by Shaun Baines
He stopped looking at her mouth and shook his head.
“It’s not like we haven’t seen it before.” She checked her watch. “Your Mam will be drunk by now.”
“Dad will be greeting his guests, plotting their downfall while they shake his hand. He won’t know it, but they’ll be doing the same thing to him.”
Lily smiled. “And what about Ma Dayton? Will she be there?”
“She’ll be there alright. St George couldn’t finish that dragon off.”
They laughed. Lily’s husband - his brother - would also be there, skulking in the shadows, pretending to be somewhere else. He didn’t mention it and neither did Lily.
She looked through the window into Eisha’s room and the joy fell from her face. “I guess we’re better off here.”
He followed her gaze. “I haven’t been in yet. I…” Lily took his hand and led him to Eisha’s bedside where he saw his daughter at last. She was lying on her back, her eyes closed, her skin ashen. He flinched at how small she was, lost in the bed sheets. Lily’s grip tightened and he squeezed back.
Up close, Eisha looked asleep. He could have been checking in on her before going to bed himself. Her mouth was open. In the past, it was a sign of her dreaming, but Daniel didn’t know if people dreamed in comas. He didn’t know about her condition, her medical history or know why she was attached to so many wires.
Reaching out, he cupped Eisha’s head in his hand.
“She’s tough like her old man” Lily said. “Tough as bullets. Dr Hilltop comes in every hour or so. He’s keeping a close eye on her.”
He brushed Eisha’s face with the back of his hand and kissed her forehead. “Sorry, I’ve been away so long.”
Plastic seats were staged against the wall. He sat in an orange one. Lily sat in the blue one. She dropped his hand and the warmth of her touch grew cold.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“Okay.”
“Have you been working?”
“Not the kind I used to do.”
Lily’s chair creaked in the silence. She was frustrated. He sensed anger, too. He only cared about two people in his life. One was in a coma because he abandoned her. The other he’d used in order to escape.
“Where have you been, Daniel?” Lily asked.
He shrugged and stared at the floor.
“You left your daughter on our doorstop and disappeared. Why didn’t you say something? Were you in trouble?”
“No more than usual.” Watching from the corner of his eye, he saw her neck was flushed. Hands splayed open and rigid. Fidgeting in her seat. A bouncing knee. It was painful to witness.
“I didn’t walk away from my daughter for nothing,” he said. “You have to know it was important that I went away.”
“She cried every night for months.” Lily pulled a crumpled tissue from her pocket and dabbed green eyes that were turning red. “And Scott? Scott went ballistic. I’ve never seen him so pissed.”
“Did he hurt my daughter?”
Lily hurled her spent tissue into the waste basket. “Of course not. He was pissed at you. I barely saw him for three weeks and when he came back, he wouldn’t say what he’d been doing. All he said was he was looking for you.”
Eisha’s blankets were tangled around her legs. Daniel jerked the duvet free, smoothing it over her bare feet. They looked bigger. He wondered if Scott and Lily had bought her new shoes while he was away.
“Scott changed, Daniel,” Lily continued. “He wasn’t exactly talkative before you left, but he got worse. Darker somehow. What did you do to him?”
“To him? Nothing.”
“Then what? Tell me why you left.”
Daniel kicked the waste basket, sending it clattering to the wall, startling the nurses on the ward. They peered at him, but couldn’t meet his stare, finding other things to do. He dropped into the chair beside her.
Jumping to her feet, Lily jammed her fists into her hips, her green eyes blazing. “You’ve got no right to be angry, Daniel Dayton. You left that poor girl. You abandoned her to God knows what. We should be thankful she only ended up in a coma. I’m sorry to say it, but it’s the truth. She needed a father and at least Scott tried.”
“I’m her father. Not him.”
“Then act like one.”
He reached for his cheek as if he’d been slapped. Lily towered over him and he shrank in his chair. She was on the verge of tears, but they were hot, explosive tears. The kind that heralded an avalanche of recrimination. There was nothing to say in his defence. He was furious too, but didn’t know why. He’d been protecting Eisha, but looking at her frail body, he realised how wrong he had been. He should have been with her. That was the only way a father could protect his daughter.
Daniel stared at the floor and Lily placed a hand on his head. “I understand the Dayton family more than you know. If you aren’t going to tell me why you left, at least tell me why you came back.”
An alarm sounded in the ward outside, high pitched and insistent. He heard voices shouting and nurses scrambling into action. Somewhere a child was in trouble, maybe even dying. His eyes fell on Eisha’s sleeping face and he took Lily’s hand. There was no other way around it.
“I’m here to fucking kill someone,” he said.
Chapter Seven
Ed tried to compose himself as he walked back into the function room where the party had begun without him. There were bodies and designer labels everywhere. Glasses clinked, voices rose and fell. He waved at familiar faces and they lifted empty glasses in his honour.
Searching the crowd for Daniel, his chest tightened. Where the bastard was he?
His mother held court with some of the lower ranking thugs in his organisation. She was in her sixties with curled white hair yellowed by the cigarette permanently wedged in her mouth. Ed had given her money to buy a new outfit and was dismayed to see her wearing the same old purple frock she always wore to parties. He’d have words with her later, too.
Liz and Monica hovered by the edge of the dancefloor, waiting for the DJ to start the music. Liz was in her early forties. Her blonde hair was natural and her body was gym tight. She towered over Monica, who was only five foot five in heels.
Monica was the fizz in his champagne and somehow complimented Liz’s more graceful presence. Her dyed black hair was spikey and unruly. At twenty-four years old, her slim body was a gift of youth rather than one born of diet and exercise. Like Liz, her clothes were always this season’s.
To outsiders, their friendship was a mystery, but knowing Liz was Ed’s first wife and mother to his children while Monica was his second, made the coupling ever more unusual. There was plenty of speculation, but no-one dared mention anything to Ed. Still, rumours were powerful things and he heard more than a few regarding Liz and Monica.
The silent figure of Scott appeared at his shoulder. “Do you think Mosely had anything to do with what happened at the Glitterball?”
Ed nodded at the DJ and the music began. It was loud with a heavy bass, making him wince. Monica squealed in delight and pulled Liz onto the dancefloor. They took centre stage. Monica wrapped her slender legs around Liz’s and they gyrated to the song. They had rhythm, he thought. Maybe that was what drew them together.
He glanced at Scott. “Mosely hasn’t got the balls for it.”
Scott stood with his hands clasped behind his back and watched his mother and step-mother writhe against each other.
“Where’s your wife?” his father asked.
“She’s at the hospital. She doesn’t like to miss visiting hours.”
“Why’s Lily visiting Scalper?”
Scott looked down at his father, perplexed. “She’s visiting Eisha.”
Jesus, thought Ed. How could he forget something like that? His only grandchild was a victim of Fairbanks’ terror campaign like everyone else. The only difference being she didn’t deserve it.
He had been there at Eisha’s birth and never missed a birthday celebration. Daniel had recor
ded a clip of her first steps on his iPhone. On the night Eisha was taken to Queen Anne’s, Ed had watched the clip until dawn.
“How’s she doing?”
“Lily doesn’t talk about it.”
A disco light lanced through the air, shining briefly on Scott’s face. His mouth was set in a thin line and his skin shone like early morning frost. He was upset and Ed knew why.
He took his son’s hand in his. “We’re going to catch whoever did that to Eisha.”
“By throwing a party?”
“You know how fast rumours spread. We have to show these people that it’s business as usual. It’s important they know we’re not scared of this Fairbanks character.”
“I’m not scared of him,” Scott said.
Ed smiled. “I didn’t think you would be, but this is a way of announcing that the Daytons are united again. It’s a welcome back party for your brother.”
“He hasn’t earned any welcome back.”
“He shouldn’t have run off. I know that, but we have to put it behind us. With him, we can take care of Fairbanks and move on.”
Scott pulled his hand free. “You don’t need him. You have me.”
“I couldn’t run this business without you, but your brother has something special. He can read people. No-one can sniff out a rotten apple like Daniel. He’s like one of them mystics. We need him in this fight.”
“Are you expecting me to roll over and be happy about it?”
Rubbing his temples, Ed squeezed his eyes shut. He saw Daniel turning his back on him, leaving without a word. He remembered the bitterness and what drove them apart. When he opened his eyes, Scott was leaving too.
He grabbed him by the arm. “When Daniel disappeared, he left a hole in us. It was a fissure Fairbanks exploited. It was how he got in and gained control. Only your brother can plug that gap.”
Scott’s implacable face told Ed he wouldn’t be persuaded. He let go and Scott lingered for a second. His face clouded over and with a final glance at the dancefloor, Scott pushed his way through the crowd and was lost in the melee. If Ed didn’t know better, he’d think he’d hurt his feelings.
The party was giving him a headache. Liz and Monica waved from the dancefloor before being swallowed up by fellow revellers. Lights flashed. The music banged. What was intended as a good time was beginning to feel like a scene from a war movie. Ed battled on. It would be good for the family and good for business. People would talk and word would spread, quashing doubts over the Daytons’ future. It was all part of the job.
As his eyes roamed the room, they stopped at the sour face of his mother. Sighing, he approached her table. Ma Dayton puffed angrily on her cigarette.
“The bloody music is too loud,” she said. “I can’t hear myself think.”
“It’s a party. It’s supposed to be loud. Where have all your friends gone?”
“Your friends, you mean? They’re up there with those hussies.” Ma Dayton stabbed her cigarette toward the dance floor. “They only listen to me because I’m your mother.”
The waiters and waitresses lined up behind the buffet table, arms behind their backs, signalling it was time to eat.
Thank God, thought Ed. “It’s time to eat, Mam. Everyone will be waiting for you. Shall we see what they’ve got?”
It was a tradition at every Dayton get-together that Ma Dayton was the first to be served. He helped her to her feet, allowing her to lean on his arm as he guided her around the table. While she lit another cigarette, Ed glanced at her shoes and wished he hadn’t.
Leading her to the buffet table, he kept his chin high as his mother shuffled by his side in her frayed sheepskin slippers. She nodded regally at his guests as she went, passing Smally who nodded back, dipping low to hide his smile. On reaching the table, she turned to the room and gave a little curtsy to a small gathering waiting with their plates.
Ed glowed when he saw the array of food on offer. Fresh flowers in crystal vases were interspersed between silver dishes of sumptuous food. There were red lobsters stewing in butter, poached turbot with truffles, roast duck fillets, venison medallions with parsnip ribbons and more. Each dish was garnished with a flourish turning it into art.
This wasn’t about food. It was about power and all those invited to sit at Ed’s table knew it.
“What would you like, Mam?” he asked.
Peering into the dishes, cigarette clamped between her teeth, Ma Dayton looked overcome by choice. “It looks bloody gorgeous.”
“What about some soup? You always start with soup.”
Ma Dayton granted her consent and a waiter darted forward, lifting the lid off a silver tureen. Pea soup was on the menu at every party Ma Dayton attended. She always chose it and it never failed to placate her.
The waiter ladled the green liquid into a deep white bowl. Ma Dayton stamped out her cigarette on the table and lifted the bowl to her beaky nose, breathing deeply. Her eyes narrowed as something bobbed to the surface.
“I’m not eating that,” she said, pulling back quickly.
Ed looked at the soup and his heart fell. “It’s nothing, Mam. Just eat the bloody stuff.”
“It’s a lump. In my soup. I don’t like lumps in my soup. How many times do I have to tell you?”
He snatched the bowl from her gnarled hands. “Give me a spoon,” he said to a waiter before turning to his mother. “If I take it out, will you eat it?”
She lit a cigarette from her packet and blew smoke into her son’s face. “Yes,” she said finally.
Ed took the spoon and fished around in the soup. He sensed the eyes of his guests burning into his back.
“Can’t you find it? I saw a lump.”
“I’ll fucking get it, Mam. Wait a minute.” This was all he needed, he thought. What a fucking life. His business was going under. His friend was in hospital. His granddaughter was in a coma. People were losing faith in him, scared of getting caught in the maelstrom of his downfall.
And his own son was fucking late for his own fucking party.
“There,” he shouted, finding the lump. “There. I’ve got it.”
He thrust the spoon under his mother’s nose. She gasped and clasped a hand over her mouth. “What’s that?”
It was cylindrical and three inches long with a flattened end oozing a watery grease. Alarmed, Ed picked it out. It was soft under his touch with a brittle centre.
“I have no idea,” Ed said quietly, but Ma Dayton recognised it at last and her legs went weak. She held onto the table for support, but it was too late. Ed watched her clatter to the floor, pulling the tablecloth and the fine dishes of food on top of her. The dancing stopped. Everyone on the floor froze to the sound of smashing plates. Some crept closer, eager to discover what the fuss was about. No-one checked on Ma Dayton.
Taking a serviette, Ed wiped the object clean. He gagged when he identified a knuckle. It was a severed finger, grey and slightly warm from the soup. And everyone in the room saw it.
Chapter Eight
Five Oaks was a five bedroom, detached house in the leafy confines of Gosforth, a well-to-do suburb of Newcastle. It was a red brick new build with wooden double doors at its entrance and large lead lined windows. It was set in six acres of formal lawns, pasture land and a man-made lake big enough to have an island at its centre. In the summer, there were garden parties where Newcastle’s elite gathered to crow about their portfolios. In the winter, there was a thirty-foot Christmas tree imported from Norway and a Santa’s Grotto where Santa gave deserving children iPads and hover boards.
Inside was a billiard room with mahogany panelled walls and its own bar. To the rear of the property was a period sun room overlooking the fields of Northumberland. In the wine cellar was a collection of wines he’d purchased from a bankrupt minor royal and a secret entrance to a soundproofed room and a bloody gurney.
It was a monument to his achievements, but to Ed, it was where he had brought up his family. Returning from work, all the troubles of his day
were left on the doorstep. Liz would press a glass of wine into his hand and peck him on the cheek. They’d retire to the front room and curl up on the sofa, watching Scott and Daniel bicker over computer games on their sixty-inch TV.
Ed shuffled uncomfortably in his leather chair. The joyful days of his past felt like eons ago. Faceless men roamed the corridors outside, their Glock pistols barely concealed. The house was guarded and secretive. Five Oaks was on lock down and his home was stifled in panic.
The office was on the second floor. The walls were lime-washed bare brick supporting a gallery of paintings of the Tyne Bridge. Two Chesterfield sofas sat in front of Ed’s oak desk and a row of reconditioned gas lamps lit the room. There were no windows, only a single porthole with lead lining in the form of a cross. Sitting behind his desk, Ed pictured the sighting of a rifle and shuddered.
A closed meeting had been called for a handful of men in an attempt to clamp down on the rumours. He had lost face at Daniel’s party. The jokes about ‘finger food’ and ‘getting the finger’ were making the rounds already. It needed to stop before it gathered momentum.
“Shall we begin?” he asked the others in the room.
There were three other men present and they looked at each other nervously. Scott was perched on the sofa, his arms folded over his chest and his eyebrows knitted tightly together.
“No-one saw anything at The Amen Corner,” he said. “All the food was prepared on site and there were no new starters.”
“What are you saying?”
“The kitchen is a busy place. It wouldn’t be hard to slip in and out again without anyone noticing. The issue is the food. I got the chef to go through every other dish. He didn’t find anything. Either Fairbanks chose the soup and got lucky - “
“Or he knew it was mam’s favourite and chose it specifically.”
Drumming his fingers on his desk, Ed stared at Mosely standing on the opposite side of the room to Scott. His face was swollen with purple bruises and his hair looked unwashed. It looked like his swagger had been left on the floor of the toilets. Good, thought Ed. It would remind him who had the real power in this room.
