The Girl at the Bus-Stop (25 page)

The man looked at her tight-lipped, and then his face relaxed slightly.

‘Thank you, I will.’ he said quietly, ‘I don’t suppose if I brought my scout belt with me, Ms Caine, you could see your way clear to, you know? Do you remember what we discussed at the party?’

‘What you discussed, not me,’ she said looking away from him.

The disgruntled news reader walked off to rejoin the guests at his own table, knocking back an almost full glass of red wine.

The live band took a break, which allowed the celebrity restaurateur to step up to the microphone. He made a long-winded speech about how great food was as a concept, his invaluable contribution to the world of gastronomy and to the human race in general. He ended by name dropping a few of the more famous guests who couldn’t be there in person. He took great pleasure in reading out their congratulations and best wishes sent by card, e-mail, flower bouquet and text message.

Rudge slipped out for a cigarette, and was surprised to find around twenty five other guests all puffing away on the pavement. He nodded at them as he lit up, and a frail old man sidled up to him. Rudge was reaching into his pocket for some change to give to the poor old sod, when he introduced himself.

‘Dougal Throop,’ he said, offering his hand, ‘you work for Ms Caine, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Rudge shaking his hand, ‘I’m her PA, Reuben Rudge.’

‘I don’t know the woman personally,’ Throop said, ‘but Gale Buckingham called me earlier and said that I’m in her next book. Is that true?’

‘Well, not exactly you see she featured a few people from the party at Deerstock Manor, and inadvertently put in their real .......’

‘Deerstock,’ he interrupted, ‘my God , sir, Gale was right. Bloody hell.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about it, Mr Throop, you see she has every intention of.....’

 
‘I’ll be round to see her tomorrow, can you pass the message on. Gale’s given me the address, so I should be there for twelve.’

Before Rudge could say anything else, Throop had been joined by two young girls, both of whom Rudge recognised as the ones in military fancy dress at the party. Throop hailed a passing taxi and they all climbed inside.

‘Is there a late night supermarket nearby?’ Throop said to the driver, ‘or greengrocer’s perhaps?’

As the taxi pulled away, Rudge stubbed his cigarette out and went back inside where the band had resumed its set. At their table, Becky had been joined by Tracy Davidson , the beautiful former Olympic swimmer. As Rudge approached with a warm smile, she rose to her feet and walked away without giving him a second glance.

‘It must be my after shave,’ he said to Becky.

‘No, she just wanted to give me an envelope,’ replied Becky, ‘I feel like The fucking Godfather, sat here. Can we go home?’

It was after three when Rudge awoke, he looked at Becky who was writhing around in her sleep.

‘Stop, please, leave me alone,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to go there.’

She sat up and let out a stifled scream, and her eyes opened wide in terror. Rudge put his arm around her shoulders gently as she slowly came to her senses.

‘You must have been having a nightmare,’ he suggested unhelpfully, ‘can I get you a glass of water or something?’

‘Thanks,’ she said, looking at him blankly, ‘but I’d rather have a cup of tea.’

They sat on the balcony drinking tea in silence, and Rudge knew there was something troubling her.

‘Penny for them?’ he said, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

‘I get nightmares from time to time,’ she said, taking a deep draw on her cigarette, ‘usually after red wine funnily enough. I really shouldn’t drink the stuff but it was all they had on offer tonight.’

‘What about?’ he asked, ‘Tell me to mind my own business but I used to have them all the time, since childhood.’

‘Me too,’ she replied, ‘but now they’re about my childhood.’

‘I think as soon as you reach eighteen you should be allowed to visit a shrink and get your memory banks wiped.’ Rudge replied, ‘I had such a miserable upbringing with my parents, for the first few years of my adult life I was convinced I was bloody useless.’

‘You and me both, ’she replied,‘ I haven’t told anyone this before, but I never even had holiday when I was a kid.’

‘Were your parents poor?’

‘No, they were just selfish. They went on holiday two or three times a year. Corfu, Tenerife, Malta, you name it they went there.’

‘So why didn’t they take you?’

‘I suppose they thought I might cramp there style. My Mum was only sixteen when she had me, and my Dad was about twenty three,’ she said, ‘so they were still in clubbing and boozing mode. I’d get dragged round my Nan’s house and that was definitely no bloody holiday.’

Rudge sipped at his tea and looked at her, his eyes suddenly feeling tearful.

‘I was taken to the seaside once for a week in Great Yarmouth when I was eleven, and a couple of years later for a day’s outing with my Dad’s favourite drinking hole, the working men’s club. I’d saved up my paper round money so I could go on all the rides at the funfair, but my parents found a better use for it. I sat outside the pub in the rain as they both got legless in the warm. They didn’t even have any money left for fish and chips on the way home. I was bloody starving by the time the coach got back.’

Becky reached forward and took hold of his hands, squeezing them lovingly.

‘At least you’ve seen the sea,’ she said, ‘I keep meaning to go but I’ve never had the courage to travel there on my own.’

‘What, you’ve never seen the sea?’ said Rudge, looking shocked, ‘Never?’

‘Only on TV and the Internet.’

‘What a poor couple of deprived buggers we were as kids, eh?’

‘That’s parents for you,’ she said with a smile, ‘can’t live with ‘
em
, can’t live with ‘
em
.’

They both laughed and Rudge stood up and walked round to the rear of her chair. He draped his arms around her shoulders and kissed the back of her hair.

 
‘Right, my girl,’ he said, helping her to her feet, ‘you and me, tomorrow we’ll get Harry to drive us to Brighton.’

‘That would be wonderful. I’ve always wanted to build a sand castle.’

‘Ah, Brighton’s no good then,’ replied Rudge, ‘you could just about manage a semi out of shingle, but that’s about all. Let’s make it Bournemouth.’

‘We can’t go tomorrow, all those celebrity types coming round to collect their chapters.’ she said, ‘Then we’ve got to finish proof reading the sequel, and get the manuscript to Fantasy-Lit.’

‘All right, the day after then,’ he said, walking her back into the apartment, ‘and I’m going to buy you ice cream, candy floss, sticks of rock, fish and chips, whelks and win you a cheap teddy on one of those grab machines in the amusement arcade.’

As Rudge closed the balcony door, she reached up and kissed him on the lips.

‘Sounds like a plan,’ she said happily, ‘but hold the whelks. I don’t think Harry would thank you for me being sick all the seats of his Merc.’

 
Jilly Genevieve was the first of the celebrities to arrive at Rudge’s apartment, at nine the next morning. Becky repeated her explanation that she had no intention of publishing people’s real names, but it fell on deaf ears. She flatly refused to take her money back from Becky, and insisted on the character being renamed Ginny Guinevere. Becky tried the same explanation with every one of her visitors, but to no avail. They were all insistent that she kept the money and used fictitious names close to their own.

After settling down to check her e-mails, the door buzzer sounded again. Becky was surprised to see Gerhard Henshall’s face on the security monitor, standing next to his girlfriend, Lucy. He pleaded with Becky to be allowed to come up, and reluctantly she opened the main door to them.

After a few minutes she opened the apartment door to a breathless couple, who pushed past her and walked into the living area.

‘Gale’s told me everything, Ms Caine,’ Henshall said, ‘and I can’t even begin to imagine the effect this sort of scandal will have on my career.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Lucy, ‘Gerhard is going on tour soon performing at some of the grand theatres of Europe. But if the rest of the company finds out about this, well, who knows what might happen? Do you want to be responsible for the new Olivier being ‘let go’?’

‘I think you’ve been misinformed,’ said Becky, ‘I don’t know what Gale has told you, but Gerhard isn’t even in my book.’

There was silence for a few moments as the couple looked at each other.

‘Are you absolutely sure, Ms Caine?’ said Lucy.

‘I should know, I wrote the bloody thing,’ Becky replied irritably, ‘so you can rest easy knowing that Gerhard’s little secret is safe with me.’

‘Am I going to be in your next book then?’ asked Henshall, looking concerned.

‘What next book?’ replied Becky.

‘I thought I might at least feature somewhere,’ he said, sounding disappointed, ‘can you not squeeze me in this one?’

 
‘Sorry, Gerhard, your little cocktail party antics won’t get a mention I’m afraid.’

Lucy looked at her curiously and smiled.

‘What about me, Ms Caine?’ she said huskily, ‘Couldn’t you find a teeny paragraph or two for little old Lucy.’

‘I’ve just said haven’t I?’ Becky snapped, ‘What is it with you people? First you want to pay me to not include your names, then you want them changed to names close to your real ones. Then
 
if you’re not even included in the first place you’re pissed off because I haven’t given you a mention.’

‘It’s kudos, Mr Caine,’ Lucy replied, ‘we all want to be in your book as characters. It’s almost like becoming a legend to be part of a bestseller. All your friends know that the character is you, and it’s just an incredible feeling to be immortalised in print.’

‘It’s just bonkers,’ said Becky, ‘I mean, anyone can say they have a character based on them, whether it’s true or not.’

Lucy reached into her handbag and pulled out a padded envelope and handed it to Becky.

‘Here, Ms Caine,’ she said, tossing the package on to the coffee table, ‘there’s fifty thousand in there, please put us in your new book.’

‘Keep your money, Lucy, I don’t want it.’

‘We’re not asking the earth,’ said Henshall, ‘just write about your visit to my place, that’s all. Describe my body in detail, and what I was doing.’