Читать книгу Blood RED - Paul Kane - Страница 13

CHAPTER THREE

She really didn’t want to be here.

Rachael shifted uncomfortably in the seat and the leather creaked beneath her. She was nursing a vodka and coke like it was the last drink on Earth; barely a sip had passed her lips in the last quarter of an hour.

“Your heart’s not really in this, is it?” said the girl in the electric blue blouse beside her. Stephanie’s make-up looked like a chimp had applied it, so thick you could scrape it off with a palette knife and paint a canvas with it. And the fact that she kept getting out her bag and mirror to apply more wasn’t helping. It was the ’80s retro look, she informed Rachael when they met up—all the rage in certain city clubs. Unfortunately, they weren’t in one of those right now. They were in the lounge of The Forrester’s Arms, one of the smattering of pubs that crawlers used on their way to more exciting venues.

There had been no need to ring Steph when she got back to her flat because her friend had beaten her to it. The phone went as soon as she stepped through the door. “I really don’t understand this problem you have about switching your mobile on—it’d be so much easier to get hold of you,” she’d said.

What if I don’t want to be gotten hold of? thought Rachael. In fact, the only time she kept it about her person and switched it on was if she gave out the number for an audition. Right now, it was languishing in the bottom of her underwear drawer.

“It’s simple, really Steph—if the phone’s off, it’s not costing me money to ring someone back or text them.”

“What, a few measly pence?”

“It might only be that to you, but I’m not exactly raking it in here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Only be a matter of time before you land that big part in something. You’ll see.” Steph’s cheery optimism about Rachael’s ‘career’, while endearing at first, had—over time—worn thinner than Hugh Hefner’s welcome mat. Rachael knew from the lack of work that she was nothing special.

“Thanks,” she said wearily.

“Know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you’re leaving it off on purpose. In case ... ‘you know who’ tries to get in touch.”

“You can say his name, you know.” But Rachael was glad when Steph didn’t.

“You can’t hide yourself away from him.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Yes you are. It’s not worth it.”

“Not worth what?”

“Getting like this about it. Plenty—”

“If you start talking about fish in the sea or pebbles on a beach,” said Rachael, “I’m going to kill you. Slowly.”

“I was going to say, plenty of time to meet someone.”

“You were?”

“No,” Steph admitted. “I was going to talk about fish in the sea.”

Rachael couldn’t help chuckling at her honesty.

“But one thing’s for sure, you’re not going to hook any of them while you’re still on dry land.”

“I could look around for a pebble instead,” suggested Rachael, trying to be facetious—but it was lost on Steph.

“That’s the spirit. So, you’re coming out tonight then?”

“Actually, I was thinking of staying in—”

“And doing what? Watching soaps on TV, comfort eating?”

Rachael looked at the paper bag sticking out of the top of her shopping. Inside were not one, but two chocolate éclairs. “No,” she lied. “I was going to ...” But she couldn’t think of a decent excuse in time.

“It’s Friday night. You’re coming out, like we arranged.”

Rachael sighed. She hated arguments and this one just wasn’t worth getting into. Besides, Steph had done a lot for her when she first moved here: showed her around; helped her settle in; introduced her to ... Okay, let’s leave that one right there, forget that he’s a friend of Steph’s sister Elaine, before I change my mind again ... Rachael knew she was only looking out for her, trying to cheer her up. So, knowing she was going to regret it, she said, “Okay, I give in. What time?”

But if it had been Steph’s intention to cheer her up, she was failing miserably. All she’d done for the past hour was talk about her own doomed love life before and after she’d met Rachael—which, as far as she could see, mainly involved picking up men in loud clubs without even knowing their names, without even knowing if they had anything in common, then wondering why the relationship had collapsed a few days later. At least Rachael’s thing with Mike hadn’t been like that. They’d been friends first, part of the same crowd, and then it developed into something else. Something Rachael thought would last, until the night she’d shown up to surprise him at work while he was doing one of his DJ-ing shifts.

She’d watched from the doorway as he flirted with a handful of women giving him requests; all part of the job, he’d probably argue. But the last straw came after he kissed one of them—not just a peck on the cheek, either—right in front of a room full of people. When she confronted him, he maintained there was nothing to it, that she was an old friend, someone he’d known before. They’d had a blazing row that had continued outside the venue, and that had been the last they’d spoken to each other in over a week.

“Bunch of cheating shits, the lot of them,” ranted Steph. “Oooh, now how about that one? He looks a bit of all right.” Steph’s distinctly schizophrenic notions about men never failed to amaze Rachael, but she was noticing it much more tonight—probably because Steph had spent the other half of the time pointing out potential replacements for Mike. “It’ll take your mind off things, I guarantee it,” she told Rachael.

“If you start talking about horses and getting back on them ...” Rachael warned.

Steph grinned. “I’m sure we can find you a nice, strong stallion if we try.”

“Look, I just don’t think I’m ready for—”

“It’s only a bit of fun. Humour me.”

Oh, I am—trust me.

“Go on,” said her friend, “what do you think?” She was nudging Rachael and nodding in the direction of two men standing at the bar. One looked like he’d just lumbered out of a cave and the other, a stocky man in a vest, sported more tattoos than a brace of bikers. “That one, the one on the left.”

“What, unibrow? I don’t think so.”

“All right, the other one then.”

“Steph, he’s got more pictures on him than the Tate has on its walls. Besides, he’s gross.”

“You know your problem, don’t you?”

Rachael cocked her head. “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You’re too picky.” Steph knocked back her Bacardi, the fourth of the evening so far. “Must be the actress side of you.”

“Picky?” said Rachael. “Just because I don’t fancy a primate?”

Ignoring her, Steph scanned the pub again, expert eyes landing on every face, every bottom. “All right, what about him? He’s nice.”

She followed Steph’s gaze to a man sitting at a table in the corner sipping a Guinness. A large man, muscular rather than bulky like the tattoo guy, Rachael couldn’t deny he had some things going for him. Those blue eyes for one.

“So, does he float your boat?”

“You’re a walking cliché, you know that? He’s ... he’s quite good-looking.” said Rachael.

“Quite?” said Steph, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“But denim?” Rachael was referring to his jeans and jacket—he looked like a throwback to those old aftershave commercials. Not that he’d shaved; no, this bloke was going more for a stubbled, manly look.

“Okay,” said Steph, eyes on the prowl again. “Him. Now he’s been checking you out since he came in.” She was pointing to a dark-haired man not far away at the bar, dressed in what looked to be a pretty expensive suit, albeit with an open-necked shirt; the complete opposite of the denim-clad man’s outfit. And the way he held himself was confident, assured.

“He has not. And don’t point,” said Rachael. “Oh no, he’s seen you now.”

“So what? I do it all the time ... It’s part of the dance, Rachael. The fine art of seduction.”

The man smiled at them, and Steph smiled back. In fact, she waved.

“Stop it,” pleaded Rachael, but it was far too late for that. The man strolled over and leaned on the top of the booth. Now that he was closer, Rachael could take in his clean-shaven appearance, wavy black hair and deep, penetrating eyes. The way that smile lit up his face completed the set perfectly.

“Hello ladies,” he said, flashing it again. “Nice evening for it.”

Steph giggled, and was about to say something when Rachael kicked her ankle.

“Can I buy either of you a drink?”

“Not very original, but since you’re offering. Bacardi, please.” Steph held up her virtually empty glass and waggled it. Rachael shook her head coyly.

While he was at the bar again, Rachael pulled Steph closer and asked her what the hell she was playing at.

“What’s the matter, don’t you like him? I think he’s gorgeous. Suave, sophisticated ... Plenty of money, I’d say.”

“We don’t even know him.”

“So? We get to know him. If you’re not interested, I’ll take him.”

Rachael frowned. “You make him sound like a washing machine or something.”

“Just set him on the spin cycle and I’ll be happy enough,” said Steph with a laugh.

“Look, this really isn’t me. I don’t do this kind of thing ...” Steph shushed Rachael as he returned with her drink, and one of his own—a scotch.

“Cheers,” he said, clicking the glasses together. Rachael held up her drink and he locked eyes with her. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and, to her surprise, found herself smiling.

“So,” he said. “I’m Will. William Oliver Finch to be precise, at your service.” He gave a little bow.

Steph introduced herself and Rachael. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before,” she tacked on to the end.

“No, I’m fairly new to the area.”

“How did you end up in this place, then?”

“Oh, I just followed my nose. And what do you ladies do for a living?”

Rachael opened her mouth, but found Steph answering for her. “I work in a solicitor’s office, but Rachael here ... she’s an actress.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up, obviously impressed. “An actress?”

Now Rachael was blushing even more. “Aspiring,” she corrected.

“She’s been in plays and everything,” Steph added.

Will nodded. “I’ve done a bit of acting in my time, too.”

“Really?” asked Rachael. The night was picking up a little bit after all, and Will was quite a handsome man. “Yes, not professionally you understand—nothing in your league. But I seem to have a flair for it.”

“Well, look at that—you two have something in common, then.” Steph was beaming.

“Oh, I’m sure we have lots in common,” said Will with confidence, grinning again and sitting himself down opposite them in the booth.

Maybe I’m going to enjoy myself tonight after all, thought Rachael. Famous last words, she discovered, as the evening took a decided turn for the worse not long afterwards.

Steph had made the blatant excuse of needing the loo, in spite of Rachael giving her a look that would’ve frozen lava. “Won’t be a tick,” she told them, undeterred. “You two carry on chatting.”

After an awkward pause, they both said together: “So ...” Will chuckled and she found herself laughing too. “You first,” they said again in unison. That did it, and they both cracked up.

Rachael was so busy laughing, she didn’t notice the shadow fall across their table. She was aware of a figure standing there, and was about to tell Steph that she’d been quick, when she realised it wasn’t her at all. Rachael stopped laughing instantly, stunned into silence.

It was Mike. Her Mike. No, don’t call him that anymore, he forfeited the right when he slobbered all over that cow. He looked the same as he had the last time she’d seen him—which, she had to admit, wasn’t that long ago—same tousled hair, same razor slit across one eyebrow. All that had changed was the T-shirt he wore.

“Hello Rachael,” he said, then looked Will up and down. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new ... friend?”

“Mike ...” she managed. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a free country, isn’t it?”

Elaine ... thought Rachael, her mind working overtime. Had to be. Steph must have told her sister she was coming out with me here. Elaine told Mike. Simple. Why couldn’t they just keep their big mouths shut, why—

“I’m still waiting for an introduction,” said Mike, his voice taking on a more urgent edge.

“Will,” said Rachael. “This is Mike ... my ex-boyfriend.” She emphasised the first bit for both their benefits.

“Ah,” said Will, sticking out his hand. Mike ignored it.

“You two look very cosy,” Mike said.

Rachael shook her head. “Cosy? We were just having a laugh, and anyway, what the hell has it got to do with you anymore?”

It was at this point that Steph did return from the bathroom. “Shit! Mike? What’s he doing here?”

“We’ve done that one already,” said Rachael. “And I want words with you later about it.”

Steph held up her hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t know anything about this, I swear.”

Mike changed tack then, saying, “Look, Rachael, I came to talk to you.”

“I’ve got nothing to say.”

He leaned in close to her, making her uncomfortable. “You owe me that much at least.”

“Owe you!” spat Rachael. “Owe you?”

“You’re upsetting the lady,” said Will, rising. Mike put his hand on Will’s shoulder to stop him from getting up.

“I don’t think you want to do that, friend,” Will told him.

“I’m not your friend.”

Will’s eyes narrowed and he brushed off Mike’s hand. Then he was suddenly up and standing beside him.

Sensing the inevitable, Steph tried to step between the pair. “Now let’s all just calm down a little.” But it was way too late.

Mike tried to push him, but Will grabbed his arms and pushed him back. Though Will looked the perfect gentleman, he was quickly showing that in a fight, it was another story. Mike took a swing, catching Will a glancing blow to the cheek. He snarled, and tackled Mike to the ground, knocking over a table with some glasses on it.

The next thing, people were wading in—including the burly landlord—separating the men, dragging them to their feet and holding them by the arms so they couldn’t move. It took three guys to hold Will in place. When the men stopped struggling, and after drawing a crowd of onlookers, the landlord began talking about phoning the police and asking who was going to pay for the damage? Will held up his hands for the men to let him go, then reached in his pocket and gave the landlord some notes. “That should cover it,” he told him. “It was just a minor ... misunderstanding.”

The landlord seemed satisfied with that, and the brawlers were made to leave, separately. Mike turned back once to look at Rachael. She couldn’t even face him.

Steph had disappeared it seemed, then Rachael spotted her over the other side of the pub where people were still rubbernecking. Eventually, she returned to her friend.

“I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.” Rachael felt like hiding under the table.

“Hey, I’ve never had two men fighting over me. Don’t knock it ... By the way, his name’s Tom.”

Rachael was thrown by this. “Who?”

“The hunk in the denim over there,” Steph explained.

“I really can’t believe you!”

“Hey, what did I do?”

Rachael didn’t answer her. She just downed the vodka and coke, finally, then slammed her glass on the table. “I’ll tell you what you can do. Get me another drink, and this time ...”

“What?”

“This time make it a double.”