The Turnaround

by Mark Timlin

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘But she said you were a little prim and proper.’

  ‘Do what?’ I said. ‘Prim? Me?’

  ‘That’s what she said. And easy to tease.’ She laughed out loud. ‘I think she was right.’

  I let her have her fun. ‘Why are you looking for me?’ I asked.

  ‘Because you left a message on my machine. My name’s Juanita O’Caine. I only got back from Paris this morning. I had no idea about Wanda. I didn’t even know she was ill. I haven’t seen her for ages.’ She sounded guilty.

  ‘Me neither,’ I said to make her feel better. ‘She didn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘When I got the message I came as soon as I could. I’m sorry I missed the service.’

  ‘It wasn’t all that…’

  ‘Funerals rarely are.’

  ‘What were you doing?’ I changed the subject.

  ‘What?’

  ‘In Paris.’

  ‘Business. I’m in publishing.’

  ‘Books?’

  ‘It is traditional. Since Caxton, I believe.’

  ‘Are you always so sarcastic?’ I asked. I didn’t mind. I just wanted to know.

  ‘No. I’m on my best behaviour today. Why? Does it bother you?’

  She would have loved it if it did.

  ‘Not in the least.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, and her lips pouted out with the word in a most attractive way. ‘You must have taste.’ She looked up from under long eyelashes and her eyes were the same colour as cornflowers. ‘You’ve also got a lady friend, I believe?’

  ‘Not so’s you’d notice.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re being modest, Nick. Now is this party dry or is there any danger of me getting a drink sometime before the pub shuts?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Gin and tonic, please. A large one. Ice and lemon.’

  I ordered up her drink. She looked round the room. I looked at her looking. When I’d been served I took it over to her. I asked her the name of the publisher she worked for. She told me. It was an old established firm with offices in Bloomsbury. We chatted for a few more minutes without saying much. Eventually she said, ‘Do you know all these people?’ taking in the crowd in the room with a glance.

  ‘None of them really,’ I replied. ‘Well, I’ve said hello to a few. I met Wanda’s ex last week. He’s the longest acquaintance of mine in the room.’

  ‘I’ve never met any of her friends either,’ said Juanita. ‘I think she was very good at compartmentalising her life.’

  ‘Where do you know her from?’ I asked.

  ‘A restaurant. I was having a row with an ex of mine. He wasn’t then. You know the kind of thing. All hissing and loud whispering.’ I nodded. I knew the kind of thing only too well. ‘She was with some bloke at the next table. We got talking. It was a relief after the row, I can tell you. We went to the ladies together and didn’t go back. We ended up at some club being bought champagne by a sheikh.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘It was. Then he expected us to go back to his hotel. You know what I mean?’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘So we played the same trick again. It became our party piece.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘A couple of years. We’d see each other now and again.’ She stopped. ‘Well, we won’t now, will we?’ She stopped again. ‘How did you meet her?’

  ‘I was a cop. She was burgled. We went round.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Another policeman and me. She got us pissed. I kept in touch. I always knew where to lodge a stray cat.’

  ‘The cats,’ she said. ‘What happened to them?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ I said, and came over weepy all of a sudden. It gets you like that, missing people when you least expect it. I excused myself and went to the gents. David and Brian, the entrepreneurs from Docklands, were in there. David was cutting out a line of rocky cocaine on the shelf above the hand basin. Import/export, I thought. Nothing changes. He looked up as I came in.

  ‘Hello, Nick’ he said. ‘Come and have a blow.’

  ‘Any good?’ I asked.

  ‘The best. Straight out of a Bolivian diplomatic bag.’

  ‘You can’t say any better than that.’

  He passed me a rolled-up twenty. I leant forward and took a hit. I thought for a moment my eyeballs were going to pop out.

  ‘Told you so,’ he said.

  When I went back out to the bar I had about eighty quid up my nose and felt no pain. I’d lost my drink so I went to the bar and ordered another. Suddenly I felt a tug at my sleeve. I looked round and saw Sally. She was carrying a tumbler two-thirds full of something that looked like neat Irish whiskey. ‘You deserted me,’ she said.

  ‘I’m a cad,’ I said back. ‘What can I do to get back in your good books?’ The dope and the booze I’d drunk had combined to put me in one of those moods.

  ‘You’re cheerful.’

  ‘That’s what funerals are for, aren’t they?’

  ‘Is that your girlfriend?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The blonde with the beautiful hair.’

  ‘No. Just someone I bumped into, like ships colliding in the night.’

  She laughed. ‘You’re stoned.’

  I placed my hand on heart. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘She’s very attractive,’ said Sally.

  ‘She’s got a wicked tongue.’

  ‘So have I.’ And she stuck hers into her glass lasciviously by way of illustration. I got her point. ‘Do you think I should get contacts?’ she changed the subject again.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Men never make passes.’

  ‘In your case, I doubt that.’

  ‘Is that a pass?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘I like. But not tonight. I’ve got a date.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘Him over there. The tall one.’

  I looked around and saw a good-looking fellow in a dark suit who was swaying to the music and spilling his drink all over the back of his hand.

  ‘He’s a psychiatrist,’ she said.

  ‘He’s very drunk,’ I said.

  ‘I know. I’m going to take advantage of him.’

  ‘Socially or professionally?’ I asked. ‘Physically or cerebrally?’

  ‘Purely physically,’ she replied. ‘But you never know, I might get a free consultation out of it. Do you know how much shrinks charge these days?’

  ‘I’ve always had mine on the National Health,’ I said. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Freud’s.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Never more so. Look, I’m going to catch him before he falls over. Call me soon.’

  ‘I will, Sally. I promise.’

  She wiggled her fingers and pulled a sexy little face behind her bins and went off and snagged him. I watched them as they supported each other out of the room. The place was getting hot. I loosened my tie and followed them out. I turned left, away from the staircase and the direction they’d gone, and walked down the hallway to the fire exit that led out on to the flat roof of the saloon bar. The door was ajar. I pushed it open slowly. Juanita O’Caine was standing on the roof looking out over the lights of London that stretched away towards the river.

  ‘Hello,’ I said softly.

  She spun round. ‘Do you always creep up on people like that?’ There was an edge of anger in her voice.

  ‘I thought perhaps someone had found true love. I didn’t want to disturb them.’

  ‘Is there such a thing as true love?’ she asked bitterly.

  ‘Don’t ask me. I’m no expert.’

  ‘No? You looked to be doing all right with that bimbo in the specs in there.’

  ‘Funny,’ I said. ‘She said almost the same thing about me and you.’

  ‘Shows how much she knows,’ she said dismissively.

  ‘She’s going out with a shrink,’ I said.<
br />
  ‘I thought she looked like she wanted her head examining, the way she was all over you.’

  ‘He’s taking her to the right place,’ I said.

  ‘Where? The insect house at London Zoo?’

  ‘Bitch. Bitch. Bitch,’ I said.

  ‘What do you know?’

  ‘Nothing. That’s why I’m all alone tonight.’ I leant on the parapet of the roof and lit a cigarette. ‘Want one?’ She nodded. I lit one for her. Just like in an old-time movie. Paul Henreid and Bette Davis. ‘But my daughter is coming to visit soon.’

  ‘Wanda told me you were a daddy.’

  ‘Not a very good one, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Better luck next time,’ she said, and it hit home more than I liked.

  ‘You’re a piece of work,’ I said. ‘Do you know that? Some day someone’s going to slap you so hard your teeth will rattle.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I recognise the symptoms.’

  ‘What symptoms?’

  ‘Being so pissed off with yourself you’ve got to hurt someone else, just to feel a bit better.’

  She looked at me closely in the faint light from the city. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That was a terrible thing to say about your daughter.’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘Will you get me another drink? I don’t want to go back in there.’

  A cool breeze was coming from the north and I could smell rain in the air. I was close enough to her almost to feel her shiver. ‘You don’t want to stay here either,’ I said. ‘There’s another room inside. I expect it’s open.’

  I held her arm gently as I led her down another branch of the hall to a small room used for meetings of the local Rotary Club or something. I pushed open the door and switched on the lights. The room was furnished with one big table and half a dozen chairs. ‘Wait here,’ I said. ‘Won’t be long.’

  I went back to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic and a vodka and orange juice. People were dancing now and someone had taken the top off the pool table and there was an energetic game of mixed doubles for drinks going on. The dustman was lying in a pool of spilt drinks and broken glass by the side of an upended table. He must have slid off his seat and taken it with him. No one was paying him a blind bit of attention. I checked his breathing and loosened his tie and left him. Perhaps he liked sleeping on wet carpets.

  I collected the glasses from the barmaid and went out again. When I got back to the smaller room Juanita was sitting on one of the chairs staring into space. ‘Reinforcements,’ I said, and put the glasses down on the table.

  She looked up at me with an expression on her face that would break your heart. ‘You think I’m a cunt, don’t you?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘It’s just that I have trouble expressing my emotions. Wanda understood.’

  ‘She understood a lot.’

  ‘You’re right. I’m going to miss her.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Got any more cigarettes?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure.’ I gave her a Silk Cut and took one for myself. When I lit hers I saw smudgy tear tracks on her face in the light from the flame. She saw that I saw. ‘Not a pretty sight,’ she said.

  ‘Suits me.’

  ‘Don’t give me your old bollocks, Nick. I’ve been propositioned by experts.’

  For the second time that day I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to taste that jammy mouth and find out if it was as soft as it looked. I wanted to nibble on her lips, to lick her teeth and breathe her breath. I leant over and did it. She kissed me back. She tasted the way wet flowers smell. We kissed for a long time. When we stopped I felt dizzy and it wasn’t just the coke and the booze. She took a drag on her cigarette and the smoke wreathed around her face and took on the colour of her hair. She looked like a fucking goddess.

  I sat down opposite her and took a drink.

  ‘Why did you stop?’ she asked.

  I shrugged.

  ‘Principles, Nick? Wanda said you were very hot on principles.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Or maybe I’ve just got too much luggage up here.’ I tapped the side of my temple.

  ‘It was nice,’ she said. ‘A nice moment in a lousy day. My trip to Paris was crap. Nothing went right. The flight home was a nightmare. I get a message to say one of my best friends, who I don’t even know is ill, is dead. I miss the funeral. And now a man I want to kiss me won’t.’

  She started to cry, long deep painful sobs that ripped at her body. I went over and pulled a chair close to hers and sat and held her. It was awkward and uncomfortable to be honest. But it felt good. I kissed her again. She tasted of cigarette smoke. Cigarette smoke and wet flowers. It’s an addictive mix. Try it sometime and see. I touched her hair. It was so fine I could hardly feel it. She bit down on my lip and I tasted blood. I ran my hands down her body. Her breasts were soft and hard at the same time. She was wearing a short black dress and dark tights. She kicked off her shoes. I ran my hand up the inside of her thighs. She parted her legs slightly. She felt hot and damp down there. I pushed the dress up to her waist and hooked my thumbs in the elastic of her tights and pulled them down. She lifted herself off her seat to help me. I pulled them down her legs and she kicked them free.

  She was a natural blonde.

  ‘What happened to your principles?’ she asked.

  ‘I think I checked them at the door.’

  ‘With your luggage?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Why don’t you fuck me then?’ she said. So I did. In that pokey little room on top of the polished table. It was great and all the more exciting for the thought that someone could come in and discover us at any moment.

  When we’d finished I stood back and looked at her. She was lying on top of the table with one bare foot on the floor and one on the seat of a chair. ‘That was nice, Nick,’ she said, and slid one hand into her tangled pubic hair and wound a strand or two around her red finger nails. It nearly drove me crazy. I reached over and pulled her upright and kissed her again. She squirmed out of my arms. ‘You’re fucking my head up, Nick. I don’t usually do this sort of thing.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ I said.

  She bunched up her tights and pants and shoved them into her handbag and pushed her bare feet into her shoes. ‘I think I’m going to go home.’

  ‘Do you want me to come?’

  ‘I don’t think the bloke I live with would like that, do you?’ She grinned. ‘I think Wanda was wrong. I don’t think you’re prim and proper at all. Listen, give me a call. If I’m not there, leave a message. You know how to do that, don’t you? If my boyfriend doesn’t hear it first, I’ll get right back to you.’ She blew me a kiss and left. I sat down and lit another cigarette and finished my drink. It stung my lip where she’d bitten me. If it wasn’t for that I might have thought I’d imagined the whole thing.

  I went back to the bar and she and her coat were gone. I went and got another drink and bumped into the sitcom writer again. We stood and discussed the rolling conspiracy theory on the murder of John Lennon and CIA activity in Central America during the late seventies and early eighties. The geezer was obsessed with dead pop stars. I listened to him droning on and thought about Juanita O’Caine.

  I finally left about midnight. There was no possible way in this world I could drive. I abandoned my car in the car park and got a cab. Bob told me he’d keep an eye on it. I said I’d call back in the morning to pick up the car and my Access card.

  18

  I woke up with a lining of sandpaper between the delicate tissues of my brain and the inside of my skull. At least that’s how it felt every time I moved my head. I was also carless and credit cardless and I had less than two quid in cash.

  I got up and stood under the shower until I felt halfway human, dried myself off and shaved. Whoever it was in the mirror reminded me of someone I used to know. But not well. When I came out of the bathroom Cat was standing on the draining board in the kitchen looking like he w
as just about to commit hara-kiri in the garbage disposal unless he ate. As soon as he saw me, he started screeching. I fed him before I throttled him. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the smell of tinned cat food in the morning.

  Whilst he was gobbling down his Whiskas with Tuna I made tea and started to slowly co-ordinate. I thought about Juanita O’Caine as I dunked my teabag in my mug. Jesus, I didn’t stop thinking about her. That was a very bad sign. She was just a kid. Half my age, give or take. I’d met her once, and we’d had a drunken fuck, and I was thinking about her. I hate that. Especially when it was obvious she didn’t give a bag of beans for me. I hate that even more.

  I didn’t know if I felt guilty about cheating on Fiona. I wasn’t even sure if I had. I didn’t know if you could say we were still an item. Where do you draw the line? Perhaps I felt I was cheating on myself. Christ, but things had changed. When I was married I was the skirt chaser of the world. I felt cheated if I didn’t have something going on the side. Nowadays I was more of a pussycat than a pussy hound.

  I didn’t want to think about it any more. I decided to go and get my car. I ordered a cab on a tab to drive me back to the pub. I gave the driver my two quid as a tip and promised to drop the fare in later. The cab office is next to mine. I’ve done it before.

  During the ride, the cabbie wanted to talk. I didn’t. I had other things to think about.

  I thought about what Wanda had said about me giving up on the Kellerman case. I thought about how she hadn’t given up on herself until she’d had no choice in the matter. And how bravely she’d fought it even then. It made me feel bad. I also thought about the Kellermans’ grave in the cemetery being untended and the dead flowers in the pot. That made me feel even worse somehow. Maybe Wanda had been right. Maybe I was their last chance for peace. I shivered, and it wasn’t just the hangover.

  I thought about Fiona’s offer for me to become her manager. It wasn’t really me, let’s face it. Although it was true that the job would have its advantages, I did best what I did best. At least that’s what I told myself. Even if it did look like I’d lose her if I carried on doing it. I wondered what life would be like without her. Sadly, I came to the conclusion it would not be much different from the way it was now. Depressing thought.