And
then Menez’s dark brown voice monotoned through loud and clear. ‘Hey, Vincent,
you got my message.’
Robbie
Probert, devotee of the Church of Chelsea would be having a silent aneurysm if
he could hear this now. Vince merely cocked a wry grin. ‘Hey, wanker, you’re
lookin’ real good on the bench. Next time, I’ll get Leon send you some hot
cocoa.’
Menez’s
chortle bristled through the speaker. ‘I don’t need no cocoa to give me a nice,
warm feelin’.’
‘Well,
maybe you should stop thinkin’ of the other players in that way. Ain’t it time
you came out?’
Before
Menez could reply, Leon cut him off. His timing suggested this was a little
game Leon and Vince had played many times before. Their chuckles rippled in the
air and Nancy fidgeted. She flexed her fingers and wedged her hands beneath her
thighs. Her eyes skittered sheepishly in Vince’s direction. Vince’s mirth had
already dropped from his face. ‘I need a piss.’
Leon’s
voice remained dry. ‘We can stop off at Dennis’s restaurant. It’s just a mile
from the Bullring.’
Nancy
watched Vince grind his jaw. His non-reply implied he conceded. Brian Ferry
continued to massage the airwaves with his Slave
to Love. Never had the passion in a song relate so little to the present
situation. Coventry was twenty minutes from the next stop yet it might as well
have been ten hours. Perhaps she could make her leave then, call a taxi from
outside John Lewis’s. The idea of cutting her journey short would have branded
her as crazy to her friends. She was being a boring tit again.
At
that moment, Vince glanced her way. For a micro second, their eyes met. A hot
balloon exploded within her ribcage. His dark lashes hooded his eyes in a
half-leer. Black pupils set upon slate scored into her. Was he laughing at her?
The shadows beneath his eyes suggested so. He was horribly handsome. She would
rather encounter the leer of Gavin, the goggle-eyed publican of the Felix Holt
than to take this memory home. Once, Vincent Jonas was a two-dimensional image
on celebrity mags. He was as real to her as Bono or Prince William. He was a
throw-away pinup or object of scorn. Now, he had invaded a part of her brain
too close for comfort.
He
had looked at her.
Only,
he hadn’t. He had the look, the sort
that could elevate and electrify the recipient, but also hurt.
Not
once had any of her four boyfriends in her lifetime had ever made her feel the
way Vince had made her feel at that moment. She doubted that anyone in Glebe
Hollow ever could.
Nancy
turned away and gazed at the water droplets on the window. She knew Vince was
now gazing ahead, basking in his former indifference. Their meeting of eyes had
been pure accident. He would have no recollection of looking at her and
probably would fail to give a description of her face once she had been dropped
off.
She hated him.
The
limo slowed at a junction and turned off Heath Street. Leon pulled over outside
a classy restaurant. A placard declared in Roman italics that Dennis’s is now
overbooked for the evening. The place was anything but grand. Leaded bay
windows framing diners implied exclusivity.
The
engine cut and Leon turned to face her. ‘Make yourself right at home, Nancy.
We’ll be on our way after a short break.’
She
gave a small nod, although she suspected a protestation would have made little
difference. Leon got out, closed the door then opened the passenger door for
Vince. Vince unclipped his seatbelt and got out. His brogues clopped onto the
pavement. She watched the two of them make their way into Dennis’s restaurant.
The
moment they had disappeared through the glass doors, automation seized her. She
rummaged through her bag for her mobile, but not to call a taxi, but to call
Bex. A squalid side of her wanted to tell Bex that she was now in Vincent
Jonas’ limo. Nancy had been ‘chatted up’ by Vince’s PA and had performed a shoot
next to Vince as they had exited the Nexus nightclub. ‘Don’t believe me?’ she
could hear herself say, ‘check out the Birmingham Post tomorrow. No, check out
the Daily Mail, the Star or wait for Heat, Hello or Chat.’ Nancy could feel a
barrage of words volleying for an outlet. Bex for once wouldn’t have got a syllable
in. ‘Me and Vince chatted for hours,’ Nancy wanted to add. ‘He told me about
the pressures of being in the public eye, said one day, he’d like to settle
down, have a family. He asked about my interests. I told him I love travelling,
meeting people and partying. I didn’t tell him I sell insurance. Well, it’s hardly
glamorous, isn’t it?’