Guns Of Brixton

by Mark Timlin

'Yes,' he lied. Although it had been before, at her house that morning, but he'd never told her.

  'You mean it?'

  'I've never meant anything more.'

  She started to cry again. Mark wasn't used to so much emotion, and he held her close. It was all he could think to do. 'I love you too,' she whispered.

  He could hardly believe his ears. 'Do you?'

  'Since the first day I saw you.'

  'In the park.'

  'Yes,' she replied. 'In the park.'

  They stayed close for what seemed like hours. Mark was as happy as he could ever remember. There was just one problem. One day, and he didn't know when, he would have to tell Linda that her father had murdered his. And he didn't know how he was going to do it.

  Chapter 14

  ' Didn't you?' John Jenner said again to Mark. 'Didn't you?'

  'What?' said Mark, suddenly jolted out of his reverie.

  'Fancy her. That Linda Pierce. And she nearly screwed you up for life.'

  Fancied her. Mark had loved her since that first time he'd seen her, and now, all these years later, it seemed that John Jenner knew something of her whereabouts. And as for the other, well that had always been his •business. He tried to keep the tension out of his voice when he spoke. 'You know where she is?' he asked.

  'Course I do. I've kept up with all of them. I told you that.'

  'So? Tell me.'

  'Why are you so interested?'

  'I just am. Where are they?'

  'Marje and Tom are both dead. You know, the bloke she married.'

  Mark nodded.

  'Little Linda got married, but her husband was killed in an accident.' Mark gave him a look. 'Oh don't be silly. I had nothing to do with it.'

  Mark said nothing.

  'She had a couple of kids. Luke and Daisy. And Sean moved in with her after the accident. She's got a nice place in Croydon again as a matter of fact. She didn't move far.'

  'What's the address?'

  'Mark.'

  'What's the address, Uncle?'

  'You're not going to…'

  'I just want to see her,' Mark lied. 'I won't speak to her.'

  John Jenner shook his head. 'OK, son. On your own head be it. But you remember what happened last time.'

  'I was just a kid. So was she.'

  Jenner gave him the address.

  'Fine. I'm going out.'

  'Christ, but I wish that bastard hadn't turned up this morning,' said Jenner, also wishing he'd kept his big mouth shut about it.

  'But he did,' said Mark, and with that he went out to his car. He sat inside for a few minutes trying to calm the shaking in his arms and legs. Linda, he thought. Christ. I never thought I'd see you again.

  He started the car, opened the gates and headed towards Croydon. Black clouds, like broken promises, loomed up before him as he drove. The road through Norbury and Thornton Heath had changed too in his absence, but he could have found his way there blindfold, so vivid were his memories.

  He found the address John Jenner had given him without any trouble. It was a move up in the world from Tom Pierce's old place, in one of Croydon's smarter suburbs, a detached house with garage extension, with what looked like a tiny flat over it. He parked on the opposite side of the street and got out of the car and took a slow stroll, his eyes never off the building.

  Parked on the short drive was a red Toyota Land Cruiser on a four year old plate. It was still in good nick, its paintwork gleaming. The thunderheads brought squally rain, and Mark pulled up the collar of his overcoat as he walked. Just like May 14th, he thought. Me getting soaking wet waiting for Linda to show up.

  He went back to the car and sat inside. Around three-thirty a procession of vehicles, mostly big four wheel drives like the Toyota, came down the street. It was the home from school run. He watched as a Fiat saloon pulled into the drive of Linda's house and a young blonde got out and unloaded a small boy in a red school sweatshirt, jeans and trainers. 'Luke,' said Mark to himself. The boy was dark haired and lively and ran to the front door which was opened by a dark haired woman. Mark was too far away to see the boy's face, but he knew he'd be the spit of his mother. It was something in the way he moved, and Mark felt a stab of jealousy that the boy wasn't his son. He peered through his rain -speckled windscreen and his heart turned over. It was Linda in the doorway. The boy jumped up at her and she swung him indoors and out of sight. The blonde, presumably a nanny or au pair or babyminder or whatever they called them these days, collected a kitbag from the car, followed the boy through the front door and closed it behind her.

  Mark had seen enough. With all the kids about he felt even more out of place, like some kind of peeper, so he started the engine and drove home.

  'Satisfied?' asked John Jenner when he'd arrived and slumped into an armchair. 'I assume you've seen her.'

  'Yes, I saw her. And I'm going to see her again.'

  The older man said nothing. Just walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

  Mark sat where Jenner had left him, and his mind travelled back through the years.

  That first winter he and Linda were together, they spent as much time in each other's company as possible. Around Crystal Palace and Anerley were a number of cheap hotels and motels, mostly used by reps and businessmen staying in London on a budget. Not that, money was a problem to Mark, there was plenty of that available, but those hotels were convenient, and love didn't worry about its surroundings as long as they were clean and had a bed. So, whenever they could, they sneaked away for stolen hours of passion. But Mark knew, however wonderful the sex was and however much they pledged themselves to each other, he was living a lie. Eventually, it all got too much for him. He decided to tell Linda the truth.

  He broke the news in a hotel room on Upper Sydenham Road. They'd made love all afternoon. Their affair was still new and they were both young. Mark, barely twenty, and Linda sixteen. The radio was on, playing something by Billy Idol. He'd never forget that, and he was sitting on the window ledge with a panorama that took in most of London behind him. Great views up there on the lip of London. Not that they had much time for looking out of the window in those days. Linda was sitting half on and half in the double bed they'd rented, her breasts bare and the sheet just about covering her legs. She lit a cigarette and Mark did the same, then said: 'You don't know who I am, do you?'

  'Sorry?' said Linda.

  'You don't know who I am,' he repeated.

  'Course I do. You're Mark Farrow. Is this a joke?'

  'Mark Farrow,' he said. 'Doesn't that ring any bells?'

  She shook her head and he could see the bewilderment on her face.

  'Billy Farrow,' he said. 'How about that?'

  Nothing.

  'Who are you then?' he asked.

  'Mark, I don't like this.'

  'Tell him your name,' he said.

  'Linda Pierce. You know that. Don't, you're frightening me.'

  Mark knew that he'd taken the wrong tack, but it was too late to turn back. 'No, you're not,' he said. 'You're Linda Hunter.'

  Bewilderment was replaced by something else. A hint of awareness. Mark could see the emotions wash over her face, like the sea smoothing over a beach. 'What do you mean?' she asked.

  'That's who you used to be before your mum got married again, isn't it?'

  She nodded, and tears came to her eyes as she realised what he was saying.

  'Billy Farrow was my dad,' said Mark, moving towards the bed. But Linda wouldn't let him touch her.

  'And my father…' She couldn't finish the sentence.

  Mark nodded. 'He killed him.'

  'And you knew?'

  'I always knew.'

  'But why? Why come looking for me?'

  'I wanted to see what you and Sean looked like.'

  'Why?'

  'Because… I don't know. I was curious. Then I saw you and fell in love with you.'

  'In the park that day.'

  Mark shook his head. 'No, before that.
I came to your house. You never saw me.'

  'And all this…' Her gesture took in the room, their affair, them. 'I couldn't help it. I had to tell you.' 'You lied to me.'

  'I know, and I couldn't go on lying. I had to tell you the truth.' 'But how did you find me?'

  'My Uncle John knew both our fathers. The things he does…'. 'Being a gangster, you mean.' Linda was far from stupid and had long ago worked out what Mark and his family did for a living. 'That's right. But it's just a job.'

  'You bastard.' Linda stubbed out her cigarette, scrambled off the bed and started to get dressed.

  Mark sat where she left him and tried not to watch. 'Don't go,' he said. 'I couldn't help it.'

  'All this was just lies,' she sobbed. 'All lies.' 'No,' he protested. 'No. I love you, Linda.'

  She stopped getting dressed, and stood in her underwear on the thin carpet. 'But you never told me.'

  'I just did. I couldn't live like this any more.' 'Like what?'

  'Living a lie. I should've told you from the start, but you'd never have spoken to me. It was hard enough as it was.'

  Linda slipped her dress over her head. 'I don't know, Mark,' she said. 'I don't know if I can handle this.'

  He got to his feet and went to her, but she stiffened at his touch. 'Don't,' she said. 'Get me a cab, I want to go home.'

  Mark knew better than to force it, so he picked up the phone and asked the receptionist to call a taxi.

  Linda left him in the room, and he stood at the window as the cab arrived and Linda got in the back.

  It was going to be some time before he heard from her again.

  The morning after John Jenner had spilled the beans about Linda, Mark was up and about early. Even before Chas. He didn't bother with breakfast and left the house before seven. He stopped at a cafe in Norwood and bought a tea to go, which he drank as he drove down to Croydon. By eight o'clock he was parked in the same spot as the previous afternoon.

  The house looked exactly the same, with the addition of a Ford Mondeo parked up next to the garage. There was no sign of the Toyota or the Fiat. Inside the garage, Mark assumed. But who did the Ford belong to? Mark hoped it wasn't some boyfriend of Linda's on an overnighter.

  Just before nine the garage doors opened and the Fiat came out, driven by the nanny or whatever. The Toyota was inside and she didn't close the door, which probably meant that Linda was going to be coming out too. The nanny pulled the car round to the front door, which opened, and he saw Linda and the boy, Luke, standing in the doorway. He was dressed in cargo pants, trainers, the red school sweatshirt and a big jacket. Linda was in her dressing gown. Luke was carrying a lunch box, and Linda kissed him before he ran to the nanny's car, jumped into the front seat, belted up, and off they went. Linda closed the front door and all was quiet.

  Next out was Sean Pierce, who Mark recognised from his visit to Jenner's house the day before. He came down the stairs on the outside of the garage from the flat, got into the Ford, let it warm up a minute and then drove off too. So that answered that question: John had said the brother was also living in the house. Mark had drawn back into his seat as he watched Sean leave for work. Unlike on TV, people did notice strange men sitting in strange cars in suburban streets. And they did phone the cops. And Pierce, being a cop himself, was more likely than most to be suspicious. Mark didn't look at him directly, just out of the corner of his eye, until the car had gone.

  Nothing much happened for another hour. People came and went in the street, and Mark tried hard to look like he belonged.

  Just before ten, there was more movement at the house. Linda entered the garage from the inside door, carrying a baby all swaddled up in a one piece, pink romper suit. Daisy. Linda was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket and Mark was pleased to notice she hadn't lost her figure during her pregnancies. She opened the back door of the Land Cruiser and strapped Daisy into the child seat in the back. She put a carryall next to her, got in the front, started the motor and drove on to the drive. She shut the garage door using a remote and headed off. Mark gave her a moment, then followed.

  The high, bright, shiny truck was easy to keep in view. At first Linda headed towards London, then turned off at Crystal Palace and took a right into the Safeway carpark. Mark was right behind her and watched as she parked up, took out the baby and headed for the lifts. When she was gone, he followed.

  Upstairs, in the warm supermarket entrance, he watched as she strapped Daisy into the child seat of a trolley. He helped himself to one and followed, keeping an aisle's distance between them. Mark couldn't believe he was so close to her after all this time. He only caught glimpses as she moved slowly along the shelves, but she seemed not to have changed one bit in all the years since they'd last met. But she must have. Getting married, having children. Losing a mother, stepfather and husband in such a short space of time. How long she'd been married he didn't know. It couldn't have been long: her hair was still raven black, her skin smooth. He could almost feel the former sliding through his fingers, and the coolness of the latter under his lips.

  She shopped from a list she held in one hand, pushing the trolley with the other. Inside the shop she'd loosened Daisy's suit to expose a white T- shirt underneath. Mark shadowed her for ten minutes, occasionally dropping some item into his trolley. Eventually, he made his move.

  Linda was reading something on a packet of cereal when he approached her, blocking her way with his trolley. She didn't look at him, just moved hers to one side. He blocked her again. 'Excuse me,' she said, trying to avoid him, but he didn't let her. She looked at him, annoyance on her face. 'I said excuse me…' she repeated. And then, for the first time, his face registered with her. He saw something click behind her eyes, her face paled, and he could almost see a lightbulb come on over her head, just like in a cartoon. 'Mark,' she said. Her hands whitened on the handle of the trolley, and for a split second he thought she was going to faint.

  'Linda,' he said. 'Jesus. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…' and he went to her and held her arm to steady her.

  She stepped back, pulling her arm free angrily, and Daisy, who until then had been quiet, sensed something was wrong and began to cry. 'Now look what you've done,' said Linda. 'There Daisy, it's all right.'

  The baby looked at them, and reassured, settled down again.

  'Sorry, Linda,' said Mark. 'I didn't know how else to see you.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'I could hardly come round the house with a bunch of flowers and bottle of plonk, could I?'

  'What house? What are you talking about?'

  'Your house?'

  'What about my house?'

  'Your house in Croydon.'

  'I don't understand.'

  'I was watching you.'

  'You what? Are you mad?' Her face was stormy now, the various expressions sweeping over it. He remembered that she could never hide her feelings, that he'd told her never to play poker for money.

  'I don't know. Maybe. But I had to see you somehow.'

  'Mark, what are you playing at?'

  'I'm not playing at anything. I'm trying to talk to you.'

  'Just like that. You never got in touch. Never called.'

  'I know. I'm sorry. Listen. Can we talk?'

  She didn't answer, just looked at him. Her face had become a picture of sorrow. He knew he'd hurt her, but he'd never realised just how much until then. They stood together like actors in a play under the harsh supermarket fluorescent lights and Mark knew that he was close to losing the most precious thing in his life for the second time. And for the second time he knew that he was entirely to blame.

  He pointed in the direction of the exits. 'There's a tea place. We could sit for a minute.' She shook her head.

  'No, you bastard. No.'

  'Please, Linda. Just for a minute. I have to explain. I have to. If I ever meant anything to you, just give me that.' He knew that he was manipulating her, but he also knew that if he walked away now, he might never have another chance.
'Please.'

  He saw by her expression that she was softening. 'What about my shopping?' she said.

  'Bring it with you. I promise I won't keep you long. Then you can finish up.'

  'I suppose.'

  'Come on then. I'm paying.'

  'Christ, I must be mad,' she said. 'All right. Just for a minute. You take my trolley. I can see shopping still isn't your forte.' She looked into his trolley which contained a jar of instant gravy granules, a pound of butter and a tea strainer.

  'I was plucking up the courage to talk to you.'

  Linda blew breath through her teeth as she unfastened the harness that held her daughter and lifted her out of the child seat. 'Come on then,' she said.

  Mark abandoned his shopping and followed her, pushing the trolley.

  Linda felt the baby's bottom and wrinkled her nose. 'She needs changing. Give me that bag.' She indicated the carryall that was hanging off the trolley's handle. 'There's a changing room next to the cafe,' she said. 'I won't be long.'

  'You won't run away,' said Mark as she left him.

  'No, Mark. I won't run away. I'm not you.'

  He smiled thinly. 'What do you want to drink?'

  'Tea'll do.'

  'Something for Daisy?'

  'You know her name then?'

  He nodded.

  'No. Nothing for Daisy. I've got some juice in here.'

  Mark watched as she went into the mother and baby room, parked the trolley and went into the cafe.

  The tea came in two stainless steel pots, with metal handles that he knew would burn their fingers, a tea bag in each. The milk was in those horrible containers that he always managed to shoot all over the table, and the sugar was cubed in paper wrappers. He wondered for a moment if he should get a cake for Daisy, but all the pastries seemed to be nearly as big as she was, so he left it. He'd never had much to do with children and he didn't want his ignorance to show.

  He took the tray to a table in the corner near the window and waited. He could feel the itch of sweat under his arms and wondered what can of worms he'd opened by talking to her. What would she do?

  Linda only took a few minutes and, although the place was almost deserted, he waved as she and Daisy entered and they came over and joined him. He stood as they approached and pulled out a chair for each of them. 'Good manners,' she said as she sat, Daisy on her knee. 'That really impressed me that first day in Croydon. The way you stood up when I got to the table. Nobody had ever done anything like that for me before.'