Bang: Memoirs of a Relationship Assassin by David Wailing

earth, just like she was.
    It had been a good week. After taking her home last Friday, I’d given Becky my mobile number, give me a buzz if you fancy a quick drink at some point, no pressure, see ya. I’d been prepared to make more visits to her office if need be, but in fact I started getting text messages that very evening. She called me a fucking nutter.
    There must have been fifty or sixty texts back and forth that week. You can probably imagine most of it. Me taking the piss. Her giving me abuse. Making each other laugh. Accusing each other of being – and this was fast becoming our private joke – a slag.
    You know. Flirting.
    Nothing had happened yet. Just chatting, texting, a lunchtime coffee, a quick drink after work. But it was all bubbling under the surface. The tension. Becky always lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw me – that excitement of meeting someone when you know you shouldn’t. The very second we got together, we’d start mucking around, having a laugh. But at some point a shadow would cross her face, and I’d know she was having second thoughts yet again.
    Still, here she was, going for dinner with me. A proper date. The best thing was that she’d initiated it herself. Sajjan was seeing some family in Birmingham that weekend, which gave her a bit more spare time. She almost never said his name in front of me. Most of the time we pretended he didn’t exist. But now she was telling me he’d be away for a while. A green light.
    “So what do you want to do?” I’d asked.
    Her smile was a challenge. “Take me out.”
    Of course I would. That’s exactly what I do.
    She’d been pleasantly surprised when I suggested a West End restaurant. No doubt she thought John Holmes was more common than that. Probably expected me to just come round with a kebab. But that night, I needed somewhere public. The night I made the kill.
    “You and that bloody bike are bad news,” said Becky after we’d ordered. “Especially last week, turning up out of nowhere and offering me a ride like that. And in front of everyone!”
    “Tell you what, nearly backfired on me, didn’t it? For a second I thought I was going to end up with what’s-her-name, your mate, Laura?”
    “Oh, Laura the Explorer, yeah, she’d have jumped on you like a shot…”
    I laughed. “Laura the Explorer?”
    “John, believe me, that girl will go anywhere, to the ends of the earth, if she thought she was going to get a shag out of it. It always cracks me up when she starts accusing other people of being slags, like that Scottish girl off EastEnders and all that. She just never sees herself that way. Hasn’t got a clue.”
    “Some people can’t see what’s right in front of them, can they?”
    “Exactly. As far as Laura’s concerned, every famous woman in the world is either a complete slapper, or has her pictures airbrushed or had plastic surgery or something.”
    “Hmm.” Pensive.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.”
    “What!”
    “It’s just weird you mention plastic surgery. I was kind of… don’t laugh, but I was thinking recently about getting some done.”
    “You’re winding me up.”
    Straight face. “No. I know it sounds stupid, but…”
    “Jesus, John, why?” Half-shocked, half-sympathetic. She scanned my face, looking for imperfections. “You of all people don’t need plastic surgery! What on earth would you get done?”
    “Well… I was thinking of getting a penis reduction.”
    Becky froze as I added “I’m having trouble finding trousers that will hold it, to be honest, and it just gets in the way all the time…”
    She exploded with laughter, so loud it made nearby tables stare at us. I kept my poker face on – “What?” – and that just made her worse.
    “You bastard! You had me going there as well!”
    I grinned, pleased with myself, and took a casual glance round the restaurant. Two tables away, against the back wall, sat a black man in his forties, hair greying at the temples, picking at a