Coco Pinchard's Big Fat Tipsy Wedding: A Funny Feel-Good Romantic Comedy (31 page)

Rosencrantz suddenly stopped chewing his toast halfway to his mouth.

'Mum,' he said. 'That’s Croydon… close to where Dad lives.' An aerial view of a street showed cars on fire, riot police charging groups of young men in face masks pelting them with sticks and bottles. A huge building in the centre of Croydon was on fire, flames leaping high into the air as people jumped from inside to safety. A look shot between us and I grabbed the phone and called Daniel.

'Hello,' he said chirpily. 'I haven’t heard from you in a while, what’s this? You’ve heard about my new relationship?'
 

'Have you seen the news?' I said. 'Croydon is on fire!'

'Oh Lord, good job I moved then,' he said gleefully.

'What do you mean?'

'I’ve met a lovely trombone player called Jennifer, and I’ve moved into her Pied a Terre in Hampstead. It’s worth two million, are you jealous?' he teased.

'No. We were worried about you.'

'Oh I’m fine, I don’t need to mix with the poor anymore in South London… Oh, I er… I’m only joking.'

'I’ll everyone you’re fine,' I said and put the phone down.

Ethel was happy Daniel was okay, and even happier he was now living ‘in a posh area.’

‘I wonder if she’s got big cheeks,’ said Ethel when I told her about Jennifer.

‘What a fat arse?’ said Rosencrantz.

‘No, big cheeks from blowing on the trombone…’ said Ethel. ‘Iss not the most flattering instrument, why couldn’t e meet a nice girl who plays the violin?’

‘People are rioting out there!’ I said.

‘Iss ‘orrible love, I know,’ said Ethel. ‘But life goes on. Believe me, I know. I lived through the Blitz.’

Later in the morning, they opened the road. Ethel shared a cab home with Rosencrantz and Chris. I took Rocco for a walk with Marika.

We discovered what the glowing fire in the sky was last night. Rioters with petrol bombs had attacked several shops near Marika’s flat. The fire brigade had managed to contain and extinguish most of the fire, but further up past the station one building didn’t survive.
 

The Church.
 

We stood at the bottom of the steps and watched as a fire engine slowly navigated the trees. It stopped beside us to pull out into the road. The passenger window was open and I leaned up and asked what had happened.

‘The roof collapsed around four in the morning and took the spire with it… it crashed into the trees behind,’ said a Young Firefighter with soot on his face. ‘We’ve had to put a cordon round. The structure isn’t safe. Watching a building burn is bad enough, but seeing all those stained glass windows, hundreds of years old blowing out in the heat was depressing…’

The fire engine pulled out into the traffic.

'I need to go Marika, now,' I said. She grabbed my hand and we went back to her flat where we had a stiff drink, even though it was only nine in the morning.

Wednesday 10th August
 
20.14

TO: [email protected], [email protected]

I still haven’t heard from Adam. He lost all his privileges including use of phone and postage stamps; I just want to know what the fight was about. He isn’t usually one for getting into scraps.
 

Rosencrantz and Wayne came over this afternoon. They’ve been doing more detective work, and printed off a series of Tweets and Facebook posts Sabrina Jones/Colter has been writing.
 

The riots came very close to her area of London (Woolwich) and she has had a few exchanges about being scared of looters and unable to leave her flat.
 

The tone suggests she has something of real value there. These are the Tweets and Facebook Posts the boys have homed in on, I am now starting to take notice;

@SabrinaC really scared of #London2011Riots we have to sit tight and stay in d’flat to protect R future.

@SabrinaC a house is on fire at end of my road, does anyone no where I can get a Fireproof SAFE?

@SabrinaC I just bought a Fireproof Safe £29.99 @amazonUK

Then a day later she posted on Facebook;

FACEBOOK POST : Ugh! Waiting in 4 Parcel force. BORED!!!!

FACEBOOK POST : Parcel force is still not here - mayb they’re scared of the rioting????

Then on Twitter she posted;

@SabrinaC please retweet #parcelforceisshit lets TREND IT! I spent £20 on amazon next day delivery still not here! WTF?

Then about four hours later, the fireproof safe arrived. She posted a picture on Facebook of her cat sitting inside it, with the door open. Underneath she’d written; ‘A CAT BURGLAR LOL LMAO!’

Then last night she posted;

@SabrinaC #London2011Riots OMG next door wuz on fire. Just helped to X-TiNG-Ish petrol bomb thrown thru front window.

@SabrinaC am gonna get online b4 the police cut the net again. Need 2do sum stuff 2 keep safe.

FACEBOOK POST : Packing my suitcase 4 2morrow! Big life changing trip ahead of us!

Finally she posted on twitter;

@SabrinaC I just bought a single ferry ticket Portsmouth to Jersey @ExpediaUK

'Is she completely stupid?' I said after reading them through.

'Well, we think the answer is yes,' said Rosencrantz. 'What you can see, is what we’ve weeded out of a glut of nonsense. She constantly posts on Twitter and Facebook.'

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘What can we read into this? If we didn’t know her?'
 

'Well, she could have bought the safe for her iPod and her sovereign rings,’ said Wayne.

‘That’s true,’ said Rosencrantz. ‘But knowing her background with fraud, and what you heard her say by the Thames. I think she’s going to move the money.'

‘To Jersey. Tomorrow,’ I said.
 

We looked at each other. Even though we were stood in my kitchen, and the sun was streaming through the door a shiver went through me.

'I’m wondering if she knows someone in Jersey who can make the money vanish,’ said Rosencrantz. ‘And she might not be coming back. She only bought a one-way ticket.'

We sat talking for another couple of hours, but kept coming back to the same thought.
 

We have to follow her.

Thursday 11th August
 
03.13

TO: [email protected], [email protected]

We believe that Sabrina Jones could be moving £200,000 today. The problem is we have only vague details. We know she has booked a ferry ticket to Jersey, via Portsmouth tomorrow, well, today. We don’t know what time the ferry leaves.

We hatched a plan yesterday to follow her. It seems rather far-fetched now Rosencrantz and myself are trundling along the A3 in my Smart Car, but we have nothing to lose. I’d rather go on a wild goose chase to free Adam, than see him stuck in prison for something he didn’t do.

The first ferry out of Portsmouth this morning is at 5.30 am. Therefore, we are planning to get there by four-thirty. The roads are completely empty and we are making good time.
 

Wayne and Oscar are staying at my flat. They have access to the Internet, phone and they’re looking after Rocco. Wayne is the one who is friends with Sabrina (online friend) so he will be keeping us up to date with anything she posts or tweets.

Thursday 11th August
 
04.28

TO: [email protected], [email protected]

We have arrived at Portsmouth Harbour. There is no sign of anyone or anything. It’s also very cold. The seagulls are cawing in the pitch black, and we can see the sea rolling below the cliff in the moonlight. It feels ominous. We are counting down the minutes to 6am - when we can get a Mc Donald’s breakfast.

Thursday 11th August
 
06.40

TO: [email protected], [email protected]

We are a little sated; the sun is up and I’m on my second Mc Donald’s breakfast. The world looks a little better. We are still sitting in the car and looking out at the sea twinkling in the morning sun.
Price Tag
by Jessie J just came on the radio and we were singing as loud as we could. I love the song, but as we sang I started to listen to the words, and by the end, I was very scared.

Thursday 11th August
 
10.15

TO: [email protected], [email protected]

Wayne just phoned. Sabrina has just posted something on her Facebook wall;
 

'Morning just woke up. Big life changing day!'
 

The stupid cow is still at home in her pyjamas! We are going to go down to the beach for a bit.

Thursday 11th August
 
12.12

TO: [email protected], [email protected]

I smoked a whole pack of cigarettes whilst we stared out to sea. The beach isn’t really much to write home about. It’s not really a beach, just a strip of shingle in the shadow of the port, but it’s calming to just sit and be lulled by the waves.

I was suddenly seized with fear.

‘Are you friends with Sabrina on Facebook and Twitter?’ I said. ‘Pinchard is quite an unusual name. She might twig something!’

‘Relax Mum, Wayne’s friends with her,’ he said. ‘And he’s using our fake profile, Liam McCluskey.’

‘Who is Liam McCluskey?’ I said.

‘He the fake profile we use to check out stuff. He Likes pages we wouldn’t dare admit liking. He’s duped cheating boyfriends into admitting their infidelity, and he’s spied on Sabrina. Liam McCluskey has been good to us…’

 
Just then, his phone rang. It was Wayne.

‘She’s on her way!’ I heard him shrill excitedly. ‘I repeat she’s on her way! She just checked into a rest stop on the A3, and posted a picture of herself with a Starbucks Caramel Macchiato.’
 

Wayne estimates she is thirty minutes away. She is travelling by car. We don’t know if she’s going to board the ferry on foot, or drive on.
 

I’ve made my way back up to the car; Rosencrantz has just gone to get some refreshments. I’m terrified.

Thursday 11th August
 
21.51
 

TO: [email protected], [email protected]

I was sat in the car waiting for Rosencrantz to come back, when a Fiat pulled up beside. It was old and battered, and out climbed Sabrina! She was so close that when she got out, her arse clad in tracksuit bottoms actually pressed against my window. I ducked down pretending to search through my bag, but she didn't notice. She was with a rather mean looking guy who had a buzz cut and was also wearing a tracksuit. They were arguing as he went to the boot and took out two huge suitcases, setting them down and slamming it shut. They pulled up the handles and trudged off across the car park dragging them behind.
 

As they got smaller in the rear view mirror, I quickly phoned Rosencrantz.

‘She’s just arrived! She’s with a bloke.They’re heading for the ferry terminal!' I said.

‘It’s okay Mum. They must be on the two o’clock,' he said. 'I’ll buy the tickets, you lock the car and bring our stuff.'

I began to shake all over. I took a deep breath and flopped down the mirror. I applied some lipstick, which made me feel a tiny bit better. I straightened my hair and grabbed Rosencrantz’s rucksack and my handbag. I locked the car and started to walk across the wide expanse of the car park toward the terminal. Suddenly my phone rang.
 

'Mum! Watch out,’ said Rosencrantz. ‘They’re coming back your way!'

'I thought they’d already bought tickets?' I said.

'I think they just came to collect them.'
 

I spied them heading towards me pulling the suitcases.

‘Act normal Mum, but don’t let her see you!’ said Rosencrantz, and he hung up.

I looked around. The section of the car park we were crossing was a wide empty expanse. It would look weirder if I
didn’t
keep walking towards them. I fumbled with my bag to open it and put the phone inside.
 

I kept walking, pretending I was enjoying the sea view. The wind was helping, blowing my hair across my face. We moved closer together, closer. Then the wind ceased, leaving my face exposed! We were a few feet apart when Rosencrantz’s rucksack slipped off my shoulder, pushing my handbag, hooked on the same shoulder, with it. My phone, wallet, make-up, and loose change clattered out and skidded across the tarmac. I bent down to pick it up, keeping my head down.
 

A pair of white trainers halted beside me.

'You need a hand?' said a smooth cockney voice.

'Oh, no it’s fine,' I said softly.

A pair of smaller pink trainers appeared too. I didn’t look up. I carried on gathering up my things…seconds ticked by.

‘Here, let me help,’ he said. I saw him crouch down and begin gathering up the contents of my makeup bag that had skidded the furthest away.

'I’ll be at the car, Simon' said Sabrina’s bored voice.
Simon!
I thought.
When I overheard her conversation all those months ago, she was talking to a Simon!
 

My heart beat even faster. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sabrina’s pink trainers shift as she struggled to get her suitcase going. She moved past and out of my field of vision. Only then I dared to look up (because I don’t think Simon has seen me before). He had beautiful brown eyes. He smiled and handed me my nail polish and lipstick.
 

'You’ve got a whole make-up counter in there!' he joked. I let out a squeaky little titter. He turned to pick up some loose change, and I noticed his suitcase. It sat parked inches from my leg. It was dark blue and covered in padlocks, four or five in total. As the wind blew across the car park from the sea, they clinked and jingled.

'Here you go,' he said handing me my change. I saw his name written on the tag;
Simon Milner.

'Thanks,' I said taking it. My brain was whirring
thinking…thinking…
what could I do? Grab it and wheel it away? Too heavy. Rip it open with my nail scissors? They were in the bottom of my handbag in one of those little cases with a popper fastener. Moreover, the car park was deserted. If I attempted anything, he’d probably hit me over the head and they’d speed off in the car.