Come Clean (1989)

by Bill James

  ‘Of course alone. Who would be with me?’

  ‘I don’t know. Who was your friend just now?’

  ‘Which friend?’

  Ian pointed with his thumb towards the man who had asked if she was all right.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘A knight of the road, a well-wisher. Please tell me what you mean. What’s the matter? Why so tense? All I can think of is that you’re in one piece, and it’s so lovely.’ She leaned across the table and gripped his hand. He let her hold his fingers, but made no responding movement with his own.

  ‘I’ve been watching you, Sarah.’

  ‘Yes, I know. From the lorry-park.’ He must have taken off the bobble hat outside.

  He almost grinned. ‘You spotted me? I must have forgotten you were a cop wife.’

  ‘But why?’ Ever since she had known him there came occasional alarming moments when she felt she understood little about Ian, could not read his face, did not follow his motives, and had no notion what he was thinking.

  ‘Yes, watching you since you walked in here.’

  ‘Ian, why? I’ve been going mad with worry.’

  ‘Have you?’ His face remained impassive. When he was relaxed, she found a marvellous warmth and brightness in his looks: dark eyes that would light up with amusement or enthusiasm so easily, and a mouth eager for laughter, or laughing already. It had all been such a change from Desmond. But none of that was available now.

  ‘Why didn’t you let me know you were all right?’ she asked.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘I was afraid something terrible had happened to you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why were you afraid?’

  ‘Ian, please, this is turning into cross-questioning.’ She tried again for some response from his hand, but still nothing came. ‘What the hell are you getting at? We’re together, aren’t we? Does much else matter? It looked for a while as if that wasn’t –’

  ‘Why were you so afraid? We spoke last night. I told you I was all right.’

  ‘Yes, but – Ian, that was last night.’

  ‘So, what’s happened?’

  His eyes held hers. He was no longer staring at the other customers or out through the window. Small-featured, slightly freckled, fair, he usually had a strikingly cheerful appearance, but today the anxiety of anger, or whatever it was, meant all his face muscles seemed clenched, and he had become forbidding and suddenly older-looking.

  ‘What’s happened since last night?’ he demanded again.

  ‘Desmond told me –’

  The café owner approached. ‘I need the table now, folks – for meals, not just tea at this time.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, a meal,’ Sarah said. ‘We want meals, don’t we, Ian?’ The thought made her stomach shift dangerously again.

  ‘Sausage, liver, eggs, beans all right? And chips, of course.’

  ‘Of course. Wonderful,’ she said.

  ‘Twice?’ He looked at Ian, who took no notice.

  ‘Twice,’ Sarah said.

  When they were alone again, Ian asked: ‘Desmond told you what, Sarah?’

  ‘That you could be in appalling danger.’

  He was still staring at her. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘People looking for you, darling.’

  ‘How does he know?’ He was whispering, but for the next question his normal voice almost broke through, he spoke so violently. ‘And how does he know you know me? You’ve told him everything? You didn’t say that last night.’

  ‘Told him?’ she said, horrified. ‘Is that what’s upsetting you?’ She tried to laugh, but couldn’t really get there. ‘Of course I haven’t told him, or told anyone.’

  ‘How, then?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why else would he tell you I’m in danger? Look, I can see how it would happen, Sarah, and I understand. You got scared after the Monty and –’

  ‘No, Ian, I’ve said nothing.’

  But he would not let it go. ‘Listen, Sarah, I get a call from you last night, and half an hour later there’s a very heavy posse at my place. That’s such bad news. Luckily, I’m eating near the window and see them arrive in the street, so I get out just in time, grub all over the place.’

  ‘Yes.’ She felt herself beginning to tremble. ‘Ian, what are you saying? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Don’t understand what?’

  ‘You’re accusing me of something?’

  Now he did grip her hand, but not with affection. ‘Sarah, how is it these people arrive so soon after we speak? Can’t you see why that scares me, baffles me? I haven’t been in my place for days. Nobody saw me return, I’d swear. But as soon as you’ve got hold of me there – Listen, are you sure these people are not around here now? Is that why you hung on so long?’ Once more he could hardly contain what he was saying in a whisper. ‘Christ, Sarah, is this arranged – you’d do that?’

  ‘You think I told them you were home?’

  He did not answer.

  ‘Is that what you think? For God’s sake, tell me.’

  ‘Maybe not directly. No, not directly.’ He released her hand. ‘Look, just level with me, will you, Sarah? No melodrama, but this could be life and death. Did you panic and tell your husband about the Monty and me, what we saw and heard, and about finding me last night? I will understand, Sarah, honestly. You’re a copper’s wife. Not just a copper, the king of the coppers. You think you saw a crime so in your position it’s a duty to speak. Habit, instinct. Okay, I can wear all that. So, be frank, now, did you tell Desmond – tell him any of it at all?’

  ‘Nothing, I swear.’

  Two great plates of food, plus a battery of sauces, were put in front of them.

  ‘Oh, grand,’ she said.

  ‘Teas?’

  ‘Oh, yes, teas, too, please.’

  ‘You must have said something, Sarah.’

  ‘Ian, I didn’t tell him.’ She placed the plate of food so that she need not look directly at it or inhale from it. ‘Are you saying that the people who came for you last night were police?’

  He looked startled. ‘Police? Christ, no. A hit team. Villains. Like the people we saw at the Monty. Maybe the same ones. I didn’t wait to identify them. I ran. Didn’t even have time to take my car.’

  She sat silent and desperately confused.

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘You’re going to ask how telling Desmond would send a crew of thugs to my place.’

  ‘Well, yes, I –’

  ‘Sarah, you’re playing dumb. Look, don’t mess me about any more, for God’s sake. If I’m under watch here –’

  She was crying. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ian.’

  He shook his head in wonderment and anger. ‘All right, I’ll explain – in case you really don’t see it.’ He began to whisper very quickly, as if not believing she needed the explanation: ‘Sarah, police have all sorts of friends, all sorts of connections. The whole thing runs on deals and understandings, co-operation – taking care of one another. They tip off their mates and vice versa. Some of their mates are a long way on the wrong side.’

  She dabbed at her face. The man who had asked earlier whether she was all right caught her eye again. She tried to smile at him, reassuringly. ‘You believe Des would co-operate with gangsters, with people wanting to carry out an execution? Desmond? Do you know him? Well, of course you don’t. He’s never going to –’

  ‘Sarah, there are hidden alliances, and bargains, powerful, very binding agreements, not spelled out, never really referred to, but basic, all the same. Same everywhere. I don’t say Desmond is evil. People owe each other secret favours, across the boundaries of right and wrong. These are important debts, and they have to be paid sometime. That’s how business works, how the police work. It rolls on and on and can’t ever stop. You really didn’t know that?’

  The café owner brought the teas and she saw him stare at the plates, perhaps hurt that they had not
touched their food. ‘Great,’ she said. Picking up a knife and fork she began to force chips down. Ian ate, too. She almost wanted to laugh. Farce could always find a way in.

  ‘You’re right, Ian,’ she said abruptly.

  He dropped the knife and fork on to the food and stared around again. ‘There are people here with you, looking for me?’

  ‘You’re right that I sent them to you.’

  He lowered his head in sadness and remained silent for a couple of minutes. Then he said: ‘Jesus, Sarah, how could you do it? We were so good together, so close and happy. I mean, I said all that to you just now, but I couldn’t really believe it. And you’re telling me it’s true?’

  ‘Loxton saw me phone you and made a guess, that’s all. He’s bright and he knows about us – from the Monty. He followed with a call to one of his people, and the police heard because they’re tapping, but no names.’

  ‘Tapping who?’

  ‘I don’t know. One of those who came to your place? Des thinks something big is on the menu for soon, so they’re listening all round.’

  Ian looked incredulous. ‘And your husband told you – told you something as hot as that?’

  ‘Ian, don’t you understand: Desmond grabs at any subject we can talk about. There aren’t many beyond the crossword puzzle. He wants a full home life. He wants to keep me, don’t ask why. To interest me – the way you interest me just by sitting there – he’ll talk about almost anything.’

  Ian began to eat again. After a while he said: ‘It’s true?’

  ‘I went to your flat this morning thinking I’d killed you. I sat here for hours thinking I’d killed you.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ He munched liver.

  ‘Did I tell you, Ralph came to see me. He said you were in danger, too, so I was already terrified, even before what Des said. Ralph told me you’d sent him.’

  ‘No. But I understand now.’ Putting the fork down he reached across the table over the meals to stroke her hand twice. ‘It adds up.’ He smiled at last, bits of the food jammed around his teeth. ‘All the time I was quizzing you, I just couldn’t believe you would send them deliberately, couldn’t.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Honestly.’

  She saw the man who had asked if she was all right smile and nod, happy at their sudden happiness. Gamely, she plodded on through the food. ‘Not quite like that pre-sex, lip smacking banquet in Tom Jones,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’ll do,’ Ian replied.

  ‘Tell me what you see in me,’ she said.

  ‘Well –’

  ‘Am I fishing? But tell me, anyway.’ Occasionally, she found she did need to hear it.

  ‘You’re warm and brave and lively and lovely.’

  ‘That’s enough.’

  ‘It’s only a start,’ he replied.

  ‘I do love love in the afternoon,’ she said, not long afterwards. The room was above the café’s kitchens and the noise of shouted meal orders, laughter, swearing and clanging utensils reached them through the floor. The beds were singles and they made the best of one of them. ‘Truckers generally are not interested in sleeping together,’ the proprietor had apologized.

  ‘You lie down,’ she told Ian, ‘I want to undress you.’

  ‘I undress you,’ he said.

  ‘No, not today. I’ve been worrying about your body. I thought it was in ruins somewhere. I want to see it’s all right.’

  ‘Of course it’s all right.’

  ‘Yes, but I want to check for myself, bit by bit. Like an inventory? And kiss it bit by bit to welcome you back.’ She pushed him on to the bed and drew his sweater off, then lay with her ear on his chest, listening to his heart. ‘That’s a lovely sound. A private sound, meant for me.’ She turned her head and kissed the spot, a long kiss, her mouth half-open, and passed a hand slowly across his shoulders and neck, brushing his chest hair and nipples. ‘Seems fine so far. But this is a preliminary examination only.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t trust you, Sarah. I was scared brainless.’

  ‘Shut up about it for now.’

  ‘For now?’

  ‘Well, maybe for ever.’

  ‘But only maybe.’

  Yes, perhaps only maybe. He had shaken her, she recognized that, but now was now, and deep thinking and resentment were nowhere on the immediate, fleshly programme.

  ‘I’ve missed your body, too, Sarah.’

  ‘Well, it’s here now, and I wouldn’t mind you handling me while I’m doing this. No, I wouldn’t mind that at all. Or kissing me, too. No no-go zones.’

  ‘Never have been.’

  ‘Well, I should hope not.’ She moved her head down his body a little. ‘I hear digestive juices doing their poor best with that avalanche of cholesterol you sent down.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, you feel quite well satisfied yourself.’

  ‘Forgotten the layout of the female body? Your hand’s on my stomach, not at all the area where I get to feel well satisfied.’ In a moment she said: ‘Now, you’re talking.’ She undid his belt and slowly pushed his trousers and pants down. ‘Tricky, this,’ she said. ‘A kind of obstruction?’ She grew more forceful with the clothes. ‘So being undressed obviously does do things for you, after all.’ She moved her head lower. ‘This all looks sound enough, not bloody, and extremely unbowed.’ She began to kiss along the length of him, light, fluttering, butterfly kisses, and then closed her lips around the tip and played her tongue delicately, lovingly about the warm contours. All right, one day soon she might want to use that tongue to say things to him that would not be delicate or even loving, but for these minutes it was just a practised instrument of delight. He moved slowly, gently back and forth in her mouth, moaning a little. His fingers had entered her and were lazily, sweetly stroking upwards, in that movement she had told Ian she adored, from him. Since nearly the start of knowing each other they had talked about their preferences, itemized them, catered for them.

  ‘This is too good, too loving,’ he said, pulling back from her. ‘I’m nearly there.’

  She stopped for a moment. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘I mind.’

  ‘Purist.’

  ‘And I can’t reach you,’ he said. ‘I mean, really reach you. And you’re still half-dressed.’

  She tugged her clothes off and then swung around so that they were lying head to toe. ‘Soixante-neuf’s as good as a feast,’ she said.

  ‘Christ, I might have been still outside in the lorry-park,’ he said.

  ‘I would have floated in that direction soon, on tea.’ He moved nearer. ‘I like that,’ she murmured. ‘I love that. But you can’t hear, can you? You wear my thighs like ear pads. Just don’t stop.’ When she spoke again she moved her legs quickly: ‘Ian, now, now, please.’

  He swivelled around in the bed, and touched his mouth to hers – that rich multi-flavour on his breath and lips: herself, him, brown sauce and other traces of the frying-pan plenty. There was a dressing-table mirror alongside the bed and by turning her head slightly she could look at her legs bent up in the air on each side of him as he moved into her. She closed them around his waist for a moment, wrapping him like a parcel with white ribbon, and, among all her other pleasures, that view gave her consolation, seeming to say not just that he had come back to her safely, but that she could hold him, and that he belonged to her. This last bit she did not really believe. How in God’s name could she? And did she really want that after what had happened and what had been said? But that was how she forced herself to read it now in the glass. For this afternoon, make the best of things.

  ‘Don’t finish yet,’ she said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t ever.’

  ‘No. No?’

  ‘I need you there.’

  ‘It’s a privilege.’

  ‘And, another thing, I hate to feel you get small.’

  ‘Not small, smaller.’

  ‘It’s like the defeat of a hero.’

  ‘He
roes have comebacks.’

  ‘Comebacks. Well, as long as you’re sure.’

  ‘Cock-sure.’

  Later, when they were dressing, she said: ‘Where the hell did you get that van?’

  ‘Which van?’

  ‘The red, knacker’s-yard vehicle you were sitting in, of course.’

  ‘I wasn’t in a van. What are you talking about, Sarah?’ Suddenly, he sounded very alarmed. ‘I was on foot, watching you from behind the lorries.’

  ‘Never in a van?’ She tried to disguise her own fear.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s right opposite.’ She went to the window and pulled back the curtains a little way. ‘Not there now. Oh well, then, could be nothing at all.’

  ‘So what did he look like, whoever was in it?’

  ‘I couldn’t see.’

  ‘So, how did you know he was watching?’

  ‘I could see his eyes.’

  ‘Jesus, Sarah, try –’

  ‘I couldn’t see anything else.’

  ‘Why? Hair? Moustache?’

  ‘He was wearing a bobble hat and had his arm up.’

  ‘All the time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Deliberately covering his face?’

  ‘Deliberately? I don’t know.’

  ‘Sarah, talk sense. You really think it’s nothing at all?’

  ‘Well, who?’

  He seemed about to answer but then decide it was not worth the effort. ‘We’d better not leave together. Don’t hang about.’

  ‘Ian, how shall I –?’

  ‘I’ll contact you.’

  ‘Where can you go?’

  ‘I’ll contact you.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘I think we might be worrying about nothing. Bluntly, what hard evidence have we that something big and troublesome is due to hit us?’ the Chief asked in his genial, nervous way. Lane was wearing uniform today for a municipal function and looked self-conscious and uncomfortable. Harpur knew how much he hated dressing up, or ‘going for a soldier’, as he called it.

  ‘That’s certainly a point of view, sir,’ Iles replied, ‘isn’t it, Col?’

  Harpur said to Lane: ‘Let’s hope you’re right, sir. But Mr Iles and I have these –’