by Liz Mistry
He sounded pissed off when he spoke to the prison officer. ‘Take a break.’
The gap between ‘a’ and ‘break’, she suspected, would have been filled by the ‘f’ word, had he not got his I’m-in-control voice on. Oh Gus, what the hell am I doing to you?
The officer, who’d sat in the chair at the end of the bed for the past two hours, picking her teeth and farting, got up without uttering a word and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Gus’ loudly uttered ‘Tosser’ almost brought a smile to her lips, but the stakes were too high.
‘Stop pretending I’m not here, Alice. I saw your hand move when the door opened. You’re such a crap actor. Look at me and tell me what the fuck’s going on.’
Alice turned her head, her mouth curled in a snarl and said, ‘No, ‘how are yous?’ Or ‘Oh, Alice, what have they done to yous?’’ She clipped her words, making her tone harsh and waited for him to flinch at her abrasiveness. Instead, he snorted before grabbing one of the plastic chairs and flipping it round. Straddling it, he leant his arms across the back like she’d seen him do so often at The Fort.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘So, Gus has grown some balls, has he?’ She’d expected him to be in bits. Easy to manipulate, easy to convince. But here he was, emotionless and looking at her as if she was a mutated specimen in a jar. If she wasn’t careful he’d end up turning the tables on her and getting beneath her defences. She’d have to show no weakness. She cast her mind back to that night in the showers and Baby Jane’s words. That memory was all she needed to keep her focused. Gus could throw what the hell he liked at her but she would hold her own. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.
‘Fuck’s sake, Al. Give it a break, eh? What’s with the ‘Gus has found his balls’ crap? You’re not in prison now. No bloody red-haired Boudica in a hoodie to intimidate you, no damn dodgy prison officer to turn a blind eye.’
She turned her face away from him, raised her hand and mock yawned, ‘Blah, blah, blah.’
Gus jumped up scraping the chair across the floor, ‘Don’t be an arse, Al. It’s just you and me and I want to know why the fuck you’ve changed your damn plea. You know that idiot Kennedy’s swanning about Brent like he’s Nigel Farage in a brewery? You’re letting him get away with it.’
This was so hard – so damn hard, yet it had to be done. She had to convince him. ‘I’m doing fuck all Gus, that’s what I’m doing.’
‘Aw, come on Alice, you – if anyone – knows how many deaths he caused. How many weapons he put in the hands of kids in the borough. How many drugs he let filter through his fingers and up the noses of addicts. Where the hell is the Alice I know? The one Sampson looked up to, the one who kept us all together?’
Frowning, Alice bit her lip. This was harder than she’d expected. The monitor beside her beeped, showing her heart rate had increased. She took a deep breath and prepared her next blow. ‘Ouch! That hurt!’ She lifted her hands and, despite the oxygen monitor clipped to the middle finger of her right hand, gave a slow hand clap. ‘Good try! Got the emotional lever in by mentioning Sampson.’ She snorted. ‘Truth is he was a stupid arse who should have had more sense than to go into a burning building. Glad I don’t have to rely on him to watch my back anymore. Tosser, that’s all he was.’ As the words left her mouth, her soul shrivelled, each word a drop of salt on a slug’s back.
Brow furrowed, Gus’ eyes sparked that deep blue that told her he was only just holding onto his temper. ‘Bitch! That was below the belt, Al.’
Good, she was getting to him! But all she wanted to do was to end it so she could curl up and weep. Ignoring the ice that encapsulated her heart, its deadly fronds gripping tighter and tighter, squashing it like an overripe peach, she forced a laugh. As she did so, the final piece of humanity left her. ‘You don’t fucking get it, do you? Sean’s innocent. It wasn’t him that was dealing with Big H and the others, it was me. Sean was my patsy, not the other way around. My only regret is that I didn’t finish him off when I had the chance. Should have slit his throat there and then and I could’ve been off in the Bahamas sunning it instead of having to bide my time working with you. Now I’m banged up waiting for the next attack.’
Gus punched the wall, ‘Stop it, Al – just fucking stop it.’
But she kept on – she had to. ‘That’s why I’ve agreed to a plea bargain. Can’t risk the next attack being fatal. Nah, this way I get eight years in a low security prison where I can be the big fish. A few years off for good behaviour and I’ll soon be out. Meanwhile, poor innocent Sean has his life back. Win-win situation, what d’ya think?’
Alice’s chest tightened as his eyes raked her face. If he continued for even one more second, she would explode. The struggle to keep her face screwed into a bitter gourd, was facilitated only by the thought that Sean Kennedy had, yet again, royally screwed her. Gus, razor sharp eyes ripping her to shreds, swivelled on one foot and without saying another word, walked out of the room.
Alice counted to one hundred in her head until, sure that he’d gone, relaxed her shoulders, dipped her head onto the pillow away from the door and wept. She was on her own.
Every conceivable bridge well and truly incinerated.
6
15:35 Allison-Hinton & Crouch Solicitors, Harrow
‘The Beast from the East is breezing in across the South, threatening major disruptions to our roads and transport systems. The Met Office has issued an amber weather alert throughout the country. With me is Reverend Charles Abernethy from St Augustine’s Church in Woking. He and his parishioners are kitting out the church with camp beds and blankets in preparation for the storm. Tell me, how can our listeners help?’
‘Well, this sort of weather is a real threat to the rough sleepers in our cities and St Augustine’s is opening its doors. Any donations of tinned foods, blankets or warm clothes will be gratefully received.’
If you’ve just tuned in, that was the Reverend Abernethy from St Augustine’s in Woking, asking for...’
The one thing about looking the way Sean did was that nobody meddled with him. Even the taxi driver couldn’t quite meet his eye. Probably thought he had some contagious disease or other.
‘So, it looks like we’re going to see worsening conditions over the weekend. Surrey Borough Council has sanctioned extra gritting and snowploughs to be on standby. Keep safe and don’t travel unless you have to. This is Jake Reynolds signing out for BBC Radio Surrey.’
Sean paid the driver and stepped out onto a pavement that was becoming whiter as the snow flurries grew heavier. Damn weather better not scupper my plans for the next few days. He looked up at the posh, yet discreet, sign above the door of the solicitor’s office and, taking a step forward, pushed the door open. Not ten minutes from his old stomping ground in Brent, Sean was all too aware that he was the last sort of visitor this solicitor’s office was used to.
The receptionist was eating lunch at her desk when he entered. In a flash of varnished talons, she hurriedly shoved her sandwich down and looked up. Her smile faded as soon as she clocked him. Sean was amused to see her hand darting underneath the desk, presumably to hit the hidden panic button. Sauntering up to the heavy wooden desk, Sean leaned right over so he could get a fair old eyeful of her tits. Her warm breath, with a hint of garlic, filled the narrow space. He stared straight at her and employed his ‘you better be scared of me, bitch’ look, grinning when she rolled her chair back till it hit the wall. The pulse at her neck bounced into overdrive like a kitten’s erratic heart beat seconds before you squash the life out of it. A wave of Dolce and Gabanna perfume wafted towards him. Swallowing, her eyes grew wide. He raised his index finger and reached over towards her face. Her pupils dilated even more and she swallowed again. He touched it to her face, right next to her lipsticked mouth – light and gentle. He removed it and, inserting it into his own mouth, he sucked, his gaze fixed on hers, ‘Crumb… on your lip.’ The woman flushed, her hand flying up to wipe her mouth and Sean gri
nned. ‘Got an appointment with Russell Allison-Hinton. Give him a buzz, would you, darling?’
The receptionist blinked, mouth half-open. She flicked a glance, at the huge leather-bound appointment book and released an audible breath. Shoulders slumped, her voice held a slight tremor when she replied, ‘Ah, you’re Mr Kennedy?’ Her eyes darted everywhere but at Sean. ‘I’ll just let Mr Allison-Hinton know you’re here. Would you like a drink while you wait?’
Got you rattled, darling, haven’t I? Sean stepped back from the desk, as he shook his head. ‘No drink. I’ll just wait over here.’ He lowered himself into one of the huge mahogany-coloured leather chairs in the large waiting area. Allison-Hinton & Crouch were nothing if not ostentatious and that was exactly why Sean had chosen them… well, that and the fact that Allison-Hinton had a few secrets he’d rather Sean kept to himself. Poor bugger had sat pretty for the past year whilst Sean was in his coma. Probably rubbed his hands in glee when the prognosis came that he’d never wake. Well, he’d shown them all the power of Sean, hadn’t he? Took more than a knock on the head from that little bitch to keep him down.
Every morning when he looked in the mirror he saw what the last year had done to him. What The Bitch had turned him into. His face held the unhealthy pallor of a corpse. He’d developed alopecia which meant his hair tufted out from his scalp in thin colourless clumps. He was working on building up his body strength, but he still had no meat on his bones, no muscle and even his new clothes hung on his emaciated frame. The worst thing though, was that he couldn’t even manage a wank, never mind a shag, without a dose of Viagra. Even then, he could barely breathe. Not sure the momentary enjoyment was worth the toll it took on his body. Alice Cooper had a lot to answer for and he would make damn sure she’d pay.
He looked round the reception area, breathing in the wealth. Deep piled carpets, sturdy furniture, paintings no doubt done by the latest up-and-coming young artist. He knew Allison-Hinton’s kids attended Harrow, ten minutes down the road from his gaff. The solicitor’s boys spoke a different language with their pretentious straw boaters perched on their entitled little heads. Yes, Allison-Hinton, with his posh double-barrelled name, had done alright for himself. If he wanted it to stay that way, he’d toe the line and do everything Sean expected.
A door to the right opened and Russell Allison-Hinton appeared. A big man full of bonhomie and shit. He crossed the deep carpet, hand extended to greet Sean – a hearty smile on his face. ‘Good to see you, Sean. Good to see you. You’re looking well.’
At that moment Sean wished he had the strength to floor the man. Rubbing it in, ramming his virility down his throat – not literally of course. Allison-Hinton might like a bit of brawn, but not Sean. He couldn’t stand poofs.
He followed the older man into his office, winking salaciously at the receptionist as he went. A smile fluttered around her mouth before scurrying away, like a mouse with a vulture on its case.
The solicitor’s office was more of the same – magnolia walls and a cream carpet with heavy wood furniture and a faint tang of lemon hanging in the air. His desk was larger than the skivvy’s one outside – probably all about exerting his masculinity. He might be a poof with dubious fetishes, but he was also a man to be reckoned with. That didn’t matter to Sean, he couldn’t care less what size the solicitor’s desk was, as long as he could deliver the goods. And the goods, as far as Sean was concerned, were Alice Cooper’s tits in a vice. Remembering exactly what had already happened to one of Alice’s tits, he smiled and sat down on a large leather armchair with wings flying off either side. It was surprisingly comfy, and Sean was relieved. With little flesh padding his bones, he couldn’t often settle into a seated position. The last thing he wanted to be doing during this meeting was fidget.
‘Well?’ Sean left the word hanging there, his eyes intent on the solicitor’s face.
The other man’s face broke into a wide smile. ‘She agreed. Baby Jane’s final bit of persuasion did the trick. She’s signed the statement claiming responsibility for everything and exonerating you from all wrong doing. That combined with Big H’s statement and the electronic trail we’ve laid, will let you off the hook and confine her to a long stay at Her Majesty’s convenience.’
Sean grinned. He’d been expecting this, but it was good to have confirmation… and of course a signature. He leaned back and nodded. ‘Now, we need to get her parents.’
Allison-Hinton frowned, ‘What? But... I thought...?’
‘Yeah, that’s what Alice Cooper thought too. That’s why she signed the statement. Stupid bitch! She should’ve known I’d go straight for the jugular. She has to suffer. And there’s only one sure way to do that.’
7
19:15 Marriners Drive
Gus was grateful that his flight back from Surrey had, despite the weather, been uneventful. He’d had more than enough to ponder. Seeing Alice so angry had shaken him. The exterior she’d cultivated, so hard and brittle, frightened him. This wasn’t the Alice he knew. Her words were harsh and her demeanour even harsher. It was as if she’d crossed a barrier and there was no going back. Maybe she’d crossed it a long time ago. Maybe she’d crossed it in a cellar in Brent when Sean Kennedy got injured – or maybe even before that? Thrusting those thoughts to the back of his mind, he towel-dried his hair and walked out of the en suite into his bedroom.
What to wear? Opening his drawer, he settled for a crumpled looking Bob Marley T-shirt. The passing thought that he was becoming more and more like Compo as the days passed made him smile. Compo, the team’s computer geek, had been wearing a Noddy Holder ‘It’s Christmas!’ T-shirt this morning when Gus had left the office to head to Surrey. He hadn’t the heart to point out that Christmas was long gone.
The smell of chicken tikka masala drifted towards him as he came downstairs. Patti, no doubt, was attempting to surpass him again in the cooking arena. No damn chance! She wasn’t a bad cook, unlike his mum, but no way was she in his league in the curry department. Snatches of a weather report drifted through from the kitchen –‘batten down the hatches’ and ‘Amber alert’ made him grimace. When was this damn weather going to blow over? Continuing through the living room, he whistled to his canary – Ringo – who puffed up her chest and whistled back, hopping from perch to perch as Gus took a moment to reposition her cuttlefish. If only his life was as simple.
Pasting on a smile, he walked into the kitchen and took a moment to watch Patti at work. He had much to be grateful to her for and he suspected she was, in the main, responsible for whatever sanity he still had. He smiled, conscious that she was aware of just how much the visit to Alice had taken out of him. On his return home, he’d had to shut the curtains and lie down for an hour to get rid of his headache.
She gave an exaggerated sigh, thrust out her hip and rested one hand on it. She pointed to the simmering pot on the cooker. ‘This one’s my best yet, McGuire. Jealous?’
Despite himself, Gus laughed, ‘I know I’ve said it before and I’ll probably say it again, but… in your dreams.’
The snort that left her mouth, like the stained butcher’s apron she wore, was an inelegant contrast to her stylish tailored trousers and blouse and perfectly made up face. ‘I reiterate – jealous! Now, are you going to tell me what happened today or not?’
Gus wound his arms round her middle and nuzzled her neck, breathing in the scent of the floral perfume she always wore. ‘Not. I’ll deal with this shit on my own.’
Patti tilted her head to one side to give him better access to her neck. ‘I’d much rather deal with the Alice aspect of ‘your shit’ than the Gabriella/ Katie aspect. I actually like Alice and want to help if I can.’
She matched his height almost perfectly. She was beautiful, she was tough and he was scared to admit to himself – never mind her – that he was in danger of falling for her – big time. It pissed him off that his ex-wife was a bitch to her. Despite being in a relationship with his sister, Katie, Gabriella seemed to have taken on the rol
e of Gus’ protector and treated Patti like some sort of heartbreaker. Gus suspected that her antipathy was fuelled more by jealousy at how well Patti got on with Katie, than a desire to protect Gus’ heart. After all, Gabriella had been quick to hot foot it off the sinking ship when he needed her most. He’d still been in trauma after being forced to kill his best friend in self-defence. And she hadn’t been too bothered about his emotional state when she’d run off with his sister, had she? Anyway, now wasn’t the time to think about his sister and his ex-wife.
Pulling away from him, Patti reached out a hand and ran her finger across the Bob Marley tattoo that adorned his bicep and nodded towards his matching T-shirt. ‘You going with a theme tonight?’
Gus grinned. ‘Mo, unlike some, will appreciate my sartorial efforts.’
Patti tutted and turned to stir the rice just as the doorbell rang, ‘And you take that as a commendation from a man who spends most of his day in a pinny and the rest of the time in joggers and a sweatshirt? Sad… very sad.’
Humming, every little thing’s gonna be alright under his breath – more in an effort to reassure himself than through any actual conviction – Gus walked out of the kitchen and through the living room into the hallway. Before opening the door, he took a deep breath to calm himself. Dr Mahmood would be proud of him, well, she would be if he didn’t mention the tension headache tautening his forehead like self-inflicted Botox… or the sporadic galloping heartbeats… or the night sweats… or the insomnia. Yeah, dead bloody proud!
