by Echo Freer
Chubby slumped in his chair. ‘Look, I know I was a bit stupid-’
‘Stupid? Stupid don’t even come close to you, bruv.’ Frankie banged his hand on the table. ‘Stupid would get the Nobel Prize for intelligence compared to you! Jeez, I don’t think I know anyone what’s as intellectually challenged as you, Chubby! You are a flamin’ liability, that’s what you are. Three flamin’ months we been planning this blag and you put the whole bleedin’ job in jeopardy ’cos a new building inspector turns up and Gary panics.’
‘Give ’im a break, Frank,’ Tone cautioned.
Frankie stood up and walked round the table until he was standing behind his brother. ‘Give ’im a break? I’ll give ’im a flamin’ break.’ He put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. ‘I’ll break ’is flamin’ neck if this job don’t come off ’cos of ’im.’
He returned to his place and reached into his inside pocket. The others ducked down with timing worthy of a synchronised swimming team then, in unison, breathed a sigh of relief when Frankie produced a cigar rather than the handgun they had been half expecting.
‘From now on,’ he continued, rolling the cigar between his fingers. ‘I don’t want you nowhere near the site, do you understand?’
‘Yes, Frankie.’
‘And that includes you being off the job.’
‘Aw, Frankie.’
‘This is non-negotiable, Chubby. You’re a known face what’s got ’imself nicked not four hundred yards from a bank what’s going to get done over. From now on, I want you as far out of the way as possible. Go to Tenerife, Timbuktu, Tasmania, anywhere but you do not set foot within ten miles of the West End, am I making myself clear?’
Chubby nodded sadly. He’d only been trying to help. Gary had rung him in a right state because the new inspector had turned up unannounced and been asking questions about the hole that was being cut through into next-door’s basement. The plan had been to remove all the plaster and most of the bricks at the casino side of the wall, leaving only a thin layer at the bank side which could be easily broken through on the night of the blag. Each evening at knocking-off time, the hole would be covered up with sheets of Gyproc plasterboard to conceal the fact that there was an opening big enough for a small army. Normally, they had warning of an inspection but that afternoon had taken everyone by surprise. Chubby had dropped everything (including five litres of cardinal-red paint on the freshly polished parquet floor of the site they were just finishing in Docklands), to dash to St James’s Square and try to placate the building inspector. When he’d arrived he’d been astounded to find that the person who’d got Gary’s knickers in a knot had been a woman.
‘Myrtle Monk.’ She’d held out her hand to shake Chubby’s and, as she did so, dropped her briefcase.
‘Let me,’ Chubby had offered, finding himself unexpectedly smiling at the council officer. Straightening up he handed her back her briefcase and took her hand. ‘Ch-’ He’d stopped himself. ‘Charles,’ he corrected. ‘Charles Bent. Pleased to meet you.’
She must have been at least ten years his senior but there was something inexplicably attractive about her. Not only had Chubby never had a girlfriend, but he’d never even dared to dream that one day he might have one. However, in the millisecond that his eyes had met hers, Myrtle had become the object of his desire. He had been struck by her warm smile and friendly approach. (‘Friendly as a bleedin’ werewolf,’ Gary had commented.) And her name; Myrtle - he loved it; he’d once had a terrapin called Myrtle the Turtle when he was younger and the inspector’s presence was bringing back fond memories.
‘Let me show you the site, Miss Monk,’ he’d offered, keen to get her as far away from the basement as possible. ‘Or, may I call you Myrtle?’ Chubby hadn’t watched his brother flirting for the past twelve years without picking up a few tips.
She’d readily accepted his explanation that the brickwork had been damaged by flooding and needed replacing, based entirely on Chubby’s own testimony that flood damage didn’t need to come from an external source. He had guided her around the site having only one momentary difficulty when he had stepped on the unsecured end of a scaffold plank and catapulted a bucket of plaster over the banisters of the fifth floor so that the central stairwell and every workman within spillage distance had been splattered with the gloopy pink mixture. Myrtle, unlike his employees, appeared not to have noticed. She seemed to be as enamoured of Chubby as he was of her and she departed having given Chubby her phone number and invited him to call her. Chubby had been left feeling warm and fuzzy inside which had lasted as long as it took him to walk round the corner and see the space at the side of the road where his Range Rover had been parked.
He drew his attention back to where Frankie was delivering the revised plan.
‘ ’Orace will be the first driver. He’s experienced and ’e knows the ropes.’
‘I thought, ’cos ’Orace had only just come out, ’e wanted to stay clean for a bit,’ Tone commented.
‘ ’E did but Brain of Britain over there put paid to that.’
Chubby made no comment. He’d have liked to have gone home there and then but he was relying on Frankie for a lift.
‘And, Kev, you’ll be the second driver, orright?’
Kev nodded, trying not to let Chubby see the smirk that was spreading across his lips.
‘So, we got ten days to go. I don’t want no one getting into any bother, right? No speeding tickets, no nicking, no handling. We keep our noses clean from now till the off. Is that understood?’
‘Sure,’ Tone nodded.
Chubby said nothing.
Kev grinned cockily. ‘Or else?’
Frankie turned on him. ‘You don’t wanna know the answer to that, Kev my old sunshine.’ He took Kev’s cheek between his fingers and pulled it hard.
‘And you know what they say; if you don’t wanna know the answer, don’t ask the flamin’ question.’
‘Just ’aving a laugh, Frankie. Just pulling your old mystic. No offence meant.’
Frankie patted Kev’s face and smiled. ‘And none taken, mate.’ He straightened up. ‘Right, Nick the Bubble’s delivering the gear to the lock-up next Saturday so we’ll have a meet at Kev’s on Sunday. I’ll see you then. Come on, Chub. I want to go home. I’m cream crackered.’
‘Cheers, Tone. Happy birthday, mate.’ Chubby mustered a smile as they left. The departure could not come too soon for him. Had it not been for meeting Myrtle, today would have counted as one of his worst on record. He wondered if he should give her a ring when he got home, or was that too soon? Maybe he should leave it till tomorrow? It was so difficult. He’d never asked anyone out before. If Merce was still awake when Frankie dropped him off, he’d ask her how to go about it.
At precisely eight fifteen the next morning, Mercedes walked through the door of Starbuck’s. Zak had already been there for ten minutes. His beam of recognition did not escape her and she went straight to his table without ordering coffee.
‘Hi.’ He reached out and took her hand in his. ‘I looked for you all over yesterday...’
‘Zak,’ Mercedes said, softly. ‘I asked you to meet me for a reason.’ She bit her bottom lip nervously. The words felt heavy in her chest but she wanted to come straight to the point. No sense in beating about the bush and dragging things out. She took a deep breath and pulled her hand away. ‘I can’t see you any more.’ The smile slipped from Zak’s face and he sat, shell-shocked for a moment. ‘But-’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry.’ God! If he knew what an understatement that was! One day she’d make her brothers pay for this.
‘Why? I don’t understand! I thought you had a good time on Friday.’
‘I did.’
Zak leaned forward, annoyed. ‘Jeez, Mercedes! Is this just because I didn’t phone you at the weekend?’ Did he really t
hink she was that petty? Mercedes folded her arms and looked away. ‘No.’
Zak flung himself against the back of the chair and reached his arms out in a gesture of non- comprehension. ‘Oh, pul-ease! I thought you were more mature than that.’
She raised her chin and narrowed her eyes in irritation. Mature? He didn’t know the half of it. But she wasn’t going to get drawn into explaining. ‘It’s got nothing to do with that.’
This was so much harder than she’d imagined it would be when she’d been lying in bed running through every possible alternative. Seeing him there in front of her she realised just how much she liked him. And she was dumping him because of her wretched family! Was this what the rest of her life was going to be like? Never getting close to boys in case they found out about her background? She ran through an imaginary introduction; ‘Hi, my name’s Steve and my family’s in banking.’ ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m Mercedes and mine is too!’ ‘Really? High Street, or investment?’ ‘Robberies, actually.’ Great chat-up lines of the century - not!
‘I was telling the truth, you know - about my phone and the wedding and everything. You can ask Donovan.’
‘I don’t need to ask Donovan; I believe you.’
‘So what is it then?’ He stared at her across his latte.
‘Come on, Mercedes, you’ve got to give me something to go on here.’ He leaned forward again and lowered his voice. ‘You can’t kiss me the way you did on Friday and then suddenly say, that’s all folks - see ya! That meant something to me, you know.’
Did he really think it hadn’t meant anything to her? Mercedes could hardly bear it. She lowered her eyes and said nothing.
‘Well, excuse me for misreading the messages, but I thought you liked me!’
‘I did,’ she said. Then added quietly, ‘I do.’
It was Zak’s turn to narrow his eyes - this time in concentration as though trying to solve some mathematical equation. There was something here that didn’t add up. ‘So why are you dumping me?’
‘Believe me, it’s better that we don’t take this any further.’
‘Better for whom? Not for me.’ He watched her eyes, normally bright and sparkling but today they were flat and, unless his intuition had totally deserted him, there was pain there too. He reached out for her hand again but she pulled it away. ‘And by the expression on your face, it’s not better for you either, so something’s going on here that I don’t know about.’
Mercedes wanted to take a deep breath and tell him everything. It would be such a relief to be able to share this with someone, but how could she? He’d want her to go to the police and then what? Watch her entire family get locked up? Oh, sure, Frankie would survive in the nick and her mother would probably end up running Holloway Holistic Health from her cell, but Chubby? No way could she do that to Chubby.
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ Zak persisted.
Mercedes sighed. ‘Please - you have to trust me on this.’
‘Why?’
She straightened up and held his gaze. ‘Because I’m asking you to.’
She had spent most of the previous night working out the outcomes to the various scenarios: if she went to the police now, she was certain that she could save herself and Zak but her family would go down for a very long time and they’d probably disown her for an even longer time. On the other hand, if she said nothing and let the robbery go ahead as planned, there was a strong possibility that her family would still go down and, simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, she and Zak would be pursuing their relationship by correspondence from their respective detention centres. A third option, to confront Frankie and Chubby, wasn’t even worth contemplating in terms of any long-term changes. They’d simply alter the date or the venue.
No, Mercedes realised that she was going to have to take the biggest gamble of her life. She was going to have to sacrifice her relationship with Zak before it had even had a chance to get off the ground, and do what the police would probably suspect her of doing anyway; she was going to be an insider. Only she was going to use whatever information she could glean to stop the blag without anyone knowing about it. If she pulled this off she’d save her family. If she didn’t manage it, they’d all end up with a criminal record, herself included. Either way, Zak didn’t and couldn’t feature in her immediate future. She only hoped that, if their paths did cross in years to come, they could make a fresh start.
She pushed her bowling bag on to her shoulder and stood up. ‘Bye, Zak.’ She turned towards the door then stopped and faced him. ‘That kiss meant a lot to me too.’ With that, she left.
Nine
By the following Friday, Mercedes had just about reached the end of her tether. She had focused her attention on foiling the robbery and thought about little else for the entire week and yet she still hadn’t the faintest idea how she was going to go about it. Her attempts to pump Dilys for information about the bank security systems had yielded little more than she could have gained from watching a promotional video for potential investors.
All she had managed to find out was that the bank vault was situated in the basement (which she knew from the architects’ drawings) and was encased in reinforced steel and concrete that could withstand even a nuclear attack. (She knew that Frankie could get you almost anything you wanted but she was sure that not even he could lay his hands on the plutonium needed for that.) The security station was directly opposite the vault, so that the door was guarded at all times by at least one security guard and it could only be opened by two people simultaneously. Inside were not only the bank’s cash reserves, but also several hundred safety deposit boxes which, like the door itself, required two people to open each one. If she hadn’t seen the plans with her own eyes she would have offered a hundred to one on that it was impregnable.
Her mind was like a hamster on a caffeine-fest, manically running round and round and getting nowhere. The only consolation was that as long as she was occupied with the project she’d set herself, she wasn’t thinking of Zak - or at least that was the theory. In reality, it hurt like hell to know that she was in the same vicinity as he was, let alone the same building. At first, he’d bombarded her with voicemail and text messages but as the week had progressed so, it appeared, had Zak’s indifference. She had to admit that hurt a bit but, on the bright side, at least it proved she’d made the right decision and at work she made a point of avoiding the fourth floor and the staff cafeteria as though they’d been contaminated with anthrax.
By the time she got home at the end of her first week of work experience, she was tired, frustrated and her body felt as though it was lead-lined. All she wanted was a peaceful swim to try to wash away some of her stress but, as she switched on the kettle and looked out into the garden, she realised that there was fat chance of that. People and chairs and balloons littered the garden, not to mention the acre upon acre of canvas festooning the lawn in preparation for tomorrow’s festivities. Great!
Her phone rang and she snapped it off without even checking to see who it was. She wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone - and it wasn’t just Zak she wanted to shut out either; it was Jenny too. Donovan had taken Jenny out again on the Tuesday - the very same day Mercedes had told Zak that she wasn’t going to see him any more. And Jenny, not being the most sensitive of people, hadn’t stopped going on about it. Of course, Mercedes didn’t like to think that she could ever be jealous of Jenny but she had to confess, her friend’s newfound relationship was beginning to gall her.
No sooner had she switched off her mobile than the house phone began ringing. Mercedes ignored it. She’d lay fifty to one that it was the same person and she was no more inclined to talk now than she had been thirty seconds ago. A few minutes later Nanny Molly wandered in with the handset from the hall.
‘Merce, babes, it’s your mate, Jenny.’
‘Cheers, Nan,’ M
ercedes said, somewhat sarcastically. Surely Nan could have worked out that if she’d wanted to speak to anyone she would have picked up the extension in the kitchen.
‘You’ve got to help me out here,’ Jenny burst out as soon as Mercedes spoke. ‘I’ve got another date with Donovan and I’m having a clothing crisis. I need to borrow something for tomorrow.’
Mercedes felt irrationally ratty. ‘Jen, you don’t even know what a clothing crisis is. Mozambique is having a clothing crisis; Sudan has a clothing crisis. If you’ve got a clothing crisis, ring Oxfam.’
‘Oooo! That’s a bit harsh,’ Jenny replied, obviously hurt. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what’s eating you this week. I thought you’d be happy once you found out that Zak wasn’t ignoring you, but he’s told Donovan that you won’t even speak to him. And you didn’t return any of my calls yesterday. And now you’re like a cow with a sore head just because I ask to borrow an outfit.’
‘Bear,’ Mercedes corrected. ‘The expression is, a bear with a sore head.’
There was a momentary silence before Jenny said, ‘I’m not a total plank you know, Mercedes. I knew what I meant to say.’
Mercedes felt a pang of guilt. She’d never heard Jenny so assertive and she realised that she’d been so wrapped up in her own difficulties that she’d lost sight of their friendship.
‘I’m sorry, Jen. It’s just that so much is going on here with the party and everything and I’m having a really crap time at work...’ Even as she said the words, she knew that her excuses sounded hollow. The truth was that she was terrified out of her mind about the bank robbery and gutted beyond reason about Zak but she couldn’t tell Jenny about either problem.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Jenny offered.
‘No. I’ll be fine. Everything’ll be back to normal in just over a week.’ She sighed: if only! Nothing would ever be the same again now that she knew the truth about her family.
‘Well, can I come over and borrow something of yours, anyway?’ Jenny persisted.
