Hilary Bonner - Friends to Die For

‘It’s as if some extraordinary lunacy descends upon everyone who climbs aboard a bicycle in this city,’ agreed Marlena.

Relieved to hear her friend starting to sound more like her old self, Michelle asked about the extent of her injuries, how she was feeling, what the prognosis was and so on, before ending the call with a promise to visit the moment she returned to London.

After hanging up, Marlena lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes, trying to blot out the world. Michelle’s call, although she was sure it was well meant, had done nothing to ease her state of mind. But thanks to a shot of painkilling morphine, administered into her bottom by a brisk but efficient young nurse, she slept through most of the night.

Early the following morning two uniformed police officers, who introduced themselves as Constables Perkins and Brandt, arrived at her bedside to interview her. It seemed, from the way they talked, that they were the same officers Alfonso had spoken of, the ones who’d attended the scene of the incident the previous day.

She did not confide her inner thoughts and suspicions. It was Marlena’s policy never to tell the police anything more than she had to. Not even when the police officer in question considered herself a friend, as in Michelle’s case. In spite of her pain and distress, Marlena had been guarded in what she’d said to Michelle the previous evening. It was ingrained in her, the result of a lifetime spent measuring her words, taking care never to unwittingly let slip some detail she would rather others did not know. She was so accomplished in this that none of her small circle of friends, and much larger circle of acquaintances, were ever aware of Marlena holding back. Indeed, with her flamboyant manner and quick wit, she contrived to give the opposite impression. The truth was that the outer Marlena, so vivacious and engagingly bold, was a totally different creature to the inner one, tightened into a knot of eternal angst.

And so it was to her dismay that she now had to deal with two officers intent on taking her laboriously through the details of exactly what had happened when she’d been hit by that bus.

Marlena kept her responses as vague as possible. In this she was helped by the fact that, as a result of the shock and concussion she had suffered, she was genuinely unclear about so much.

Perkins and Brandt asked her to describe the errant cyclist, whom they assured her they would do their best to find. Marlena thought it unlikely they would succeed. Certainly her description of a hooded creature of indeterminate sex and age was not going to be of much assistance.

Finally they asked her about Alfonso.

‘Mr Bertorelli, the principal witness to the incident, tells us that you and he are friends, is that so?’ enquired PC Ronald Perkins, the younger of the two policemen, a baby-faced blond who was already, and somewhat incongruously, growing a substantial belly.

Marlena agreed that it was so, and affirmed that she’d known Alfonso for several years, regularly meeting him socially.

‘So it was quite a coincidence then, Mr Bertorelli being first on the scene?’ continued PC Perkins.

‘Well, yes, I suppose so,’ replied Marlena, wondering what the heck was coming next. ‘But Alfonso does work at the Vine, and the restaurant is only just around the corner. He was on his way to work. I’ve seen him before when I’ve been going to Soho. I go shopping at the same time every Monday, you see. Just the first time I’ve been horizontal, that’s all...’

‘All the same, a bit of a coincidence,’ persisted Perkins. ‘Perhaps a bit too much of a coincidence?’

Marlena stared at him. Whatever she was thinking privately, she had no intention of sharing her misgivings. Not at this stage. Not to some foot soldier of a PC anyway.

‘Absolutely not,’ she said, and such was the certainty in her voice that Ron Perkins did not further pursue his line of questioning, even though he looked as if he would like to.

Soon after the two officers finally departed, Marlena fell fitfully asleep. She woke to see Alfonso standing at the foot of her bed, again on his way to work, he said. Marlena did not share with him the seeds of doubt that PCs Perkins and Brandt had attempted to sow in her.

Instead she greeted him with the biggest smile she could muster.

‘I’m fine,’ she replied, in answer to Alfonso’s anxiously expressed queries. ‘In fact, I’ve been told I shall probably be able to go home later today.’

‘That’s wonderful, darling, but you can’t go home on your own,’ responded Alfonso at once. ‘I’ll get them to phone me when you’re allowed to leave. We can take a cab to your place.’

‘I’ll be perfectly all right alone,’ said Marlena. ‘Besides, you mustn’t miss any more time at work because of this. You’ll lose your job.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Alfonso, who was quite convinced he was the Vine’s most valuable asset.

‘Maybe not, but you still shouldn’t be skiving off to look after a silly old woman who fell in front of a bus.’

‘You didn’t fall. I saw pretty much what happened, and the bus driver was quite clear about it,’ retorted Alfonso. ‘You were dragged along by a mad cyclist and dumped in front of the wheels of a double-decker.’

‘I didn’t think you saw all that,’ said Marlena. ‘Not that it makes any difference. The end result is, I’m still in this state.’

‘Yes, and you can’t go home alone. You should have someone with you for at least a day or two. Didn’t I hear you once mention a sister? In Scotland?’

Marlena’s features darkened. ‘If I did I must have been drunk,’ she said. ‘You will not attempt to contact my sister — not you, Alfonso, nor any of the others, nor the hospital.’

‘All right, all right.’

As I’ve already told you, I shall be just fine. They’re going to give me a lesson in using crutches and then someone will put me in a taxi. I shall be fine.’

‘Right,’ said Alfonso.

Outside in the corridor he went straight to the nursing station and asked to be contacted as soon as Marlena was able to leave.

On the way to the restaurant he called Tiny. Marlena was right. He shouldn’t miss any more work. Business was not as good as it had once been, even at the Vine. The restaurant probably carried a bigger staff than it could currently justify and Alfonso was almost certainly one of the most highly paid waiters. He’d been there for years, was held in considerable esteem by the management and by many of the regular clientele, including some of the most illustrious, but even though he still thought he was invaluable, you never really knew.

Tiny, already aware of what had happened to Marlena — as were all the group, thanks to Alfonso having spread the word the previous day — answered his phone on the first ring.

Knowing that the big man, aside from being a real favourite of Marlena’s who might just be able to cheer her up a little, was usually free during the day, the Fonz asked him if he wouldn’t mind collecting Marlena from UCH and taking her home. There seemed to be a pause before Tiny gave his answer.

‘Sure,’ he said eventually. ‘Of course I’ll do it.’

‘Great, I’ll be in touch as soon as the hospital call me,’ said Alfonso.

‘OK,’ replied Tiny.

It suddenly struck Alfonso how distracted Tiny sounded. Not himself at all. He hadn’t even asked how Marlena was.

‘What’s wrong, mate?’ he asked. ‘You don’t sound right. You aren’t letting all this business get to you, are you?’

‘No, well... I’m trying not to,’ said Tiny.

‘Look, Greg’s thing and this, well, like Greg himself said, stuff happens in inner cities. It’s got nothing to do with Sunday Club, surely? Those pranks had nothing to do with this. Though I do think it might help now if whoever played them just owned up—’