by Tony Walker
Joe put his hand on John's shoulder as if he were calming a horse.
John let it lie there. "Yeah, ok. I know you're right," he said.
"Let's change the subject," said Joe.
"Let's."
"Sue came to see me the other day."
"Lucky bastard. What did that wicked poisoned bitch want?"
"She doesn't like you."
"Really? You must be mixing me up with another John Gilroy she hates."
"You need to watch your back."
"Why?"
"She's gunning for you."
John shrugged. "Let her gun. I've got nothing to hide."
"She'll use Ailsa against you if she can."
John rubbed his face. "Yep," he said. "I know. But," he said. "Ailsa will eat her for breakfast. Sue's a stupid, half educated Essex trollop. Ailsa will rip her to shreds if she tries anything."
"Just be squeaky clean," said Joe.
John looked at him suspiciously. "What's she said?"
"Just about Ailsa. Spreading gossip."
"Why did she tell you?"
"Maybe she knows I'm your friend."
"So surely she'd know you'd stick by me."
"Yes. But as you say, she's not so bright. Maybe she thought I'd be shocked. Maybe she thought I'd tell her something in return. But I don't know anything."
"Ok," said John - satisfied with the explanation. "If you hear any more - let me know, will you?"
"Of course."
"Whatever she's up to. I don't want her to catch me unprepared."
14th October, 1985, London. The Monday afterwards, John rang Ailsa's home number. It rang so long he thought it was going to go unanswered but in the end she picked it up. He heard her familiar voice say hello.
"It's me," he said. "How've you been?"
"I'm ok."
"Why haven't you been to work? The secretaries told me you're sick. They wouldn't say any more."
"I've just had a cold. I didn't feel up to it. You shouldn't call me at home in case Duncan answers."
"Why didn't you ring me?"
"Where? At work? That would look odd."
"I've missed you."
"I've missed you too."
"You don't sound like you've got a cold."
"For God's sake John."
"What's really the matter?"
"I told you. I'm sick."
There was a silence then he said. "I want to see you. I need to talk to you."
"I'll be back at work soon."
"I can't wait."
"You'll have to."
"Can I come round?"
"No. I'll see you at work. I've told you."
"Is Duncan in?"
"No. He's out."
"I'll come round then."
"What if he comes back?"
"What if he does?"
"I'd rather you didn't come John."
"There's something going on. You're not telling me the truth about something. I want to see you. I'll be round in about 30 minutes."
He put the phone down and put on his jacket. At the corner of Euston Road he got a cab and told it to take him to Phillimore Gardens. The driver tried to make small talk about dole scroungers and Pakistanis but John didn't listen. He paid the man and walked quickly up to Ailsa's door. He rang the bell. She answered it almost immediately. She opened the door, standing in a long sleeved t-shirt and elegant blue jeans.
"What the fuck happened to your face?" he said. Her right eye was bruised and swollen. There was a cut on her nose. She didn't answer. "What the fuck happened to your face?" he said again, his voice raising a tone.
"I said you shouldn't come round."
"Are you going to tell me what happened to your face?"
"Come in. Don't make a scene on the doorstep."
She stepped back to allow him past her. She closed the door and stood with her back against it. He put his hand up to her face and she winced.
"Don't tell me you walked into a door," he said.
"Duncan hit me. He always hits me. Not usually so noticeably."
"He hits you?"
"Come into the kitchen. I don't want to stand here," she said. She walked down the hall. All the marble, onyx and gilt was in its usual place. He saw her bruised face in the antique gold-framed mirror as they walked past. Some Chinese vases stood delicately on a Regency hall table.
"Do you want a coffee?" she said. "The kettle's just boiled."
He put his hand on her shoulder to turn her round. She gave way and turned to face him.
"Oh my God," said John. "This is not acceptable."
"That's precisely what it is. I accept it."
"Why do you let him do this?"
"Because he's bigger and stronger than me? I'm going to have a cigarette."
He watched her search in a cupboard for an obviously hidden packet. "He'd hit me for this too," she laughed. "A bit of a vicious circle really." She lit her cigarette and sucked in a plume of smoke. She blew it out and said, "There. That feels better."
"So how long has he hit you for? You should go to the doctor. Something might be broken."
"I hardly think so. The family doctor doesn't need to know our dirty secrets. I told my mother once and she said that one had to put up with such things, occasional beatings and sex, in return for the jewels." She took another drag of the cigarette. "Funnily enough, he hit me this time because of you."
"Because of me?"
"Well, he doesn't know it's you. He accused me of having an affair. I told him he could hardly blame me as he was such a cunt and that's when he punched me. Quite a good punch too. He was middleweight champion at Pangbourne."
"I'll fucking kill him."
"I wouldn't be so sure. Anyway, I don't want you to." She put down her cigarette and came over to him. She put her arms round him and rested her head on his shoulder. He felt her begin to sob. " It's all such a damned mess."
He held her tight. "Come away with me," he said. "Come now."
She pulled back and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her designer t-shirt. She examined it. "Damn, I've got mascara on the bloody thing."
"Come away with me." He repeated. "I can't have you live here with him."
She shook her head. "I can't leave."
"You can. You just won't."
She shrugged. Her eyes filled up again. She turned away.
"Ailsa," he said, "I came here to end it."
"So do it."
"But I can't leave you like this. With him."
"You're so noble."
"I love you."
She laughed sarcastically. "But that has its price. Are you willing to lose your wife and children?"
"For you?"
"I'm a lot more of a mess than you think."
"I just want to be with you."
"I thought you were going to end it."
He didn't speak.
She stroked his cheek. "You're such a romantic. You always believe you can make things better."
"You can't stay with him."
"Where would I go?"
"I wanted you to come with me."
"I'm rather high maintenance."
"Your marriage is a lie."
She pulled away. "I'm an accomplished liar."
While he watched, she went over and made two cups of instant coffee. She went to the fridge and got out the milk. She put his cup on the side which he left untouched. She calmly drank hers.
He was angry. "So what now? - you accept the beatings. For what? For the money? For the security?"
She shrugged.
"Maybe you're your mother's daughter after all. I started off thinking that you wouldn't leave him because you didn't care enough about me. Now I know it's because you have no courage."
"Maybe you're right. Just walk away."
"I can't leave this," he said. He turned and went out of the kitchen. Ailsa followed him, panicked by this unpredicted move. He leapt up the stairs two at a time and went to the master bedroom. There the elegant bed l
ay in the centre of the elegant room. Her dressing table was covered with make up and mirrors and perfume bottles. The bed wasn't made. John went over to Duncan's side. There was a book open face down - something about Nelson. On the bedside table were two of Duncan's business cards. He picked them up. Still without talking to Ailsa who was standing by the door watching him, he went over to the chest of drawers. On it was a wedding photograph of Ailsa and Duncan, him in a kilt, she in an expensive white wedding gown. They were smiling. There was another photograph of Duncan in dress naval uniform meeting the queen. He took this photograph from its frame, ripped off the Queen and put the rest in his pocket. "I'd know him anyway," he said.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to have a chat with him about him beating his wife."
Ailsa caught at his arm as he walked out of the room. "Please John, don't. You're behaving like a maniac. Don't do this. You'll ruin my life."
He made his way down the stairs and opened the front door. "I'll come back for you," he shouted.
He walked down to Kensington High Street and got another cab - this time to Whitehall. It dropped him outside the Ministry of Defence Main Building. He flashed his MI5 pass to get into the building and walked up to the reception desk.
"I'm here to see Commander Duncan McInnes please."
"Certainly, sir. Who should I say is calling?"
"My name's John Gilroy. I'm a colleague of his wife's. It's quite important. I need to see him in person."
The receptionist's expression changed as if she realised something was untoward but John heard her put the call through. Initially it seemed to go to Duncan's secretary. The receptionist looked up and said, "Can I ask what exactly you need to see Commander McInnes for?"
"Just tell him it's about his wife's eye."
She looked puzzled but put the message through.
"He's coming down, sir," she said finally.
"Tell him I'll wait for him outside."
Around five minutes later, the tall, handsome figure of Duncan McInnes emerged from the MOD doorway. John looked up and smiled at him. He came towards John.
"What the hell do you want?" he said in his patrician accent.
John waited until Duncan got close. Still smiling he punched him hard in the face, sending him reeling. "Don't you fucking hit your wife again," he said.
Duncan put his hand up to his damaged face. "So you're the bastard who's been shagging her?"
"Aye, better than you do."
With a roar Duncan ran at him. He barrelled into John and both of them fell onto the pavement, scattering tourists as they tumbled over and over trying to get an advantage. Duncan landed half a blow but it only hit John's shoulder. Then John managed to stop rolling and got himself on top. He pulled himself up so that he was on his knees. He balled his fists and he rained blows on Duncan's face. Duncan put his hands up to defend himself but John hammered down again and again and enough got through so that Duncan was spluttering blood through his burst lips. His nose was bleeding and his eyes closing. John kept going hitting him again and again. He was screaming, "You fucking bastard. People like you think you can do what you want. I'll fucking kill you." And then two police officers came from nowhere. They ran up and pulled him off. They roughly dragged John away and handcuffed him. One held him, breathing heavily. The policeman said with a grin, "What's going on here? Two fine gents brawling in the streets as if they was just like us."
His mate called up from where he was crouched over Duncan. "Better get an ambulance. He's done some damage to this other one." People were flooding out of the Ministry of Defence. Cries of horror and outrage could be heard from Duncan's colleagues. Some of them came to talk with Duncan but the police officers kept them back.
"You ruffian. He's a good man. You deserve to go to prison," shouted one middle aged lady.
"Away and shite," shouted John back. The police officer gave a yank on the cuffs so that John shouted in pain. "Watch the language Jock," he said. Then they took him away to Vine Street Police Station. All his belongings were taken off him and put in a plastic bag and then the desk sergeant read him his rights and asked whether he was on medication or mentally ill. He wasn't. After that he was deposited in a cell.
John waited in the cell for hours. It smelled of urine. The walls were covered in stains and uninspired graffiti. At first he lay down on the narrow bed. Then he paced up and down, up and down. He did press ups. Eventually, emotionally exhausted, he rested his head on the door. He wasn't feeling suicidal; he didn't regret what he'd done. He was still on fire with anger. They came to offer him a cup of tea, which he took, thanking them. After all he had no quarrel with the police. Eventually when they had processed the whores and pickpockets in the adjoining cells, they came to take him to the interview room. A CID constable took his statement; helping him explain what had happened.
"So you went to Whitehall to find this man who you had a grudge against. What was the grudge?"
"He beats his wife."
"Well, I don't hold with that. Men shouldn't hit women. And who is his wife? Your sister?" He grinned.
"I'm sleeping with her."
"I don't hold with that either John. You shouldn't shag other men's wives. It's not gentlemanly."
"I generally agree," said John.
"But not in this case?"
"It's different."
The officer shrugged. "So he has a grudge against you and he hit his missus. Did he find out?"
"He guessed."
"Still he shouldn't have hit her. If he'd come looking for you, well that's different. But he didn't. You had to go looking for him."
"Because he hit her."
"Very chivalrous. Almost makes up for your previous lack of chivalry for shagging her."
"I'm Lancelot of the Lake."
"Is that another name you go by? I had you down as John Gilroy. Are you into this role playing lark then? You pretend to be a knight and go and rescue her from a dragon. Dungeons and Dragons is it, with a sexy twist?"
"Not really, no."
"So it's a pretty simple story. You're shagging his wife. He belts her. You belt him."
"That's about it."
"Most things are simple in my experience," said the policeman. "Mind if I smoke? It calms my nerves."
"Why are you nervous?"
"Well, these statements are evidence so if I get them wrong then they can be thrown out by your brief. Sets my nerves on edge."
"I see. What's the charge?"
"I think we're looking at Affray and Actual Bodily Harm."
"What's the sentence?"
"Six months-ish. Where'd you meet his wife?"
"I work with her."
"Office romance. Classic. Tasty is she?"
"Is this part of the statement?"
"No, just curious. Anyway, someone told me you're a spook. Is that true? It was a bit James Bond come to think of it. Two elegant suited gents fighting in Whitehall. Lucky you didn't use exploding pens."
"I work for the Ministry of Defence."
"So does he."
"Not in the same Department."
"That's handy. Think of the angry looks over the xerox machine if you did."
"You're a comedian."
"Thank you. This is a dreary job. I have to lighten it up. Did you do it though?"
"What?"
"The offence."
John pointed to his bruised face and showed his skinned knuckles. "Yes, your honour."
"I'm not an honour. Just a copper." He finished writing down John's statement. "Anyway I think you can go back to your cell now."
"Then what?"
"They'll make a formal charge on reviewing the evidence. See what they can get you for. Then they'll probably bail you."
John went back to his cell. He tried to sleep but only managed a doze. His face and hands hurt. Then sometime in the middle of the night a constable came to fetch him. He followed him up to the custody desk. The sergeant gave him a plastic bag with his
possessions in. "Sign here John, just to say you got them back?"
"What's happening?"
"You're free to go."
"But I haven't been charged."
The sergeant smiled. "No, your victim doesn't want to press charges and though it is a criminal matter for some reason my superiors don't want to either. Maybe someone pulled strings, eh?"
"Well, I suppose I'm glad," said John.
"Your wife's waiting for you upstairs."
"Who told her?"
"We rang her. It's two in the morning. She'd be wondering what happened to you."
"I didn't give you permission to ring her."
"Permission? It's common decency. We didn't tell her why you hit him."
John sighed and began to follow the constable out of the custody suite.
"There's a complaints form by the door," shouted the sergeant after him.
Karen was raging. "I've had to get the girls up and put them in the back of the car in the middle of the night so I can come and fetch you from a Police Station."
"I know. I'm really sorry."
He followed her to the car, which was parked on double yellow lines. "I just hope these bastards don't give me a ticket," she said.
He got into the car.
"Look at your face, for Christ's sake John. They wouldn't tell me any details but I gather you've been fighting like some sixteen year old hoodlum."
"Something like that."
She started the car and they drove down the relatively quiet London streets in silence. It had started to rain.
"So?" she said.
"So what?"
"What happened?"
"I hit a guy."
"Yes, but why."
"He beat his wife."
"Who is he? Someone you work with."
"No."
"Then how did you get involved?"
"It's Ailsa's husband."
"Ailsa's husband beats her?"
"Apparently. Quite regularly."
"So I still don't get it how you got involved. Did she tell you?"
"She's got a black eye. I asked her how she got it."
"And then you went out like a knight errant to right her wrongs? What's it got to do with you anyway?"
"I don't know."
"So she turned up to work with a shiner? I thought people kept these things secret."
