Dead End

by Shirley Wells

  Dylan’s heart wasn’t exactly bleeding for Goodenough. Thousands of kids had difficult childhoods. Thousands of boys ended up in the army because either their parents thought it was a good idea, or they wanted to get away, or they simply thought it would be fun to see the world. They soon realised there wasn’t much fun to be had in places like Afghanistan and got out of the army as quickly as possible while still blaming their parents, their teachers or the world in general.

  “I’m glad to hear it. And is your father happy with the arrangement?”

  Her silence said everything.

  “You haven’t told him, have you?” Dylan said. “Well, I can’t say I blame you. Believe me, I know how difficult these things can be.”

  “It’s not that,” she said, and her eyes seemed unable to drag themselves away from the sight of her shoes. “He—he had a stroke on Monday night.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “He’ll recover.” She tried to smile. “He’s a fighter. And I have Brad. We’d split up but, on hearing about my father, he came to see me. We’re together, we’re happy, we have each other.”

  “That’s it exactly. Look at me, happily married for ten years now and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Her expression cleared. “I’m happy for you. Really happy. In fact—” She selected a pale pink scarf and handed it to him. “Take this for your wife.”

  Dylan looked it over. It was as nice as all the others and, given that it had the Pelham name on it, Bev would love it. He only hoped his credit card could take the strain.

  “Thank you. How much—?” He reached for his wallet.

  “Take it.” She waved his hand away. “Really. You’ve made me feel so much better. When Brad and I have been married for ten years, I’ll think of you and your wife. I hope you’ll have many more happy years together.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”

  “Of course you could. I hope your wife approves of my choice.”

  “I’m sure she will. Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  “It’s been my pleasure.”

  The scarf was wrapped in pink tissue paper and put into a small bag that bore the distinctive Cass Pelham logo.

  Dylan left the shop feeling all kinds of a deceitful prick.

  Not as deceitful as Goodenough though. That bastard had lied his way out of a difficult situation and into a very lucrative one. He was a chancer. He’d heard that Pelham’s demise might be a little more imminent than he’d thought and had worked on the daughter. Easy when you had charm by the bucketload.

  Dylan still felt awful, though. He’d left a vulnerable young woman back in that shop. He could so easily have told her that he was the man who’d uncovered Goodenough and shown him for the lying piece of shit he really was. He could have told her that there were plenty of honest, decent men out there but that Goodenough wasn’t one of them. But she wouldn’t have believed him. Love—or lust—had a lot to answer for.

  So would Goodenough, with his life back on track and expecting to fall into a very comfortable lifestyle in the near future, waste time sending death threats? On the other hand, Dylan hadn’t received either a phone call or a photo for a few days.

  Coincidence?

  Heading back to his car, he decided to stop for a strong coffee. There was also the matter of food, as his stomach persistently reminded him, but nowhere around here offered a good fry-up.

  He ducked into a trendy coffee bar and ordered a coffee. He gave the food a cursory glance but it was too small, too trendy and, mostly, too sweet. There wasn’t so much as a bacon butty in sight.

  A quick glance through the free newspaper provided little of interest. The world was in its usual mess. No change there. He was informed that his carbon footprint should be uppermost in his mind. Yeah, right. With China opening a factory on an almost hourly basis, his recycling the odd whisky bottle or walking half a mile now and again instead of taking the car would make not a jot of difference.

  He leaned back in his chair and took his phone from his pocket, intending to scroll through his contacts and see if inspiration came. What he saw was five missed calls. Sod it. He’d switched his phone to silent overnight and forgotten to switch it back on.

  The first call was from Archie. “Usual place. Seven o’clock.”

  Interesting. Perhaps Archie would provide some information and much needed inspiration.

  The second call was from Frank. “Give me a call when you pick this up, mate.”

  The third was from Frank, but no message had been left.

  The fourth and fifth messages were also from Frank. On the last call, he’d left a message. “Nothing to worry about, Dylan, but Bev’s been taken to hospital. Your mother’s gone with her, as has Freya. Luke’s in school so he doesn’t know. Not that there’s much to know. Nothing to worry about. It’s a precaution, that’s all. Give me a call, eh? Or get yourself to the hospital and find out what’s happening for yourself.”

  Dylan got to his feet, dropped some money on the table, and was heading out of the door when one of the waitresses grabbed his arm. He was about to point out that he’d paid the bill—

  “You forgot this, sir.” She held out the bag and whistled as she spotted the Cass Pelham logo. “Very nice.”

  “Thanks.” He grabbed it and ran.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Cass pulled on a pair of jeans and a pink cashmere sweater. The day had been long and frustrating, and she wished she could curl up in front of the TV and do nothing.

  Brad pushed her hair back from her face. “Your father would understand if you gave the hospital a miss this evening, sweetheart.”

  “I know he would, but I’d never forgive myself. And it’s not a hardship, is it?”

  “It is when you’ve had a difficult day. But I know you. Nothing I say will keep you away from his bedside. However—” he tried to sound stern “—you’re not leaving here without some food inside you.” He took her hand and pulled her to the kitchen. With his free hand, he dragged out a stool. “Sit.”

  She laughed. “I don’t have time, Brad.”

  “No arguing. I’ll make you one of my famous cheese-and-tomato sandwiches.”

  Cass watched him carefully grate cheese and slice a tomato. She loved having him in her kitchen, loved the way he made her feel so precious.

  “Enjoy.” He put her sandwich in front of her, gave her a long sweeping bow and withdrew.

  “Thank you. Seriously, Brad, thanks for being here. It means a lot to me.”

  “Eat.”

  “When Dad’s better...” she began, but he waved her words aside.

  “As soon as you’ve eaten, I’ll drive you to the hospital. Would you like me to wait for you?”

  “No. You go home. I’ll get a cab back. I’ll call you when I get in, shall I?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to wait? I don’t mind.” He tapped his fingers on the counter. “It’s so difficult while we live so far apart. If we lived together—”

  “Brad, I—”

  “I know, I know.” He put a finger to her cheek. “I know, sweetheart, and I don’t blame you. After all the stupid things I’ve done, I really don’t blame you for not trusting me.”

  “Brad, no! You know it’s not that. Of course I trust you. We’ve been over and over this.” She was appalled that he could think such a thing.

  “Yes, we have. Sorry. It’s just that I don’t feel very trustworthy.”

  “It’s Dad,” she said, knowing he couldn’t understand. “Until he’s better, I don’t want him getting in a state about us. I hate lying to him and, by not telling him that we’re back together, I feel I am lying. But you know I trust you, darling. I’d trust you with my life.”

  He tried to joke. “But not with your bank
account.”

  It wasn’t even close to funny and she couldn’t raise a smile.

  “Hey, I’m being an idiot,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “Let’s just leave things as they are for a while.”

  “Of course.” He took her hand and stroked it. “It’s my own stupid fault for telling all those lies. At first, I thought I had to impress you. You were—are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Even now I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. If I hadn’t pretended to be someone I’m not, maybe your father would have been okay with me. Who knows?” He sighed. “Anyway, there’s no point going over old ground, is there?”

  “There isn’t,” she said, “and it really doesn’t matter. I trust you with everything I have, Brad. Truly. And Dad will too. As soon as he gets to know you better.”

  “I hope so. I just wish I could make your life a little easier right now. It’s so difficult when we live at opposite ends of the City.”

  “You do make my life easier.” Smiling, she pushed her empty plate away. “That was the best sandwich I’ve ever had.”

  What Cass wouldn’t do was upset her father while he was so ill. She felt bad enough because he didn’t know she was seeing Brad again. He’d worry himself sick if he knew Brad was at her house.

  On the other hand, she was a grown woman and she wanted Brad. She’d like nothing more than to come home to him this evening, spend the night in his arms, make love and wake with him in the morning.

  She loved him and she wanted to marry him. She would marry him. Just as soon as her father could be persuaded to accept him.

  “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you wrapped up. It’s chilly outside.” Brad held her coat out so that she could slip her arms into the sleeves.

  They stepped out into the cold night air, and Brad held her close to him as they dashed the few yards to his car. He held open the door for her and, once she was seated, closed the door and ran round to the driver’s side.

  “It’ll soon warm up,” he promised as he fired the engine.

  She didn’t care about the cold. She hardly noticed it, in fact. Her mind was too full of Brad and the way she loved everything about him.

  “I’m seeing my lawyer tomorrow,” he said.

  “Why? About what?”

  “I want something in writing, something that says I can’t get and won’t accept a penny of your money.”

  “Brad, don’t be silly. There’s no need for that.”

  “There is. For my own peace of mind.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “I won’t hear another word about it,” he said. “My mind’s made up.”

  He stopped the car at the lights and Cass watched a young couple cross the road in front of them. They were arm in arm, wrapped up against the cold, and laughing into each other’s faces. They looked as if they didn’t have a care in the world. How Cass envied them.

  Brad was soon stopping the car outside the hospital’s main entrance. “Are you sure you don’t want me to wait here for you?”

  “Quite sure.” Cass opened her handbag, took out her keys and handed them to him. “Stay at my place tonight, Brad.”

  Her father wouldn’t know and she needed him. That was all there was to it.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  She leaned across to kiss him, then left the warmth of his car.

  The stuffy atmosphere of the hospital soon filled her nostrils and she took the lift to the third floor and her father’s room.

  She didn’t want to upset him, so she wouldn’t mention Brad to him until he was strong enough to deal with it, but when that day came, she’d stand firm. She loved Brad and she was going to marry him. It was high time her father stopped treating her like a child.

  She wanted a husband and children. Grandchildren too, one day. That was her choice, not her father’s.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Archie was late. Dylan couldn’t remember that happening before. It wasn’t that Archie had a thing about punctuality, it was just that he was always sitting at the same table in the pub. Dylan imagined him being sold along with the fixtures and fittings when the pub changed hands.

  Dylan bought himself a much-needed pint and sat at what he thought of as Archie’s table to wait.

  Trade was slow for a Friday night. A pub fifty yards down the road was offering karaoke plus a free supper so perhaps everyone was there.

  The pub cat, an enormous black creature, stalked round the room, tail held high as it tried to find strangers to terrorise. The regulars knew better than to reach out and stroke it. The owners had named it Sam, but customers knew it as Slasher.

  Dylan’s beer barely touched the sides of his throat as it went down and he returned to the bar for a refill. His heart was still racing.

  Once back at the table, he had to take a few steadying breaths. He’d be glad when Archie arrived to take his mind off everything.

  When he’d arrived at the hospital, Bev had been sitting up in bed, reading a magazine, and looking slightly better than she had this morning, although the dazzling white pillows and sheets could have been responsible for creating an illusion of her having more colour in her face. They were keeping her in overnight for observation and a scan was lined up for the morning. She seemed calm—calmer than Dylan at least—and was more concerned about the kids than anything else. Not for the first time, Dylan thanked God that his mother had decided to up sticks and move to London to be nearer to them. Dylan was a lot of things but domesticated wasn’t one of them. He’d have to try a bit harder in the future because he didn’t want Bev worrying about the kids on top of everything else.

  “Ah, Mr. Scott. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Archie slid into his seat and looked expectantly at Dylan.

  “I wondered what had happened to you, Archie. I thought you lived in that seat.”

  “Now that would be a nice thought. No, I’ve had a few errands to run.” He cleared his throat. “It’s thirsty work.”

  Dylan took the hint. “What are you having?”

  “That’s very generous of you. I’ll have a double whisky if it’s no trouble. And a pint of whatever you’re drinking. It’ll save you going up to the bar again.”

  “You’re all heart, Archie.”

  Dylan still had half a pint left but he bought himself another. As Archie said, it would save him disturbing the barmaid again. He could leave her in peace to watch TV.

  He’d left his car at home and would catch the Tube back. Or take a taxi. Either way, he could have a drink or three without worrying about driving. Visiting times were over at the hospital, Luke and Freya were in the capable hands of his dope-smoking mother—everything was fine.

  “You’re a true gent,” Archie said when Dylan put his drinks in front of him.

  Dylan sat opposite. “So what do you know, Archie? Anything interesting?”

  “Just something that struck me as odd.” He took a long drink of whisky. “It’s about John Weller and his being after Lenny King.”

  “And?”

  “Well, it’s a funny lot of it. Rumour has it that Weller promised King money. Seems he wanted to pay him for something.”

  “Yeah. I’d figured that.”

  “Oh.” Archie looked disappointed.

  It was obvious that King had been lured to that factory car park with the promise of cash. Or drugs. His attackers had even allowed him to take the holdall before the bullet hit.

  “But pay him for what?” Dylan asked. “Why would Weller be paying King?”

  “I don’t know, but there’s another thing. I heard that Sarah Rickman was broke. Now, as she owns half of that flashy gym, it suggests to me that Weller can’t afford to pay anyone.”

  Dylan had heard similar no
ises. It seemed that staff at the gym hadn’t been paid last month.

  “I saw Sarah Rickman,” he said. “I didn’t know she was in a wheelchair.”

  Archie looked at him as if he were crazy. “Why else do you think she missed Rickman’s trial? She was in hospital at the time. The accident, if you want to call it that, only happened about a month before Rickman and King were arrested.”

  Dylan hadn’t given her absence at the trial any thought. He’d been too concerned about seeing her husband sent down for a good stretch. He couldn’t remember reading newspaper reports about her accident, either.

  “She was hit by a car, I gather,” he said.

  Archie pulled a face at that. “She was. And not by any old car.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well now, I don’t know this for sure. It could be nothing more than idle gossip, and normally, I wouldn’t take any notice of it, but—well, there was a rumour going around that it was Rickman’s car.”

  “Rickman’s?”

  “Yes. As I say, that could be nothing more than a bit of juicy gossip.”

  “What? An accident?”

  Archie shrugged. “I can’t answer that either. The story going around was that she’d had enough of Rickman and was leaving him. He took exception to the idea and—well, either he misjudged things or—or he deliberately ran her down. I don’t suppose anyone will ever know the truth. Mind you, I can believe it. Rickman’s always been an evil bugger when he gets the drink inside him. Bad enough sober.”

  “What makes people think she was planning to leave him? I thought they were devoted to each other.”

  “So she’d have people think. But then, if someone put me in a wheelchair, I wouldn’t have a bad word to say about them in case they came back to do a proper job.”