An Old Score

by Edie Baylis

  Reading all of those text messages from Joe that had come through in one go when her phone had picked up the inconsistent network signal did very little to help her already fried brain. Ever since he’d begged to have her back she’d wavered between standing her ground and changing her mind, but digging her heels in, she’d refused to reply to his messages. If she did, then he might worm his way back under her skin.

  Oh, who was she trying to kid. He’d been under her skin for a very long time, hence why his betrayal had hurt so much.

  The voicemails were worse. They made things even harder. Hearing Joe’s voice was a lot harder to ignore than reading words on a tiny screen. Voices were real. As he’d begged over and over for her to reconsider her decision and give him one more chance she could hear the pleading in his voice.

  Teagan would be lying if she said she wasn’t tempted, but something had shifted. There was something that didn’t pan out and the clanging instinct not to believe what Joe said was loud and clear. No matter how much her heart ached, she had to face the fact: Joe Singleton was not who she thought he was and the sooner she remembered that the better.

  But there was something else too - something that had piqued her interest, probably more than it should have. It also made her question whether she too had a problem with her memory.

  The friends request from Darren Harding puzzled her no end. They’d been at school together, but for the life of her she had absolutely no recollection of him at all.

  Teagan frowned. She didn’t doubt that she must know him – why else would he make the effort to contact her otherwise? But she couldn’t remember him. She’d wracked her brains, but had come up with a blank. It wasn’t altogether surprising. That period in her life was almost ten years ago and it wasn’t like she’d been one of the popular girls. Painfully shy, she’d had very few friends – and no male ones. Most of her school years had been spent keeping her head down, avoiding getting involved or noticed by anyone.

  It didn’t matter now. Teagan bit her lip, still unsure whether she’d done the right thing. She’d studied Darren’s profile; there was something about him that rang a bell, but she couldn’t place him. Nevertheless, she’d thrown caution to the wind and accepted his friend request, tapping out a short reply to his message.

  Obviously, she’d omitted the embarrassing part of being unable to recall him and just asked how he was – the normal sort of thing and had been quietly chuffed when he’d replied within seconds, saying how great it was to hear from her and how he’d love to catch up on the old days if she ever had a spare afternoon.

  Darren’s messages were friendly – the sort expected from an old classmate or colleague, but it was empowering that he was glad to be back in contact with her. Having an old friend on the scene – and a nice-looking one at that, was just what she needed. Something to concentrate on other than how worthless Joe had made her feel. It was a refreshing change for someone to be interested in her life and what she was up to.

  Joe, in all the years of their relationship, had not once asked how her day had been. In fact, it was doubtful he’d ever been aware of what she liked/disliked. That spoke volumes and only fuelled her reserve to leave Joe where he belonged. In the past.

  Teagan’s face broke into a cheeky grin. Accepting Darren’s request may have been out of character, but why the hell not? She’d agreed to meet up with him for a coffee on her upcoming afternoon off and as luck would have it, he was coming up to Maidenhead on business the very day she was free.

  He’d even asked where and what she’d like to do and she’d ended the online messaging, promising to message him again soon to arrange it.

  Teagan had a long overdue spring in her step after that. That was until Robert had arrived and made her feel like a piece of shit; an usurper in the house - the viper in the nest.

  From what she could see, it was Robert who was the problem around here, not anyone else.

  NERO STARED AT KEITH whilst he rapped loudly at Joe Singleton’s door, seeing the man was almost salivating with the need to torture some sense into the stoner. ‘Remember we’re finding out if he’s got what we want before we go in guns blazing.’

  Keith nodded, his meaty fingers itching to close around someone’s throat. This wasn’t how he worked. When he was on a job, he sorted it whatever the cost. He so missed Saul’s way of working. There would have been none of this egg-shell treading, fannying around business if Saul had been directing this.

  The door opened and panic registered straight away on the face of one of the men who had been unceremoniously tied to a kitchen chair the other day. Pre-empting the situation as the man went to shut the door in his face, Nero’s steel toe cap took the brunt when the door slammed painlessly on his boot.

  Without giving the guy a second to react, Nero pushed through the door, followed by Keith, who effortlessly crushed the panicked man into the wall. ‘Alright, mate,’ he grinned. ‘Joe in?’

  Alan shook his head so frantically it looked like it might fall off. ‘No. No, he’s not here. I-I haven’t seen him.’

  ‘Mind if we come in?’ Keith growled. Not that there was any point asking being as they were already inside and he’d kicked the door shut behind him, but he liked to at least pretend to have manners.

  Alan’s eyes darted between the two big men. ‘Seriously, Joe’s not here. I don’t know where he is. We... we sort of fell out after... after...’

  ‘I hope we didn’t cause any problems between you and your bum-pals,’ Nero said, a sickly smile forming across his face. Despite his reticence to let Keith loose, the pathetic lies drivelling out of the gobs of this type always had the immediate effect of making him want to smash their faces in himself. Bunch of pointless fucking toe rags, the lot of them.

  ‘You won’t mind if we have a look around, then?’ Keith squeezed past and went to check the rooms, leaving Alan attempting to embed himself into the wallpaper of the damp-looking hallway.

  ‘On our last visit, your mate assured us he’d be here with what we asked for.’ Nero glanced around. ‘And if he’s not, then we’d presume he’d have the sense to leave you to hand us what’s required, yes?’

  ‘J-Joe hasn’t given me anything!’ Alan gibbered. ‘I-I haven’t seen him... I...’

  ‘What about the other guy? The ugly, lanky fucker?’ Nero spat. ‘Where’s he? Oh, don’t tell me... he’s out too?’

  ‘H-He’s only popped out to get some grub.’ Alan nearly choked. He shouldn’t have said that. Now they knew he was here on his own. Shit. Fuck.

  ‘Hmm... that’s the problem with the old green stuff, ain’t it?’ Keith returned to the hallway, his eyes gleaming with a refreshed lust for violence. ‘Gives you the munchies.’ He glanced at Nero. ‘There’s no one else here.’

  Nero snarled inwardly. So, Joe whateverhisname, the dickhead, thought it a good idea to mess with them? That was stupid – very stupid. And he hadn’t got time for stupid. Jonah would not be happy hearing another day had passed without progress.

  The way things were going they’d be better off doing things the usual way - dealing with the old bat directly, but like Jonah said, that ran the risk of the shit hitting the fan and bringing the attention of the boys in blue back to the unsolved robbery from the 60s, landing it straight on the firm’s doorstep. That none of them wanted.

  That risk was the whole reason of getting a dweeb to arrange their entry into the old bird’s gaff rather than smashing their way in, but it looked like the prick they’d picked was leading them on a merry dance.

  Nero’s eyebrows knitted together so tightly they almost became a monobrow. He was fucked off with this. He glared at the shaking man still pressed to the wall. They’d send a message loud and clear to this Joe twat – wherever he’d gone. A message that would give him the impetus to review his situation and make a better choice to deliver what they asked. And fast.

  ‘What shall we do with this pathetic cunt?’ Keith snarled, his bulging eyes drilling into Alan’s.
r />   ‘When are you expecting Joe back?’ Nero glanced at his watch. Time was ticking on.

  ‘I-I don’t know. He hasn’t anywhere else to go as far as I know, so he can’t stay away for long, but...’

  ‘But your other pal has only popped out for food, yeah? I’m hungry, so I hope he’ll have some left over to share with us,’ Keith rasped, smiling widely enough to expose the one gold tooth shining like a beacon amidst all the yellowing ones.

  ‘I-I don’t know if Dave’s coming back either,’ Alan lied, visibly cringing. He had to get these two to leave. If they believed he didn’t know anything, then surely they’d go? They wouldn’t hang around waiting for Joe to come back, would they? Please don’t let them do that.

  The thought of these two as temporary housemates made Alan want to pass out. How had he become tangled up in this mess?

  Besides, it wasn’t like he was lying. He genuinely didn’t know where Joe was or when he’d be back, but he’d best get back soon and sort this shit out. If he didn’t, then this time he would be going to the Police, regardless of what Joe wanted.

  Alan smiled through his fear. ‘I swear that when Joe returns, I’ll tell him you came and to get a move on,’ he blathered. ‘That’s probably where is right now! He might be at that house and...’

  ‘Bullshit!’ Nero roared, easily able to tell this dipshit was stringing them along. ‘Don’t talk wet. You know as well as I do that your bendy-spined mate has done a runner.’

  ‘No! He hasn’t,’ Alan cried. Joe wouldn’t do that to him and Dave, he just wouldn’t. ‘Look, he promised us yesterday that he would sort this. I said if he didn’t, then I’d go to the p...’ He quickly trailed off, realising what he’d just nearly said.

  ‘Otherwise you’d go where?’ Keith growled, stepping closer to Alan’s trembling body. ‘The Police? Was that what you were about to say?’

  ‘No, No... I wasn’t going to say that...’ Alan squeaked, panic gripping his bowels. ‘I...’

  ‘Fuck this!’ Nero muttered. Turning his back, he paced three steps which covered the entire length of the hallway, then swinging around, he smiled nastily. ‘You’re coming for a little ride with us, mate.’ He nodded to Keith. ‘Get him into the boot.’

  Alan blinked. The boot? What the fuck? ‘No, wait! I...’

  Keith rapidly silenced Alan with one hefty punch to the side of his head and began trussing him up.

  ALTHOUGH HELEN WASN’T in the mood to attend this business dinner and had relished the prospect of bringing her husband even less, she’d forced herself to make the effort because Ken Manning was attending. It was astute to see if he’d made any headway on securing a knockdown price for one of those apartments at the Oak Apple Residential home for mummy dearest.

  She glanced at James two places along on the opposite side of the table and hoped her inner strength was enough to keep the resentment that she felt towards him hidden.

  There! He’d done it again – that sideways glance – like he was analysing her.

  Whatever James was doing, she didn’t like it. Although he’d been studying her covertly out of the corner of his eye for several days, tonight had been by far the worst yet and it was fast getting on her nerves.

  He was the sort of man who wouldn’t come out and say what he wanted to ask. Neither would he speak about what was needling him, preferring to beat around the bush or pose leading questions in the hope of getting information without making it obvious.

  Helen bit back her scowl. Well, he was obvious. She knew him too well. James was far too predictable for his own good and she could see him coming a mile off. But he didn’t have a clue that she was planning on buying a flat for her mother and shifting her out of their lives, did he? And even if he did, he’d never have the balls to question her about it.

  What had she been thinking to marry such a mealy-mouthed washout?

  Unconsciously nodding and smiling at a man next to her wearing a toupee as he regaled her with how property was booming in the Buckingham area, Helen pretended to be interested.

  Well, she was interested, in as much that it paid to be up to date and alert to what was going on in her industry, but Buckingham properties were of little use to her. That area was out of her catchment. Bob Proctor’s latest idea of having networking dinners was all very well, but pointless if half the attendees dealt in out of range areas. This sort of gathering was only beneficial if it provided leads to areas of development that Shepherd, Percival and Proctor could take advantage of. She knew more than anyone they needed that, but the man she’d been placed next to was not in any way at all useful.

  Helen picked up her wine glass to help quell the urge to flip her empty plate in the man’s face. At least the sit down part of the dinner was drawing to a close, meaning shortly she’d be able to get up and mingle. Ken Manning was seated at the other end of the long table and having caught his eye several times during the meal she hoped that was enough to signify she wanted to talk. Hopefully he’d have good news.

  Helen’s lips pursed in irritation. It was a disappointment the young entrepreneur, Darren Harding, hadn’t yet put in an offer for The Gables. From the way he’d reacted to the property during the viewing she’d been confident that was all but guaranteed, but it looked like she’d been wrong. The commission up for grabs on that place was immense – still, it wasn’t over yet.

  Seeing several people leave the table, Helen got up, making a mental note to put in a courtesy call to Darren Harding in the morning to see if she could read anything into what he was thinking and what his plans were going forward.

  JAMES KEPT HIS EYE ON HELEN as she worked her way through the room, stopping to chat with various people as she went.

  He didn’t like these networking dinners at the best of times, but this one was the worst yet. Not because it was particularly any more boring than the previous ones, but because it was impossible to concentrate on anything going on around him.

  It was even more obvious that he was sticking out like a sore thumb because everyone else was chatting in couples or groups, whilst he stood limply on the outskirts like a lemon. But he could do nothing to propel himself forward and go through the rigmarole of false socialising tonight – not when all he could focus on was what he’d learnt from the chemists.

  His eyes tracked back to Helen, deep in conversation with a man. James focused intently, looking for any sign, any sign at all – no matter how small, of her making jerky movements or twitches. He’d watched her like a hawk since she’d stepped into the house tonight but so far seen nothing to suggest there was anything wrong.

  In fact, she appeared no different than usual. So much so that he’d looked up those tablets on the internet himself in the hope that the pharmacist had got it wrong and the drugs Helen was taking weren’t anything to do with Parkinson’s at all.

  No such luck. The pharmacist hadn’t been wrong. Benztropine was indeed a drug commonly prescribed to treat the associated tremors of Parkinson’s. And Benztropine was definitely one of the drugs Helen was hiding in the garage.

  James felt sticky perspiration under the armpits of his shirt and hoped it hadn’t seeped though. He looked around for his jacket just in case he needed to cover up. The horror he felt about being up to the hilt with their mortgage was bad enough, but knowing his wife might be suffering with that dreadful disease didn’t bear thinking about, but think about it he must. If that’s what she had then he’d better get used to it because from what he’d heard, it only got worse.

  But there was another worry too. As Helen had bought those pills from the internet, she could have ordered them mistakenly, thinking they were another type of anti-depressant? Clearly, judging by all the other pills she was taking, depression was definitely a big problem for her.

  James’ pulse raced. If Helen had ordered the wrong medication, then she wouldn’t know if the pills were safe to take alongside the other ones. He’d been worried enough in the first place over their source, but now this new development mad
e things even worse.

  It was no use. He’d have to speak to her about this. There was no putting it off. She could be putting herself at risk.

  Suddenly seeing Helen making her way over, James averted his eyes and instead became very interested in his watch.

  ‘James,’ Helen hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the centre of the room. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  James blinked. Did she just twitch or had he imagined it? ‘What do you mean? I was just standing here and...’

  ‘You’re making a fool out of yourself. You’re standing there with your bloody mouth hanging open like the village idiot! Are you trying to embarrass me now as well?’

  Despite trying to keep her voice level, the volume of Helen’s voice increased as her irritation grew. ‘It is not bad enough that my mother’s lost me clients because of her need to prance around like a geriatric Barbie doll for the benefit of online news channels? Now you’re standing there in front of all of my colleagues – my husband, acting like you’ve had a lobotomy!’

  ‘Don’t get worked up,’ James pleaded. ‘I’m not trying to embarrass you. I was just standing here an...’

  ‘And then you start blatantly staring at your watch! For Christ’s sake, James! How many times do you come with me to these work functions? Not often – yet you still can’t help yourself from making it completely bloody obvious to everyone that you’re bored shitless!’ Helen raged.

  God, how she despised him. Ken had been in the middle of telling her that he’d spoken to the developer and had got her an exceptional deal on the flat, providing she acted fast. He was about to give her further details when his attention had been diverted by the sight of James standing in the centre of the room like a basket case.

  Helen seethed. How embarrassing. It was her who was supposed to be the victim as far as Ken was concerned. She’d told him how much of a mess her marriage was in because of James’ controlling nature and there he was making out he was a few brain cells short. She was sure James must be doing this on purpose.