by Roberta Kray
Luke gave her a look - one of those What on earth did you suggest that for kind of looks.
So to keep the peace, she suggested instead: ‘Or there’s beer if you’d prefer it, Michael. There’s plenty in the fridge.’
Michael, glancing at them both, thought about it for a second. Perhaps he read something in Luke’s face because, although he had clearly enjoyed the brandy, he gave a nod and said, ‘Yeah, ta, a beer would be good.’
‘And then we’ll get some food inside you. I bet you haven’t eaten a thing today. It’s spag bol; there’s plenty to go round.’
After the beer had arrived, Iris spent the next ten minutes cleaning up the rest of Michael’s injuries. She put a sticking plaster over the cut on his eyebrow and then went in search of Luke. She found him standing by the kitchen window with his arms folded ominously across his chest.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘Why did you have to invite him for lunch?’
‘What do you want me to do - send him packing? He’ll only end up down the pub again. At least this way I can keep an eye on him.’ Iris paused before imparting the next piece of bad news. ‘In fact I’ve asked him to stay over. I don’t think he should be alone at the moment.’
‘For God’s sake,’ Luke hissed. ‘How long for?’
‘I don’t know, just until he’s properly back on his feet. He could have concussion or anything. Anyway, what difference does it make; you’ll be away all next week. He can stay in the spare room for a few days.’
‘He stinks,’ Luke said.
‘I’m sure he knows how to use the shower.’
‘I was hoping we could spend some time together before I go to Brussels - just the two of us. It’s not that much to ask, is it?’
Iris put an arm around his waist and hugged him. ‘Hey, I’m really sorry, babe. You’re right. I should have asked you first.’
But Luke wasn’t going to be appeased. He had descended into one of his petulant moods. ‘He’s not your responsibility. If he chooses to get drunk, to get in fights, you shouldn’t have to pick up the pieces.’
‘It’s not to do with responsibility,’ she said. ‘He’s my uncle and I care about him. I don’t want him out there, getting into even more trouble.’
‘Fine,’ Luke said. Pulling away from her, he whipped his jacket off the back of the chair.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To see Kieron. We’ve got some papers to go through before Monday.’
‘You didn’t mention it before.’
He shrugged. ‘No, well, I was going to try and do it over the phone, but as we’ve got the pleasure of your uncle’s company for the foreseeable future, I may as well go round in person. It’ll be easier that way.’
‘Why don’t you stay and have some lunch first? You’ve gone to all the bother of making it.’
‘I’m not hungry. You have it. I’ll see you later.’ Luke stopped by the door. ‘Oh, and your mother rang.’
Iris frowned. It was only a couple of days since she’d last talked to her. ‘What did she want?’
‘I’ve no idea. Why don’t you call her back and find out?’
And on that happy note he was gone. Iris heard the front door slam. She sighed, turned back to the window and gazed down on the residents’ barking bays. A minute later Luke appeared and climbed into his black BMW. She waited, her hand raised in a wave, but he didn’t bother looking up.
By three o’clock, Michael was fast asleep on the sofa. Iris turned the TV down and covered him with a blanket. Back in the kitchen, she quietly closed the door and reached for the phone. Who to call first - her mother or Vita? She decided on the latter. While the number was ringing, she kept her fingers crossed that Vita had received the text she had sent.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi, it’s Iris. How are you doing?’
‘Yeah, I’m okay. How’s Michael? Rick told me what happened. I wanted to call round and check on him but . . . Well, I thought you might have enough to deal with without two more uninvited guests showing up.’
Iris smiled down the phone. What Vita really meant was that she knew Luke had been none too pleased by the unannounced arrival of an unkempt, smelly and somewhat battered Michael O’Donnell and had discreetly decided not to make matters worse. ‘Look, will you thank him for me? Rick, I mean. It was good of him to take the trouble.’
‘To be honest, he wasn’t sure what to do. He felt like he was just dumping him, but that wasn’t the intention. He’d have brought him back here only we’ve got Candice for the afternoon and—’
‘That’s okay,’ Iris said. Candice was Rick’s twelve-year-old daughter from his previous marriage. He’d had enough problems getting access in the first place; the last thing he needed was for her to report back to her mother on the kind of disreputable company he kept. ‘Anyway,’ she said, echoing Luke’s earlier words, ‘he’s not your responsibility. You don’t need my drunken, bloodied relatives littering up your living room.’
Vita laughed. ‘It wasn’t really Michael’s fault. And he wasn’t pissed. I mean, he’d had a couple of pints, but he was far from wrecked.’
‘I always knew the Dog & Duck was trouble,’ Iris said, shaking her head. ‘It’s a dump. It’s full of dealers and wasters. The whole place smells of grief. I don’t understand why he drinks there.’
There was a short silence on the other end of the line. ‘He wasn’t in the Dog. Didn’t he tell you?’
Iris frowned. ‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Oh,’ Vita said.
Iris waited, but when Vita didn’t go on, she said, ‘Are you going to enlighten me?’
There was another hesitation. ‘Er, he was . . . he was in the Hope & Anchor.’
‘What?’ Iris pressed the phone closer to her ear. Although Michael had gone to the Hope for Lizzie Street’s wake, it wasn’t - so far as she was aware - one of his more regular haunts. Although it was understandable why he’d been there on Wednesday night, she couldn’t see why he’d gone back. ‘What was he doing there?’
‘I take it Michael hasn’t been too forthcoming.’
‘He just said that he’d had a few and then got in a scrap with some guy who bumped into him.’
‘Oh,’ Vita said again.
Iris felt her heart sink. She swallowed hard before she spoke again. ‘Tell me.’
‘I only know what Rick said but—’
‘Tell me,’ Iris repeated more insistently. She had the feeling that she wasn’t going to like it, but pressed on regardless. ‘Please. I want to know. I need to know. Michael’s claiming it was just a stupid row, but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?’
‘I take it he didn’t tell you who the other guy was?’
‘No.’
‘It was Danny Street.’
Iris took a quick breath. Her throat felt tight and dry. She put her hand to her chest. ‘What?’
Vita sighed down the line. ‘God, I’m not even sure if I should be telling you this. Rick says I shouldn’t, that I shouldn’t worry you, but I think you have the right to know. You see, it wasn’t accidental, Michael being in the Hope today. He went there deliberately. He said he had some business to sort out and . . . and if Rick didn’t like it that was fine, but he was going anyway. So of course Rick got worried and went along. Michael wouldn’t explain what the problem was, but he was pretty fired up and then the minute Danny Street arrived he went for him.’
‘Danny Street?’ Iris repeated, barely able to believe what she was hearing. ‘But that guy’s an out-and-out nutter. And twenty years younger. Why the hell would Michael want to pick a fight with him?’
‘You’re asking the wrong person.’
Iris thought back to the conversation she’d had with her uncle at the wake. ‘Was it to do with Lizzie Street? Was that why he was having a go?’
Vita audibly cleared her throat. ‘That might have been part of it. Rick isn’t sure. It all happened so quickly. Only . . .
’
‘Only?’
‘Rick thinks it was more to do with you.’
‘Me?’ Iris said, by now completely stunned. ‘What? Why should it have anything to do with me?’ For a few confused seconds she completely blanked out. She knew that Vita was still talking, saying something else, but she had stopped listening properly.
‘Iris?’
‘Yeah, sorry, I’m still here. But I don’t even know Danny Street. Well, I’ve met him once, but that’s all. Why should they be rowing about me?’
‘I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to Michael about it. Rick didn’t hear much, but he did hear your name mentioned.’
Iris had a sudden, disturbing thought. She remembered Chris Street cross-examining her outside the pub. She recalled his dark scrutinising eyes, his insistence that she tell him what the old man had wanted. Her voice, when she spoke again, had a touch of panic in it. ‘Jesus, this isn’t connected to Albert Jenks, is it? With my father? Maybe that’s what this is all about. Do you think it could be? Oh God, this is all just so weird.’
‘Hey, calm down,’ Vita said, ‘don’t go jumping to any hasty conclusions. Have a chat with Michael first, find out what his side of the story is.’
‘He’s already told me his side and it was a pack of lies. And did you hear what happened to Jenks? He was killed, Vita, or as good as. Someone broke into his flat and he had a heart attack and—’
‘Yeah, I saw it in the paper. It doesn’t mean that he’s connected to this. Why should he be? Any little bastard could have broken into his flat. We’re hardly living in the most salubrious of areas. Don’t go putting two and two together and coming up with five.’
Iris, her fingers gripped tight around the phone, was about to retort And what if I’m coming up with four? when, at the other end of the line, she heard the sound of a door opening and voices in the background.
‘Look, I’m really sorry. Candice has just arrived. I have to go. Are you all right?’
‘Of course,’ Iris lied. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t worry.’
‘We’ll talk later. And in the meantime, you’ll have that chat with Michael?’
‘You can bet on it,’ Iris said. She put the receiver down with a frown on her face. What the hell was going on with Michael? She’d had enough of all these secrets and lies. It was time to get to the truth.
Chapter Eighteen
Iris had gone straight to the living room intending to shake Michael awake, but on seeing him fast asleep with all the cuts and bruises on his face, she hadn’t had the heart to disturb him. It could wait, couldn’t it? Whatever the truth, it could wait an hour or so.
But, as it turned out, an hour had turned into three and Michael was still asleep when Luke got home. There was no way she could start that particular conversation while he was in the flat so she’d had to bite her tongue. They had spent a quiet evening sitting in front of the TV with a couple of DVDs and a takeaway pizza. Iris, desperate for answers, had blindly watched the films rolling by in front of her, her eyes frequently flicking sideways to glance at Michael as if she might somehow glean the answers she craved just by looking at him.
Now it was Sunday morning and Luke had decided that he wanted to go and buy a Christmas tree. Iris, after another restless night, was tempted to make an excuse, to say she didn’t feel well so that she could be alone with her uncle, but then felt too guilty to go through with it. Today was Luke’s last before he went to Brussels and the least she could do was spend some quality time with him.
However, when he decided to go out and defrost the windscreen of the car, Iris grabbed the opportunity for a quick word with Michael.
‘So,’ she said, sitting down at the kitchen table and fixing her gaze on him. ‘Are you going to tell me what really happened yesterday?’
‘Huh?’ Michael said, acting as if he didn’t understand. ‘I’ve already—’
‘I mean the truth, rather than another of your highly imaginative tall stories. Like why you were scrapping with that anonymous “little scrote” in the first place. I take it you can bring his name to mind now or have all those knocks to your head affected your memory?’
Michael glanced briefly down at the table before raising his eyes again. ‘If you already know the answer, love, why are you asking me?’
‘Danny Street,’ she said, shaking her head. She was unable to keep the exasperation from her voice. ‘What on earth were you thinking of? The guy’s crazy; he’d kill you soon as look at you. What’s going on, Michael? You got some kind of death wish?’
Michael simply shrugged. ‘What can I say? He wound me up. He was badmouthing Lizzie, slagging her off. I couldn’t just stand by and let him get away with it. She might not have been perfect, far from it, but she kept that family together when Terry went down. She kept the business running too. If it hadn’t been for—’
‘So it had nothing to do with me?’
Iris could see that her question had taken him by surprise - and his subsequent hesitation lasted a little too long.
‘You?’ he repeated, his tongue sliding quickly across his lips. Then he added, unconvincingly, ‘Why should it have anything to do with you?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ She glanced anxiously towards the door, worried that Luke might suddenly reappear. ‘But I understand that my name was mentioned.’
‘Nah, you’ve got that wrong. Who told you that? It was about Lizzie, love, nothin’ else.’
‘So why didn’t you say that yesterday?’
‘I dunno.’ He shrugged again. And then, blatantly playing for time, he picked up his mug, buried his bruised face in it and took a long slurp of tea. ‘It was all kind of blurry, you know, when I got here.’
But Iris didn’t believe him. ‘Look at me,’ she said, ‘and swear that my name wasn’t mentioned.’
It took a while for his guilty blue eyes to meet hers. ‘Well okay, maybe it was, but only—’
Iris drew in a breath. ‘I knew it.’ Her heart had begun to beat faster. She could feel the blood rushing into her cheeks. ‘Was it about Dad? It was about Dad, wasn’t it?’
‘What?’ Michael said. ‘No, of course not. Why should it be?’
She reached across and grabbed his hand. ‘You have to tell me, whatever it is. I have to know!’
‘It’s nothing to do with Sean,’ he said, pulling away his fingers. ‘Jesus, whatever put that stupid idea in your head! I was pissed off, that’s all, about how Danny Street treated you. He thinks he’s the big man, the way he likes to push women around. It’s not right. He’s got no right.’
Iris was confused, but then it suddenly dawned on her that he must have heard about Danny’s less than chivalrous behaviour at Tobias Grand & Sons on the day before Lizzie’s funeral. Knowing what Michael was like, she had deliberately kept the details from him. ‘How did you hear about that?’ A wave of disappointment flowed through her, followed by a wave of relief. The disappointment was down to the fact she had hit another dead end as regards the disappearance of her father, the relief that the Streets, hopefully, were not connected to it.
‘I dunno. Someone must have mentioned it.’
It didn’t take her long to figure out who it had been. ‘Toby,’ she said with a sigh. The two of them must have got talking after she’d left the pub. And God alone knew what kind of exaggerated version Toby had provided him with. ‘You don’t want to listen to a word he says,’ she added, even though it was too late. ‘He wasn’t even there. He doesn’t know the first thing about it. And anyway, Michael, it’s not down to you to fight my battles. I’m all grown up now; I can take care of myself.’
The conversation was interrupted by the return of Luke. An abrupt silence fell over the kitchen as he walked in through the door. ‘Should my ears be burning?’ he said, looking from one to the other.
‘No,’ Iris said, getting to her feet. ‘I was just giving Michael a lecture on the dangers of scrapping in pubs. Are we ready to go?’
Luke nodded. ‘Ready w
hen you are.’
As Iris left, she glanced over her shoulder. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet. We’ll talk later.’ Michael didn’t seem overjoyed at the prospect.
As soon as they arrived, Iris knew she’d made the right decision. Getting out of the car, she waited as he bought a Pay & Display ticket and stuck it to the inside of the windscreen. Then they walked together into the Columbia Road Flower Market. Iris loved this place: the noisy crowds and bright stalls, the wonderful scents and colours; it was a full-on, heavenly assault on the senses and her spirits were instantly lifted. There was so much to see, to smell, to hear. Even her taste buds were on fire with the drifting aroma of fresh coffee, bread and something wonderfully spicy that she couldn’t put a name to.
She suddenly felt happier than she had for days. ‘This was a good idea,’ she said, gazing up at Luke and linking her arm through his. Although she suspected he had only come here to get away from Michael, she didn’t care. Just for a while, she was determined to put all her worries behind her.
As they strolled down the centre of the crowded market, their feet crunching on the thin layer of snow, Iris remembered all the times she had come here as a child. They had never bought much - they’d never had much money and only a tiny scrap of yard to plant things in - but she had always been allowed to choose some bulbs, a few hyacinths or tulips, which she’d put carefully in the ground and which would miraculously send up their green shoots a few months later. She smiled at the memory. Occasionally her mother would buy cut flowers, a small spray of freesias in summer, a few daffodils in spring.
It wasn’t so much the buying that mattered, she realised, as the being here. The market wasn’t just a place to buy stuff: it was where you went to look and smell and touch. It was where you went to listen to the vendors, to mingle, to touch shoulders with your neighbours and feel a part of something. When people talked about the East End it was usually about the crime, about the grimness and the grief. But there was no evidence of any of that in the busy street she saw before her.
