Dog Roses - Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

As I parted from Bo, he called out. “Oh, and if I were you, young Rob, I’d make my peace with Maggie, and be quick about it. Better to have a woman like that on your side than not, wouldn’t you say?”

     I made no answer, merely waved, acknowledging to my alter ego that he was absolutely right (of course) but in no mood to go down that road, for now at least. Although talking to Bo had cleared my head in so far as I now had an inkling of what I might say to Matthew, I felt no less emotionally insecure. How would I cope if he rejected me? (Who could blame him if he did?) Even if he forgave me, could I live with that? If he doesn’t, what on earth will I do then?

     Any optimism Bo had inspired in me was a very fragile affair.

     I went home first. The only message on the pad, in my mother’s immaculate handwriting, was to call Shaun. I gave a guilty start. There could be only one reason he hadn’t called me on the mobile, and it had nothing to do with a lack of urgency. He was trying to give me some space. Was I so transparent, I wondered?  Only briefly did it cross my mind that Maggie or Lou might have said anything. But Shaun, after all, knew me better than most.  Besides, I probably looked as much of a wreck as I felt. Nor did a wary glance in the mirror contradict me.

     I called Shaun, cleared up a minor complication, took a welcome shower and left a note to say I would be staying at Matthew’s flat until further notice.

     Back at the flat, I made myself comfortable and managed to convince myself I wasn’t trespassing. It wasn’t as if I were a burglar, for heaven’s sake. I had as much right to be here as Matthew. (Well, didn’t I?)

Later, as I stood in front of the dressing table mirror in what I had started to think of again as ‘our’ bedroom, it was as if he stood there with me. I smiled. Mathew smiled back. I blew my nose and so did he. I ran a comb through my hair. He did the same. Surely, I thought, we were meant to be together? Let it not be, I prayed silently to the God I would never quite believe in, that I had blown it between us.

     Unable to settle, I went to The Connie, intending to eat there since I could not face eating at the flat on my own. I arrived to find a crowd gathering at the front entrance.  Ed was embroiled in a noisy argument with Nick Crolley. “He’s barred and he stays barred!” Ed was saying. I followed the direction of his finger and instantly spotted Vince.

     I elbowed a passage through, the pent-up tension of recent days eager to find expression. “What’s going on here?” I demanded. I must have sounded as if I meant business. A hush fell over the swelling sea of crass mutterings and raised voices. Ed looked at me in blank surprise. “Well?” I insisted.

     “He’s barred,” was all Ed would say, stabbing an accusing finger at the older Crolley.

     “Too right,” I agreed, recalling the Halloween fracas.

     “It ain’t fair,” Vince complained in a nasal whine that did nothing to make me feel in the least forgiving.

     “We don’t want your sort here,” I hissed.

     “He’s entitled,” yelled Nick, “His money’s as good as anyone else’s.”

     “That’s a matter of opinion,” I yelled back. “He’s trouble and we don’t want any of that here. So clear off or I’ll call the police!”

     “I’m entitled!” Vince echoed.

     “Like hell you are. I say who’s entitled to come in here and who’s not. You nearly ruined our Opening Night, remember?”

     “That was months ago!” Nick protested.

     “That’s true,” I conceded. “So where has the little toe rag been all this time, banged up again where he belongs?”

     “You’re out of order!” Vince screamed.

     “Yeah!” a few voices in the crowd agreed.

     “Sort it, okay? Some of us are waiting to get inside!” Someone else shouted.

     “Yeah, sort it!” a general cry went up.

     I rounded on Vince. “You are scum, S-C-U-M.” Then I turned on Nick, the image of Maggie’s battered face after he had used it for a punch bag vivid in my mind’s eye, “That goes for you too. Now, CLEAR OFF.”

     “Or what?” sneered Nick “Spoiling for a fight are you? Somehow I don’t think so, you fucking queer!”

I saw red. “It would be my pleasure,” I snarled, shrugged off Ed’s restraining hand on my arm and took a few steps towards my adversary.

     “Mine too,” Ed growled.

     Nick’s bravado faltered as he glanced uncertainly from Ed to me then at Ed again.

     “I’ll handle this Ed,” I said with more confidence than I was feeling. “Come on then,” I taunted Nick and stuck out my jaw, “let’s see you put your fist where your gob is, or maybe you prefer to hit women. Is that it, Nick? Never mind. A fucking queer’s as good as, surely?” I raged. The crowd began to fan out. I spotted Baz Pearce and Liz Daniels. But there was no time to reflect whether they would take my side or Nick’s.

I caught the full blast of an evil look from Vince before he turned and slunk away. Nick opened his mouth and his lips formed Vince’s name. But no sound emerged. He sighed, as if realizing the futility of even trying to call his brother back. He and I glared at each other. Suddenly, all my hatred and contempt for Billy’s sometime lover boiled over. I hurled a stream of vitriolic abuse in his face and watched it disintegrate with undisguised satisfaction.

     A succession of loaded images goaded me. Maggie’s poor face confronting me in the park was quickly superseded by a succession of haunting, taunting cameos; now Billy and Nick making love, now Billy’s naked body shuddering with orgasm. Billy’s face homed in on me like a spotlight, its expression frankly defiant. It’s my body, it said, I’ll do what I like with it and with whom. I choked back a howl of rage and anguish. Instantly, the blue gaze softened. Billy reached out with both hands, plainly distressed. I’m sorry, the full lips mouthed, I didn’t mean it. Forgive me…

     But I was in no mood for forgiveness.

     I lashed out at Nick Crolley like a man possessed or so Ed gruffly informed me later. I have little recollection of any fight, only of my fists sinking into flesh and bone again and again. Such was the all-consuming pleasure I experienced, that I was oblivious to any return blows. Sensing that I had the upper hand, I struggled like a trapped animal when Ed finally dragged me clear, screaming abuse at the bedraggled figure limping away. I stared at my hands. They were covered in blood. I felt myself go limp in Ed’s grip. I broke free and tried to grin but my mouth hurt and the result was a grotesque travesty. The look of horror on Ed’s face came as no surprise, but I was unprepared for the blast when it came.

     “Are you stark raving mad?” he roared. “That could have turned really nasty. It’s certainly no thanks to you it didn’t. I could have handled it. It’s what you pay me for, remember?”

     Shaun appeared, took the situation at a glance and, without a word, proceeded to let people through while Ed took me aside. “What’s got into you, Rob? You enjoyed that. You could have killed him and would have enjoyed doing it. The Crolleys may be rubbish, but even Nick didn’t deserve that.”

     My short fuse instantly re-ignited. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? I gave you this job, don’t forget. I can just as easily find someone else.”

     His eyes narrowed. “You pompous little fart!” he hissed.  His mouth hung horribly, his face as dark as thunder. “You can stuff your job. I quit!”

     “You can’t do that,” I protested weakly, but he was already walking away with the long, purposeful strides of a man struggling to control his temper. I wanted to call him back, apologize, explain…

     Explain what exactly? I could not even explain to myself what had got into me.

     I opened my mouth, but instead of finding words, my tongue tasted blood on my sore lips. Besides, the Devil was at my elbow egging me on. “Push off then,” I muttered, “and see if I care.  You won’t find too many mugs like me, willing to take a chance on a jailbird.” Ed would not have heard a word of coursem but I took a sadistic pleasure in saying them all the same.

     I looked around. The crowd had dispersed. There was no longer a queue or any sign of Shaun. Some regular punters turned up and looked me over with bemused expressions. It occurred to me that I must look a mess. “Good evening, nice to see you. Enjoy yourselves.” I contrived something resembling the obligatory welcoming smile and wandered off in search of Shaun, frantically adjusting my clothes and dabbing at my mouth with a handkerchief as I went.

     Almost immediately, I was waylaid by one of the bar staff, Jenny, in a stew about having mislaid the cellar keys. I kept a spare set in the safe in my office so we headed in that direction. “Are you alright?” she fussed,

“You look terrible!”

     “I’m fine,” I lied, “Now, the keys…”

     “I can’t think where I put them down!” she wailed.

     “Use these for now, and be more careful next time,” I said sharply. Poor Jenny, an excellent barmaid, coloured and bit her lip before dashing off. I was tempted to call out after her, insist she walk, not run. Then I heard my dad yelling those same words at me when, as a kid, I would invariably tear through the house like a minor tornado. Simultaneously, Ed’s words kicked me in the groin. You pompous little fart.  Now it was my turn to blush.

     Feeling increasingly miserable and sore, I headed for the penthouse flat.

     The door was on the latch when I arrived. I knocked and walked straight in.  Lou gasped, and a pained expression crossed her face. I quickly understood why. Ed was there, a face like thunder, letting Shaun fill (or refill?) a glass with cognac. The pair stopped dead in mid-conversation. The resulting silence was deafening. No prizes for guessing the topic of their conversation, I reflected grimly.

     Shaun looked embarrassed. Ed was still fuming. “I’ll see you later,” he muttered and jostled me in his haste to reach the door.

     I caught his arm. “Look,” I said awkwardly, “I’m sorry, okay?”

     “Okay?” he flared, “No, it’s not okay. It’s not okay at all!”

     “I’m sorry,” I repeated.

     “Huh! That’ll be the day!”  I had a vivid recollection of Lou saying much the same thing in that very room. Am I really such an unfeeling bastard, I wondered?” But before I had time to consider what I might do next, the door was flung wide and in strolled Clive and Maggie. 

     Clinging possessively to Clive’s arm, Maggie immediately began waving her left hand at each one of us in turn. On the third finger was a diamond ring so magnificent it was positively vulgar. “We’re engaged!” she declared, careful to avoid Ed’s nonplussed gaze, “Isn’t that just wonderful?”

     No one spoke.

     “Maggie and I are going to be married,” announced Clive unnecessarily with about as much emotion as a BBC newsreader relaying a late kick-off soccer result. Not until he had our undivided attention did he smack his lips like a cat that’s not only got the cream but also intends to keep it.

     Lou was the first to react, moving forward to give her best friend a hug and even planting a kiss on Clive’s cheek.  Shaun and I offered loud if less than convincing congratulations. Ed said nothing and attempted to catch Maggie’s eye, but in vain.

     For her part, Maggie put on a show of dazzling vivacity that put me in mind of Gabby Devine.  I smiled inwardly. No two women could have been more different. On second thoughts, though, I reflected dryly, maybe not so different.

     Maggie plainly intended to do Clive proud. Certainly, he preened and even glowed at times. Meanwhile, the rest of us could only look on with mounting irritation and despair. (What the hell  does she think she’s playing at?)

     “Rob! What on earth’s happened? You look terrible!” Maggie finally took in my appearance. “If I didn’t know you better I’d say you’ve been in a punch-up.” I was immediately conscious of four pairs of eyes fixed on me.

     “Come with me,” said Lou, “Let’s see if we can’t clean you up a bit!”

     I would gladly have followed her to the bathroom and let her minister to my cuts and bruises there and then. But Clive had a sudden attack of enthusiasm and insisted on shaking everyone by the hand, including me. “Aren’t I the lucky one!” he kept saying. He even punched Ed playfully on the chest saying, “Aren’t I the lucky one, eh?” Ed glowered. Clive did not appear to notice. Now it was Shaun’s turn. I threw Lou a pleading look. Clive, though, had other ideas. He had already begun pumping my hand even as she tried to manoeuvre me out of harm’s way.

     “Ouch!” I groaned. But Clive took no notice, oblivious as he was to anything but his own childlike pleasure and self-importance. For a few seconds, I almost envied him. But a glance at Maggie, looking increasingly uncomfortable under Ed’s dour scrutiny, changed my mind. Instead, I began to feel sorry for the man. His joy, I suspected would be short-lived. They’ll never get as far as the altar. If ever an affair was bound to end in tears, this is it.” I thought, and fancied I could see and hear the same words on everyone else’s lips, the happy couple’s included.

     Ed continued to exercise remarkable self-restraint upon which I was silently congratulating him when the door swung open again and none other than Baz Pearce stumbled inside. He had been running. “The Crolleys!” he gasped, “They’re on their way!”

     “I’m shaking in my shoes,” retorted Ed.

     “You don’t understand,” Baz panted, “They mean trouble, big trouble. They’ve made up some Molotov cocktails. They’re dead set on firing the place!”

     “They wouldn’t dare!” Ed growled, but was taking no chances and reached for his mobile phone. “Better be safe than sorry. I’m calling the police. Maggie, you and Lou get out of here. Use the fire escape, not the stairs. Shaun, Rob, come with me. We need to get everyone out without creating any panic.”

     “What about me? How can I help?”  Clive demanded.

     “Wouldn’t you know it? The bloody phone’s gone dead on me!” Ed pocketed the phone and turned to Clive. “Call the police. Explain the situation.”

     “But suppose The Crolleys don’t turn up?”

     “They will, believe me,” said Baz excitedly.

     “But suppose they don’t?” The police won’t be too pleased,” insisted Clive, "not to mention how much business we'll be throwing down the drain.".

     “Do you really want to take that chance?” Ed roared in a familiar tone that brooked no argument, “Better a false alarm than the whole place goes up in smoke, don’t you think?”  He turned to Shaun, Baz and me. “Come on, let’s go. And remember, we don’t want any panic. Rob, use the band’s microphone and tell everyone …Oh, shit, I haven’t a clue!”
     “How about telling them the truth?”  Maggie suggested with more than a touch of irony.

     “The word’s already getting around,” put in Baz.
     Ed shrugged. “Okay, the truth it is. Tell them the Crolleys are on their way and mean business, but not a word about Molatov cocktails or we’ll have a stampede on our hands.”
     We had barely gained the top of the stairs before we heard the sound of glass shattering. Then an explosion, followed in quick succession by several others. After a moment’s awful silence, the floor below erupted with cries of terror and panic. Barely had we reached the bottom of the stairs when the lights went out. A wall of fire was blocking the main exit and a draught from several broken windows was pushing the flames towards us. Shadowy figures were frantically running to and fro. I had a coughing fit. There was smoke everywhere.

     “I’ll go and see if the emergency generator’s working!” yelled Shaun above the mayhem, “Grab some fire extinguishers and see what you can do!” Then he vanished into a ball of ugly, acrid smoke.

     “I’ve got to find Liz!” I heard Baz shriek.

     “It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack!” I yelled, “We should stay together, at least until Shaun gets the generator working!” But Baz took no notice and hared after Shaun.

     A couple collided with me in the dark and screamed abuse at me before racing away in search of one of the Fire Exits. I fell. In poor shape already after my run-in with Nick Crolley, I let rip with an anguished yelp. Ed hauled me to my feet. Briefly, we confronted each other.
     “This is my fault, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have gone for Nick like that. I should have left well alone and let you do your job, just like you said.”
     “Maybe, maybe not, but we don’t have time for this now. These people are our responsibility, Rob, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and let’s do our damnedest to help the poor buggers.”
     He ran forward. I followed, careful but with increasing difficulty to keep Ed Mack’s sturdy back in sight. It was my only comfort in a human sea of noise, panic and sheer terror.
     “This way, this way…! Don't panic, and you'll be OK!” I heard someone calling, recognised Maggie’s voice and looked back. The smoke cleared briefly. I spotted her on the stairs, gripping the banister and managing to sound remarkably calm. She saw me and waved, “I’ll send as many as I can up to the flat. Clive will see them safely down the fire escape!" she yelled. "Well, don't just stand there. People need your help, damn you! Bloody well get stuck in and help them!"
      "Get back, Maggie, get back, I shouted.
      “Not bloody likely! Now, get in there and help those poor sods!”

      “Save yourself!”

     “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine, just get on and do your bloody job!” Her voice trailed away and I could barely see again for the smoke.

      She was right, of course, but as I turned to move on, my heart sank.

      There was no sign of Ed…