I didn’t return to the dining room immediately. Instead, I wandered into your study. I wanted to look at that family photograph again. I could see now that Liv was holding a bag of bread. There were ducks everywhere and she was laughing. Ben was holding out a chunk of bread, but he looked nervous – a mallard about to snatch it off him. Megan was throwing a handful of bread in the air.
I was mesmerised by the photograph. There was a pond in the background and some trees. The trees were reflected on the surface of the water. To the side there was an old-fashioned lamp-post. I leaned against the wall and tried to draw in deep breaths. I felt a tightness around my chest, the snake constricting me.
After a minute or so the feeling wore off and I went back to my meal. We finished the steaks. You opened another bottle of wine. Liv went to get some cheese out of the kitchen.
So, have you had chance to discuss it? I said.
I’m sorry?
Come on, Andrew, no games.
Yes, we’ve talked about it.
And?
We’ve agreed on fifty thousand.
I need more than that.
That’s what we agreed on.
Are you suffering from amnesia?
What do you mean?
Saturday the ninth of September 1989.
You gripped the stem of your glass. You rubbed the stem with your thumb, up and down, over and over.
I can probably get more.
I need a lot more.
The door opened. It was Liv with a wooden board of cheese. I didn’t bring up the subject again. We talked about the cheese. It was locally sourced. It was organic. The farmer used to be an actor. You seemed comfortable with this topic. We started talking about Liv’s catering business. You drifted out of the conversation. Before long it was just me and Liv. You were in the shadows filling your face with locally sourced organic cheese.
The door opened again, this time it was Megan.
I’m going.
Have you got your books? Liv said.
I need some money.
What for?
I just need it.
Well, I’ve not got any, you said.
I need twenty quid.
I’ve told you, I’ve not got it.
You must have twenty quid, don’t lie.
You cut a chunk of cheese and skewered it with the end of your knife.
Andrew, give her the money, Liv said.
Megan stood in the doorway, looking defiant. Looking like Liv. Eventually you stood up and took out your wallet. You counted out two tens and handed them over. She snatched them from you and slammed the door behind her. We had something else in common, me and Megan. We both wanted money off you.
Then it was ten o’clock.
You should stay over, Liv said, That’s all right, Andrew, isn’t it? She smiled at you, knowing very well it wasn’t all right.
The guest bed is made up, why not? You smiled back. You weren’t going to give in that easily.
I was the net you were both batting your ball across. I thought about how I could use that net. How I could tighten it.
I better not, I said. And I told you both about Ray. I told you both about Richard. My last bus is at midnight.
You made a big show about it being no trouble, now you were out of the danger zone. At some point you must have left the room. We were talking about the business. We both forgot you existed. About eleven o’clock we found you in the other room in your chair asleep.
He had a few single malts before you got here.
Nerves?
Partly that, and partly work.
How long’s he been a QC?
Two years. It’s a lot to take on. We hardly spend any time together these days.
I thought again about that net.
I better be going soon, I said. We’ve still not talked about the loan.
Let me make you coffee. You’ve got ages yet.
We went through to the kitchen. Liv took out a packet of fresh coffee and tried to open it.
Here, use my knife, I said, and I handed it over.
She took it in her hand and looked at the Celtic pattern on the handle. For the second time I saw her register shock. This isn’t … is it?
Yep. I nodded.
The knife she ‘bought’ me for my eighteenth birthday, a few months before I got sent down, looked after by Her Majesty’s custodians and returned to me in almost perfect condition. She turned it over in her hand.
You kept it all this time?
I think of you every time I bleed.
She laughed as she remembered the scene, with me holding the knife with the blade out. You just standing there staring at the blood pumping from my finger, your Robert Smith hairdo wet and limp with rain water. Then Liv running around finding a towel. Me just standing there watching the blood pour onto the cream bedroom carpet. Onto the cushion and even onto (and into) my coffee mug. The final drips landing in the milk jug. All of this lit by candlelight.
She looked at the knife again. She turned it over in her hands. I held out my hand, my finger with the scar along it. She took my hand, she ran her finger down the groove of the scar tissue. She gave me a hug. This time she hugged me with conviction. We stayed like that for some time.
I’m sorry about tonight, Nick.
What for?
You know.
She took the knife and pulled out the blade. She used it to cut through the coffee packet. She poured coffee beans into the pull-out drawer of the red and chrome machine.
We were both a bit …
She made an apologetic hand gesture. She put the packet back, closed the drawer and fiddled with the settings. There was a dial on the front. I have no idea what it was for.
It’s understandable, I said.
I can’t believe … you’ve hardly changed, Nick. You look–
She blushed.
So do you.
She laughed at this.
Well, the hair’s out of a bottle these days, she said.
The coffee machine kicked into action. She took out two cups. She poured the coffee.
I don’t want to be pushy, Liv, but Andrew made me an offer. The business of the loan.
If it was up to me, I’d just hand it all over to you. Like that.
And she clicked her fingers. I could see now that she was a bit drunk, a little unsteady on her feet, her words slurred. I was also inebriated, the alcohol giving me a nice buzz.
What you were saying before.
What about?
About me not having the relevant experience, I said.
Well–
You were right.
Well, I could help you find a property.
Really?
I almost laughed, I hadn’t even needed to ask her.
I think it’d be a laugh. Milk?
Not for me. Not since that evening, I said.
She looked at me and then at the knife on the counter. She picked it up and turned it over, deep in thought. She handed it back to me.
I’d like to help you. I mean, you know, with the club – I like snooping around. It’s not exactly riot city round here, more Camberwick Green.
That money, it’s not going to be enough. I need at least five times that amount. He said you’d agreed on it.
That’s bullshit. He told me how much he was giving you and said did I think it was fair.
And what did you say?
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t think he actually wanted my consent … Listen, I’ll talk to Andrew. I’ll see what I can do.
We finished our coffee and I went into the room where you were sleeping to get my coat. Liv followed me in, clearing away a few things. We both looked over to where you were slumped in your chair. There was a bit of drool coming out of your
mouth and onto the cushion. A trail of slime. Liv made a face, one of mild revulsion, and I made one back.
Isn’t that disgusting? she said.
‘He’ or ‘that’? I said.
There was a pause, while she weighed it up. I could tell that a part of her was thinking ‘he’. She didn’t answer me.
We said goodnight at the door. We hugged for maybe a moment too long for it to be just a goodbye hug. I kissed her on the cheek. She gave me her mobile number like it had been a date. I was walking back into town, rolling a cigarette, Cramps songs in my head, looking at the stars. I sparked up and inhaled the smoke. It felt good. I was singing What’s Behind The Mask? and How Far Can Too Far Go? I thought about that photograph of you and Liv on top of the Rockefeller. And I wanted everything that you had.
A few days afterwards, you’ll remember, I received a text from you: I’ve spoken to my accountant. You’ll need to make an appointment to see him.
There were various stages before it was possible to release the funds, but just over two weeks later, the money was transferred into my account. I printed out a statement. There it was: £250,000.
I looked at the numbers printed in blue on the white page. I couldn’t quite believe it. I kept putting the statement down, then picking it up again. The numbers were still there. All of them. The most money I’d had in my life was £225. Now I had £250,000. This sum of money was nothing to you. It was merely the cost of guilt. There was no follow-up note, which didn’t surprise me, the money was self-explanatory, but it did strike me as an indication of your emotional aloofness.
The first thing I bought was a laptop. I’d had access to computers inside, but they were never networked, never connected to the internet. I’d really just used them as word processors, to do my OU work. I was familiar with some of the software and the layout of the keyboard, but email and the internet were exciting spaces that I entered with the enthusiasm of a child. I won’t say they were easy to navigate at first, but I was determined and persistent. I sent you a text to ask you for your email. The first email I sent was to you, saying thanks for the money. You didn’t email me back. Instead, I received this from Liv.
To: Nick Smith
From: Liv Honour
CC: Andrew Honour
Hi Nick,
Andrew says, thanks for your email. Andrew (cc-ed) agrees that it would be a good idea if I get involved. It sounds like an interesting venture, and I do have quite a bit of experience of starting a business. Setting up a bank account, registering the business, sorting out a website, negotiating prices, stuff like that.
So where are you thinking of looking? Have you done any research into places similar to the one you have in mind? I’m asking because last year I did some catering for a bar in Manchester in The Northern Quarter called Casablancas. They were doing a similar thing, live music, cabaret, comedy.
We should go, Liv
I responded to say that I thought this was a good idea. Secretly I wondered why you were so keen for Liv to be involved. I sent you both some potential dates we could arrange. She emailed me back a few hours later.
To: Nick Smith
From: Liv Honour
CC: Andrew Honour
Hey Nick, (Hi Andrew)
I think you’ll really like Casablancas. It’s very cool and has a relaxed vibe.
How about the three of us check it out soon? I think they have a cabaret themed night on the last Thursday of the month.
Liv.
I replied to say that I’d love to come along. It would be good for the three of us to go, just like old times. Again, Liv replied fairly promptly. If only she had been this keen while I was inside. Twenty-two years. Not one letter.
To: Nick Smith
From: Liv Honour
CC: Andrew Honour
Hey Nick,
I’ll drive and pick you up at 8 next Thursday. Can you send me your postcode as I’m crap at directions.
Thanks
Liv
The Thursday arrived and Liv picked me up outside The Royal Park. I was too embarrassed to have you pick me up from Richard’s. I didn’t want either of you to see me in such a lowly state. But particularly you, Andrew. However, when she pulled up, I was somewhat taken aback to find Liv was on her own.
No Andrew? I asked, as I got in the passenger side.
He didn’t get back in from work in time, the case ran over. Again. Will I do? she said.
I tried not to look too pleased. We chatted in the car on the way there.
You don’t mind me being involved do you, Nick? That was the only way Andrew would agree to the loan. Are you ok with that?
Perhaps she thought I had forgotten our drunken conversation where she had suggested she be involved. I wondered how long it had taken her to persuade you.
Of course I am, I said.
It’s not that he doesn’t trust you Nick, it’s just that … well, lots of things have changed. You’ll stand a better chance with some help. A lot of the buzz we’ll need to generate, we’ll need to use social media. Have you seen anywhere yet?
I’ve not had chance to do much looking, but I’ve seen a few places.
I’d been walking around the Corn Exchange area of Leeds, not really knowing what I was looking for. It hadn’t occurred to me to use my newly acquired computer. We drove into the northern quarter of Manchester in plenty of time and found somewhere to park. Casablancas was easy to find. The cabaret was entitled Cabaret Heaven, and so had a lot to live up to. The venue seated 250 people, which was larger than the place I had in mind. Liv had bought the tickets in advance, which was just as well. I was heartened to see, when we eventually got through the entrance and exchanged our tickets for a smiley face stamp on the back of our hands, that the place was packed.
Cabaret is dead, long live cabaret, Liv said.
I bought us both lagers and we found somewhere to sit at the back. The stage was a good size and decorated with spangly strips of silver, gold and red curtains. There was a mirrorball reflecting an array of coloured lights around the room. The audience were a mix of bohemian, arty types and regulars of the club.
The temperature was rising and I took off my coat and placed it on the back of my chair. Liv did the same. Then she took off the red cardigan she was wearing. My eyes were immediately drawn to the low cut neckline of her dress.
Tits of a twenty year old, she said. And I blushed.
Sorry, I said. I thought about Megan.
Don’t be daft, she said, and grabbed my hand. I was only joking.
There was some delay, much talk about the interval buffet, and a great deal of emphasis on the raffle. We both bought a few strips.
You never know, we might be lucky. Liv said, First prize is a bag of pork.
I thought she was joking, but she pointed to the table at the front where the prizes were displayed.
Are these ironic prizes? I asked.
I was having trouble trying to work out what level of irony the night’s entertainment was aiming for. It seemed to be a pastiche of a traditional cabaret, but to what extent it achieved this, and to what extent it merely presented a traditional cabaret was debatable.
The first act was ‘Mr Mann and his Wizard Dog’ and was billed as ‘psychic canine magic’.
This should be fun, Liv said, and raised her eyebrows.
The act relied on four volunteers and a pack of giant playing cards. The dog was supposed to guess the card, through an elaborate system of biscuits and arithmetic. Mr Mann was adding up and taking away sums that were in some way connected to the treats. He must have been in his eighties and looked like he’d been doing the act all his adult life. Practice hadn’t made perfect. The sums didn’t add up. The dog wandered off the stage. The errors were funny, but not in that Tommy Cooper intentionally funny way.
I feel sorry for the dog, Liv sa
id.
Mr Mann was shouting and pushing the dog, trying to get her to select a treat.
We all feel sorry for the dog, I said.
I looked around the room. There was indeed a general air of feeling sorry for the dog permeating the venue. Next was an ABBA tribute act which featured two women, one blonde and one brunette. They said they had lost the two men.
I hope it gets better than this, I said.
I wouldn’t count on it, Liv said.
The next act was called Madame Légume, and was subtitled, ‘for all your vegetable entertainment needs’.
I wasn’t aware I had any vegetable entertainment needs, Liv said.
The act consisted of Madame Légume in a tent of a dress, a bowl of vegetables on her head, re-enacting the story of the film Jaws, with vegetables as replacements. The first victim of the shark was a leek. The lifeguard was a parsnip. Richard Dreyfuss’s character was played by a potato.
She’s not going to re-enact the whole film is she? Liv asked with a look of horror on her face.
About half-way through, Liv stood up. Come on, she said. I think we get the idea. Let’s go somewhere quiet for a drink.
We found a bar round the corner with lots of space, where the music wasn’t too loud.
I shouldn’t have another lager, she said, looking at the pint glass I put down beside her. Then she took a sip, Fuck it … well, we know what we don’t want, she said. That wasn’t even cabaret. I wouldn’t call that cabaret, would you?
What would you call it?
Shit.
Well, yes.
It was more like variety. I think it has to be more coherent for it to be cabaret. You know what I mean? It has to hang together, and it needs to be more satirical and edgy.
Or just better, I said.
Liv’s leg was pressed against mine. I looked around the room. There were only a few people standing by the bar.
Is Megan ok?
Why wouldn’t she be?
She seemed upset, the other night.
Teenage girls.
She’s very attractive. She looks like you.
I watched her blush.
We had one more drink, then she drove me back.
Well, the bad news is, that was shit. But the good news, even shit sells, she said.
CAFÉ ASSASSIN Page 9
