'Bastard… Goddammit!' Dillon tore up his betting slip.
Harry was waiting at the door. 'You comin' with me or not, Frank?'
'Talk to you later,' said Dillon, already buried in the Daily Mirror's racing page. 'I got a good runner in the three fifteen…'
Harry went out, stony-faced. Dillon ferreted in his pockets, came up with a crumpled tenner. He looked guiltily towards the empty doorway and then jerked his head back to the screens. Five minutes later, clutching a new betting slip, Dillon was on a roll again. He'd gone for a long shot, shit or bust time, and the little beauty was tearing down the final straight as if it has a red-hot poker up its arse.
'Yes… Yes! Come on you lovely bastard, yes Dillon clapped it home and stuck both fists in the air. 'YES!'
CHAPTER 34
'Okay, close your eyes… ready?'
Taking his wife by the hand, Dillon pushed open the bedroom door and led her inside. Laid out on the bed, a long flowing nightgown in pale blue chiffon edged in lace, with thin satin straps. Beside it, a leather handbag, a bunch of flowers wrapped in cellophane, an envelope inscribed, 'For Susie – XXX.'
'Okay,' Dillon said. 'Open your eyes!'
For a long moment Susie could only stand and stare. It wasn't Christmas, it wasn't her birthday, and even when it was, Dillon had never been so extravagant.
'First, open this.' He held out the envelope. 'I'm sorry you failed, I didn't know about your test. So – six lessons with a proper driving instructor, next time you'll pass.'
Hesitantly she touched the nightdress, as if at any second it might vanish in a puff of smoke. Childishly eager to please, Dillon said, 'That's for you – and this, it's all leather, inside and out. I was going to get shoes, but I wasn't sure of your size. Well? You like them?'
'I don't know what to say…' Subsiding onto the bed, Susie fingered three or four leaflets with colour pictures of cathedral spires and elegant country houses on their glossy covers. 'What's this?'
'Weekend away…' The phone rang in the hallway and there was the scampering of feet as one of the boys scurried to answer it. 'Well, they're just brochures,' Dillon shrugged, 'but you can pick any hotel, any place you fancy. Your mum will look after the kids.'
Kenny's voice piped up the stairs. 'Dad!… Dad, it's for you!'
Dillon went to the door. 'Try that on, I'll be right back.'
Susie gathered up the nightdress and ran her fingers over the delicate lace neckline. The price tag was still attached. She looked at it in quiet wonder, slowly shaking her head.
It was Harry on the phone, as Dillon dreaded it might be. On his way back from Aldershot, he was calling on the portable, couldn't wait to tell Dillon the news. His pal in Records Section thought he could lay hands on a couple of mug shots, IRA suspects, for him and Dillon to give the once-over, see if they checked out. 'For chrissakes, you should have talked this through with me,' Dillon told him, exasperated. He got the feeling he was being steamrollered. Harry had plans, and whether he liked it or not, Dillon was included, a cog in the relentless, unstoppable machine Harry had set in motion.
Why now of all times, he fretted, on his way back upstairs. Why now? He sighed and went in.
'It was Harry. Nothing to worry about.'
Susie was sitting at the dressing-table, dreamily brushing her hair. 'That makes a change.'
'Don't you like this?' Dillon said. The nightdress was lying on the bed, a bit rumpled, as if it had been picked up and discarded.
Susie laid down the brush. 'I've got to run the kids' bath.'
'They're okay, they're watching TV,' Dillon said, looking at her in the mirror.
'But Kenny has to do his homework…'
Dillon put his hand on her shoulder. 'Susie, his homework can wait -'
'No it can't.' She came suddenly to life, stood up, agitated almost. 'If he doesn't do it now, then he won't at all.'
Dillon clumsily tried to embrace her. 'Susie, I haven't touched you for months…'
'It wasn't me drunk last night.'
'You always say you're tired… you've been tired since your started work.'
Susie pushed past him. 'Don't start in on that, Frank!'
After Harry, now this. When he'd gone to the trouble of buying her stuff, hoping to make his peace with her, trying his bloody best. Dillon held onto his temper and tried again.
'I was going to say if it's too much working for me as well, then -'
'Then give up my job? No, Frank. No… no!'
Christ, this was hard work. 'I meant,' Dillon ground out, 'you needn't come and work for me. But you take it any way you want, an' I tried…' He spread his hands helplessly. 'I tried…'
'You tried what, Frank?'
He flared up at this. 'To reach you, talk to you!'
'Why don't you look at your face when you speak to me like that?' Susie pointed at the mirror. 'Go on, look… You want to reach me, talk to me, then start getting to know who I am -'
'Take a look at your own face, sweetheart! You think any man wants to come home to -' He grabbed hold of her by the neck and thrust her head towards the mirror, 'That! Everythin' I do is wrong, I'm not good enough…' He let go, and the force of it sent her hands skittering through bottles and lipsticks, knocking them to the floor.
'Fine – you don't like this -' Dillon had the nightdress in both bunched fists, ripping it up in long slow tearing motions.
'Frank, no, stop it…'
'You don't want to come away with me, fine!' The brochures went the same way, showered over the carpet. 'I'll find another bitch that does. You don't like this -' He snatched the driving lesson vouchers off the bed. 'Fine!'
Susie plucked the envelope out of his hand, clutched it to her chest. 'Haven't' you wasted enough money for one day?' she said, not meaning it vindictively, more of a gentle chiding joke.
Dillon hit her. A terrible, vicious crack across the face. Susie crashed into the wall and slid down. She rubbed her cheek, the marks of his fingers glowing fiery red. In contrast the blood had drained from Dillon's face. In his eyes, the most mortifying pain. Hardly knowing what he was saying, he started burbling, 'I've got money, I'm earning good money, I got thirty grand…'
Susie got up, holding her cheek. 'You'd never have got that loan if I hadn't sobbed my heart out to Marway,' she said quietly, her eyes dry and hard.
Dillon took a step towards her. A vein beat in his neck. He curled his fist but Susie didn't flinch. He broke out hoarsely, 'You got a new kitchen!'
'It's not your money, and don't expect me to jump around like some stupid tart because you buy me this.' She swept her hand at the torn nightdress. 'I am sick to death of looking out for you, trying to make you see sense.'
There was volumes more she could have said; instead she stormed out onto the landing, and would have slammed the door if Dillon hadn't caught it on the swing. He went after her.
'That's what this is really about, isn't it? You want shot of me, need somebody else -'
Susie swung round at the head of the stairs and screamed in his face, 'Yes. Yes. Yes. I need – yes - all right?'' Huge tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her head away from him. 'And I wanted to pass that driving test so badly, I wanted to pass something…'
The smallness of her ambition moved him. That something so trivial, so petty, should mean so much. Dillon's throat went tight. He reached out to cover her hand on the banister rail and Susie jerked away, missed a step, and in trying to save herself lost her footing altogether and tumbled to the bottom of the stairs, landing with a heavy jarring thud he felt in the soles of his feet. Dillon heard something break. There was blood. She lay awkwardly, one leg bent underneath her, head twisted at an angle, and he thought her neck was broken.
Kenny skidded through the doorway, biting the fingers of both hands, Phil behind him screaming one endless, never-ending scream on a single high note.
'Don't touch here. Get away from her.'
Dillon knelt beside her. She was his wife, but he couldn't
help her by being the hysterical, panic-stricken husband. Part of his brain clicked into automatic mode. He pressed two fingers to the carotid artery in the neck, checking the pulse, and ran his hand along the leg that was partly doubled under. Satisfied it wasn't broken, he eased it out and looked to the injuries to the head and face. Bruising to the left temple and a gash above the left eye, where the blood was coming from. Dillon rolled back an eyelid. Pupil constricted, which meant the nervous system was functioning okay. He cupped both hands under the head and very slowly brought it to a more natural position.
'Kenny, get pillows, cushions on one end of the sofa, bowl of iced water. Come on, lad, move it! Phil, out of the way, get the TV off.'
'Shall I call Gran?' asked Kenny in a quivering voice. 'Dad?'
'No, Pm here, I'll take care of her.'
'You pushed her down the stairs,' Phil said, snivelling.
'No, I didn't, son, she fell.' Dillon slid his arms underneath his wife. 'Now move away. Get out of my way…'
Phil's chin wobbled. He sucked in a huge gulp of air and his mouth opened wide.
'Phil, you stop that!' Dillon commanded, lifting Susie in his arms. 'Get out of my way!' He carried her through.
In the tiny back room he rented above a Bengali food store just off Lower Clapton Road, Harry was preparing his evening meal. This entailed the removal from the Tesco bag of the dinner on a tray for one – chicken and mushroom pie, sweetcorn, mashed potatoes, gravy – and the insertion of same into the microwave which stood on the small varnished table. Set the timer for eight minutes, and hey presto.
While he waited, Harry busied himself. From his bergen he took out nine separate components wrapped in dark green dusters and laid them in a row next to the microwave. The 40-watt bulb in the bedside lamp gave him barely sufficient light to work by, not that it actually mattered. He could assemble an M16 Armalite AR-15 blindfold, and had, too many times to count. He loved the feel of the lightly-oiled precision-engineered sections, slotting smoothly and easily into place with a satisfying metallic click. Call the Yanks all you want to, but they knew how to make a bloody good weapon. Gas operated, rotary locking mechanism, the M16's small calibre 5.56 mm cartridge didn't suit all tastes, but it could stop a body stone cold dead in the market at anything up to 400 metres. And Harry intended being a damn sight closer than that. Like, say, ten feet.
He hefted the assembled rifle, just over three kilos unloaded, and balanced it on his broad palm. Lovely piece of machinery.
The bell pinged. Harry took out his steaming dinner, savouring the smell of hot gravy. 'Bloody marvellous,' he murmured, rubbing his hands together, reaching into his bergen for knife, fork, spoon.
The break was to the left forearm, the X-ray revealed, which considering that two inches lower it would have been the more complicated wrist alignment, was good news, so the doctor said.
The facial injuries looked bad, but they were superficial, he assured Dillon. Her arm in plaster, supported in a stockinette sling, Dillon pushed Susie in a wheelchair to the car, Kenny and Phil tightly gripping either side, Mum's personal bodyguard.
Back home he took Susie up first, made sure she was comfortable, and then got the boys bedded down. They were both dead on their feet, and Phil was off the instant his head touched the pillow. Dillon tucked the duvet round Kenny in the top bunk and switched off the lamp. Standing in the wedge of light from the landing, Dillon's gaze moved slowly over the wall of photographs. All his lads were there, singly and in groups. All the faces in all the places. Belize, Ulster, Cyprus, Oman, Falklands, Pen-y-Fan. Jimmy Hammond, No. 2 Dress, lounging outside the NAAFI at The Depot. Dillon touched the photo, remembering the day, almost the minute, it had been taken. Two weeks prior to the Ulster Tour '87. The old sweet-talking bastard…
'Is he fighting again, Dad?' inquired Kenny through a yawn. 'Uncle Jimmy?'
Dillon unpinned the photograph.
'Yes, he is, he's joined up with mercenaries,' Dillon said. He unpinned several more, collecting a sheaf of them. 'They're freelance – still soldiers, they just get paid better!'
Lastly he took down one of Steve Harris, added it to the pile.
Kenny had pulled the duvet over his head, Phil was fast asleep. Dillon went out and softly closed the door. From within, he could hear the sound of Kenny's crying, muffled under the duvet. Dillon turned away, the sheaf of memories in his hand, and moved silently along the landing to where Susie was sleeping.
She was lying on her back, breathing rhythmically, the pale blur of the plaster cast resting on top of the bedclothes. After watching her for several moments, Dillon backed out, easing the door to.
'I'm awake, Frank.'
Dillon came in and closed the door. He groped towards the bed, the room in darkness except for a faint spray of light on the ceiling from the streetlamps below. He sat on the opposite side to her, slightly hunched, the photographs crumpled in his hand.
'Susie…?' He hesitated and then went on, very subdued. 'I'm sorry for everything. The way I am, way I've been. Just that, I've had a lot on my mind… but, well, I made a decision, I'm going to put the past behind me because…' His voice sank to a husky whisper. 'You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and – and if I was to lose you -'
He bowed his head, face screwed up tight, tears squeezing out from under his eyelids.
'I don't want you to leave me,' Dillon said, weeping openly now, unashamedly. 'I love you, Susie.'
With her right hand she reached across, found his hand, held onto it.
Dillon wiped his face with his sleeve. 'Everything you say is right, I know it, and I guess I just, well, I won't listen because -' A small rueful smile into the darkness. 'Takin' orders from a woman, you know, it's tough for a bloke like me. I never had nothin', I think I joined up because I was nothin' – never passed an exam at school.'
'I know.'
'I've acted like a kid, stupid.'
'You deserved the break, Frank.'
Dillon looked at her. 'It doesn't mean anything without you. You want me to sleep downstairs?'
'No.'
Dillon held her hand tight. He said softly, 'I'll just turn all the lights off.'
Susie nodded and smiled, hearing him creeping down the stairs, light switches clicking off, and waiting for his soft footfall to return to the bedroom. He eased the door closed, and from half-lidded eyes she watched him take off his clothes. She didn't say a word, he always folded everything up neatly, and was meticulous about clean socks and underwear, he stuffed his dirty clothes into a basket by the dressing table. He stood naked in front of the mirror, his taut muscular body with the shades of the many tattoos over his back, his legs, his arms, even his hands, and there was a heart with her name, and their two boys' names entwined with his own.
Dillon eased back the duvet and slipped in beside her, leaving just a few inches between them, but it was a while before she felt his body heat closer, closer.
'Are you awake?'
'Yes,' she whispered, and he leaned up on his elbow, gently lifting a stray strand of her thick brown hair away from the bruise on her face.
'I love you, you do know that don't you?'
She met his dark eyes, and nodded, she could see him straining to find the right words to say. 'I… we lose each other a bit sometimes don't we?'
Again Susie nodded and he rested his head against her breast. 'I'm not hurting you am I?'
He could feel her heart beating, and he wanted her to hold him, but knew with her bad arm she couldn't.
'I can fix the nightdress, Frank, it'll look okay.'
He lifted his head, and gave the smile, the smile she so adored, childlike, innocent. 'Bugger the nightdress… all that matters is you and me, and we're okay aren't we?'
'Yes, yes we are…'
Susie had no knowledge of how long he lay close to her, or for how long he studied her face as the painkillers made her drift into a deep dreamless sleep. He scrutinised every pore, every contour of her lovely face, her l
ips slightly parted, her dark eyelashes, the same as Kenny's, thick, dark eyelashes, and her high sweeping cheeks, just like Phil's. His wife, their mother, his beloved. He knew it had to be over, he would start fresh in the morning, have a serious talk to Harry. It was not their business any more, and may God forgive him, he would bury the pact he had promised the dead boys, it was the living, his family, that mattered most in all the world to him, and he was not going to jeopardise their safety. He had almost lost Susie's love, he knew that, and to have used physical force on her was shameful, he would never do that again. He could feel that dark cloud lifting, perhaps it was just sleep slowly enveloping him, but he felt good, felt peaceful for the first time in many years.
CHAPTER 35
Start afresh, don't look back, what's past is past. The bright new philosophy according to Frank Dillon. The past had fucked up, so dump it in the trash bin and given the future a fighting chance.
And Dillon meant it, more determined than anything he'd ever done or attempted in his life before to make it work. Which meant (Susie was right, he knew it in his bones) that Stag Security had to be run by the book. Get the business up on its feet and they were off to a flying start.
Anyway, the signs looked good, because the office had never looked better, Harry with the Hoover on the go, Cliff mopping down the basement steps when Dillon showed up. He got an earful soon as he walked in.
'Oi! Wipe your feet, I just Hoovered there -' Harry jabbed a finger at Cliff, trailing in with a mop and bucket. 'An' you, take that bucket out into the yard.'
'Need new bog rolls,' Cliff put in. 'Stamps, coffee, tea and sugar, milk, an' we should keep a first-aid kit handy too. Aspirins, liver salts, stuff like that.'
Dillon was at the desk with a clean sheet of paper, pencil in hand. 'With Susie out of action I've got a bit of schleppin' to do with the kids, so I'm workin' out a rota.'
Civvies Page 25
