As you would expect, that afternoon’s work had not been completed with the usual vigour and attention to detail that marked me out as a super smoking marketing exec. I hadn’t said anything about Michael Caine’s phone call to Sarah or the team, but needless to say, I thought of nothing else. On returning from the bathroom, face washed and chewing gum, I put my head down and tried to look busy till five thirty rolled around.
The second it did, I was out of the door. I left my helmet behind because I was sure that, despite the last remnants of my hangover and the fact that it was only a Monday, alcohol was likely to be involved in the realisation of what the hell had happened at lunch.
I lifted my phone to my ear: ‘Harry? Meet me at The Lyric as soon as you can. I’ve got something fucking mental to tell you’. He agreed, full of wonder about what I was talking about. ‘Utter madness. I’ll tell you when you get to the pub’.
It was exciting and terrifying, all at the same time. As I paced away from the office, I was conscious of how much I had started to notice the people around me, carefully looking at them as subtly as I could, which wasn’t very subtly at all. I was trying to gain an insight into whether they were part of what Michael (first name terms) had been warning me about. As I did, I began to fully comprehend the situation and, for a moment, the terror bloomed as the excitement shrivelled.
I got to The Lyric and ordered a pint and some Popchips, before perching on a stool close to the window, looking out at the street. People walked to and fro before me as I wondered what Harry would make of the story. At that point, that was all it was; a story. Nothing had happened for the rest of the day to quell inevitable suspicions of it being nothing more than a joke. I knew this would be a path that Harry would tread down, and quite rightly so. However, that voice had a quality to it which left me with no doubt in my mind that it was Michael Caine that I had spoken to.
I toyed the words he had used around in my head. “I’m not threatening you, boy, and you’re not in danger. But you need to watch out”. Not being in any danger was certainly a bonus, and it calmed my nerves slightly, but what else could he have meant? What was he warning me about? And how had a successful actor like Michael Caine got himself wrapped up in something like this?! It was frustrating that I could not answer any of these questions. Even if I guessed correctly, there was no way that I would know I was right.
Harry rushed past the window and into the pub. ‘What’s going on?!’ He was breathless, having had to walk up from where he worked on the Strand. He had his heart set on being a writer, but the rent on our sharp, golden flat had threatened to eat up his little nest egg that the death of his grandfather had provided. He figured working in a Café Rouge would broaden his cultural horizons, whilst topping up his personal fortune. It also helped that his uncle ran this particular franchise, and he considered Harry to be some sort of loveable rogue, and therefore let him get away with murder.
‘Go get a round in, and I’ll tell you all.’ I said as I finished my drink. His expression tensed as his impatience was tested, but he smiled, nodded, and went to the bar. My gaze returned to the street as I pondered how I was going to phrase the story, but it wasn’t long before Harry was back, two sud topped beers in hand, and the time had come to shed light on the mystery.
‘Fucking hell!’ he laughed when I had finished. ‘You’re not having me on, are you?!’
I shook my head and smiled. ‘It’s mad isn’t it. I don’t really know what to do next’.
‘Nothing you can do, really. You’re just going to have to play this out and see what happens’. He was right. ‘If you’re not in any danger, you’ve got nothing to worry about. And bloody hell, you got to speak to Michael bloody Caine! Maybe you’ll meet him!’
He was a positive guy, Harry. He also spoke some sense, and as words tumbled out of his mouth and ideas of lunching with Michael Caine formed in his mind, I began to relax as I realised that whatever happened, I wouldn’t have to go it alone.
The Warm Up 