“Cut the crap, Drake. Where were you last night between seven pm and nine pm?” one officer asks him.
Drake stands tall and holds his chin up strong.
“Can’t remember,” he lies.
Another officer points to Drake’s hands.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Can’t remember.”
“Do you know a Calvin James?”
“Can’t remember,” Drake repeats again.
“Okay, so this is how we are doing it this time,” the first officer says, sighing like he didn’t expect any different.
He reaches for the hand cuffs on his side when he spots me standing in the corner.
“Who’s this?” he asks, turning back to Drake.
It is the first time Drake shows any emotion and I am not the only one who notices it.
“Someone who warmed my bed last night, in case you didn’t notice it’s fucking freezing this time of year.”
Every officer turns to look at me and Drake ever so slightly shakes his head and winks. He is telling me not to listen to him.
“Just a whore from the street then? She looks classier than the toms around here. Did you pick her up in the pub before or after you attacked Calvin James?”
The officer gets what he wanted and moves just in time when Drake lunges towards him and is taken down by four other officers.
The offending officer laughs and bends down near Drake’s head. Drake is still trying to get free but it is no use. He looks to me when he hears me cry out and calms himself down. He is stone faced by the time the officer speaks.
“I think I’ve heard of this one. The infamous Drake Deveroux finally settled down, does she know what you get up to? How many different women have been in her position right now watching us drag you away?”
Drake doesn’t move, the four officers are still piled on top of him but he remains staring straight ahead. The muscles in his jaw ticks furiously.
“If you’re here to arrest him then I suggest you do, but if you just want to banter with him then let me know and I’ll make us all a cuppa. I’m sure all this provoking is giving you a dry throat.”
All heads turn to me and I can’t believe I just said that out loud. I can’t stand by and watch them use me to provoke him.
Drake laughs, genuinely laughs and the Detective narrows his eyes at me.
“Get him up,” he orders, then turns back to Drake.
The four officers haul Drake to his feet and the bastard officer takes great pleasure in cuffing Drake roughly.
“Drake Deveroux, I am arresting you on suspicion of attacking Calvin James on the twenty-ninth of December between seven and nine pm…”
I tune out and focus on Drake as they read him his rights. I cover my panic with a fearless strength. I don’t have time to freak out now, and Drake doesn’t need to see me like that when he isn’t going to be here.
“Take him away,” the officer says.
Drake looks at me one last time before they lead him out of the flat. His prediction of officers staying behind rang true. I sat there for a half hour not opening my mouth at all to every question they ask.
Where was I last night?
Where was Drake?
Was I with him?
Do I know if he attacked Calvin James?
The questions went on and on but I never answered them. After one officer left carrying a plastic bag with Drake’s jumper he wore last night covered in blood, I still couldn’t bring myself to think the worst.
I wait patiently for them to leave and as soon as they are out of the door I run for the bedroom and get dressed into jeans and one of my own jumpers. I don’t bother applying any make-up, only bunging my hair into a messy bun on top of my head. Once I have my boots and my coat on I lock the door behind me and set off for the café to find Marg.
Light snow begins to flurry on the way and the streets are empty, everyone choosing to stay at home in the warm.
The usual ding pings over my head as I walk into the café and I am pleased to see there are only two customers in today.
Marg appears from the back and instantly looks on alert when she sees me alone. Each time I’ve been here, it has been with Drake. The fear on my face probably screams a thousand unspoken words as well.
“Where is he?”
“He’s been arrested, they just took him away,” I tell her, keeping my voice low so the two customers can’t nosy in on what we’re talking about.
“Arrested for what?” she asks, cautiously.
I sense she knows much more than I do and doesn’t want to put her foot in her mouth by assuming he has been arrested for something different.
“For the attack on Calvin James, he told me to come to you.”
“Wait here,” she says, before walking off.
She is back within a minute and has her purse and is shrugging into her coat.
“Come on, let’s go.”
“Where to?” I ask.
“My place, Drake will call when he can.”
“How many times have you left work early because Drake has been arrested?” I ask Marg, sitting in her kitchen with the phone resting in the middle of the table.
“A few times, we wait till he calls and tells us what he needs us to do.” She replies sharply.
“I know what went down last night. What I want to find out is why the police got Drake for it?”
“Maybe, because he did do it,” I hedge.
“It doesn’t matter if he did it, someone has given Drake’s name and that means we have a grass among us. If he goes down for this I’ll be finding out who grassed him up,” she promises, lighting a cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke around us.
Her mentioning Drake going down is the first time I think about the possibility of losing him to prison. My stomach coils tight and I struggle to keep the bile down that is threatening to come up.
“Try not to worry lovey, we’ll worry when we find out what’s happening, okay?” Marg says, watching me closely.
I nod solemnly and we revert to silence waiting for the phone to ring.
Afternoon turns to evening and evening turns to night and we still haven’t heard from Drake. Leaning my head on my arms on the table I close my eyes to playback the last images I have of Drake this morning.
When I next open them it is to a knocking at the door early the next morning. I sit up straight as Marg goes to see who it is and I wipe my mouth in case of drool and try to bring order to my hair.
“Who are you?” Marg asks, rudely.
I peek my head around the kitchen door into the hallway and see a middle aged man in a suit on her doorstep.
“I’m Drake Deveroux’s solicitor, can I come in? I have a message for you and a Cammie Darcy, he told me she would be here.” He says.
His voice is just as sharp as Marg’s can be, he sounds like a solicitor should do. She moves to the side and he walks in past her. She points in my direction and he smiles briefly when he sees me.
“Why haven’t they let him out?” Marg asks him before he can say a word.
“I’m afraid you won’t see him for a least a few days. He has been charged with Grievous Bodily Harm and is being taken to Rockway Prison while he awaits trial.”
“They’ve put him on remand?” Marg shrieks.
I sit back at the table before I lose all feeling in my legs. This is all my fault. If I had just let the guy leave the pub and Drake had got the drinks in, he would still be here with me now.
“Yes, they think he’s too much of a risk to grant bail. Although this is the quietest he has been when he’s been arrested, I’m guessing that’s because of you?” he asks, looking at me.
I shrug my shoulders. I don’t know. I honestly couldn’t answer him.
“Anyway, I’ll do everything I can to get him home to you both as soon as I can. He wanted me to give you these,”
He hands both Marg and I a note each. “I’d appreciate it if you burn them after you read them, I’m not
exactly allowed to do this.”
He nods once and lets himself out.
I open the piece of paper folded in half and read every single word.
‘I’m sorry, I love you and I’ll speak to you soon. D’
Why is he sorry? It’s me who should be sorry and I am, oh God am I sorry.
I look up and Marg is still reading her note. A knot of jealousy hits me when I see through her note that he wrote more to her than he did to me.
“What does he say?” I ask, desperate for more information.
“It’s worse than I thought,” she says, then pauses.
“What’s worse?” I ask, impatiently.
“He says there is a peeper and evidence and he’s probably going to miss my birthday. He wants me to make sure you have your coffee, you’ll need it to survive without him…”
I cut her off mid-sentence, what the hell is she waffling on about?
“Either tell me in English please or don’t bother, I don’t have the time to deal with your secret language or whatever this is?”
“He’s telling me they have a witness and that he’s most likely going to prison again.”
“When is your birthday?” I ask her.
“My birthday is on Boxing Day,” she replies dryly.
It takes a second to realise that Boxing Day was only a few days ago and her next birthday is nearly a year away.
I breathe deeply trying not to panic.
“What about the bit about coffee?” I ask, thinking it will be better if I focus on the next part.
“I’ll show you.”
I follow her out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her bathroom. I wait in the doorway and watch as she takes the bath panel off and reaches for a crowbar underneath the bath tub. She carefully manages to prize one of the loose floor boards free and reaches down and brings wads of cash up, throwing it into a pile on the floor by my feet.
I stare in amazement until she is finished.
“This is your coffee,” she tells me, rubbing her hand where it caught on the wooden boards getting the cash out. “Coffee is code for money.”
“How much is there?” I whisper.
“Drake never tells me specifics but I’d guess around a hundred grand,” she shrugs.
I fall to the floor and pick up a wad in each hand, rolling them in my fists.
“He doesn’t trust to keep it at his place and he can’t put it in a bank account for obvious reasons.”
‘The law and I don’t exactly agree on how I earn’ I remember him telling me.
His reaction to the news this morning hearing fresh details emerging on a robbery.
“Did he steal this, Marg?”
I look up at her and find her staring weirdly at me.
“I thought he would have told you by now,” she’s cautious again.
“Told me what?”
“There was a robbery in Norwich a few months ago, Drake planned it and was the lead man. He met you around the same time.”
Now I know for sure the reason why he was late to my father’s birthday meal. He had robbed a bank then turned up at my parent’s house like nothing had happened out of the ordinary that day.
“I have to go,” I manage to say before I throw up.
“How much money do you have on you now?” she asks.
“About thirty pounds, why?”
“Then you don’t need any of this just yet,” she says, moving to collect Drake’s money from me.
“You still don’t trust me do you, I don’t even want his money Marg. You can keep it all here for him till he gets out for all I care.” I snap.
I have to get out of here, I need fresh air and what better than crisp, cold winters air. I leave her in the bathroom and run down the stairs. I snatch my coat from the peg in the hall and throw open the front door.
I just about remember how to get back to the café from here and head home without Drake and wait for my own call from him, hoping I don’t have to wait too long. Not once does it occur to me I should run home to my parents. That’s the rational, logical thing to do. However, I chose to walk into this world with him and I am not about to run when Drake hits the shit over something I asked him to do.
Chapter Eight
It has been eight days since I last saw Drake and my visitation this afternoon couldn’t come around fast enough. He called me as soon as he could when he was transferred to Rockway Prison and told me to call the prison to arrange our first visit.
Marg has been by a few times bringing supplies in the form of fresh bread and milk and when she comes by after work she brings already cooked leftovers from the café. She stays a while and then leaves, I know she is only doing it because Drake has asked her to. They have a bond and an understanding of how they both work and what to do in certain situations. I am pretty pissed that I don’t know this yet. I have been living in limbo waiting for word from Drake and hanging for any information.
Today I will get the answers I need. Even when Stan pops in each day to check on me he doesn’t give anything away.
Today is the first time I have left the flat since I left Marg on her bathroom floor with piles of money.
By the time I find myself staring up at the imposing, scary building that is the prison it is time to go in. Stan offered to come with me on account I didn’t know how to get here but after taking four different buses and using common sense when reading the A to Z of London I managed just fine without getting lost.
Stepping through the gate following other visiting family members and friends and then signing in and being searched becomes an ordeal I hope I don’t have to encounter many more times.
The rest of the visitors and myself are led through to a large room with tables and chairs spaced around evenly and it isn’t as dire as I thought it would be. That doesn’t mean it is anything to write home about but the tables are clean and the sterile environment screams formality.
A young woman with bright red hair holding a screaming toddler captures my attention at a table across from me. She looks worn down and extremely tired. I wonder what predicament has her making the trip here. She tries her best to calm the tiny boy who has just as bright red hair as she does but to no avail. I think he wants to get down off her lap and wonder around. The longer she struggles to keep him in her arms the more frustrated the kid becomes, and louder.
“I haven’t seen you in a week and you can’t even look at me.”
I jump at the voice I have missed so much and fly out of my seat. My arms fly around his neck and I squeeze him as tight as I can. It doesn’t register that he is holding me for dear life because my own needs to hold him take over.
My chest heaves with sobs I promised myself I wouldn’t let out and tears burst from my eyes. The extent of how much I have missed him erupts and I can’t reign it back in.
I kiss into his neck as he does mine and his skin is ablaze under my lips.
“Break it up.”
A deep, gruff warning comes from our side. Drake pulls away first and glares at the guard. Reluctantly we sit at the table opposite one another and the guard moves on.
The mere sight of him makes me cry even more, he reaches across the table and wipes the tears away from my cheeks.
“Don’t cry babe, I don’t like seeing you cry.”
“I’ve missed you so much, it’s felt like a lifetime,” I tell him, getting myself under control.
“You don’t need to tell me,” he snorts, “How have you been? I know Marg and Stan have been stopping by and they tell me you’re good but I want to hear it from you.”
“Don’t worry about me when you’re the one stuck in here,” I tell him.
“You’re fucking joking right? All I do is worry about you. I can’t do nothing from here apart from have Marg and Stan look out for you,” he argues.
“I’m fine, just think about yourself and how we’re going to get you out.”
“Actually, that’s what I want to talk to you about today,” he says, sheepishly.
A ball of apprehension sinks in my stomach and I wait patiently for him to speak.
“I’m going to plead guilty.”
What? Dread mixed with fear racks my body hearing he isn’t going to fight this.
“I…but…why?” I stammer, not knowing where to begin.
“Hear me out, if I go to trial the jury will find me guilty for sure. They have a witness and my jumper covered in his blood and when they swabbed the cuts on my knuckles, they found his blood. They’ve got me bang to rights. If I plead not guilty, I’ll be stuck in here till the trial and that could take months till they set a date. If I plead guilty, there’ll be no trial. I’ll keep my head down and do half my sentence. Plus, pleading guilty will get me a lighter sentence.”
“Sounds like you’ve really thought about this,” I mumble.
“I have and I have a question for you.”
My eyebrows draw together, normally, when he asks me this, a life changing answer is expected.
“Are you going to stand by me or are you going to leave?” he asks.
I don’t need to think this one through.
“How dare you,” I snap, “I left my home for you, I gave everything up to be with you and you think I’m going to leave when it’s my fault you’re in here?”
My voice gets louder the more I rant, the guard glares at me and I refrain from continuing my point.
“Look at me, not him,” Drake tells me, “This isn’t your fault. I will carry out whatever sentence I get with pleasure. He took something from us that can never be replaced and I took great joy in making him bleed, I would do it again and again if I could. All I need to know is that you are with me in this?”
“All the way,” I promise him.
He grasps my hands across the table and I can’t help but enjoy his touch.
“I hate you not being at home,” I whisper.
“So do I, but you’re stronger than you think you are. We can get through this,” he urges.
He can see through my fake charade of strength right now and moves on to a different topic of conversation.
“Did Marg show you the coffee? I haven’t been able to ask her over the phone,”
“She did, speaking of which you forgot to mention how you came by so much coffee,” I say, dropping the level of my voice so no one can hear.
Perfectly Obsessed Page 9
