Bang: Memoirs of a Relationship Assassin Read online

  Or had it been: “One scratch on my bike and I’ll stick a broken bottle right in your pretty-boy face, cocksucker.”

  Yeah. Probably something more like that.

  For a while I just stood there, not sure what to do, but then found myself jogging back down the alley. I had to get back to Becky. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been gone, probably only two minutes, but I knew I had to carry on with the mission. My detective was still in there, taking snapshots, and they wouldn’t be much good if I wasn’t in them. What a mess!

  The Glasshouse’s fire exit door was still ajar, so I went back in through the kitchens. Straight away, chefs started telling me I couldn’t do that, asking me what was going on. I whipped out my wallet and held it open, flashed it around left and right, too quick to get a look at the credit cards inside, and shouted “CID! Thanks for your co-operation, ladies and gentlemen, it’s all over, we’ve got our man, thank you!”

  And the whole kitchen shut its face and let me stride right through.

  Another lovely audience. This should have made me smile. But I was far too furious with myself. Too little, too late. If I’d thought of that trick earlier, I might have caught him.

  With a deep breath, I approached our table. A waiter was leaving the bill with Becky. “Hope you’re giving a good tip,” I told her.

  “I am. I’m telling them never to let you in here again,” she smiled.

  As we sorted out the bill (with Becky insisting on paying half), I tried to think what came next. I couldn’t remember. Did I have some kind of plan for after dinner? What was my next move supposed to be? Had I agreed it with the agency or was I just making it all up from here on in…

  Shit shit shit shit shit. I was lost.

  “You all right?” Becky asked me.

  “Oh… sorry. I was just… thinking about something.”

  He’d rattled me. Blonde guy had really rattled me. I wasn’t used to it. Nobody had ever tried to interfere in one of my missions before. Things had gone wrong plenty of times, other people had stumbled along and messed up my plans, but that was part of the job. Think on my feet, work around it, come up with something. That’s fine, that’s what I do.

  But not like this. Not someone actively spying on me. Who was he? How did he know I’d be here, tonight? Bloody hell, he nicked my bike! What was I going to do, how could I explain that to Jake without getting bottled?

  How had he known I was a relationship assassin?

  “I’ve been thinking too,” said Becky. Uh-oh. Her voice rang alarm bells.

  “What’s up?”

  She was still smiling, but there was a little twist to her lips now. Arms folded beneath her (had she worn her engagement ring tonight?) as she leaned forward. “Shouldn’t really be doing this, should we?”

  I just went blank. What was I supposed to say to that?

  I glanced at the Londonwide Associates detective. He was also paying his bill. Making sure he left before us. He didn’t meet my eye. Professional. I could rely on him to be in place for what happened next. And that reminded me: I was a professional too. We were on a mission here!

  And suddenly my mask was back on and I was John the courier, John the cheeky lad, taking out a receptionist he’d pulled.

  “Why not? S’no big deal.”

  “Well, not for you…”

  “Look at your face, getting all serious on me! Look, I’m not trying to muscle in on your fiancé or anything, am I? I just thought you might want to, you know, come out with me a couple of times and have a bit of fun. Enjoy yourself before you tie the knot.”

  She shifted a little. “Mmm.”

  In fact, I’d had this particular line – ‘enjoy yourself before you tie the knot’ – in my back pocket for a while. I’d used it a few times before, with engaged women. Sort of a secret weapon. It was a great turn of phrase. I especially liked the way that ‘tie the knot’ sounded choking and restrictive. And final. No going back after you tie the knot.

  Becky was bound to have a conscience attack sooner or later. Every case I’d ever had, there was always that moment of self-doubt. None of my targets liked to think of themselves as easy or a good-time girl. More importantly, they didn’t want other people to view them that way. That’s always the thing women care about – how other women see them.

  But Becky was a good-time girl. That was her nature. She was fun and up-for-it and didn’t care what other people thought. Getting engaged had changed her behaviour, naturally, but underneath she was the same as ever. That was the girl I wanted to see, not the I’m-grownup-must-be-sensible fiancée.

  “That’s what blokes do, anyway, isn’t it?” I went on. “Cram in all their good times before they settle down with someone. It’s like getting it out of your system, you know? Making the most of the single life while you can. No reason women can’t do the same thing, is there?”

  “I suppose not.” Her eyes never left mine.

  “Do you miss all that? Single life? Out on the town every other night, weren’t you?”

  Smile. “Could say that.”

  “Yeah, I knew it. Bet you went through couriers like they were going out of fashion.”

  “No!” she laughed. “God, who’d want to go out with a courier, urgh, they’re so common.”

  “Ahh, bollocks. You love common. That’s why none of the other guys wanted to deliver to your place. They warned me, you know. Watch out for that receptionist, mate, she’ll have yer. She’s dirty.”

  Back on track. Becky was her old self as we left the Glasshouse. I was getting playful punches on the arm for accusing her of being a bigger slag than Laura the Explorer. I knew just what I’d done: settled the doubt in her mind. She had reclassified me now, as a bit of fun. Nothing heavy. Just a naughty little play-around before she went ahead and tied the knot, living married life happily ever after. What Sajjan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  Except he did know, since he was paying for it.

  I guessed my detective was somewhere nearby, maybe across the street, maybe down the road. Soho was busier now, plenty of people for him to blend in with. I didn’t look for him. He’d do the job.

  What I did look for, stupidly, was my motorbike. Jake’s motorbike. I actually scanned the traffic, as if it might come puttering by and allow me to wrestle the blonde guy off it and beat him to a pulp…

  “Don’t you need your bike?”

  I realised we’d been wandering away from the alley, where Becky had seen me chain it up. “Er… nah, I’m gonna leave it here, pick it up tomorrow. Bit too pissed to ride it tonight.”

  “Damn. I was looking forward to a good ride.”

  I laughed. “You’ll have to cab it this time, sorry.”

  “Right, well home it is then.”

  I was about to tell her it was far too early to go home, that we should find a bar and have a few more drinks, when suddenly I felt her hand slide deep into my trouser pocket. Made me jump.

  “What…?”

  Becky grinned up at me.

  “Looking for my keys.”

  Half an hour later, we came stumbling in through her front door, laughing and shushing each other like a couple of kids. She pulled me inside and tried not to slam the door. Crash-bang-shh-giggle.

  It was dark in her hallway but she didn’t reach for a light switch. I felt her grab my shirt and yank me towards her. Even as her mouth worked against mine, her hands kept moving. Up. Down. In.

  I broke away and said “I’m telling you, your keys aren’t in there.”

  “Jesus,” she whispered, “maybe you do need that penis reduction.”

  “First thing tomorrow.”

  It was Becky’s own flat. She’d lived there since leaving home three years ago, a little maisonette in a quiet part of Finchley. Sajjan also had his own place, somewhere in Kilburn. Despite being together for two years and engaged for half of that, neither had moved in with the other, preferring their independence. So my plan had always been to end up here, and for the final set of
photos to be us at her front door.

  I kissed her hard, pressing her against the wall. We were still right near the door. In fact it was possible, if he was using the right lens, for the detective to still take pictures of us through the frosted glass panel. Unable to keep our hands off each other the second we got in.

  I always like to give the client his money’s worth.

  Our kisses were getting more intense. I felt her hands yank my shirt out and go up my chest. I slid my own hand across the little black number she was wearing, and she let out a breathy noise that sent the blood pounding in my head. Funny how little things like that affect you.

  Now my mouth was at her throat. In the dark all I could hear was her breathing, the sound of hands moving over clothing and skin, and a sudden voice calling –

  “Rebecca? Is that you?”

  “Shit!”

  We sprang apart as if electric-shocked. I spun round – the voice had come from inside the flat! A female, singsong voice:

  “Rebecca?”

  We both noticed the light coming from a room at the end of her hallway. Sounds of movement within.

  “Yeah, it’s me, Mum!” Becky called back.

  Instant penis reduction. No surgery required.

  “Your Mum?”

  I stuffed my shirt back into my trousers. In the dark, I could just make out the panicked look on Becky’s face as she rearranged herself, brushed out her hair, snatched her leather handbag up off the floor. “They’ve got keys, just shut up and play along, let me do all the talking, you work with me at the office, all right?”

  She strode down the hall, leaving me no choice but to straighten my jacket and tag along.

  “Ah, there you are love,” said Becky’s mother, up on tiptoe and piling cans into a cupboard, not turning round. She looked a lot like Becky, except twice as old and twice as rounded, but with similar curly auburn hair, streaked with grey and tied into a bun. Big oblong spectacles, too. She sounded like every mum you’ve ever heard.

  “Your Dad and I were just doing our shopping at the late-night Tesco, you know the one down in Swiss Cottage, and we thought we’d pick you up a few things, I know you can’t get those pasta sauces you like from your Sainsbury’s, and your Dad wanted to drop off a few odds and sods while we were here…”

  “How do, Becks,” said her Dad. He was by her back door, dropping a metal toolbox onto the linoleum. “Going to sort out your hinges this week, thought I might as well drop off me tools. Oh,” he added, straightening up and seeing me behind his daughter.

  “Um, this is John,” said Becky. “He works with me. We had a works thing tonight, somebody’s leaving drinks, and he’s just popped back here so he can ring for a cab. To take him home.”

  Smooth. It flashed through my mind to wonder if she’d done this before.

  “Hi,” I said.

  Her Mum and Dad stared at me, like I’d just got my willy out.

  I instinctively felt that John Holmes would be more laid-back and chilled than this. What would he do? He’d do what he always does. He’d crack a joke. “Listen, don’t suppose you want to come round and do my shopping as well, do you? Me hinges are squeaking a bit too.”

  They both laughed. “Oh yes, no problem, you just give me a list!” chuckled Becky’s Mum.

  “It’ll cost you!” said her Dad, coming forward with hand outstretched. “Good to meet you, son.” He was tall and lean, shirtsleeves rolled up, the sort of man who’d worked hard his whole life. Shame about the comb-over. But I shook his callused hand warmly.

  “So you work with Becky, do you John?” Her Mum bumbled around the kitchen, smiling at me while she put away baked beans and tinfoil. “What do you do there, you’re not a receptionist are you, I know they do have men receptionists at that place, suppose that’s all very modern isn’t it, is that what you do or…?”

  “No no, I’m er… I’m in Human Resources. Actually I’m sort of Becky’s boss.”

  “You – ” Becky caught herself. “ – are in a way, I suppose.”

  “Give her a payrise, would you?” said her Dad. “Do my wallet a favour!”

  I laughed good-naturedly. “Wish it was up to me, give myself a payrise as well!”

  Her Mum beamed. “Well, I hope she’s doing a good job there for you.”

  “Oh yes, we’re very happy with young Ms Hargreaves.” I stuck my hands in my pockets, enjoying myself a bit now. “She’s very welcoming. Always puts herself out for visitors.”

  Vicious look from Becky. Innocent eyebrows from me.

  “Well, that’s good to hear, although I have to say I do think she could make more of herself you know, I mean, she’s such a bright girl, she knows computers and everything, I’ve always thought she could get herself a proper career in something, you know, not just answering the phones all day long, she’s such a bright girl…”

  “Mum,” said Becky warningly.

  “Oh, I’m sure she’ll do well for herself,” I said. This was fun. Pretending to be John the courier pretending to be John from Human Resources. Undercover undercover. “It’s pretty easy to go places in our company. It’s like riding a bike, really. Just jump on and whoosh, ride it as hard as you can…”

  Becky suddenly leapt forwards, snatched the shopping away from her mother. “Mum, what are you doing here, it’s late, you don’t need to do all this, I can take care of it!”

  “Oh well, just thought I’d try and help out, love.” Like she’d been shooed out of her daughter’s kitchen a hundred times before. “I know you don’t have much time to yourself nowadays, what with work and everything, and getting ready for the wedding, I thought you’d be staying with Sajjan this weekend, is he coming round?”

  “No, he’s in…”

  I watched Becky realise that admitting her fiancé was in Birmingham while she’d brought a young man home might be too much to swallow, even for parents as gullible as hers. “Indoors. He’s at home tonight. I’m seeing him first thing tomorrow. We’re going to look for a reception hall.”

  Well done, I thought. Thinks on her feet. I like that.

  “Have you met Sajjan, John? Her fiancé? They’ve been engaged a while now. Lovely boy, he is. Indian, you know? But I have to say he’s lovely though, very friendly, very good to Rebecca, not like some of the boys she’s been out with…”

  “Mum!”

  “Well, I’m just saying. Sajjan is lovely. Going to be a Hindu wedding, that’s what he is you know, he’s what they call a Hindu.” Becky’s Mum pulled a face. “Shame it’s not going to be a normal wedding, you know, at a church, but I suppose if that’s what they want…”

  “Right, I’m sorry, I’m chucking you both out now,” said Becky firmly. “I have to call a cab for John.”

  “Need a lift, son?” said her Dad. “It’s no bother, where you heading?”

  “No, I’m good thanks, I’m miles away. And I can stick the cab on my expense account.”

  “Well, good to meet you.” He shook my hand again. Big smile. “Hope we’ll see you again soon.”

  “Oh yes, sure we’ll bump into you again John,” said her Mum, patting me on the arm as she gathered her things. “You look after yourself, hope you get home all right – ”

  “Bye.” Becky’s voice was iron.

  We stood there in her kitchen, looking at each other and listening to her parents let themselves out of the flat.

  I looked at my watch. “Where’s my cab, then?”

  “You fucking nutter.”

  “Don’t you talk to your boss like that.”

  And then we burst out laughing, collapsing together in hysterics. My heart had been pounding the whole time, and now there was this great adrenalin rush from having got through it. Becky’s wild laughter told me she felt the same.

  “I’m so sorry! Of all times for them to bloody let themselves in…”

  “They were so nice to me! Your Dad would have driven me home!”

  “Oh God, I know!”

  We clutched each
other, giggling, on a massive high. It felt genuinely good, I must admit. We both felt giddy and stupid and happy.

  And then, still not thinking, I tilted her head up and kissed her.

  A full minute later, when she finally pulled away, her eyes were gleaming. Bright blue. Au naturelle. Without a word, she took my hand and pulled me down the hall.

  I could have just left. There was nothing more to be done, really. My detective was long gone, having taken a whole evening’s worth of pictures. Another case over. Mission accomplished. I’d taken her out.

  But still, I allowed Becky to lead me into her bedroom.

  No charge, I thought. This one’s on me.

  Chapter 7

  Girls And Boys

  “Yello?”

  “Darren! Where have you been?”

  “Oh, all right mate, how’s it going?”

  I didn’t stop pacing round my flat. Mobile to my ear, I just kept pacing, round and round. “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Er, out shopping. With Vicki.”

  “Who?”

  “You know, Vicki, I was telling you all about her. The nineteen year old.”

  “Where are you, Toys R Us?”

  “Nah, it’s wossname, IKEA.”

  I stopped pacing. Try as I might, I just couldn’t picture Darren – with his scabby trainers and tracksuit bottoms and sovereign rings – pushing a trolley around IKEA on a Saturday afternoon. With a teenage girl. Was he winding me up?

  “Are you winding me up?”

  “Listen mate, I ain’t got long, wossoccurin’?”

  Deep breath. “Okay… I’ve sort of got a bit of a problem. With Jake’s bike.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  I told him. After a long while, Darren said “Oh mate… you are well and truly fucked.”

  I went cold. To the bone.

  “Have you told Jake?” he asked.

  “No… I sort of thought you might be able to do that for me.”

  Darren laughed down the phone at me. “You’ve gotta be kidding! I’m not telling that mad bastard that someone nicked his bike! I like my face where it is!”

  “Oh Jesus, look, will he really be that bad? I’m trying to get it back – ”