Bret Vincent is Dead

by Tanith Morse

  ‘Look, I don’t know, okay? We’re just taking things one step at a time.’

  ‘What’s he like in bed?’

  ‘How can you ask me that!’

  ‘Of course I can,’ Beth smirked. ‘I am you’re sister after all. We’re not supposed to have secrets from each other. Besides, I tell you about my sex life, don’t I?’

  ‘Or lack of it,’ I quipped.

  ‘Naughty, naughty.’ She snorted with laughter. ‘Well, come on then. Out with it. I want all the gory details. Every last spit, grunt and thrust.’

  ‘Well, actually, we haven’t done anything yet.’

  ‘What? Not even heavy petting?’

  ‘Nothing. Not even a kiss.’

  ‘You must be joking! He’s not gay is he?’

  ‘No. That is, I don’t think he is.’ I thought of the Screenface foundation in his cupboard, and then hastily pushed the image from my mind.

  ‘Impotent?’

  ‘Oh God, stop!’ I smiled despite myself. ‘Maybe he just likes taking things slowly. He holds my hand, which is nice. I think it’s all kind of refreshing, really. It shows that he respects me.’

  ‘Darling, there’s respect and then there’s just plain weird. Come on, neither of you are exactly spring chickens are you? Who in this day and age dates a woman for three months without getting her knickers off? It all sounds a bit strange to me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think you should worry about it. I’m not bothered.’

  ‘Well, maybe you should be. Darling, I honestly don’t know how you cope. You must be gagging for a good shag. Now, my advice to you is this: when David gets back, take him out, put on something slinky and tell him you want him, can’t live without him. Then, slip into the sexiest Ann Summers underwear you can find and shag his brains out.’

  I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips. Beth was too much sometimes.

  ‘Don’t laugh; I’m being serious, Mads. Your body needs some serious attention or you’ll spontaneously combust. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  After we’d finished our coffees, Beth took me shopping – with my money of course. We went to Ann Summers, and she picked out a number of racy looking bras and knickers sets. Some of them were positively indecent, but my sister assured me that this was what was required to turn me into a consummate sex goddess.

  ‘Beth, you’ve gone too far,’ I giggled, flexing what looked like a frilly size 16 elastic band between my fingers. ‘I mean, this is totally obscene. Can you seriously imagine me in these?’

  ‘The more obscene the better,’ Beth trilled. ‘Goodness Mads, you really do need to loosen up. When David gets back, you’ve got to pull out all the stops. You’re over forty so there’s no second chances in this game. You’re competing with all those supple-bodied twenty-something’s he’s been seeing in France. When you reach our age, it’s all about making an impact.’

  I narrowed my eyes. I still wasn’t convinced that this ropey underwear was going to make quite the sort of impact I had in mind.

  ‘Right, try these on,’ Beth said, shoving a fistful of double E push-up bras into my arms. ‘These will give you maximum cleavage.’

  ‘But don’t you think it’s all a bit much?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, do you really think I need extra push-up? Aren’t I big enough already?’

  Beth shot me a withering look. ‘Darling, it’s all about maximising your potential. Shyness is a terrible affliction. Trust me, your tatas are going to be integral in this mating ritual. They’re like your war paint, your battle cry. You need them on full display, like melons on a orangutan.’

  I raised my eyebrows. Tatas? Orangutans? Where the heck did Beth get these words from? The sales-assistant stifled a smirk. My ears burned with embarrassment. I felt like a naughty schoolgirl being shunted around by her mother in search of her first sports bra.

  By the time we had finished in Ann Summers, I had bought two new bra and knickers sets and something pink and fluffy that Beth insisted was a chemise. To me it looked more like a clump of lumpy candyfloss.

  Next, we went to Topshop – somewhere I rarely shopped because I found the styles a little too young for my tastes and the sizes often came up small. Still, Beth managed to find me a nice pair of leather ankle boots and some costume jewellery. I looked enviously at all the rails of sexy dresses and wished to God I were two sizes smaller. Apart from M&S, the only other places I shopped was New Look and Evans, but when it came to sexy, their clothes weren’t saying much. I thought it was a scandal that most of the clothes I actually liked would never fit me.

  We left Topshop laden with shopping bags (Beth just couldn’t resist buying herself an identical pair of my boots, with my card of course). When we got outside, she paused, ran her fingers through her hair. ‘You know what – if you really want sexy clothing, I know this wonderful little boutique in New Bond Street that does fantastic plus-sized dresses.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘New Bond Street? That’s going to be really pricey, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not necessarily. It depends on your budget. How much are you looking to spend?’

  ‘A couple of hundred. But I’d want a whole new wardrobe for that.’

  Beth nodded enthusiastically. ‘I think we should be able to find you something. Come on, let’s get the Tube . . .’

  When I got home that evening I had five new dresses, three tops and a skirt. I’d ended up spending more than I’d planned to, but in return I’d got a beautiful selection of clothing. The day had been a success and I was happy.

  Next morning I decided to wear one of my new dresses to work: a brown knee-length dress with a corseted waist that accentuated my curves spectacularly and gave me that ‘60s hourglass figure I’d always craved. So this was how Monroe and Loren achieved those wonderful coca-cola bottle shapes. The secret was in the upholstery! ‘Do you think those women were born with tiny waists?’ Beth used to say. ‘No! They were curvy girls who just wore the right kind of underwear.’ So all those times when I’d crash dieted and endured the slow torture that is the cabbage soup plan, I could have saved myself the trouble by buying a stiff undergarment!

  I noticed the impact of my new appearance the moment I arrived at work and took off my coat. As I fiddled with my locker, Jaiman walked past me and had to do a double take. I closed my locker and wiggled towards the staffroom (actually the wiggling was more to do with the fact that my new boots were killing me rather than any premeditated attempt to be sexy). My heaving bosoms and bouncing derriere seemed to cast a spell over Jaiman that was priceless. He just sort of stood there staring at me like a lustful little puppy dog. Then, with a perplexed frown, he approached me at the water cooler.

  ‘Maddy, you look really different today. Have you had something done?’

  ‘I had a haircut.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ his voice trailed off. ‘Well, er, it looks good. Really good.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I grinned. I turned off the water tap.

  Jaiman fiddled with his pockets and made a hasty exit.

  I couldn’t stop smiling.

  When I entered the staffroom all eyes were on me, like I was exuding a ray of light.

  ‘Oh wow!’ Sabina gasped. ‘You look amazing, Maddy. I almost didn’t recognise you. I love the hair.’

  ‘You’re a lickle rude gal,’ Rodney laughed, giving me a high-five.

  I nodded my head, smiled.

  I wasn’t very good at taking compliments in public. There were murmurs of approval all round, except from Margery, who hinted that I looked like I was dressed for a wedding. On the whole, though, I took great encouragement from the positive way everyone had responded. Now all I had to do was have the same effect on David.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I got back to Blackwall at just after six. As I approached Falcon Mews in the failing light, I recognised the figure of one of my neighbours up ahead - the elderly lady who lived at number two. Instinctiv
ely, I slowed down, hoping to avoid an awkward encounter. If I waited long enough, she’d go in before me and I could make a sneaky entrance.

  As the woman stood looking for her keys, one of her shopping bags burst open, sending two cans of baked beans and a couple of vegetables sprawling onto the pavement. The poor thing then had a terrible time trying to pick everything up. Clearly, she needed my assistance, so I put aside my reservations and did my best impression of Supergirl.

  Racing forward, I picked up one of the cans and handed it to her.

  ‘Oh, thanks ever so much, my dear. That’s very kind of you.’

  ‘No problem.’ I hesitated, looking at her properly for the first time. She a long, tired face with strikingly vivacious eyes. A nice face, I thought. Very well preserved.

  Gathering up the rest of the fallen shopping in my arms, I helped her carry it up to her flat. When we reached her door, she invited me in for a cup of tea. I paused, deliberating. Then I saw a flash of desperation on her face, a flash of loneliness that reminded me of myself. So I agreed. One cup of tea wouldn’t hurt.

  She led me into her grubby-looking living room, which, despite an overwhelming dose of lavender air freshener, had that cloying smell of the elderly about it: a potent mix of antiseptic and piss. I sat on the threadbare sofa and listened to her clattering around with teacups in the kitchen.

  I gazed around the room. There were photos of ‘60s singers above the mantelpiece: Johnny Mathis, Tom Jones, Shirley Bassey. By the far wall sat an enormous teddy bear with the words ‘I love you Gran’ emblazoned on it.

  So, I thought, this was what I potentially had waiting for me if things with David didn’t work out. A lonely old age with the occasional present or phone call from a loved one to comfort me. Those sorts of gestures from family never quite compensated for the absence of steady companionship, did they? They were no substitute for stimulating conversation or the warmth of someone to share your bed with.

  I smiled bitterly. Told myself to shut up. I was being incredibly unfair to the woman. I didn’t know anything about her. For all I knew she could have a husband. For all I knew she could have friends. An active social life. But somehow, I didn’t think so.

  ‘I thought you might like some biscuits,’ she beamed, returning with a pot of tea and a plate of chocolate digestives.

  ‘Thank you very much.’ I took a bite out of one. Winced. It tasted soft and stale. Gingerly, I placed the half-eaten biscuit back on the plate and hoped that she wouldn’t notice.

  ‘So what’s your name then, love? I’m Grace.’

  ‘Maddy.’

  ‘My cousin from Eastbourne’s called Maddy. Lovely name.’

  I nodded vacantly.

  Now that the tea was poured, I found that I had nothing to say. Grace, however, more than compensated for this. For twenty minutes straight, she talked non-stop about her struggles to find a job, complained about how difficult it was at her time of life and how she had considered lying about her age on her CV.

  ‘Honestly Maddy, the moment they see you’re over sixty, they think you’re past it. I reckon I’ve still got at least another ten good years in me, if only someone will have me. I’ve got to find something soon. I hate being stuck at home all the time. It’s so bloody boring. I want to get a job, keep myself busy.’

  I was touched by how candid she was being with me, a total stranger. I got the feeling there were things she just needed to get off her chest. I could have been anyone, really.

  Sweet as she was though, I felt an increasing need to get away. In my head I started to construct an elaborate excuse. Perhaps I could pretend to get a phone call or something.

  ‘I haven’t seen your friend about recently. Is he on holiday?’

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘Yeah, you know, the bloke who lives at number six with the glasses. I always used to see the two of you together.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ She meant David. ‘Um, yeah, he’s in France at the moment, on business.’

  Grace took a cautious sip of her tea, watched me over the rim of her cup. Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘He sure is a queer one, isn’t he?’

  ‘Queer?’

  ‘Yeah, very cloak and dagger.’

  I looked at her in bewilderment. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he’s a bit eccentric, isn’t he? I mean, what kind of person moves house at two o’clock in the morning?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘That night he moved here, I couldn’t sleep cos there were all these funny flashing lights outside my window. Then I looked downstairs and saw this black removal van pull up outside. Actually, it looked more like a hearse than a removal van. There was this funny tall man dressed in a dark suit with sunglasses. I mean, who on earth wears sunglasses in the middle of the night? He was like the blinking mafia or something.’

  I put down my teacup and frowned. ‘Are you sure you weren’t mistaken? It was dark, Grace. Perhaps you couldn’t see properly.’

  ‘Look love, I might be old but I’m not blind. I’m telling you, that friend of yours knows some dodgy characters.’

  I was silent for a minute. It indeed sounded strange. But what did it all amount to? A removal van and some men dressed in dark glasses. What was so controversial about that? I decided that Grace must have misread the situation. Yes, she was probably being hysterical over nothing. Besides, there wasn’t a law against moving house in the middle of the night, was there? Perhaps David had wanted to avoid daytime traffic. Or perhaps he had wanted to stay low-key to avoid the prying eyes of old busybodies like Grace.

  ‘Would you like some more tea dear?’ she asked, motioning towards my half-empty cup.

  ‘Er, no thanks. I’ve got to be going.’ I stood up and shook her hand politely. ‘Well it was nice getting better acquainted with you Grace. Thanks for the tea and biscuits.’

  ‘Likewise. Please feel free to drop in anytime.’

  I nodded and made for the door.

  ‘Oh, and Maddy. Remember what I said. Keep your wits about you. Your friend knows some very strange people.’

  I shook my head, smiled, then opened the front door and made my way upstairs. As I stood outside fumbling for my keys I started thinking again about the strange man I’d seen David talking to at the salsa club. He fit the description that Grace had given me of the man she had seen outside with the removal van. Was David in some kind of trouble? Was that the real reason he’d left for France so abruptly? I started to think that perhaps I didn’t know David as well as I thought I did. How much did I really know about him anyway? I’d never met any of his friends or family. Everything I knew was based on what he’d told me.

  Get it together Maddy, I thought. This is real life, not the Twilight Zone.

  * * *

  However, my descent into the Twilight Zonecontinued the next day when William invited himself to lunch with me. I was just getting in the lift when he sort of jammed his foot in the door to stop me leaving without him.

  ‘Oops, just made it,’ he breathed, making loud gasping noises, like he’d just run a marathon to catch up with me. I wrinkled my nose. He smelled of Brut aftershave. Never one of my favourites.

  The short journey from the fourth floor to ground seemed to last forever. I could feel William’s eyes on me, studying me like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to. It was only as the doors reopened and I alighted into the foyer that he made his intentions clear.

  ‘What are you doing for lunch, Maddy?’

  ‘Probably just going to pick up a coffee from the Café.’

  ‘Mind if I tag along?’

  Mind? Yes, I minded awfully, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. So I smiled blandly and allowed him to follow me across the road to the Italian coffee shop frequented by everyone from our office.

  We queued up in silence as we waited to be served. All around, the air was filled with the heavenly smell of freshly grounded coffee. William was standing so close to me that I could feel his b
reath fanning my neck. I squirmed. Why on earth was he inflicting his irksome presence on me like this? If I’d been a different sort of woman, I’d have told him where to go.

  ‘Those cakes look nice, don’t they?’ he remarked, pointing to some Danish pastries on the counter.

  ‘Yeah they do look good, but I’m on a diet,’ I replied tersely.

  ‘A diet? Surely not? You don’t need to diet Maddy.’

  I gritted my teeth. A compliment coming from William was just plain creepy. I wondered where this was all heading.

  Thankfully, the lady behind the till interrupted us by asking what we wanted. I ordered a plain filter coffee and he a Danish pastry with a skinny latte. As I opened my wallet to pay, he placed his hand over it and settled the bill for both of us.

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ I blushed.

  ‘No problem. Let’s find somewhere to sit, shall we?’ He picked up the tray from the counter and headed towards a table. ‘Oh, could you pick me up two sugars, Maddy?’ he called over his shoulder.

  He set the tray down on the table and politely pulled out my chair for me. He was behaving like a perfect gent. But why? William was not known for his cordiality.

  ‘So Maddy,’ he said, after we’d endured mutual silence for a couple of minutes, ‘how’s it been on the phones today? Have you had any difficult customers?’

  I shook my head. ‘They’re all difficult, William. No one likes getting parking tickets, do they?’

  ‘No, I suppose not. But we’re only doing our job. People shouldn’t take it personally. I mean, at the end of the day, if they were driving properly in the first place, then they wouldn’t get a ticket. It’s their own bloody fault. No point them getting upset over it.’

  I gazed into the middle distance, pretending to focus on the busy street outside, anything to avoid making eye contact with him. There was something decidedly indecent about the way he was so fixated on my cleavage. Who’s having a mid-life crisis now? I thought.

  ‘So what did you think about Angela’s announcement?’

  I shrugged. ‘What can I say? We knew it was going to happen so I wasn’t really surprised. The government’s making cuts everywhere. I don’t take it personally.’