FRAUD Read online

  2

  His second visit to Malvern Hall followed much the same pattern as the first, although this time he made sure he was equipped not only with a lighter that worked but with a back-up. She was wearing a moss-green mini-skirt over black tights and a little leather bomber jacket – as though already anticipating going outside – and he could not help noticing that she seemed in better shape than at their first meeting. Her hair looked glossier and the shadows around her eyes were less pronounced.

  When they were installed on the same bench and he had lit the mandatory cigarettes, she asked, “So, have you published anything?”

  He was a little disconcerted by the question. He was glad she had remembered he was a writer but surprised she had forgotten him telling her he was unpublished. Then again, she had other things on her mind besides him and his writing career.

  “No, I haven’t. Not yet.”

  “Well, don’t worry, you will. Success is just around the corner for you – I can sense it.”

  “Really? I hope you’re right!”

  “Anyway, you already stand out in a crowd. How tall are you exactly?”

  “Just under six five. It’s not always an advantage, though. Not when you want to be inconspicuous.”

  “Yeah, well, who wants to be inconspicuous? Inconspicuous is for losers.”

  “I suppose so,” he murmured. Then he added, after a pause, “It must be a good feeling.”

  “What?”

  “Success. Having people all over the world recognise and appreciate your achievement. I long for that.”

  “You mean the fame and fortune thing?”

  “Well, the fame thing, anyway. I’m not so bothered about the fortune.”

  She thought about it. “When I was a little girl I dreamed of nothing else. It was like a religion, it was what kept me going. And now I’ve got it, I just think ‘so what?’I tell you, dreaming of fame and fortune is a lot more fun than having it.”

  “I’ll have to take your word on that!” he laughed.

  “Yeah, but you don’t believe me, do you? It’s a cliché, isn’t it? The little movie star whining about how fame is so boring, and having all that cash is so boring, and being recognised everywhere you go is so boring. ‘Yeah right’ everyone says, and who can blame them? I know I’m just a spoilt bitch who’s got far more of everything than she deserves. But it’s true. You get to a point where you just look around and think ‘where next?’”

  Dominic could not quite believe they were having this conversation.

  “Sorry, I’m being a bore,” she said, “I do that whenever I find a good listener. Give me another fag.”

  “You’re not being a bore,” he replied, extracting his trusty Superkings from his jacket pocket. “Anything but.”

  “Thanks. You’re sweet.”

  He lit another two cigarettes even though they had barely finished their first.

  “I dreamed of fame and fortune when I was a child too,” he said. “I started this novel when I was fourteen – it took me eight years, on and off, and of course it changed beyond recognition in that time. Then I had it rejected by the one person I’d counted on to make it happen.”

  “That must have been tough. I had loads of knock-backs like that until I met Hal.”

  Dominic was confused. “But surely...?”

  “Surely what?”

  “Well, I mean, surely you were already famous by then.”

  “No I wasn’t!”

  “I’m sorry, I just thought it was ‘Loss’ that made you famous.”

  “Are you kidding? I just became well-known in that little cliquey writery world. That’s not fame.”

  “No, no, I see,” he murmured awkwardly, aware that he had strayed into sensitive territory.

  “So how did you deal with this setback?”

  It took him a moment to switch back to the original subject. “I resorted to drink and fags to try and dull the anger and make it bearable. But in the end I just got out there and did something about what had caused it.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I learnt to write.”

  Nicola was gazing out over the garden. She laughed briefly.

  “So what are you working on at the moment? Writing-wise?”

  “Well, I’m working on a novel at the moment. And I’m researching something else.”

  “Researching what?”

  “A book.”

  “Yeah, well, that figures, since you’re a writer. What kind of book?”

  “It’s... also a novel.”

  ‘I’m lying to her,’ Dominic thought to himself. ‘I just keep on and on lying to her.’

  “And what’s it about, this novel?” she persevered.

  “You mean the other novel? Or the first novel?”

  “I don’t know, either novel?”

  “Oh, you know, the usual stuff... love, hate, deceit, revenge, betrayal.”

  “In other words you’re not going to tell me.”

  “I just feel embarrassed.”

  “Why for Christ’s sake?”

  “Because they’re probably crap.”

  She sighed with exasperation. “Of course they’re not crap. Christ, Dominic, if you don’t believe in yourself, how can you expect anyone else to believe in you? Though I guess I’m a fine one to talk.”

  “You have reason to believe in yourself. You’ve proved yourself.”

  “Yeah, right,” she snorted.

  “You have. ‘Loss’ is a masterpiece.”

  “God, you’re quite a silver-tongued little bugger in your shy, ingenuous way, aren’t you?”

  “I’m speaking the truth.”

  “Come on then, flatterer, I’m going to make the most of this! Which one of my acting roles was a masterpiece?”

  “All of them. But especially ‘All About Me’.”

  “How about ‘The Beautiful and Blessed’?”

  Dominic hesitated. “Well, you were brilliant in that too. But I don’t think the character or the screenplay gave you the scope you deserve.”

  She laughed. “Not just a flatterer but diplomatic as well! I was crap, as you very well know.”

  “No you weren’t. You could never be crap. You’re incapable of being crap.”

  Their conversation, that afternoon, lasted more than an hour. They laughed and joked, Dominic responding to her questions and talking mainly about himself – his job, his family, his dog, his time at university. He was flattered that she seemed so interested in him though he sensed that it was to deflect the conversation away from herself, for when Maisy finally came and informed her it was time for tea, he knew little more about her than when he had arrived. Nonetheless, he had enjoyed their conversation and he sensed that she had too. He was amazed at how at ease he now felt with her.

  “Come again soon, Dominic,” she smiled as she was leaving.

  *

  That evening, Maisy found Nicola sitting on her bed looking at the cards and emails Dominic had brought her. She sat down beside her and she handed them to her one by one. She thought they were lovely.

  “There’s something weird about them, though, isn’t there?”

  Maisy looked confused. “How do you mean, weird?”

  “I don’t know. They’re not like the usual stuff you get from fans. I mean, they are but there’s something not quite right about them.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a fan.”

  “So what’s his angle, do you reckon?”

  “His angle?”

  “Yeah, his agenda. Everyone’s got an agenda, haven’t they?”

  “Have they?”

  “Course they have.”

  Maisy thought about it. “He just seems to me like a really nice guy who’s got a crush on you.”

  “So you like him, then?”

  “Yeah, I think he’s sweet. And I’ve always had a thing for tall men.”

  “Christ, Maisy, you’re so shallow. What the hell difference does it make how tall he is? It’
s what’s inside that counts.”

  “It makes a difference to me – being dead shallow and all. I find being stared down at from a great height a real turn on. So what do you think of him?”

  Nicola considered the question. “He’s a good listener, unlike all those arrogant, self-centred bastards in the film world. And I like tall men too,” she added with a smile.

  3

  In all, Dominic visited Nicola seven times at Malvern Hall. He became a regular feature, part of the furniture. As he was signing in, the girl on reception would smile and ask him how he was; Patsy, the old lady who was always mopping floors, would glance up from her work to greet him, and Maria, the gigantic Jamaican nurse would call out “Hi-ya, Domaneeeck!” when she saw him approaching along the corridor. Dr Lennox, who did not arrogantly believe his treatment to be exclusive, could see how much Nicola enjoyed his visits and how beneficial they were to her. She looked forward to them and was always cheerful and positive after he had left. His greatest attribute, to Dr Lennox, was his gentleness and respectfulness – indeed, he had been overheard, on one or two occasions, to refer to him as ‘our gentle giant’. For there was none of the disruption which would have been caused by someone who was trying to make sexual advances to her, however subtle. On the contrary, he seemed to be having a calming effect.

  On Dominic’s seventh visit it was pouring with rain. Nonetheless Nicola insisted on going outside as she was determined not to be denied her companionable cigarette. They scurried to the shelter of a cavernous covered veranda where some parasols and folded garden tables were stacked in a corner, though there were no seats so they had to sit on the floor with their backs propped against the wall. For a long time they said nothing. Dominic, in jeans and a fleece, was enjoying sitting quietly beside her on that cold stone floor, listening to the rain popping on the glass roof and watching it drive across the lawns and trickle down the strands of clematis. The vast, manic sprawl of south London seemed to have retreated to beyond that pale wet cocoon.

  “It’s nice here, isn’t it?” she murmured. “Peaceful. Even Maisy seems to have somehow dematerialised.”

  “Maybe she’s finally trusting me to be alone with you.”

  “Don’t you believe it! She’ll be lurking somewhere. Making sure you don’t try anything.”

  He was a little surprised by her remark and unsure how to respond to it.

  “Dominic?” she said, after a long silence.

  “Yes?”

  “I was thinking... if I... left here, you could go on visiting me. If you want to.”

  He turned to face her – astonished, thrilled and a little scared. “Well, yes, that would be great. If you want me to.”

  “Yeah, why not? I’ve known worse people to hang out with. Much worse.”

  “Are you thinking of leaving, then?”

  “Yes I am. I’m sick and tired of this fucking place. I know I haven’t finished my treatment yet but all of a sudden I want to get back to the real world. And I reckon I can handle it now.”

  “I’m sure you can.”

  “Do you reckon I can handle it now?” she asked, turning and looking at him.

  “I’m sure you can.”

  They sank back into silence. Dominic’s heart was pounding. He knew that if he said what he had to say to her at that moment, he would probably lose all chance of ever attaining his goal. But nonetheless he felt compelled to say it: “Nicola... there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Oh Christ, that sounds ominous.”

  “That book I said I was researching...”

  “The novel?”

  “Yeah, the novel. Well, it’s true, I am writing a novel. In fact I’ve always got a novel or two on the go. But I’ve started work on something else. A biography.”

  “Oh. Who of?”

  “Of you.”

  She took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. “Right. Well, I suspected as much.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re a writer. And writers always have an agenda, don’t they?”

  “Do they?”

  “Course they do. They can’t just have normal relationships. Everything has to be material.”

  Dominic found the silence which followed acutely awkward.

  “You’re angry with me.”

  “No I’m not. Why should I be angry with you? I’m just surprised you can’t find yourself a more interesting subject. Nobody cares about me any more. I’m finished. Washed up.”

  “That’s rubbish!”

  “Dominic, I’m bi-polar, suicidal, my acting’s gone down the bog, I’m living in a nuthouse and my idea of fun is drawing pictures on my arm with a razor blade. Plus I made a total ass of myself in front of the entire world at the BAFTAs. If that doesn’t spell finished, I don’t know what does.”

  “You were given a standing ovation at the BAFTAs!”

  “That’s just what they do! It was for the cameras! If you can’t handle reality then give it a standing ovation!”

  “Nicola, I’ve followed your career and it’s a recognised fact that bi-polar and other mental problems are often the flip-side of imagination and creativity. Genius, even. It’s one of the things that gives your work its depth and makes you fascinating – you’re just in a different league to all those other two-dimensional little bimbos! Talent-wise, intelligence-wise... everywise. That’s why I want to write about you!”

  “You and your fucking flattery!” she responded after a pause. “You know it’s going to get you anything you want, don’t you?”

  “So is that your identity, then?”

  “Is what my identity?”

  “If someone asks ‘who are you?’ do you say ‘I’m bi-polar, suicidal and living in a nuthouse’? Or do you say, ‘I’m a beautiful, talented young actress’?”

  He was astonished by what he had just said. He also seemed to have astonished her.

  “I bet you say that to all the psychos!” she snorted.

  “I’ve never met any psychos before. You’re my first one.”

  “Yeah, well... people have written books about me before, you know.”

  “I know. I’ve read them. They’re crap.”

  “Okay. So what are you going to put in yours to make it not crap, then?”

  “Whatever you want me to. I want to work closely with you on it – every step of the way. I want it to be your book as much as mine.”

  Nicola considered his words at length. “And is this going to be official? I mean, are the ‘powers that be’ allowed to know about it? Like Dr Lennox, for instance?”

  “No. No, I don’t think so. Not just yet.”

  *

  Driving home, staring at the world through the little wedges of windscreen between the wiper strokes, Dominic felt utterly desolate. He knew she thought he had betrayed her trust and that whatever frail bond had formed between them over the past few weeks had been destroyed. That was the problem with lying – sooner or later your lies are going to come to the surface, like scum. The whole fan site thing had been crazy from the start and he’d been amazed that both she and Dr Lennox had bought into it. All the trouble he had gone to downloading that web-writing and FTP software, scanning photographs from magazines and snatching them from elsewhere on the internet; then fabricating all those cards and forcing himself to write such rubbish as ‘We love you, Nicola!!!’ ‘We’re thinking of you, Nicola!!!’ ‘Get well soon, Nicola!!!’ and littering them with hearts and kisses and flowers and smiley faces; and then the emails he had concocted by opening hotmail, yahoo, gmail and every other free account he could find, inventing all the screen names available and then sending the messages back to himself and printing them out. And all just to lie his way into Malvern Hall and into Nicola Carson’s confidence.

  Now, as he crawled home with the evening traffic through the Blackwall Tunnel, he found himself bitterly regretting the idea which had seemed, at the time, so brilliant; and as he waited at a crossing watching a red light weepin
g in the rain, he came to a decision. He would return to Malvern Hall the very next day and tell her he had changed his mind about writing her biography and henceforth would leave her in peace and never pester her again. As for his own career, he would just have to write a half-decent novel and find a more honourable way into print – just like everyone else. He suspected it was all academic anyway, since she was probably, at that very moment, sitting in Dr Lennox’s office informing him that the young man who had been coming to visit her had turned out to be a fraud – the whole fan site thing had been a cover, a way of gaining access to her in order to obtain some dirt and turn the book he was planning into a best-seller.

  *

  The next morning he lay late in bed, mainly because he was too depressed to get up. At about nine fifteen, his mobile rang on his bedside table. It was Dr Lennox.

  “Did you know about this?” he said.

  Dominic jacked himself up on one elbow, frowning, mystified. “I’m sorry, know about what?”

  “About Nicola’s decision.”

  Nicola’s decision. Nicola had made a decision. Surprise, surprise.

  “No,” he replied innocently, his heartbeat racing. “What decision?”

  “She’s… look, I can’t discuss this over the phone. Can you get down here, as soon as possible?”

  Dominic was bewildered. If he was telling him never to come near Nicola or Malvern Hall ever again, why not just tell him then and there? Why did he need to see him?

  “Yes, yes of course. I’ll be there in… as quick as I can.”