Sympathy for the Devil (3 page)

       “And your last relationship?”

       Yeah. No. “What about it? You know it’d be easier on you to hire a private investigator.”

       He put down his knife and fork to look at me. Without a sneer or curled lip of distain, he stared at me. I felt X-rayed. “Are you hiding something? What are you so afraid of me knowing?”

       “Nothing,” I lied. “It’s just the most extraordinary interview I’ve ever had. If you must know, my last relationship ended nine months ago. He was a dick. Anything else you want to know? Favourite food? Music? Single friends? No? Great. Fine.”

       He applauded. “Fantastic performance. Matinee show tomorrow?”

       “I’m a nice person,” I insisted, tears prickling uncomfortably in my eyes.

       Pierce shrugged. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

       “Why not accept it until I prove you wrong? Like normal friends do?”

       He picked up his cigarettes and lit one without hesitation. “You know why people talk about me? Because I see right through them. Every single time. They don’t like it. So it’s easier for them to make up shit about me. And therefore, I can tell you, without a shadow of a doubt, you are not good enough for my friend.”

       Shaking uncontrollably, I tucked a lock of hair behind my hair. How to make a girl feel like crap in ten seconds? “Can you predict the lottery numbers for next week as well?”

       He blew a plume of smoke over my head. “You’re insecure. You keep making jokes to deflect attention from yourself. That top you’re wearing, you keep tugging at it, because you were talked into buying it, and you certainly didn’t choose to wear it tonight. You cling to whoever can support you at the time. That guarantees you being unfaithful. In the interest of you not ruining my friend’s life… Maybe, I don’t know… Leave him alone?”

       I clutched a hand to my chest as Pierce got to his feet, the cigarette perched on the edge of his lip, counting out fifty-pound notes. I felt as if he’d stabbed me. Right in the chest with his poisonous words.

       “Enjoy the food. The company’s not for me.”

       West awoke with a snort. “I’m up!”

       Pierce slapped him on the shoulder. “And I’m off.”

       Without another word to me, he removed the cigarette and walked through the doors of the pub. His eyes boozy and red, West hung an arm around my stiff shoulders. “All right, my sweet? Was he nice to you?”
No. He was not nice to me, Weston
. “Ah, he paid. Marvellous. See? No problem, right?”

      
Big problem
, I thought, struggling to avoid West’s groping and compose myself at the same time. Big. Huge. Massive problem.

       Call it instinct. A sixth sense. Whatever. I knew enough of the world to see when someone was trying to hide something from me. The Antonia Bradley Show was all gloss on top and tar-like dirt underneath. West, blinded by the production of sweetness and light from her, took steps back from me. He didn’t want to upset his princess, of course. I found other distractions. But it niggled away at me. My friend, the one real constant in my life, was entirely stupefied by the lure of a curvaceous female.
Against the rules there, bruv
. West believed anyone within spitting distance of his manhood had to be pure of mind, body, and soul. Sometimes, my friend really did have shit for brains. I had to do the thinking for him.

       Everyone these days put their lives on social media. My God, if I’d had access to it when I was younger... I had a blog run for me by one of the assistants at the model agency I worked for —stupid work, good money. Not that I needed it. Interesting way to meet women. Considering you’re slapped with make-up, dressed like a baby, and made to pout. I only did it because it annoyed the hell out of my family. Bringing the Callun name further into disrepute. Ha! I’d have to go a long way to catch up to my predecessors.

       I logged onto my Facebook page, located West’s profile which read,
In a relationship with Toni “Tony Adams” Bradley.
I clicked on her profile and blinked against the brightness of the cover photos. Her profile said, “
Look at me! I’m an open book for anyone to read through.
”

      
Liar
, I thought with distaste, scrolling through pictures of the Sistine Chapel, marble statues, Old Trafford, Toni in the Manchester United home kit, with a man I took to be her dad, in a pub with red paint streaked on their cheeks. Cute.
Get to the interesting shit
, I thought with distaste. Ah. There.

      
Toni Bradley is no longer in a relationship with James Welks.
Lots of “
Oh no
” and “
What happened?
” and one “
Good fucking riddance!
” from a Carina Collins. I squinted at her profile, but it was locked. Tempted to search further about Carina Collins, I reverted back to James Welks. Oh, look. Profile wide open as well. I scrolled through lots of undeleted photos of Toni and James at art festivals, in bars, on a riverboat. Toni didn’t look happy in any of them. A far cry from the sparkling wit of the other day, instead a sad clown gazed back at me.
So what,
I thought. If it’s that bad, just leave. I clicked on the message option for James and typed a brief note:

      
Dear James,

      
You don’t know me at all, but I’m friends with Weston Erwood. He’s been               dating your ex, Toni, for the last six weeks or so. There are some issues I need you to          clarify, before the relationship becomes more serious. Please feel free to call or email             me here. Looking forward to hearing from you.

      
Thank you,

      
Pierce Callun.

It took five minutes for my Mac to ping with a return message.

       Pierce,

      
Thanks for the message. Are you free to chat now?

      
James

       I agreed in my message and my phone rang shortly after. “Pierce? It’s James.”

       “Hi, thanks for calling me. Look, I’m sorry to put you in the midst of something I’m sure you’d rather forget about...”

       “Absolutely. But I understand. You’ve got a hard-on for your mate.”

       The boy had no idea who he was messing with. “He’s missing certain genital necessities for that to be a possibility. But he’s my best friend. More than that, he’s a decent bloke. He doesn’t deserve anyone messing up his life, just because she’s got a good pair.”

       “Who does?”

       “You wouldn’t have replied to me if nothing happened between you two and you just parted company.” Bullshit, if he agreed with me.

       Silence ruled the line before James spoke again. “He’s your best friend.”

       “I couldn’t trust anyone more.”

       “Then she’ll be after you next.”

       “What?” I spluttered.

       “That’s what she did. Cheated on me with my best mate, Ben. That’s her crack. Ruining friendships.” James sighed heavily as I marvelled at my instincts. Frightening instincts. But then I’d grown up in a house of infidelity. Of course I’d recognise it in a heartbeat. “If that’s all...”

       “Yeah. Yes, sorry. I don’t know what else you could say.”

       “She broke my heart. Good luck. If you have a friend left after this, you’ll be lucky.”

       I had little else to say, and returned his goodbye. Returning to Facebook, I searched for this “Ben.” I found him through Toni’s profile. Really, she should make her life a little less public. The whole world could see everything. Benedict Hernandez turned up, proudly waving his Colombian heritage on his cover photo. Bearded, very tanned with a guitar.
Fucking hippy
, I thought. Did no one lock their profiles any more? Scrolling down, I saw he’d been travelling and returned to London a few weeks ago. His status read:
Trying to get my uni to let me start a semester late. Money talks.
Didn’t it just?

       Taking the necessary details, I called the University Administration to grease the wheels for Mr. Hernandez. Their reasoning centred on whether he could catch up with the work necessary for biological sciences and the exams he’d need to take in the summer. I asked if his A-level grades were sufficient and they agreed. I transferred the necessary fees and asked them to send him an admission pack as soon as. Money well spent, I justified.

       I’d extracted plenty of the great unwashed from my life before. What was one more?

       I didn’t know what Pierce’s problem was at all. For the first time in a long time, I had a girlfriend whom I trusted absolutely. And my friend seemed to withdraw from me. Not seemed to- had. Completely. It was hard not to feel a little salty to see his social media updates of where he was and who he was with. He didn’t say a word to me outright. But I wanted to know the thoughts running through his head. We were as close as brothers. I mean, I had three elder ones, but still, Pierce was part of the pack.

       I bit the bullet and called him. Nothing for it. I didn’t like awkwardness with my mates. We could rip each other to pieces over football, but interfering in the girlfriend skit? Not on.

       Early Wednesday afternoon, I found Pierce sitting in his favourite restaurant in Shoreditch. He had two Bloody Marys in front of him and a tousled blonde girl sat artfully arranged by his side. A pile of toast and half-empty jam jars accompanied the Bloody Marys. Hangover city, I appreciated. Could do with a Bloody Mary myself.

       “Pierce,” I announced, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

       With a piece of toast halfway to his mouth, Pierce sent me a bemused look and drawled, “Hello... What can I do for you?”

       I folded my arms on the table and gazed at him. “What’s your problem with Toni?”

       What? I’d known him since the age of four. We didn’t need to dance around my anger and confusion.

Pierce sighed heavily and turned to his companion. “Weston and I need to have a chat, Eugenia.”

       “Umm... Well. I left some things at your flat...”

       He waved her away. “I’ll courier it to you. Off you go now.”

       My discomfort increased, watching Eugenia collect her coat and storm out of the restaurant. Pierce nodded to the nearest waiter. “Do you want a Bloody Mary too? That just increased my migraine. Twofold.” I shrugged in mute agreement. Only for something to do while I waited for him to explain himself. “So Antonia. You think I don’t like her?”

       “It’s pretty obvious you don’t.”

       “Why are you so worried about what I think?” he enquired. “You’re going out with her. Not me.”

       “I see it. You’re both uncomfortable with each other. And Toni gets on with everyone.”

       Pierce smirked. “Because that makes all the difference. How long have you known me?”

       “Years.”

       “How long have you known Toni?”

       I didn’t like where this was going. I tried to make the time sound comparative to how long I’d known Pierce. As if it’d make any difference... “About eight weeks.”

       “But I’m the problem?”

       “Whatever it is,” I said, side-stepping his query, “choke it. I need you to get on.”

       Pierce rolled his eyes as the tomato juice drink was placed in front of me. “I am, as your friend, the person who has been right before, just giving you fair warning. Again. So when it goes tits up, which it will, you won’t turn on me and ask me why the fuck I didn’t say anything. I’m telling you now. There’s something not right with that girl. And you’ll get it.”

       “What do you know?”

       “She said her last relationship ended nine months ago. I know that’s not true.”

       “From who?” I asked, my heart thudding in my throat. “How did you find that out?”

       Pierce sighed heavily. “I just did. It took me all of half an hour to find out and I’m surprised you didn’t even look. What happened to the ‘she’s too good to be true’ bleating? You don’t want to be proved wrong, do you?”

       “You don’t know what happened. And if you found out from an ex, of course he’s going to tell you everything he thinks is bad. You don’t know her.”

       Pierce blinked slowly. “She’s a Man U fan. That’s enough for her to be a leper in my book.”

       “Stop,” I warned. He took a swig of his juice and set it down carefully. “Just stop joking around. It’s not funny. Give her a chance. Not for her, or what you think she’s done. But because you’re my friend.”

       “I haven’t got the energy when in a few months’ time, she’s not going to be in my life.” He sent me a withering glance. “Or yours, for that matter.”

       “I am asking you. As my friend. To be nice to my girlfriend. For as long as she is my girlfriend. And as long as you want to stay my friend. Be. Nice.”

       Pierce leaned back. “Fine. I’ll be, as you say, ‘courteous’ to your lady love. On your own head be it, Weston.”

       I felt relieved. Then sick with worry. And the feeling did not dissipate.