by Nigel May
‘I’ll go back to my sister’s. Stay there for a while,’ said Caitlyn. It seemed like a good idea and obviously meant her being with Jona. ‘I can stay there until the coast is clear. What about you?’
‘I can look after myself,’ stated Adam. ‘Amy Hart won’t squeal, I won’t allow it.’
‘I always knew that this would come back to bite you on the behind, you stupid man. The one thing you should never do is put your family in danger.’
‘It’s that danger that keeps bankrolling you, you silly bitch.’
Caitlyn was in no mood to hear what she already knew. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said and hung up.
She knew what she needed to do and there was no time like the present to do it. She looked inside her Chloe Paddington bag and scanned the contents. She had her passport, always handy should Jona decide to hire a jet for them and head off somewhere on a whim. She had money and credit cards. What else did she need? Nothing. If Jarrett Smith was about to start hunting down prey, then that included her, if only by association, and she would be better off getting away right now.
She grabbed her phone from her bag. The battery was nearly dead, but she could still make a quick phone call. She made two. The first was to Lily. She didn’t pick up so Caitlyn left a message telling her daughter that she was going to London for now and that she too should quit Manchester as soon as possible and maybe join her in London – she didn’t explain why, but told her to trust her mother – and one to Jona telling him that she would be with him in a matter of hours. As she ended her second call her phone died, the battery spent. She would have to purchase a charger en route. At least she would have finally bought something today.
She headed straight to Manchester’s Piccadilly train station contemplating how today had been possibly her least successful shopping trip ever.
57
Now, 2015
* * *
As she lay in bed Amy shivered, the freshness of the night air against her body pricking at her skin, giving her goose bumps.
She stared at the clock on her hotel bedside table. It read 3.24am. The room was in complete darkness apart from the large digital letters displaying the time. She hadn’t slept all night. How could she? The husband that she had spent the last six months mourning was alive. She’d seen him with her own eyes.
Images of his face smashed around her head, battering against her skull. Emotions leapt wildly, popping like corn, mental rapid gunfire confusing any semblance of sense she tried to formulate. Six months ago Riley’s face was one she had looked at with complete love, total adoration ... but now ... she couldn’t be sure. What had he done to her? Why was he doing this?
Their life together had been a sham. As counterfeit as a dodgy bank note. He may have loved her in his own way, but not like she’d loved him, the kind of love where your face hurts from smiling every time you look at the person of your dreams, the kind where your heart skips not just one beat but several every time his arms loop themselves around you.
She missed his caress. Their sex life had been wonderful. For such a big, muscular man, his touch had often been light and gentle, his skin barely tickling hers to new heights of pleasure. His kisses, butterfly-soft, had traced their way across her body, bringing her more blissful gratification than she'd imagined possible.
How could somebody who had served her so much pleasure now be bringing her so much pain? The torture of knowing that he had cheated on her, the pain that his life was secret to her, never to be shared ... why would he wish that upon the woman he’d married? Professed to love? Amy couldn’t understand, and in her darker, more terrified moments she wasn’t sure that she wanted to.
If the revelations about their former life together were to be the price she had to pay to have him back, alive again in her arms, then Amy wasn’t sure if she could cope with the price tag.
Here she was, lying alone in a dark hotel room fearful for her life. Her husband a murderer, she herself the target of some crazed gunman. Riley had become the epicentre of a world of crime, horror and brutality which Amy didn’t want to frequent anymore. She didn’t care about the richer or the poorer, money meant nothing to her compared with true, honest love, but when she’d married Riley, she had believed that it would be for the better ... not for the so much worse.
As she lay there watching the numbers on the clock tick on, minute after minute, her emotions swung fitfully between triumphant joy at knowing that Riley was still alive and a blackened hatred at what he was putting her through. As the minutes advanced, it was the blackness that began to take over. She didn’t deserve this. If her only crime was loving Riley so much then why did she feel she was being punished? Punished by his affairs with Genevieve and Lily, punished by his deceit, punished by his ongoing disappearance. All she had ever done was stay true to her one true love. A word scorched itself through her thoughts ... Why?
Slipping out of bed, Amy adjusted the T-shirt she was wearing. It had been one of Riley’s and she pulled it down below her hips as she moved towards the hotel room door. She didn’t turn the light on, knowing the layout of the room in her mind. She placed the key card in the door, opened it and walked out into the lit corridor. The brightness of the light caused her to wince momentarily as her eyes became accustomed to it.
Grant’s room was adjacent to hers. It took her no more than half a dozen steps to reach it. She rapped on the door, lightly at first, but when no answer came she tried again, her knocking more urgent.
A dishevelled Grant opened the door. He was wearing only pyjama bottoms. It was clear to see why his body was such a hit with ladies everywhere. A white pad of cloth covered part of his chest where he’d been stabbed. He rubbed his eyes to focus on Amy.
‘You okay ...?’ he questioned.
‘Can I come in, be with you? I need to be held, Grant. I need to feel loved. Just hold me ... please.’
Grant smiled, held out his hand and gently led Amy into his room. He only said two words. ‘Of course.’
As Amy lay down on the bed with Grant and felt his arms move around her, enveloping her with his warmth, she felt a needle of guilt pass through her. But before she could even try to fathom its meaning and work out whether she wanted to react to it, she fell into a deep, much-needed blanket of sleep.
58
Now, 2015
* * *
Nothing fazed Adam Rich, not normally. But then today, so far, had not been a day like any other. He’d woken up hung-over, the excess of Jack Daniel’s he’d drunk the night before still uncomfortably swallowing the inside of his head.
It wasn’t very often that Adam let himself drink too much but when a colleague had asked him to join him for an evening’s poker game he’d gladly accepted. His wife was spending his hard-earned cash and moving fucking ridiculous statues into their home, his waste-of-space daughter was playing all sorts of raucous tunes throughout the house, not allowing him to think clearly and all the talk of his killing Weston Smith was really beginning to swamp his every thought.
The evening poker had turned into a late night and it was easily 3am by the time he’d returned home. The house was quiet, Lily obviously out or asleep – the former, knowing her. He fell asleep on the sofa. The only noise when Adam woke up mid-morning the next day was the banging inside his head from the whisky and the ring of his office telephone. At first he ignored it, but when it kept ringing he knew that somebody was desperately trying to get hold of him.
Stomping his way to his office, he snatched up the phone. It was Tommy, telling him about Jemima’s death. A boulder of foreboding shattered inside him. Jarrett had killed Jemima, he knew it. He’d found out about Weston’s death, that he and Riley were responsible and he was back to kill his way through those nearest and dearest, causing as much horrific misery as possible. He’d have to check on Caitlyn and Lily, make sure they were okay. And watch his every move.
His mood only changed somewhat, disbelief replacing despair, when Tommy informed him that Jemima’s
death was a suicide and that she’d killed herself over the death of Winston Curtis.
‘What, she was shagging the bloke who worked with Riley? Fucking hell, Tommy, right underneath your nose, you poor bastard.’ As ever, Adam spoke before he thought. ‘She was swallowing a length of black cock and you never even knew?’
‘No, I had no idea.’ Tommy’s voice was weak, uncharacteristically so. ‘But that’s not why I rang. Can you come over?’
‘Are you fucking messing me, Tommy? I was out last night and my head feels like somebody’s taken a bleeding dump in it this morning. I’m going back to bed ... I’ll swing by later if I—’
Tommy cut Adam off in full flow. ‘I’ve seen Jarrett Smith. He was here this morning. I’m sure it was him. I wasn’t going to come in, what with the news about Jemima, but some of the staff haven’t turned up – the bunch of lightweights have probably clocked off early for Christmas – so I needed to sort some things out.’
Adam could feel the blood drain from his face, sudden fear and the hangover causing him to stagger on his feet. ‘Are you fucking sure?’
‘Ninety per cent, yes. I’m sure he was getting into a car outside here. He had someone with him. I don’t think he saw me, but he’s got to be here for a reason and I don’t think it’s to open a tab at the casino, do you?’
‘I’m coming over. Don’t move.’ Adam slammed the phone down, chucked on some clothes and was out of the door in minutes. He only stopped on the way out to make sure that the gun in his pocket was loaded with bullets. It was.
* * *
Both Amy and Grant had woken up mid-morning too. The air of awkwardness between them as they realised the spooning position they were still in lasted only a few seconds, Grant smiling to break any embarrassment.
‘Thank you,’ said Amy, her meaning simple and clear. The comfort she had felt from being in his arms was immense. She hadn’t realised just how much she had missed the touch of a man’s body against hers. The shared experience between them had not been sexual in the slightest, despite Grant’s obvious erection, pushing at the material of his pyjama bottoms as he stood up off the bed. Amy couldn’t help but smile as it caught her attention.
‘Sorry, force of habit ... morning glory and all that,’ grinned Grant, moving his hands in front of his crotch. ‘I’ll go and freshen up in the bathroom and see you later. What are your plans for today?’
Amy hadn’t really thought. She had no idea how to get hold of Riley. She did have unfinished business with Dolly but that could wait for now. She needed to see Lily. She had obviously come to the hotel to see her for a reason, but with the appearance of Riley, all of that had gone out of the window.
‘I’m going to see Lily. She came here to talk about something. I need to know what it is. Not that I really want to hear anything that she has to say. Plus, if Riley is back I want to make sure she has no plans to reignite their affair.’
‘Why? Are you going to take him back?’ asked Grant. His question seemed multi-layered, as if his own interest were at stake, but Amy wasn't sure whether she was imagining it.
‘To be honest,’ said Amy, pulling her knees protectively to her chest as she sat on the bed, ‘I don’t know if I can. I need to see him I guess, but I’ve no idea how. He has all the balls in his court. What he’s done to me, to you ... to so many people ... is totally foreign to me. All this hurt and suffering. But I need to know what happened at the club, why my best friend died, even if my husband didn’t. I have no choice. I’m doing this for Laura.’
A cloud of reflective silence hung between them for a few minutes, neither knowing what to say next. It was Amy who ended it.
She looked at Grant. ‘Do you want to come to Lily’s with me? I could do with the company.’
Grant hung his head slightly. ‘Listen, Amy, do you mind if I don’t? I was actually thinking that maybe I should get out of your hair for a bit to be honest. Don’t take this the wrong way, but the stabbing has made me realise just how serious this all is. I will do whatever I can for you, but I don’t like Riley, I never have. And being stabbed by him, well ... that’s not exactly what was planned in my mind when I came here with you. Do you understand?’
‘Of course, this is my fight, not yours.’ Amy could feel the disappointment in her voice. She had got used to Grant being around.
‘I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I think you’re fucking mad for chasing after him in the first place, after everything he’s put you through. You’re worth better and he deserves your hatred. But I guess that’s not my call is it? I’m going back to London. My agent has set up some meetings and well, I need to make sure this is all healed before I start filming again in the new year,’ he said, motioning towards his stab wound. ‘I hope you find peace with all this, Amy. Riley owes you an explanation. If somebody tried to kill him, then I think there are more likely candidates, given the somewhat seedy nature of his work, than TV folks like me. This is all getting a little too real for me. I prefer my drama on the pages of a script. But I’d walk away from all of this if I were you.’
‘I know ...’ whispered Amy, ‘But I can’t. I’m sorry you became so involved. You’ve been amazing. When are you going?’
‘I’m going to head back this afternoon. You can ring me any time you like. Stay here at the hotel for as long as you want. I’ll leave my details at Reception, charge it all to me. Just don’t ever let Riley stay here with you, eh? I’m not paying for that little shit, okay?’
Grant’s voice had a hairline of jest running through it, but his meaning was clear. His opinion of Riley would never change. Amy could see that their bitter schoolboy rivalry would be something that would run deeply within Grant for a lifetime. Plus there was the somewhat graver matter of the stabbing.
‘You’ll always hate him, won’t you?’ It was more of a statement than a question.
‘Of course I always will. We’ll always clash so I think it’s best that we’re not in the same city at the same time, especially with all the crap flying around at the moment.’
Grant went to walk away, heading for the bathroom.
Amy knew it was her cue to leave.
‘Can we stay in touch?’ she said. They had shared so much, after all.
Grant turned towards her, a mask of sadness across his face. ‘I’d like that, I really would. You have my numbers. Don’t be a stranger.’
‘One last thing, then ... I need to know. You could have told the police about Riley stabbing you. You could have had a warrant out for his arrest, had him charged with bodily harm or something. Why didn’t you?’
‘And cause you more pain? I like you Amy, I’ve grown fond of you. Really fond.’ His meaning was clear. ‘But you’re so wrapped up with Riley and everything that’s going on, and that’s totally understandable. There’s no room for me, not now, maybe not ever. That’s another reason that it’s best I’m not around you for a bit. I couldn’t tell the police. Not because of him. Just because of you. You look after yourself, you hear ...?’
Grant moved back over to Amy and kissed her gently on her cheek. The one with no trace of bruise. Amy felt a tenderness in his touch. He turned and shut the bathroom door behind him. There was no more to say.
* * *
Adam and Tommy had talked themselves around in circles. This was another thing that unsettled Adam. He liked his conversations to have a beginning, a middle and an end. Endings had to be mapped out.
If Jarrett Smith was in town, then Adam wanted to know what they could do about it. Where could they find him? How would they deal with him? And more importantly, what exactly did he want? The two men had argued, Adam showing no compassion for Tommy’s recent loss.
‘For fuck's sake, Jarrett Smith was here and you let him slip through your fingers. What kind of fucking wuss are you, Tommy? We need to finish this.’
Tommy spat back. ‘Well, what exactly do you think we are supposed to do, Adam?’
‘We need to sort the fucker. If he’s back here seeking reve
nge for Weston then he’s getting a bit too close for comfort. We need to stop it.’ Adam pulled the gun out of his pocket to indicate his intention.
‘And what good would that do?’ barked Tommy. ‘We’d have the whole of London gangland after us then, wouldn’t we? Dirty Cash sees me well, Adam, I don’t want to fuck anything up. This all stays buried with Weston. With Riley out of the way your secret’s safe.’
A storm of rage ran across Adam’s face. ‘My secret? It’s our fucking secret, sunshine. If anyone links me to that death, then you’re coming with me, all the way to hell if need be.’
‘Okay, our secret,’ rectified Tommy. ‘Now, get out of here and take that shooter with you. If Jarrett Smith has anything to say then I’m sure he’s going to let us know. There’s nothing we can do for the moment. For all we know he might be here on some other kind of business. We’ve just got to hope that’s the case.’
‘I don’t believe that for a second,’ cried Adam. ‘And you’re not fucking stupid enough to either.’
Adam was right, Tommy wasn’t.
* * *
Adam felt twitchy driving back to his house, unable to shift his deep seated feeling of uneasiness. He’d just spoken to Caitlyn to tell her about Jarrett and she was sensibly pissing off to London again. Meanwhile, his day was going from bad to worse, and as he turned into his street and saw Amy walking towards his house he knew that it wasn’t going to get any better. What did she want?
Pulling alongside her in his car, Adam wound down the window to speak to her. ‘What are you doing here? Can’t you just let your fucking husband rest in peace?’
