Romeo's Tune (1990)

by Timlin, Mark

  She offered me a bite of microwaved pie and giggled as I juggled the hot food into my mouth.

  She’d finished her lunch before my coffee was properly cool and she dragged me off to the parking meter at full speed to rescue the car and ruin my digestion. She tried to convince me to do a ton along the Embankment but I resisted the temptation to show off and proceeded at a more leisurely pace beside the river.

  Poor old Lester got the elbow and she turned the radio to Radio One and bopped her botty to the sound of the latest top 40 breakers. She nearly wet her pants over the new Madonna single and sang along like a little wannabee, which is just what I called her. She was delighted and kept singing wannabee, wannabee as we swung down through Vauxhall and Stockwell. I stopped off at Red Records in Brixton and bought her a copy of the Madonna album and an Ah Ha tape for the Walkman that Louis had bought her for her last birthday. Inside the shop she got into the groove with some heavy reggae and touched a Rasta’s dreadlocks which kind of made her day.

  Yeah, I know. I don’t see her for ages then I buy her presents. It’s all wrong but what could I do?

  We arrived at the office as the day got greyer and Judith forgot all about the music and got ecstatic about the kittens. Their eyes had just opened and they were starting to explore their little world and she watched them feed and Cat allowed her to pet them but got a bit agitated when she tried to pick one up.

  ‘Leave them Judith,’ I said, ‘I think mum’s getting the hump.’

  ‘Will Mummy get the hump?’

  I didn’t understand what she meant and I showed it.

  ‘When?’ I asked mystified.

  ‘When she has her new baby.’

  ‘What new baby?’ I asked.

  ‘My baby brother. At least I hope it’s a brother, then I can take him for walks.’

  ‘Slow down, sugar,’ I said. ‘Slide that one past me again.’

  Then it was her turn to look mystified so I picked her up and sat her on the edge of the desk and said, ‘What baby?’

  ‘Mummy’s pregnant,’ she declared proudly, and I guessed that was definitely the end for Laura and me. I tried to hide my feelings but Judith sussed me out.

  ‘Hasn’t Mummy told you?’ she asked.

  ‘Mummy and I don’t talk very often,’ I explained.

  ‘I know,’ she said sadly. ‘Have I upset you, Daddy?’

  ‘No darling, not you,’ I said.

  ‘Has Mummy upset you?’

  ‘No,’ I lied.

  ‘Daddy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why don’t you get a girl-friend?’

  Now there was a turn up. I’d been debating telling Judith about Jo, but I’d half-decided not to. I felt kind of weird about the whole thing. I wanted to tell Judith and I wanted them to meet, but I was afraid that Judith might not like Jo or even the idea of her daddy having a girlfriend at all. I didn’t really know what I thought to be honest. As far as Judith knew there’d been no one in my life since Laura and I separated. Christ, that was the problem. I didn’t know what she thought. Who knows what a nine-year-old thinks anyway? Probably only another nine-year-old.

  ‘What brought all this on?’ I asked at last.

  ‘I think you should have someone. It would be nice if she was nice.’

  ‘Do you think she wouldn’t be then?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t think so, and if she was nice it would be like having another mummy, and maybe then if Mummy had a little girl, maybe your girl-friend would get me a baby brother.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. ‘What you really want is an alternative baby machine.’

  I think that one stumped her for a minute.

  ‘What I really want,’ she said, ‘is for you to be happy again.’

  I could have cried. ‘Thank you darling,’ I said.

  ‘And Louis says that you only go out with tarts.’ I felt myself break into a sweat of anger. ‘He said that to you?’ I demanded.

  She looked away,

  ‘Judith,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did Louis say that to you?’

  ‘No, I was listening outside the door!’

  I felt the anger drain away and I nearly laughed. ‘You shouldn’t eavesdrop,’ I said. ‘By the way, do you know what a tart is?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘I suppose everyone knows what tarts are?’

  ‘They do at school.’

  What can you do with them?

  ‘Delightful.’ I said.

  ‘I think he’s full of shit anyway.’

  I could hardly believe my ears. ‘Judith,’ I said. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said he’s full of shit,’ she said defiantly, and I loved her for being so loyal.

  ‘Well I wish you wouldn’t,’ I said. But I had to agree with her.

  ‘It’s on TV all the time,’ she said, still defiantly.

  ‘I don’t care.’ I said. ‘I don’t want you swearing.’

  ‘You do, I’ve heard you,’ she said with clear logic.

  ‘I’m not nine years old.’

  ‘Daddy, you couldn’t be,’ she said and put one hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. ‘You’re a daddy.’

  ‘Don’t start all that stuff Judith,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to listen to any of your mind-benders. Or any more swearing for that matter.

  She pulled a face, then got off the desk and put her arms around my waist. ‘I am sorry if I’ve upset you,’ she said.

  ‘Forget it sweetheart,’ I replied. ‘As a matter of fact I have got something to tell you.’

  That’s when I told her about Jo. She seemed to be delighted and I promised that the next time that we had an afternoon together I’d bring Jo along too.

  ‘Is she pretty?’ asked Judith.

  ‘I think so,’ I replied. ‘And by the way don’t mention tarts to her.’

  Judith giggled and I knew what she was going to say next.

  ‘Judith,’ I warned, ‘don’t use other words either.’

  ‘Like what Daddy?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘You know.’

  ‘I know lots of words.’

  ‘I just bet you do,’ I said and kissed her until she squealed.

  We sat around the office for a while longer and Judith talked to Cat and I sat and thought about Laura being pregnant by another man. When Judith said she was thirsty I went to the shop next door and got her a bottle of cherryade out of the cooler. She insisted I had a sip and the stuff was so full of chemicals it tasted like drinking old rubber tyres.

  ‘I don’t know how you can drink that muck,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know how you can drink horrible grown-up beer,’ she replied darkly, so I shut up.

  When she got restless I drove us over to Clapham and we went for a walk across the Common. She played on the swings and roundabouts and had a long chat to a man fishing in the duck pond. We had tea at an old-fashioned café by the clock tower and we gorged on cream cakes and Judith had two cups of hot chocolate and belched most of the way back to Forest Gate until she fell asleep in the car listening to the radio again. I carried her up to the front door and leaned on the bell with my shoulder. Laura answered the door with an apron across her belly that I would never have noticed was swelling unless I’d been told.

  ‘Take her into the lounge,’ she said. Lounge. I hate that word, a real fucking dentist’s word if ever I’ve heard one. When she lived with me it was the sitting-room. I carried Judith through and laid her gently on the sofa. She mumbled in her sleep and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Laura gently disengaged it.

  ‘Did you have a nice afternoon?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ I replied.

  ‘She’s growing up,’ said Laura proudly.

  ‘She sure is. She’s got a way with words, I’ll give her that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Laura suspiciously.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘No, tell me.’

  ‘Forget it,’ I said.r />
  ‘Come on Nick, what did she say?’

  ‘Amongst other things that you’re pregnant.’

  She blushed to the tips of her hair. ‘Well, I am married.’

  ‘Gee whiz,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic, I never thought it suited you.’

  ‘So old Louis is going to be a daddy,’ I went on.

  ‘Nick,’ she warned.

  ‘Just what the world needs, another little dentist.’

  ‘And this is just what I don’t need, you throwing a bloody tantrum!’ she said angrily.

  ‘I wish it had been you that told me, that’s all,’ I said.

  ‘And have to listen to you rant and rave about it? Christ Nick, I know you too well to tell you anything about my marriage.’

  ‘Is that what you call it?’ I asked. ‘And by the way, you might tell good old Louis that little girls have big ears and that it’s none of his business, or yours for that matter, what kind of women I go around with.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘I mean that when Louis was describing my lady friends as tarts, Judith was listening at the keyhole.’

  ‘The little monkey.’

  ‘Who, Judith or Louis?’

  ‘I am truly sorry, Nick. He had no right to say that.’

  ‘At least you still discuss me.’ I said.

  ‘Very rarely,’ she said. Still the same old Laura, never giving anything away.

  ‘When’s it due?’ I asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your baby. What did you think I meant, the next gas bill?’

  ‘The end of August, beginning of September,’ she said.

  ‘Well, congratulations.’

  ‘It might be better if I thought you really meant it.’

  ‘I do mean it,’ I said. ‘At least I know that Louis isn’t a virgin any more.’

  It was a cheap shot but I didn’t care.

  ‘You never change, Nick, do you?’ said Laura. ‘Why don’t you just go?’

  ‘Why don’t I? Come out to the car will you, I bought Judith some records.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘She is my daughter too.’

  ‘Nobody’s denying that.’

  I bent down and kissed Judith’s sleeping head. ‘Say goodbye to her for me,’ I said. ‘Tell her I’ll see her soon.’

  Laura nodded and followed me out to the car where I gave her the bag with Judith’s stuff in it.

  ‘Has she eaten?’ asked Laura.

  ‘Burger, chips, apple pie, milkshakes, a horrible pink drink, two cups of chocolate, a coffee éclair, a cream slice and one of those monster biscuits with candied peel in them.’

  ‘You spoil her, she’ll be sick.’

  I was going to make a crack, but I didn’t. ‘She’s fine,’ I said instead.

  We looked at each other by the light of the street lamp and for one long drawn-out second I thought that if I took her in my arms everything would be just as it used to be. I think she knew because she drew back and held the plastic bag in front of her like a shield.

  ‘She loves you Nick,’ was all she said, and she spun on her heel and half-walked, half-ran back to the house and slammed the door.

  I got into the car and drove south again thinking about my wife – sorry, ex-wife – and what a fool I’d been to ever let her go.

  That evening I told Jo the news. She listened in silence and I wondered if I’d done the right thing or screwed up again. When I was done she held me tight and said nothing, so I was really none the wiser.

  Over the next few days I redoubled my efforts to get into Mogul and see the Divas. I telephoned the offices twenty-five times exactly. At first I tried for an appointment with Diva Senior, then Junior, but I got the brush-off as soon as I mentioned Mark McBain or The Boys. Then I tried the accounts department and even publicity. I had the telephone slammed down on me several times. I’d previously tried writing but got no reply. I couldn’t even get in to see the tea-lady. But the more they stonewalled me, the more convinced I became that McBain had a case. Eventually I decided to pay Mogul Towers a visit.

  20

  I entered the tower block that housed the offices of Mogul Inc. at precisely eleven o’clock on a brittle, cold, late February morning. I was wearing a baggy blue suit, white shirt and understated dark knit tie with black tasselled loafers. My hair-style was short, sharp and to the point and my button-down collar had a perfect roll. I was ready to catch a groove and make my way in the music biz. Cool was my name and game.

  The traffic was heavy on the Euston Road and I could see the reflections of trucks and buses in the mirrored windows of the building as I pushed through the double doors into the foyer. A wave of hot, perfumed air enveloped me. The entrance hall must have been two hundred yards long. It was carpeted in pale green, and the only furniture was a huge desk behind which sat a uniformed attendant, a long, uncomfortable-looking dark green sofa and a massive cheese plant sitting in a stone tub. On the left-hand side of the foyer, mounted on a wall was a matt black directory board easily twenty foot square. A list of companies based in the building was picked out in silver letters.

  In the centre of the hall was a circular staircase that vanished up towards the first floor. It was finished in chrome with dimpled black rubber treads. A car could have been driven up the steps, they were so wide. Two lift doors were set snugly in the wall directly behind the desk. I stopped to read the company register under the watchful eye of the security man. Mogul Inc. was situated on the eighteenth, nineteenth and twentieth floors.

  I scanned the names of the other businesses. They were mostly film and record companies, with some advertising and publishing firms sprinkled about for seasoning. A lot of the names were familiar.

  The commissionaire got slowly to his feet and walked towards me. I was very conscious of the weight of the Magnum under my left arm, and glad of the bagginess of my jacket that hid it.

  ‘Can I help you sir?’ the commissionaire asked politely. The politeness didn’t hide the underlying aggression of his appearance. He was six-foot-three or -four inches tall and, as far as I could make out, six-foot-three or -four inches wide.

  ‘Good morning,’ I said pleasantly. ‘I’ve got an appointment with Mister Taylor of Savage Partners.’

  ‘I’ll call up for you,’ said the uniformed man. ‘What name shall I say?’

  ‘Collins,’ I said, ‘Tom Collins. ‘ It was the first name that came into my head. He looked at me suspiciously, but picked up the phone nevertheless. ‘Take a seat,’ he said.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I replied. ‘I’m a little late already.’

  I went and stood by his desk as he began to flick through a telephone directory. Savage Partners was one of the names on the board but it would be a hell of a coincidence if there was a Mister Taylor working there. I wandered closer to the lift doors and saw that the right-hand lift was standing on the ground floor. Suddenly a door that I hadn’t noticed before, set flush into the back wall next to the lifts burst open and a tiny black girl carrying a pile of papers in both arms shot through. She made straight for the lifts.

  ‘Allow me,’ I said, and walked over and pressed the lift call button. The doors to the right-hand lift opened immediately. I kept the button pressed down as she entered.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, flashing a toothy smile. The uniformed man twisted in his seat, phone in hand. The black girl pushed a floor button and just as the doors closed I stepped in beside her.

  ‘Which floor?’ she asked as the express lift rocketed upwards.

  ‘Twenty,’ I said without thinking. Bad mistake, Nick.

  ‘Blimey!’ the girl exclaimed. ‘You’re honoured aren’t you?’

  I smiled a reply. She got out at the fifteenth floor, and the lift hurled me even further upwards.

  The floor indicator inside the lift blinked on to twenty and the car slammed to a stomach-wrenching halt. The doors hummed open and I stepped into the presidential suite of Mogu
l Inc.

  If I’d thought the entrance hall downstairs was imposing, then this was the real thing. The reception room I found myself in was perfectly circular in shape. The curves to my right and left were made of tinted glass, through which was visible the panorama of London Town. The lift shaft itself stood proud of the walls like a huge chrome time machine.

  On the far side of the room were giant mahogany doors that led, I presumed, to the executive offices. The carpet I stood upon was black and showed not a trace of lint. The pile was so deep it could have hidden a small dog. Facing me was a massive ebony desk, behind which, perched on a black leather executive chair, sat the most stunning blonde I had ever seen. Her hair was like white silk and fell in a perfect sweep to her shoulders. The desk was empty but for a cordless telephone, pure white in colour which matched her hair to perfection. When I arrived on the floor she wasn’t filing her nails or reading a magazine. She wasn’t doing anything but waiting to greet visitors to Mogul Inc., both welcome and unwelcome. She didn’t look in the least surprised to see me.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said. I had to admit that the staff were very polite.

  ‘Hello.’ I said.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked. At least no alarm bells were ringing yet.

  ‘I’d like to see Mister Diva,’ I said.

  ‘Junior or senior?’

  ‘Senior.’

  She reached for the telephone with a perfectly manicured hand, tipped with crimson.

  ‘You are?’ she enquired.

  ‘My name is Sharman, Nick Sharman.’

  ‘What time is your appointment?’

  ‘I don’t have one,’ I said.

  Her hand hesitated and she looked puzzled. ‘No appointment,’ she said. ‘How did you get past the eighteenth floor?’

  ‘I came from the ground.’

  ‘That damned man,’ she snapped, suddenly not so pleasant. Her left hand disappeared under the desk. The mahogany doors at the far end of the room opened immediately and a man who appeared to be the commissionaire’s twin entered the reception area. This brick wall, however, was wearing a superbly tailored double-breasted suit in charcoal flannel. The blonde spun her leather chair round. It was so expensive it didn’t even creak.