by D J Harrison
It’s also Alex’s idea to purchase all the food at Selfridge’s. He also kindly let me pay. I had to buy a huge amount to insure against the attendance of Mick and Joan. They are here munching away steadily but I have a feeling that they thoughtfully stocked up on fish and chips before they arrived. Either that or Joan is wearing a salt and vinegar au de toilette. It had crossed my mind to buy unsliced loaves, cut them in half and put the contents of a couple of tins of spam between each to give Mick something substantial to eat.
The one non-Selfridge’s item is proving very popular. My cheese and pineapple hedgehogs are the object of considerable derision from Alex. I would almost describe him as getting a bit sniffy about them. I forgive him, it’s his soft southern upbringing, he doesn’t recognise real party food when he sees it. To maintain the general air of sophistication, I did wrap the grapefruit halves in aluminium foil before sticking in the cocktail sticks. I even used real tinned pineapple chunks which blend perfectly with the cubes of processed cheddar. At this rate of depletion, I may have been too susceptible to Alex’s gibes and under-estimated the demand by a considerable margin.
I had hoped Chris and Lottie might be back in time and turn up. There’s no sign of them, nor any new word regarding their situation. I can’t blame either of them if they decide I’m too big a liability in their lives from now on and have decided to keep well away.
Emma comes over with a large glass of coke in her hand and a big smile on her face.
‘You’re the designated driver then?’ I nod towards her drink.
‘Oh, I suppose. Best let Ben have a few beers, he’s been having a hard time at work lately.’
‘Poor lad, it must be hard being a policeman.’
‘Not as hard as it is being a policeman’s wife.’ Her face screws up in exaggerated distaste. My heart sinks with guilt as the thought intrudes that I’m abandoning this delightful woman to the not so tender mercies of SG. Jim Almond is more than fine with the situation and the lads on the ground won’t even notice the difference. It’s only Emma, my source of positive vibrations, the girl who has single-handedly kept me almost sane.
‘Look, Emma, I’m sorry if I’m leaving you in the lurch over this SG takeover. I’ll miss being in the office with you, you know I will. It’s just that the time has come when I have to do something else. I’ve never been comfortable running Gary’s business, you know that. Forgive me?’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Emma smiles. ‘It’s all going to work out fine.’ Her eyes twinkle. She raises her glass and pats her stomach. ‘I’ve checked out the SG maternity benefits package and it’s much better than ours.’
‘Maternity package, do we have one?’
‘No we don’t. So you see things are working out very well.’ My sluggish brain doped with several gin and tonics suddenly catches on to the significance of her gestures.
‘A baby!’ I hear myself squeal involuntarily, then hug her a little too hard. ‘That’s so great, I’m really happy for you both.’ I look across the room and see Ben and Alex in deep conversation. ‘They seem to be getting on well, our two men.’
‘Ben gets on very well with anyone, he’s wasted as a policeman. I keep telling him he should try to find something else.’
‘Maybe Alex can help,’ I say.
Emma looks at me with a puzzled frown. ‘I can’t see how.’
Mick comes over to join us, plate in one fat fist, pint glass in the other, eyes creased in a smile. ‘These are nice.’ He points his nose at a pile of Selfridge’s most expensive canapés, then eats one straight from his plate like a grazing donkey might.
‘Joan adores cheese and pineapple on sticks,’ he continues, voice hardly affected at all despite his mouth being full. ‘She’s had a whole one all to herself. Great party, Jenny. Thanks for inviting us.’
‘No problem, Mick, wouldn’t be the same without you two.’ I almost add who would finish off all the food, but manage to avoid that level of ungraciousness. Enthusiasm, after all, is something to be encouraged.
‘All set for Saturday?’ I ask.
‘Sure, everyone’s well up for it especially now we don’t have the worry of those young hoodlums trying to muscle in. Hey, Emma, did you hear what Jenny did to this thug who threatened her with a gun?’
‘No.’ Emma’s eyes widen as she looks at me.
‘I’m sure Emma doesn’t need to worry herself about our football experiences,’ I say in a vain attempt to deflect him.
‘She faced up to the guy, Emma, he pulled a gun and pointed it straight at her, and what do you think she did?’
‘Ran away, I hope,’ Emma replies.
‘No, she walks up to the little toe-rag, grabs his gun and he shoots himself in the bollocks – oh sorry, the er…groin.’
‘Oh.’
‘But that’s not the best bit.’
‘Really?’
‘No, while the little shit – sorry – was in hospital, our Jenny pays him a visit doesn’t she?’
‘Why?’
‘He’s going to be looking for revenge isn’t he?’
‘Yes, I suppose.’
‘So our Jenny, she plants his own gun on him, then tips off the police. Now he’s safely locked up and out of our way. Brilliant eh?’
‘Did you really?’ Emma asks.
‘Well…yes, I’m not proud of it and don’t go telling your Ben about it. We’ll all get into trouble.’
‘I think you’re very brave, Jenny.’ Emma frowns and gives me her concerned look. ‘But your bravery is getting you into too much trouble, it’s about time you stopped trying to fight crime yourself and left it to the people who get paid to do it.’
‘I wish it were that simple, Emma. What about Kat, Lottie’s sister? She’s disappeared. Nobody in the Ukraine cares apart from her mum and the authorities here have absolutely no interest in a young foreigner who might or might not be in this country. Someone has to care in this world, Emma, we all have to do what we can.’
‘Yes, but all you do is get yourself hurt, Jenny. All I’m saying is stop putting yourself at risk. Care by all means, help in any way you can, yes, but don’t get yourself killed doing it.’
‘Okay, I hear you. Thanks, Emma. Maybe I’ve been a bit headstrong, it’s my nature to fly into action, I suppose. I get so angry at the injustice of it all.’
The doorbell rings. Doreen arrives, conspicuously late, with her new man, Fergus. I’ve not met him before but I’ve heard quite a lot about him from Doreen.
‘This is my friend Fergus.’ She blushes violent red as if deeply ashamed to be displaying her affections in public. He’s a tall, gangling figure, sandy haired and slender. The complete antithesis of Gary and for that I’m grateful. He has a pleasant enough smile, despite his teeth being rather yellow and very uneven. I’m not one to be criticising other people’s teeth these days.
A familiar figure slips quietly into the flat and stands beside Doreen. Her hair is deep purple in colour, half her head shaved, several piercings hang down from her ears and nose. I can’t help but be put in mind of the way that cattle are tagged and ringed. Gary’s adopted daughter, Carrie, who used to work as my receptionist, looks well enough though. Her smile and hug confirm she has completely forgiven me for biting off her boyfriend’s penis.
‘It’s Wednesday, it should all be put to bed then,’ I speak quietly to Doreen.
‘So it’s all done and dusted, no more sleepless nights for you worrying about us all.’
‘Maybe three or four, there are still things that could go wrong.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like O’Brian for one, he’s back on Monday. I only hope he’s too late to stop it.’
‘Ah he’ll not be doing anything of the sort, not unless he wants to have my fingers around his scrawny throat. I’ve a good mind to give him a ring and tell him so.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ I laughed, despite knowing that she is deadly serious. It’s the honesty of the woman, she always says exactly
what she’s thinking, come what may.
‘How are you, Carrie?’ I take her to one side. Since the incident with her thuggish ex-boyfriend I’ve hardly talked to her at all.
‘Fine.’ She smiles at me. I know that all that outrageous external appearance is camouflage for a shy, uncertain, sensitive girl. ‘I’m working in the Trafford Centre now. It’s okay, we have some fun.’
‘What about your love life, are you seeing anyone?’
‘Nobody particular, we just go out as a bunch of friends. I’m a lot more choosy these days.’ A hint of a smile hovers on the edge of her lips.
‘Doreen looks happy, I’ve not see her like this before. Her man Fergus looks like he’s suiting her.’
‘You’re not wrong. We can’t stop her going on and on about him. She never stops talking about him, it’s driving us all mad.’
‘Has he moved in with you all?’
Carries eyes widen with shock. I’m not sure if this is a pantomime horror face or the real thing. ‘Oh my God, no. My mam wouldn’t be having any of that. What would people think of her? There’ll be nothing of that sort of thing until they’re married. I doubt she would even kiss him without a ring. She’s that sort of woman, but you must know that.’
‘Yes I do, but sometimes these considerations fly out of the window when love comes along. Do you think she’ll marry him?’
‘Certain of it. He’s already asked her twice. The first time she told him it’s too soon after me dad, this time she says she’s thinking about it.’
‘I’m amazed. I had no idea it was that serious. That’s really good for Doreen, isn’t it? What do you think of him?’
‘He’s nice enough I suppose, but he’s not like me dad.’
‘Nobody’s like your dad,’ I say, feeling the sadness of Gary’s loss still there inside me, as strong as ever.
Emma drags Carrie away to talk about interesting things like clothes and boy bands, I expect. Mick looms over my shoulder.
‘Do you know who that tall guy is over there?’
‘Yes, he’s called Fergus and he’s Doreen’s fiancé.’
‘No, but do you know who he is?’
‘I don’t get you, Mick, what are you on about?’ I consider for a moment that he might be drunk but I doubt I’ve provided enough alcohol to even get close.
‘It’s Fergus Lafferty, that’s who he is, Jenny.’
‘I’m none the wiser, is he famous?’
‘Famous, he’s the most famous racehorse owner in Ireland. He’s also the richest. They say he’s worth billions.’
‘What, from owning race horses?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Mick grins. ‘Us punters know the only ones who make money from racehorses are the bookies. No, he spends his money on horses, a bit like the rest of us. He’s a businessman, property, construction, all sorts of things. Cement, I think. He might even have an airline.’
‘Oh.’ I look over to Doreen, my eyes adjusting to this new information. I can see what he sees in her, she’s a remarkable woman, strong and beautiful. An unkind thought prompts me to ask myself whether she really needs all the worrying I do about her financial wellbeing. I squash it with the answer that she never asks me for anything. When I offered her a share in the proceeds from the sale of GOD Security she originally declined. She’s never been anything other than totally honest with me. It really surprises me that she’s never mentioned marrying Fergus. Maybe it’s because she’s the kind of lady who finds discussions of a romantic nature uncomfortable.
Something has changed between us though. The protective feelings I have for her are being released. I know she never asked me to look after her, but if I’m honest with myself, next to Toby it’s been my most important preoccupation. Not having Doreen’s financial wellbeing on my shoulders is really fundamental. I could for example take O’Brian’s offer now. Fifty grand a year would be okay if it were only me. I could take it, but I’m not going to. I’ll get that, plus a nice house and still be able to give Doreen the half I promised her. A powerfully selfish idea takes hold, which has me taking all the proceeds, all two million all for me. The greed dissipates as quickly as it comes. It’s Gary’s business, it’s Doreen’s money. Getting half is a great deal for me.
Alex sits on the arm of the chair on which I’m slumped. I am totally exhausted, the inevitable result of too much alcohol preceded by too much hard work getting everything ready. Not to mention the strain of trying to stay calm and relaxed. I’m desperate to tell Alex about Fergus, how rich he is. How Doreen’s landed on her feet, how I’m off the hook, but she is sitting next to me, telling Emma some long story about forelocks or fetlocks, whichever it is that a horse can bruise to make it limp.
73
Alex is being awkward and evasive. I’m still tired from the weekend’s party and I’m getting fed up with his intransigence.
‘All I want you to do is go in and look. I’d do it myself if I could, but they’d hardly let me in, would they?’
‘It’s a horrible drive at this time of the day, we’ll hit all the traffic around Manchester. You’ve got the London trip tomorrow, you’re already worn out, you said so yourself. Wait a few days, at least until after you get back.’
‘No, if you don’t come I’ll go myself, I’ll find someone else to help me.’
‘You’re being unreasonable, Jenny. Think about what you’re doing.’
‘It’s her, I know it. Lottie and I went through so much suffering to try to find her. All you have to do is pop your head inside the place and see if it’s her.’
‘You’re basing all this speculation on this internet site that gives one of the girl’s names as Ekaterina. The picture has her face blanked out, it could be anyone.’
‘It’s not much to ask, Alex. She’s there tonight. The rota is posted on the website. We have to go now, I might never get another chance.’
‘Even if we did go, neither of us knows Kat. We may not recognise her even if she is Lottie’s twin.’
‘You can ask, for God’s sake. Ekaterina Federenco. How many girls of that name are you expecting to find in an East Manchester brothel?’ I can see he’s running out of arguments. I also get the feeling that he’s not really trying to get out of this, only managing my expectations. ‘If we go now, we’ll be back home by eleven. I’ll let you drive.’ Alex loves driving the Range Rover. I know he’ll fancy blasting round the M60.
*
The sat nav insists it’s here. Alex stops the car in front of a derelict building covered by ragged posters and daubings.
‘Does that look like the Evanescence Gentleman’s Lounge?’ I ask.
‘Not really, but this is where the sat nav brought us.’
‘There’s a woman over there,’ I point. ‘She’s carrying shopping bags, she’ll know. Go and ask her.’
I take a quick look at Alex’s total lack of mobility and then jump out of the car and confront the woman.
‘We’re looking for the Evanescence Gentleman’s Lounge,’ I say.
‘Don’t know it,’ she answers.
‘It’s a brothel, you know, where men pay to have sex, it’s somewhere around here, it must be close.’
She gives me a strange look as if torn between pity and disdain.
‘No luck,’ I tell Alex. ‘There’s a pub on the next corner, we can ask in there.’
Alex is less reluctant to enter a pub than accost strange women on the street. I understand this and wait in the car. It doesn’t look from the outside like a place that might attract couples looking for a sophisticated evening’s entertainment, more like the venue for a knifing or shooting.
He’s taking his time, maybe he felt obliged to buy a drink and is making friends with the locals. After a very long ten minutes my phone buzzes. Alex has sent me a text.
THIS IS IT, ROOMS ABOVE, BACK AS SOON AS I CAN. X
My heart leaps with excitement, he’s found it. Now all he has to do is get Kat and bring her out to the car.
He went in ages ago,
I’m getting worried. It’s 10.15. I check the time of Alex’s text, 9.35. It seems much longer, hours ago in fact. Sitting here in the passenger seat of the Range Rover I’m getting some unwelcome attention from male punters. One of them knocks on my window. Before he asks, I wave him away but he is reluctant to retreat, face puzzled and a bit upset. I wind the window down a crack and shout, ‘Fuck off, I’m waiting for my boyfriend.’ Even this doesn’t seem to register. He carries on hanging around the car. I slide between the front seats and lie down on the back, protected from view by the black tinted windows.
The longer Alex is, the more I worry. It wouldn’t make any sense for me to go in there and look for him. What would I say for a start? My boyfriend came in here to see a prostitute and now I’m concerned that it’s taking too long. Even if I vary the words, the implication remains the same. All I can do is wait. Patience isn’t one of my strongest virtues but I’m determined to stay here impatiently until he returns.
It’s been almost an hour now. How long do I give him before I at least text my concern? Another five minutes perhaps? I try to visualise what’s going on in there, maybe there’s a queue. That could be it. Oh God, my stomach turns over at the images I’m conjuring up in my head. A long line of men moving slowly forward for their turn to…I can’t bear to think about it.
ARE YOU OKAY? I text.
Almost immediately the answer comes back, FINE X.
HOW LONG?
NEARLY DONE X
This last message gets me so angry I almost scream. I know what he’s saying, it’s the innuendo that kills me. The thought of Alex in there is horrible. I now know it’s all a mistake, that I should never have involved him. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. What if he has to perform some sordid sexual act, just to keep his cover intact?
