The Tangled Web (8 page)

There was only a little more light in the pub than there
had been in the street.  She looked up and saw that the bulbs in the strip
lighting had blown.  She winced as she unstuck her stiletto from a piece of
chewing gum which had been welded into the carpet. 

‘Ah!  Here’s the perfect table for us,’ Adam announced.  He
pointed to a cramped table with two chairs in the middle of the pub.  No
seclusion.  It was the worst table he could have possibly picked.  She was
about to object when her phone vibrated and she removed it from her bag to read
the message.  She shoved it back in the bag and grimaced.  Flic couldn’t
believe her rotten luck.  She had spent the whole of the last week trying to
entice Scarlett’s live-in boyfriend Peter into a little bit of flirting to no
avail.  Tonight, while she was on her date with Adam, Peter had not only
started to respond, but started to flirt.

She had posted a new picture this morning of the character
she had created – a saucy ginger-haired nurse wearing a PVC uniform and red
skyscraper heels.  Scarlett advised this was his fetish.  It was a picture
taken of Flic about ten years ago on a hen night.  She would never dress up in
anything so tacky these days and had promised herself these photos would never
again see the light of day.  But Scarlett was paying them seventy-five pence
per text or Tête-a-net comment, and fifteen pounds per hour for online chats. 
For that, she was willing to push her dignity aside.  For a day or two.

She felt her phone vibrate in her bag for the second time
and inwardly cursed.  Surely even virtual private detectives were entitled to a
night off?

‘Something up?’ Adam frowned as he pulled out a chair to
assist her.

‘No, nothing,’ she covered, sashaying into the seat and
dazzling a smile in his direction.  She would wait until they had ordered then
excuse herself and reply to the message in the ladies’ room.  She wasn’t quite
sure it would be referred to as a “ladies” room in this establishment though. 

She picked up the menu and wished she hadn’t.  The
cardboard was sticky and stained.  She made a mental note to write a strongly
worded letter to the management when she got home.

‘Sorry, I should have told you we were coming here,’ Adam
conceded, possibly reading her thoughts from her wrinkled nose and the way she
had quickly examined the chair for signs of grime before sitting down.

‘It’s fine,’ she fibbed, still smiling.

‘At least if I had warned you then you could have worn
something a bit less fancy,’ he blushed.

Flic glanced down at her slinky black dress, covered in
subtle silver sparkles and her matching heels.  She held back a sigh and
reassured herself and Adam by telling him, ‘I would have worn this anyway.  My
wise Granny always says, “There’s no such thing as being over-dressed, you just
look better than everyone else.”  And I subscribe to that philosophy. 
Obviously.’

‘You do look nice,’ he grinned. 

She reasoned that compliments never go wrong and the
setting wasn’t really relevant.  The person she was with was more important. 
She wasn’t about to ditch a nice guy just because he wasn’t flash with his
money.  Sighing off her disappointment, she thanked him and examined the sticky
menu, ignoring the third vibration from her phone.

‘You going to answer that?’ Adam worried.

‘No, I’ll get it later.’

‘Someone’s obviously trying to reach you.  That’s not the
first time it’s gone off,’ he warned.

‘It’s just an email or a text.  If it was urgent they would
phone.  What looks nice?’ she pondered aloud.

‘The chicken and chips is always good here,’ Adam nodded to
himself.

‘Hmmm, it does sound nice.  I think I might have the salmon
though.  Without the Hollandaise sauce.’ Flic decided salmon would be far less
messy to eat and she didn’t fancy getting chicken fat stuck under her nails if
the meal arrived and she had to pick up wings or legs with her hands to eat
them.

‘I’m for a mixed grill.  What do you want to drink?’

‘A glass of rosé and a bottle of sparkling water please.’

‘What’s our table number?’

‘Sixty-nine,’ she smirked and winked. 

Adam blinked at her for a moment and knitted his brows
before double checking the number.  Flic cursed herself.  Her double-entendre
hadn’t gone down well.  Perhaps the wink was too much?  She cleared her throat
and pretended to examine a pudding themed special offer leaflet from the table
which seemed to be covered in the puddings it advertised.

As soon as his back was turned she rifled through her bag
searching for her phone.  Three Tête-a-net notifications, all from Peter.  She
let out a little, “Yes!” in satisfaction and clicked until she could read what
he had said.

“
Nice picture Jemma
,” followed by, “
I just read
that ur on a diet. Y?  No need 2 do that! Ur perfect & A1 gorgeous.
” 
His final comment was, “
Forget the diet, have some chocl8, feed the curves.
” 

Excellent!  He had finally started to make his interest
known.  Time to respond and see how far he would take this.

“
Ok, will have some chocl8. But just 1. And bcoz u like
me curvy ;)  Would h8 2 disappoint u.
”

She caught sight of Adam looking back at her from the bar
where he was waiting to order the food and she smiled.  He smiled back. 
Great.  The sixty-nine related wink hadn’t put him off too much. 

She added the word “babe” to the end of the message before
selecting send and placing her phone back in her bag.  She wiped an invisible
stickiness from her hands, trying to rid her fingers of the imaginary grease
that was on them from sending such a message.  Her eyes darted round to take in
her surroundings.  She noticed a few couples, one of them kissing and groping
each other.  She was halfway through trying to decide if it was sweet or
inappropriate when her phone buzzed yet again.  Was he sitting with his phone
in his hand waiting for her reply or something?

She retrieved her phone and read, “
Wot kind of chocl8
?” 
Did that matter?  She twisted her lips as she queried this in her mind.  She
would personally choose a box of truffles rather than have a bar of chocolate. 
But what would Jemma eat?

“
It’s a curly wurly – my fave.
”  There.  That’s
exactly what her character would eat.  She added “babe” and a kiss.

‘Is that rhinestones on your dress, doll?’ asked a voice
from her right.  

Flic’s head spun around and she almost gasped at the
appearance of the man trying to chat.  He had symmetrical scars on his cheeks
and “hate” tattooed across the knuckles of the hand he was using to point to
her chest.

‘No, it’s glitter.’  She wrinkled her nose in disdain, but
tried to be polite.  He could be a psycho for all she knew, and he certainly
looked like someone she would want to keep on side.

‘Are you French, doll?’ he asked, spitting accidentally as
he spoke.

‘No, I’m English,’ she squirmed.  What was keeping Adam?

‘You’ve got a French accent,’ her new friend slurred.

Flic wasn’t sure how to reply and was grateful for the
vibration of her mobile.  ‘Ooh, a text!’ she announced, picking it up and
forcing all her concentration on the screen, hoping he would take the hint.

“
I’ve got a curly wurly I could give u
,” Peter had
responded.

She replied that she was only having one and he was being
naughty by trying to lead her astray, then looked up to find Adam placing a
fishbowl sized glass of rosé in front of her.  She brightened with the relief
and attempted to nudge her head in the direction of the drunk next to her while
furrowing her brow to signal there had been some trouble with him.  Adam was
oblivious to her signals.

‘Shouldn’t be long for the food.  Had to queue for a while
to order though,’ he commented.

‘Are you French too?’ the tattooed man asked Adam.

‘What?’ Adam squinted.

‘You look French,’ was the reply. 

Flic grimaced.  ‘Do you want to move tables?’

‘No,’ Adam shook his head at Flic before turning his
attention back to the pest.  ‘I’m not French pal, I’m Russian.’ 

This was sufficient to confuse and silence the drunk and
Adam turned his attention back to Flic, much to her satisfaction.

‘So, what are you going to do now that you’ve found
yourself between jobs?  Do you think you’ll get something similar or go for a
complete change?’

Flic shuffled in her seat.  The temptation to tell him
about the business venture she and Vicky had decided to embark upon was
increasing.  She had felt a pang of guilt as she sent those messages to Peter,
even though it was as Jemma and in no way genuine.  She was unsure how Adam
would react to the news that he was on a date with a woman who flirted online
with other people’s partners for money, so decided to keep the information to
herself.

‘Well, there aren’t any jobs suitable for me in this area. 
I’ve been looking all week and there’s nothing at all.  In fact, there weren’t
any jobs in offices at all.  So I went for an interview at the local tech
college to see if I could enrol on a course to keep me busy while I’m waiting,’
she informed him.

‘Great idea!’ Adam enthused.  ‘Doing what?’

‘Plumbing,’ she replied.

Adam chortled then asked, ‘No, seriously, doing what?’

‘Plumbing.  It was all they had available,’ Flic nodded. 
She was well aware of the irony in the situation.  She was all about
appearances and flamboyance.  Nobody would look at her and instantly think,
“Plumber.”

Adam pressed his lips together, which Flic guessed was to
prevent him from sniggering.  ‘Do you think that’s something you’ll enjoy?’

‘Well, I’ll never know unless I try!  And I think I could
bring a bit of sparkle to the plumbing world,’ she shrugged.

‘I think a lot of women living on their own would prefer to
use a female plumber,’ Adam contemplated, taking a large gulp of lager shandy.

‘We’ll see how it goes,’ she muttered.  She had no
intention of following it as a career.  It was just something to put on her CV
until she either found another job in the legal profession or made a success of
being a private investigator.

‘I’m sure you’ll make a great plumber,’ Adam smirked.

‘How’s your plans for the gym coming along?’ Flic changed
the subject.

‘We’re on schedule to open the first week in March.  Still
a lot of stuff to do though,’ Adam reflected.

‘How long have you and Magnus been planning it?’ she asked.

‘Well, it’s something I’ve talked about for a while but I
never thought about it seriously.  Magnus has always been a carpe diem type of
guy though and he’s big on following dreams and stuff.  So, since it’s the
start of a new year, and time is moving on and I’m not getting any younger, it
seemed like the perfect time to do it.’ 

Flic smiled at the reference to his age.  He couldn’t have
been any more than twenty-two or twenty-three.  Then remembered herself at that
age.  She had thought everyone over twenty-five seemed ancient.  She let the
remark go and avoided making a sarcastic comment.

Adam nodded toward her phone pulsating on top of the sticky
table.  ‘You still ignoring it?’

She waved a hand dismissively.  ‘It’s probably just junk
mail.’

He frowned at the phone sympathetically and Flic picked it
up to get him off her case.   It was another message from Peter to Jemma.  “
Think
u can handle my curly wurly babe?
”  Flic pursed her lips together to mask
her contempt at the innuendo, guessing what he really meant and wondering who
in their right mind refers to that part of the body as a curly wurly.

‘Yeah, it’s junk!’ she covered, placing the phone back down
on the table, thankful that their meals had arrived and she could take her mind
off Peter’s lewd message.

‘This looks good,’ Adam licked his lips in anticipation. 

Flic stared at her plate.  ‘They’ve given me Hollandaise
sauce.  I asked for it without the sauce,’ she grumped with disappointment.

‘Can’t you just scrape the sauce off?’ Adam suggested
through a mouthful of onion rings.

‘I suppose,’ she surmised.  She lifted her glass to take a
glug of wine and picked up her knife, ready to scrape the sauce off when her
plate was whisked away from under her nose.  Her confusion was evident and
Adam’s perplexed expression told her he was just as surprised.  She looked up
to see the drunk from the table next to her walking towards the bar, moaning,
‘That mademoiselle asked for no sauce.  Is this how we should be treating
visitors to our country?’

‘Oh no,’ she gasped and clambered out of her chair towards
the bar.

‘It’s alright cherie, I’m fixing this for you.  Your
boyfriend didn’t look like he was much help, bloody Russians,’ was the
explanation she received.

‘Please, it’s fine, I’m just going to scrape it off.’ 

Her protestations went unnoticed in the stranger’s attempt
at chivalry and Flic was mortified that so many people had now begun to stare –
and no doubt wonder why he had announced she was French yet sounded
suspiciously like she was from the West Country.