Desmond only laughed and handed Cecil the photograph as though he couldn’t see why Nestor was getting all upset. He said, ‘I was tellin’ Nes when we were comin’ back from the Star an’ Moon after it got mashed up, that people around ’ere have to mature themselves. Puttin’ on a dress don’t mek a man a batty-man, right, Cecil? I mean, you can’t judge by appearances, or photos, right?’
Cecil rubbed his chin and shot a glance at Beanie. ‘Bwoy, I ain’t sure, you know. Look, man, I never said this before but mi Uncle Frank was sayin’ that your ole man told him that them people in Jamaica used to put you in your dead grandmother’s dress an’ then lock you in a cupboard when you misbehave ’cause the beatin’s had no affect. Now I reckon that must have had some affect on your brain if you don’t see that wha’ this coolie-bwoy you live wid is doin’ is weird, to ras.’
‘To ras!’ howled Nestor. ‘That’s it, now me see it! Des, them people in JA have messed up your head good an’ proper. An’ mek this clear in your mind, if nutten else clear, no rahteed friend of mine lives with a man wearin a rahteed dress. Seen?’
Desmond was still laughing as he opened the front door and gestured with a sweep of his hand for the three guys to leave. ‘Bwoy, all-a unno wanna grow up,’ he called out after them. ‘Jas wants to go home an’ thinks this is the way he can get me to let him go ’cause he knows me deal with a heap-a immature guys but all he’s done is get himself another beatin’.’ He closed the door and, still laughing, shouted to Jas to fetch him the rubber hose and prepare himself for a whipping.
31
Mark Beckford thanked God it was Friday and that he had finished work for another week. There had been a lot of activity in and around George Rowley’s office as groups of auditors went in and out. He still felt a twinge of remorse about his part in George’s downfall but it lessened with every passing day and as it did, ideas about what he could do with the money (once Nestor and Desmond returned it with interest) began to increasingly play on his mind.
As he left for home the few colleagues who knew of the upcoming final, mostly those who attended the prayer meetings, wished him good luck. They noticed how his response seemed less than enthusiastic, even a little sullen. The truth was that all the emotional trauma of the past week had left him drained, and the poor turnout for the training session the previous night had undermined his confidence in his team’s chances of winning the cup. But more than anything else, he was still brooding over Marcia Yuell and the way he had treated Rachel. A week before, he was convinced that everything he was doing was so right but now it seemed so wrong, so terribly wrong. He wanted to make a fresh start with his wife but did not know how to without telling her everything – and while confession might be good for his soul he was scared about what damage it might inflict on Rachel and their unborn child.
The one good thing that had happened recently was his renewed relationship with his brother. Ian had suggested that they spend an hour in the park kicking a ball just to keep loose and while Mark wasn’t particularly keen he felt obliged to make the effort. He had told Ian they would meet up on his way home from work, as he wanted to spend the evening in with Rachel. They got changed in their parents’ home and jogged over to the West Park.
‘I was thinkin’ of havin’ a talk with Rachel,’ Mark said as they ran. ‘
About Marcia?’
‘That’s wha’ I was thinkin’. Honesty bein’ the best policy.’
‘Sometimes it ain’t. I mean, I’m thinkin’ of tellin’ Ruth tonight that I ain’t seein’ her no more but I ain’t gonna say it’s ’cause she’s pushin’ forty an’ startin’ to look like it. I’m gonna make an excuse, you know, make out that I gotta concentrate on football an’ tell her how much I really think of her an’ say I’m sorry that it’s endin’. See, the action is gonna be the same but tellin’ the truth about what’s happenin’ is only gonna add to the hurt … Wha’ I mean is, you’ve finished with Marcia, that’s the action that’s gonna be good for your marriage, but tellin’ Rachel about it has to hurt her, might even hurt your marriage. I mean, is it wha’ you do or wha’ you tell her that’s gonna help make things right? I don’t know the answer, Mark, I’m jus arksin the question.’ Mark didn’t have the answer either and they ran the rest of the way to the park in silence. They kicked their ball for a while and then joined in a game with a group of kids before they decided that they had better not overdo it and headed back. They were running on the grass verge outside the park’s outer fence and speculating about how many players Horace McIntosh would have for the team when a police van pulled up just ahead of them. Two cops got out, one of them pulling on a pair of leather gloves as he did so. The first cop put out a hand and gestured for Mark and Ian to stop. ‘Okay lads,’ he said, ‘what exactly are you running from?’
Ian laughed briefly at the question. ‘We ain’t runnin’ from anythin’.’
‘We’re comin’ from the park,’ said Mark, as he held up the ball he was carrying.
The cop turned to the one with the gloves. ‘Didn’t we just have a report of someone stealing a football from some kids in the park?’ he asked, as three more cops came out of the back of the van.
Mark could see the anger rising in his younger brother and thought he’d better do the talking. ‘If you did, officer,’ he said, ‘this isn’t the ball you’re lookin’ for. We jus went over to the park for a bit of practise. We got a big match tomorrow.’
‘What, is it that you boys are making out that you’re playing in the FA Cup?’ To his colleagues he said, “Which one of these do you reckon is Garth Crooks?’
Mark forced a nervous smile and said, ‘No, it’s the Watney’s Red Barrel Challenge Cup final.’
The cop’s mouth twisted sardonically. ‘Ooh, the Watney’s Red Barrel Challenge Cup?’ he said. ‘Somehow I don’t think you’ll be playing anywhere tomorrow. Right, put your hands on the van and let’s see what else you two thieving monkeys might have nicked.’
The policemen closed in as Mark was about to protest and he didn’t see the half house brick that felled the first cop. Suddenly the air was full of missiles raining down on them and the police van. Amid the howls of pain and curses Ian took hold of Mark’s arm and screamed at him to run. They hadn’t got more than a few strides when a cop grabbed Ian. Almost immediately the cop let go as he got a brick to the face. A natty-haired youth had, along with a score of others, run from the park on seeing the police van come to a stop and had guessed what was about to happen – even if Mark and Ian hadn’t. More missiles poured down and the road was already filling with rubble and looking like a demolition site as the Beckford brothers sprinted away. They only stopped to catch their breath once they were in their parents’ driveway.
‘Shit,’ gasped Ian, ‘I don’t think Horace could’ve afforded to be another two players down. But you never know, he might’ve come an’ pulled us out like he did with Devon.’
‘Yeah,’ laughed Mark, ‘but we better not say anythin’ about wha’ has jus’ gone on when we go in. You know how Dad reckons that anyone stopped by the cops must’ve done somethin.’
‘Hey, the last person I hear sayin’ that was you,’ said Ian.
‘You sure? Well, if I did I’ve just changed my mind.’
Nestor Riley had got Cecil Grant to give him a lift home after they had left Desmond’s place. Cecil was still laughing at Jas being dressed in a blouse and skirt and Desmond’s attitude. ‘It’s like the guy don’t give a damn that we see wha’ go on. But, you know, the man ain’t righted.’
‘To ras,’ murmured Nestor. ‘Any man who kidnap someone jus’ so them can fix im cars ain’t right. Nah, man, Desmond is well mad but it only now me see it.’
Cecil carried on laughing until just before he let Nestor out. He was back to his usual nasty self as he warned Nestor that he and Beanie had better get the money owed to them by Monday. ‘Don’t waste no time,’ he warned, ‘you go with Des an’ mek sure you raise the dunsai.’
Nestor decide
d an appeal for more time would be a waste of breath and went into his mother’s house. No one was home as he tried to figure out if there was any advantage in his staying in Wolverhampton any longer. He could certainly see the disadvantages in hanging around; they were mostly in the shapes of a machete-waving mob or Cecil and Beanie. They would get their money from the sale of Desmond’s BMWs and if people wanted to kill someone they could always find Desmond and vent their anger on him – and Jas. The cross-dressing Jas was indulging in was another good reason for Nestor to leave town quickly, before anyone else found out about it and damaged his good name as a strictly heterosexual lover-man.
He was already packing a suitcase when the telephone rang. It was his mother; she was crying and saying something about baby Peter and a life-support machine. It took three times of asking but Nestor finally agreed to go to the Royal Hospital and find out what all the bawling was about.
32
Like Nestor Riley, Mark Beckford had also returned to an empty home. When he had called out Rachel’s name and there had been no reply he became anxious and went from room to room to look for her. The scene he had feared most was in their bedroom: she had emptied the wardrobes of her clothes and her suitcases had gone. He had thought about telephoning her parents but after picking up the receiver he put it down again without dialling and thought it best if he went there straight away; she couldn’t have gone anywhere else – and he thought he knew why.
Rachel’s father, Edward Facey, opened his door and confirmed that she was there when he greeted Mark by saying that she did not want to see him – before the question was even asked. He also communicated that Mark was not welcome inside by the way he stood in the doorway with his arms crossed over his broad chest. ‘But I jus’ need to talk to her,’ Mark said, ‘there’s stuff I gotta explain.’ Edward Facey said, ‘Come back tomorrow, Mark, she’s too upset to talk right now.’
‘What’s got her so upset?’
‘I think you know more about that than me.’
‘Well, would you jus arks her if she’ll see me for a minute, please?’
After a moment’s hesitation Edward went inside and seemed to be away for an age. When he reappeared he was shaking his head as if bemused. ‘Come into the front room,’ he said, ‘she jus dryin’ ’er eyes an’ says she’ll talk to you there.’
As it was in his own parents’ home, the front room of the Facey household was a place of many ornaments and rarely used furniture. It was only the second time Mark had been permitted in there, the first was – accompanied by his mom and dad – to discuss his marriage to Rachel. As a clock ticked loudly on the mantelpiece, Mark strained his ears for sounds to warn him of Rachel’s approach. He heard nothing until the click of the latch. She came in with watery eyes that made him drop his head in shame. He waited for the click that told him that she had closed the door before he looked up again. She stood, biting her quivering lip. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked.
He tried to bring a little saliva into his dry mouth before he spoke. ‘To talk, to explain.’
‘Explain about what, about your secret savings plan worth twenty thousand pounds and how you gave it to two crooks so they could double it in some nasty, underhand way so you could then buy a nice house for you and Marcia Yuell?’ He questioned her about how she had found out with a look and Rachel went on: ‘Yes, she came around this afternoon and told me. Thing was, I had known all about her from before we were married. But I loved you, Mark, and I prayed, I prayed every day that God would at least let you see what I was trying to give to you. Love, it was real love I wanted to share with you.”
‘If you knew before, then why did you marry me, or why didn’t you give me an ultimatum, you know, “it’s me or her” type of thing? Why didn’t you help me stop it goin’ this far?’ ‘Don’t you dare even try and make out that somehow I’m responsible for this because I didn’t say out loud what my heart was telling you. Every action I made showed you that choice but you were too blind to see.’
‘But I don’t understand, Rachel, I don’t know how, if you knew about Marcia, how you could’ve married me.’ ‘Because love is the closest thing to insanity, because it makes no sense and I must have been crazy to think you would see my love while she was still available.’
Her silence combined with the loud ticking of the clock to put pressure on Mark to come up with a response. It was almost as if there was too much to say and as the words lined up on his tongue they became all jumbled up. ‘I- I was confused,’ he said softly, ‘I was mixed up. I’ve been doin’ some things that don’t make a lot of sense, even to me. An’ I’ve prayed too, Rachel, I really have but I can’t say which was God’s voice an’ which was my own. The stuff I was sayin’ to Marcia, about the savin’s plan, that wasn’t true. I … I stole it, from work. I was tempted, I couldn’t help myself, an’ as soon as I did it I wanted to give it back but it was too late. Anyway, it turns out that George Rowley, the guy who held the prayer meetin’s in his office, he had been stealin’ money from the company for years, they reckon over three hundred thousand an’ still countin’. The police jus’ put the money I took down to George an’ so I got away with it. But because I wanted to get rid of it I gave it to some guys who are bringin’ in cheap coffins from India, they said they would double it but I mean it when I say I don’t care now if I never see it again.’
Rachel put a hand to her mouth and began to look at Mark in a way she had never done before. Now she was ready to ask the question that had run through her mind so many times but that she thought she would never have the courage to utter. ‘Why did you marry me, Mark?’ The clocked ticked and when it looked like he was not about to give her an answer, she asked, ‘Did you ever love me?’
He silently repeated her question to himself. ‘I never loved Marcia,’ he said, ‘I was infatuated but I didn’t love her. An’ why did I marry you, do you want the truth?’
Rachel held her breath and in her mind she was saying ‘no’ as her mouth said, ‘Yes, yes, I do.’
In his mind he was saying: ‘Because of my parents; because I once had a passion. Because of somethin’ that was gradually taken away from me an’ I thought I could replace it with another sort of love. The love I lost had preoccupied me every day since I was seven years of age, an’ that’s why I got married, it was somethin to take my mind off all those never-to-be-fulfilled dreams.’ But out loud Mark said, ‘Because I loved you.’
‘I wish I could believe you,’ Rachel said. ‘I told Marcia that there was something that I thought you loved more than either of us. When I was talking with Ian about his trials with Aston Villa I was thinking how much it must have been hurting you. While I was packing I came across all those scrapbooks you’ve kept, all those football annuals, and I remembered how you used to tell me about your dreams about being a professional that you’ve had ever since you were a little boy and how you used to go to bed in a football strip. And that’s your problem, Mark, in many ways you’re still that little, disappointed boy and until you grow up, and out of it, there will be nothing about life that you think will make up for it. Look at all these grown men, these ex-footballers in the newspapers, who have invested so much of themselves in what’s only a game. And when they can’t play anymore they do drink or drugs because no matter what car they drive, or big house they live in, no matter what family they have, nothing can replace playing football. And you know what, Mark, it’s so sad, so pathetic that this big wonderful world isn’t much bigger than a football pitch to them, or you.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong about me, Rachel, but even a couple of days ago you would’ve been right. I was sick with jealousy over Ian but we had a talk an’ then I realised how much I had to be glad about, you an’ the baby, an’, more importantly in some ways, I was glad for Ian. Now I’m a man I’ve put away childish things. I’ve gotten over football.’
‘But I bet you’re hoping for a boy, right? I bet when you see what Ian is doing, there’s a part of you that’s thinki
ng a son of yours will do that, or maybe more, too.’ The way Mark dropped his head told her she was right. ‘Well, I tell you now,’ she went on, ‘the way I’m feeling, no son of mine will ever play football, I’d want him doing way more with his life than playing a game. I’d want him to grow into a proper man, and not be a boy in a man’s body.”
Mark thought about what Ian had said about Rachel’s hidden depths; it seemed they were hidden only to him. ‘Where do we go from here?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know Mark. I’m not sure if I want to go anywhere from here with you. You’ve made a fool out of me, Mark, and I’m not sure if I can take the chance to let you do that to me again. Give me a few days and I’ll be in touch.’
Mark nodded and as he went to the front door he tried to kiss her lips but she turned her face and it landed on her cheek. ‘I will call you,’ she said. As he walked out along the driveway to his car she shouted, ‘Good luck for tomorrow.’ She thought it was a good sign when he stopped and asked her what was happening tomorrow. ‘The match,’ she replied. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said, ‘the match.’ He went on a few paces before he stopped to ask her if it would change anything if he didn’t go to the match, if he came and talked with her instead. But by the time he had turned around she had closed the door.
As Mark was heading home his brother Ian was being taken to hospital in the back of a car. Ruth Martell had been playing music in her bedroom and there was so much noise that he hadn’t heard the three pairs of feet thundering up the stairs.
MORE THAN a GAME Page 20
