4.
Fixed Odds
We meet up in The King’s Head as arranged and the evening is swinging along nicely. By nine o’clock, I’ve completely forgotten about Herb. When I was still sober, I made a point of getting The Banker to agree, regardless of how drunk I got – even in the unlikely event of getting five minutes with Greg on his own – not to allow me to make any mention of scary houses, cries for help, shadows at the window, disposable cameras, large bundles of cash and enigmatic, old men who set little tasks and then mysteriously disappear.
After three pints I’m entertaining the guys with an embellished version of the meeting I had with the girl from Compliance about those missing cheques some weeks ago. The way I tell it now, my accuser was only nineteen, blonde and gorgeous…
She kept crossing and uncrossing her legs and dropped her pen very close to my foot and reached across seductively to pick it up. Her ample bosom jiggled playfully between the open buttons of her crisp white blouse as it brushed against my knee.
‘You’re probably wondering what I’ve asked you here for’, she said with a husky voice and a seductive grin.
The guys are laughing sarcastically, I suspect only partly in contempt of my pathetic daydream. Also to disguise what’s going on in their own underpants.
‘Have you seen my Sexual Harassment Policy?’ She said as she loosened her blouse.
‘Why, is it compulsory?’ I said.
More sniggers from the boys.
‘Oh yes!’ she exclaimed, removing her glasses and unpinning her hair, letting it cascade like a golden tide over her slender frame. ‘And when you’ve done it once, you have to keep doing it.’
‘Really?’ I asked. ‘How many times?’
‘Again and again… and again.’
‘I don’t know if I can.’
‘Oh, you have to.’ She looked into my eyes. ‘I need you to.’
‘But it’s been such a long time…’
‘Come on, don’t be shy,’ she said. ‘I’ll help you. It’s just like riding a bike.’
The beer-fuelled laughter increases.
‘I don’t think I can remember how.’ I looked away, ashamed.
‘Really?’ She seemed to be losing patience.
‘No,’ I said, fiddling with my tie. ‘You seem surprised.’
‘Yes.’ She scowled. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t been doing it regularly.’
‘Why do you say that?’
By now the guys are completely lost in their own worlds and I hold onto the moment long enough for mouths to start opening.
‘Because, according to your signature on the Compliance Record, you’ve read the bloody thing every year since you’ve been here!’ she hissed, throwing the Staff Handbook across the table at me.
Amid the groans and laughter, I can hear slow clapping coming from behind me, and I look around to find the girl from last night in The Feathers, standing with her back to the bar watching us. She’s sneering and applauding sarcastically, and I can feel myself blushing. Not least because several strangers are also staring at me. That and the fact she’s with some guy who’s looking at her in spiteful bemusement. To make it worse, my mates are rubbernecking from her to me, with mixed expressions of confusion and admiration.
‘Thank you. Thank you very much,’ I say in a terrible Elvis voice and turn back to our huddle.
‘You’re in there!’ Jake murmurs, to which there’s conspiratorial muttering from the others. ‘She’s really hot. Do you know her?’
‘No,’ I lie. ‘And it looks like she’s with someone.’ I’m dying to turn around to see if they are still looking, but I don’t dare. I’m also dreading that she’s going to walk over at any moment and make some acerbic comment. Thankfully, I can’t sense anyone approaching from behind.
‘Are you sure she’s not the Compliance girl, checking up on you?’ Harvey chips in, and they all laugh.
‘Yeah, that’s the only trouble with figments of your imagination.’ Tom takes up the baton. ‘When they do come true, you usually end up screwing them up.’
I smirk back at them, unimpressed, suddenly feeling very sober. In the hope of dismissing her unexpected intrusion as an everyday occurrence, I attempt to make a serious point in a hushed voice.
‘She’s obviously one of those feminist types who’s overheard something out of context and thinks I’m a sexist bastard, and can’t resist making a scene to embarrass me.’ I’m wasting my breath. The boys have the bit between their teeth.
‘Why don’t you go and have a chat with her? See if you can convert her from the feminist path,’ says Greg. The guys are getting louder and I can almost feel eyes drilling holes into my back, but I still can’t bring myself to turn around.
‘Yeah, she probably needs a good seeing to, that’s all,’ Tom chimes in.
‘Sure, just like you should have done with the girlie from Compliance. I bet you’d still have a job then,’ says Harvey.
‘I reckon you would have probably been promoted.’ Jake completes the circle, and they all howl at my expense.
The volume of their banter has returned to its earlier boisterous level, and I cringe at the thought of her enjoying all of this. I almost feel sorry for the guy she’s with. I give up trying to contain the situation and turn around to apologise. To my surprise and relief they’ve gone. I’m the only mug in the group with my back to the rest of the pub, and when I look back the guys are all smirking.
‘Don’t worry, she went and sat down on the other side of the pub after you ignored her,’ Greg explains. ‘Her bloke seems well hacked off.’
‘Look at him though, little squirt,’ Harvey adds, straightening his frame to its full five feet, five and three-quarters to see over my shoulder.
‘Must have something going for him though,’ Tom says, leaning forward to rest his bristly chin on Harvey’s head. ‘How’s it feel, Harv, looking down on a bloke like that?’
‘Piss off!’
‘Uh-oh!’ Jake looks past me with raised eyebrows and a hand over his mouth, blatantly failing in any attempt to look inconspicuous. ‘Don’t look now. He’s just got up and walked out with a face like thunder.’
‘What’d I say?’ Harvey says, finding another three inches to get a good look. ‘I knew Mr Bean wouldn’t be able to keep a girl like that for long.’
This time I can’t resist looking around in the direction their bulging eyes are indicating. I’m expecting another wind-up, but the warning not to look is genuine, because as I stare across the pub, sure enough she’s sitting alone, looking straight back at us with a hurt look meant just for me.
‘Now you’ve got to go for it, surely,’ Jake says, and they all mutter in agreement, breaking out into more schoolboy sniggers, prompting me to make a rash decision to even things up a bit.
‘Okay, fellas, put your money where your mouths are. I bet I can pull her with a single line.’ I stun them into silence with misplaced bravado and forge on while I still have their attention. ‘The odds must be against me if the boyfriend’s just stormed out. Chances are she’ll go after him before I even get across the pub. I reckon it’s got to be worth twenty quid from each of you. Who’s in?’
‘So what’s the wager then Mickey?’ Harvey asks, without giving me the chance to respond. ‘How about, we each stump up twenty quid if you succeed in sitting down at her table, spend at least thirty minutes talking to her, and then get back here with her number? I’ll be the official time-keeper.’
‘I’m in,’ Greg says, reaching for his wallet a bit too eagerly. ‘I need to make up some of my losses after the day I’ve had.’
‘Hang on, what’s my down-side risk, Dinger?’ I ask, considering that he’s the expert since swapping investment banking for bookmaking a few years ago. Not such a big career change as you might think.
‘If you fail, we’ll just take you for a tenner each.’ Harvey cuts in, looking around at the rest of the group. ‘Agreed?’
Everyone’s nodding. I’m sure they
think at those odds they’re robbing me blind.
‘Okay guys, I think what I’m hearing is: two to one, yeah?’ I tilt my head and hold up my palms in a show of confidence.
‘Two to one,’ Greg says, signalling in tic-tac with a right-hand touch of his nose, before pointing back at me and adding, ‘Bar the field!’ They all laugh again at my expense.
‘Deal,’ I say, cutting them dead. And without a second thought, I head over to where she’s sitting.
Cheeky Boy
Surprisingly inhibited laughter fades behind me as I stride confidently around the corner of the bar and see Grace looking down in contemplation of the tall glass on the table.
‘Not drinking scotch tonight?’ I say, approaching her quiet corner with a nervous grin.
She looks up, slightly startled, and a brief look of surprise is followed by a sombre smile that suggests her playfulness from earlier has gone, possibly with her companion, who’s left an unfinished pint of lager on the table.
‘Is your friend coming back?’ I persist. I’m already feeling uneasy about my mission, and sense she is in no mood to be chatted up for a bet, if ever a woman was. I can feel the guys watching, so I at least try to gesticulate like I’m delivering a masterful opening line.
‘I doubt it. He’s always been a spoilt little brat who gets his own way.’ Her words ricochet in the confines of the alcove, leaving me feeling very exposed. ‘No, I won’t be seeing him again tonight. Thank God.’
‘Can I sit down?’ I gesture towards the vacated chair. ‘Or would you rather I left you alone?’ I’m still trying to gauge her vibe, when she unexpectedly smiles up at me and pulls the chair out. At that, a completely unconstrained cheer erupts from the other side of the pub.
‘What’s the bet?’ she says, her perceptiveness like a blow to my stomach. She’s looking from them to me and I sit here feeling like a kid caught with his trousers down.
‘I’m sorry. Maybe I should go.’ As I say it I feel pathetic, but she just laughs.
‘Don’t go,’ she says. ‘This could be fun. What’s the deal?’
‘I’m two to one against to sit here for at least half an hour and take back your phone number.’ I’m cringing until I notice the sparkle in her eyes has returned and she seems to be flattered to find herself at the centre of my mates’ attention. She looks back at them, almost relishing the audience.
‘That doesn’t sound like much of a challenge, does it Mickey?’ She shifts seductively in her chair. Once again, this girl has me exactly where she wants me and I’m struggling to keep my cool. At the same time, I find myself becoming intrigued about her, the coincidence of seeing her again, the guy she was with, and how her mood has quickly changed. I also feel a sense of anxious excitement that I haven’t felt for years. Her blatant flirting and innuendo is as unsettling as it is arousing. She’s very sexy, if slightly scary with it; the kind of girl I would have steered clear of when I was younger. Too much to handle. Now I’m older and wiser, perhaps I’m ready for the ride. Okay, maybe just older.
‘I thought we might need to start from the beginning again.’ I look up at her, alluding to how badly things ended last night. I’m being sincere. She still wants to play.
‘So did you get a better offer?’ At least this time she’s smiling, maybe not sweetly, but without any of the venom from before.
‘No, I didn’t.’ I feign disappointment. ‘Truthfully, I didn’t sleep well either. And I really did have an early start today. Sorry, I was a bit strung out last night. There’s been a lot going on.’
‘It felt like you were in a hurry to get away from me.’ She seems genuinely hurt. ‘And after your performance over there and the way you just dismissed me in front of your mates, I’m surprised you’d want to try again – even if it is for a bet.’
‘I know. Look, last night was...’ I sigh, not sure how to finish that particular sentence. ‘As for just now... I’m sorry. I thought you were with someone. And the bet... God, that must look pathetic. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking I’m a complete prat. What if I said I’m not here for the bet?’ I look back across the bar where the guys have re-grouped in a huddle, like a football team at half time, three-nil down and a man sent off, in resignation that the match is already lost. They shouldn’t be so worried; if I gave a damn about the game, I’d be feeling far from confident of making it to full time, let alone getting her name and number in the book.
‘So why are you here?’ She continues to tease, like a cat pawing at a dead mouse.
‘I haven’t met anyone like you before.’ I’m trying to be serious without sounding like a loser. ‘I was flattered last night, I really was. It’s just that I’m a bit out of practice with all this and I must have got cold feet.’
‘That’s sweet,’ she says and seems to mean it. ‘I realise I can be a bit full-on at times,’ she continues, ‘if you’ll excuse the understatement.’
‘Not a word I’d associate with you.’ I dig back gently.
‘Touché!’ she raises her glass and I reciprocate. She finishes her drink and accepts my offer of another. At the bar I order her a Tia Maria and Coke; a far cry from single malt, The Whisky Snob in my head observes. I settle for another pint of Guinness.
As I’m waiting, I feel a sharp dig in my lower back and one of the guys hisses into my ear, ‘Get in there my son.’ I look over my shoulder and the whole group is giving me the thumbs-up. I make sure Grace can’t see me and wink back at them, extending a suggestively curled tongue. They explode into rowdy laughter she can’t have failed to notice.
Warm Front
‘They must be licking their wounds and emptying their wallets by now,’ Grace says as I put the drinks down. She’s looking at her watch and I realise she’s counting down the minutes when she adds, ‘Of course, I might just get up and walk out on you. So you know how it feels.’
‘Fair comment,’ I say. ‘Then again, your bloke might have left his drink, but I don’t think you’re the kind to waste good alcohol.’
‘You’re only half right,’ she says with a wink. ‘As for him, he’s actually my brother.’
‘Oh, right,’ I chirp, failing miserably to hide my relief.
‘Yes, he’s a student. He only ever hangs out with me when he wants something. The rest of the time I hardly see him. And when he is home he’s either playing computer games with his geeky mates or locked in his room. We used to be quite close in the early days...’ her thoughts tail off as she chases ice around her glass with the tip of a manicured French nail, just like Sam’s. The recollection distracts me from challenging her strange turn of phrase and anyway, I sense a knot of tension beginning to form in the brow of her downcast eyes. Then, in an instant, the strain evaporates and she’s back with me and asking about my family.
Before we realise, another twenty-five minutes have passed and I’ve told her about my previous job and my soon-to-be-equally previous wife. She laughs when she realises the skit she overheard earlier was a parody of the last moments of my banking career. When I get to the end, it occurs to me this is the first time I’ve been able to talk about recent events so openly and objectively. I’m unburdened and realise I feel completely at ease talking to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I feel really bad I’ve been giving you such a hard time. No wonder you were a bit edgy when I came along and stuck my big ego into your life yesterday.’
‘No, really, I’m glad you did. You gave me the reality check I needed. I’ve been going round with my head up my arse, blaming everyone else. I’m starting to see I need to take some responsibility for myself and move on,’ I blurt out. She doesn’t respond and I realise the conversation has become a bit too heavy too soon. So I’m grateful when she lifts the mood by looking at her watch again.
‘How much have we won?’ she asks with a triumphant smile.
‘Ah, well, I haven’t got your number yet.’
‘There’s plenty of time for that,’ she says.
‘If you say so.’ I
can’t help looking pleased with myself. ‘Why don’t I get you another drink, just to keep them guessing?’ She smiles her agreement and I head back to the bar with our empty glasses.
I look across to the guys who appear resigned to defeat. Harvey nods back with eyebrows raised, and stretches his thumb and little finger from ear to mouth. I shake my head. No phone number yet, but I’m well into extra time.
Back at the table, Grace has made herself more comfortable, removing the chunky knitted coat she’s kept herself wrapped up in all evening. I’m greeted by a candy-striped Ralph Lauren polo shirt that fits her like a second skin. The narrow bands of alternating pink and cream map the shape of her perfect breasts like the contours of a benevolent weather front. It’s certainly getting warmer in our cosy snug and, following her lead, I take off my jacket and hang it on the back of the chair, without shifting my gaze.
I close my mouth, careful not to drool, and casually raise my eyes back up to her face. I’m sure my lustful appreciation hasn’t gone unnoticed. I’m equally sure that’s exactly the reaction she was hoping for.
‘So tell me something about yourself,’ I ask, trying to keep my concentration, ‘apart from the geeky brother I’ve already met.’
‘What’s there to know?’ She pauses briefly, just for effect. ‘Grace de Manton, age twenty-five, flunked out of school at sixteen with one GCSE, trained as a hairdresser for two years before realising there’s more money in fake tans, so now I spray white people brown for a living. That’s about it really.’
‘Interesting,’ I say, still getting my head around that surname. ‘We’ll come back to some of that later. First, I’m intrigued to know what the real Grace is like.’
‘Fire away,’ she says with a slightly perplexed look in her eyes.
‘Alright.’ I pause briefly, though not for effect. I haven’t really thought this through. Not that it matters; I’m enjoying myself now the pressure is off. ‘Here we go… what’s the nicest thing, the meanest thing and the most outrageous thing you’ve ever done?’
Mickey Take: When a debt goes bad... Page 6
