Chapter 13 #2
He leads me over to the group, and the moment we get there, Thiago claps his hands in excitement. ‘Right, girlies. Who wants to play a game?’
Doily suggests every parlour game she can think of. She succeeds in convincing us all to play the Minister’s Cat, on the grounds that it was the highlight of a turbulent Hogmanay she spent at Sean Connery’s castle, but the plan is abandoned because Doily can’t remember the rules.
Thiago smiles. ‘I was thinking more like . . . truth or dare.’
There’s a collective ooh. No one can resist a good game of truth or dare.
‘Fine,’ says Doily. ‘But can we have a no filming rule? I’ve never lived down that footage of me scissoring Prunella Scales.’
‘No phones,’ says Zosia. ‘Done.’
Thiago kicks the game off. He chooses truth, and is asked about the craziest place he’s ever had sex.
He proceeds to list six, including a helipad and backstage at the Balsamic Vinegar Awards.
Zosia also picks truth, and she’s asked to tell us the worst thing she’s ever done.
She tells the story of psychologically manipulating her school bully to the point that the bully became convinced that Zosia was a witch.
Doily opts for dare, so Thiago dares her to remove her underwear without leaving the room.
Doily announces that she’s not wearing any, prompting the biggest cheer so far. Now it’s my turn.
‘Truth,’ I declare.
‘Boring!’ cries Thiago.
‘I don’t care. I’m not doing any of your dares.’
The others get into a huddle and discuss what to ask me. As always in these games, it takes a while for them to hit on anything that feels juicy without being completely inappropriate, but eventually a smile spreads across Thiago’s face.
‘What’s Max’s best feature?’ he asks me.
Everyone whoops, delighted at anything remotely suggestive.
I look over at Max. How am I supposed to pick?
There’s his chest hair, which is peeking out of his toga invitingly.
Or his thighs. His thighs are great. But really his best feature is – what would you call it? His essence. His aura. His innocence.
Except that as I hold his gaze, I could swear there’s a cheeky glint in his eye, almost as if he wants to be led astray. Whether it’s that or the fact that I’m on my second glass of champagne, I turn to the others with a smile.
‘I can’t say yet. I haven’t seen all of him.’
My answer draws a scandalised whoop, even if it’s technically a cop-out. Max blushes, but I can tell he enjoyed that. I feel a rush of blood between my legs and rapidly cross them. This toga doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
Thankfully, it’s now Max’s turn.
‘Dare,’ he declares without hesitation.
Everyone cheers in approval. We launch into a frenzied discussion of what we could get him to do. As Thiago and Zosia whisper to each other, I’m secretly hoping they’re going to ask Max and me to retire to a darkened cupboard, but then Doily pipes up.
‘I’ve got it. This is perfect.’
She turns to Max with a wicked grin. ‘I dare you to steal Elton John’s gnome.’
Max stares at her. ‘His what?’
‘His gnome.’
‘Elton John has a gnome?’
‘He’s very proud of it. It’s from when he did the soundtrack to Gnomeo & Juliet. Awful film. Anyway, Elton loves that gnome. I’ve been meaning to steal it for years.’
When asked for an explanation, Doily embarks on a lengthy story that begins in the 1980s, backstage at a Wham!
show, and ends with a client of hers going up for a Timon and Pumba spin-off series that never ended up happening.
It’s debatable how much of this saga Elton John is personally responsible for, but the important part is that Doily has long had a vendetta against him and has chosen tonight to act on it.
Or rather, for Max to act on it.
‘That’s not fair,’ I protest. ‘He could get in trouble.’
‘I’m up for it!’ Max declares.
‘I’m not,’ says Thiago. ‘Where the fuck does he even live?’
‘We don’t all have to go,’ says Doily. ‘It’s Max’s dare.’
‘We can’t make him go on his own,’ I insist.
‘I agree,’ says Doily with a smile. ‘Why don’t you go with him?’
I’m pretty sure this has been engineered so Max and I can head off on a mission together.
I wouldn’t put it past any of them. Doily gives us directions to Elton’s house in West London, where the gnome is located.
She claims Elton is likely to be at his mansion in the countryside and it should be a simple smash and grab, but as Max and I jump into a cab, all I can think about is all the ways this could go wrong.
I was determined not to corrupt Max, and now we’re in a situation where we could legitimately get caught and arrested, our faces plastered across the tabloids, our reputations down the drain, our plan in ruins.
And then there’s the devil on my shoulder.
The one who’s drawn to danger. Who seeks it out.
Who thinks Max might be able to see up my toga as I sit opposite him in the cab.
Who secretly hopes he can. But this isn’t about me.
I might take risks sometimes, but only because I’m prepared for the worst. I’m not sure Max is like that.
I get the impression he always thinks everything is going to work out.
It makes me feel like I need to protect him.
The house is on a street of enormous detached mansions.
If this was America, it would be a gated community, but here you can walk right up to them.
Elton’s house is the largest of all, a vast double-fronted home with a path down one side.
Max and I share a look, then sneak down it. My heart is pounding.
The garden is filled with manicured hedges and stone statues. It’s cloaked in shadows, but light is spilling from the house. We look up, and it’s apparent that Elton is not only home, but hosting a dinner party.
‘Fuck,’ I mutter under my breath.
We peek inside, momentarily transfixed by what appears to be a who’s who of the British creative industries.
Doily would be having a field day. I actually can’t name half of these people, but they’re the type who have third billing in those Best Exotic Jersey Potato films that Doily claims can’t get funding these days, which I didn’t realise was a bad thing.
Tonight, they’re all dressed in Hawaiian shirts and sipping pina coladas.
I turn to Max, but his sights are on the garden.
He gasps, then gestures at a flowerbed. There, lit by moonlight, is a diminutive garden gnome.
It hits me what we’re about to do. If we get caught, we’ll be dragged to the police station, right at the moment we’re trying to stay under the radar.
This whole charade could come crashing down.
‘Wait,’ I say to Max.
He turns back, frowning.
‘I really don’t think it’s worth it. It’s too risky.’
‘It’s a dare,’ says Max. ‘That’s the point.’
If it was just me, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I can’t do this to Max. I can’t deal with his lack of fear.
‘Max, I’m worried.’
‘It’s only a gnome.’
‘It’s not about the gnome.’
Max looks confused. I’m not sure how much of this I really want to share, but we did agree to be honest with each other. I take a deep breath.
‘I’m worried about what we’re doing. Not tonight. The whole plan. I know it was my idea, but we’re breaking the law. It could end badly.’
‘We’ve talked it through,’ says Max.
‘Yes, but you’re so convinced it’s all going to work out. Life’s not like that.’
Max laughs. ‘Who do you think I am, Hunter?’
I don’t know how to respond.
‘I’m not eight years old,’ says Max. ‘My mum is dead. I’ve worked with countries who are at war with each other. I know bad things happen. I just don’t let it rule my life.’
His eyes are ablaze. ‘At some point, which we don’t get to choose, it all just stops. None of this means anything. So the only meaning I have ever been able to find is in trying to enjoy it while we can.’
I look at Max uncertainly. ‘And that includes stealing Elton John’s gnome?’
‘Especially that.’
‘Why risk it?’
‘For the story. For the memory. For the hell of it. For the people who aren’t alive to do it with you. And because if you had the chance, why wouldn’t you steal Elton John’s gnome?’
I feel like I know Max better from this one conversation than from everything else we’ve discussed since we met.
‘You are going to be the death of me,’ I say.
Max grins. ‘I thought you were meant to be the bad influence.’
I shake my head in disbelief. ‘We’re really doing this?’
When Max proposed to me on stage, it was a shot in the dark. Now the full extent of what we’re doing has been dragged into the spotlight. But Max doesn’t flinch.
He takes my hand. ‘If we go down, we go down together.’
I feel a rush of something I haven’t felt in a very long time. Sure, Doily and my friends have my back, but the idea that my partner does too, even my fake partner – that’s new. It’s a feeling so unnerving that I can’t look Max in the eye.
Thankfully, his mind is on the prize. He gives me one last nod of confirmation, then, still holding hands, we turn towards the gnome and run.
The next few moments are a blur. A security light goes off, but we make it away from the house before anyone sees us. We race around the corner and hail a cab. Before I know it, we’re hurtling back towards home with Elton John’s gnome nestled in Max’s lap.
As we zoom over Vauxhall Bridge, the city lights speed past us. Maybe for the first time since moving to London, my world feels alive with possibility. Max might not be my real fiancé. He might not be my soulmate. But I think I’ve found my new partner in crime.