by Mark Timlin
'Surprise,' he said.
'What are you doing here?' demanded Linda, then light dawned. 'That bloody Brenda.'
'I had to see you.'
'I thought the police warned you off.'
'Bloody Old Bill. Whose idea was that, anyway?'
'The headmaster's. Mr Barnes.'
'You've lost weight,' he said.
'I'm smoking too much.'
'I miss you, Linda.'
'Do you? The daughter of your father's killer?'
'Christ, I'm sorry I told you. Or at least I'm sorry I told you the way I did. It was stupid.'
'Unfeeling, I'd call it.'
'I know.'
'Then why?'
'Because I couldn't go on lying to you.'
'Oh, Mark.'
'Linda. Can we try it once more? It's all out in the open now.'
'You hurt me.'
'I know. Do your folks know?'
'Only Sean. He was the only one I could tell. He wanted to go round and bash you up.'
'I deserved it.' 'At least you didn't come to my house.'
'I wouldn't do that.'
'Barnes wanted to tell my dad, but I begged him not to.'
'What did you say?'
'That you were just a boy who wouldn't take no for an answer.'
'And I won't.'
Linda put the plate carefully on the draining board. 'Where's Brenda?' she asked.
'Upstairs, I think.'
'Probably eavesdropping outside.'
'Let's give her something to listen to then,' and Mark took Linda in his arms and kissed her. He felt her relax in his embrace and he knew that things were going to be all right.
But, of course, he was wrong.
'I'm sorry, Linda,' said Mark as they sat together in the flat in Balham. 'You don't know how sorry. I've lain awake a thousand nights since trying to make sense of it.'
'And I haven't, I suppose.'
'I don't know.'
'Well, I have. Even with my husband lying next to me asleep, I thought about you. You fucking bastard, I hate you.' She was crying.
'Do you?' He moved to sit next to her and she slid as far away from him on the sofa as she could. But he moved closer and took her in his arms. She fought him for a moment and then hugged him close. He breathed in her perfume, almost gasping, like a man suffering from smoke inhalation taking in oxygen, and he kissed her. On her mouth and on her cheeks where the tears tasted like salt and he drank them as if his life depended on it.
She kissed him back and they both knew that they were lost. 'Take me to bed,' she said.
They stood, and she took his hand and led him out of the room and upstairs to the top floor where there were two bedrooms. They went into the larger of the two, where there was a double bed. It was cold in the room and the rain beat on the roof and ran down the window like a mother's tears. For all the evidence to the contrary, they might have been the only two people in the world.
They got undressed quickly. 'Don't look,' she said. 'It's not like the first time. I'm afraid everything's going south.'
'You're still so beautiful,' he said. 'The most beautiful woman I've ever seen. It's exactly like the first time. Remember in the car?'
'Bloody romantic,' she said.
'It was as far as I was concerned.'
'Hush,' she replied. 'Don't talk.'
Afterwards they lay together. 'You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?' said Linda. 'All part of your plan.'
'There was no plan.'
'Don't give me that. You get the full SP from Uncle John, come snooping round my house. Follow me to the supermarket. Tell me we've got to meet somewhere private. Well, at least me having this place saved you the price of a hotel room for the afternoon.'
'Don't, Linda,' said Mark, touching her face gently. 'Don't make it like that.'
'What is it like then?'
'I just wanted to be with you.'
'And I wanted to be with you a thousand nights and daytimes too, but where the bloody hell were you? Running bloody riot somewhere, I suppose.'
She reached for her bag, rummaged around inside it and came out with a packet of cigarettes. She stripped off the cellophane, opened the box, ripped off the silver paper and fished one out. 'Look what you've made me do,' she said.
'I'm sorry,' he said, taking the cigarette from between her fingers and putting it on the bedside table. 'I was lots of places. Horrible places mostly. But I always wanted to be with you.'
'Well, here we are. Older, but no wiser. So what's next?'
'I don't know. All I know is, that after today I want to be with you all the more, and all the time.' • 'A new daddy for my children, is that what you mean?'
'They could've been our children,' said Mark.
'Are you kidding?' she asked. 'Don't you ever say that. For Christ's sake, Mark. You're a villain, my brother's a copper. Your bloody uncle's a gangster. My father's a bank robber who's in prison for killing your father who was a copper too. Christ, we're almost bloody related.'
Mark could hardly believe that what she was saying was almost exactly what he'd said to Martine the night before. 'Is what we just did? Commit incest then?' he asked.
She didn't reply, 'I've got to go,' she said, getting out of bed and grabbing the duvet to cover her nakedness.' Luke'll be home from school soon. I'll have a shower. The water'll be hot.'
'Do you have to go?'
'Why? Want seconds?'
'Don't be like this, Linda,' he said. 'You're only hurting yourself.'
'Makes a change from you doing it then,' she said. After she'd left the room and he heard the sound of running water from the bathroom, Mark lay back in the bed and sighed. Good move, he thought to himself.
She was back in minutes, a towel now wrapped around her waist. She found her scattered clothes and began to dress. He watched her every move.
'You're lovely,' he said.
'Oh, Mark,' she said, sitting next to him on the bed. 'Why did I let you talk me into this?'
'Because you wanted me to?'
'Course I did. I haven't had a man touch me since Andy died. I was drying up inside. When I saw you yesterday I almost passed out, I wanted you so much. How come you can still do that to me after so long?'
'Because we were meant to be.'
'Meant to be what?'
'Together, of course.'
'We can't be. Don't you understand? It could never work. Not now. Not after all the things you've done.'
'And how many women do you think I've had since I left?'
'Loads, probably.'
He shook his head. 'Only one.'
'Sure.'
'It's true, I promise you.'
'Don't promise me, Mark. You break promises.'
He shrugged. 'Yeah, I know.'
'So who was she?'
'A Vietnamese girl I met on my travels.'
'You've been to Vietnam? I don't believe you.'
'No. It was in Paris. I worked for her grandfather.'
'Doing what?'
'Bad things.'
'What was her name?'
'Lan.'
'Was she beautiful?' Mark nodded. 'What happened to her?' 'We split up. Culture clash.' 'And there's really been no one else?' 'No. You can believe me or not. But it's the truth.' She looked at him long and hard through narrowed eyes. 'OK,' she said. 'I believe you. I'm bloody amazed, but I believe you. Got any more revelations?' 'Your father gets out of prison soon.'
'Thanks, Mark. Now you've really made my sodding day. Shall I meet him at the prison gates with Luke and Daisy in tow? Look kids, here's grandpa. What a surprise.'
She started to cry again and Mark took her in his arms. 'I know I was wrong coming to see you, but I couldn't not do it. Not once I'd seen you again. I love you, Linda, always have, always will. Maybe it's wrong or foolish or whatever, but it's the truth. At least let me have that.'
She turned and looked him in the eye: 'Oh dear, Mark. But God forgive me, I love you too.'
Chapter 17
Mark and Linda stayed in the flat for a few minutes more. She insisted that she had to leave, he begged her to stay. His only thought was that, once they were apart again, she would change her mind. Something terrible would happen and she'd stop loving him, or worse, because so many people he'd known were dead, that she would die too.
He knew that he was being morbid and Linda laughed at his fears when he told her. 'I'll be fine,' she said. 'We've found each other again, and whatever happens I don't intend losing you for a second time. It'll all be fine. Trust me.'
'Will it?' he said.
'Yes. It will if we want it. But we have to be strong. You'll be strong for me, won't you?'
He nodded, but he knew they would be faced with almost insurmountable problems. 'I just wish we could stay here forever and never leave,' he said.
'Me too. But we can't. Now I've really got to go. They'll be wondering where I've got to. I said I was only going to pop round IKEA to look for some bits and pieces for the kitchen.'
'And you're going home empty handed.'
She smiled. 'I'll tell them I met a nice young man in the bedding department who kept me occupied.'
He smiled at that. 'So when can I see you?'
'Soon, I promise.' It all seemed too simple to Mark. Too easy.
But eventually they left the flat with the rain still pouring down. Beside the tube station they parted to find their respective cars. Mark held her close and smelt the water in her hair before he watched her walk across the main road and disappear down a side street. A few minutes later he was still standing by the station entrance being buffeted by the wind when the Toyota appeared, turned in the direction of Streatham and vanished into- the traffic. He watched until its red taillights disappeared before walking back to his motor.
Instead of the elation he should have been feeling, his mind was full of dread. He sat behind the wheel of the cold car for five minutes before he switched on the engine. The rain was coming down even harder and it was impossible to see anything except the jewels of the street lamps and car lights through the water on his windscreen. His breath fogged the inside of the glass, and in his hand, like a talisman, he held a piece of paper with Linda's mobile phone number written on it. They'd exchanged numbers before leaving and he'd made her promise to ring him as soon as she'd arrived safely home. Eventually he started the engine and turned on the air conditioning and wipers. The world suddenly came back into focus and he carefully pulled out into the traffic.
Just before he reached Jenner's house his mobile rang. He pulled into the kerb and answered it. 'I'm back,' said Linda. 'Safe and sound.'
'Is Luke all right?' asked Mark. He already felt like part of the family, but knew it could be a big mistake.
'Perfect. They just got home.'
'And Daisy?'
'She was sleeping like a baby - well, she would - in the back of Greta's car. Everyone's fine, Mark. You mustn't get paranoid.'
'I know. Will you ring me tomorrow?'
'Of course.'
'Are you going shopping?'
'I might.'
'Perhaps we could have a coffee again.'
'That would be nice.'
'Ring me before you leave.'
'I will.'
'I love you,' said Mark.
'I love you too,' and after a moment's silence she disengaged.
Mark sat with the car's engine running and his phone in his hand for another few minutes before continuing his journey.
Deep in the bowels of Brixton prison, Jimmy Hunter heard about the Loughborough Junction shootings that same afternoon, via his transistor radio, permanently tuned to the London news and talk station, LBC. He listened to the report as the rain lashed down outside. His only view was a square foot of sky through a double thickness window that distorted his vision until he thought he might go blind. Jimmy Hunter loved the outside. He loved those precious minutes when he was under an open sky, and would have welcomed the rain on his face.
It was just another shooting as far as he was concerned. There seemed to be more and more of them every year, and what were three Pakis' lives to him? Good riddance, he thought, if he thought anything at all. But when Terry the Poof brought him his supper he had more information. The prison grapevine was as reliable, if not more so, than any of the outside media. Terry had the names of the deceased before they were reported in the news. 'Christ,' said Jimmy, his tea and toast forgotten. 'Are you sure?'
'Sure I'm sure,' said Terry, sitting on Jimmy's bed, before a look made him stand and lean against the wall. Jimmy didn't like his bed disturbed unless he asked for it.
'I used to run with those fuckers years ago,' said Jimmy. 'When I was webbed up with John Jenner.'
'Is that right?' asked Terry. He knew when to show interest in what Jimmy said, and when to keep it buttoned.
'Bloody right. It was all a bit up in the air at first because some cunt tried to stitch us up over a deal. It all involved Ali and Tommo, see. But Johnny always was a bleedin' diplomat, so when he susses out that the Pakis can shift gear for us, we made our peace.'
'When was this?' asked Terry.
'Early 70s. We had a bit of a name by then, the Jenner mob. There was half a dozen or so of us. We were supplying spliff, speed, downers and a bit of coke all across south London, and uptown too. But we had to be careful. North of the river there were a lot of faces that didn't like anyone dabbling in their business. We was all tooled up of course. Guns were easy to get then, and Johnny especially wasn't frightened to use 'em. Good days. The only fly in the ointment was Billy Farrow. He'd joined the filth by then. What a fucking surprise that was. And believe me, Johnny wasn't best pleased. None of us were. The thought of some copper who'd once been one of us was enough to freak anyone out. But Billy had sworn he'd never let on. Just as well that he was walking the beat right on the other side of town. Me, I wanted to top the fucker soon as. I heard, but Johnny wouldn't have it. Course I did in the end, but that's the way it goes. See, they'd been mates, Billy and him, since junior school. But to be fair, I think Billy kept his promise. Mind you, he'd've been dead meat if he hadn't. He knew that. You didn't cross Johnny and come out ahead, let me tell you.
'Anyway, we were selling dope to a couple of bands, and Johnny sussed that vans loaded with equipment might be the ideal way to bring the gear into the country. It was simpler then. There weren't sniffer dogs at every port like now. So John gets hold of a tour manager for one of these groups. Quite famous they were, as it goes; Bad City Blues, they were called.'
Terry shook his head. He'd never heard of them, but then UK Garage was more his style. And who gave a fuck about what some group of long hairs had done practically before he was born?
Jimmy ignored him. 'It was a Saturday,'-he continued, 'in the summer of '71.1 remember because there was a big concert on up at Crystal Palace Park that afternoon. I think Jeff Beck was playing and we were going. Celebrating the deal, if you get my drift. We had comps. Johnny organised them. He always could get in anywhere could Johnny, I'll give him that. Anyway, the band's roadies were due in that day from Germany They'd been on tour for a couple of weeks and Johnny had arranged for the tour manager bloke to pick up a load of hash on the border. A couple of grand's worth. And you've got to remember, in those days people were still buying two quid deals, so that was a lot of money.' Jimmy smiled at the memory. 'Now, the tour manager was a bit of a lad, clever with his hands. Into electronics, if you know what I mean. He'd split some speakers and amps and stashed the stuff inside. All was sweet. We were due to collect it from the place they stored their equipment at in Wandsworth. An old shop the band had rented with a garage at the back for the truck. One of those big Mercedes, it was. Really plush, with aircraft seats and space for amps, speakers and instruments right at the back. A nice little package.
'We were due to collect at three o'clock, as I remember. Me, this bloke Chas, Johnny's number two, Johnny himself and a big twat called Martin drove round in Johnny's
Jag. Mark Ten, beautiful set of wheels, maroon with black leather interior. Johnny loved that motor. Stacks of room.
'So anyway, we're all tooled up like I said, except for Martin who you couldn't trust with anything more powerful than a pea shooter, though he'd been promised. But promises are like little fingers - easily broken. And Johnny wanted to be early. He had a nose for a stitch up and he was bloody well right, as always. It was real hot and quiet that afternoon, as I remember. We'd been in the pub and had a few whilst we were waiting and I'd taken a load of speed. Always was a fucking mug for amphetamine in those days. Coke's OK, but you can't beat a real nosebleed load of speed. So there's the four of us in the Jag. Me and Martin in the back, Johnny driving, Chas next to him in charge of the music. Cassettes only, of course, and I remember he'd got a tape he'd made of the Who. Banging it was, and Johnny'd fitted about eighteen speakers all round the inside of the motor. So we've got the windows down and the music real loud. Bunch of stupid kids really, because if we'd got pulled we'd've been for it. One stop and search and we'd've been well nicked.
'So we get to the Wandsworth Road about two-thirty and there's a little alley round the back of the shop by the garage that's just wide enough to take the truck. We drift round and it's parked up and empty. But there's another motor there as well. An old Cortina 1600E. Well, Johnny boxes them both in and we go and have a shufti. Inside the garage is this tour manager bloke and another long haired git who's the driver of the Merc, plus some German hippy bird they'd picked up in Dortmund or some Godforsaken hole and she'd come along for the ride. Well handsome she was, with one of those floaty dresses they wore then, nearly see through and not much on underneath.' He smiled at that memory.
'But what was more interesting was that there were a couple of young Paki blokes there too. Ali and Tommo, not more than bloody seventeen either of them. But of course I didn't know who they were then. And the tour manager's got all the equipment broken down into bits and he's pulling out lumps of black all wrapped in cellophane like there's no tomorrow, and the Pakis are so into it they're nearly dribbling, and nobody notices that we're on the plot. So we pull out our weapons and burst through the door and the tour manager and the roadie nearly shit their pants. But the Pakis are cool. Fuck me if they don't pull out a couple of pistols themselves and for a minute it looks like it might all go off big time. I'll never forget being in that hot little shop and wondering if any of us are going to get out alive, when Johnny says, "Hello Ali, hello Tommo, how's tricks?" Fuck me, you could've knocked me down with a feather. "Hello John," says the bigger of them, that was Ali. "We're just here to do a little deal."
