The Perfect 10 (12 page)

‘You always look rude! Rude is what you do best! Why change now?’

‘I don’t bloody know, alright? But before I knew it I had said I would. And I was scared the kid’s mother would start crying again.’

‘Cagney, in all seriousness, it’s plainly an obscene idea. Talk about post-traumatic syndrome – you’ll be suicidal by the end of it.’

‘I’ve said yes now, I have to. And she’ll be there, probably with some stupid rugby-playing thug of a boyfriend …’

‘Oh no, no boyfriend.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I know, Cagney. She never comes in here with a man. Plus she was big as a house before. No, she’s a single girl. And a thought occurs …’

‘No.’

‘If she is going to be on her own …’

‘No.’

‘And you are going to be on your own …’

‘No.’

Christian crosses his arms and takes a step back, eyeing Cagney slyly. ‘I don’t think I should come. I think you have feelings for this girl.’

‘Are you insane? She’s practically half my age!’

‘Oh, Cagney, she must be thirty, and you’re not even forty yet, although I know we are officially counting down. That’s a good gap. I was dating a thirty-year-old recently – Brian, he was still young enough to be fun. I love that generation. They’re just so … carefree and pretty.’

‘I’m not interested, in her, or the goddamn dinner, or any of it, but I have to go, and you have to come with me, to stop me gassing myself in their Aga.’

‘Let me think about it.’

‘Fine. Time’s up. Friday at six forty-five. I’ll meet you here. We have to go. Howard!’

They both turn to face Howard, who is cautiously licking a flower garland. They mutter an incredulous ‘Jesus’ simultaneously.

‘Come on, Howard, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Nice T-shirt – can I get one of those?’ Howard stops by Christian, appraising his yellow chest that reads ‘Be Gentle Yentl’.

‘You concern me.’ Christian shakes his head at Howard, and turns, disappearing under a sea of paper flowers.

Cagney is already in the car, revving the engine, when Howard jumps in, wanting to chat.

‘Christian’s great, isn’t he?’

‘He speaks very highly of you.’

‘He’s old, and gay, and yet really funny.’

‘Strange, isn’t it?’

‘I’m just saying, not often you find a sausage jockey who doesn’t want to, you know, get in your boxers.’

‘You’re a very attractive man, Howard – who can blame them?’

‘Have you ever tried it?’ Howard looks at Cagney curiously, actually expecting an answer.

‘Have I ever tried what?’

‘Up hill gardening. Seriously, Cagney, it’s a valid question. I haven’t myself.’

‘Howard, you went to public school.’

‘No, now you see, that’s a myth. Didn’t see anything when I was there – no soggy biscuits, nothing. And my brothers swear the same thing. Could have done with the excitement, to be honest. So is that a no, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, it’s a no? Or yes, you have tried it? I mean, I’ve never seen you with a woman who’s not business and you don’t even enjoy those. It would explain things … and you’re in good shape, for an old bloke. And Christian, he’s like your only mate, apart from me and Iuan.’

‘Howard, you work for me, as does Iuan. You are not my friends.’

‘OK then, just Christian. I mean, you guys have known each other for years. Ever been any lingering looks, you know, a little bit of Boy’s Own sexual chemistry over a banana daiquiri? You can tell me. I won’t like leave my job or anything. I’m very PC.’

‘Permanently challenged?’

Howard body-pops with his arms and grins, and Cagney sighs for the twentieth time in an hour. They sit in silence as Cagney manoeuvres the BMW with understated speed around women drivers in Land Rovers, before putting his foot down.

‘It’s an eighty-pound fine for driving in the bus lane, Cag. You might want to pull over.’

‘You should have told me that before I changed lanes. I’ll take it out of your wages.’

‘Not again!’

After five minutes of blissful silence, Howard remembers the conversation they were having.

‘So?’

‘So you’re thinking of not talking for the rest of the journey?’

‘Good one, but no. So have you tried the man thing?’

Cagney exhales deeply, and stares out of the window as they sit in traffic. Finally he turns to Howard, who pants expectantly for a juicy answer.

‘No.’ And then, as Cagney thinks aloud, ‘But I bet it’s a lot easier.’

‘I very much doubt that!’ Howard grimaces, and then is momentarily diverted by a couple of teenage girls leaning on railings. Before Cagney can stop him, Howard winds down his window, and is shouting, ‘Is there grass on the wicket? Are you ready for cricket?’

‘Tosser!’ The girls make hand gestures at the car as the lights turn amber and Cagney steps on the accelerator.

Howard laughs heartily, as Cagney shakes his head.

‘What were we saying?’ Howard looks perplexed.

‘You were explaining the rules of metaphysics.’ Cagney reaches into the glove compartment with one hand, to pull out a file.

‘Come on, Cag, we’re bonding! You were saying you weren’t gay, but it must be easier if you are. More painful, though! Jesus! Can you imagine, I mean, up the shitter! My God, my eyes are actually watering!’

‘Howard, we have a job in ten minutes and it’s a fair bet that you don’t know what you’re doing. Take the file.’ Cagney thrusts it into Howard’s lap.

‘OK, one last thing and I’ll shut up. You don’t like boys, you don’t like girls – what do you like? Jesus, should I keep Jenson out of the office from now on?’

Jenson, Howard’s dog, is the smelliest, most overly affectionate, loudest animal Cagney has ever encountered. And it is the size of a Shetland pony.

‘Am I sexually attracted to women? Yes. Do I like them? No. Do I trust them? No. Do they possess any logic or reason? No. Do they cause anything but pain with their vanity and self-centred conceit? No. Do they just want to fuck with men’s minds and ruin our lives? Yes.’ Cagney turns to face Howard, who is grinning at him stupidly. ‘Have you been eating M&Ms again?’

‘This is so exciting.’ Cagney can barely make out Howard’s whisper.

‘Driving still gets you worked up, eh? You can stick your head out of the window if you want. Do it now, there’s a truck coming.’

‘No! You, and the fat-girl-gone-thin – at the dinner party. You are completely going to fall in love!’

‘Have you lost your mind?’

‘On the contrary, dear Cagney, it’s perfect. The bitter and cynical old private eye, the ugly duckling that’s become a swan – it’s all going to turn out brilliantly.’

‘I am not a private eye.’

‘In the movies you would be.’

‘Your daydreams are even more special when you keep them to yourself.’

‘Cag, honestly, mate, it always happens that way. It’s destiny. Just remember me when you need a godfather for your first son.’

‘Howard, read the file, look at the photo, remember her name …’

‘Fine, fight fate if you want to, but it’s going to happen. Some sweet misunderstood young thing, some soft lovely vision of innocence and purity, and you saved a child’s life together! She’s going to melt your heart, Cagney, just
remember where you heard it first, and then give me a pay rise.’

‘What’s her name?’

Howard opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

‘The job – what’s her name?’

‘Bugger!’ Howard starts skim-reading the file, and Cagney smiles slightly to himself.

He knows what life has in store for him. He’s been around the block and back again, parked, and put money in the meter. No young girl is going to turn his eye these days, no soft something with breasts that bounce as if conducted by his own personal baton. The fight has gone out of him.

Cagney sits in the BMW, eyes fixed on his rear-view mirror. She is due to show any time. A red door opens in a two-million-pound house ten feet behind his bumper, and a twentysomething wire frame of designer labels and sunglasses emerges, swinging a bag full of credit cards paid for by a husband who is a little more suspicious than he used to be, a little less of a fool.

She is a blonde, a blonde to distract a Catholic priest from his altar boys. Cagney sighs, tired, focused, bored. As she struts towards her convertible, her skinny hips swing so hard he listens out for the sound of bones slapping. Cagney spots a twentysomething guy walking towards her reading his newspaper too high, not paying attention to where he is going. Cagney punches a number quickly into his phone, and the collision comes as the blonde, Jessica, reaches into her bag for her mobile. Cagney punches his phone again, and the ringing stops. They are smiling now, laughing, the guy is on the pavement picking up the contents of Jessica’s bag. Cagney watches in his mirror as she dusts herself off. The guy dabs at the coffee he has
been carrying, which drenches his polo shirt – you can see his chest through it. Jessica points towards her door, and the guy follows her up the steps. The door closes behind them both, and Cagney moves. Howard’s not one for subtlety.

The BMW bleeps locked as he walks towards the red door, camera tucked in his pocket. The wind whistles past him as he pulls the collar of his charcoal wool overcoat up around his ears, a man walking fast from A to B on one of the last days of September, nothing to see here. The temperature has dropped fifteen degrees overnight. He ducks down the side of the house and nobody notices.

Twenty minutes later Cagney sits back in the driving seat, watching the red door in his rear-view mirror. Howard emerges, and jogs down the steps of the house, turning to wave goodbye to the hand, arm, naked shoulder at the closing door. He saunters down the road and slips into Cagney’s blind spot, before the passenger door rips open and the wind stabs into the car.

‘Wow!’

‘I don’t want to know.’

‘She was like, really professional. I’d say that girl’s got some kind of paid experience, if you know what I’m saying. My sweet Lord.’

Howard whistles, impressed, in the passenger seat, as Cagney pulls the car out.

‘Can I put the radio on?’

‘Have I ever said yes before?’

‘No, but –’

‘There’s your answer.’

‘But I need to relax, Cagney. I’ve got the afterglow! Have you got a cigarette?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I have one?’

‘Have I ever said yes before?’

‘Honestly, Cag, been taking those social pills again?’

Cagney waits at the crossroads for a people carrier packed with kids to pull out in front of him.

‘That was a good one, though, Cagney. I’ll give you that one for free. I mean obviously not, Cagney – I still need to get paid – but figuratively speaking, I’d give you that one for free. If I could afford it.’

Howard gives up with a look of frustration as Cagney ignores him, concentrating on the road. They sit in silence, but for the steady hum of suburban London as they pass at fifty miles an hour. The sun shines unexpectedly as Cagney steers the BMW west along Chiswick High Road. Old leaves on the trees swing delicately above their heads, like twenty-pound notes as they flutter in the breeze.

‘Are we driving straight back to the office, Cag?’

‘You can walk if you like.’

‘No, I meant can we stop off at the supermarket first, if I’m quick?’

‘Have I ever stopped for you before?’

‘No’

‘Do you just really like hearing me say it?’

Howard sighs, and starts to rap quietly, as Cagney winces almost imperceptibly. But the rapping needs to be stopped, and Cagney has something on his mind.

‘You’re not supposed to have sex with them, Howard, you know that. I could lose my licence.’

‘Cagney, I’m shocked. I did no such thing!’

‘I was taking the photos! Do you think I just point the camera in the general direction, then cover my eyes in case I see anything bad? I have to look, Howard. Believe me, it doesn’t fill me with fun, but I have to. And I saw you.’

‘What you saw, boss, was nothing more than a little harmless fellatio. The little fella was out before I could stop her,
and I was scared to interrupt her flow. I have what I think is a very reasonable fear of teeth, in that area. Did you get any good ones?’

‘What?’

‘Photos.’

‘I got enough.’

‘Can you get a second set? I’d like one for my wallet.’

‘No more sex, no more blow jobs. A kiss is all we need. Stop pissing about. I’m not your pimp.’

Cagney swings the car off the South Circular past the Gardens’ wall.

‘Is Iuan in today?’

‘If he’s not he’s sacked. And that truck better have moved as well.’

Cagney indicates left towards the station. The truck has indeed gone.

Christian stands outside Screen Queen admiring his handiwork. The life-size Dolly is front and centre, surrounded by the Buddhas and garlands. It looks as if a gay bomb has exploded in the window. Cagney swings the car down an alley, parks, and turns off the engine.