Hope Dies Last

by Deborah Finn

  “What the fuck are you on about?” said Jango, shaking his head.

  Farren lifted the phone and looked at the screen. “Beth,” he said. “Who’s Beth?”

  “How the fuck would I know?” Jango answered.

  Farren shrugged and took the call. “Hello?” he said.

  “Oh!” said the voice at the end of the line.

  Farren pressed the phone closer to his ear and smiled. He liked the sound of her voice. A bit of posh.

  “Hello... I was looking for Marilyn.”

  “Marilyn?” he said. He touched the woman on the floor with his shoe and shrugged a question at Gallagher. “Oh yeah, she’s here. She can’t get to the phone right now. Can’t talk just now, you know.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  He laughed again, pleased with his little joke.

  “She’s dancing,” he added.

  “Oh, I see. OK.”

  She sounded really uptight. Probably needed some of Farren’s bedroom Olympics.

  “I’ll tell her you called, Beth.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “OK,” she said.

  He ended the call.

  “Jesus man, what you do that for?”

  Farren shrugged and pocketed the mobile. “How we gonna get her out of here anyway?” he asked.

  He strolled over to the window and looked down from the fifth floor. The hotel was in the city centre. Across the street was a wine bar and a kebab shop, a couple of shops closed for the night, and then a late-night convenience store. A taxi rank with a line of cabs was off to the left. The pavement was busy. Farren’s eyes followed a bottle blonde who was yelling at her mates to slow down because her feet were killing her. She stopped and squatted down to take off her high heels and fell flat on her arse. Her mates came back, crowding round her and laughing.

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Jango. “I’ve got a mate, he’s in a band. Well, he’s kind of like a roadie. He’s got loads of big boxes for his gear. We could get her in one of them.”

  “Yeah, them big boxes. That’d work,” said Farren.

  Gallagher nodded. “And you can get a box off him tonight?”

  Jango swaggered. “Well, let’s just say, he owes me one.”

  “Jango, I don’t give a fuck if he’s your gay husband. Can you get him tonight?”

  Jango’s head twitched to the side as he ran a finger inside the neck of his shirt collar. “I’ll call him now, boss.”

  He looked up the number and put the phone to his ear.

  Gallagher watched him. “And if anyone sees you coming out of this room, then you’re going in the fucking box with her,” he muttered.

  Farren felt his anger rising. The old man couldn’t hold it together. He sticks the woman right here in the hotel, and then expects them to clear up the mess, like he’s some kind of Mr Big. He turned and looked out the window, trying to look bored.

  “If you’ve got nothing better to do, Farren, you can shove it under the bed.”

  “What’s wrong with her there?” He didn’t bother to turn round. He could feel Gallagher staring into the back of his head. He waited another moment and turned.

  “What’s wrong with her there, Farren, is that if any thieving chambermaid makes her way in here, even the most stupid of them is likely to notice a dead body lying in plain view.”

  There was silence between them for a moment as they faced each other. Farren stared into Gallagher’s eyes but he couldn’t hold it. Those mad eyes, like knives stabbing at you. You had to look away. Farren dropped his eyes to the carpet.

  “Alright,” Gallagher said, as if that settled the matter.

  He walked into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He leaned on the basin and looked at himself. Farren watched him. He looked a right mess. For the first time, it occurred to Farren to wonder why he’d killed the woman.

  He grabbed the woman under her armpits and flinched. He hadn’t expected her to be warm. He shook his head and went back to it. She was all skin and bone, but she was heavier than she looked, a real dead weight. He smiled to himself. Dead weight, that was good.

  Gallagher came out of the bathroom, slicking back his silver hair. “I’m going back downstairs. Going to put my face about. When I get back I want this done.”

  “Right, boss,” said Jango, putting his phone back in his pocket. “My mate’s got the box waiting. We’ll be back here in an hour and it’ll be like it never happened.”

  Gallagher placed the key card on the side table. “Take that with you,” he said. “And get rid of it when you’re done. Do NOT go leaving it at reception. You got it?”

  Jango nodded and Gallagher turned to leave. The door closed behind him with a quiet click.

  “Yeah, thanks lads,” said Jango to the closed door. “Thanks for getting me out of this mess. I owe you one.”

  An hour later Jango picked up the keys of a Ford Transit and loaded the strong box into the back.

  “Don’t get no skank on it,” his friend warned him.

  Jango pulled a face of distaste. “I’m moving a PA system. Why would I be getting skank on it?”

  “Just what I’m saying, mate. I’m using that on Monday and I want it right back.”

  “You’ll have it, alright!”

  Jango pulled open the driver’s side door and jumped up.

  Farren looked him up and down. “Now you look like a roadie,” he said.

  Jango had switched his suit and shined shoes for a pair of jeans, hoodie and trainers.

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Why d’you go for that dandy look anyway?”

  “I feel good that way.” Jango said. “Babes like it.”

  Farren laughed. “For real?”

  “Yeah man. Bit of class. Birds go for that. You should try it.”

  “Nah, I do alright,” Farren laughed.

  They drove on in silence, watching the busy streets, keeping under the speed limit.

  “He’s right though,” Jango said at last.

  “Who’s right?”

  “Me mate,” Jango said, nodding his head in the direction they’d come. “We don’t wanna get no skank on it. She’s like, bleeding, isn’t she?”

  Farren laughed. “Mate, I’m ahead of you.” He reached under the seat and lifted up a package.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a plastic tarp. It’ll go all round her, like.”

  Jango glanced over at the packaging. “Where’d you get it?”

  “Never you mind!”

  “Did you nick it?”

  Farren shrugged.

  “You twat,” Jango muttered. “Did you even check for cameras?”

  Farren ignored him, looking out the window. They were nearing the hotel.

  “What do you think?” Jango asked. “Park right up front?”

  “Yeah man. Like we own the place.”

  In front of the hotel was a little layby for loading and unloading. Jango parked on the double yellows and left the hazard lights flashing. He opened the back doors and hauled the box toward them.

  “OK, you got your end?” Farren asked.

  “Yeah. Just walk straight through. Don’t look at any of them girls on the desk,” Jango muttered. “Just straight through like we got a job to do.”

  “What if they ask?”

  “Say we’re fitting some PA kit in the function room.”

  “Right. Good one.”

  Automatic doors opened for them and they walked into the marble-pillared lobby. They walked straight through, attracting only a bored glance from the desk, and headed round the corner to a bank of lifts. They got into the lift alone, but just as the doors were closing a middle aged woman ran up and put her fat foot in between the closing doors.

  “Hold it, boys. Thanks, darling,” she wheezed as she squeezed herself into the lift alongside the big box. “What you got in there, then? Looks like one of those boxes for cutting a lady in half.” She laughed until she started coughing, and Farren
smiled at her patiently.

  “What floor you want, babe?” he asked.

  “Five,” she wheezed, then pulled an inhaler out of her handbag and took a hard suck on it.

  “Rather be snorting something else,” she said. “You boys not got anything, I don’t suppose?”

  Farren shook his head. “Sorry, love. Can’t help you there.”

  He pressed the button for the fifth floor, then the tenth. The lift moved fast and the woman staggered a little and put her hand down on the box to keep herself up. She giggled.

  “God, it goes like a rocket.”

  It slowed suddenly and the doors opened at the fifth floor. She steadied herself on her high heels and minced out of the doors. “Well, have a good night, you boys. And don’t go cutting any ladies in half.” She laughed again, her laughter fading as the doors closed and the lift took off.

  “Well, that went well,” Jango muttered.

  “Man, she was pissed,” Farren said. He shook his hand at the wrist as though shaking off water. “She’s not gonna remember nothing in the morning.”

  “A lady in a fucking box? Stupid bitch might remember saying that.”

  “Yeah, but there’s not gonna be no lady in a box, is there? We’ll dump her, then give the box back to your mate.”

  “Right, yeah. You’re right.”

  “If you wanna worry about something, start worrying about where we’re gonna dump it,” Farren said.

  The door opened at the tenth floor. Farren went to press the button for the fifth floor, but Jango leaned over and pressed the button to keep the door open.

  “Just hang on a bit. Give that old tart time to get out the way.”

  “Oh, come on mate. She’ll be gone by now. This place is starting to give me the creeps.”

  “Alright.” Jango pressed the button for the fifth floor. “What are we gonna do with it? You got any bright ideas? Besides chucking her out a window, that is.”

  Farren shrugged. “Drive round a bit? Look for a likely spot. Somewhere dark and deserted,” he cackled, as he stretched the words out in a menacing tone.

  The bell pinged as the lift arrived at the fifth floor and the doors opened. Farren stuck his head out. “All clear.”

  They lifted the box out and started walking toward room 517.

  “What if someone comes out?” Farren asked.

  “What of it? They’re not going to say nothing.”

  And just then, the wheezing woman came out onto the corridor. She was in room 518, almost opposite.

  “Fucking cow,” Jango muttered, before she had turned to see them.

  Farren plastered a smile all over his face. “Hello darling,” he greeted her, as if they were old friends.

  “Oh, there they are,” the woman said to her friend who was just now coming out onto the corridor behind her.

  Farren gave a low whistle. The new woman was probably old enough to be his mother, but she had great tits and most of them on show in a shiny dress that fit her like sellotape.

  She smiled at Farren. “Oh, so you’re the boys with a lady in the box,” she said with a saucy air.

  “I’ll put you in my box any day, darling,” said Farren.

  The woman laughed. “Oh yeah? In your dreams!” And the two women tottered by, heading for the lifts.

  “Keep going,” Jango muttered from behind. “This is a fucking joke.”

  “Alright, alright. Don’t get out your pram!” Farren said. After a few more paces, he glanced back to see if the women had gone. They were watching him as they waited. He gave them a big wink, as though he’d only looked back to get another eyeful. And then they were gone, into the lift. “Alright, they’re gone. Get that fucking door open.”

  Jango whipped out the keycard and they banged their way through the doorway and shut the door.

  “Christ,” Jango whined. “That was the easy bit. Now we’ve got to get out again, with a fucking lady in the box. Fucking hell.”

  “We could still chuck her out the window, mate.”

  Nineteen

  Martin checked his watch again. She was half an hour late. Maybe she’s not coming. He could feel hope inflating his chest with every breath, could feel the burden already floating off his shoulders. But he couldn’t give in to it yet. She might just be late. She might appear any second, sidling up and sitting on the bench and battering the hope out of him.

  Martin stood and peered down into the play area. Ben was half way up the pirate ship, hanging from the rigging. He pulled the mobile from his jacket and called her number again. Again, it went straight to answer phone. He hadn’t left a message before and he wasn’t leaving one now.

  She’s not coming! He was starting to believe it. Maybe she took that job with Gallagher; maybe she decided to just move on? He blew out a long breath through pursed lips. Could it really be true? He closed his eyes and tilted his head heavenward. Please, he prayed silently.

  He sat down on the bench again and flicked through his messages. Tuesday was Beth’s late night in the shop. It had always been pizza night in their house. He and Ben would eat pizza early, and then when Beth came home later, he’d reheat hers, and then eat half of hers too as they hung out in the front room together.

  Carried by the bubble of hope, he texted her.

  Do you want me to pick up pizza for you too?

  He pressed send and then felt stupid. Already he could anticipate her rejection. Why had he done that? The phone buzzed. It was from her.

  Yes! I’m starving. Four seasons.

  He stared at it for a moment. He gripped the phone tightly. Oh God, it was such a tiny thing to base your hope upon, but it was something. He had to play it right.

  OK. See you later. Looks like rain. We’ll head back in a minute.

  He checked the time again. Forty minutes late now. She wasn’t coming! Yes! Martin felt like punching the air, but he didn’t dare celebrate just yet. He wanted to get out of the park. He jogged down the slope to the play area and called up to Ben.

  “Hey mate, come on. Time to go get pizza.”

  At eight o’clock he heard her key in the door, then her footsteps down the hall to the kitchen. Martin lowered the volume on the TV and Ben grabbed the remote from him to turn it back up again. He hardly noticed, his ears tuned in to the sound of Beth moving about the kitchen.

  “Hi,” he called out.

  She appeared behind him, approaching the L shaped sofa from the dining area. She’d kicked off her shoes and she was eating a slice of pizza.

  “Oh, I am starving,” she said, wiping the grease from her lips with the back of her hand.

  Martin turned and looked at her. “Do you want me to heat it up?”

  “No, it’s fine,” she said, shaking her head.

  She leaned on the back of the sofa, looking over Ben’s shoulder.

  “That your homework?”

  “He’s done it all,” Martin said. He realised he sounded defensive. “He’s good on his times tables,” he added.

  Beth ruffled her son’s hair. “Get your maths from your dad, don’t you?” She laughed. “Just as well.”

  She turned to go back to the kitchen in search of more pizza. “Time for your bath, Ben,” she called over her shoulder.

  Ben sank lower into the sofa. Martin nudged him. “Go on,” he said. “Your mum’s been working all day. She doesn’t need a hard time from you.”

  Ben sighed and reluctantly got up from the sofa, making his way out of the door with exaggerated slowness.

  “Good boy,” Beth said, as she came back carrying another slice of pizza. “I’ll be up and see you in a minute.”

  “Not in the bath!” Ben grumbled.

  “Oh yeah,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re a big boy now. OK, I’ll come see you after your bath.”

  She flopped down onto an armchair, hanging her legs over the side.

  “How was work?” Martin asked.

  She shrugged. “OK.” Then she shook her head. “No, it was good actually. I go
t a big order. From a ship. Well, a yacht, I guess. I don’t know. Big boat, anyway.”

  Beth ran her own business, a picture framing workshop. She’d set it up fifteen years ago. It had a little shop front, but had limped along without enough custom until she’d had a professional website built. It was the internet trade that kept her going.

  “That’s great, Beth. That mean you’ll be able to keep Callum on?”

  “Yeah, through the summer anyway. This guy, he’s got lots of photos and some kind of sea charts. He wants the frames to be fixed to the wall, so they can’t fall off, obviously, but he doesn’t want the fixings to show.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said, dismissively. “Big order, though. It’s good.”

  She yawned, stretched and then sat up in her chair. She reached across the arm of the chair and picked up the guitar. She started strumming idly, her eyes on the muted TV.

  Martin watched her, hardly daring to speak. It was something old she was playing, but he couldn’t quite place it. Suddenly she played a discordant chord and turned to him.

  “Hey, I saw your new friend in the centre today.”

  Martin frowned. “Who’s that?”

  “Lester Gallagher.”

  “Right.” Martin instinctively looked downwards, not meeting her eye. “He’s no friend of mine. I just used to work for the man.”

  Beth laughed. “Yeah, I’d hope not. Some of the stuff he was coming out with!”

  She started strumming again. “Remember when we used to go on marches?” she said.

  Martin smiled. “God, that’s going back a bit. When we were students, you mean?”

  She nodded. He could see that her eyes were unfocused, looking back into the past. Was she disappointed with what the passing years had brought? She put the guitar down.

  “I’ll just go up to Ben for a minute. Can you hang on for a while? There was something I wanted to ask you about.”

  “Sure,” Martin agreed. I’ll stay forever.

  He heard her light footstep on the stairs, and then their voices above; they were laughing. There was some kind of scuffle, some play fighting.

  Martin felt it in his gut. This was his home; his family. He wanted this so much. It felt like more than he could contain. He stood up, pacing on the rug. Please just let me have one more chance.