‘Look,’ Jack said, ‘I’m sorry for how I was with you …’
‘Not a problem. Don’t worry about it.’
Jack hadn’t spoken much to David before. They’d exchanged small talk and pleasantries. When Jack and Eleanor had been dating, David had always made Jack feel welcome in his household. Unlike a certain somebody.
‘Camilla isn’t going to be happy about this,’ Jack said.
‘What she doesn’t know about won’t hurt her.’
‘She’ll know when you turn up with an empty van.’
‘Let me worry about that,’ David said, getting up and walking towards the door. He padded himself down, like he was checking he’d got everything. ‘Right-o, must go. Lots of things to do and people to see.’
Jack couldn’t help asking about Eleanor. ‘How is she? Does she … talk about me at all?’
Looking uncomfortable, David said, ‘I wondered when we’d get to this. She’s trying to move on, Jack. You need to do the same. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear …’
‘I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘I’ll tell her you enquired about her. That’s the best I can do. Don’t expect it to do any good, though.’
‘You’re a star, David. One in a million.’
On the way out, Jack thanked him again. Assured him he wouldn’t let this Zach guy down.
For the first time since Eleanor and Jack had split, Jack felt as if he were seeing a chink of light at the end of the black tunnel he’d been in for the last few weeks. All right, Eleanor wasn’t going to be running back into his arms any time soon, but at least everything else in his life was getting back on track.
After David had gone, Jack checked the fridge to see what he could eat for breakfast. The excitement of David’s visit had given Jack an appetite. Unfortunately, however, the fridge was devoid of anything appetising. The best he could find was an out-of-date nutri-grain bar. Not exactly what he had in mind. He was thinking: eggs, bacon, fried bread, sausage, mushrooms, baked beans, black pudding. The works. So he pulled his hoodie up, tugged his jacket on and headed for the front door, which had been repaired the day before, by a locksmith.
Sod washing the car. That could wait. Jack got in the Astra and drove towards the nearest café. His dad had subbed him another fifty quid, so he could afford to treat himself. On the way there, Jack passed a convenience store and popped in. He needed a few essentials: bread, milk, and something for dinner. He got what he needed. Went to pay. At the counter, he noticed a stack of newspapers by the till. The headline on the front of the Big City Herald: POLICE BUSY INVESTIGATING BYRON’S MURDER. He bought a copy, then got back in his car. Headed for the café. On the way there, he got a call on his mobile. He didn’t recognize the number.
‘Hello,’ he said, cupping the phone to his ear.
‘Well hello there,’ came the reply. ‘It’s Michael from the hospital. You remember me, don’t you?’
Jack slumped in his seat. How could I forget? ‘All right, pal? What can I do for you on this fine morning?’
‘Just thought I’d give you a ring, see how you’re getting on.’
‘I’m doing okay, thanks. How about you?’
‘Back at home, recovering. Which is nice. I’ve only just got out. I wanted to leave early like you ‘cause I was bored as hell, but I didn’t think it’d be wise. Not with my ticker being the way it is.’
‘As long as you’re okay now. That’s all that counts.’
‘You’re right on that one.’
Jack carried on driving as an uncomfortable silence descended. He wasn’t sure what to say next.
‘So …’ Michael finally said, ‘… I was just wondering if, eh … if you’d like to go to the pub for a beer some time. Have a game of pool. Or darts. Or dominos. Whatever floats your boat.’
Jack wondered how he could politely say no, then found himself saying yes. ‘I’m pretty good at darts,’ he said. ‘Scored a few one eighties in my time, so you better get ready for a beat down on the oche.’
‘I’m a bit of a mystro with the arrows, myself. Only ever hit a treble sixty once, mind. Maybe I was lucky. But I’ll give you a run for your money.’
Nearing the café, Jack said, ‘Look, I’ll call you tonight. Right now, at the moment, I need to fill my belly. I’m starving and artery-clogging food is calling out to me.’
‘You can’t beat a bit of artery-clogging food. You will call, won’t you?’
‘Yes, I’ll call.’
‘I’m desperate to get out of the flat after spending so long in hospital.’
‘I’ll call.’
‘Okay,’ Michael said, ending the conversation.
####
They would have to move house, there was no doubt about that. No way could they live here anymore. Not after what'd happened. Two killings in the house would make it a hard sell. But even if they had to let it go for a bargain price, Dawn and Philip were determined to get rid. They had contacted an estate agent, so it would soon be available for viewing. It would go. It had to go. And if it didn't, renting was an option. Anything that would get them away from the ghosts that now seemed to haunt the place.
For the last two nights, Abbie had awoken, screaming. Saying someone was in her bedroom. A big, bald man who smelled nasty. He stood by the window, casting a long shadow across the room, up the wall. Each time she'd rushed through to her parents. Snuggled in the with them. This could not continue. Something had to give.
Inevitably, Abbie asked lots of awkward questions. Why did those men try to hurt us? Who were they? Will anyone else try and harm us? Dawn and Philip fended her off as best they could, but they knew things would not get better until they were in a new home. Only then would the scars begin to heal.
'You should have told me about the Face Book Killer's threat,' Philip said. 'I still can't believe you didn't tell me.'
In the living room, Dawn sat on the settee. She perused the Net on her laptop to see what the media were saying about Byron's demise. All had come to the conclusion that it must have been a gangland rival who'd taken him out. That Derek and Chris Lambert, the black brothers, had been sent by the rival to do the dirty work. Names were being bandied around: gangsters from other cities. None of them were as notorious as Byron. All were being investigated.
'Helllo!' Philip said, appearing in front of Dawn. 'Earth calling Dawn, anyone home?'
'Sorry,' she said, looking up from beneath the screen's glow. 'I was busy reading. What's up?'
'You should have told me about Ward.'
'I explained why I didn't; you would have worried yourself sick.'
'I still had the right to know. When my family's in danger, I need to know.'
Closing the laptop's lid with a snap, Dawn put it aside and replied: 'If our family is ever threatened again by a maniac – any maniac – you'll be the first to know. For now, though, I'd just like to chill out, please. Chief Reinbeck has given me a few days off so I can sort myself out and I don't need this stress.'
Philip plonked himself next to Dawn. Held her hand.
'It's only because I care,' he said, offering a smile.
'I know.'
The telly's volume was low. Seeing NEWS FLASH scroll across the bottom of the screen, Dawn sat forwards and took notice. She read the text: gangster Luke Armstrong found dead in northern hideout. Dawn turned the volume up with the remote control.
A newsreader reported: 'Acting on an anonymous tip-off about Armstrong's whereabouts, officers raided a cottage on Wycliffe Lane, a quiet country road near the town of Dumsbar, in Scotland. Here, they found him dead, his corpse riddled with bullet holes and …'
'Well I think we can relax a bit now.'
'Shh!' Dawn said. 'I want to listen!'
'… had been on the run ever since a convoy transporting him from Edgemont Prison to Boxford Central was attacked, resulting in the death of eleven officers. Police spokesman, Andy Ridgeway, refused to comment, stating that a press conference would be held
at …'
'Who do you think tipped them off?' Philip asked.
'No idea,' Dawn said. 'Could be anybody. Powerful gangsters tend to have powerful enemies.'
'Whoever did it deserves a medal, as far as I'm concerned. I won't have to sleep with one eye open tonight, listening out for every little sound, wondering whether someone's going to break down our door and try to murder us. Do you think that's the end of it. With him dead, surely it must be.'
'Maybe … probably.'
The newsreader was now talking about James Ward, so Dawn turned the TV off.
'Put it back on!' Philip protested.
'No chance,' Dawn said, shuffling along for a cuddle.
'Whatever next for our little family.'
'Nothing too stressful, I hope; I can't cope with anymore stress. I still haven't got my head around you popping Ward.'
'I haven't got my head around it, either. Thanks to that guy we've had to buy a new TV and stand. Not to mention the patio door that's cost two-hundred pounds to repair.'
'He didn't damage that. And that's the least of our worries.'
The sound of Abbie playing in her bedroom carried through to them.
'Are you okay, sweetheart?’ Dawn called out. ‘Everything all right?’
Abbie came bounding into the room, her blonde ponytail jigging up and down. The two-way hug turned into a three-way.
'No more bad men are going to come, are they?' she asked.
'We'll never let anyone hurt you,' Philip said.
'No, we won't,' Dawn added. 'Not while me and your father are around.'
She put her arm around Abbie and felt the thump of her heart. Abbie had seen things no four year old should have to see. Right in her own home. Even after they'd moved, Dawn knew the demons would follow her daughter. Nothing as simple as relocation would cure her deep psychological scarring. Only time could do that. With Philip's help, Dawn vowed to be there for her every step of the way.
The three-way hug continued. Nice and tight. And close. Always close.
####
Easybites was your typical greasy spoon café. Cheap and cheerful. Always busy around breakfast and lunch. Today was no exception. There was a table free, though. In the corner, out of the way. Just where Jack wanted to be. So he made a bee-line for it. He took his jacket off and placed it over the back of a chair, claiming the table like a German holidaymaker putting a towel on a sun bed. Stay avay, his jacket proclaimed. Zis is mine. The table had plates and empty crisp packets on it. Crumbs scattered across its surface. Jack moved the plates to the edge. Folding his newspaper up, he used it to push the crumbs out of the way.
Then he joined the queue to place his order. Keeping his head down, he snatched glances at the blackboard behind the counter, which had the menu displayed on it. If people were staring at him, he didn't want to know. He was sure this was the best thing to do from now on. Keep his head down. If he didn't see anyone staring at him then he would avoid confrontations. He was sure he'd spend the rest of his life looking at the floor (and probably get a permanently cricked neck as a result).
When Jack reached the front of the queue, a stone-faced woman took his order. She didn't bat an eyelid when she clapped eyes on him. He figured she'd seen it all in her time. That she was a journey-woman of life. Old beyond her middle-aged years. He plumped for the Full English breakfast, which came with two of everything, plus a pot of tea. The smells issuing from the kitchen made his mouth water. The sizzling bacon got his tummy rumbling.
He sat back down. Read the newspaper. Seeing a picture of the brothers, Derek and Chris Lambert, made Jack feel sad. He wished he could have got to know them. He promised himself that he would find out where they were being buried so he could pay his respects. He owed them that much.
Jack was sick of hearing about Byron and Armstrong. TV and radio channels were still saturated with news concerning them. Would be for some time. Until people began to forget. To move on. Jack had already moved on.
Page 4 had an interesting story about a black guy named Spencer Rogers. He'd been arrested for possession of stolen goods. Apparently, his flat had been full of stuff. Everything from guns to drugs to fifty inch plasmas. The writer's verdict was that Spencer was going down for a long time. Jack thought that Spencer would have been a useful fella to know.
He turned a few more pages and came across an article about a crooked cop who'd been nailed. Police had proved that Ryan York had been taking payments from Luke Armstrong into an offshore bank account. From there, they'd linked York to all manner of underworld activities, ranging from money laundering to the convoy attack that sprang Armstrong.
A waiter appeared, looming over Jack with a tray in each hand.
'Is yours the Full English?' he asked, his eyes lingering on Jack for a second too long.
'Yes,' Jack snapped.
The waiter slid the tray in front of him, then disappeared.
Jack squeezed brown sauce on top of everything. Got stuck in. Just as he was shovelling baked beans into his mouth, he noticed a girl enter. She glanced around, no doubt looking for a spare table. There were none.
A brunette. Tall and slim. Attractive. Wearing a leather jacket and skin-tight leggings that accentuated her curves. He only saw her in profile at first. Then she turned and he couldn't help but stare at the long, jagged scar on her right cheek. Jack knew a knife wound when he clapped eyes on one. He observed them, up close and personal, every day, in the mirror. The girl's wound still had stitches in, so she'd been cut recently. In the last week, Jack figured. She had bruises, too. One below her eye and another to the side of her mouth. She seemed harmless. Inoffensively cute. And sad. Which was understandable. Jack wondered who would want to hurt her. A jealous boyfriend? Another girl? Or had it been a random attack? Anything was possible these days, with so many nutters around.
A table next to Jack became free and the girl took it. She adopted the same tactic as him, claiming her prize with her jacket, which she placed over the back of the chair. She joined the queue. Bet she doesn't order a Full English, Jack thought. Not with a figure like that. But she did. And instead of a relatively healthy cup of tea, she plumped for a hot chocolate with whipped cream spiralled on top. She went back to her table. While she waited for her food, she busied herself on her mobile phone. Texting or playing games. Jack couldn't tell which.
After he'd gulped his food down he continued to read his newspaper. He held it up in front of him, spreading the sheets wide. His horoscope had this to say:
Life's all change at the moment as you embark on a new journey. Don't glance back, just forwards. Destiny sends a dark-haired stranger into your path, bringing the chance of happiness. Take it!
Jack had always believed that horoscopes were a load of shit. Now he was beginning to wonder.
'Thank God we're rid of him,' he heard someone say. It was the girl.
'Sorry,' Jack replied. 'What's up?'
With one red-painted fingernail, she pointed to the newspaper's front page.
'Thank God we're rid of him,' she said again. 'Got what he deserved, if you ask me.'
'If you live by the sword, you die by it, I guess.'
'Amen to that.'
'You don't recognise me, do you?' the girl said.
Jack tried to place the face. 'No,' he said, 'I don't.'
'I was at the pub that night, when you were attacked.'
'Ah …' Jack said, looking at her again. He nodded. 'You're the one that came through from the lounge, yeah? The one they told to get lost. I was too occupied with trying not to get my head caved in to worry about anything other than survival.'
'I'm sorry I didn't help you. I … I should have helped you. Called the police, at least. But I was too scared. Worried about what they might do to me or my father if I interfered. I wish I could go back in time and redeem myself. Wish I'd lent the old man my mobile so he could call the police.'
Stirring his tea, Jack said, 'Phoning them wouldn't have prevented what happened to me
. Byron's men would have been long gone before the boys in blue got there. If you'd interfered, you would have got hurt. You did the right thing. The sensible thing.'
'The cowardly thing.'
'Not at all,' Jack said, shaking his head. 'Don't beat yourself up about it.'
'They did that to you, didn't they?' the girl said, eyeing Jack with a pained expression. 'I can't believe anyone could be so evil. I thought they'd give you a beating, that's all. Just rough you up some more. I didn't think they'd …' She looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
'Who cut your face?' Jack asked, blurting it out before he knew what he was saying.
The girl took a second to compose herself. Then she explained about her father's restaurant and how Byron's men were demanding protection money. She explained how she'd offered to sleep with Henderson and how it'd gone wrong. She explained – in hushed tones – about how she'd been beaten and raped. Made to feel like a worthless piece of scum.
'We've both been through it recently, haven't we?' Jack said.
'Haven't we just.'
'Onwards and upwards,' Jack said, raising his cup of tea. 'From now on.'
The girl raised her hot chocolate and they clinked a salute. 'Amen to that.'
The waiter appeared again, a tray in hand. He asked the girl if she'd ordered a Full English and she said yes. This time his eyes lingered on her too long.
She said, 'Would you like a picture?'
He slid the tray in front of her, then disappeared.
Jack gave her a knowing smile. 'That looks very yummy,' he said, nodding towards the hot chocolate. 'I made the wrong choice.'
'There's probably about five hundred calories in it – maybe more – so I think it's me that made the wrong choice. But that won't stop me drinking it, of course.' Her blue eyes brightened as she spooned cream off the top and gulped it down.
'My name's Jack, by the way.' He extended a hand.
'I'm Sarah,' the girl replied, shaking hands with him. 'Pleased to meet you.'
'Do you come here often?' Jack asked. The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying. Rolling his eyes, he slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead. 'Doh! Oldest pick-up line in the book and I've just used it.'
Face Book: A disturbing novel full of shocking twists Page 24
