by Sharn Hutton
“Yes.”
“Jerry, seriously? You’ve just come out of a coma and you’re making business appointments?”
“Well… yes, it’s important to me Ed.”
“I can see that, Jerry! No-one could say you’re not committed!” Ed laughed down the line. “Jerry, I’d love to meet up, but take your time, OK? Bring your legal guy Adam too. I think we could do something great together.”
“That would be brilliant, Ed.”
“Speak to Adam, work out a date then call my secretary and get her to slot you in.”
“Thanks, Ed. I’m looking forward to it.”
Jerry flopped back into his seat and gulped in a breath. Thank God: he still had a chance. There was a lot of work to do though and research came first. He needed to get the cogs turning at the office and then talk dates with Adam.
Unusually, the car started first time and Jerry nodded in appreciation, wound down the window and turned up the stereo. Even the fickle Fiat was getting onside. He roared to the corner and relished the rush of fresh air that sent goose-bumps up his arms. Cool oxygen tingled in his lungs: it was good to be alive.
EIGHTY-EIGHT
SPINK WALKED THE CHEQUERBOARD GAUNTLET of carpet that ran the length of the main office. Slowly, deliberately, he strolled through their watching eyes. Whispering heads separated as he approached, and drifted apart. They didn’t want to give him a reason to turn on them, but they were too weak to control their curiosity. He kept his expression placid, measured. Inside the venom boiled.
At length he reached his office and toyed with leaving the door open: he didn’t want them to relax enough to start talking about him again. It was better to keep them in his line of sight so he could pick up vibrations in his web; let them know that he was listening and ready to pounce. It was a shame that he had calls to make, private matters to attend to, creditors to appease. He clicked the door closed.
Phyllis hadn’t been surprised to see Mango listed on his new business pending. “Oh, another one,” she’d said before turning her head away. Spink was sure she was hiding something, that she was on team Adler. Spink picked at his teeth and hoiked out some gristle from last night’s dinner.
The flowers in Adler’s office hadn’t gone unnoticed either. Bloody little brown-noser: just cheated death, but still at work. ‘Aren’t I the fucking hero,’ Spink sneered to himself, turning his back on the door.
Anyone would think he’d saved the world, not fallen over pissed and cracked his head open, stupid twat. Just goes to show the idiocy of the populus at large. They’d be sorry that they’d picked the wrong side when Adler was history, especially the junior staff: the ones who thought that they were oh so cool. They’d soon forget what weekends were and where they lived. If they wanted to keep their miserable little jobs, that was.
Soon enough, he’d be the victor and without Adler putting her off, he’d have sweet Gemma and her pert little breasts in his office on a regular basis. Sure, she was frightened of him, but she wouldn’t say no. She could feel his power, his strength of will. She’d do what he said. Who knew where it might lead? He rubbed his thighs and savoured the potential.
Jerry couldn’t beat Mango Worldwide. He was thrashing about in Spink’s web and making a mess, but ultimately he was finished. Let Jerry think that he’d won, that would make crushing him all the sweeter. It was a pity there was nothing more he could do until the contract was ready, but he didn’t mind time to relax. He’d just lurk out of sight and wait for his moment.
EIGHTY-NINE
“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?”
Jerry sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“You no call. You just leave me in the dark. Leave me explaining to my parents.” Isabell’s voice went up an octave and Jerry held the phone away from his ear. “…and I don’t know. I don’t know nothing. Ibbie! Where is you husband? Ibbie! Is you husband run away? Ibbie! Is you husband dead? Ibbie! Ibbie! I don’t know! I don’t know!”
Jerry had been expecting her call. Since his return from Las Vegas, Isabell’s pretence was no longer on his agenda. It had only been a matter of time before she called him on it.
“There was an accident. I got lost in the hospital system, but I’m OK now, I’m back.” He tried to keep his voice even, placid. He wasn’t going to fight with her.
“You could have called. You could have told me. Mama and Papa. Jerry, I needed you.” Her voice tailed off.
Jerry steeled his nerve. “I’m not going to be able to come over anymore, Isabell. My priorities are with Rach and Elaina now.” He braced himself for the inevitable backlash. To his surprise Isabell sighed down the line.
“Oh, Jerry.” She sniffed, her voice cracking. “I don’t know how to be without you.”
This wasn’t standard Isabell fare. Jerry kicked off his shoes and stretched socked feet into the puddle of sun on his office floor.
She went on in a whisper, “I could always think of a reason. There was always a way.” Then she lapsed into silence.
Jerry spoke softly. “It’s been years, Isabell. It’s time to move on.”
She was so quiet that Jerry strained to hear. “Is just this place, so cold and rainy and dreary. I have no-one, Jerry. You had to still be part of my life because, well, I thought there was a way back, that nothing was forever. Now I see I have lost you. You had to die for me to see you were already gone.”
“I’m not dead.”
“I know,” she snapped, the tenderness concluded, “Is finished, that’s all. My parents are going home early. Would you take us to the airport? You know, to say goodbye?”
Jerry sighed. Was she still asking him to pretend? “Isabell, I don’t think so.” The line crackled, but no-one spoke. Eventually Jerry broke the silence.
“Why don’t you take a break? A little holiday would do you good. Go home with your parents. See how it feels. You never know, Isabell, maybe it’s home that you need.”
“I don’t know…”
“Just think about it. I could drop you all, if you want. I’ve got to go, OK, but think about it. I’ll talk to you later.”
Jerry hung up. He didn’t feel the harassed panic that usually followed a conversation with Isabell. She’d revealed a chink of humanity that put her past behaviour into perspective. She needed support and love just like everyone else. She wasn’t going to get it from him. Finally, she was going to stop fighting for it.
Jerry admired the jolly bunch of yellow gerbera that stood in a cellophane pod of water on his desk, and plucked the card from its centre. It said ‘Welcome back from the dead. John Locksley and the team.’
Jerry smiled. He’d take them home for Rach.
NINETY
JERRY DRAGGED THE FINAL CASE FROM THE FIAT’S BOOT and set Domitila’s bulging beauty bag on top. He couldn’t imagine what she did with all this stuff. If the results were anything to go by, she was eating it.
“Let’s go,” he said, not bothering to lock the car. Maybe someone would do him a favour and steal it. The four of them headed for Departures, Domitila’s huge and ferociously wobbling bottom leading the way. Jerry brought up the rear with Arlo, trailing luggage and averting his eyes.
“How is head?” enquired Arlo.
“Oh, not so bad,” he said with a shrug.
Arlo dawdled, falling farther and farther behind the women with every short step. He cleared his throat.
“You know, Isabell is not so clever as she thinks.”
“Oh?”
“She try to change the channel, hide the paper, but I got eyes.” He pointed to his right one just to emphasise the fact. “I am no stupid.”
Jerry suspected that he knew where this was going.
“I know you got a wife and child and I know you wife is no Isabell.” He sucked in his chin and looked at Jerry with accusing eyes.”
“Ah.”
“You got divorce.”
“Yeah.” Jerry felt bad for him, hoped he wasn’t too hurt. “Has she told you?”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Jerry replied.
Arlo narrowed his eyes, but a smile crept through. Chuckling, he slapped Jerry on the shoulder, pushing him off course. “You no wrong there! You no wrong.” Both their eyes drifted to the enormous bottom rippling ahead and they lapsed back into silence.
“You know,” said Arlo after a time, “I think you are OK, Jerry. This business, this injury,” he waved his hand at Jerry’s head, “I think it might have knocked some sense to you at last.” He smiled, “I can no imagine you hanging off the wall outside Isabell’s bedroom window now.”
NINETY-ONE
THE LINE FOR THE IBERIA 7912 WAS SOME TWENTY PEOPLE DEEP, but Isabell didn’t mind the wait. She’d already waited two years to admit her life was changing, what difference would half an hour more make now?
Mama squeezed her hand and she gazed ahead into the pool of sunlight that bathed the waiting passengers a dozen steps ahead. She wanted to run into it, shove the strangers aside and jump deliriously in its rays. Suddenly the sun was a drug she’d been denied and craved. She shuffled from foot to foot and scratched at her arm until Mama laid a hand over hers. “Is OK, Ibbie.”
Isabell blew out a long breath. Yes, Mama would help her. She’d kept her suitcase small and non-committal, but no doubt about it, it would be nice to see the rest of the family: Sancho and Manola, Roberto and Alba. It had been too long.
She’d look up the widow Maria too. Now that she understood what it was to lose your husband, perhaps she could be a friendly ear and contribute something positive for a change.
How would they react to her, the cousins and the people about town? Mama had promised to handle it. She’d said she’d handle Papa too. Isabell picked at her manicure. Would she be the wounded abandoned wife or the scarlet whore that Cousin Angelina had trail-blazed? Poor Angelina, she didn’t seem so bad. Why should any woman have to stay in an unhappy relationship? To save face? To be the good, repressed wife? Isabell thought not. She’d look her up too, perhaps they could be friends.
The line shuffled up and Isabell moved forward, pushing her case. “You’ll be OK,” said Mama, throwing her arm around her daughter and squeezing tight.
Isabell stepped into the pool of sunshine. Even in the cold confines of a London airport it made a difference. It penetrated her hair, her scalp. It soothed the knots of tension in her neck and eased their grip under its warm fingers. In that moment she knew that it would be all right. She was going home.
NINETY-TWO
WHEN JERRY RETURNED TO THE CAR PARK THE FIAT WAS STILL THERE, but Isabell had gone. His luck had taken a different and superior course.
Cheery faces of the gerbera bouquet pressed against the car’s rear window so Jerry clambered first into the back seat to rescue them from the parcel shelf. It had been the last scrap of space left in the car after all the Spaniards and their luggage. Now there was plenty of room and air and freedom. He sat them in the security of the passenger foot well, where they could jiggle a happy dance to the motion of the car.
Winding his way back toward the motorway, Jerry felt the comforting click of a piece falling into place. It looked like Isabell might be taking a turn for the reasonable. Now would be a good time to hire a decent lawyer to comb through the divorce shambles and set it straight. He put it on his mental list of important ways to spend his earnings, once he’d bagged the job.
He didn’t want to start a financial war, but the balance had to be evened out and a clean break made. There wasn’t any equity to be had in their old house and the bricks and mortar themselves held no appeal. Isabell had nothing that he wanted.
The small and imperfectly formed Heath Terrace was home now and for all Jerry’s enthusiasm, he hadn’t fooled himself into thinking he was suddenly a DIY pro.
He’d pay more attention to Bob and learn what he could, but where inexperience truly barred the way, there had already been too much hanging about. He’d admit his shortcomings and pay someone to do it: another reason to land that job.
Jerry delved into the carrier bag on his lap and pulled from it a soft toy he’d bought in the airport terminal gift shop. He’d thought Elaina would appreciate its unrealistic velvet fur as much as he enjoyed its goofy expression. Nothing said ‘I love you’ quite like a furry pink armadillo.
Jerry sat it on the passenger seat. “I shall call you Ami, Ami Armadillo.” He grinned at his invention. “My little star will be very pleased to meet you as, no doubt, will Bilbo.” He switched to a more sincere expression then, “Everybody needs a friend.”
NINETY-THREE
CHECKING THE SYSTEM BEFORE THE MEETING, Spink had been horrified to discover that Adler was ahead. That idiot landing Mango Europe and sprinting into the lead had been a shock to say the least. It would have been a devastating blow were it not for the final ace Spink had hidden up his sleeve.
No fool, he’d timed the meeting with Worldwide to fall on the final day of their match. Just as the bets were closing, Spink would lay down his unbeatable hand and it would be too late for Adler to make a comeback. The deal with Mango Worldwide would clinch the game and finish him off for good. Spink rubbed his palms together under the table. He couldn’t wait to flaunt the signed contract under his nose and watch him crumple into pathetic insignificance.
Seeing off the snapping creditors would be a great relief too. Their never-ending badgering was starting to wear him down. With nothing to give, he had delayed his last. VanDerhorn insisted on payment today and the pawn shop had already released the Mouse’s jewels into general sale. He had to be quick about getting them back if he stood any chance of her forgiving his too public indiscretions. If she left, she’d take the last of her loot and his life line with her.
But there was no need to worry. Of course, his final presentation had gone like a dream. The corporate buffoons were putty in his hand.
He settled back in the ergonomic chair, just finding the top of the caster frame with his toes. The Mango Worldwide delegation of three sat across the conference table, examining his handouts with great interest. In the regulated temperature of the Mango conference suite, he’d kept his cool and slam dunked the holistic cradle to grave offering. Yes, Spink fitted right in here. His graphs and graphics had looked fabulous up there on the integrated flat screen. In this place, he couldn’t help but be brilliant.
Eric Drinkwater smiled encouragingly at him across the conference table. “Thank you Donald. That has given us an excellent overview of your approach.” He turned to the totty on his right. Immaculate in a crisp white blouse and tailored navy suit, she was a big step up from Gemma. Spink licked his lips and wondered how often Eric got her into his office.
Eric spoke to her directly, “Deborah, did you bring the pack from Legal?”
“It’s here Eric,” she said, sliding a fat brown packet across the table, “It arrived just in time this afternoon, so I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance to check it.”
“Ok, thanks.” Drinkwater smiled, “Let’s have a look.”
From his place across the expanse of shiny grey, Spink was surprised to see a newspaper slide out of the envelope along with the weighty contract and additional clipped on notes.
Drinkwater’s expression turned to quizzical as he read the covering letter. “Oh Donald,” he said, transferring his attention to the newspaper. Spink could see a section had been highlighted. “This is most unexpected.” Eric passed the notes and newspaper back to Deborah. She read it through and passed them on to her colleague on the other side. The three of them exchanged bemused glances and the final executive slid the paper across the table, into Spink’s eager grasp.<
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The Las Vegas Review had printed Spink’s arrest photo in glorious colour which was just as well because Spink could feel his own draining away. ‘SEX PEST OR MURDERER?’ Demanded the headline and Spink skimmed over the text. Of course he already knew the story.
“Look, I can see that this looks bad…”
Drinkwater leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.
“… but it was all a mistake, a misunderstanding. The man wasn’t dead, he bashed his own stupid head in!”
Deborah raised her eyebrows at him.
“I wasn’t even there.” Spink tugged at his collar button.
Eric looked down at the note in his hand. “Our Legal Department is very concerned about you being associated with us. They have examined the case in detail. It says here that the forensic report puts you at the crime scene, Donald.” He paused to look up “Identified your semen on the bed. What happened Donald? Did you and this man have a relationship going?”
“With Adler? Christ no.”
Deborah screwed up her eyes. “So what’s your explanation then?”
“God, I’m not gay. I’m a married man for Chrissake!”
“Then what, Donald?” Eric frowned.
Spink shuffled in his seat. “Come on Eric, it was Las Vegas! The party town! Everyone cuts loose. Everyone likes a pretty girl!” He flicked his eyes to Deborah and back in the hope that Eric would understand the implied meaning. “She was willing, I didn’t force her!” Spink flopped back into his seat, exasperated.
