Hilary Bonner - Friends to Die For

‘I guess not,’ said Bob.

After finishing the call Tiny phoned Greg to say the plants had been returned.

Greg giggled at him down the phone.

‘Look, Bob’s taking it all a bit seriously...’ Tiny began.

‘I know that,’ said Greg. ‘He was dead moody when I called round, and I was only trying to help. Even though I’d guessed it was another prank. And you gotta accept that it’s funny.’

‘Bob doesn’t think it’s funny,’ said Tiny. ‘Actually, he’s very upset. You saw that for yourself. You have to remember, Greg, that he thought he’d lost the pot his kid made for him — he’s never got over Danny pissing off. And you know how daft he is about his prize pelargoniums. He once told me he regarded his pelargoniums as his children now, and that they were a lot less trouble than a hairy-arsed teenager.’

Greg’s giggling exploded into full-blown laughter at this.

‘Oh for God’s sake, Tiny,’ he said. ‘Now that really is funny.’

Tiny, Billy, George and Marlena all arrived at Johnny’s early the following Sunday. Michelle came next and immediately expressed sympathy for Bob and unease about what she felt could be an unpleasant edge to the practical jokes.

‘If you’re upsetting people then that’s not a joke, not as far as I’m concerned anyway,’ she said.

‘That’s what I’m beginning to think,’ said Tiny. ‘And Bob certainly does.’

‘Come on,’ said George. ‘I was made to look a total prat. But now a bit of time has passed I do realize the prank played on me was pretty funny. I just want to know who’s doing it, that’s all.’

‘We all seem to agree it’s the same person, and probably one of us, don’t we?’ said Michelle.

‘Definitely the same person,’ said Billy. ‘Same MO, as they say in the best detective shows. And obviously someone who knows Bob and George, their habits, and where they live. What other link do Bob and George have, apart from Sunday Club?’

George shrugged.

‘Can you think of anything, George?’ asked Marlena.

George was just replying that he could think of no other link, when Greg and Karen arrived.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ Greg said. ‘Some bastard’s slashed the tyres on the van. Three of ’em, for fuck’s sake. Had to sort it straight away, ’cos I need to get going first thing in the morning. Gotta big job on.’

There was total silence as Greg sat down and helped himself to a glass of the wine that was already on the table. It seemed a long time before he became aware of the silence, or that all eyes were fixed on him.

‘What?’ he enquired, looking around.

‘Whaddya mean, “what”? Isn’t it obvious?’ enquired Billy.

‘Isn’t what obvious?’ Greg paused, then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, no. You can’t possibly think it’s the same joker who took the piss out of George and Bob, can you? That was entirely different. This is malicious.’

‘Yes, and it’s a different MO,’ said Billy, working it out like the lawyer he was. ‘As you say, entirely different. But if it’s not the same joker then we’ve got a coincidence on our hands.’

‘Not really,’ said Greg. ‘Typical Saturday-night vandalism, if you ask me. I’ve lived in this manor all my life and these things happen. The van’s parked in the street most of the time I’m not driving it, in residents’ parking. Just my turn for a bit of bother, that’s all.’

‘So you really believe it was random?’ pressed George.

‘’Course I do,’ said Greg.

‘No note then, like George and Bob?’ queried Billy.

Greg shook his head.

‘Maybe it blew away,’ said Tiny. ‘It’s windy today.’

‘For goodness’ sake, no,’ responded Greg. ‘Look, we’re market. Expect the odd knock round here. Don’t we, babe?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Karen. ‘I honestly don’t know. I mean, nothing like this has happened to us before, all the years we’ve lived here, has it?’

‘Like I said, it’s our turn. And I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. So come on, I’m ravenous. I could eat a horse. Whoops, shouldn’t say that, should I — who knows what’s in the burgers these days? Anyway, a horse might not be big enough.’

Greg picked up the Sunday specials menu. He tried to avoid meeting Karen’s eye. She knew more about him than anyone else in the world. But even she didn’t know everything.

He wanted desperately to change the subject. To move on from the matter of his slashed tyres.

‘Hey, half a roasted elephant,’ he said, realizing he was talking nonsense but not caring. ‘Just the job. Oh no. My mistake. Half a roasted chicken. Think I’ll have the spare ribs again.’

More wine was delivered, another Prosecco for Marlena, and a second round of cosmos for Tiny and Billy, while the group juggled the menus and finally ordered their meals. Alfonso, on duty at the Vine, and Ari, off goodness knows where and on goodness knows what, did not turn up. Neither did Bob.

It was quite usual for only some of the friends to be present, but none of them had really expected Bob to be there. Especially given the fact he hadn’t taken the theft of his plants well and he suspected one of the Sunday Clubbers to be responsible.

Nonetheless, in spite of the awkwardness generated by Bob’s absence and the unease caused by Greg and Karen’s news of the damage to their van, after a bit the evening settled into a normal Sunday Club session. But that was only how it seemed. In truth, everyone around the table, including Greg, who had put on such a show of being dismissive, was uneasy.

Greg kept his head down and concentrated hard on his spare ribs in barbecue sauce, thankful that he had chosen a dish that demanded his full attention. Karen kept glancing at Greg anxiously and said little. Tiny, Billy and George all talked too much. Michelle and Marlena both picked at their food. Marlena, witty caustic Marlena, who normally had a riposte for everything, was unusually silent.

There was a common preoccupation, of course. Questions that lurked in the back of the minds of at least six of the seven assembled members of the group, or perhaps all of them.

Could those tyres have been slashed by the same person who had played pranks on Bob and George? Could it really be one of their supper club? Could that person actually be sitting at the table?

Or was Greg right, and this latest incident was just a random case of inner-city vandalism?

The next day Marlena, dressed in blinged black as usual, a mink cape tossed carelessly over her shoulders, wearing full make-up and false eyelashes, even though it was not yet 9 a.m., was still thinking about the previous evening when she set off for the Soho deli which was probably her favourite food shop in the world.

Marlena lived in a block of flats, converted in the seventies from a disused fruit-and-veg warehouse, at the heart of Covent Garden right by the Opera House.

‘Where else?’ she would ask.

She rarely strayed beyond the perimeters of the Garden.

‘Why ever would I, darlings? Covent Garden is the centre of the universe,’ was another of her sayings.

Her regular Monday-morning excursion to Franco’s Deli was an exception. It was, after all, only a twenty-minute walk from her home, and she actively looked forward to it.

Soho was at its quietest at this time of the week, and Marlena often had the whole wonderful shop to herself. She did not eat a great deal, but she liked to tickle her taste buds with assorted delicacies. Normally her only preoccupation as she made her way through the city streets was to plan exactly what selection of delights she would treat herself to, but this particular Monday morning was different. Marlena was worried. Her life for several years now had been ordered and pleasant. She had good and interesting friends, a comfortable flat in the middle of an area she considered to be the very best place to live, and her demons had left her alone for some time.