by D J Harrison
‘You’ll need money just for basic living, Doreen. You’ve lost your family bread-winner and that’s my fault.’
‘No it’s not. You can’t be blamed. Gary was just being Gary. There’s a dozen times he could have got himself in real bother. It’s the way he was. You were unlucky it happened to involve yourself.’
‘Look, Doreen, if I’m right SG will be offering us about two million pounds for GOD Security. It might even be more.’
‘Then you have it, dear, you deserve it. Haven’t you been the one with all the good ideas and all the hard work?’
‘Two million, Doreen. It would make me feel better knowing you and your family were taken care of. We’ll split it. Down the middle. I’ll not say another word on the subject.’
Doreen looks like she might wear right through the horse’s thick hide the way she is brushing now. I feel content with the situation. I can’t be any more persuasive and half the proceeds is more money than I ever imagined I’d have. She’s right. I do work hard and I do have all the good ideas. Without me GOD Security would have gone under long ago.
‘Okay,’ Doreen says, ‘if it’ll make you feel better and it’s what you want than that’s fine by me as long as you’re sure.’ Her mock-evil stare confirms her certainty and her beaming smile attests her satisfaction with the outcome of our conversation.
‘Won’t they want to keep you on?’ Doreen asks.
‘That’s not the deal,’ I explain. ‘They already have Jim Almond to run the business, and Jim worked for them for twelve years.’
‘And probably does to this day, even though you pay him,’ Doreen observes.
‘I couldn’t manage without Jim though, that’s another reason for doing the deal.’
‘But not the main one?’ she asks me.
‘No, to be honest, I’ll be glad to get away. Things haven’t gone well lately, I need to get out.’
‘I’m sorry, dear, is there anything I can do?’
‘No, thanks. It all started when I reported that brothel. There’s been threats, my flat turned over and now this.’ I pull back my hair to show my bad ear. ‘It’s not over by any means, someone’s out to get me. I think they’ll kill me now if they get a chance.’
‘Can’t you go to the police, tell them what’s going on?’
‘No, that’s the problem. Our business doesn’t bear close scrutiny. There’s money passing through it that isn’t legitimate. If I get the police involved we might all end up in prison.’
‘Ah yes, O’Brian and his cash.’ She smiles. ‘What does the great man himself have to say to all this?’
‘Nothing, I’ve not told him.’
‘Don’t you think you should?’
‘Only when I’m ready.’
‘And what about selling the business, won’t the purchaser want to look at what we do very closely? How can we sell it without revealing the little bit of irregularity we indulge ourselves in?’
‘I’ve thought about that, Doreen, I think I have a way of dealing with it, at least I hope I have.’
51
Gaggles of excited Chinese are gathered on the narrow footpath outside the Yang Sing. These appear to be Chinese people from China, rather than Chinese people from Manchester, judging by the cameras and backpacks. Every time one of them moves too close, the glass doors of the restaurant slide invitingly open, then shut with a reluctant swish when the invitation is declined.
I pick my way through the throng into the building and walk down the wide staircase into the restaurant. The place is heaving with diners and an even greater number of aspirants facing almost certain disappointment. All Chinese, whether customers or staff, all bright and animated. The noise and intensity reminds me of a school visit to the swimming baths, apart from the deep-fried food aromas that replace the chlorine.
I am received amongst all the chaos by an exquisite lady in a tunic dress who offers to take my non-existent coat after I tell her I’m having lunch with Peter O’Brian.
‘He’s not here yet,’ she explains apologetically, as if somehow I’m holding her personally responsible. ‘I’ll take you to his table if you like.’ We weave our way through the seated masses and she directs me to the only empty table in the whole place, next to a deep alcove where a convoluted dragon is staring out at me. My insistence at meeting somewhere other than his house is beginning to look like a mistake. I want O’Brian’s attention and I need somewhere to explain my unwelcome news. This seething hubbub is singularly unsuited to serious discussion.
Twelve-thirty we agreed. Twelve-twenty I arrived. O’Brian lurches into view at one-fifteen, I’ve been kicking my heels in here for almost an hour. By the time he arrives at the table I’ve drunk so much water I have to excuse myself and head for the Ladies. When I get back I’ve acquired a large glass of red wine and the table is festooned with bamboo baskets containing morsels of hot food. O’Brian is already tucking in.
‘What’s this?’ I point to what looks like a lump of gristle, clad in a cabbage leaf.
‘Pork,’ O’Brian says, ‘I think so anyway. Maybe it’s something else.’
I eat it tentatively. It’s absolutely delicious but I’ve little idea what I’m chewing and am none the wiser when I swallow it. O’Brian waves his arms; six more dishes arrive, each with two bite-size morsels. He’s getting way ahead of me.
‘I need to talk to you, Peter.’
‘Eat up, there’s plenty more coming. The chef knows what I like. Good isn’t it?’
‘Yes, delicious.’ I would happily settle for a nice green salad but at least I’m spared the need to extract something appropriate from a menu which, judging by the number of dishes we have been served already, must rival War and Peace for size.
‘I’m considering selling GOD Security.’
‘Why?’ Peter pauses. A prawn dumpling, clenched between chop sticks, hovers in front of his face. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘I need to get away. I have to get out now while I’m still alive.’
‘Surely it’s not that bad, the job I mean.’
‘It’s not the work, it’s everything else. Somebody has it in for me. They’ve already chopped off my ear. I’m convinced they won’t stop at that.’
‘Look. The business with the ear, that’s not something I can take responsibility for, Jenny. It was you who decided to put yourself at risk. I did warn you.’
No he didn’t warn me. He did nothing of the sort. All he did was laugh at me when I told him I was going to try to get business from his clients. He must have had a good idea of how dodgy his customers were. I should hold him partially responsible, I realise that now. Before he spoke I was content to blame only myself.
‘It’s not that. I think they saw their opportunity and took it, but whether I walked into their den or they grabbed me off the street, it makes little difference. They know where to find me, they know where I live, where I work, who I associate with. They must know about you, Peter. I have a feeling they also know about our arrangement, about the money you pass through my company.’
O’Brian is no longer interested in the food. Even the appearance of a gigantic whole fish festooned with chopped leeks and swimming in soy sauce fails to divert his attention.
‘What makes you think that?’ His face has lost all its customary good humour.
‘They could have killed me at that house you renovated, or at my flat or anywhere for that matter. Instead they broke in and trashed the place. They stole my documents and used them to transfer all the money out of my bank accounts. They know what they’re doing. None of this is random. Maybe they’re wondering how you managed to salt away so much of their cash, when they find it almost impossible to spend these days. I don’t know, Peter, I just don’t know.’
‘I don’t think that’s a reason to drop everything and run, Jenny.’ Peter resumes eating. I gave up almost before I began. Meanwhile, un-summoned waiters bring more unwanted food. ‘Think of the consequences. The caravan parks, they produce a tidy i
ncome for us both and you need GOD Security to siphon off the profits. Hang on.’ His face is getting redder. ‘If you try to sell they’ll find out what we’re doing when they do the due diligence. Their accountants will flag up all the payments and we’ll be in real trouble. It’s not on, Jenny, you can’t sell GOD Security.’
‘I have to do something, Peter, otherwise I’ll get sucked deeper into whatever’s going on, and so will you. Better a clean break now before the authorities get word of what we’ve been doing. We’ve had a good run and we’ll still have the caravan sites, don’t forget.’
‘The caravan sites aren’t much use on their own, the money will slow down to a trickle.’
‘Better that than we get collared or worse.’
‘Even if you wanted to you couldn’t sell GOD Security, not to a legitimate buyer anyway.’ Peter insists.
‘I have to make it work, there’s no other way.’
Peter stops eating altogether, surveys the myriad dishes littering the table and rises from his seat.
‘Don’t,’ he says. ‘Leave it as it is, you’re rushing to conclusions that can’t be substantiated. Do nothing until I get back to you.’
He walks over to the reception desk and hands over his credit card. I ask the waiter to box up all the spare food.
52
Alex is impressed with me. I’ve been out to lunch and arrived home not just completely sober but also bearing food.
‘Is all this for just the two of us?’ he asks, eyes wide with gluttony.
‘It’s all for you,’ I answer. ‘I’ve had far too much already.’
‘How did your lunch go, was it the people who want to buy your business again?’
‘No, it was a client, O’Brian. He has a construction business, we provide all the security for his sites.’
‘So you had to pay for all this?’ Alex smiles. ‘I’d better not waste it.’
‘No, actually O’Brian paid. It was his choice of restaurant.’
‘Ah yes, one of the old school, I’ll bet. There’s advantages to being female.’
Alex’s words provoke a reaction in my body, an upsurge of fury. I try to suppress the bitterness but it’s too strong.
‘So that’s what you really think of me, some kind of weak girl who has to be taken care of? Well, I don’t need anybody. I can take care of myself. Here,’ I start throwing food back into containers. ‘Take the food and go home and stuff yourself.’ Something compels me to run into my bedroom, slam the door by savagely kicking backwards and then dive headlong onto the mattress, trying to muffle my sobs of anguish.
I stop crying when I hear the bedroom door open surreptitiously. Alex enters, heralded by an aroma of Chinese food. I feel him sit softly at the foot of the bed. His hands gently take one of my feet and hold it. I like the feel of his soft touch but I keep still and rigid. He begins to stroke my instep, massage my toes, press the sole of my foot with his thumbs. I move my head slightly to get it out of the soggy mess my tears and snot have made on the bedclothes. I’m beginning to enjoy what he’s doing and appreciate even more the silent way he’s doing it.
Gradually his hands reach my ankle, manipulating it, enlivening it. He runs his thumbs up the back of my calf, smoothing out the muscle, then they slowly return down to my foot. As his hands work, I start to long for his touch on my thighs, my buttocks. Every time he slides his hands underneath my skirt up to my knee, I anticipate the thrill of them continuing upwards, inside my thigh, touching me where I’m already beginning to feel aroused.
Instead, I catch my breath as he descends again back to my foot. I lie still, breathing shallowly to avoid giving him any encouragement. My initial impulse to lash out with my foot and try to catch him in the groin, send him on his way, recedes as quickly as it came.
Now I am loving his touch, appreciating his gentle stillness. There’s no wheedling, no cajoling, no ‘what’s the matter with you’ from Alex. Only being here, standing up to my tantrums, giving me space, offering support. Now I want more than a massage. I shift my legs to what I hope is a provocative position, leaving room between them for his hands to pleasure me. Instead he moves nearer, places one warm hand at the base of my spine, the other just below my neck. My body begins to feel lighter, my neediness is lifting. I’m conscious that my breathing is becoming longer and deeper.
The hands remain motionless, but I’m becoming increasingly aware of them and of my connection to Alex. I let myself relax. As I do, I realise how tightly my body is clenched. Now the constriction I hold in my chest begins to give way to a spaciousness and breathing becomes a real pleasure.
Still Alex says nothing. His presence is all the more powerful for his silence. There is nothing he can say to me that can possibly be as nourishing to my soul as this. The clouds of distress waft away, lulled by his gentle breath.
‘It’s Toby,’ I say when I’m ready. ‘It’s the way I abandoned my little boy. How I’m never there when he needs me. I’ve lost him, Alex, she’s got him now, Tim’s new wife. She’s the one he can rely on. She’s there every day to look after him. I’m nothing to him any more, some old woman who insists in intruding into his life, unasked and unwanted.’
Alex stays still, allows his hands to remain resting on my back, touching me in a way that no words might.
‘It wasn’t my fault, you know,’ I continue. ‘I was set up.
‘So you didn’t abandon Toby, he was taken from you, or you from him,’ Alex says. His hands move to my shoulders and he turns me around to face him, still lying on the crumpled bed. I look up at him sitting calmly next to me.
‘It was my fault, I took the money thinking I could use it to get me and Toby away from Tim. That’s why they put me in prison. I only have myself to blame.’
‘And you took ten grand in cash, what for?’
‘Nothing really. I was supposed to be conducting a due diligence exercise. I took the money, but I didn’t actually do anything for it.’
‘Except keep quiet.’ Something in Alex’s voice shocks me out of my train of reminiscence.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ I say, but suddenly I become aware of all the stuff I’m telling Alex and how much interest he is showing.
‘But there wasn’t anything to keep quiet about really. Everything was okay on the face of it. All I had then were vague suspicions, some uneasiness about the people involved. Nothing to go to the police with, if that’s what you mean.’
Alex slips his arms underneath my shoulders, draws me close to him. My head is resting on his chest, I can feel the warmth and protection I desperately need. Now I have Alex I don’t have to face these nightmares on my own.
53
‘They want to meet to put their offer to you,’ Jim Almond greets me as I slump into my chair.
‘They’ve got my number, why don’t they ring me?’ I ask.
Jim looks uncomfortable. ‘It’s easier for them to get me to make the arrangements, I suppose.’
‘They’re doing it through you because they know I’ll ask them how much. There wouldn’t be any point in asking you that question, would there?’
‘No, you’re right. I suppose they want to make it a bit of a presentation, give you the whole picture, make sure you’re comfortable.’
‘Okay, when and where?’
‘They said to ask you that.’
‘In that case today at their office. I don’t need a fancy lunch, just a cup of tea and the price they’re willing to pay.’
‘I have to meet Stretford today,’ Jim says. ‘Do you want me to put that off?’
‘No, certainly not. I don’t need you for my meeting with Hector.’ As I speak I realise that I don’t want Jim involved at all. My negotiations with SG have to be done without Jim’s presence. The more I think about his position in all this the less I like it. I dial SG’s office myself and get put through to Hector’s PA.
‘Jenny Parker here, Hector wants to meet me. Tell him I’ll come round to his office today at three o’clock.’
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‘I’m sorry, Ms Parker, Mr Brighouse is unavailable this afternoon. I can offer you next Thursday, 9 a.m., that’s the earliest he can do. He’s very busy, you do understand.’
‘Thanks but three this afternoon is better for me. Tell him I’ll be there unless I hear to the contrary.’
‘But, as I already said, he’s unavailable.’
‘Then tell him to ring me himself and explain why he can’t meet me. Thank you. Goodbye.’
I ring off, look at Jim’s pallid complexion. ‘You go off to see Trafford,’ I say. ‘Leave Hector to me from now on.’ He looks like a whipped dog, it makes me wonder which of us he thinks is his master.
Hector’s PA has the air of an upmarket doctor’s receptionist. I’ve dealt with her kind before, ladies of indiscriminate age with little interest in anything outside their protection duties. Letting someone near their important charge makes them feel violated and ineffective. I’m getting a tight-lipped ‘told you not to come’ look from her, which dissolves into a rictus of disappointment when Hector bulldozes his way into the office at three minutes past three.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he gasps, ‘police liaison meeting, terrible bunch of self-important incompetents. This country is going to the dogs. Nobody has any idea how to run things properly any more. Everything is about cutting corners, chopping staff, saving money. They remove one security guard, save forty grand a year and get three million pounds of theft and arson. As long as the three million comes off someone else’s budget they’re happy.’
He sits at his enormous antique desk, top inlaid with green leather. There is nothing on it except a telephone and a single sheet of paper, carefully aligned to be exactly equidistant between us. He pushes this slightly towards me. It is now in my territory and I reach out to take it. As I read, Hector’s PA brings him a tray containing a floral teapot, two large white bone china cups with matching saucers, milk jug and sugar bowl, complete with cubes and tongs.
