The Mystery of Mercy Close (47 page)

‘That was John Joseph’s idea.’

‘It was Wayne’s idea first.’

‘Wha-at? Are you serious? When did all this happen?’

‘Last, I suppose, October, it started. Every phone call he made to me he was going on about it, he was so excited. Then in November I went to Istanbul to visit him and I met her, and even though they were just supposed to be colleagues, Wayne couldn’t hide it. It was obvious he was crazy about her.’

‘So … what happened? You broke up with him? He broke up with you?’

‘He ended it,’ she said, some rancour in her tone. ‘I was hoping we could try to work it out. We were really good together. But he was just … you know … 
mad
about her.’

‘So that was only last October or November? So how come –’ I counted on my fingers – ‘four months later, in March, John Joseph Hartley has imported her into Ireland and married her?’

‘When Wayne told John Joseph about his plans for Zeezah, John Joseph nicked it all off him: the idea, the protegée, if you want to call her that, and the girl.’

‘Cripes,’ I said, taking a moment to let such momentous news settle. ‘Cripes,’ I said again. ‘So all that stuff about how John Joseph hadn’t a clue when he first met Zeezah that she was a big star … all that stuff about hearing her sing at a friend’s birthday party …’ No wonder Roger St Leger had been so scathing. ‘So all that was just bullshit?’

‘I
know
. Did you see them on Saturday night on Maurice McNice? I don’t know how I saw it – I’d rather stick needles in my eyes than watch that garbage – but I was clicking through the channels and somehow there they were. I could have puked. The
lies
of it.’

Then I remembered John Joseph’s charade when I’d asked him for Birdie’s phone number, when he’d pretended he didn’t know where Birdie lived or worked. ‘No wonder John Joseph didn’t want me talking to you,’ I said.

‘No wonder he didn’t. Hon.’

‘Hon?’ I said. Then I got it. ‘Oh right,
hon
. Did he call you “hon” too?’

‘Certainly did, hon. Isn’t John Joseph Hartley a patronizing prick, hon?’

‘He is indeed, hon. He told me he didn’t know where you lived, hon.’

‘Hon, he’s such a liar! He’s been to my house loads of times.’

‘He told me he didn’t know where you worked, hon.’

‘Of course he knows where I work!’

‘Hon. You forgot to say “hon”.’

‘Of course he knows where I work, hon.’

‘Hon.’

‘Hon!’

We said ‘hon’ to each other about twenty more times and, unexpectedly, we were smiling at each other.

Entente cordiale
fully established, I said, ‘I can see why they wouldn’t want the story getting out about how Zeezah was with Wayne before she was with John Joseph.’

‘No, she’s a bit of a hard sell to the Irish public, what with John Joseph being such a fave with the mammies and her being a Muslim. Even though I hear she’s
converting
.’

‘So why did Zeezah swap from Wayne to John Joseph? From the sounds of things Wayne is far nicer. Is it because John Joseph had more money and Aston Martins?’

‘I suppose. I don’t know if she was feeding Wayne a line, but she said she was torn in two. She said she couldn’t make up her mind between the two of them.’

She couldn’t make up her mind between the two of them
.

Where had I heard that recently?

Maybe it would come to me.

‘But I suppose she
did
make up her mind in the end because she married John Joseph,’ I said. ‘Fast work, though.’

‘Zeezah needed Irish citizenship in order to work here, so herself and John Joseph got married. But maybe they love each other.’

‘In fairness,’ I said, ‘they act like they do. They’re super-tight with each other. You know something?’ I felt suddenly obliged to say something important. ‘Wayne still cared about you. He felt really guilty.’

‘Why do you say that?’ she asked.

‘I could feel it,’ I said, surprising myself. ‘Really. People say I have no empathy. But maybe that’s not true. I admit I don’t have much
sympathy
, but that’s only to protect myself. The
thing is that Wayne kept your photo in his spare bedroom. That room, I swear to you, Birdie, it’s so sad. It’s the saddest place. Not a happy cheater, was he?’

‘Why are you talking about him in the past tense?’

I paused. ‘I don’t know. Listen, can I ask when you were last talking to Wayne? If it’s been recent, like in the past few days, I’m begging you to tell me.’

She shook her head. ‘I haven’t spoken to him since March. Not since it came out about Zeezah and John Joseph’s surprise wedding.’

I gave her the steady one-woman-to-another eyeball.

‘Stop that,’ she said. ‘I’m telling you the truth. I rang him and he was in absolute bits so I thought if I gave him some time … I know I sound pathetic, but Wayne and I were really in love. I thought Zeezah was just one of those mad infatuation things and that what he and I had was real and that he might cop on and come to his senses. But then you showed up, talking about someone called Gloria, and I couldn’t help it, I wanted to know who she was.’

‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘I haven’t a clue. All I know about her is that she was the last person who left a message on his landline before he disappeared on Thursday. But maybe she’s nobody.’

‘She can’t be nobody.’

Although maybe she was. Maybe she was just a telesales person, trying to get Wayne to change his electricity supplier. Those bullshit upbeat tones: ‘I have good news for you!’ They all talked like that.

But then she’d said she’d ring Wayne on his mobile and a telesales person wouldn’t have had that number. I was stymied. I really didn’t know what to think.

‘So tell me,’ I said, ‘where were you yesterday? I called round and there was no sign of you.’

‘God, you’re a right spy.’ But she sounded good-natured. ‘I was visiting my friend in Wexford. Not that it’s –’

‘– any of my business, I know. Sorry,’ I added. ‘One other thing, Birdie. I couldn’t help but notice that you still sound a little bitter at Wayne. I might be able to help.’

‘How?’ She looked so hopeful and pretty that it only served to highlight how strained she was the rest of the time.

‘I employ this thing called the Shovel List.’

‘A shovel …?’

‘No. A Shovel
List
. It’s more of a conceptual thing. It’s a list of all the people and things I hate so much that I want to hit them in the face with a shovel.’

‘A list …?’ She seemed interested.

‘I say a list but I keep it in my head, but certainly you could write it down if you found that more enjoyable. You might like to buy yourself a little Moleskine notebook and perhaps a nice pen. Or you could use cue cards and shuffle around the order. Obviously Wayne would be in at number one with a bullet for you. Or even Zeezah. But there could be other people or things you have a grudge against and some days they could go to the top spot. For example, I can’t take the clunking sound of someone opening their briefcase. Or the smell of cucumber. Or David Cameron’s voice. So sometimes they go to number one.’

‘Well, thank you for that.’ She was grateful, if mildly perplexed. And I’d offered succour to a suffering soul, so we’d all come out of it well.

There was no getting away from it: I really
had
to go to the MusicDrome now. I’d run out of other things to do and Jay Parker had left me about thirty-nine messages.

As I entered the venue I said a fervent prayer that Wayne would be on the stage, with his shaven head and his Swiss-roll stomach, doing a Laddz dance. That he’d have come back and perhaps would have a little catching up to do but basically all would be well.

But there was no sign of him. Under the blindingly bright lights I could see Frankie and Roger and Zeezah and … out of nowhere something lunged at me, like a leopard attacking from a tree! ‘Where is he?’ a voice snarled. ‘Where the fuck is he?’

It was John Joseph.

Jay stepped in and, after a short tussle, shoved John Joseph away from me. ‘Jesus, would you go
easy
,’ he said, clearly alarmed.

John Joseph was hysterical. Sweat was pouring off him and his hair was dishevelled. ‘
Have you found him? Have you got him?
’

‘Not yet,’ I said faintly.

‘You’ve got to find him. You’ve
got
to find him.’ I’d never heard a human being sound so desperate.

‘Step back a bit,’ I said. I had to tell him the bad news on the credit card report and I wasn’t in the humour for another lunge.

As succinctly as possible I relayed the information and watched John Joseph absorb the implications.

‘That can’t be right,’ he said. Suddenly he was screaming. ‘That can’t be
right
.’

‘Calm down, for the love of God,’ I said. ‘It is right. But we’ve still got the phone records to come. And I’ve got other lines of enquiry. And you’ve got your Walter Wolcott on the job.’

‘
When
will the phone records come?’

‘Probably tomorrow.’

‘We need them today. We need them
now
.’

It didn’t work that way, but I didn’t think John Joseph would appreciate an explanation, so I said, ‘I’ve already emailed my contact, but I’ll do it again. I’ll tell them how urgent it is.’

‘We’ll pay for a rush job!’

‘Okay, grand, I’ll tell them.’

I had to get away. I didn’t know where to go or what to do but I wasn’t hanging around here.

I took a quick look at Zeezah. She was biting her plump little lip and she looked quite miserable – who could blame her? Imagine being married to that ball of rage, John Joseph Hartley? She should have stuck with Wayne. As I watched her, she sidled away furtively, towards backstage, and I decided to follow her. Wherever she was going, it had to be better than here.

I trailed behind her. She was moving fast, heading with purpose along a breeze-block corridor, when we entered a small officey clearing, with a couple of desks and chairs. Suddenly she grabbed a wastepaper basket, brought it to her face – and puked into it. She must have been making for the ladies’ and hadn’t been able to hold out. And she thought no one was looking.

She heaved into it three or four times, then spat weakly. I allowed her to find a tissue in her bag and to wipe her mouth before I made my presence known.

‘Zeezah?’

‘H-Helen!’

‘So you really are pregnant!’

‘Yes.’ She straightened up and looked me in the eye.

‘Why did a Laddz spokesman deny it?’

‘Because that’s what you do with the media. Keep them guessing.’

‘None of us thought you were really pregnant. We just thought it was a publicity stunt. My mum says you’re really a man.’

‘Well,’ she said, with a wan little smile, ‘you have seen with your two eyes that I am not. Do you have a mint?’

‘I can do better than that. I can give you a brand-new toothbrush and some toothpaste.’ I began rummaging in my bag.

‘Thank you.’ She accepted my impromptu gift. ‘Although even brushing my teeth makes me want to throw up.’

‘My commiserations. It must be hard feeling this sick with all the shit that’s going down here. So that’s why you weren’t drinking at the barbecue? I thought it was because you were a good Muslim girl.’

‘You wondered why I wasn’t drinking? Huh!’ Her old spirit was back. ‘I wasn’t drinking because I never drink.’ She waved a hand in front of her stunning little body. ‘You think I look this good because I have a fast metabolism and I’m twenty-one years old? Well, actually twenty-four, but that’s our little secret. No, Helen Walsh. I look this good because I permit myself to eat a mere nine hundred calories a day. And on nine hundred calories a day I will not waste a single one of them on beer.’

‘Nine hundred calories a day?’ That barely covered an apple, right? ‘Even now, when you’re pregnant? Shouldn’t you be eating for two?’

Sorrowfully she shook her head. ‘Calcium supplements will have to suffice. I must be back in my size-six yellow jeans and doing a photo shoot half an hour after I give birth. I’m a celebrity. I know my responsibilities.’

She was so funny, she really was.

‘How pregnant are you?’ I asked.

‘Thirteen weeks.’

‘Well, ah … congratulations.’ That was what people normally said to a pregnant person, wasn’t it?

‘Thank you. And now I must gather myself. Even though we don’t know if the gigs will happen, Jay Parker says I must do a radio interview with some man called Sean Moncrieff. You know him?’

‘Yes. Actually I’m very fond of Sean Moncrieff.’

‘What if I vomit in the taxi on the way there?’

‘Give me a few minutes to collect two hundred euro from Jay Parker and I’ll drive you there.’

I wasn’t just being kind. There was a question I needed to ask her.

I waited until we were on the road. They say that all awkward conversations should be held in a car, so that there’s no danger of eye contact and any uncomfortable silences could be filled with traffic noises.

‘Zeezah … the other day … the day the swan costumes arrived? I could have sworn that I saw you give Roger’s crotch a little … squeeze. I haven’t been feeling too well in my head and I’d appreciate you telling me that I wasn’t hallucinating.’

‘A squeeze?’

‘A squeeze.’

‘On his crotch?’

‘On his crotch.’

‘You ask me this question?’ Zeezah gave me a sly little sideways smile. ‘And I say to you that a little flirting, making every person feel special … As you Irish say, it doesn’t do any harm, no?’

I dropped Zeezah off at the radio station.

‘Will you come in with me?’ she asked.

‘No, I’ve stuff to be getting on with.’

‘Okay.’

But, as soon as she was gone, I regretted it. Whenever I made the mistake of stopping for thought I started thinking about dying. The trajectory felt much sharper this time. I sat in my car and closed my eyes and wondered if I should ring Antonia Kelly. Wednesday was hurtling at me and no matter what happened, if Wayne turned up or if Wayne didn’t turn up, the reality was that after Wednesday there was nothing but blankness for me.