‘Who’s that with you?’
‘A friend.’
‘Come closer.’
‘Put the light on and I will.’
A sound that could have been a laugh. ‘I like it the way it is.’
Tom was trying to get his eyes accustomed to the gloom. He was sure there was more than Conroy waiting for him. He just had to know where they were, be able to deal with them if he had to. If he could. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
‘Where’s my stuff, Conroy? I want it now.’
Another gravelly sound. ‘Oh, you do, do you? Just like that.’
‘Yeah, just like that.’ Tom felt anger rising within him at Conroy’s words, tried to channel it. He knew he would be no good angry. ‘Just like we agreed.’
‘Well, that’s the thing, Tom Killgannon. Our agreement’s changed.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I . . . well, I’m not saying I won’t give you what you want. But I think you should pay for it. Or pay something now and I’ll give you part of what you want. Then another payment next week, say, and on like that. What d’you think?’
The anger within Tom threatened to explode. ‘Blackmail, then. That’s what you’re talking about.’
‘I know a fake identity when I see one, Tom Killgannon. And I know that you must need it for a reason. And that reason must be important. Important enough to pay to keep it secret, perhaps? I think so.’
Tom walked all the way across the floor of the shop to where Conroy’s voice was coming from. As he approached him, two huge shadows detached themselves from the wall at either side of him. Tom stopped walking.
‘You didn’t think I’d invite you here unprepared, did you?’
Tom’s fists clenched and unclenched. Clenched once more, stayed that way.
‘Give me my stuff. Now.’
‘Ball’s in my court, wouldn’t you say? Seller’s market.’
‘I could just walk out of here. Call the police. Tell them what you’re doing.’
‘You could. But then I’d sing like fuckin’ Sinatra, Tom Killgannon.’ He relished saying Tom’s name. ‘And I don’t think you’d want that, would you?’
‘I didn’t mean about my stuff. I meant the other things.’
‘What other things?’
‘Your brother? What you’ve done to him?’
Conroy’s voice flattened. ‘What about my brother? What d’you know about him?’
‘County line drugs gangs,’ said Tom. ‘Clue’s in the name. They come down from somewhere else, London usually, and move in with someone. Someone a bit fragile, easily manipulated. Who won’t complain. And to make sure they don’t complain, they get them hooked. On heroin, say. Like your brother. Like Josey.’
Conroy said nothing. Tom continued.
‘Cuckooing, I believe it’s called. That person has all the responsibility of having their name on the books for the place, the cuckoos use it as a base for operations. Knock out the local competition – usually with the help of someone local, isn’t that right, Conroy? Then take over the market for themselves.’
‘How d’you know all this?’
‘Your boy Leon. Careless talk costs lives, and all that.’
Tom was aware of Lila standing behind him. He was thankful of the dark because he knew that the look of incredulity on her face would betray the story Tom was telling. He just hoped she wouldn’t interrupt.
‘Leon . . .’
‘Followed him home. Not a happy place, that. Especially the way Danny is at the moment.’
‘What d’you mean? Danny? I don’t know—’
‘Oh, please. Don’t even. You know who Danny is. Or rather was.’
‘What d’you mean, was?’
‘Well, he’s either playing the longest game of statues known to man or he’s dead, I’m afraid.’ Again, he was grateful not to be able to see Lila’s expression.
‘Dead?’
‘Yeah. Leon again, I think. Could be. Or maybe he’s just covering up for Josey. That was the impression I got.’
Silence. Tom could hear Conroy’s breathing, harder and more ragged than before.
‘Quid pro quo, Clarice,’ said Tom eventually.
‘What the fuck you on about?’
‘It means give me my stuff and I’m out of here. I don’t say a word. And you can clean up your own mess and make up whatever story you want to. You just don’t bring me into it. What d’you say? We got a deal?’
‘How do I . . . how do I know you’re telling the truth?’
‘How come I know everything if I’m lying? How come I know names and places? Think about it, Conroy. Makes sense.’
Silence. Then a huge sigh, like foul air leaving a tied black bin bag. One of the shadows came forward, stretched out a hand. Tom took the plastic package, opened it, checked everything was there. Pocketed it.
‘Pleasure doing business with you.’
‘Fuck off out of my sight.’
‘Gladly.’
Tom, with Lila in tow, turned and left.
*
Out in the street they looked at each other. Lila couldn’t believe what she had just heard him say. Tom wasn’t sure he believed it either.
‘What was all that about?’ she said, shock and admiration mingling in her voice.
Tom shrugged. ‘I’ve always been good at talking my way out of things. And into them too, if I’m honest.’
He looked up and down the street. It was near-deserted, a cold wind whipping in from the sea. He turned back to Lila. She looked small, lost.
‘You got anywhere to go now?’
She shook her head, her hair obscuring her face.
‘Come on then.’
‘Where?’
‘My car’s here. We’ll go back to mine. Sort things out from there.’
She smiled. She couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say.
They drove off.
Later, they pulled up at his house and both went inside. Neither of them was aware of the car that had been parked just off the road by Tom’s house with an unimpeded view of his front door. Nor did they see the two men sitting inside put down their binoculars on their arrival. And they certainly didn’t see the car slowly move off, as it didn’t have its lights on.
But they would know about it soon enough.
PART THREE
39
‘So how’s your week been?’
Tom looked at his therapist, sitting opposite him in her Lloyd Loom chair, half-smile on her lips, notes on her lap, waiting for him to respond. He pursed his lips, exhaled. Sat back, tried to get comfortable on the small sofa. Sat forward again, clasped his hands together.
‘Busy,’ he said.
‘Good.’ She looked straight at him. Eyes watching for things he wasn’t aware he was doing. ‘Is that good?’
‘I found the girl.’
‘Oh.’ Janet’s eyes widened. She quickly composed herself. ‘And?’
Tom paused for a moment. Looked out of the window in the slanted ceiling of the converted attic room, saw the tops of trees attempting to throw off winter and burst into bud, saw blue sky, sun. Things were struggling to come to life again. Then back in the room, watching Janet waiting for him to speak.
He told her everything. Knowing that the session was like a confessional, that it wouldn’t go any further. Or at least he hoped it wouldn’t. He knew Janet had a duty to report anything illegal to the police and although he wanted to be honest, he didn’t want to admit anything that would attract attention to himself. She would have to balance her professionalism against his confession. He would have to hope she came down on his side.
Finishing, he sat back. Almost as exhausted by the telling of his actions as he had been in the execution of them.
Her eyes widened, eyebrows raised. ‘Well. Quite a week. Especially when you’re trying to keep a low profile.’
‘I felt I had no choice. Needed to get my stuff back. I had to do something.’
‘So where is this girl now
? I presume you didn’t just let her walk off.’
‘No. She’s at my house.’
She looked at him, waited for him to expand further.
‘Didn’t know where else I could take her. She couldn’t stay where she was. Anyway, it’s only till she gets herself sorted out, then she’ll be off.’
She kept looking at him. ‘You sure about that?’
‘Yeah,’ said Tom, pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe on the side table, throat suddenly dry. ‘I’ve done my bit. Got her out of there, got my stuff back. That’s that.’
‘Where will she go?’
He shrugged, body language, words, closed now. ‘Wherever.’
She nodded. Looked down at her notes, back up again. ‘I don’t need to tell you what you’re doing, do I?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Or what you think you’re doing. Making up for earlier mistakes, as you see them. Creating a surrogate.’
‘I know.’
‘I’d be remiss in my duty if I didn’t point out the dangers. They’re two very different people. Remember that.’
‘I’m well aware.’ He leaned forward, knotting and unknotting his knuckles. ‘It’s . . . you know that poem by T. S. Eliot? The one where he talks about measuring out your days with coffee spoons?’
Janet’s eyes widened. Surprised. Whatever else she thought of him as, it clearly wasn’t a reader of poetry. He liked to surprise people that way. ‘I know it, yes.’
‘Well, for me it’s not coffee spoons. It’s blister packs of anti-depressants. Each one with the day of the week on. That’s my diary. That’s how I measure my life. I’m trying to keep my head down, get sorted, but sometimes I just have to . . . do something. And hope it’s the right thing. For whatever reasons.’
Janet thought before answering. ‘But this is more than just wanting to play the hero, though, isn’t it? It’s an apology for what happened, a chance to right wrongs at one remove. As you see it, of course.’
He felt the impact of her words almost physically. But he had to accept the challenge she had laid down for him and respond. Otherwise there was no point in him being here. ‘Maybe.’
‘Is it redemption?’
‘You think I need redeeming?’
‘I’m just using your own words back at you. You told me that before in our first session. That you want to think of yourself as a good person again. Be proud of who you are. Do you see helping this girl as a way to do that?’
‘I don’t know. Really, I don’t. I don’t know if she’s got parents, a family who could come and get her, I don’t know anything about her. Just that she got in with some bad people and needed help to get away from them.’
‘Is she a bad kid? She stole from you. You sure you’re not just projecting an image of how you want her to be so you can help her rather than look at how she really is?’
Tom thought before answering. ‘I don’t think so. I think she was scared and desperate. Not thinking straight. She just needs a bit of help, that’s all.’
‘So you see yourself as her protector?’
‘I’m just trying to put her on the right path.’
She said nothing, looked at him for a while, thinking, hoping that the silence would give him a chance for reflection also.
‘Look,’ said Tom eventually. ‘It won’t bring Hayley back. I know that. It won’t change the past, or anything that happened there. She’s gone and I have to accept that. I’ve tried to come to terms with it. But this is different. She’s different. This girl. Lila.’
‘No, you’re right, it won’t change the past. But you helping this girl, Lila, are you hoping it’ll change the future?’
‘Whose future?’
‘Hers. Yours. Both.’
‘I don’t know.’ He leaned forward once more. Clasped and unclasped his hands. Watched the muscles moving under his skin. ‘I just . . . I saw her there, in that caravan, with those people . . . and . . . I couldn’t leave her there. I couldn’t walk away and, you know, just take my stuff and leave her. I couldn’t.’
‘But you didn’t bring any of the others with you. Why not? Did they not need saving? Rescuing? Were they in a horrible situation too?’
He looked away. From her, from his own introspective gaze. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see them, I just saw her.’
She nodded. Understanding what he meant. Hoping Tom would too.
‘And what about now? How does it feel to have someone with you who you’re taking responsibility for?’
‘I’m not responsible for her.’
‘You feel you have a duty of care for her, though, don’t you?’
‘I suppose so. And I don’t know why, because I haven’t. She’s nothing to do with me.’ He looked up once more. ‘You think I’m just doing this for myself? That she’s just a stop on my . . . road to redemption?’ He tried to be mock grand when he said the words but the intention fell flat.
She looked at him. A level, honest gaze. ‘Can you look after her? Can you keep her safe?’
‘I don’t know. Like I said, it’s only temporary.’
‘Nevertheless, are you going to try and keep her safe? Even if it’s only temporary? She’s clearly in some kind of trouble.’
He thought. Looked up once more. ‘Yeah. I’m going to try.’
‘Then I think you’ve just answered your own question.’
40
Pirate John opened his eyes, just lay there, smiling. Enjoying the moment, breathing deeply, no constriction in his chest at all. Like a weight had been lifted from him giving him the best night’s sleep for ages.
He knew why. Talking to Tom Killgannon and previously Pearl Ellacott. Simple as that. Sharing his burden, finding allies. He now had something he hadn’t had for ages. Hope. Hope that he wouldn’t have to go through with what he was supposed to. Hope that this madness would stop, that he – and they – would step back from the brink.
He swung his legs to the floor, got up. He had found living there depressing due to barricading himself in for days and watching the clutter rising. But he saw it differently this morning. The boxes and piles of junk were a towering cityscape that giant Pirate John could loom over and make his way through. A benevolent Godzilla negotiating his beloved Tokyo. He made his way to the stairs, playing his recent conversations with Tom and Pearl over and over once again.
The words were enshrined in his mind. So much so that he was beginning to wonder whether it had actually happened, or, more to the point, whether he had remembered it correctly. Was he saying things in his mental retelling that were never discussed in the actual conversation? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps memory was just remembering things as you wanted them to be, not as they actually had been. Did it matter? Not really. Because he had allies. And even if he hadn’t said the words his mind told him he had, he knew both of them knew what he had been thinking.
Into the kitchen, kettle on. Tea before anything else, the first one in days. He crossed to the fridge, took out the milk, smelled it. On the turn. But he could get one last mugful out of it before it went completely. Then he could go and buy some more. Because he felt like leaving the house today. Bit of fresh air, mingled with the hope he was feeling, do him the power of good. Let people see him in the village, show he wasn’t afraid of them. Yeah. Good plan.
Tea drunk, he showered, dressed. Jeans, trainers, cricket jumper, vintage paisley scarf and – why not? – panama straw hat. Sorted.
He checked himself in the mirror. Looking good. But more than just the clothes; his features looked better than they had been. Less haggard, fewer dark patches under his eyes. He smiled at himself, planning his day.
Pop to the bakery café for breakfast. Treat himself. Then call on a few business contacts, see if he had anything they needed, or there was anything he could get them. Then a few pints in the Sail Makers, maybe. Tom might be there, Pearl too. They could get their heads together, sort out what to do next.
He stepped outside, c
losed the door behind him.
And stopped dead.
There it was, on the door. Nailed. For everyone to see.
A crow warning.
And Pirate John’s world collapsed again.
41
Kai was lucky to be alive. Or so he thought.
He lay on his back, staring upwards, unable to position himself otherwise, his body wracked with agony, tightly bound to the bed. The ropes round his chest added to the pain in his broken ribs making shallow breathing hurt, deep breathing excruciating and movement impossible. The two who had carried him out of the mine hadn’t been especially gentle, adding to his injuries. By the time he was in the van, driven to the site and decanted into the yurt he had passed out several times.
The yurt was becoming a familiar sight. Almost welcoming, compared to where he had just been. He hadn’t seen Noah yet, though, so that might all change. In fact he hadn’t seen anyone or anything, unable to turn his head or move his body. A bottle of water with a straw in the neck had been placed by the side of his head and he occasionally drank from that, but he had received nothing more. When he was first left there he had been scared that his back was broken, that he would never be able to walk again. But he could wiggle his feet, move his toes and even attempt to lift his legs so that was some relief. He hadn’t coughed up any blood either so he took that as a sign his lungs weren’t punctured. Now all he had to deal with was Noah. And that would make everything else he had endured seem easy.
Noah didn’t keep him waiting long. He heard the man’s voice as he entered. ‘Well, well, well. Thought I’d seen the last of you.’
‘Hello, Noah. You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up,’ he said, the words coming in painful gasps.
Noah laughed. An actual, holding-his-back laugh. It was such a strange sound it unnerved Kai.
‘That was funny. Really funny. I never had you down as that. Many things, yeah, most of them disappointing, but funny wasn’t one of them. Keep it up. I might change my opinion of you.’
‘What’s your opinion of me now, then?’
Noah stopped moving. Even without seeing him Kai knew he was being studied. ‘Brave as well, talking to me like that. Very brave, considering everything you’ve done recently.’ Noah’s voice hard now, no longer any trace of the laughter.
The Old Religion Page 18
