by Ray Banks
"Sorry, Brian."
"Where is she?"
"She's out."
"What?"
"I told you, didn't I?"
"No, you didn't. Where is she?"
"I told you she'd want to go out with her friends."
"And I told you that it wouldn't take five seconds. You couldn't keep her here for five bloody seconds?"
"You know what she's like."
"No, I don't. I know what she was like. This, I don't know ..."
Never mind that he'd arranged it all in advance with Lynne. Never mind that he'd mentioned his visit every time they'd talked on the phone since. Never mind even that the last time they'd talked about it, Danielle had been in the room at the other end and promised him – promised – that she'd be in that morning so he could give her the present in person. Never mind all that, because it didn't matter in the end, did it? All that mattered was the rain that battered down on his head, and that she was off somewhere having a fine old time with her friends.
Again.
Lynne gestured to the hall. "You want to come in? I've just put the kettle on."
"No, thanks." Brian had already seen Crosby at the kitchen table, a copy of the Mail on Sunday open in front of him. Held up when the door opened, but Brian had still seen the smirk. The last thing he wanted to do was spend any time with that prick.
"Suit yourself."
Brian looked down at the present. Even in the bag, the wrapping paper had spotted with rain. "Did you tell her I was working?"
"Yes."
"The new job?"
"I said you had a job."
"You didn't tell her what it was?"
"She knows what it is. She saw you. You're a cleaner."
Another shake of the head. "I told you the other day."
"Did you?"
"Yes. I'm driving now."
"Yes, sorry." She nodded. "The cabs, isn't it?"
"Yes. Could you tell her that? I was going to tell her today, but ..."
"You know, if I'd known she was going to the MetroCentre, I would've told her."
"Told her what?"
"To watch out."
"To avoid me, you mean?" He stared at Lynne.
"Come on, Brian. She was embarrassed. She was with her mates."
"You didn't know she was going to the MetroCentre?"
"No, I told you—"
"You let her go off with her mates, and you don't know where she's going?"
"She was with her mates."
"That's not the point."
"It was okay, Brian."
"No, it wasn't. You weren't there."
"What am I supposed to do?"
She was supposed to act like a fucking parent. She was supposed to care about where her daughter was going, who she was seeing, what she was doing. If there was one thing he'd learned out of all this, it was that Danielle needed monitored. Her mates weren't a good influence – they were just as stupid and wilful as she was. But he couldn't say any of that. He couldn't get into an argument. It wouldn't help, and Lynne wouldn't listen.
But still ... "Where is she now, Lynne?"
"Really?"
"Really."
She stared at him for a long time. Then she looked away.
"You don't know, do you?"
Lynne held out one hand. "If you give me the present, I'll make sure she gets it."
"Where's my daughter, Lynne?"
"Just give me the bloody present, all right?" She blinked, withdrew her hand. "Or not. I don't ... Do whatever you want, Brian."
Over Lynne's shoulder, Brian could see Crosby watching them. He'd picked up on the tone. Part of Brian wanted to push it, kick off, see how far he could go, see what Crosby did. But he had to control himself. He couldn't give her ammunition. He handed her the present. "It's nothing much—"
"I'll make sure she gets it." She backed up.
"Lynne, listen—"
She closed the door. He waited. She didn't open it again. The rain came down. Brian pulled up his collar and stepped out from under the porch. Pissing down now, wet enough to tell him in no uncertain terms about that split in the middle of his right sole. Brian took the steps down to the main road where the traffic hissed by.
When he reached the bottom, he turned and frowned at the house. Nice place. The kind of place you got on a copper's salary and maybe a little bit more. From what he'd seen of the inside, it looked as if some money had been spent on it. Something about that struck Brian as odd. Crosby was a Detective Sergeant, but he wasn't a rich man. Maybe he had some money squirreled away, an inheritance or something. Lynne had once said he was an investor. That'd be right. Red braces under his police blues. Scum squared.
Pink curtains framed the single window on the first floor. One of the curtains twitched. He cocked his head, tried to get a better look. Saw a slim figure silhouetted in the window, retreating quickly into the room.
He stared at the blank window until his body was numb with the cold and the rain. Then he saw Lynne in the front window, watching him.
So that was how it was going to be.
34
As soon as he arrived at the restaurant Andrea had picked out, Gav was glad he wore a suit. There was a moment where he thought maybe it'd be too much for a lunch, but everyone in here sported business attire, and the general chatter was kept to a confidential murmur. There were deals being done here. Gav felt at home. He approached Andrea's table and she stood to shake his hand. There was another bloke at the table, a portly, booze-blasted guy with a samosa nose whose tie didn't quite make it over the hump of his belly. The guy didn't move, but showed small, crooked teeth as he smiled. Gav nodded and took a seat opposite.
"This is Alan Dryden." Andrea sat, a slight gesture towards the large man.
Dryden blinked slowly. "Heard a lot about you, Gavin."
"Alan's a union man."
Gav tried to look interested. "That right?"
"Man and boy."
"Remember, I was talking about the pickets?"
"Right." Gav tried to look interested. "How'd it go?"
"Same as always." Dryden see-sawed a hand. "Bosses decided to lay off their lads in the run up to a general election, and they thought that we didn't have the nerve to do something about it." He chuckled, shook out his napkin. "Course then again, we got her in charge, haven't we? She's got the shareholders thinking she'll break any strike they provoke. Pity we couldn't kick the old cow out."
"We tried." Andrea smiled.
"Aye, I know." Dryden's eyebrows beetled. "Doesn't matter on a local level, mind – her lot'll never win up here."
"That's true."
"They ever do, I'll wonder what the hell happened to us as a region. Telling us – you remember this, Andrea? – that we were just a bunch of Moaning Minnies. You remember that?"
Andrea nodded. "Wallsend."
"Bet that's the last time she does a walkabout outside of Jesmond." Dryden turned to Gav. "You hear about this?"
"No."
"She's doing a tour of Wallsend – when was it? Last year?"
"Two years ago."
"That's right. So she's doing her meet-and-greet, and someone asks her what she's planning to do about all the unemployment in the region. And this is not a question she wants to hear, you can tell. It's not something she's got a nice, careful prepared answer to, either. So she gives this answer, the usual nonsense about how the jobs are out there, we just need to stop being so lazy. Bootstraps time. Except she starts using all this military vocabulary. Calling us Moaning Minnies, and this is after she's been talking about 'the enemy within', you know what that means?"
Gav shrugged. He had no idea.
"You use military metaphors, Gavin, it presupposes a war. And you need an enemy."
Andrea nodded. "She's certainly got plenty of them."
"Right. The Argies, the miners, the print workers in Wapping – the unions generally, and I count myself proud to be an enemy of the state. Telling you, soon it won't just be po
litical or military enemies she'll be after, it'll be cultural. Mark my words."
"You make her sound like Stalin."
"No. Not Stalin. Though I'll admit, there are some similarities. The moustache, for one."
Andrea laughed politely. Gav joined in a second later, when he knew it was okay to do so.
Dryden waved off the mirth, leaned forward in his seat. "Britain is the first true industrial nation, did you know that, Gavin?"
"That a fact?"
"As sure as I'm sitting here. First industrial nation. First in a lot of things, but that's what the country's backbone is: industry. She wants to get rid. Wants to throw off the shackles of manufacturing and industry and establish a service-based economy. Can you believe it?"
Gav nodded, tried to look sympathetic.
"Service-based economy. In this country. Where it rains all the time. Where we moan about that rain all the time. This island nation. They're doolally, you ask me."
"You think the future is in manufacturing?" Gav frowned. He wanted to add that the cokeworks had done nobody any favours apart from fill hospitals with gurgling, black-lunged alcoholics. "In coal an' that?"
"No, not coal."
Andrea shook her head, too. "The Board were closing those pits down anyway."
"I think the future is in innovation."
Gav tried to look as if he understood. "Right."
"And manufacturing is a part of that, naturally. You can't innovate without knowing the practicalities of production. Theory only goes so far. You – look at her, Gavin, she's heard this all before. You bored with this, Andrea?" Andrea shook her head, smiling, encouraging him to continue, which he promptly did. "I'm not saying we need to go back to the coal, cotton and cutlery. Let me tell you, that's what they think we're on about whenever we talk about production. I'm talking about new industries – making goods for export, something we can be proud of. Anyone with a smile and a good phone manner can excel in the service industries. There's no education required there. There's no substance to it. I can smile and murder while I smile, as the man said. There's no long-term benefit, either. What we need to do is retrain these lads who've been working in the collieries and the factories, bring them up to speed in a new industry, get them working and keep them working. Wasn't a country ever made great by customer service. No, you make things. Good things. Things that people either want, or don't know they want yet. That's what you do. And you make it for the people, by the people."
"Beginning to sound a little red there, Al." Andrea perused the menu with one eyebrow cocked. "People control the means of production—"
"Yeah, socialism's a dirty word, isn't it?"
"Communism might be."
"Rubbish." Dryden picked up the menu, scanned it as he spoke. "You allow the people to benefit a little from their own hard work, that's a good thing."
"That's what shareholders are for."
"Shareholders, yes. I forgot." Dryden shook his head. "You want to be a shareholder, you can. Opportunities to invest in companies the public used to own. What a great idea. Course, you need the money in the first place, don't you? Can't buy shares if you're not working. So it's the same old, same old. Them with the cash gets the cream. Money trumps effort every time."
"You're an idealist, Alan." Andrea nodded at Gav. "Which is why you and Gavin should get on like a house on fire."
"That's right." Dryden lowered the menu. "Andrea was telling me you're running a cooperative."
Gav shook his head. "No, but we don't have any shareholders, either."
"Local lads you're employing?"
"Yes."
"And you live there, too?"
"That's right."
"And you're paying a fair wage?"
"I like to think so."
"Well, then. Good enough for me. Plus, Andrea says you've been doing something a bit special in the community."
"I don't know about that ..."
"The Derwent Hall estate was a no-go for a while, Alan." Andrea lowered her menu, her mind obviously made up. "Police called it – and I hope you don't mind, Gavin – Pigsville. They wouldn't go anywhere near it. Too many drug dealers, too much poverty, too out of the way to police effectively. Basically left the place to rot."
"That's terrible."
"Until Gavin here decided to do something about it."
Gav shrugged, trotted out the same old line that had proven popular in the past: "It was a community effort."
Dryden frowned. "Wasn't there something in the newspapers about a burning house?"
"A house caught fire, yes." Gav held up a hand. "But that wasn't us."
"No?"
"That helped. Don't get us wrong. That was definitely a bonus for us. I mean, the place was full of junkies and dealers—"
"A kid died, didn't it?"
"That's not ... that wasn't us. We made sure nobody on the estate bought from them, that's what we did. And we pressured them to leave. That fire was something else. That was an accident. Police and fire brigade said as much. Some junkie leaves his candle going, I don't know, flame catches. I mean, you should see how these people live. Plus, we had that derelict house next door. The whole place was an eyesore and a fire hazard anyway."
Dryden nodded, apparently satisfied. The waiter came over and took their order. Gav hadn't had time to look at the menu properly, so he copied Andrea's starter and Dryden's main and wine. The waiter collected the menus and glanced at Gav in a way that made him feel as if he wasn't welcome. Like a double-take at Gav's presence. Probably just paranoia, but the suddenness of it shook him and he couldn't stop thinking about it. He swallowed against a dry throat. He wanted a beer, but didn't dare ask for one in case he showed himself up.
" ... patrolling the estate, isn't that right, Gavin?"
Andrea's voice. Gav looked up, saw them both watching him. "Sorry?"
"Your cabs, you have them patrolling the estate, don't you?"
"In their down time, if they want." Gav nodded, fiddled with the cutlery. "I mean, I'm paying their petrol money and expenses, and most of the lads, they want to do something with their spare time. I'd like to be able to pay them something for doing it at some point, like."
He smiled. They smiled.
"And that's working, is it?" Dryden looked genuinely interested.
"Aye." Gav caught himself. "Yes, I think so. I mean, obviously, we don't have the dealers around anymore, so the drug element has been pretty much eradicated, but it was never just about that. It was about making people feel safe in their homes. Letting their kids play out. I mean, I don't know about you, Mr Dryden—"
"Alan."
"Alan, right. I don't know about you, but when I was a bairn, my mam and dad let us play out all the time. Didn't matter where I went, what I did, I was running free. Because they knew I was running free in the community. That if I was getting up to mischief, or if there was some danger, my parents could rely on their neighbours to protect us from it, know what I mean? And I'm not talking about a those-were-the-days nostalgia thing here—"
"No, I know exactly what you mean." Dryden was nodding. "It was the same when I was a child."
"I mean, I was a Neighbourhood Watch Co-ordinator, or at least I tried to get one up and running."
"It can be tough."
"It is tough. When you don't know your neighbours, when there's dealers and crime already in your area, you're right. It's tough. You know, and especially when – like Andrea said – the police don't want anything to do with you. How are you supposed to keep in contact with the coppers if they don't want to come anywhere near you? Pigsville. I mean ..." Gav shook his head and sighed. "It's prejudice, is what it is. How are you supposed to combat that?"
"You did."
"I did." Gav smiled a little. "We did, yeah."
The starters arrived. Gav and Andrea were greeted by a cocktail glass filled with prawns and lettuce. Gav looked around for something suitable to use. He glanced across at Andrea and picked up the same cutlery. Looked l
ike they were working from the outside in. He made a mental note for future reference.
Dryden dug into his soufflé. "So the patrols are working, are they?"
"Yes." Gav chewed on a prawn slathered in Marie Rose sauce. "Like a charm. The cabs cruise round the estate. Any kids up to mischief, they'll stop as soon as they see the puma." He smiled. "And there's nothing else going on. It makes the old ones feel a bit safer. They always give us a wave when we're out. And you know, it makes the lads in the firm feel like they're doing something a bit special."
"Mm." Andrea nodded, chewed and swallowed. "Which they are."
"I like to think so."
"So what are your plans now, then?" Dryden raised his bushy eyebrows. "What's next?"
"Next?"
"I'm assuming you have plans to expand the business at some point?"
"I never thought about it."
Andrea pointed at Gav. "This is what I was telling you about. It's a good idea, isn't it, Alan?"
"I don't see why it can't be replicated. If Curtis Sliwa can do it, I don't see why Gavin can't. What do you say, Gavin?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, sorry."
Andrea nodded at Dryden. "Go on, tell him."
"I thought we would wait for the main."
"No, go on. Tell him now."
"Tell us what?"
"All right, well, look." Dryden dabbed at the corner of his mouth with the corner of his napkin – a surprisingly delicate gesture from such a big bloke. "We were talking about what you've been doing, and it just so happens that if you're looking to expand your business, I know a guy in Newcastle who's looking to sell his cab firm."
"Really?" Gav couldn't say anything else. His mind ran with numbers and ambition.
"Now, it's in Benwell."
"Just over the water."
"Ten minutes away from you, yes. Not as bad as you might've heard, but when he mentioned it to me, I thought maybe you could work your magic round the west end."
"What kind of coverage does he have?"
"Citywide. Office is on the West Road, but you're talking calls all the way up to, what, Throckley, maybe as far north as Blakelaw. It's a good company, Gavin. Established a long time."
