‘Sparkling?’
‘I’m lit up already.’
What about the hotel where I was asked, do I want the double bed or the comfortable bed? I thought, ‘This is a quiz I am not up to.’ (Janet Street-Porter)
Brant stirred, thought, oh no, not again.
But OK … he wasn’t dying. Went to stretch and his left hand touched a face.
‘Jesus!’ he roared, sitting straight up.
Took a quick look:
A woman … thank God.
Then he looked again: the Spanish woman.
Yahoo, he’ d scored … way to go, Brant!
For one horrible moment a movie flashed through his head. Jane Fonda comes out of a blackout to find a corpse beside her.
If he could just remember her name. Weren’t all these Spanish women called the same?
His hangover, though not a killer, was jamming his mental faculties. Isabella! Yeah, didn’t they even have a queen with the name?
He went to get some tea and clothes. Took another peek at her, not bad at all. Made the tea and dry swallowed aspirin.
Rough.
Got some toast done then took it back to the bedroom. Thought it was a shame to wake her, because then she’d start to talk. Touched her arm, said, ‘Isabella?’
No movement.
Poked harder.
‘Que?’
‘Buenos tardes, Isabella.’
She took a moment to focus, landed, asked, ‘Que es Isabella … who is this … is evening?’
‘No, it’s morning.’
She sat up, none of the modest grabbing for sheets.
Let it show.
‘You said, Buenos tardes.’
‘It’s kinda all I got.’
She tasted the tea, went, ‘Caramba!’
And leapt out of bed, said, ‘This is no good, I’ll make us Spanish coffee.’
‘But I don’t have anything from Spain.’
She put her hands on her hips, asked, ‘And what am I?’
‘Oh … right.’
She disappeared into the kitchen with a shopping bag. Time on, she’s back with coffee and baked or heated toast-sorta. Brant tasted the coffee, said, ‘It tastes like … vanilla…
‘Bueno, now eat, and then you’ll make fiery love to your woman.’
Brant was less sure about the last bit. Mornings were not a passionate time for him. He asked, ‘So what, you carry mini meals around with you just in case?’
‘It’s my shopping and I didn’t get home.’
He thought the coffee wasn’t half bad. Could vanilla taste bitter? This did.
Took some toast and said, ‘I never ate sweet toast, like it’s got edge.’
‘Now we make love.’
He stood up, time to take charge.
Went and got her a T-shirt, said, ‘You go and shower, I’ve got to go to work.’
She put on the T-shirt and it reached her knees. On its front were the words:
I am a natural blond
Please talk slowly
It amused him all over again. He gave her a slap on the arse, said, ‘Let’s move it, toots.’
As he headed for work, she said, ‘My name is Concheta.’
For one bizarre moment, he thought she said ‘Cochise’.
He said nothing and she added, ‘Those close to me call me Cheta.’
‘OK.’
‘Please, one time, say it.’
‘What … oh … all right … Cheta.’
‘A muy buena, you are mucho simpatico.’
He looked at his watch, said, ‘I’m bloody late is what I am.’
That evening, Brant was saying to Roberts, ‘I swear, guv, she stayed the night.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Straight up, guv-and mad for it. Got to go.’
Roberts was impressed and envious, said, ‘You always land on yer feet.’
Brant gave his lucky smile, answered, ‘Always.’
Outside the station, the rain was lashing down. To Brant’s amazement, he saw two white teenagers about to break into his Volvo. If not exactly broad daylight, it was brazen.
‘Oi!’ he shouted and came running.
Grabbed one by the neck. A long steel bar slipped from the kid’s hands, clattered on the kerb. Brant was about to launch forth when an incredible pain wound up his insides, sweat poured down his face.
He dropped to one knee, near doubled in agony.
The first kid asked, ‘What’s with ’im?’
The other kid, marvelling at their deliverance, said, ‘Bugger’s sick he is.’
Brant pushed out his left hand to grab the car for support.
The second kid said, ‘Jeez, look at the watch, it’s a Tag.’
‘What?’
‘Take the bleeding thing.’
The first kid was dubious, ‘Is it a fake?’
Through his pain, Brant tried to say yes but it emerged as a grunt. The second kid moved forward, grabbed Brant’s wrist and took the watch, said, ‘Let’s go … quick.’ Brant lay on the pavement, rain caressing his face.
Brant threw up and that made him a little better. He managed to get to his feet and, after four attempts, he got the door open. Fell in behind the wheel and let his head rest. Every inch of him was soaked. He almost passed out, then came to. Weak as a kitten but better. Put the car in gear and drove slowly home.
He didn’t intend reporting this. Him, mugged by kids. He’d lose his rep. The Tag he’d get back, by Christ, see if he didn’t. But his rep, he couldn’t jeopardise that. Like luck it was near impossible to recapture. At home he fell on the bed, damp clothes an’ all and slept for ten hours.
Ice cream
Roberts, as per deal, bought a copy of the Big Issue every week. His vendor knew he was a cop and seemed unfazed. He was eating from a tub of Haagen Dazs ice-cream.
Roberts said, ‘Bit cold for it, isn’t it?’
The vendor moved aside, said, ‘Look.’
Behind him was a large box with maybe another dozen tubs.
Roberts asked, ‘You also sell ice-cream?’
The vendor laughed, ‘A while ago a Daimler pulled up at the kerb. The window rolls down and a woman said, “You there, come here”.’
He mimicked the posh to perfection, continued, ‘I thought it was Liz, come to give me an MBE.’
Roberts laughed.
‘Ere, I’m serious, guv … they gave one to a traffic warden last year. So, I goes over, took me cap off and this woman, leans out, asks, “Are you one of the homeless chappies?” ’
‘I said, we sell the Big Issue for the homeless, yes Ma’am.
‘She says, “Righty ho, my driver has something for you people.” Then she tapped the glass partition for the driver and shuts the window on me.
‘The driver gets out and he’s in all the gear, peaked cap and boots. Like a nazi!’
The vendor stopped and sold two copies to two girls and gave them a tub each. They were delighted.
He winked at Roberts, said, ‘Like loyalty cards, a little bonus for my regulars. Any road, the nazi opens the boot and takes out the ice-cream. I asked, “What am I supposed to do with that?” He gave me the look, said, “Try eating it”.’
The vendor took another taste, said, ‘It’s not bad if you put a touch o’ lager in it.’
Roberts took out his change, had only a fiver … The vendor said, ‘We take all the major credit cards.’
Roberts gave him the five, got change, then waited a moment … no tub. Roberts said, ‘Well, see you next week.’
Dejected, he was walking away when the vendor shouted, ‘Oi, you forgot yer Haagen Dazs.’
‘The only actress on the planet who can play a woman whose child has been killed by wild Australian dogs and can actually have you rooting for the dingoes.’ (Joe Queenan on Meryl Streep)
Falls smiled as she recalled Ryan’s reaction to A Cry In The Dark when she put on the video.
They’d planned an evening at home, her home, where they’d: