2cool2btrue (31 page)

I pick up my cup absentmindedly and take a swig of stone cold coffee. But that’s certainly the implication. It also means that he probably invested in 2cool—without telling me—and it means that Slapton and his mates are probably keeping an eye on him. What if he has done something dodgy? My poor mum. Bad enough having me all over the papers, but my dad too. And at least I’ve been proved, well, am
being
proved not guilty, whereas I don’t know that that will be the case with my dad.

Then there’s the Guy thing. This morning I was beginning to think that perhaps I was wrong, that perhaps that wasn’t Guy on the phone, that I was just getting obsessed with the whole thing, but now I’m sure it was him.

I take another mouthful of cold coffee, the milk separating on the surface. Urrch! What am I doing? I pick up my phone and ring Nora in the office.

“Hiya, babe,” she says. “How are you?”

“Okay. Listen, I’ve just had the police round again. They cancelled the fraud investigation. They’re just concentrating on a missing persons thing now.”

“That’s great news,” she says. “I mean especially for you.”

“Oh, yeah, I know but there was something else.” I tell her about the list.

“So what is your dad’s name doing there?” she asks. “Did he invest in 2cool?”

“Perhaps, but if he did why hasn’t he told me? And anyway, I don’t even know that the people on that list are all 2cool investors. It might be something else.”

“What else could it be?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t like the idea of my dad being on a list of names put together by the police.”

“Sure, I can understand that. Oh, by the way, did you ask him about the Guy thing?”

“Yeah, he denied it.”

“Mmm. Interesting. Why would he be lying?”

“I don’t know if he is,” I tell her. “Perhaps it wasn’t Guy.”

“Charlie, you were absolutely certain yesterday.”

“I know, but…oh, I don’t know.”

“Look, I think you should talk to your dad about that list and ask him about Guy again. Go and see him at his office today.”

“Oh, no, I can’t—”

“Charlie, you’ve got to speak to him. You’ve got to warn him about this thing.”

“If
he needs to be warned. It might not be anything.”

“He should still know. Tell me who else was on the list.”

I give her the names I can remember: business people, captains of industry, society ladies, a couple of earls, some aging rock stars and a few media barons. She scribbles away.

“Another thing: why do you think none of the investors is suing?” I say. “Why would they suddenly decide just to kiss good-bye to their money like that? Did you see the TV interview with Josh Langdon? He was asked if he was going to take legal action to get his money back but someone had a word with him, some advisor or someone, and he just dodged the question, even though he was obviously really pissed off about the whole thing.”

“Mmm,” says Nora. “Perhaps it doesn’t matter to them. Perhaps if you’re that rich you just think what the heck?”

I think about it for a moment.

“No, that doesn’t make sense. It’s the principle for these people, isn’t it? Even if it’s just the equivalent of a couple of hundred quid for them, they won’t want to look stupid in front of their mates, like they’ve been conned, will they?”

“That’s true. Not with their egos.”

“And you remember when we went to see Piers I asked him about that, and he just sort of smiled, laughed in fact. Odd, isn’t it?”

There is a moment of silence and then she says:

“Okay, you go and talk to your dad while I go and see Piers. I know where he’s staying now. I’ll go down there right away.”

“All right. Can you just leave the office like that?”

“Of course. It’s a story, isn’t it?”

“Nora, I’m not sure that it is.”

“What? With these names? If they’re connected in any way this is huge!” That phrase again. Like when we went to find Piers. A massive story, she said. She obviously realises that she has said it again. “Sorry, but you know what I mean….”

“Yeah, I do but the point is my dad’s on that list and I don’t want to land him in it.”

“No, don’t worry about that, I’ll make sure he doesn’t come in to it. Now go and talk to him and let me know what he says.”

I take a deep breath.

“Okay.”

I ring my dad’s mobile but it goes straight to voice mail. I leave a message asking him to ring me and then ring his secretary’s landline.

“Hi Charlie,” says his secretary, Amanda, a girl too smart to let him fuck her. “He’s in a board meeting now. It should be finished before lunch.”

“Can you ask him to ring me as soon as he finishes, please. It’s important.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, Amanda.”

The call comes from my solicitor as Slapton predicted, giving me the all clear from the police. The guy sounds a bit disappointed that there’s nothing more to say on the subject. I’m not.

I set up my computer again and check my emails. One from my mum’s sister, my Auntie Emily, bless her. Hoping I’m okay. “Email Emily,” we call her. She’s got friends all over the world now. I suddenly wonder if she ever looked at 2cool. She must have. Did she see that porn? Did she appreciate the irony? Oh, Emily, irony or not, I really hope you didn’t see it.

I write her a breezy reply hoping she’s well and explaining that the site has closed and that I’m out of trouble now but my mind’s not really on it.

There is only one thing I can think about at the moment—what I’m going to say to Lauren. So I start to type out some thoughts: 2cool is over now and so I’m going stop behaving so selfishly and help her and help with her new TV career but how I think she should spend a little less time with Peter, because much as I like him (and really did warm to him over breakfast), she’s going out with me, not him.

I start writing out what I’m going to say to Lauren: about why I slept with Nora and how it was partly to get at her for sleeping with Peter (as I thought) and partly because I was…was what? Going bonkers? Going on a bender? Trying to hurt the one I love because that’s what you do when you’re angry and confused.

It all looks a bit daft set out on the screen, complete with typos. I find myself checking the thesaurus for another word for “sorry” because I’ve written it so many times, sprinkling it uselessly across the text. I read through my words again.

Not only do they sound daft but I’m not sure whether I actually believe what I’ve written. It feels more like what I should say than what I actually want to say.

Drumming my fingers on the desk as I reread the stuff on the screen, I feel the uncomfortable truth keeps emerging: I didn’t sleep with Nora just to get at Lauren. I did it because I liked sleeping with Nora.

I throw some washing on, change my clothes and put new sheets on the bed. Then I open Lauren’s wardrobe and go to the little bit at the end which is full of her own casual clothes rather than her work outfits. I stick my head in amongst the neatly hanging jeans, shirts, trousers and jackets and breathe deeply, inhaling her, wondering whether if we do get back together things will be the same as before.

Before 2cool.

Before Peter and a career in TV.

Before Nora.

My dad rings at 12:45. He’s in the car.

“You all right?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Sorry I didn’t see you this morning.”

“I’m back in Chiswick at the flat.”

“Made up with Lauren?”

“She’s not here, she’s back tomorrow. She’s been in France with friends. Dad, can I come and see you this afternoon?”

“See me? I’m pretty booked up this afternoon.”

“Tonight?”

“Erm, can’t make it tonight. I’ve got a…a…business thing. What about tomorrow?”

“Oh, never mind.”

“Okay, okay, I’ve got something at fourish that I can move. Ring Amanda and book yourself in.”

“Thanks.”

Dad keeps me waiting until twenty-five past four. I sit on one of the giant black leather Bauhaus-style settees in the lobby, listening to the two receptionists answer the phone.

“Matthewman Kendall Barrett, good afternoon,” “Matthewman Kendall Barrett, can I help you?”

It’s funny to hear my name repeated over and over again. Sometimes there’s a pause as they both stare out of the giant picture windows in front of them or exchange a comment with each other (
“Friends
on tonight?” “No, tomorrow. Matthewman Kendall Barrett, good afternoon. I’m taping it because we’re going out. Should be a good one.” “See it last week? Matthewman Kendall Barrett, good afternoon. Isn’t Courtney Cox’s hair long these days? Suits her, though. Line’s busy will you hold?”); sometimes they overlap with their greeting; sometimes one follows the other immediately. On a couple of occasions they say it in perfect unison. What are the chances of that?

Unable to take any more MTV I ignore the monitors on the wall and read
Advertising Age
and
Media Week.
I see the name of his agency in a headline and then read the story underneath. Another acquisition. I’m just about to turn the page when I realise that the guy in the photo next to it, moody, unsmiling, his face slashed with light filtering in from the venetian blinds behind him, is my dad. He’s like a stranger.

Finally I go up to the top floor. Amanda asks me to wait again, he won’t be long. We make small talk but my throat feels almost too dry to speak. Then suddenly my dad is waving for me to go in.

“Hiya,” I say, as casually as I can. He finishes scribbling something, shouts to Amanda for some coffee and then gets up and gives me a hug.

“So. Everything all right?”

His office is huge. White walls, black and white prints, Wenge wood furniture. TV screens along one side—Bloomberg, MTV, a scene from the House of Commons. Framed awards along the other. His huge desk is filled with papers. An Apple Mac computer screen faces him. In the corner of the room is a Charles Eames recliner.

“I think so, Dad. I had a visit from the police again today.”

“Yeah?”

“They’ve called off the investigation, well, the fraud bit, anyway.”

“Oh, thank God for that.” He looks genuinely relieved. “Oh, that is excellent news,” he says, accepting a coffee from Amanda. I smile and shake my head in answer to her offer.

“Water?” she asks.

“Oh, yes, that’d be great, thanks.”

“But they showed me this list of names.” I’m trying to read my dad’s expression but, leaning back in his huge black leather chair, he looks slightly quizzical, that’s all.

“And?”

“Yours was on it. Along with a lot of other people, big names, rich and famous people.”

“And what was this list about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t they say?”

“No.” Amanda brings in a tray with a glass, a bottle and a dish of ice. It’s that water again “Glacial Purity.” “But almost all of them, I remember, have invested in 2cool.”

“Sure.”

“Well, have you invested in 2cool?”

When my dad stands up and walks over to the window I know the answer.

“I put some money in, yeah. So did a lot of people as you know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

There is no answer

“That
was
Guy on your phone, wasn’t it?”

My dad sighs.

“Yes, it was.”

“’Cause you know him, don’t you?”

“Well, I’ve met him a few times.”

I take a sip of water, hoping he’ll say more but he doesn’t. He just stands by the window, his back to me, looking down at the traffic halting and pushing its way round in Berkeley Square.

“Was it your personal investment or was it Matthewman Kendall Barr—?”

“It was my own money.”

“How much?”

“Fifty grand.”