She sat there, seething, wondering what she could possibly say to get her revenge on him, but nothing sprang to mind. What was wrong with her, she wondered? She was young, she was pretty, she was stylish. She’d nearly gone to a leper colony but hadn’t, so had no infectious diseases.
‘I get it,’ she said finally. ‘You’re playing hard to get.’
‘I’m honestly not.’
‘You must be,’ she replied, feeling her mortification grow and wondering how strong the windows were and whether, if she were to throw a chair at one, it would break and she could simply jump out. ‘There’s no reason why you wouldn’t be interested in me. I’m hot.’
‘You’re okay,’ he said with a shrug.
‘I’m hot.’
‘If you say so.’
‘All right, then,’ she said. ‘Tell me. What is it? Give me one simple reason why you don’t want to go out with me.’
He looked at her and sighed. ‘It’s not obvious?’ he asked.
‘Not to me.’
He picked up his phone and held it in the air. ‘Six thousand, eight hundred and sixty-five followers,’ he said. ‘I don’t date below six figures, let alone five. Sorry, sweetheart, but the fact is, you just don’t matter.’
WAGES DAY
Achilles was pleased that Friday had finally arrived. He’d grown bored of Jeremy and anxious for Rebecca and prepared carefully for the evening ahead, shaving, showering, plucking and trimming, and applying manly scents to various parts of his body. He wore his smartest jeans and a blue satin shirt, opening the top two buttons to offer a preview of his smooth, hairless chest. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he felt an almost erotic attraction to himself.
He’d arranged to meet Jeremy in Covent Garden and planned on arriving at Rebecca’s house a couple of hours later £5,000 better off. Entering the pub, he was surprised that his mark was not already waiting for him but chose a table in a corner and passed his fake ID to the barmaid as he ordered a rum and Coke.
Sitting alone, he began to think about the £35,000 locked away in his bedroom, feeling rather smug at his own ingenuity. No one in his class at school was as wealthy as him. Their families were, yes, but they weren’t. In fact, most of his friends were still existing off handouts from their parents and, while he too accepted George and Beverley’s weekly stipend, he rarely needed to dip into it. He wondered whether Rebecca might be impressed if he was to whisk her away, first class, to Paris for the weekend, staying in the George V or Le Meurice. Or would that be too flashy, too gauche? He didn’t know her well enough yet to be sure whether conspicuous consumption might diminish him in her estimation. Still, there was plenty of time to find out, and Jeremy’s five grand alone would cover the cost of the trip if she wanted to go.
Glancing at his watch, he frowned when he saw that it was almost ten past the hour. He hated being kept waiting, and most of his previous victims had never dared, particularly on what he thought of as Wages Day.
The only time that he’d ever felt a little guilty about what he was doing was with the chiropodist. The poor man had grown pale and started crying when Achilles explained that their entire relationship had been a con. He’d tried to make Achilles feel guilty by telling him stories about the horrendous things that had happened to him in his childhood and how they had led him to this place, sitting in a bar with a boy young enough to be his son, flirting tragically. In the end, he took eight grand off him, one of his most financially successful deceptions yet.
The barmaid came over and handed him a newspaper. ‘Been stood up?’ she asked.
‘Hardly,’ he said. ‘I’m early, that’s all.’
‘Something for you to read,’ she said, leaving the paper on the table and, although he never really bothered with the news, he opened it now for something to do and was met with the face of his father on the front page, along with that of a woman he didn’t recognize.
CLEVERLEY GOT ME PREGGERS AND THEN DIDN’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME
the woman was quoted as saying.
‘Fuck me,’ he said under his breath, reading it slowly, his heart sinking, uncertain whether or not his father had actually got this woman pregnant or not. By the time he reached the end, his excitement about the night had diminished somewhat as he wondered whether he’d even have a family to go home to in the morning. It was gone six twenty now and still no sign of Jeremy, so he took out his phone and sent a message:
Achilles Cleverley
You on the way?
He stared at the screen, waiting for the dance of the little blue dots that would signify a reply was forthcoming, but nothing appeared. Perhaps Jeremy was underground, he decided, on a Tube with no signal.
He flicked through the rest of the newspaper, dreading the hell that would surely break loose at home while feeling grateful that he would not be there to witness it. His parents used to be happy – he could remember plenty of happy years – but that seemed to be in the past now. His family had changed. All of them. And not for the better. When had that happened? And why?
Achilles Cleverley
Dude, you’re nearly 30 mins late. Don’t let me down. Wouldn’t be a good idea.
How long could he keep this scam going, he wondered as he ordered another rum and Coke and tried to forget about his parents’ difficulties. He would be eighteen soon and, before he knew it, he’d be in his twenties. At what age did one’s looks start to fade? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? Nelson was twenty-two, but he’d never been that good-looking to begin with. Although, in fairness, his brother seemed to be getting more handsome now that he was getting laid. Perhaps it was a confidence thing. Perhaps that was all he’d ever needed, to feel that he was worthy of someone’s love.
To his surprise, he felt tears forming in his eyes and wiped them away. What the fuck, he wondered? What am I crying over?
This burst of humanity made him feel good about himself, and he would have revelled in his own innate decency if he hadn’t been growing increasingly annoyed about the fact that the middle-aged man who he was ripping off for £5,000 had still not arrived.
Achilles Cleverley
5 more minutes, then I leave. And it’s bad news for you if I do.
‘Another drink, love?’ asked the barmaid, coming over, and he shook his head.
‘Better not,’ he said, not wanting to have too much alcohol in his system when he met Rebecca. They’d probably have a couple of drinks before hitting the bedroom, and the last thing he needed was to incapacitate himself.
‘Big plans for the night? Handsome boy like you, all dressed up.’
He looked up at her, wondering whether she was flirting with him. She was old enough to be his grandmother, but the idea intrigued him. Perhaps he didn’t just have to go after men. Perhaps he could go after women too. Once he hit his twenties, he could be a high-class gigolo. He’d seen it in movies, the busy, middle-aged career woman, too exhausted to focus on a personal life, but who wanted a hot young guy to be waiting in her apartment when she got home.
‘Something like that,’ he muttered, and she wandered off. He took one last look at his watch and then his phone. Jeremy clearly wasn’t coming, the fucker. Chickened out at the last minute when it came to handing over the money. Well, he wasn’t going to hang around any longer; he had better things to do tonight.