Miss Wrong and Mr Right (22 page)

‘This isn’t the time for jokes,’ I snapped.

‘I want everyone’s name who was at that fucking christening…’ he said. ‘Look at these photos. That’s not a camera phone, these were taken by a long lens…’

We all stood for a moment in shock. It was still early in the morning and few cars were at the petrol station. Parked a little way away though was a grubby white van. The guy inside was just sitting there. He was plump and middle-aged, wearing a baseball cap. He didn’t seem to be waiting for anyone, or anything… Ryan eyed him for a moment, and then went to Gran. He grabbed her handbag.

‘Vat are you doing?’ she said. He pulled out her Taser, and strode quickly towards the van. The guy inside panicked but Ryan reached his window, leant in, and pulled out his car keys.

‘Get out of the car,’ said Ryan. I rushed over to them.

‘Ryan! How do you know this man has anything to do with…’

‘I can spot them a mile off… Sleazy bastards with long lenses,’ he said.

‘I’m not getting out,’ said the guy glaring at Ryan. I noticed a long lens camera on the passenger seat beside him.

‘Are you a journalist? Have you been following us?’ I asked incredulously.

‘I think
journalist
is a bit generous. Shitty paparazzo fits better,’ said Ryan.

‘Fuck you pretty boy,’ said the guy. ‘Give me back my keys.’

Ryan suddenly reached through the open window and grabbed the guy in a headlock, pressing the Taser against his cheek. The guy looked shocked. The two prongs of the Taser dug into his pudgy white skin. Ryan flicked the power button, and it made a weird high-pitched squeaking sound as it powered up.

‘Ever been Tasered before?’

‘Hey now, look,’ said the guy, his face squashed in Ryan’s grip.

‘Who do you work for?’ said Ryan.

‘I’m freelance…’ whined the guy. ‘If you let that thing off it will electrocute you too…’

‘Do I look like I give a shit right now?’ asked Ryan a crazed look in his eye. He tightened his grip on the guy’s head.

‘Ryan, are you mad?’ I said.

‘This weekend was a private thing. In my private life,’ said Ryan his voice cracking. ‘I was invited to a private family day!’
 

I really felt for him. The memory of the day, which had been so perfect, was now ruined. The guy gulped but stayed silent.
 

‘I swear to God I will fire this in your face, and I will keep firing it if you don’t tell me who you work for!’ demanded Ryan.

‘Ryan. Stop,’ I said.
 

‘Brendan O’Connor,’ said the guy swallowing and shaking.

‘Yes, I know who he is,’ I said.

‘How did he know where I would be?’ asked Ryan.

‘We’ve been following you around. We just followed you here…’ whined the guy.

‘Who’s ‘we’?’ I asked.
 

‘Me and some other guys Brendan hired…’

‘Okay let him go Ryan,’ I said. ‘Let him go, now!’
 

Ryan was still furious, but I managed to get him to back off and release the guy from the headlock. I took the keys and handed them through the window.

‘You go. NOW,’ I said. The guy hurriedly put his keys in and started the engine. When he’d turned the van around he paused for a second and threw a parting shot.

‘We see your type all the time. Pretty boys with no talent. Nobody will care about you in three years!’
 

Then he slammed down his foot and the van roared away. Ryan yelled after him, but it was lost in the heat of the engine as it sped away. Ryan started to run after the van, he stormed off down the slip road towards the motorway.

‘Oh Natalie,’ said Gran putting her hand on my arm.

‘Ryan!’ I shouted ‘RYAN, COME BACK!’

But he carried on running towards the motorway.

‘You think he’s going to hitch a lift?’ asked Gran.

‘Who knows. Come on,’ I said. We got in the car, turned it round, and started to follow.

‘He’s not going to catch that van, it’s gone,’ said Gran peering through the seats from the back. I put my foot down and drove towards Ryan who was nearly at the entrance to the motorway.

‘What am I going to do? I can’t stop when I’m on the dual carriageway,’ I said as we neared the mouth of the motorway. I pulled the car in by a hedge.

‘Stay here Gran,’ I said. I jumped out just as a lorry roared past blaring its horn. Ryan had now reached the hard shoulder and was jogging along the motorway. I ran and caught him up.
 

‘Stop! Ryan, stop! You can’t walk on the motorway!’ Cars were whipping past. I grabbed his arm. ‘Stop!’

He stopped. He had tears in his eyes.

‘Leave me alone!’ he shouted above the sound of the traffic roaring past.

‘Please. I swear on my life and the life of my nieces and nephews that I had nothing to do with this…’

‘What? The nieces and nephews you barely see?’

‘You can be angry, but don’t walk on the motorway, come back to the car,’ I said.

‘No, I can hitch a ride.’

‘Ryan, you’re well known and in the papers. Do you want to be the crazy star found wandering on the M5?’

This seemed to make up his mind. He stopped.

‘I’m only coming back with you because there isn’t any other option,’ he said.

‘Fine. Now come on,’ I said. I got him back in the car, and we set off to London. We drove in a horrible silence for a few minutes. Gran kept eyeballing me in the rear view mirror. Then Ryan’s phone rang. It carried on ringing.

‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ I asked. He stuck out his bottom lip and stared out of the window. His annoying ringtone carried on blaring out. ‘At least see who it is,’ I added. He shot me a dark look and pulled it out of his jeans.

‘Nicky,’ he said cancelling the call.

‘Oh crap,’ I said under my breath. Seconds later my phone started to ring. It was in my bag on the back seat next to Gran.

‘It’s Nicky,’ said Gran pulling out my phone.

‘Pass it here,’ I said.

‘Darlink, you are driving… I vill hold it to your ear.’ Gran answered and pressed the phone to my head.

‘Fuck-a-doodle-doo, have you seen the
Mail on Sunday
’ asked Nicky.

‘Yes.’

‘Where are you Nat? I’m outside your flat,’ she added.

‘I’m on the M5, coming back from Devon.’

‘
Okay…
I’m trying to get hold of Ryan, but I presume he is with you? Seeing as you’re both in these pictures. Care to share?’

‘He came to the christening,’ I said.

‘I worked that part out, Nat. What I can’t work out is
why
?’

‘Because… he was invited.’

‘I thought British family gatherings were kind of reserved. Why is he all over you? Why are you beside a pond? Why did he drink?’

‘What you should know is that Brendan has had the press tailing Ryan for days. They followed us,’ I explained.

‘And they got a fabulous photo-op,’ she said pointedly.

‘Look Nicky, can we talk when I get back?’

There was a pause.

‘Hand me over to Ryan. I need to brief him on this Gay Pride appearance.’

‘You think he should still do it?’

‘Of course he should still do it! He’s agreed to be on the main float. After this shit in the papers he needs to show up, on time, and smile.’

I handed the phone over. Ryan listened for a minute, grunted a few times and hung up.

‘You need to drop me back at my hotel. They’re picking me up from there,’ he said handing my phone back to Gran. We spent the rest of the journey in a horrible silence, Ryan staring out of the window.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ I said as we finally pulled up at the rear entrance of the Langham Hotel. He got out of the car.
 

‘I think you’ve done enough,’ he said and slammed the door. We watched him walk back to the service entrance of the hotel, ducking between the huge bins and in through the door.
 

I put the car in reverse and drove back to the flat, dreading what I would have to deal with when we got there.

Act Three

Minutes later…

Pride

Gran looked troubled as we drove back, we arrived in Soho around lunchtime. When we pulled into the underground garage and I turned off the engine there was a silence.

‘I am so sorry Natalie,’ said Gran. ‘I really thought you and Ryan might…’

‘Get married?’

‘Be happy,’ she sighed. When we got out of the car, her limp was more pronounced, and she let me help her to the lift. Gran said she needed to talk to me, but Nicky was waiting outside my front door with Xander and Craig.

‘Honey, we need to have an emergency meeting,’ said Nicky dispensing with any hellos. I noticed she had a big A1 notepad, plus a fold-up stand under her arm, and Xander was cradling copies of the
Mail on Sunday
.

 
‘Can I meet you at the theatre in a bit? We’ve only just got back…’ I said. Gran leant awkwardly on her stick. ‘Sorry, Nicky, Craig and Xander, this is my grandmother Anouska.’

They all said hello.

‘I know this sounds crazy, but I’m worried our office could be bugged,’ explained Nicky.

‘Are we really that paranoid?’ I asked.

‘I was the one who suggested it,’ said Craig. He ran his fingers through his short brown hair, and looked worried.

‘Would Brendan really go to that much effort?’ I asked.

‘He had you under surveillance all weekend,’ said Nicky.
 

‘Natalie, I need to get inside and sit,’ said Gran who was leaning heavily on her stick with a white face.

‘Okay, come on,’ I said. I opened the door and we all went in.

   
‘I really like your flat, Natalie,’ said Xander as we went through to the kitchen. Gran limped to a chair and sat down gratefully. Xander placed the pile of papers on the table, and sat opposite.

‘So, Ryan Harrison is an alcoholic?’ asked Xander, picking up a newspaper and flicking to the article.

‘It seems so,’ I said.

‘And is this where your parents live?’ he asked, pointing to the pictures of the farm. I nodded. Xander went on. ‘Was Ryan drinking at this christening?’

I started to tell them about the trifle, but Nicky interrupted saying,
 

‘Listen, everyone. It doesn’t matter if Ryan had nothing to drink, or one liquer chocolate, or a bottle of whisky. These. Pictures. Show. Intoxication,’ she tapped the paper to emphasise each word. Craig started to unfold the stand for the A1 flip chart.
 

‘You’re so lucky to have grown up on a farm. I grew up in Rainham, in a little two-up two-down…’ said Xander. ‘Are your parents rich? I’d love to live in Soho! This flat must have cost millions?’

‘Xander, honey, stay on topic,’ said Nicky.

‘Natalie’s flat is owned by the Peabody Trust, vat you call social housing,’ explained Gran. ‘Have you heard of Mr Peabody?’

‘Is he like Mr Bean?’ asked Xander.
 

‘Okay people. Enough about Mr Bean and Mr Peabody, we need to brainstorm,’ said Nicky. With a squeak of her marker pen she wrote Brendan’s name in the middle of a clean sheet of A1 paper. Craig sat beside Xander. Gran ignored her and went on.

‘Mr Peabody vas a very rich American business man…’

‘Okay, what do we know about him?’ asked Nicky.

‘He set up a charitable foundation to provide affordable social housing for all,’ explained Gran.

‘Not Mr Peabody, Brendan O’Connor,’ snapped Nicky. Gran shot her a dangerous look,

‘My friend Pedro vas a fine musician vith the London Symphony Orchestra, ven Natalie first came to London, ve stayed here vith Pedro…This vas his Peabody Foundation flat.’

‘Nat, can you…’ said Nicky but Gran cut her off.

‘Pedro became very ill, and Natalie helped me nurse him until the end. He passed the tenancy over to Natalie in his vill, so she could afford to live in London and vork in the arts…’
 

There was a silence.
 

   
‘Nat, you never mentioned this,’ said Craig.

‘It’s not something that you just drop into the conversation,’ I replied quietly.
 

‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ said Nicky.

‘That’s such a sweet, sad story,’ said Xander. ‘So, you’re not rich…’

‘No, I am not rich. But who is who works in the arts?’ I asked.

‘Ryan Harrison,’ said Xander., ‘I worked out that he’s getting paid more than all of our salaries combined. I’d give anything to have his life…’

We all looked at the pictures of Ryan throwing up in the pond, and me with my arm around his shoulder. I could see my personal life was colliding with work, and it wasn’t a good feeling.

‘Okay. Here’s what I think. I’ll make us all a cup of coffee, and when we’ve settled down, we can properly discuss how to move forward,’ I said indicating the flip chart.

When we had our coffee, we sat round Nicky’s board, giving it our full attention.

‘Okay, what do we know about him?’ asked Nicky, pointing at Brendan’s name, written in felt tip, as if we were all on a corporate training weekend.

‘He is a man, yes?’ asked Gran.
 

‘Yes
… And?
’ said Nicky, as if Gran were stating the obvious.

‘You’re not listening my darlink,’ said Gran. ‘Men are easy to manipulate. You need to find a way to push his buttons, kick him in the balls.’

‘That’s not really the most mature option,’ said Nicky.

‘I speak metaphorically of course. You must humiliate him,’ explained Gran.

‘How, Gran?’ I asked. She went on.

‘Someone did a survey recently. They asked many voomen vat scared them most about a man. Guess vat they all answered?’

‘That he’d leave the toilet seat up?’ said Xander. Gran gave him a look.

‘That he’d leave them for a younger woman?” suggested Craig.

‘No. That a man might attack or kill them,’ said Gran. She went on, ‘Guess vat the men answered ven they ver asked what most scared them about a vooman?’

‘That she might do a Lorena Bobbitt? Chop his dick off?’ asked Nicky.

Gran shook her head.

‘Vat men said they ver most afraid of about a vooman, is that she might
laugh
at him…’