My friend loved Danny, Champion of the World. No friendly giants, no glass elevators, no marvellous medicines. It was a very real story about a boy and his father, two friends who would do anything for one another. In Dougie’s words, it was the most wonderful, perfect example of a father-son relationship in literature. I found it hard to argue. Perhaps this was the dream for Dougie, to have that exact same bond with his old man. One could hardly blame him. Whenever the subject arose I found myself having to re-evaluate my love for Tales. And it was Danny that would inspire Dougie as he sought to save his own father from a terrible fate.
That evening, while Mr Hancock tinkered with the Bentley, preparing for the job, Dougie went through his usual routine. He washed up the pots and pans from the previous night and prepared dinner for the coming one. Dinner in Casa Hancock wasn’t terribly thrilling or healthy for that matter. Sausage and bacon butties were the norm with Dougie on chef duty, and the closest one came to the five-a-day portions of fruit and veg was tomato ketchup. On this particular evening, beans and toast were on the menu. However, a secret ingredient had been added to the dish, one that would hopefully scupper Mr Hancock’s involvement in Bradbury’s scheme.
Dougie’s dad came through from the garage, closing and locking the door behind him. His hands were filthy, caked in dirt and grime after spending the last few hours working on his car. He whacked the tap with his elbow, a torrent of water streaming over his hands.
‘What’s the occasion?’ asked Dougie, stirring the beans. ‘You haven’t taken the car out for ages.’
Mr Hancock didn’t answer, instead scrubbing his fingers with a soapy nailbrush.
‘I know what you’re up to, Dad, and I still say you’re daft.’ This was his last chance to reason with him. ‘Tell Bradbury to go whistle.’
Mr Hancock stopped cleaning, letting the hot water wash away the suds. ‘Son, there are some things we have to do in life which are unpleasant. But we do them, nonetheless. Let’s leave it at that, eh?’
‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,’ muttered my pal as four slices of toast popped from the machine. He snatched them up, whacking them on to a pair of plates and daubing them with butter.
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Douglas. There are consequences to every action and inaction. If I don’t do this one last thing for that man, he’ll do something far more terrible than you can possibly imagine. Trust me, son. Ask no more questions. I do one last job for Bradbury and then he’s out of our lives for good. You and I can move on. Together. Like it used to be.’
‘You’ll never be able to move on, Dad,’ said Dougie, slopping the beans on to Mr Hancock’s slices of toast. ‘As long as he’s out there, Bradbury owns you.’
His dad shook his head, not wanting to hear it. He picked up his dinner and cutlery from the work surface. Then he was gone, back into the lounge to eat his meal on his lap. Dougie and I stared at the mottled glass door. We could hear the television set, but above that the noise of his father’s knife and fork scraping against the plate as he cut up and devoured his beans on toast. Dougie looked anxious.
‘You not eating?’ I asked.
‘Strangely, I’m not in the mood for beans,’ he replied, picking up a piece of toast from his plate and munching on the buttery slice. ‘Do you think it’ll work?’
‘We’ll have to wait and see,’ I said, drifting across the room to take a peek into the lounge. Mr Hancock was already on to slice number two, chasing the beans around the plate, eyes fixed on the television. I returned to my pal.
‘Seems your dad’s got an appetite on him.’
‘So now what?’
‘We wait.’
Dougie tossed the half-eaten slice of toast back on to his plate. He looked like he might chunder at any moment. He pulled a stool out from the breakfast counter and slumped into it.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I hope we’ve done the right thing.’
‘What option did you have?’
‘I could’ve let him go and do the job.’
‘And have that on your conscience, knowing you could’ve stopped him?’ I shook my head. ‘Don’t be second guessing what you might have done.’ I looked back towards the lounge. ‘Besides, it’s too late now.’
Dougie shivered. ‘Will he be alright?’
I didn’t know the answer so I went with the comforting lie instead. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. You’ve done what anyone would do for a loved one. This is in his best interests.’
He looked at the phone on the wall.
‘When should I call them?’ he said.
‘It’s too soon. You need to wait for it to take effect. And besides, you weren’t planning on using the landline, were you?’
‘What? Should I use my mobile instead?’
‘Sod that! You need to find a public phone-box.’
‘Do they still even exist?’
I managed to smile. ‘They certainly do. There’s a museum piece outside St Mary’s church you could use. But it has to be a public one. The last thing you need is to have the call traced back here. Then you and your dad would really have some explaining to do.’
Dougie nodded, seeing the bigger picture as I continued.
‘Try not to worry. This time tomorrow, all your worries will be firmly behind you.’
Dougie winced where he sat, reaching down to gingerly rub his bad leg.
‘Is that the one you injured on the air base?’
He pulled his left trouser leg up, rolling it back to his knee. I gagged when I saw the wound. A four-inch cut rode across his shin, the skin bulging and discoloured on either side of the ragged flesh. It wasn’t scabbing over. I’d seen enough episodes of Holby to know an infection when I saw one.
‘You really need to get that looked at.’
‘I’ve cleaned it up. That’ll have to do for now.’
‘Dougie, I’m a ghost, but even I can smell how rank that is. Don’t leave it any longer than you have to. Get down to A&E and have them stitch it up.’
My friend looked faint, like he might slide off the stool any second. ‘I’ve got a thing about needles.’
‘It’s not the one with the thread you need to be worried about,’ I chuckled mischievously. ‘It’s the tetanus jab in the butt that’s really gonna hurt!’
‘You’re all heart, Underwood.’ I caught him looking across the counter at the little brown medicine bottle. My laughter subsided.
‘Let’s give it an hour and see how he’s doing,’ I said. ‘They should’ve kicked in by then.’
‘That was double the prescribed number of pills,’ said Dougie, chewing his lip anxiously. ‘He’s like Sleeping Beauty on the regular dose. We could be looking at Rip Van Winkle here.’
‘Better Rip Van Winkle than the Prisoner of Azkaban! Come on. Let’s go to your room, listen to tunes, kill the time. No good worrying now, mate.’
We left the kitchen, passing the lounge en route to the stairs. We couldn’t help but look through. Dougie’s dad looked relaxed – very relaxed – in his armchair, the empty dinner plate on the floor at his feet.
‘Sweet dreams, Mr Hancock,’ I whispered as we left him to his approaching slumber and disappeared to Dougie’s bedroom.
TWENTY-TWO
Done and Dusted
We were there when Mr Hancock finally stirred. He was in his armchair, exactly as he’d been left, still in his clothes from yesterday. That wasn’t so unusual; the poor chap having taken slovenliness to new depths. He rubbed his eyes, smacked his lips and squinted at the sunlight that flooded the room. He seemed terribly confused, his gaze settling upon the television, unable to figure what was going on. Only the evening news had now been replaced by the morning news, and it told us a very different story.
‘What . . . what happened?’ he asked, hauling himself upright.
‘What do you mean, Dad?’ asked Dougie from the sofa. His father became agitated as he double-checked his wristwatch.
‘Ho
w did I oversleep?’ His voice was frantic. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Sorry,’ said Dougie. ‘Was there something important you had to do?’
Mr Hancock shook his head, unable to fathom his predicament.
‘I don’t understand . . . I just had a nap. How did I sleep right through? You knew I had somewhere to be, Douglas. And you let me sleep?’
‘Let you? You had a job for Bradbury, Dad. Did you really think I’d stand by and watch you go ahead with it? After all that he’s done? To you. Me. To Will?’
Mr Hancock struggled for a reply but was found wanting. I felt a warm glow at the mention of my name, but also a chill. Dougie had done right by me and his dad. His father wasn’t seeing it, but his son’s actions were completely justified. Hopefully he’d get with the programme shortly.
‘You don’t understand, Douglas,’ said Mr Hancock fearfully, rising from the armchair. He seized the carriage clock from the mantelpiece, as if he might wake from a nightmare at any moment.
‘What don’t I understand, Dad?’ Dougie shot up from the sofa so fast I thought he might head-butt the ceiling. ‘Bradbury was using you. Again. Dragging you down into the gutter. You weren’t going to haul yourself out, so it was left to me. You can thank me later.’
‘He won’t stand for this, Douglas! He’s wicked. I was supposed to be there last night. I had a job to do!’ He was panicking now, stepping towards Dougie, spittle flying.
‘Back up, pal,’ I said. ‘He’s lost it!’
Dougie ignored me, standing his ground as his father towered over him. I’d never seen Mr Hancock like this: equal parts terrified and terrifying. His hand went back, palm open.
‘You stupid boy!’
Dougie remained there, unrepentant in the face of his father’s ranting.
‘You’re going to hit me? For what? Saving your hide? It wasn’t a job, Dad. Will’s dad has a job. So does Stu’s dad and Andy’s. You never had a job. You worked for a criminal. I know all about what you were going to do last night. A bank robbery? Really? Is that all you are, some lowlife?’
Mr Hancock reeled back on his heels, backing away from his boy, besieged by shame. Anger gave way to grief.
‘Why are you crying, Dad? We’re shut of Bradbury now.’
‘No we aren’t, Douglas,’ he sobbed. ‘He was expecting me last night. Don’t you see? He’ll come after me!’
Dougie’s laugh was short and sharp. ‘You’re not listening. Look at the telly. Please.’
His father turned slowly to the television. Realisation dawned on his face as the local newsreader reported the headline story.
‘The four men who were captured last night during a foiled bank robbery in Warrington are all known to the police. They are believed to be local criminals who have been operating across the Cheshire and Merseyside area. The men, believed to have been armed, were caught in the early hours in a carefully managed sting operation. Police say they are grateful to an anonymous tip that was received from a member of the public yesterday evening, alerting them to the failed heist. Anyone with further information on the attempted robbery is encouraged to contact Cheshire Constabulary or Crimestoppers.’
Mr Hancock looked at Dougie. ‘You told the police?’
His son nodded, chest puffed out like a prize bantam. ‘I did.’
‘But what if the police had failed to capture them?’
‘They didn’t fail though, did they? They caught them. Four criminals, the newsreader said. It’ll have been Bradbury and three others you were supposed to pick up. My maths has never been all that, but I’m pretty sure I’m on the ball with this one. They caught them, Dad. They have Bradbury.’
A smile flickered on his father’s face. ‘They have him?’
‘You’d have to think so, wouldn’t you? Armed too, the news said. That’s got to come with a long stretch inside, surely?’
‘And when they let him out?’
‘If they let him out, right? You said he was wanted in connection with other crimes, no? Surely they’ll throw the book at him.’
‘But if they let him out . . .’
‘Then we move. What’s keeping us here?’
‘I rather like it here,’ I chimed in cheekily, but Dougie crashed on.
‘It doesn’t matter where we are, Dad, so long as we’re together. Right? You used to say that, when I was little, before all this happened. We could be living in a hole in the ground and so long as we were together you’d be happy. That hasn’t changed. We can be that happy again.’
‘I just worry, son. What might happen to you, should Bradbury ever discover—’
‘Please, stop worrying, Dad. It’s over. It’s done. Dusted. You’re free. We can move on with our lives.’
Mr Hancock stood there, unsure of what to say, one hand clutching the mantel to keep steady.
‘For God’s sake, don’t just stand there gawping at him,’ I said. ‘Go give your old man a hug!’
Dougie threw his arms around his father, Mr Hancock returning the embrace twofold. He lifted his son off the floor, Dougie’s toes tapping at thin air as his dad squeezed with all his might. All his anger, shame and sorrow flooded out of him in that moment of pure and perfect love. The two of them wept freely while I shifted from one embarrassed foot to another. His dad might not have been able to see me, but Dougie certainly could. I felt like the king of all gooseberries so turned my back, affording them what privacy I could – no mean feat considering the spectral bungee. I watched the news instead, wondering what would become of Bradbury.
The monster who had killed me was off the streets at last and behind bars. I could see why Mr Hancock was anxious, but there was no way they’d let Bradbury walk free. He had a list of crimes as long as the Mersey, if the rumours were true. He’d be away for a long time. Things were looking up for the first time in ages. My mate and his dad were reunited. The beast was in chains . . . yet still, I felt a nagging concern about how it affected my predicament. Would I now move on at last, with justice done? Or was I cursed to hang around until Bradbury himself shuffled off the mortal coil? Did I need to pass the baton to him? How exactly did limbo work? The Major had given me no such answers; he was as clueless as me in that regard, in an equally rudderless boat. I was as lost as ever.
Dougie and his father pulled apart, each snorting back snotty tears. My mate jabbed his father in the chest.
‘Here’s an idea. Go take a shower. You smell rank.’
Mr Hancock laughed, sniffing his pits through the stained shirt. ‘I suppose I do. Thanks, son.’ He kissed him on the forehead. ‘Love you.’
We watched him disappear upstairs, his trademark trudge replaced by a springing stride.
‘Things are looking up,’ I said. ‘You must feel super chuffed. Everything’s going your way.’
‘Not everything,’ he said, checking his mobile phone.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Lucy. I must’ve sent her a dozen texts, and she hasn’t replied to one. Nothing. Not a sausage.’
‘She’ll come round, mate. With this Bradbury mess behind you now, perhaps you can start to enjoy life again. You may even be able to come completely clean with her too.’
‘Completely?’
‘If there’s one thing we should’ve learned from recent shenanigans, surely it’s that secrets are very bad things.’
‘Hark at you with your sudden attack of morals.’
‘It’s as close as I come to telling cautionary tales. You and I, you and Lucy, you and your dad.’
‘Hang about, I’m sensing a pattern emerging here!’
We both laughed.
‘Honesty’s the best policy, especially with your loved ones. Here endeth the lesson.’
Dougie whimpered as he pocketed his mobile into his jeans. He wobbled unsteadily.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Get get the cigar box and grab your keys. You’ve divved around enough. All roads lead to the hospital. You’ve got a date, pal.’
‘I h
ave?’
‘Three, actually. Show the box to the Major, check in on Ruby and get stabbed in the bum by a needle.’
Dougie snatched up his keys from the mantelpiece. ‘My day gets better. Howay then, Casper. Let’s go.’
TWENTY-THREE
Chip and Ruby
‘So you’re Mrs Hershey’s great-grandson, then?’ said the ward sister, holding the door open for Dougie. ‘The district nurse told us you’d be coming by. I’m sure your gran will be pleased to see you.’
Dougie limped into the geriatric ward, ears pricked at the good news. His messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, the cigar box safe inside. At no point in time had either of us contemplated opening it. We were quite often guilty of being impatient, impulsive teens but not on this occasion. The box was precious to the Major and whatever was hidden inside it was between him and Ruby Hershey.
‘She’s awake?’
The sister smiled as she led him down the corridor, past numerous shared rooms full of the elderly. ‘Intermittently. She’s very poorly. There are moments of lucidity, but then she returns to a deep sleep. We’re doing all we can to make her comfortable.’
‘What happened, exactly?’
‘Your gran suffered a cardiac event, probably exacerbated by the weather. As you can see, we’re pretty much full to capacity here and many of the elderly have been coming in with heat-related illnesses. We’re ensuring she has plenty of fluids and we’re managing her pain relief.’
‘Mate, this doesn’t sound good,’ I said as I drifted along beside Dougie, my eyes flitting through each side-ward in search of Ruby.
He and I had visited the hospital on countless occasions to meet with the Major, so much so that it had become like a second home, but geriatrics was one of the wards we hadn’t visited before. There was something about the elderly that gave Dougie the shivers. Perhaps it was the inevitability of it all. Myself? I’d be forever young, to coin the Major’s favourite saying, never growing old. Dougie was mortal, flesh and blood, and time waited for no man, not even my buddy. He had this to look forward to if he lived to a ripe old age.
Haunt Dead Wrong Page 12
