Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown (Comedy Romance)

by Lynda Renham

  ‘Hi,’ says Sylvie, ‘been here long?’

  ‘Yeah, quite a while actually, my mate is in this play so we had a drink before he had to get ready. I was going to get a ticket for you but then you said you had one. Still, all’s well that ends well,’ he says, giving us his grin.

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  ‘Hello there,’ says Felix offering his hand. ‘I’m Felix. I’m sure they’ve talked about me.’

  ‘You’re not that special,’ says Sylvie

  Sam smiles and my heart melts. He’s wearing a striped blue shirt over white combat trousers and looks good enough to eat.

  ‘I like your scarf,’ says Felix and I nearly die on the spot.

  Please say it isn’t yours, I pray.

  ‘We went to the rugby, it’s my team’s colours but I won’t bore you,’ laughs Sam. ‘I wear it whenever I go to a match. I have a thing about lucky mascots. Roxie knows all about that.’

  I struggle to smile. Was there a match on that Saturday, the day of the murder?

  ‘Who’s your friend then?’ says Sylvie, casually steering Sam back to the subject we’re all interested in.

  ‘Nigel Forrest, he’s making a film actually.’

  I don’t know which one of us gasps first.

  ‘That’s … He’s my friend too,’ says Sylvie.

  ‘What a coincidence,’ says Felix.

  I struggle to understand what this means but nothing adds up so I look at Felix and then Sylvie and their blank expressions tell me they have no idea what to make of it either.

  ‘How’s the migraine?’ Sam asks.

  ‘I’m fine, I don’t know why it took so long to go,’ I say, feeling myself blush.

  He drapes his arm around my shoulders.

  ‘It’s great to see you,’ he whispers.

  Oh, the feeling is so mutual. Sylvie excuses herself to go backstage to see Nigel, and Sam takes my arm.

  ‘Shall we sit down?’ he asks.

  ‘These are great seats,’ says Felix enthusiastically. ‘We seem to spend our time in the front row, don’t we Rox?’

  I glare at him. How can he make light of everything?

  ‘I’ll let you two lovebirds sit together,’ he says, looking at me and raising his eyebrow. I swear I’ll bloody kill him after the play. Felix thumbs through the programme and I frantically try to think of a connection between Nigel and Sam and the murder that night. As the curtain goes up it dawns on me. What if Nigel lured the bum boy to the flat? All this time we’ve been thinking that the bum boy lived there but supposing he didn’t, supposing the old girl got muddled. What if Nigel has lived there all along? Maybe the bum boy visited him a lot. Oh God, maybe Nigel owed him money. Actors are always struggling aren’t they? I jump as Sam takes my hand and rests it on his knee. I must stop thinking about the bum boy. In fact, I must stop calling him a bum boy, period. It’s obvious the old girl just got in a muddle. Look at my parents and they’re not that old but they get everything wrong.

  Music begins to play and Nigel waltzes on wearing a bright pink jacket. He’s as camp as a row of tents.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  ‘At least we know where the bum boy came from,’ says Felix as we find a seat near the bar.

  ‘You think Nigel is the bum boy the old lady was talking about?’ asks Sylvie.

  ‘We can’t be sure of that,’ says Felix. ‘But most likely. He probably came over as a bit of a lovie to her. I imagine all actors are bum boys as far as she’s concerned.’

  ‘He’s playing the part of one, so it seems to add up with what the neighbour said and can we please stop using the phrase bum boy?’ I say, my eyes not leaving Sam’s gorgeous body as he queues at the bar.

  ‘She’s quite right, I’m feeling very offended,’ says Felix.

  ‘Oh, you get offended every second of the day,’ scoffs Sylvie.

  ‘I love you too,’ he says, blowing her a kiss. ‘But we still shouldn’t dismiss the gay guy because Nigel is playing one.’

  ‘It occurred to me that maybe Nigel lured the bum … gay man to the flat so … so someone could kill him. Maybe it was a business deal gone wrong or something,’ I say.

  ‘So Sam could kill him you mean?’

  ‘Well, I still think Nigel …’ I stop as Sam returns with our drinks.

  He drapes his scarf on the back of the chair and sits beside me. We all struggle not to focus on the scarf but it’s bloody difficult.

  ‘What do you think of the performance? Nigel’s good isn’t he. We’ve taken the Michael out of him while he’s been preparing for this,’ he laughs. ‘No offence,’ he adds, nodding to Felix.

  ‘I don’t get offended love,’ says Felix.

  Sylvie clicks her tongue and swings her rucksack around hitting Sam’s glass and sending his wine everywhere.

  ‘Oh God Sam, I’m so sorry. Let me get you another.’

  She takes the glass carefully from his hand and then looks at her dress.

  ‘Oh look, I’ve got wine all over me. Will you excuse me? Felix will you get another drink for Sam? Are you okay Sam? I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No harm done,’ he smiles.

  I’m speechless. Felix jumps up.

  ‘Oh right, yeah sure. What was it Sam?’

  ‘Red,’ Sam smiles.

  Sylvie slides past him, casually taking the scarf with her. I can’t believe my friends are so smooth.

  ‘That’s one way of leaving us alone together,’ Sam smiles. ‘I was starting to think you were avoiding me.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I say, guzzling my wine like lemonade and feeling my head spin.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ he asks, looking at me closely. ‘You don’t seem yourself.’

  That’s probably got something to with the fact that I’m far from myself and that right now my friends are lifting your prints and studying your Where’s Wally scarf. It suddenly occurs to me that I could warn him, give him a chance to make a run for it. Maybe I could run with him. We would be fugitives together.

  ‘I’m fine, the thing is …’

  ‘One red wine,’ says Felix. ‘By the way love, would you mind signing this little card we’ve got for Nigel. Just a little congrats card. Put a few words if you don’t mind. Something like, Good performance, we should discuss it later.

  I give him an odd look. These two are really something else. My eyes are drawn to the loos. Will I be able to tell from Sylvie’s face that the fingerprints match?

  ‘Sure,’ Sam says, ‘maybe different words though.’

  I watch and feel like he’s signing his death sentence.

  Sylvie

  I’m the only bloody woman in the loo with a sodding great rucksack. They must think I’m high maintenance if I need to take a bag this size to the loo with me. I only wish I had time to do something with my hair. I don’t even imagine I’ve got time to pee. The queue moves slowly and I consider dashing into the men’s. They never have a queue. They just pull it out do a quick piss and leave. I’m definitely coming back as a man. This lot have probably got Spanx and whatnot to pull down before they even get to their drawers. I’ll be here all bloody night.

  After what feels like an eternity I’m able to dash into a cubicle. I pull my equipment out and place everything on the toilet seat. I’m dead nervous of pulling the prints. I don’t want it be Sam any more than Roxie does. I don’t want it to be Nigel or Sam but the fact is one of them has to be the murderer. I try to ignore the rip in the scarf which has frayed so much it looks like a bad haircut, and carefully lift the prints from the glass. I struggle to concentrate with toilet chains being pulled all around me but I eventually do it without dropping anything. I compare the two photos on my phone and flop onto the seat. I so wish Roxie hadn’t seen that murder and what’s more I wish she hadn’t told Felix and me.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  ‘There’s a sushi bar around the corner, does great food. I thought you and I could go there after the performance?’ Sam says, handing the card back to Felix and turning t
o me.

  There’s a buzzing in my head. The only thing I am aware of is Sylvie marching out from the loo holding the scarf in such a way that I can’t miss the rip in it.

  ‘Roxie,’ Sam says, but it sounds a million miles away. ‘Roxie,’ he repeats.

  I feel myself slide from the seat and grab his arm for support.

  ‘Roxie, what’s wrong? Is it the migraine again?’

  I can almost hear my mum saying, I knew it was too good to be true, and she’d be quite right. It was too good to be true. Maybe Ark wasn’t so wrong about Sam after all.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  WhatsApp

  Roxie: We need to talk about Nigel.

  Felix: This is not a bloody novel you know.

  Sylvie: Feels like one.

  Roxie: Nigel is involved too. He has to be.

  Sylvie: You do realise our phones are lighting up the whole bloody arena.

  Felix: You do exaggerate sometimes love.

  Sylvie: The facts: (a) Sam’s prints match those on the Starbucks card. It belongs to him. (b) The scarf is the one Rox cut up. We should phone the police.

  I stare at my phone and my feel my heart sink.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Sam asks.

  I swear if he asks me that again … I nod and slip my phone inside the programme and pretend to look at that.

  Roxie: Not yet, it’s too soon. Wait till the end of the play.

  That will give me time to decide whether to warn Sam or not.

  Felix: She’s quite right though. We need to talk about Kevin … I mean Nigel.

  Roxie: There’s nothing funny about this.

  Felix: I never said there was.

  Roxie: I think Nigel helped lure the victim to his flat so Sam could murder him.

  Sylvie: So why weren’t there three men in the flat that night?

  Roxie: Maybe he was out of view.

  Felix: We have to phone the police as soon as the play finishes. We can’t afford for either of them to get away.

  Sylvie: God, Nigel’s acting his balls off.

  There are gasps from the audience as the play reaches its climax. I watch mesmerised as Nigel confronts his lover, bursting dramatically onto the stage. I picture the police bursting into the theatre after the performance. We’ll be all over the papers in the morning. I sigh and try to focus on the play.

  ‘Explain this,’ he shouts, waving the love letter in the air and pointing at a photo on a side cabinet.

  ‘You think I couldn’t tell from those photos. You’re all over him.’

  He’s a good actor. I imagine he is going to do really well in films, if he isn’t in Broadmoor of course.

  ‘He’s great isn’t he.’ whispers Sam.

  I can’t take my eyes off him and grip Sam’s arm tightly as the play reaches its dramatic conclusion.

  ‘Things aren’t what they seem,’ says the other actor, backing away.

  Madam Zehilda’s words slap me in the face. Hang on a minute. Oh my God, is this really happening?

  ‘I won’t let you go to him,’ Nigel screams before throwing himself at the man and putting his hands around his throat.

  Sylvie gasps and I have to stop myself from jumping from my seat. Oh my God, it’s the murder scene all over again. The other actor is even wearing a scarf. What’s happening? It’s like I’m reliving the nightmare. I watch with my heart hammering as they struggle for a few moments. I know before he does it that the other man will pull a gun from his pocket. And then, as though in slow motion, Nigel’s lover pulls the trigger. I jump and watch open-mouthed as Nigel falls to the floor. The audience gasp. My phone lights up and I stare at it in shock.

  Felix: Déjà vu or what?

  I’m dumb. I can barely look at the stage. The curtain drops and I nearly fall to the floor with it. The audience are on their feet applauding and cheering. I can barely get my shaky legs to support me.

  ‘You are okay Roxie, is it the migraine?’ asks Sam

  Sylvie’s cheeks are rosy and her eyes wild. The audience are making their way to the exits and we have to keep moving to allow them round us.

  ‘I don’t have migraines,’ I say.

  I’m so exhausted from the stress. I need a giant jar of Nutella and a bucket load of sponge fingers, coupled with a large vodka and a handful of Valium. I’m not coping.

  ‘But I thought …’ begins Sam.

  ‘Have you asked him?’ blurts Sylvie.

  Sam looks curiously at us.

  ‘I’m missing something,’ he grins.

  ‘You didn’t murder anyone in Nigel’s flat did you?’ says Sylvie excitedly.

  ‘Murder someone?’ he laughs.

  ‘The night we saw you at the Fun Palace?’ she says. ‘You went back to Nigel’s didn’t you?’

  ‘Sylvie,’ I say with a pleading look.

  ‘How do you know that?’ he asks with a smile.

  ‘Because Roxie here,’ chips in Felix, ‘saw you through her boyfriend’s telescope commit, what seemed to be a murder.’

  ‘You saw our drunken rehearsal?’ says Nigel joining us.

  ‘I thought it was real,’ I mumble.

  Sam looks into my eyes.

  ‘You didn’t have a migraine did you? You’ve been avoiding me?’

  ‘Well it wasn’t …’ begins Sylvie.

  ‘Sylvie,’ I say quietly. ‘I think you’ve said enough.’

  ‘Was it you lot that broke into my flat?’ says an astonished Nigel.

  Sylvie pulls a face.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t exactly breaking in …’

  ‘I warned you,’ says Felix.

  ‘Roxie was so sure …’

  I thought I’d get the blame.

  ‘And when we found the bloodstain,’ continues Felix, ‘that sort of clinched the murder for us really. Of course we now realise it was …’

  ‘Stage make-up,’ finishes Nigel.

  ‘You’ve got a lot of vodka and frozen peas in your fridge love,’ says Felix, ‘what’s that all about?’

  He smiles at us all, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere.

  Nigel grins.

  ‘Oh well, no harm done. I think you cleaned the place up actually.’

  Sam is still looking at me. I’m jostled by a group of people and pushed into his arms. He steadies me and then drops them.

  ‘You thought I was a murderer?’ he asks solemnly.

  ‘She also thought Ark Morgan was too,’ adds Sylvie, pulling a face at me. ‘And Nigel.’

  I groan.

  ‘So, that’s why you went out with Morgan and why you went out with me?’ he says, grabbing his scarf. ‘I suppose you did this too.’

  He holds up his ragged scarf and I wince.

  ‘I’ll replace it.’

  He pulls the earring from his pocket and hands it to me.

  ‘This is yours then I presume?’

  ‘Erm …’ I begin but realise there is nothing to say that will stop him hating me.

  He places the earring into my hand and turns to Nigel.

  ‘I’ll see you later mate.’

  And with that he is gone.

  ‘Christ,’ says Sylvie.

  ‘You’re not letting him go, are you love?’ says Felix.

  Chapter Sixty

  ‘Jesus peanuts, go after him you silly bitch,’ says Felix, shoving me towards the door.

  I hesitate for a moment and then bound for the exit. My head thumps. If I didn’t have a migraine before then I’m certainly getting one now. My throat is so dry too. I don’t think I’ll be able to speak if I catch up with him. I burst out of the exit and look down the street. I see the scarf as he turns the corner. I push my way through the crowd that spills out of the theatre and hurry after him. I can’t run in my heels without fracturing an ankle. I turn the corner and there he is.

  ‘Sam wait, please wait.’

  He turns, looks at me and carries on walking.

  ‘Please wait,’ I call, breaking into a run. ‘I’ll cripple myself chasing you
in these stupid shoes. Just let me explain. For God’s sake don’t be a prick, Sam please.’

  He stops and I take a deep breath. I don’t do running at the best of times but in bloody heels it’s a nightmare. My calves feel like they’ve been on a torture rack. As I reach him I am overwhelmed with love for him. I stand panting. I bet Jennifer Aniston never has to chase Justin Theroux like this.

  ‘You’re so unfit,’ he says.

  Okay, no need to point it out.

  ‘I know,’ I pant. ‘Look, I’m so sorry. That night everything looked so real. If you knew how much I didn’t want it to be you. I was …’

  ‘This whole time you thought I murdered someone?’

  I shake my head emphatically.

  ‘No, not at all, it was only when you showed me the photo from the Fun Palace and pulled out that earring that you became a suspect, and there was the Starbucks card before that.’

  ‘Have you got my Starbucks card?’ he says, his eyes widening. ‘I can’t believe you broke into Nigel’s flat.’

  ‘We didn’t exactly break in,’ I say with a wry grin.

  ‘You didn’t exactly break in,’ he repeats. ‘What does that mean exactly?’

  ‘Sylvie got in with a credit card. She’s into crime novels.’

  I look closely at him. I think I see him fight back a grin but I don’t want to raise my hopes.

  ‘A credit card, you actually got the door open with a credit card?’

  ‘Well, Sylvie did.’

  ‘You left a big water stain on the carpet.’

  There is a grin, I’m sure I can see it.

  ‘Well we were doing everything wearing Marigolds so it was a bit difficult.’

  ‘And Ark Morgan?’ he asks, taking my hand so I can adjust my shoe strap. His hand in mine sends volts searing through me.

  ‘I was a bit infatuated with him and then I thought he was …’

  ‘The murderer,’ he finishes for me.

  I nod. We step to the side as a group from the theatre pass us, his hand holding mine.

  ‘You know you can’t possibly work for Ark if you’re going out with me.’