The Villain’s Daughter

by Roberta Kray

  Vita looked down at the wallet again. She had got as much out of Duggie as she was likely to and now wanted to be alone. ‘Well, thanks for returning it,’ she said. It was hardly moral to reward criminality, but he probably expected something for his trouble. Taking out a fifty, she offered it to him. ‘Here.’

  Duggie sat back and shook his head. ‘Nah, I don’t want nothin’. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right, would it?’

  ‘Take it,’ she insisted. ‘Go out and enjoy yourself. Just promise me that you won’t nick anything else tonight.’

  He hesitated, his gaze fixed on the note. His nicotine-stained fingers crept towards it, but then withdrew again. ‘Nah, I can’t. You were good to me, Mrs H. No one else gave a fuck, but you stood up for me. You worked real hard to get me off those charges and I won’t never forget that.’

  ‘Please,’ she said, dropping the note in front of him. ‘I want you to have it. I’ll be offended if you refuse. Look on it as a reward for doing the right thing.’

  Duggie’s precarious sense of right and wrong had its limits. He didn’t need telling twice. Swiftly slipping the fifty into his pocket, he scraped back his chair and stood up. ‘Ta. If you ever need anything . . .’

  ‘I’ll be sure to call.’

  ‘I mean it,’ he said. He paused, his big blue eyes gazing down at her. For a second, with his pale cheeks flushing red, he looked as awkward as an adolescent.

  ‘Now fuck off,’ she ordered, ‘before I change my mind.’

  Vita took a deep breath as he closed the door behind him. She was oddly touched by what he’d said and done. There wasn’t much to recommend working in a place like Kellston, but rare experiences like this made it seem worthwhile. However, if Duggie’s act had temporarily restored her faith in human nature, it hadn’t done much for her faith in her husband. She picked up the wallet again and turned it around. Rick had been robbed over five hours ago. Why hadn’t he told her? He must have noticed it was missing by now. There was only one reason why he wouldn’t have called and that was because he didn’t want her to know - and the only reason for that was because he’d had a wad of dodgy cash on him.

  Her heart sank as she thought about him being at Belles. She wasn’t quite sure what she was more stressed about: the idea of him ogling some curvy bimbo with a bra size she could only dream about or that he’d slipped back into his former ways. No, he couldn’t have. He’d promised her - no more jobs, no more crime, and definitely no more time.

  So what was he doing with six hundred quid in his wallet?

  Vita snatched her mobile out of her bag, pressed one on the keypad and then instantly hung up again. This wasn’t the kind of conversation to have over the phone. If she wanted to know the truth she’d have to ask him face to face.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Iris hesitated before pushing open the door of Wilder’s. Was she doing the right thing? She was suddenly assailed by doubt. Maybe, by enlisting Guy’s help, she was only going to make matters worse. Things were complicated enough without involving someone else in the mix. But then again, what choice did she have? Her problems weren’t going to disappear of their own accord; either she took control of the situation or became another victim. If the Streets found her dad before she did, Sean O’Donnell was done for. If they didn’t, she was in the firing line.

  Iris steadied herself and stepped inside. As Guy had predicted, the place wasn’t busy, but there were enough tables occupied for it not to seem too empty. Her eyes quickly swept the red-walled room, but there was no sign of him. Noah, however, was standing behind the bar.

  Iris smiled, relieved to spot a familiar face. It might be the twenty-first century, and she might be a modern woman, but she still felt faintly uncomfortable about walking into bars on her own. She went over to him and placed her bag on the counter.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, ‘How are you?’

  Noah didn’t smile back. Instead he gave a small nod and said rather brusquely, ‘Guy’s upstairs. He won’t be long.’

  Iris hovered for a second, not sure whether to order a drink or not. Was it her imagination or could she sense frostiness in the air? She hoped it wasn’t to do with her. She opened her mouth, intending to embark on a little small talk, but then smartly closed it again. There was something in Noah’s expression that told her it would be a waste of time. ‘Okay. Thanks. I’ll just take a seat then, shall I?’

  His only response was a slight, indifferent shrug of the shoulders.

  Iris, feeling awkward, turned and walked away. She chose a table in the far corner, well apart from the other customers. Once she’d sat down she wished she’d bought that drink. She was in need of some Dutch courage. Noah’s attitude hadn’t done much to help her nerves and she wondered if he knew why she was here. If he did, he probably had a right to be annoyed. Guy had enough issues with the Streets without her adding to them.

  With nothing else to do, she stared at the framed print directly in front of her. It was an old movie still of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, a promotional photo for To Have and Have Not. Now that, she decided, was sexual chemistry. You only had to look at them to know they would end up together. For a while she pondered on what that mysterious connection was, that vital crazy spark that could so easily grow into a raging fire.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’

  Iris looked up to see Guy Wilder standing over her. He was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a crisp white shirt. His fair hair was damp - he must have been in the shower - and slicked back from his forehead. Her heart gave a tiny leap. It was just the surprise, she told herself, and yet knew that it was something more. It was a thought she quickly pushed to the back of her mind.

  ‘It’s okay. I’ve only just got here.’

  ‘Didn’t Noah get you a drink?’

  She glanced over towards the bar. ‘Erm . . .’

  Guy, following her line of vision, grinned. ‘Oh, right. He’s still got a strop on, has he? Don’t worry, it’s nothing to do with you. He can be a right moody sod when he puts his mind to it. I hope he wasn’t rude.’

  ‘No,’ she lied. ‘He just seemed a bit . . . distracted.’

  ‘Woman trouble, I’m afraid. He thinks she’s messing him about - hell, she probably is - so he’s venting his frustration on the rest of the world. Look, let me grab a bottle and I’ll be right back.’

  Iris watched as he strolled over to the bar, leaned over and said something to Noah. Noah’s gaze immediately flicked towards her and she looked away, embarrassed by the idea that he might think she’d been badmouthing him. She stared down at the floor. She was starting to have those doubts again. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come.

  A short while later, Guy returned with a chilled bottle of Chablis and two glasses. ‘I hope you don’t mind white,’ he said. ‘You all right?’

  Iris nodded. Her lips tried to smile, quivered and didn’t quite make it.

  ‘Stupid question,’ he said, sitting down across the table. He poured the wine and passed her a glass. ‘Here, drink this.’

  She took a sip. ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble.’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ he said, glancing briefly over his shoulder. ‘Noah’s foul mood has nothing to do with you. I swear.’

  Iris wanted to believe him, but wasn’t sure if she did. However, it wasn’t the main thing on her mind. Her worries went far beyond Noah’s opinion of her.

  ‘So I take it there have been some developments,’ he continued. ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s been happening.’

  Iris took a moment to gather her thoughts. Seeing as she was here, she may as well go through with it. But where to begin? She hardly knew Guy Wilder. Her trust in him could be completely misplaced. She looked across the table. He was still patiently waiting. Could she really confess to what her father had done? The very thought made her stomach turn over. It wasn’t just the shame of it, although that was bad enough, but there was an element of danger too - confiding in Guy would mean sharing a secret that
had been buried for years. It would mean one more person knowing what her father had done. She was tempted to stand up, to say she’d made a mistake, that she had to leave . . . but then she remembered the thug’s hand on her arm and the hissing menace of his threats. No, she couldn’t deal with this on her own. She had to tell him some of the story at least.

  Iris cleared her throat and, hesitantly at first, began to talk. She started with the fight Michael had got into on Saturday and what Vita had said about her name being mentioned. From there it was only one small step to the threats that had been made at Columbia Road Market. At this point she abruptly stopped again.

  Guy leaned forward, his elbows on the table. ‘I’m presuming there’s a good reason why the Streets want to find your father after all this time.’

  Iris hesitated again. Even though she wanted to tell him - and she wasn’t sure if she did - she couldn’t find the right words.

  ‘It’s only a wild guess,’ Guy said, ‘but seeing as your father disappeared nineteen years ago and seeing as it’s nineteen years since Liam Street was murdered—’

  Iris, who’d been playing with her glass, looked up sharply. ‘He didn’t do it!’

  Guy raised his brows.

  ‘He didn’t,’ Iris said insistently. ‘It wasn’t him.’

  ‘But?’ He paused. ‘There is a but coming, isn’t there?’

  Iris sighed. She should have realised that he’d make the connection. Liam had been his stepbrother after all. Her voice, when she spoke again, was barely audible. ‘How much do you know?’

  Guy heaved out a breath, gave a light shrug of his shoulders. ‘Not much. I was just a kid when it happened, twelve or so. I know that a couple of guys broke into the house, that Terry and Liam came back unexpectedly . . .’ He stopped and shrugged again. The outcome of that fateful night was already known to both of them. ‘The cops never arrested anyone and Terry probably wasn’t that forthcoming with any information he did have; his idea of justice has never been connected to a courtroom. Years later he finally caught up with one of them. Davey Tyler, yeah?’

  Iris nodded. ‘It was Tyler who had the gun.’ And once those words were out of her mouth there was no going back. For a second she paused, but could see no real harm in telling him the truth now. What was the worst he could do? Report it to the police? But somehow she knew he’d never do that. Quietly, stumblingly, she repeated all of Michael’s revelations. It only took her a few minutes, but by the end she felt exhausted.

  There was a short silence after she had finished.

  ‘Shit,’ he murmured, gazing down into his glass.

  Iris saw the expression on his face and her heart sank. Why had she told him everything? Why had she bared her soul to him? Jumping to her feet, she said, ‘Oh God, you don’t need this. I’m sorry.’

  But Guy stood up too. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Leaving you in peace. This is my problem, not yours. I shouldn’t have—’

  ‘Sit down,’ he insisted, taking hold of her elbow. ‘Please.’

  She hesitated, but slowly sat back down again.

  ‘I can help,’ he said, ‘if you’ll let me, if you’ll just give me a chance.’

  Iris looked at him.

  ‘What’s the alternative?’ he said. ‘Going to the cops? That doesn’t seem such a great idea if your father is still alive.’ He paused. ‘Do you think he could be?’

  Iris shook her head and sighed. She was still trying to work that one out herself. ‘God knows. But if the Streets think so, then Terry couldn’t have found him. And that means it’s possible, doesn’t it.’

  ‘Maybe your uncle knows more than he’s letting on.’

  ‘Not to mention my mum. Some family, huh? All these things they conveniently forgot to mention over the years.’

  ‘Christ,’ he said, laughing, ‘you never met my mother. If we’re going to start comparing dysfunctional families, you’ll have some competition on your hands. You sure you’re up for it?’

  Iris finally managed a smile. ‘I don’t want to drag you into all this. But . . . but for as long as they think my dad’s still out there, they’re not going to leave me alone.’

  ‘So let me talk to them,’ Guy said.

  ‘What?’ She remembered the last time he’d met the brothers at Tobias Grand & Sons. It hadn’t been the most sociable of occasions. ‘From what I recall, the three of you don’t exactly get on.’

  ‘Getting on has nothing to do with it, Iris. I can still have a word. I can try to put a stop to all this. That family don’t give a damn who they hurt, whose lives they ruin. They trample over other people without a second thought. Nothing matters to them. No one matters.’

  Iris heard the sudden anger in his voice and knew that he was speaking from bitter experience. Was that why he was offering to help? From the little she knew of his past, it was still clear to her that the Streets had left an indelible mark. Perhaps he didn’t want the same thing to happen to her. Or perhaps he would simply jump at any opportunity to thwart their plans, to settle some old scores. ‘But what are the chances of them listening to you?’

  ‘Pretty good as it happens.’ He picked up his glass, took a drink and put it down again. ‘Danny’s a waste of space, but Chris isn’t stupid. He might hate my guts - and the feeling’s mutual - but he knows a good deal when he hears it.’

  ‘A good deal?’

  ‘Yeah, he’ll listen to what I have to say. I can’t promise anything, but I can put the pressure on. My mother and I didn’t have the most perfect of relationships, but she told me stuff, lots of stuff. I’ve enough shit on those two to send them down for the next twenty years.’

  Grateful for his support, but still unsure of his motives, Iris shook her head. ‘I still don’t understand. Why should you . . .? I mean, why get so involved in all this?’

  A tiny frown settled on his forehead. ‘I thought that’s why you came here. I thought you wanted my help.’

  ‘I did . . . I do, but not at your expense. They’re hardly going to welcome your interference, are they? And that could make life difficult. You’ve got your business to think about.’ She glanced towards Noah who was busy serving a customer. ‘I don’t expect you to put yourself in the firing line. That’s not fair.’

  ‘Some things are more important than business.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘Look, I know what you must be thinking - why’s he doing this? What’s in for him? And you’re right to be asking those questions. The truth is, I’m not being entirely selfless. I despise the Streets. I loathe them with a vengeance. And yes, if helping you out means that for once I can stop them from getting their own way, then it’ll be more than worth it.’

  ‘But that’s why I don’t want to get you involved in all this. I only came for some advice on how to get them off my back. I’ve no idea where my dad is so I can hardly pass a message on. But if they’re not aware of that, then . . .’

  ‘Then they’re not going to stop until they get what they want.’

  Her stomach lurched as the full meaning of his words hit home. Iris covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh, Jesus.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said softly. Reaching out, he took hold of her hands and laid them back on the table. ‘You’re not on your own. Let me do this for you. Let me help.’

  Iris was aware of the warm pressure of his fingers against hers. Not on your own. The relief of hearing those words was enough to make her want to weep.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘there’s no need to look so pleased about it. I’m not that bad an ally to have.’

  ‘No, I was only . . .’ She stopped, temporarily unable to articulate her emotions. A lump had come into her throat. For the first time, she became aware of the music that was playing: Tom Waits was drifting through the speakers, crooning Blue Valentine in those deep, hoarse tones of his. ‘Thank you,’ she finally mumbled. She barely knew Guy and yet she instinctively trusted him. ‘Are you absolutely sure about this?’

  ‘I’ve never been more sure of anythi
ng.’ His blue eyes gazed directly into hers. ‘One good turn deserves another. You were kind to me that day I came to see my mother. You could have just thrown me out but . . .’ He paused. ‘Anyway, you and me, we’re cut from the same cloth. We’ve been through the same things. We understand one another.’

  Iris was reminded of that feeling she’d had when they’d first met, that peculiar and unnerving connection between them. Was it simply because they’d both been separated from a parent or was it something more?

  Letting go of her hands, Guy lifted his glass and offered up a toast. ‘So here’s to us. To the good guys.’

  ‘To the good guys,’ she echoed, chinking her glass against his. She was about to ask what happened next when Guy made a rapid survey of the bar and pulled a face. The place had filled up since she’d first come in and there was a small crowd gathering at the bar. ‘Sorry, but I’d better get back to work or Noah really will have something to complain about. You don’t need to rush off though. Stay and finish your wine.’

  Iris tried to hide her disappointment; she’d been hoping for a chance to talk some more and the thought of drinking on her own didn’t really appeal. ‘That’s all right,’ she said, getting to her feet again. If there was one thing she didn’t want, it was to outstay her welcome. ‘I should be making a move. I’ve got things to do.’ In truth, the only things awaiting her were an empty flat and an evening stressing over what Luke might be getting up to in Brussels. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she was aware of her own hypocrisy. She had no right to be questioning what he might be doing when she was wishing she could spend more time with the man in front of her.

  ‘I’ll get you a cab,’ he said.

  ‘There’s no need,’ she replied, looking down at her watch. It was still early, barely seven o’clock. ‘I’m only going down the road. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’

  ‘Really,’ she insisted.

  He walked with her to the door, leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Try not to worry. I’ll call you. I’ll call you soon.’