Chapter Sixteen

Next day when I got home from the cafe, I had a phone message waiting for me. Meaghan had made the most of her knowledge of my morning habits to get in touch at a remove. She wanted some things from the flat, planned to send round a van, could I call the man and arrange a convenient time please, she asked.

My first e-mail of the day was from Theresa Noble. It was short, but not at all sweet. She’d spotted those photos of hers that I’d posted on my blog, wanted them back. I was to meet her that afternoon at Somerset House, and I wasn’t to think anything was more important.

I also got a mail from Harry who wanted to take me up on my offer of a game of pool that evening, her chance at last for revenge. You’re about to find out, Bro, that Harry washes whiter than ever.

I worked my way through a batch of texts, found one from Minona reminding me of our midday meeting at the studio. Be on time, she wrote.

Well, it was nice that the women in my life had been kind enough to get in touch. And touching that they all wanted a piece of what was left of me.

I got the van to come immediately, thought it best to get this part of the Root and Meaghan story over and done as quickly as possible. The guys showed up at the door and inside a quarter of hour managed to empty the wardrobe and bedroom drawers of all of her clothes. Then they handed me note in Meaghan’s handwriting. The flourishes got to me a little, the curls and coils corkscrewing into that place inside me where the affections I had for Meaghan still lived. I might have been in tears if the movers hadn’t been there.

I read the list. She was demanding a mound of things. And a lot of them were gear we’d bought together for the flat, stuff which rightly belonged to the two of us. No way was she getting that print from the Tate, that set of tiny mustard spoons we’d found at the flea market, that… Then again, why not give here everything she wanted? I wasn’t going to be as small-minded as she was, wouldn’t give her excuses for petty arguments. I told the guys to take everything.

It was only when the last box was being carried out of the door that I grabbed the kilim. Meaghan was rather unlikely to pick a fight over a rug.

I asked the movers for a ride to the studio.

*

I waited forty-five minutes in the lobby for Minona. I chatted to the receptionist, to a couple of engineers, read through the film reviews in Time Out. Minona’s assistant was as much at a loss as I was over her no-show. It was unheard of. He tried her on her BlackBerry, called Ferris HQ. But she’d gone AWOL. With anyone else but Minona I might have thought they’d shied away because of our spat. In her case, I presumed it was some kind of punishment. I told the assistant to ask Minona to get in touch once she resurfaced.

*

I arrived way early at Somerset House. On the river terrace, I drank my way through a cappuccino, then another, read over and over the upcoming events on the National Theatre’s electronic display board across the river – something from Mike Leigh, from Chekov, a play about Rwanda. After an hour of it, I began to feel I’d actually seen each of the attractions the place had to offer.

Theresa arrived, took a chair opposite me without saying a word. She was wearing a sealskin coat buttoned up to the neck, had on thick woollen leggings. She must have been baking on what was a warm afternoon.

I took the envelope with the photos from my bag and placed it on the table.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” she said. “You know you could have had them.”

She was right, and I couldn’t properly explain it. “Rush of blood?”

“That caused bad blood.” She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them once more.

“I apologise.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Well, here are the photos,” I told her.

“You do want me to forgive you, don’t you?”

I shrugged, wasn’t one hundred percent sure why I was putting myself through this. After all, I’d only chased after her to get to Philip Hegley, and I’d managed to do that now. Theresa Noble was spent as far as my mission was concerned, but I would have felt bad simply standing up and walking away. I liked her well enough, felt flattered by her flirting. And I was sorry she was still in love with a guy she believed to be dead, that she went so far as to try and talk to his spirit. Another reason I stayed put was for my own damn good. Meaghan had just walked away. Minona had stood me up. Harry had too little time for me nowadays. I didn’t feel strong enough to cast myself free from all these women in one fell swoop.

“You know, Root, I think we can do something about this.”

“You do?”

“After all, one does make lemonade from lemons.”

“Certainly.” I wasn’t too sure where she was heading.

Theresa picked up the envelope, pulled out the photographs and studied each one before putting them back. Then she ordered a tonic water from the waiter. She was playing the scene very well, working my discomfort for as long as she could.

“I’m going to give you a chance to make amends,” she said. “I know you have a deal for a film. Put me in it.

“It’s already cast.” It was the only thing I could think to say.

“Then recast.”

“I’m not sure there’s a part for you.”

“Then write one.”

“I can’t just…”

“But my dear, you can just.”

And she was right, I could. I looked at her lips, the ones I’d spent time adoring in stunning close-up in Greene Land. Putting Theresa Noble in the film I was planning was a great idea. And an even greater one was to reunite as many of the cast and crew of Hegley’s last work as possible. Get them to do what they did once again. Only even better.

*

Harry was already on the baize at the Bunch of Grapes when I arrived. She was trying out a shot, leaning far over the table and putting an astounding stretch in a maroon-leather jumpsuit.

“Need the practice, Aitch?”

Harry put the ball very cleanly in the centre pocket. “I ought to warn you I’m feeling pretty limber,” she said.

“I’m ready for another drubbing at the hands of a woman.”

“Trouble at work with The Min?”

“It’s a domestic. Meaghan’s moved all her stuff out.” I hadn’t planned to tell Harry anything about the break-up, though it now suddenly felt right.

“Bad news,” she said. “But you really ought to have talked to me about this before. I shouldn’t have to rely on Justin to tip me off about his sister and you.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Only the basics. We can abandon the game, and you can upgrade me if you like.”

“I say play on.”

“You don’t have to be a man about this, you know.”

“Seems a good stance to adopt right now.”

“Steel in the upper lip, firm jaw and the rest?” She tightened her face at me.

“You’ve got it.”

“You’ll let me know if you feel the need to loosen up?”

“First person I’ll turn to, Aitch.”

“Good to hear.” Harry chalked her cue. “Then battle shall commence.”

“And let the only man win,” I said.

“You’re begging for a beating, Mr Wilson.”

“You say that because you’re in leather.”

“Hey, just because you’re newly single doesn’t mean you can try it on. Just you remember who I am.”

“And who are you exactly?”

Harry stared at me with deep kohl eyes, batted her lashes showily. “Your opponent,” she said. “Your sworn enemy.”

“Then I’ll take you on at any game you like.”

“Pool will do for starters,” she said. “Select your weapon, mortal.”

Harry went to the top of the table, broke and freed most of the balls from the rack, was obviously setting up a few possibles for me.

“No need to do any favours because you feel sorry for me,” I said.

“I’m only sorry you’re about to lose so badly.” She prodded me in the back with her cue. “I’d go for that there stripey ball in the corner pocket, if I were you,” she said quietly in my ear.

“And if you were a man, I’d ask you outside for your cheek.”

“Promises, promises,” she said. “Play the game, chum.”

I whacked the gimme ball in the pocket but fluffed the next shot, leaving Harry with a host of openings. She put one away at the far end of the table, got back behind the next ball thanks to a perfect dose of bottom spin, potted that, a third and a fourth. Then she missed after mis-parking the cue ball.

“There’s a chance for you, Bro. Your last, so use it well.”

I messed it up and sat out the rest of the game as Harry cleared the table. I wasn’t too disappointed as it gave me the opportunity to do further study of the amazing way she was managing to fill out her leatherwear. I lost track of the game.

“What’s with you?” she asked. “Given up already?”

“Sorry, I lost the plot for a while.”

“Maybe this really isn’t a good time.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ll take the shine off my victory if you don’t play seriously. Don’t ruin my revenge.”

I stood up, thumped the butt of the cue in my palm. “OK,” I said. “I’m ready to assert my superiority.”

She gave me a stern look. “I mean it. Play to win, or else.”

“I like the idea of the ‘or else’. But I’d rather give you a whupping, as they say. Think The Hustler. Only this time our hero triumphs.”

“Oh boy.” Harry broke for a second time.

The next game was nip and tuck, with Harry a little on the back foot following my return to form. Donning the Fast Eddie mantle seemed to have helped because he was playing far, far better than Rattling Root had done. It went to the wire. With little left on the table, Harry missed a tough shot, the target ball catching wickedly in the jaws of the pocket. I went on a run, needed only to sink a simple hanger to win.

“Not worried,” Harry said. “You’ll flub.”

I pocketed, punched the air. “The beginning of the end,” I said.

Harry gave me the finger.

“You got me, under your skin,” I sang. I couldn’t believe how much fun I was suddenly having.

“Rack ‘em, Bro.”

The next game was tight too, but Harry was clearly in trouble, her play uncharacteristically conservative. In this state, I knew just one error would undo her so I waited, played safe by ignoring some of the percentage balls she was sending my way. She was a better player than I was, that was clear, but I believed I could psyche her out. The only thing capable of stopping me was her leather get-up, but I could feast on that all I wanted once the game was won.

The turning point came when I pretended to sandbag a couple of shots to make her think I was flagging. And sure enough she rushed her game, ended up pocketing whitey. All she was able to do then was stand by and watch me clear the table, which I did as slowly as I could, the phrase milking it not quite doing justice to my lack of pace.

“At least you won the first game, Aitch. But if I can beat you, then I know for sure that everything isn’t fine in the world according to Harry. What’s up?”

She threw her cue on the table.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Just when I think all my ducks are in line, they start flying away.”

“You’re talking about work?”

“That’s one thing. It’s true this business with Philip Hegley shows my career isn’t trending well.”

“And another thing?”

“Justin and I are spoiling very quickly.”

“But the two of you are smitten.”

“I’m messing it up, Bro. I’ve spent a lot of my time separating the chavs from the wheat, and now I’m not sure what to do with it.”

“Justin’s a good guy.” I couldn’t bring myself to talk him up any further.

“You know, maybe good’s bad for me.”

“You have to make this work.” I didn’t want Harry to take the advice, of course. But I felt too battered emotionally to open up to Harry and make the move I should have made years ago.