Bang: Memoirs of a Relationship Assassin (29 page)

My navy blue Jermyn Street suit wasn’t the only thing different about me. Emma’s comment about moustaches had reminded me how useful such props could be. So I now sported a neatly-trimmed goatee, contrasting with bright blue contact lenses. The goatee was as fake as my eyes, courtesy of a Soho shop that sold make-up, wigs and such-like to theatres. (I’d never grown a beard for real before, but it kind of suited me. I was becoming addicted to stroking my own chin.) Not much I could do about my hair, since I still had John Holmes’s short and messy style, but a bit of wax helped smooth it back down. My namebadge displayed the Global Investigations logo above my stolen name. If you’d never heard of the TV show, then the name Jason King was ideal for this role. Punchy, powerful, polished. A name to rhyme with Global Investigations UK Ltd.

So now I was complete. I was a professional.

I was shitting myself.

“Right,” said Emma, realising I wasn’t going to speak first. She crossed her bare legs, equally professional in blouse, jacket and skirt. “Well, this should be a brief meeting, so we’ll crack on shall we? When Declan arrives, I’ll be happy to fill him in.”

“Okey-doke,” smiled Megan. She made herself comfy, cross-legged up on the chair.

I noticed Emma glance at me but I refused to take my gaze away from Megan. It was her that was making me nervous. Not Megan. Emma. My heart was thumping and my brain had emptied away like bath-water, because Emma was on this mission with me.

For some reason, I felt I had to impress her. Everything I said, every move I made, she was going to scrutinise and dissect. I had to be cool, I had to show my skill. While working on the biggest case I’d ever had.

No pressure.

“Right, so we need to define our characters. I think Jane Shields should be the friendly but authoritative type. I’ll start off cautioning them about the dangers of having poor security, you know, plant the seeds that something bad might happen one day. Then you come in and assure them they’re totally safe, this is just a routine exercise.”

“Kind of good cop, bad cop.”

“Well, it’ll allow us to bounce off each other better. Hopefully I’ll appeal to Declan as a modern, professional woman… he sees enough screaming girls, I think he’ll respond to a woman with authority.”

“And Megan will respond to someone who assures her she’s in safe hands.”

“Exactly. Think you can handle that?”

“Of course I can!”

“Bit more to this one than just smiling and getting your cock out.”

“Piss off! I’ve been doing this for years, get off my back!”

She thinks I’m useless, I thought. An amateur. She thinks I’ll screw the whole mission up.

Oh God, what if she’s right? What if I do?

“…been providing you with security for over a year now, for both UK and international events,” Emma was saying. “And it’s all gone well, no serious problems so far.”

“Yep, we’re happy with everything,” chirped Megan.

“Other than the odd visit from your,” finger-quotes, “boyfriend.”

Megan let out a peal of laughter and actually slapped her thigh – I never realised people really did this. “Yeah, my
boyfriend!”

This was something that Larry had briefed us about. Security for celebrities mostly involved keeping over-excited fans at a distance, but there had been one genuinely dodgy occasion. A guy who used to turn up at the BBC studios in Shepherd’s Bush, claiming to be an old boyfriend of Danielle Ferguson, Megan’s character in EastEnders. He was convinced of this, telling the reception desk how he was going to take Danielle on holiday, that the bloke she was seeing now was no good for her, and so on. The Global Investigations boys would keep him busy while they slipped Megan out the back. This happened every other week, until one time the guy actually broke into the studio with a baseball bat, and they had to pin him down and call the police. Dangerous job, soap star.

“God, that huge fat black guy saying I was his girlfriend,” said Megan. “Jesus, can you imagine? I mean, as if!”

We all laughed. Hahaha.

“I can’t believe people like that who, you know, think everything they see on telly is real, like Danielle’s a real person.” Megan shook her head. “I mean, how can you mix up fake people and real people?”

“So once we’ve introduced ourselves and – is that your phone?”

“Oh. Sorry, just a text.”

“Is it Larry? Has he emailed those case notes?”

“No, it’s from my, er…”

“What? Girlfriend?”

“…Yeah.”

“You’ve got a girlfriend?! A real one? With what you do for a living, you can still have a girlfriend? Oh hang on. Was she a target?”

“…”

“She was, wasn’t she?”

“For Christ’s sake, yes she was, all right? Not any more.”

“Oh and now you’re dating her? Very professional. Does she know what you do? Does she even know your real name?”

“…No.”

“Look, we haven’t got time for your domestics right now, we have to focus on this – ”

“It can wait a minute! I have to do this.”

“All right. Just hurry up. And don’t forget who you really are, okay?”

“Freak!” said Megan.

I sat there, on edge – literally on the edge of the sofa – grinning. The way chimps do when they’re cornered and terrified.

Becky had been at the back of my mind the whole time I was planning the mission with Emma. Like an open wound. Bitter silence between us since she’d found the book in my bedside cabinet. That text from her had been the first time she’d replied to me for days, so there was no way I was going to ignore it.

No wonder I couldn’t think straight. There I was, trying to be Jason King, and I couldn’t stop worrying about what was going on in John Holmes’s life…
my
life.

Freak.

We spent a couple of minutes talking to Megan about the service that Global Investigations had provided, basically reciting Larry’s case notes. I say we. I mean Emma. I was terrified to say anything in case I screwed it up and looked like a fool. Looked like an
amateur
.

But gradually, I became more aware of Megan. She was paying attention to Emma, nodding and smiling, which kind of surprised me. I’d expected her to be bored. You’d think The Face Of Scotland might have better things to do than attend a meeting with her security people. But in fact she came across as breezy and bubbly… just like she did in public. Maybe it wasn’t an act after all and she was naturally like that.

“Actually, I spoke to my agent about you guys the other day,” she said. “For when I go to Edinburgh for this Channel 4 drama? Just to check it’s the same people looking after me as when I’m working on, um…” Flap hands. “You know. When I’m on, er… what’s that thing I’m in?”

“EastEnders?” I suggested.

Megan looked appalled. “Oh my God! I forgot the name of my show!” She snatched her phone off the glass table and said into it “Loony bin? Yeah me again, can I have a south-facing window this time?”

Suddenly I was laughing. Megan had just done a Becky!

She giggled melodically (everything in her accent sounded musical) and Emma allowed a tight chuckle, but I was literally slapping my thigh. Didn’t realise people really did that.

I took a breath, the tension in my chest loosening. I knew who I was now.

“Right, so it sounds like we’ve done a good job so far,” I said, taking my suit jacket off. “So we’ll get on with what we’ve come for, and then you can go back to being famous and wonderful and sexy and all that.”

Megan laughed again and said okay. Emma arched an eyebrow.

“So basically, what we’re looking to do is test our procedures. As Jane says, there haven’t been any problems so far, but we haven’t really been put to the test in any serious way. Security-wise, it’s not like your um,” finger-quotes, “boyfriend was a biggie, was he? Except around the waistline, maybe.”

“He was 9/11 in waistline terms!”

I chuckled, popping out my cufflinks. “So we’ve come up with a way of making sure that Global Investigations are providing you with the degree of security that you should expect.”

I chatted a little more. Shirtsleeves rolled up, sitting back, legs crossed at the ankles. Relaxed. And you know what Megan did? Exactly the same thing, leaning back and crossing her legs. Mimicking my body language without realising it. Just one of the signs I was looking for… the signs I was accustomed to getting from my targets.

I talked directly into her eyes, flashing my killer smile, and she smiled straight back. Another old trick, working its magic again.

I could sense that Emma had tensed up next to me, and knew why. This wasn’t the Jason King that we had planned. I’d ditched him – he was crap. This new Jason King was warmer, more laid back, happier-go-luckier. Friendly. Cheeky. Fun. Honest.

= John Holmes.

It was John, not Jason, that was going to win Megan over. I just
knew
.

I’d just started talking about our proposal, when the door opened and in walked a bloke more pretty than blokes are ever meant to be.

Unlike Megan, Declan Shea looked exactly like all the pictures of him (with one big exception). The twenty-two year old pop star was tall and slim, with floppy blonde hair over the smoothest baby-face I’d ever seen that wasn’t actually on a baby. Bright blue eyes. Bee-stung lips. Defined cheekbones. Frankly, he was prettier than 90% of the women I’ve slept with. Still, that’s not saying much when you don’t get to choose them yourself.

Megan perked up to see her boyfriend. “Hiya!”

“Hi,” said Declan to the room. (Big exception.) Behind him came a severe-looking woman in a dark brown suit, carrying a Blackberry and a sheaf of papers. She stood by the door while Declan sank into one of the leather armchairs.

“We’re running behind schedule today,” said the woman. Fingertips typing away, taptaptap. “Our window’s about fifteen minutes.”

Emma sprang up and made a beeline for Declan, introducing herself. I watched her lean forward to stretch her blouse open as much as possible. Sharp and sexy. Declan shook her hand and said hi again (big exception), but didn’t seem impressed.

Got your work cut out there Emma, I thought.

“So how are you going to handle Declan then?”

“No problem. He’s just a boy.”

“You think he’ll be that easy? Blonde birds like you are ten a penny in the pop world. Half the female population think he’s sex on a stick. And he’s got Megan.”

“Makes no difference. Doesn’t matter how famous he is or who he’s shagging at the moment, he’ll be just like every other guy. It’s the chase they really want, the next new girl to come along. All men think the same way, you just make it easy for them and they can’t stop themselves going for it.”

“You don’t like men at all, do you?”

“Not much.”

“What have they ever done to you?”

“…”

“Emma?”

“Let’s just get on with it.”

“Jane Shields,” she introduced herself, aiming eye contact at him like laser beams. But it didn’t seem to hit home. Weapons ineffective, captain.

“Good to meet you Declan,” I waved. “We thought we’d hold off on the pole-dancing part of our presentation till you got here! Still, when you see my moves you might wish we hadn’t.”

Megan laughed, Emma too as an act of support. But Declan just said (big exception) “Okay.” He pulled out his mobile phone and started checking his messages.

The big exception? No smile. No beaming, cheeky grin from Flag’s Irish charmer. And without it, he was almost somebody else. This wasn’t the grinning, laughing sex god up on the bedroom walls of a million teenagers. It was like he’d been taken over by the pod people or something. Invasion of the Celebrity-Snatchers.

While Emma talked, Megan threw a sour look at the flunky-woman, taptaptapping by the door. She fidgeted in her chair, no longer comfy. Unhappy. I watched her closely.

I know you.

Local girl made good. Born in Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis, a wind-blasted little Scottish island, famous for absolutely sod all. Nothing but scrubland and sheep and a few tiny towns. And now – TV studios, parties, public appearances, charity balls, money and people and glamour. Having your life planned down to the last detail, everything scheduled and arranged.

I bet you hate that, I thought. I imagined how much Becky would hate somebody deciding things for her: where she had to go, who she had to meet, what she had to say. Bollocks to that. Not for down to earth, good-time girls like her. I knew Megan was the same. I imagined her at Elton John’s bash, meeting Declan for the first time, walking straight up to the prettiest boy in the room and sticking her hand in his trouser pocket to look for her keys. That’s what Becky would do.

And what I needed to do was roar up on my motorbike and sweep her off her feet.

“Right!” I clapped my hands, making everyone jump. “Let’s cut to the chase. Here’s what we’re going to do. I am going to kidnap…” I pointed a finger at Megan.
“You!”

She giggled again, infectiously. “You’re what?”

“Here’s how it works! This is a full evaluation exercise for Global Investigations, which we’re going to do without actually telling the rest of our colleagues. We’re going to put them to the test, all hush hush, shhh! So we need your cooperation, but it’ll only take a couple of hours of your time, and the end result is that your security will be tighter than ever. You’ll have helped both you and us, and it’ll benefit our other clients as well.”

“Oh-kayyyy,” said Megan, “and it involves me being kidnapped?”

“Yeah, it’ll be great, here’s the plan. I’m going to be your boyfriend. You don’t mind, right?” I asked Declan. “I’ll give her back to you afterwards, once I’ve had my wicked way with her and all that.”

Megan grinned, squeezing Declan’s arm affectionately. He shrugged and said “Okay.”