Twelve Months Rent and a Nandos for Two

I sat down, my handbag strap sliding down my arm and dropping my lip balm as it landed. The bus jerked as it set off and I accidentally knocked into the man sitting next to me. I rolled my eyes at him as if to say "We are all in this together: this jerking bus, this hellish commute, this rain, this baby crying, this Greggs sausage roll that I’m about to eat for breakfast". I think he understood exactly what my tired, puffy eyes were saying. He smiled at me and from that moment, I knew we were comrades, at least until one of us got off the bus. He looked about ten years older than me and was fairly handsome. I peeled the paper bag away from my sausage roll and took a bite, the flaky pastry sticking to my cheeks. I looked at the man as I wafted it off my face. He was engrossed in a small, black notebook.

"Old school!" I said enthusiastically as flakes of pastry flew out of my mouth "Sorry" I said as I noticed a bit land on his overcoat.

"What?" he asked.

"A real life notebook! Hashtag I R L!"

He was looking perplexed.

"In. Real. Life. Your notebook!" I gestured towards the book with my sausage roll. "Most people just use their phone."

"Ahhhh!"

Finally! We were on the same page!

He closed the book. "I would not want this information out in the cloud" he said, glancing upwards and waving his hand in some sort of Tai Chi movement. "Now, if you'd excuse me” he said standing.

I stood up quickly and my lip balm escaped from my bag again and rolled under his seat.

"Urrgghh!” I growled.

The man quickly placed his notebook on his seat and bent down to retrieve my lip balm. "We don't want you getting chapped lips now do we?"

I blushed at him mentioning my lips for some reason and then he darted off the bus.

I shifted my bum onto the window seat and felt something under it. It was the notebook. I banged on the window as he rushed past, but he neither heard nor saw me.

"Damn" I thought as I opened the front cover to see if he had contact details in there. "Oh god" I thought "What if he forgot it on purpose so I would have to contact him so that he could see my soft lips again and maybe, just maybe, kiss them. Oldest trick in the book that" I laughed at my pun. But there were no contact details.

I opened it out. On the left of the centre spread was a photo of a man taken from afar, a bit like a paparazzi photograph but I didn’t recognise him from 'Strictly' or anything and he looked like he was in a European city like Paris or Milan. It was stuck in there with masking tape and on the opposite page it said Daniel LeBonne. Below the name was an address, in Paris and I almost punched the air, rejoicing at my knowledge of European architecture. Below the address was a date: 19/12/19 and across the whole spread was a diagonal line in red pen.

“Maybe he’s crossing out people as he sends them a Christmas card” I thought due to the date, and I turned over to discover a similar page. This time it looked like a passport photo of a man in his 60s. Again, the name: Bernie Hendricks, a London address and a date. Again, a red line swept through it. I turned again: a woman! Jennifer Wise, Barcelona.

Intrigued, I picked up my phone and searched Daniel LeBonne.

FRENCH BUSINESSMAN FOUND DEAD IN PARIS APARTMENT

I clicked on the link and it was definitely the man from the notebook. I read on.

Daniel LeBonne was found dead by his cleaner on 20th December. He had been shot in the head and the police were currently investigating the incident as an assassination.

“Blimey!” I thought. “Poor bus guy, losing his friend in such an awful way!”

I Googled Bernie Hendricks.

PHILANTHROPIST MURDERED ON THE DRIVEWAY OF HIS LONDON MANSION

“Jesus! What’s with all his mates getting murdered!?”

I looked for Jennifer Wise and there were loads of them so I took a gamble and Googled Jennifer Wise Murder, and there she was. Shot. In a Gothic Quarter alleyway. She looked glamorous and I found myself being jealous of her until I remembered she had reached a grisly end. Then suddenly, my heart plummeted into my stomach and I quickly checked if the murder dates were the same dates in the notebook. I was shaking. Had I been sitting next to a murderer!?

“No wonder they are all crossed out in red!” I thought as I quickly checked to see if they were crossed out in the victim’s blood. “Nope. Biro. Good”. I glanced around in a state of panic. I wanted to tell someone but something stopped me. Instead I turned the pages of the book, shaking my head in disbelief. Every single person crossed out and then, finally, a man that wasn’t… yet. Hugh Kirkman was looking very pleased with himself, aboard a yacht and with a bikini-clad babe by his side. “You’re not gonna be smiling for much longer mate” I said under my breath to the photograph. I checked the address: 19th Floor, Chelsea Waterfront, Waterfront Drive SW10 0AA. The date was today’s. Christ!

I ran through my options: (1) Leave the book on the bus, go to work in Selfridges, sell some posh handbags and pretend I never ever saw it. (2) Hand it in to the police and risk being another red line in this hitman’s new notebook. I immediately wondered if the hitman gets nervous when he writes on that first immaculate page and does his best handwriting like I do. (3) Go and rescue Hugh Kirkman from his inevitable fate like some sort of sausage roll eating vigilante.

The bus was approaching Selfridges and I had to make a decision. I tapped my thighs vigorously, my anxiety eating me up. Hugh Kirkman is obviously minted so I’d probably get a huge reward if I saved his life. People started to get off the bus at my stop and I was rigid with fear. Then, the doors closed, the air brakes released and it was too late. I was off to save someone’s life.

“If I die, I will die a hero” I thought. “My mum will be so proud and it might make up for that time she caught me crawling up the stairs at 4am with vomit in my hair and singing I’m Horny by Mousse T”. I could see the headlines now: 24 YEAR OLD STUNNER THROWN OFF 19TH FLOOR BALCONY IN AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE THE LIFE OF MILLIONAIRE.

Once off the bus, I decided to take some really nice selfies and post them to Instagram so that the tabloids could use them following my death, otherwise my mum would provide them with something totally hideous. The rain had stopped and I was having a perfectly pleasant walk through the park until I saw someone with a Selfridges bag, and I felt a mixture of guilt for letting work down, and foolishness for going to have it out with a hitman. This was a totally different ball game to that time I stormed into M&S to complain about only getting 34 teabags in a box that was supposed to have 40 in it. And I was terrified then!

I continued though, like a soldier marching bravely into gunfire.

As I approached the impressive apartment building, I noticed a concierge in the doorway. Striding purposefully, I felt confident. I looked professional and I had already removed my Selfridges badge.

“Excuse me, I just saw a man urinating onto the building round there. It’s rather disgusting. Not what one would expect in such an exclusive neighbourhood”. The concierge apologised and darted off around the corner while I rushed through the brass door. The foyer had marble floors, large plants and Philippe Starck furniture dotted around. I ran over to the lift, afraid that the concierge would be back any second. I pressed Floor Nineteen and nothing happened.

“Damn!” I cursed as I noticed a keypad.

The back stairwell was much posher than the one in my friend’s block in Dalston but it still had that sense of edginess about it. By floor ten I was exhausted and petrified in equal measures. By floor thirteen I was sobbing whilst questioning my life choices, and by floor fifteen I was so knackered that I sat down and spent seven minutes checking out my ex's new girlfriend on Facebook. She was attractive but “She’s going to feel so inadequate when I’m in all the papers” I smiled. The thought of this gave me just the motivation I needed to continue all the way up to floor eighteen where I paused. I pulled my tights up which had been sliding further down my hips with each stair I conquered. I took my mirror out of my handbag and gave myself a mini-makeover. Hugh obviously had a thing for attractive women and the last thing he would want is someone barging in to save his life looking like they've just run up nineteen flights of stairs.

My sense of nervousness had expired and I felt exhilaration as I walked steadily up the last flight. Like I was the character in a film and everything that was about to happen was fiction that I could watch back on Netflix and then recommend to others as ‘binge-worthy’.

It was apparent that Hugh’s apartment took up the entirety of the nineteenth floor and I envisaged my reward money paying for at least three months rent and a Nando’s. I knocked on the door calmly, and waited. There was no answer and so I tentatively started to push it open, I had one foot through the threshold when I heard approaching footsteps.

“Oh crap!” I cried as I saw the man from the bus. He looked perplexed again.

“Erm… you left this… on the bus” I said, my nerves making an unwelcome return.

“And I suppose you’re here to hand it back?”

I shoved the notebook firmly into my coat pocket and folded my arms. I meant business.

“Is it done?” I asked sadly.

“Not yet”

“How much do you get?” I asked.

“Why? Are you considering a career change? I could hand your CV in if…”

“This is no joke!” I yelled. “Someone’s life is at stake and I’m here to save it!”

“Twenty grand” he answered “And I’ll tell you what, it’s yours if you give me that book back and bugger off”

I quickly did some sums in my head. That would cover a whole year's rent and a Nando’s for two! “It was not to be sniffed at” I thought.

“Only if you come with me!” I said abruptly. He frowned.“No! Not like a date or anything! Just leave Kirkman alone”.

“I can’t” he said.

“There’s no such word as can’t” I snapped back.

“Well there is actually…”

“Look! Give me the money and walk out of here now or I’m going straight to the police to tell them all about your notebook… oh and you must promise to never kill me”.

“Pinky Promise?” He mocked. “Okay, deal. He’s tied up though, should I release him boss?”

“Nah, he's probably a perv. Leave him to contemplate for a bit. So… bank transfer or…”

He laughed and handed me a large, squidgy envelope. “After you” he said gesturing to the lift.

He pressed Ground Floor followed by a green button and the lift descended.

“What!? You don’t need to enter a code!?” I asked, pointing at the keypad.

He shook his head. “So where are you off now then?”

I shrugged, “Nandos I reckon. Wanna come?”