Murder Most Fab

by Julian Clary

  Roy, my driver, told me I needed a holiday. ‘You’re going at it all guns blazing, Sonny Jim. That manager of yours is flogging you too hard and you’re going to be a dead horse before long. Get yourself home, have a nice cup of tea and put your feet up. No more nightclubs till four a.m. for a bit, eh?’

  I was grateful he was looking out for me, but only a week later Catherine got rid of him. ‘He was fiddling the books. Claimed you kept him waiting outside the Savoy for nine and a half hours,’ she declared. ‘I’ve got you an Addison Lee account instead.’

  Taxi drivers, it turned out, were the real barometer of my celebrity standing. They no longer told me how great I was and how I’d made their wives fall about whenever I was on the telly. Instead they peered at me in the rear-view mirror, then didn’t mince their words: ‘You’re losing the plot, mate, if you don’t mind me saying. You want to stop burning the candle at both ends. You used to be a good-looking bloke.’

  One evening Catherine and I were dining in the plush surroundings of a private members’ club called Ambulance — appropriately enough — discussing my career. In fact, we talked of little else, these days. I had no love life to speak of and couldn’t bring myself to talk to her about Tim, who was more like a ghost in my life than a lover.

  We had enjoyed several trips to the toilet and were cruising pleasantly on our usual high of cocaine and champers when suddenly a familiar figure shuffled past our table. I glanced at him, but 1 was used to avoiding the stares of people around me — lest they catch my eye and engage me in conversation — so I looked away. He had almost disappeared when I realized who I had just seen.

  If I’d been sober, I would never have shouted, ‘Sammy!’ but I did. I was sure he had already spotted me — I was, after all, the talk of the restaurant.

  He did a badly acted double-take, then came back to our table. ‘JD, my dear! I didn’t think you’d recognize me!’

  ‘Of course I would. It hasn’t been that long. How are you doing, you old poofter?’ I asked boldly. He stood by my chair and I slapped the top of his expanded tummy gently. We hadn’t met since Georgie’s funeral, and Sammy looked awkward and a little upset. He was not the man I’d first met in Barnes those years ago — he appeared older, sadder, and broken.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ he murmured.

  ‘You’ve made it back from the Isle of Wight, then?’ I said, his awkwardness contagious. ‘Not everyone does, I hear.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘though I kept thinking I was going to fall off the edge.’

  ‘Did you go back to Barnes?’

  ‘No, I sold my flat. I’ve got a place in Hampstead now. Once Georgie was gone, I couldn’t stay in the old place.’

  ‘Such a tragedy,’ I said softly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Lovely, lovely man.’

  ‘What I can’t understand,’ said Sammy, lowering his voice, ‘is why the police never asked me who I thought was responsible. I know I was heavily sedated and distraught with grief for some considerable time, but I always had my suspicions, you know.’

  ‘What were your thoughts on the matter?’ I asked, clutching my steak knife.

  ‘Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it, dear? Case closed. Nobody in a position of authority is interested in what I have to say.’

  ‘I am,’ I said, curious beyond words but trying to sound casual.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve had enough upset to last you a lifetime,’ said Sammy, patting my shoulder comfortingly, ‘what with poor Bernard and those awful Nicaraguan ruffians you had to deal with. I really shouldn’t distress you any further by bringing Georgie’s unsolved murder into the equation. I saw the pictures of you in the paper at Bernard’s memorial service looking so dreadfully … upset. I felt for you, dear boy, I really did. Let us change the subject.’ He looked brightly about the table. ‘So thrilled for all your success. I always knew, during your previous life, that you would make something of yourself one way or the other. I said as much to Georgie. “By hook or by crook,” I said, “our JD — er, Johnny — has an interesting future ahead of him.” Most fortuitous that Bernard helped you on your way, but I could see you were going places.’

  ‘Could you?’ I said politely. ‘And I do hope you have a new arrangement to take care of your needs, these days.’

  ‘Oh, yes, darling. A Bulgarian. I don’t think he’s illegal but he certainly ought to be, if you catch my drift. He lives in, as a matter of fact. I’ve never felt happy sleeping alone after what happened to Georgie. The middle of the night, you see, when it happened. Could have been either of us …’ He trailed off, then dabbed his eyes with the napkin. ‘I really must be going. I’ve been dining with friends but it’s well past my bedtime, and Big Boy, as I call him, will be wondering where I am. Good evening. Lovely to encounter you again so unexpectedly. Nice to meet you, Miss …?‘

  ‘Catherine Baxter,’ said Catherine, without a smile. ‘Likewise.’

  ‘Shall we meet up some time, Sammy?’ I asked. ‘Talk about old times?’

  ‘Oh, JD — I don’t know. There’s been a lot of water under the bridge, hasn’t there? Perhaps we should leave things as they are.’

  I was taken aback. Not many people turned down an opportunity to spend time with me. ‘All right, then,’ I said, a touch coolly.

  ‘Goodbye, dear. Take care.’ Sammy wandered off.

  ‘Well,’ I said to Catherine, ‘there’s a turn-up for the books.’

  ‘He doesn’t look as well as he did at the funeral, does he?’ said Catherine, pushing her lips into a thoughtful pout. ‘Time hasn’t been kind.’

  ‘Perhaps it was my fault,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t the same after Georgie went.’

  Catherine was plainly exasperated. ‘Change the record, darling! How many times do I have to say it? The old queen was dying anyway. Now, let’s change the subject. I’ve had some new contracts through and various financial papers from the accountant. It’s coming up to the end of the tax year and he’s had some ideas about how you could limit your liability. There are various investments and trusts …

  I found business talk desperately boring and let it wash over me while Catherine produced bits of paper for me to sign. My mind was fixed on Sammy and what he’d meant by saying he had his own ideas about who’d killed Georgie. He’d never given me the slightest inkling that he suspected anyone and that worried me, though I wasn’t sure why.

  ‘Well done, Cowboy,’ said Catherine, when I’d signed the final document she’d put in front of me. ‘Now, business over, let’s go and celebrate. Anywhere you fancy?’

  I felt jaded. I remembered what Roy had said about going home to a cup of tea and an early night. Maybe I should try it. I knew that heterosexuals often stayed in for whole evenings. Apparently they ate food covered with breadcrumbs and watched programmes about hospitals. Imagine.

  ‘You disappoint me,’ Catherine said, after I’d told her I thought I’d go home. ‘Never mind. I’m up for it on my own. See you later.’

  Back home, I found the unaccustomed silence strange. When Catherine was here, the television was usually blaring, so she could shout obscenities at the people she considered my rivals.

  I wandered about, thinking of Sammy and Georgie, feeling very alone. I wished Tim would call me. If I ever felt the need of a booty call, it was now — not so I could get some release but so that I could feel his familiar arms, smell the warm, sweet scent of his hair and relish the deep rumble of his voice. The phone rang. I leapt to answer it. Had he psychically picked up my signal and called me? Perhaps Sophie was out of town and we could meet at one of our favourite places. Oh, I did hope so …

  ‘Hello?’ I said.

  ‘I would like to speak to my grandson — Johnny,’ said a haughty voice, with only a slight crack of age in its timbre.

  ‘Grandma Rita?’

  ‘Is that you, Johnny?’

  ‘It certainly is.’ My grandma Rita! To my great shame, I hadn’t been in touch with her for a very long ti
me. She seemed part of a different, distant life and I gave her barely a thought from one month to another. She had written to me when I became famous to say that she was pleased I had found success and that she’d always known that the Lewisham School of Musical Theatre would come good for me in the end, even if I had spent several years working for charity. ‘Grandma, I’m so sorry I haven’t been to see you for so long.’

  ‘Don’t worry, my boy. I understand. You’re young, you’re riding the crest of a wave. You haven’t got time to think about an old woman, and why should you? But I do want to ask you a favour. I’d like you to come to Blackheath. Would you do that?’

  ‘Of course!’ It was on the up of my tongue to ask her to phone Catherine’s assistant, who managed my diary, and get her to find a window, but I brought myself up just in time. ‘When?’

  ‘As soon as you can. How about tomorrow?’

  Something in her tone worried me. She sounded vulnerable, slightly shaky, and that wasn’t like Grandma Rita.

  ‘Of course I can, Grandma. I’d love to see you.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘It’s boiled eggs and anchovies for lunch. Come at one.’

  Her phone went down.

  I stared at mine, contemplating it in the silence of the flat. Why, in all these years, had I never had time for Grandma Rita? I had always seemed to be so terribly busy, and going Out to Blackheath had seemed impossible, just too difficult to fit into my diary. Couldn’t I have put aside half a day a month to visit my wise, wonderful grandmother? Living with Catherine, guilt wasn’t often allowed a look-in, but now it trailed over me like cold seaweed. The hours, days and weeks I’d spent coked up and drunk, dancing, flirting and fucking strangers …

  Grandma Rita was almost my only family and I’d never bothered to go and see her. I’d only been back to Kent a handful of times — I’d always told myself I was too busy (as usual) and that my mother should come to London if she wanted to see me, forgetting how much she hated leaving her home and how much she loathed the city.

  I’ll do better, I resolved. I’ll go and see Grandma Rita tomorrow, then every month from now on. I’ll take her and Mother away on holiday. We’ll have Christmas together. I’ll become a grandson and son they’ll be proud of.

  The house in Blackheath was exactly the same.

  As the butler led the way to the drawing room, I expected to see Grandma Rita sitting there, straight-backed as she presided over a pot of tea, but the room was empty and had about it an air of disuse . We went into the conservatory, where the heat was turned up to boiling. Within seconds I was breathless and sweaty.

  On a large wicker daybed there lay what appeared at first to be a pile of blankets and pillows until I saw in the middle, like a sleeping kitten, an oval white face. It took me a moment to recognize my grandmother.

  ‘Master Johnny,’ said the butler, in a low voice.

  A strange sound came from my grandmother: harsh, rattly and rather frightening. I realized it was a long exhalation. Her eyes opened. The steel blue had gone, replaced by a watery-puddle colour.

  ‘Grandma?’ I said. It was awful to see her like this.

  ‘Johnny, my boy. You’ve come. Good. Sit down.’ She gestured with a movement of her bony wrist that I should take one of the wicker chairs near her bed.

  I kissed her soft, cool cheek and sat down. The butler disappeared, bowing reverently, like a priest before the tabernacle.

  ‘You can see that I’m not well,’ Grandma said. Her voice sounded a little stronger, and I could understand now why I had noticed nothing on the telephone. ‘Your mother is going to come here the day after tomorrow. I have plenty to talk to her about and, no doubt, when I’ve finished, she will not leave. So before that happens, I wanted us to have some time alone.’

  ‘You’re making this all sound very sinister.’ I tried to sound as cheerful as I could, although it was obvious she wasn’t long for this world. How like Grandma Rita to want her affairs in order before the time came.

  Grandma flashed me a kook that reminded me of her old self. ‘I know you’re very grand now, very important, but I’m going to ask you to shut up and listen.

  ‘It must be perfectly obvious to you that I’m dying. I’ve not got long left. Organ failure, the doctors tell me. Apparently my darling kidneys are calling it a day. Then the liver and the heart. It’s a one-out-all-out situation. I wasn’t going to bother anyone —least of all you, with your busy, busy career — I was planning to disappear overnight, like a family grocer from the high street. And, in my experience, other people’s diseases are very boring indeed. The doctors say I have about a month, which is generous of them.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I saw you on television the other night.’

  ‘Oh, Grandma,’ I whispered. I felt utterly bereft, even though she was still lying in front of me, alive.

  Grandma’s account of her illness seemed to have worn her out. She closed her eyes for a few moments. She looked like a frail, wrinkled child, her skin clinging to her cheekbones like a wet airmail envelope wrapped round a Queen Anne chair leg. My eyes filled with tears at the thought of losing her. I had left it too late to be the grandson she might have hoped for. Our tea-time chats, five-star holidays and Christmas dinners would never happen now. Just when I thought she might be asleep, her eyes opened and she looked at me.

  ‘I don’t like to see you sad. That’s not why I called you here. ‘She gave me a grandmotherly smile, although her mouth was dry and her lips were pale.

  ‘I lured you here on the pretence of lunch, but I’ve gone off eating. Maria will bring you a sandwich. Now, about this programme of yours.’

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘No, I did not. People were laughing at you, not with you. Has no one told you?’

  I was taken aback. ‘Is there something wrong with your television set, Grandma? My producers couldn’t be more thrilled. They threw a huge party for me straight afterwards in the green room. If there was something amiss I’m sure they’d tell me. I’m amazed that you should say that.’

  ‘You made a fool of yourself in front of Liza Minnelli! Quite an achievement for anyone, given the competition. I saw you slurring and leaping about, your eyes wandering and your body quivering, and I realized that things are far worse with you than I could ever have imagined.’

  I was surprised to find myself blushing.

  ‘What’s happened to you?’ she went on. ‘What about that lovelorn young man who arrived here at the age of seventeen and asked me what he should do with his life? Is this what he wanted?’

  It wasn’t easy to be cross with someone who wasn’t long for this world, but I had a stab at it. I was understandably indignant.

  ‘If you mean, did he want fame, recognition, money and luxury then, yes, he did! I’ve exceeded my wildest dreams. I’ve done better than I could ever have imagined. People would kill themselves to have what I have!’

  I had raised my voice without meaning to, and she turned up the volume too, croaking rather than rasping. With a piercing stare she said, ‘What do you have? Fame, money and an all-consuming addiction to narcotics?’

  ‘Why, I— I—’ How did she guess? Old ladies weren’t supposed to know about such things.

  She rested her head on the pillow, a shaft of sunlight suddenly illuminating her hair so that I could see how thin it had become. She must have noticed me looking. ‘Like a tinderbox now,’ she said, patting it as of old, but this time a couple of inches closer to her visible skull. ‘Listen to me, Johnny. Your television programme and everything else will be taken away from you in due course if you carry on as you are. There is only so much patience everyone will have with a public figure who is out of their mind. Look at the Queen Mother.’

  ‘No! My audience loves me! My producers are always saying how wonderful I am, how brilliant the show is …”

  ‘And they will go on telling you so until the moment your viewing figures drop, when they will tear up your contract and show you the door.’

 
‘Everybody has a drug habit,’ I said, a little weakly. ‘It’s rather fashionable.‘

  ‘No, Johnny. It’s not a habit, it’s a problem. What is fashionable is to overcome a drug problem, so I advise you to do just that immediately. Before you lose your looks and your sanity.’

  I leant back in my chair, speechless. Maria came in with the tea-things, and laid them out neatly on the little table. A large plate of smoked salmon, egg and cress, and ham and mustard sandwiches, with a generous garnish of healthy-looking salad, was presented to me.

  ‘Have some tea,’ said Grandma Rita. ‘And eat. You need to. Now — there is something else I want to ask you about. Tell me about your friends.’

  ‘My friends?’

  ‘Yes, who are they?’

  ‘Well, I — I’ve got lots of friends.’

  ‘Name them. Name a friend who has nothing to do with you professionally but who is simply your friend for your sake.’

  I thought. Celebrities didn’t count. We were all de facto friends by virtue of our fame, a bit like the way all Labrador owners or MG drivers or real-ale drinkers feel kinship. But I knew plenty of people who weren’t celebrities … Name after name came into my mind, people who were kind, cheerful, polite, delighted to see me, thrilled with my jokes and my small amber phial, always on hand if I wanted someone to party with and yet … they were all connected to me through my work or my fame. But how was I supposed to make friends with people who didn’t know who I was? I’d have to go to deepest, darkest Peru or a high-security mental hospital.

  ‘Catherine!’ I said triumphantly. Of course! How could I forget her? ‘She’s been my friend since I was a student. She’s been with me every step of the way. She shares a flat with me, she knows my secrets and she’s my oldest and best friend.’