The Stag and Hen Weekend Page 12

  ‘I’m not naïve,’ said Phil, trying his best to stay calm, ‘One thing my sister isn’t, is stupid. If she’s called me at what . . . one in the morning UK time? To tell me she thinks there’s something going on between Helen and Aiden it’s because she genuinely thinks there is.’

  ‘So what’s your plan?’

  ‘Go back to the hotel to get my stuff and then the first flight back home to sort this out face to face.’

  ‘Why don’t you just call her first? I’m sure with a bit of detective work you could find out the number of the hotel, call her room and speak to her.’

  Phil was aware that Sanne was trying to calm him down but he didn’t want to be calmed down. He wanted to take action. Action was the only thing that made sense to him right now. ‘What if she’s not there?’ he said urgently. ‘What if he picks up the phone? Look, this is driving me crazy and I haven’t even spoken to her. I need to be able to see her, I need her to tell me whatever it is she’s got to tell me face to face. Once I see her face, once I look into her eyes, I’ll know everything I need to know.’ Sanne took Phil by the arm, led him to the stairs and sat him down.

  She gripped his hands tightly. ‘Listen, before you do anything rash let me just try one thing. I’m still not convinced Aiden is there. Like you say, it would be too much of a coincidence for him to be there by accident, so why don’t you let me make a few calls to some people I know back in England who might be able to shed some light on this and then we’ll take it from there. What do you say?’

  As unsettling as Caitlin’s call had been, it did seem a bit far-fetched that Aiden should just happen to be at the same hotel as Helen. And despite the shadow that Aiden had cast over his own relationship did he really believe that Helen would give up on the life they had built together after a single weekend? Like Sanne said, maybe it made sense to see what light she could shed on the matter before he jumped on a plane and headed back to England all guns blazing.

  Sanne disappeared back to the party to get her phone while Phil headed downstairs and waited outside staring across the shifting surface of the Amstel as it scattered the moon’s reflection into a million tiny fragments. It was hard not to appreciate the city’s beauty. And as he stood watching a passing boat filled with revellers he imagined how if Helen had been here to share the view it might have become one of those moments that they would always remember, like the time they had driven through the night to Southwold to watch the sunrise over the north sea, or the time a few years later when they had got snowed in at Helen’s mum’s cottage and had spent a morning lying in bed watching the snow fall past the bedroom window. Without her by his side, it was just another one of the stream of passing minutes that made up the hours of his waking day.

  The sound of footsteps alerted Phil to Sanne’s descent. He studied Sanne’s face and knew immediately that his fears had been confirmed.

  Sanne made her way out of the front door with Phil following close behind.

  ‘The Royal Park Hotel is not too far from here,’ she explained keeping her eyes focused on the road ahead. ‘We can get a cab from there to your hotel, pick up your things and drive . . .’ Her voice choked. ‘. . . drive to the airport.’

  Phil put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

  Sanne shook her head and wiped away tears. ‘My mother is a staunch dyed in the wool Catholic and when my sister and I were kids we were always screaming how much we hated each other and whenever we did this she would always take us to one side and tell us how wrong it was to hate another human being. But right now, I don’t think there’s any other word for how I feel about Aiden.’ Phil felt the muscles in his stomach tighten as he braced himself for the blow. ‘Your sister was right.’

  ‘About Aiden being at Helen’s hotel?’

  Sanne nodded. ‘Have you heard of Ally Fallon?’ Phil nodded. She was the flame-haired former kids’ TV presenter, a real party girl who was always in the tabloids, falling out of some bar on the arm of some long-haired tattooed musician. ‘Well Ally and I go way back to when we were at stage school together, and now she’s engaged to Karl Peters.’ Phil nodded again: Karl Peters was the Five Live guy notorious for shouting at the guests on his show to get his point across. ‘So I called Ally because Karl is one of Aiden’s closest friends and I asked her if she knew where Aiden was this weekend and the moment I said his name, I just sensed that something was up, and well, after that she told me everything. Apparently Aiden turned up at their house in the early hours last weekend and he was drunk and maudlin but wouldn’t say why, and eventually Karl managed to coax out of him what the problem was: he’d just heard from a friend of a friend that you and Helen were getting married the weekend after next and it had sent him over the edge. So anyway, Karl sits up with Aiden all night and by the morning they’ve come up with a plan for him to get Helen back.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘To find out where Helen was having her hen night, crash it by inventing a good reason to be at the venue and then somehow talk her into taking him back. By the Monday morning they had found out the hotel, by the Tuesday they had roped in a few of Aiden’s celebrity mates to come along in the hope that they might impress either Helen or her friends and by the Wednesday it had been decided the cover story would be that Aiden and his friends were there for Karl’s stag weekend.’

  Phil felt as if his head was about to explode and rubbed it frantically trying to calm down his overactive synapses. Was this really happening? Had some bloke off the telly really recruited a bunch of his celebrity mates in a bid to try and seduce Phil’s fiancée? None of it seemed real. He needed more information.

  ‘And that’s it? That’s everything?’

  Sanne nodded. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘And your friend didn’t say anything about Helen or whether Aiden’s plan was working?’

  ‘No. She hasn’t spoken to Karl since Friday night.’

  ‘So why did you look so horrified when you came to tell me? I get that this guy has gone to a lot of effort but there’s something else you’re not telling me, I can feel it. It’s almost as if you think I don’t stand a chance.’

  ‘Of course, it’s not like that. That was just me over-reacting. It was a shock, that’s all.’

  Phil remained unconvinced. ‘I’m not taking another step until you tell me exactly why you were so worried. I need to know.’

  Sanne took a deep breath. ‘Because I know what he’s like. Aiden is a man who spends all day every day charming hundreds of thousands of people of all ages and races, rich or poor into listening to him day, after day, after day. People love him. People love him because they think he’s warm and funny and honest and all the things they know they’ll never be. But most of all people love him because even though they know it’s not true, when they hear his voice coming to them through the airwaves, they feel like he’s actually talking to them and them alone. Now imagine how it must feel when he really is talking to you and you alone. I don’t know Helen, but I do know Aiden and I know that when he wants something – whether it’s the most coveted job in UK radio or one of thirty-six super rare classic Italian sports cars that he knows he’ll get bored of within a week – there’s nothing he won’t do to get it. Because for men like Aiden it’s the getting, not the having, that makes them feel alive.’

  The taxi pulled up in front of the hotel. Phil climbed out of the car and Sanne instructed the driver to wait.

  Sanne said she’d wait in the lobby and took a seat next to a fake potted palm as Phil made his way up to the second floor. Phil barely registered the state of his room as he frantically packed his case. Whether it was his mud-sodden tracksuit or his dirty underwear, or the CDs of Sanne that he had bought earlier in the night, it all got shoved in until all his belongings were packed away, and his passport placed carefully in the inside pocket of his jacket.

  As he made his way downstairs he wondered if the boys were back and whether he should check to see if they were in their rooms but even as thi
s thought occurred to him he dismissed it. This was the last night of probably one of the last stag dos any of them would be going on for quite a long time; none of his friends (still less his father) would be getting in any time soon.

  He handed over his key card to the girl in reception, gave her his room number and crossed his fingers that room service hadn’t come across the pneumatic drill hidden in the wardrobe.

  The girl tapped away on the keyboard in front of her and stared at the screen. ‘I’ve got a note here that we’ve taken a message for you.’

  She walked over to a bank of drawers, opened one and began flicking through the drop files in front of her. Phil willed her to find it quickly. It was from Helen. It had to be. She must have called his room and when he hadn’t answered thought it best to leave a message on reception. She must want to tell him about Aiden, he reasoned, she must want to tell him that everything was going to be fine.

  The girl stood up, holding the piece of paper aloft. ‘Finally!’ She handed him the note. On it was written the date and the time (some two hours earlier) and a message requesting that he call the number that had been written down below. Phil didn’t recognise the number. It wasn’t Helen’s mobile number, in fact it didn’t even look like an English number.

  Phil settled the bill and returned to the lobby. Sanne was playing with her phone.

  ‘I was just texting Ally thanking her for being so nice to me on the phone. I didn’t appreciate how late it was when I called her. She was probably still up partying with her friends, but even so, I feel a bit bad. All done?’

  Phil shook his head. ‘Not quite. I was just checking out when I got this.’ He handed the note to Sanne. ‘It looks like a Dutch number to me.’

  ‘It is,’ said Sanne. ‘Do you want me to call it?’

  Phil shook his head. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’

  Sanne smiled. ‘Then use my phone and I’ll go check on the driver.’

  Phil dialled the number and waited. It rang three times and a voice, clearly a recording, started speaking to him in Dutch. He could tell he was being offered options of the ‘press 1 for Yes, press 2 for No’ variety, but had no idea what exactly those options were. He ended the call. Someone must have made a mistake.

  He walked through the lobby to the front entrance and found Sanne arguing with the cab driver. The cab driver seemed more amused than annoyed by Sanne’s tirade but once she had finished he simply shrugged, gave her the middle finger and drove off.

  ‘What was the problem there?’

  ‘The man was a pig! We don’t need him, there are plenty of taxis in Amsterdam at this time of night.’ She exhaled heavily and ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Did you find out who the message was from?’

  ‘No, it was a recorded voice speaking in Dutch. Didn’t make any sense. I think maybe the hotel made a mistake.’

  Sanne took her phone from Phil’s hand, pressed redial and put the phone up to her ear. Phil watched intrigued as she followed the instructions, punched in the correct numbers before finally getting to speak to a real live person.

  The conversation took place in Dutch. Several times Phil saw her looking over at him until finally she ended the call.

  ‘So, what’s the deal? Wrong number?’

  Sanne’s brow furrowed. ‘Is your father here with you on your stag do?’

  Phil nodded. ‘What’s that got to do with the call?’

  ‘Well that was the police,’ she replied, ‘apparently he’s managed to get himself arrested.’

  15.

  It was a quarter past two as a tired and weary Phil, together with Sanne entered Bureau Beursstraat in De Wallen in the heart of the red-light district. A sole police officer manned the front desk hidden behind a plexiglass screen and was taking details in English from a young Spanish woman and her boyfriend. The woman had apparently just had her bag stolen by two youths on a motor scooter and was particularly upset because the bag contained her passport.

  Phil felt sorry for the young woman but even more sorry for himself. He should have been on his way to the airport and this diversion was turning what was already a terrible situation into a catastrophe. Every minute that passed was another minute that Aiden Reid would be using to change Helen’s mind. Phil had seriously considered leaving his father where he was and letting him sort out his own problem but he would never forgive himself if anything bad happened.

  It took twenty minutes for the duty officer to deal with the Spanish couple but then as Phil stepped forward he muttered in Dutch that Sanne translated saying he would be back in a minute.

  Phil’s irritation at the delay was obvious, and picking up on this Sanne gently nudged him aside as the officer returned. She spoke in Dutch and they talked for ages, occasionally breaking into laughter. Even without a rudimentary knowledge of the language Phil could tell that she was flirting and that somewhere during the course of the conversation the officer had recognised her and had been flattered that she was being so nice to him.

  Finally, the officer grinned and pointed to a row of grey plastic chairs.

  ‘We should take a seat,’ said Sanne as the police officer disappeared out of view. She sat down on one of the chairs. Phil didn’t want to sit, he was too wired with nervous energy to find any comfort from taking the weight off his feet but Sanne had asked to and he felt he couldn’t say no when she was doing so much for him.

  ‘Well, the good news is that he should be out by first thing in the morning,’ said Sanne.

  ‘And the bad?’

  ‘He’s been arrested for dealing drugs.’

  ‘Dealing drugs!’ Phil couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘My dad’s a bit of a liability but I’m pretty sure he’s not a drug dealer. This makes no sense at all! And while I’m at it where were the boys? Why weren’t they looking out for him?’

  ‘According to the officer they were doing a sweep in De Wallen after some complaints about dealers hassling tourists when they caught your father in the act of selling a hash cake to an American tourist. On arresting him they discovered that he had a further twenty-nine carefully tucked away in his rucksack.’

  ‘He told me that bag of his was for his heart medication! I wondered why he’d been carrying that damn thing round with him all weekend.’

  ‘But where did he get them from? No coffee shop would sell them in bulk like that.’

  Phil shook his head as an answer slowly dawned on him. ‘He made them.’

  ‘Who? Your father?’

  Phil nodded. ‘That’s my dad all over. He’s the only man in the world who would buy cannabis in the UK, take it through customs and then try and sell it in one of the few places in the world where it’s freely available.’ Phil stood up, every muscle riddled with fatigue. ‘Well now that little mystery is cleared up at least we can go.’

  ‘Not yet, I talked the duty officer into asking his boss if it might be okay for you to see him.’

  Phil checked his watch. ‘I don’t want to see him and I certainly don’t want to see him now when I should be at the airport. He’s okay, and while the daft old sod might not appreciate being locked up I can’t imagine that it will do him any harm.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Sanne flatly, ‘we’ll go if that’s what you want.’

  She rose to her feet and Phil bent down to pick up his bag but then the sound of the duty officer returning to his desk made them both turn around.

  ‘You can come now,’ the officer called out to them in English. ‘He’s in interview room two.’

  The officer pressed a buzzer and a reinforced metal door to the left of them clicked open. Phil followed Sanne through the door, along a corridor and into the interview room where Patrick was sitting on a chair behind a plain grey table.

  As annoyed as Phil was, he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for his father. With an officer standing behind him he looked small and old.

  ‘You okay, Dad?’

  ‘Never better, son. I’ve been in a few nicks in my time but I must say t
he Dutch ones are easily in my top three.’ He looked over at Sanne. ‘Who’s your friend?’ Phil made the introductions. ‘Pleased to meet you, Sanne, although it would have been much nicer under different circumstances.’

  ‘Look, Dad, Sanne’s had a word with the duty officer and he says you’ll be free to go first thing in the morning. There may be a fine but I’ll sort that out now.’

  ‘And you’ll pick me up in the morning?’

  Phil shook his head. ‘No Dad, I can’t. I’m heading back home now. There’s sort of an emergency – a work thing – it needs my attention straight away. I’ll leave a message at the hotel for the boys to come and get you. Where are they by the way? Did you lose them?’

  Phil’s dad winked. ‘I’ll tell you later son, you take care and I hope you get things sorted.’ He looked at Sanne. ‘Oh, and nice to meet you love, sorry it’s been so short but maybe I’ll see you at the wedding next weekend. In my experience someone always drops out at the last minute so there’ll be plenty of room for you if you want to pop over.’

  Sanne grinned to cover her embarrassment and then they said their goodbyes and left the room.

  ‘I’m going to go and pay the fine,’ said Phil quickly in the hope that they might be able to skip any awkward silence.

  ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’

  Although the fine was large enough to have covered Phil’s share of a very nice holiday for two somewhere posh in the Caribbean, he was glad that for the moment at least his dad was out of trouble.

  Stepping outside Phil spotted Sanne hailing another cab. She waved to him to join her and they set off to the airport.

  Within minutes of leaving the confines of central Amsterdam Sanne had closed her eyes and as the driver seemed absorbed by the phone-in show on his radio Phil was free to let his thoughts roam unchecked.

  He was surprised to discover that the main topic on his mind was the woman whose head now rested on his shoulder. Forty-eight hours ago she had been little more than a name in a newspaper and now later they were . . . what exactly? He thought back to the moment in the queue outside the bar when she had smiled at him and told the bouncer that he and the boys were with her and her friends. Then there had been that moment after the Van Gogh Museum when she had wanted to show him Vondlepark; was it his imagination or had there been real disappointment in her eyes when he’d had to go? And tonight at the party she had put her hand on his arm and he had felt as if every nerve ending had been alerted by a single contact. Was this all in his mind? Was he reading too much into it? And what did this mean for the way he felt about Helen?