by G H Mockford
‘A stuck record? What’s a record?’
‘Oi! You’re not that young, and I’m not too old to put you over my knee.’
Stephen smiled, hiding the sadness he felt. She was old, and he’d missed out on ten years of her life. ‘Do you need anything while I’m here? Shopping?’ He looked up at the damp spot on the ceiling, but didn’t mention it.
‘I’m not too old to do my shopping, either. Bless you, Stephen. You are a good boy. You always were.’ Mrs Bridges stood and walked to the front door. ‘I need to be alone now.’
‘Have I done something wrong?’
‘No. I just need to pray. May Jesus watch over you,’ she said, kissing his cheek.
Stephen took hold of his bike, carried it through the front door. He looked back to say goodbye, but the door was already closed.
Sixty
Stephen went straight to work.
He used the time the long cycle ride gave him to think about what had happened at his mother’s as well as what she’d told him.
Had he pushed her too hard? The poor woman hadn’t seen him in years and all he cared about was Felicity, the girl who inadvertently introduced her husband to the woman he would have an affair with. Then he added insult to injury by talking about their illegitimate child.
Had his obsession turned him blinkered and insensitive?
Stephen rolled up to The Manor and was surprised to find another white van outside. A man was up a ladder setting a new sign. It carried a painting of the famous stately home the area was named after, but more surprisingly, the words Free House.
Ducking under the ladder, Stephen entered the pub and searched for Cliff. He found him buried in the fridges, restocking them.
‘Ay up,’ Stephen said.
‘Owww!’ Cliff yelped as he banged his head on the top of the fridge door frame. ‘What are you doing here? Don’t go sneaking up on people like that,’ he said, using the bar to help him get to his feet while rubbing his head.
‘From the looks of things, you’re the one sneaking around.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I’ve been biting my tongue for too long. I’ve been worried sick about you, what with all these changes. And now the sign.’
Cliff sighed. ‘If you turned up for work at the right time for once, you’d never have noticed. People never look up. It would have been weeks, months before you noticed.’
‘A free house, Cliff? What’s going on?’
The landlord turned and got back on his knees so he could continue replenishing the fridge. ‘I’ve made a deal with the brewery. They were…desperate. I made them a good offer.’
‘You’ve bought the pub? What with? We barely take enough to survive?’ Stephen turned to look at the stage, sound equipment and TVs. ‘I assume you also own an entertainment license now?’
‘Sorry, can’t hear you down here, what with the rattling of bottles,’ Cliff said, dragging a crate towards him for extra effect.
Stephen walked to the end of the bar and passed through the bar-gate and joined his boss. ‘Cliff, it’s your business. You don’t have to tell me anything, so long as I get paid.’
‘Why don’t you just tell him? I’m amazed you haven’t already,’ Annie said, appearing out of the flat door, and joined Cliff behind the bar.
The publican got up and looked at his wife. ‘What is it with people creeping about today?’
‘If you weren’t keeping secrets–’ Annie started.
‘It was your idea,’ Cliff said, open-mouthed.
‘Cliff, you never were a subtle man. I mean, look at your clothes,’ Annie said.
‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’ Cliff said as he flicked off a piece of fluff from his yellow tartan waistcoat.
‘Just tell him,’ Annie repeated.
Cliff looked over his shoulder. A couple of the daytime locals were playing dominoes, but there was no one around to hear the big secret. ‘We won the lottery,’ he said.
‘You what?’ asked Stephen.
‘You heard,’ Annie shot back.
Stephen’s face cracked into a huge smile. ‘That’s fabulous. Well done. You deserve it.’
‘Too bloody right, the number of tickets we’ve bought over the years.’
‘Shhh! Keep it down, Annie,’ Cliff said, signaling with his hands.
‘So you bought the pub?’ Stephen said, smiling as he looked around the building with fresh eyes for the first time in years.
‘Lock, stock, and barrel. Or should that be barrels?’ Cliff said, laughing at his own joke.
Stephen resisted the urge to ask how much they’d won. It was none of his business, and he was happy for them. They would tell him if they wanted him to know. ‘I don’t know what to say but, congratulations.’
‘It’s been amazing,’ Cliff said like a child who was finally allowed to tell someone about his new bike. ‘We were on our knees, as you pointed out, and we were going to cancel the lease. Then the brewery wrote to me saying there were going to sell the place and they were going to give me first dibs. We’re going to make The Manor the place to come to come in Manor Park, and you’re going to help me, Stephen, now you’ve got all that time on your hands.’
‘Yes. Yes, I will,’ Stephen replied. And he meant it. It was a time for new beginnings after all. Perhaps this was a sign
Sixty-One
It was a slow night and Cliff told Stephen about his plans while Annie and Trev manned the bar.
New ales. Guest ales. Entertainment. Better food. A new kitchen, and almost certainly a new chef.
Definitely a new chef.
Decorating, and perhaps opening some of the rooms upstairs as a bed and breakfast.
‘You love it here don’t you?’ Stephen said to his friend.
Cliff always had a positive outlook on life, but now he was even more animated than ever. ‘Annie and I did talk about moving away. Get a nice little cottage somewhere scenic, maybe even moving back to Jamaica. In the thirty-odd years we’ve been married, Annie’s only been twice, and one of those was for my uncle’s funeral. But we wanted to stay here, in The Manor and be a part of this wonderful, if troubled community.’
‘That’s very commendable, Cliff.’
‘I was six when we came to live here. England’s my home. I don’t want to move away. You probably don’t know this, but Annie and I met here, in this pub. I worked in one of the factories down by the river before it was knocked down. We got married in Saint Mary’s.’ Cliff went silent, but Stephen could tell by the way his mouth hung open, paused ready to speak, that there was more. ‘I want to die here too.’
‘Oh shut up. You’ve got years in you yet.’
‘True, but those barrels aren’t getting any lighter.’
‘Perhaps you should start drinking the profits.’
‘I won the lottery, not an everlasting pot of gold.’
Stephen nodded at his friend. ‘It’s great news, Cliff.’
‘Thanks. Anyway,’ the landlord said as he got up, ‘I suppose I better get back to the bar. There’s only so long you can leave Annie and Trev behind it before all hell breaks loose. You can knock off early if you like?’
‘Early? I’ve not done anything yet.’
‘Well, I think you’re about to get a whole lot busier if you play your cards right.’
‘What do you mean?’ Stephen asked. The chubby landlord stepped back so that Stephen had a clear view of the bar. Stephen slipped out of the booth and started to walk towards the person waiting there.
‘Good evening, DC Chambers,’ Cliff called across the lounge as he headed back behind the bar, ‘and to what do we owe the pleasure?’
‘May I have a vodka, please?’
‘Of course, Constable.’
‘Please don’t call me that. I’m about ready to bloody quit.’
‘I’ll…err…leave you to it,’ Cliff said as he poured a lemonade too and placed both drinks on the bar.
Stephen was pleased the landlord had decided to clear off
. It didn’t take an expert in human behavior to see Bryonny was upset. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said, directing Chambers back towards the booth.
‘He’s a fucking prick,’ Chambers spat as she slammed her motorcycle helmet down on the table.
‘Who is?’
‘Hamilton. He just calls me when he needs some minor detail looked into or needs my memory because his team are shite and can’t organize themselves properly.’
‘Oh,’ Stephen said.
‘I’ve been sidelined. Completely cut out. It was one of my team that was murdered.’
Stephen looked at her across the table. She looked like she was going to cry, and as much as he liked her – and he was sure she liked him – he wasn’t sure what to do if she did. ‘Can’t the Welshman help?’
‘DS Rees? No,’ she said. ‘There’s more. I had it out with Hamilton. He’s bound to go to the DCI with a complaint.’
‘It’ll be alright. You’re emotionally involved. They’ll make allowances.’
‘No, they won’t. They didn’t want me. I had to promise I wouldn’t let it affect me. Besides, Abbott thinks the sun shines out of Hamilton’s arse, whereas I…’
Chambers stopped mid-tirade and Stephen remained quiet as he watched the woman who, truth be told, he hardly knew, despite some very pleasant conversation and leg-pulling from Cliff.
Silence fell for a while, and Chambers picked up her vodka and downed it in one gulp and then stared at the table.
‘Bryonny?’ The use of her first name got her attention and she looked up at him. ‘Bryonny, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.’
Her mouth twitched into a smile. ‘I called him a prick.’
‘Oh,’ Stephen said. ‘Well, by all accounts, he is.’
That made her laugh. Just for a moment. ‘When do you finish up?’
‘As luck would have it, Cliff’s given me the night off. Why?’
‘Let’s get drunk.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, do you?’
‘Why? You afraid what’ll happen if we do?’
‘Why? What will happen?’
‘Take me home, and let’s find out.’
Sixty-Two
The key fumbled around the lock several times, marking the paintwork, before finally sliding in. Stephen pushed the door open and the pair tumbled inside.
‘Where?’
Assuming Chambers meant where his bed was, Stephen said, ‘Top floor. Last room.’ He felt her squeeze past him, her leather clad body easily sliding past. She grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs.
Stephen thanked his lucky stars that no one was sitting in the communal lounge, especially Peter as he had a habit of sitting on the sofa in just his underpants and a t-shirt.
Bryonny stopped and Stephen almost collided with her. She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him against the wall. Her kiss was long, deep and passionate.
Stephen reached up and took her face in his hands. His mind was a blur as lust and happiness filled him for the first time in what had been far too long.
Chambers broke off the kiss and stepped back. Her braided hair was wild and becoming unraveled. They looked at each other for a moment, and Stephen feared she was going to change her mind. And then it dawned on him that he really liked this woman. It wasn’t about possessing her; it was about being one with her.
Once again, Stephen thanked God, destiny or whoever controlled his life. The house had remained clean after his blitz the other day, and he’d washed his bed linen. Pushing all his worries to one side, Stephen took Bryonny’s hand and led her up the final staircase.
Once they were through the bedroom door, Stephen took her in his arms and pulled her close. They kissed, slower, more tenderly this time.
She it.
‘I’m sorry to break the mood,’ Bryonny said, her breath fast and shallow, ‘but these leathers are a nightmare to get off.’
Stephen nodded. ‘I’ll be back.’
As soon as he was outside the room, he leaned against the door, took a moment to catch his breath, and then hurried downstairs to the kitchen. How he wished he’d some wine or something in the fridge. There was none he could ‘borrow’, either. Diving under the sink, he searched amongst the cleaning products and found what he wanted.
Tea lights.
They always kept a supply in case the electricity ran out and they didn’t have a top-up card. Stephen lifted them to his nose. They were vanilla scented. Bonus. Rummaging through the drawer above, he found a box of matches. There was one left.
Getting a plate from the cupboard, he put six of the tiny candles in the centre. Then, holding his breath, took out a match and struck it.
It flared to life. He altered the angle so it would burn the wood and then lowered it to the wick. Luck was with him tonight. Four of them burned brightly before the match died.
Stephen stood outside his bedroom door, plate shaking slightly in his hand and wondered if he should knock. Feeling a bit of a creep, Stephen listened at the door. There were no frantic sounds of undressing, so Stephen opened the door.
‘Awwww. Is it my birthday?’ Bryonny said from the darkness. She was waiting in bed.
Stephen smiled, knowing she would see his expression in the candlelight, placed the plate on the bookshelf, and with a feeling of slight self-consciousness, undressed.
Bryonny threw back the quilt. In the soft, warm glow of the candles her skin was flawless. ‘Come on. This bed’s freezing.’
Stephen did as he was commanded and soon the warmth of her legs wrapped around his and her passionate kisses were all he could think about.
Sixty-Three
THURSDAY Time Unknown
Stephen awoke.
He could feel Bryonny’s long, slender back against his. Last night they had fierce, passionate sex, talked about nothing in particular for an hour and then made love, taking the time to please each other.
When Bryonny had fallen asleep all wrapped around him, her hair across his chest, he found images of some of the things his mother had told him float into his mind like uninvited ghosts.
What terrors had poor Felicity suffered? A childhood destroyed. Innocence robbed. Stephen felt disgusted. Why were so many men so evil? But, he reminded himself, women had been involved too. Both parents had exploited their children. Stephen’s only hope was that Felicity had fared better than her brother, wherever she was.
Had Felix in fact killed himself rather than it being an accident? Although it was a long time ago, he remembered how upset Felicity had been. Had being separated from his sister lead Felix down a path of self-destruction? What the pair had been through must have developed a very strong bond between them, even if Felix abused her too. Had he chosen to do it, or was his mind so warped by the experiences around him that he thought it was normal?
There was one place he could easily find out the answers to the questions. His mother. He knew he hurt her yesterday by making her drag it all up. Could he go back and make her do it all again?
There was also Donna, of course. She would know many of the answers too. But somehow asking her seemed even worse,
Eventually, Stephen fell asleep, his mind and body exhausted.
Dreams haunted him.
Bryonny stirred and pushed her bottom back towards him.
‘Good morning,’ Stephen said, rolling over and kissing her shoulder.
‘Hello,’ came her reply. Stephen didn’t need to see her face to know she was smiling. Bryonny turned, her long blonde hair slipping over her shoulder, and kissed him.
They lay there, both grinning like lovesick teenagers. Then her face went serious.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’re going to need a better mattress if I’m coming here again.’ A kiss followed another smile.
‘There’s always your bed,’ Stephen suggested with a smile.
‘Hmmm. That’s a little more complicated.’ She must have seen the look sweep across Stephen’s face even though he tried to hide it.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not married or anything like that. Actually, I’d better check my phone. What time is it?’
Stephen reluctantly rolled away and looked at his bedside clock, thankful the alarm hadn’t gone off. ‘Ten past eleven.’
‘What?’ Bryonny leapt out of bed and grabbed at her clothes. ‘I told mother I’d be home by eight to–’
‘Well, I think you’re going to be a little late,’ Stephen said, not commenting on the reference to her mother, though he was curious. Then he opened one of the drawers under the bed. ‘Here’s a clean towel,’ he said laying on the bed beside her. I apologize in advance if the bathroom’s a mess. Breakfast?’
Bryonny picked up the towel, faced Stephen in all her glory and wrapped it around her. ‘A coffee would be nice.’
‘Coming right up,’ Stephen said as he walked around the end of the bed and kissed her. Then, with a towel wrapped around him, he left her to it, quickly popping into the bathroom to check it wasn’t in too bad a state. It wasn’t.
Stephen found the house was deserted as he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He boiled the kettle and wished he’d an impressive cafetiere like Cliff. He waited, deciding it would be more polite to wait for Bryonny to come downstairs.
When she did, the towel was wrapped around her head, she said, ‘I don’t suppose you have a hair-dryer?’
Stephen ran his hands through his short hair – which had a bad case of bedhead by the feel of things – and smiled. ‘Afraid not.’
‘No straighteners either, then?’
Stephen shook his head and poured the kettle into the mugs he’d already prepared. ‘Sugar?’
Bryonny shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I need to go.
‘Can I see you again,’ they both said, laughed and added, ‘I’d like that.’
‘Will you stop that,’ Stephen laughed.
‘You didn’t say that last night,’ Bryonny said, raising her eyebrows, making the towel on her head tumble to the floor.
Stephen passed her the only unchipped mug he could find. ‘I’d love to see you again. I mean, I’d like to see you again.’ Stephen kicked himself for using the L word.
