muscles tense; his eyes were still on mine, but the warmth had left them.

  …………….

  “See you then.”

  Ric put the phone down on the bedside table. “He’s on his way over, he’ll be here in half an hour.”

  “Gah!” I leaped out of bed and headed for the shower, nearly tripping over Dog curled up on the rug.

  By the time Phil Sharott rang my doorbell Ric and I, after a frenetic scramble, were washed, dressed, and eating toast. There was none of the embarrassment you sometimes get after a first night together. It just seemed like the right thing had happened, and apart from feeling so happy that I couldn’t stop smiling, and wanting to gaze at him all the time, everything felt normal. A very good normal. Ric seemed rather cheerful too.

  I offered Phil a cup of coffee.

  “No, thank you,” he said, a hint of frost in his tone. For a moment I couldn’t think why, then I remembered our dash along Connaught Street. Yesterday. It seemed a long time ago. I tried to get my brain into gear.

  We all went and sat on the sofa, Ric in the middle. Phil picked up my old green and white Penguin edition of The Lady in the Lake I’d left among the cushions. He surveyed it, eyebrows raised, before he moved it out of the way. He put his briefcase on the coffee table, opened it and got out several envelopes and packages, which he laid out neatly side by side. His manner was sober and business-like; he had the air of an accountant or bank manager. Ric reached for the first envelope, and lifted the flap. I saw the maroon and gold of a British passport. It was rubbed around the edges, with one corner bent over. He flicked through it, pausing to consider the photograph page. He stiffened and looked accusingly at Phil.

  “This expires in three weeks.”

  “It’s the best I could obtain. That’s a genuine passport. The photograph will pass for you, and it’s a common name. I agree, it’s unfortunate about the expiry date, but three weeks is plenty of time for you to leave the country, establish an identity and set up a number of bank accounts.”

  “Where did you get it from?” I asked.

  Phil’s spectacles gleamed repressively at me. “One has various contacts.”

  “In the criminal underworld?” I said, just to annoy him.

  “He’s a lawyer, he’s always mixing with criminals,” said Ric, reaching for the next envelope.

  “If it’s a stolen passport, mightn’t Ric get stopped using it through customs?”

  “Highly unlikely. But in any case, I’ll be taking him on my boat – too many people at airports. He might be recognized.”

  Ric drew out several white folded packages, each about ten centimetres square.

  “Careful with those,” said Phil.

  Ric unfolded a packet; inside, on pale blue translucent paper, something sparkled. I craned to see. A dozen brilliant-cut stones, about the same diameter as a pencil. He handed me one; I held it in the sun and it flashed red, blue and green fire. Diamonds.

  “There’s a million dollars’ worth in those packets. Top quality colour, clarity and cut, between one and a half and three carats. Best to keep them a few years before you sell them, or you won’t get what I paid. Easily concealed.”

  The next manila envelope held something the size of a small brick. Ric pulled out five neat bundles of notes.

  “Fifty thousand euros,” said Phil. “About forty thousand pounds at the current rate of exchange.”

  Without comment, Ric put the euros aside and opened the last A4 envelope. It contained what appeared to be utility bills, and various receipts. Ric shuffled through them. I watched his intent face, poring over the documents. He was so beautiful…something made me glance up, and I saw Phil’s eyes on me. He looked away to Ric.

  “Proof of residency in this country for the past two years, essential for opening a bank account.”

  Ric looked about, as if expecting to find something he had missed. His face was stony. “And that’s the lot? That’s all I’m getting of my fifty, sixty, seventy million dollars?”

/>   “Of course not. When you get abroad, you use the ID material to open a series of bank accounts in your new name…”

  “Robert Smith?” Ric’s voice was chilly.

  “Yes, as in the passport. That will enable me to transfer multiple lump sums, keeping them below a level at which banks might start to take an interest.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I’d say forty or fifty thousand pounds in each account. With these papers there’d be no reason for them to get suspicious.”

  I said, “Don’t banks have to report transactions over a certain limit?”

  “Which film did you get that from, Miss Tallis?” I didn’t reply. Actually, I’d got it from The Sopranos. He smiled, patronizingly. “They do things differently in America.”

  Cello music sounded from the mezzanine. Ric had left his mobile beside my bed. He didn’t make a move, and neither did I. After a moment, when it became clear we were ignoring it, Phil continued.

  “Long-term, the best cover may well be an offshore company, or setting you up as a business—”

  My mobile rang in my pocket. An unfeasibly strident and jaunty tune I’d been meaning to change. I got it out – James – and turned it off. I could feel my face going pink. I kept my eyes down, so I don’t know whether Phil put two and two together.

  “…then you can submit invoices on a regular basis. I’ll start working on it as soon as you’ve left the country.”

  “No.” Ric slapped the papers on the table. “I’m not doing that. I want all of the money, now. In diamonds if necessary, but I’m not going to wait and take it in dribs and drabs. And I’m staying here until I get it.”

  “Please don’t be hasty, Ric. I’ve put a lot of thought and effort into the best way to go. This method may be piecemeal, and slower than you would like, but it’s safe and you’ll get your money. There isn’t a better way – if there was, I’d have found it.”

  “So that’s it?” Ric pushed the papers with a contemptuous finger.

  “Yes. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

  “Well fuck you. In that case, maybe I won’t go abroad.”

  Phil shut his briefcase. “I’m sorry that’s your attitude, after all the trouble I’ve taken.” He pursed his lips, and spoke with deliberation. “Emma’s due to talk to the News of the World on Tuesday. I think I can undertake to convince her not to, if you are out of the country by then.”

  Ric got up slowly, his face darkening, exuding menace. Phil stood too, and moved back a little.

  “So she makes up a rape story, then you use it as a lever to get me out of England? Is that it? Blackmail? Did you put her up to it, Phil?”

  “Of course not. And I think you’d find life a little easier if you faced up to the consequences of your actions. You’re not fooling anyone.” He glanced at me. “Except the incurably naive.”

  I could tell he meant it. I found him a difficult man to assess, but on this occasion his sincerity was obvious; he certainly believed Emma’s account of the rape. And he was brave, saying that, given Ric’s demeanour. Maybe he thought he wouldn’t hit a man in glasses. Myself, I wasn’t so sure. Phil was taller than Ric, but lacked his muscles and street-fighting aggression. Ric stepped up to him. Though his voice was low, every word was distinct.

  “Emma cheated on Bryan with me. Her decision. Get used to it, Phil, because it’s the truth. I didn’t have to persuade her, even. She was gagging for it.”

  For a second Phil was motionless, his face reddening; then he aimed a blow at Ric, inexpertly but with feeling. Ric sidestepped; his left arm came up fast to deflect it, and he struck Phil hard on the face with his right fist. Phil stopped fighting, and put his hands up to protect himself. He’d had enough, but Ric went on hitting him anyway, as if he was a punchbag. Phil bent over and turned sideways, stumbling away. Ric yanked him back by his collar and hit him again, his face cold, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.

  I leaped up. “Stop it!” I grabbed his left arm. “Stop, Ric, you’re hurting him.”

  “He asked for it, the little shit,” he said, not letting go, punching him in the ribs with his free hand. Phil grunted in pain. Ric hit him again.

  I pulled at him with all my strength. “No, Ric, please, don’t…”

  One last smashing blow that sent Phil staggering across the room, doubled-up and gasping for breath, and Ric stopped. He stood, breathing hard, not because of the fight but because of his anger, then shook my hand off his arm, turned and went through the door on to the roof terrace. Dog trotted out of the corner he’d retreated to, and joined him. Phil subsided on the edge of the sofa, holding his side, winded. His nose was bleeding. Blood dripped on his expensive suit. He got out a white handkerchief and spat blood into it.

  I sat beside him. “Are you all right?”

  “Hardly, after that assault,” he said bitterly. “Ric’s an animal. He should be locked up.”

  I walked to the kitchen and got a clean dishcloth, ran it under the cold tap, and wrung it out. I went back to Phil. He took off his glasses with a trembling hand and checked them. I wiped his face. He sat quietly letting me do this, then held his handkerchief to his nose, trying to stem the bleeding, while I dabbed ineffectually at the blood on his lapels. One of them was ripped at the seams where Ric had grabbed it.

  “I think if you took it off I could get the blood out.”

  “Thank you, but don’t bother, Miss Tallis. If you could pass me my briefcase, I’ll leave. I don’t want to stay here longer than I have to. I’d be grateful if you’d walk me to my car.”

  “Okay…”

  We got up, me holding his briefcase and Phil still pressing the handkerchief to his nose. I could tell moving hurt him as he went down the stairs. Phil’s gleaming Audi was parked outside Fox Hollow Yard. As we approached, a traffic warden slipped a parking ticket under the windscreen wiper and walked away. Behind the glass was a label showing parking time paid for. I peered at it.

  “It hasn’t expired! Write in to them and you won’t have to pay it. They’re terrible…”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Phil opened the driver’s door and put the parking ticket on the passenger seat. He eased himself carefully inside, shut the door, wound down the window and looked up at me.

  “You see what he’s like, Miss Tallis? Violent, uncontrolled, vicious. You’re not safe with him. You’re making a big mistake to trust him, an even bigger one if, as I suspect, you’ve allowed yourself to become entangled with him. He’s untrustworthy. I’ll do my best to persuade Emma not to give her story to the press, for her sake, not his. The best thing for everyone, you, me, Emma, is for Ric to go back abroad. Best for him as well. Perhaps now you understand why I think that?”

  I didn’t say anything. He started the car, put it into gear and drove off down the road. I walked slowly back to the flat.

  Ric was still outside, leaning on the railing. I went and stood beside him. He looked at me; no expression, like the day I met him.

  “I wish you hadn’t done that,” I said.

  I thought he wasn’t going to answer, then he said, “He started it.”

  “Ric, you’re not ten years old! You don’t have to hit back just because someone hits you.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe that’s the way you see it. If people hit me, I don’t stand there and take it.”

  “I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the way you went for him.”

  “He’s got my money, Caz. And now he and Emma have cooked up this rape scenario that justifies treating me like dirt. And there’s fuck all I can do about it. He’s got me where he wants me and he knows it.”

  “He believes Emma’s story. He thinks you raped her. Couldn’t you tell?”

  “I could tell he was using it to manipulate me.”

  “Beating him up isn’t going to help.”

  “It helped me.” He turned and looked at me properly. “I’m pissed off, Caz. I had a life, and yeah, I fucked up, but a lot of what I had I liked, and I want it back. You
don’t know how it feels when you write a new song, and know it’s good, and play it at a gig for the first time, and the audience gets it – totally gets it. You’re there in that moment together. That’s what it’s about. Not the money or the fame. You’ve made it happen, it’s yours, you’ve got it right here in your hand.” Ric held out his palm, and closed his fingers. He shook his head impatiently. “I can’t explain, but you feel so alive. Nothing else comes close. That’s what I want, that’s what I’m missing. I haven’t finished yet, I’ve barely begun. I want to be back at the top, and get it right this time. I’m writing again, good stuff, the best I’ve done. It’s getting to me, hanging around doing nothing, staying out of sight. I can’t see an end to it. Phil was the last fucking straw.”

  “I can see it’s frustrating. But Ric, you’re in enough trouble already. You’re wanted for killing Bryan, and if I hadn’t stopped you hitting Phil, you might have killed him, the way you were going.”

  “Him?” His voice was sharp. “You mean in the sense of him too? You think I killed Bryan?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t this morning. But seeing your face while you were attacking Phil…I could imagine…if you were drunk or something…”

  Ric turned, strode to the French windows, into the flat, across to the door and out, slamming it shut. Dog ran over and whined and scratched to follow him. His tail went down and he sat. A minute later I heard the front door slam, then a motorbike start up.

  Desolation swept over me. Only an hour before, nothing could touch me; the whole world shone in a golden light. Now everything felt wrong. I went inside, up to my bedroom and sat on the bed. Ric’s mobile lay beside it. I couldn’t ring him. Supposing he crashed his bike… I thought of Emma weeping, Phil’s face pale and smeared with blood, his hands shaking; Ric’s expression before he left. I wished my mother was still alive, a phone call away, thirty-five minutes on the tube.

  Dog’s claws scratched on the stairs. He jumped on to my lap. I hugged him and laid my cheek on his fur.

  “It’s all right, Dog, don’t you worry, he’ll be back. He’ll come back for you. He wouldn’t go off without you. His guitar’s here, and his phone, and his diamonds… Everything will be okay, I promise.”