by D J Harrison
‘It’s a latte,’ I say, trying not to make it sound too attractive.
‘That’s fine, oh and a piece of cake if they’ve got one. Mrs O’Brian has forbidden me the use of cake on the grounds I’m already fat enough for two people.’
‘What sort of cake?’ I ask.
‘Any sort, as long as it’s proper cake and not that awful cheesecake stuff, I can’t abide all that.’
I dutifully queue, purchase and deliver. It takes me surprisingly little time, the queue seems to have melted away miraculously.
‘It’s carrot cake,’ I announce.
‘It’s good, very tasty.’ O’Brian has already got stuck in.
‘Bit of a change from the Yang Sing,’ I say, knowing that he’s not going to be saying much until he’s finished his cake.
‘Better keep our heads down for a bit.’ He reveals a mouthful of crumbs as he speaks.
‘I agree, but there’s a problem I need to discuss with you.’
O’Brian washes the last vestiges of cake down with a swig of latte. ‘First I have some bad news,’ he says.
‘Oh, what’s that?’
‘The police are investigating us.’
I breathe in sharply and unconsciously. My body goes numb with cold.
‘What do you mean?’
‘A good pal of mine in the force tells me that someone’s got it in for both of us. Apparently we’re both being watched. They think we are up to no good.’
When Slater told me he was close to arresting O’Brian I did nothing. My first instinct was to contact Peter and warn him, and then I realised that if what Slater said was true it was already too late. There’s also the fact that I don’t actually believe anything that man tells me. The most likely scenario is that he was testing me, seeing if I told O’Brian. I’m sure they have my phone monitored, so I’m very careful who I call and what I say. Even so, I’ve been feeling guilty for not saying anything to O’Brian and now he’s telling me all about it. After the shock has passed, it makes me feel somewhat relieved.
‘How long has this been going on?’ I ask.
‘A few weeks,’ he tells me. ‘There’s this new Crime Agency thing been set up. I’m told they have to extract money from people like me to survive.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘Like I said, keep our heads down until they get tired and go off after some other poor bugger.’
‘What about the cash?’
‘There’ll be none of that for a while, Jenny. You’ll have to manage with what I’ve given you so far, that’s the bad news. How’s that going to affect the business?’
‘As long as I can make the waste business pay its way, there’s no problem. It’ll be a year or two before we need any more cash. The problem is making it pay. There’s a few operational problems I need to talk through with you.’
‘It’s a transfer station, they’re all the same. What you need is the right kit. Leave it with me, I’ll send my plant director to take a look. He’ll make sure you get the right kit at a good price.’
‘It’s not the equipment, Peter. It’s the prices being charged for skips. It’s too low. I suppose some more modern equipment wouldn’t come amiss but we certainly can’t afford any more overhead the way we are. There’s no question of buying any more stuff. We’ll have to make the best of what we’ve got.’
‘No problem, Jenny. I’ll buy the equipment and lease it to you if you’re short of cash.’
I don’t want to tell him about the scale of Lafferty’s cash injection. Not yet, anyway, not until we’re in a position to start extracting it from the business. The less people know about my mountain of cash, the better. The truth is I have too much cash on my hands before the mechanism for dealing with it is in place. I told Lafferty it would take two years but instead he’s dumped the whole lot and more besides all at once. I should have run a mile when I saw it, left him to it, got out while I could. Instead, I’ve enmeshed myself too deeply. I’ve done what Hector wanted but can’t see how I can tell him about it without putting myself in jeopardy. It’s too much money. And there’s the prospect of Yvonne being ruined as well, and she’s had enough bad luck to last her a lifetime. I can’t bear to tell her I won’t be able to keep my promise to her and keep her financially secure. No, the only way out of this mess is to carry on with the original plan for the time being.
‘It’s more a personnel problem. I was wondering if you could recommend someone who could run the business. Someone trustworthy and experienced.’
O’Brian twists his face around for a moment or two then shakes his head. ‘Can’t think of anyone offhand, I’ll give it some thought though. Ask around. What about the present incumbent? Do they know they have to make management changes?’
‘Not really,’ I say. Yvonne is an added complication that I could have done without. At first her condition seemed a godsend, an opportunity to buy her business on favourable terms. Now I have her sensibilities to take into account and I can’t imagine her taking kindly to my removing Stefan.
‘Then tread carefully, that’s my advice.’ O’Brian licks his lips and stands up. ‘I’ll let you know when the police have gone away to persecute someone else. Meanwhile, you know what to do.’
I wish I did. At least O’Brian seems to be able to take care of himself. I suppose that’s one less worry, but still I’m left with many much larger ones. I can’t even look after myself. I need a minder just to keep me alive.
30
‘Well, what do you think?’ I study Alex’s face as he takes in my new home.
‘Nice,’ he says. ‘Very swish.’
‘Is that all you can say, nice? You can’t think of a better word to describe my dream home?’
I know he likes it, I can see that by the look on his face. All I hope is that he’ll be happy here with me. Not that I’ve asked him to move in yet. I’m biding my time, letting him get used to the place. After all, my previous residence was a little bit unsavoury, not helped by the armed attackers and occasional ransacking. I’m counting on this being very different. I’m hoping they’ll leave me alone here, whoever they are.
‘Jenny, it’s magnificent, opulent and impressive, while retaining a homely feel and a comfortable ambience of informality,’ Alex smiles.
‘Bollocks,’ I reply. ‘You’ve been reading adverts in Lancashire Life haven’t you?’
‘No.’
‘Tell me what you really think. How does my house make you feel?’
‘Welcome and happy, comfortable, relaxed, glad to be alive.’
‘What about sexy?’ I ask.
‘Oh yes, very sexy, did I forget to mention that? Silly of me.’
‘How sexy? You need to show me. I can’t trust your word, actions are what I need. Anyway we need to christen the place, don’t we.’
I give him my best come hither look, and for some reason he starts laughing.
‘What’s the matter?’ I don’t mind him laughing but he has to share the reason, otherwise it makes me feel left out.
‘It’s you, your enthusiasm. The way you stay positive whatever the circumstances. It’s all a game for you, making fun of whatever life throws at you.’
I should like what Alex is saying but I don’t. It sounds flat, hollow, a bit patronising, like his heart isn’t in it. He visibly stiffens at my reaction, even without words he can feel the change in me. Good, at least he’s paying attention now. We stand staring at each other a yard apart, like two boxers before the bell. I watch his eyes, see the tension in his face, the frozen half smile that can’t decide whether to go back or come out into the open. Slowly Alex’s arms raise, offering his hands to me, palms upwards. All I have to do is reciprocate, touch him, make the connection. Then my anger will fall away. I’ll collapse into his arms, he’ll take me, impale me, drive me to unconscious bliss, but I can’t bring myself to do it. My arms hang limply, refuse to budge. My longing for him is being drowned in waves of self-doubt.
31
When Lot
tie finally turns up I hardy recognise her. Hair uncomfortably short, eyes downcast, long legs hidden in shapeless trousers; her usual eye-popping combination of short skirt and skimpy top has been abandoned and her natural ebullience seems to have gone with it. She flops down on the chair, half facing sideways, eyes roaming everywhere except in my direction. There’s nothing much to see, only the usual Starbuck’s young middle classes, proudly displaying their knowledge of the specialist patois by ordering in loud voices and having joke names inscribed on their takeaway cups.
‘You look like shit,’ I say.
‘I feel shit, Jenny. I’m hopeless, everything is bad about me.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘It’s Chris.’ She looks at me for the first time. ‘Since we came back from my father’s funeral he’s been horrible to me.’
‘Why, what happened?’
‘He found out about my old life, what I did before I met him.’
‘I thought you’d told him all that by now?’
‘Most, but not all. He knew I was looking for a foreign husband, that I’d told him straight.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ I ask.
‘He talked to some of my friends. They told him how hard it is, what they have to do to survive.’
‘Like having sex with tourists?’ I ask.
‘Yes exactly. Chris thought I just looked, that I only had sex with him because it was special, it was love.’
‘He can’t expect you to be a virgin. That’s unreasonable.’
‘He feels cheated, he says now, and that I’m just a whore who got lucky.’
‘What did your friends tell him exactly?’
‘Only what they did, how they live. How they have three or four different men every day, then Chris asked me if it was the same for me.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘The truth.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘We are married, Jenny, we love each other, what went before isn’t important, it shouldn’t matter.’
‘But it matters to Chris,’ I say.
‘Yes. I knew he wouldn’t be happy but I never thought he could be like this, it’s really terrible. I don’t think I can handle it any more.’
‘He’s a man, he’s jealous, he’ll get over it,’ I say.
‘I’ve tried everything, Jenny. He’s being so cruel. When he fucks me it’s like he’s angry and trying to hurt me. I pretend I’m enjoying myself, but I’m not. I can’t think what else to do.’
‘Like I say he’s jealous, it’s a big shock to his masculinity, finding out he’s not that special. He’s acting like a child who’s had his favourite toy broken.’
‘But what can I do, leave him? Where would I go?’
‘Don’t leave, Lottie, but don’t put up with it. You’ve not been unfaithful, point that out. Stop having sex with him. Tell him you only need love and affection, not sex.’
‘He’ll go crazy. I can’t do that.’
‘No he won’t. Tell him you love him. Invite him to hold you, give you hugs and cuddles, but no touching your breasts or between your legs. Be firm.’
‘I can try. It’s better than what he’s doing now, but I’m scared, Jenny.’
‘Be brave. Another thing, dress normally. Put on your sexy tops and short skirts, be yourself, be the Lottie he fell for, not this pathetic excuse. You look guilty like that, as if you’ve decided to punish yourself. When he looks at you now he thinks he’s got a right to be angry.’
‘He won’t like it if I refuse him sex.’
‘Look, Lottie, at the moment he’s only getting what he imagines hundreds of men have already had. All he can think about is all those other penises that got there before him. Put a stop to it, for both of your sakes. When he wants to make love to a sensitive young woman then that’s okay, otherwise you’re only making things worse.’
I don’t know if my words are helping, all I can see are her tears. All I can feel is her deep sorrow. We lapse into silence for a while and then she leaves.
32
‘Think of it as insurance,’ Monty tells me as he drives me back to Midgeland and the filthy chaos that awaits me there. I’m wondering why I’m bothering paying for him, he’s not been needed at all since he arrived. ‘You buy insurance to cover you for the bad things like death, burglary, fire. When none of them happens you’re glad, aren’t you? You don’t go back to the insurance company and complain.’
‘But it’s not insurance, it’s protection I’m paying for. If nobody’s threatening me, I don’t need it. It’s been months since they tried to get me at the airport and no sign of them since.’
‘What about the men in your car park at the flat?’
‘I’m beginning to think that was all a mistake. Maybe I imagined things, panicked at bit.’
Monty’s silence tells me exactly what he thinks of that remark. Maybe they were only going to talk to me, but no matter how hard I try I’m not convincing myself or him.
‘Could you really stop them, if they came to get me again?’ I ask, looking at his spade-like hands and thick arms and wondering if they’re enough of a deterrent.
‘Maybe, maybe not. It depends on lots of factors. Who they send, what they’re prepared to do. All I can say, Jenny, is I’ve not lost a client yet.’
Monty’s words stir some energy inside me. I want to feel hopeful and positive. Any little thing that helps is welcome. I try to frame a question that will elicit detailed answers but fail. Monty’s like a big scallop sitting on the ocean floor, keeping what’s inside him hidden and well protected. No matter how often I try he’s not opening up to show me. For all I know, he’s spent his life sitting around waiting for nothing to keep happening.
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ I try. ‘For all I know your clients were all crying wolf and you had nothing to do.’ Monty refuses to be drawn yet again, and continues driving in silence. I try another angle, determined to get some meat on the dried bones of Monty.
‘Are you married?’ I ask.
Monty pauses, almost long enough for me to ask another question.
‘I have been,’ he says.
‘So you aren’t any more?’
‘No.’
‘Children?’
‘I have a daughter.’
‘Do you see much of her?’
‘Some, not as much as I’d like.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘Sorry, Jenny, but it’s not good practice for me to give out personal details. I’m sure you understand.’
‘No I don’t. It’s me you’re talking to, not some terrorist. I’m your client and a friend, surely it’s okay for you to talk to me?’
‘I’m not being rude, Jenny. I’d prefer if we change the subject.’
‘Okay, but first tell me where your daughter lives and how old she is.’
‘That’ll satisfy your curiosity, then you’ll stop questioning me?’
‘Yes, promise.’
‘She’s twenty-two and she lives in Greenfield.’
‘Greenfield, where’s that?’
‘Saddleworth, near Oldham, east of Manchester, right on the hills. Lovely place, when it stops raining.’
‘Oh yes there. And what’s her name?’
‘You promised to stop asking questions.’ Monty’s voice shows no sign of annoyance. He’s lit up at the thought of his daughter, I can feel the pride and love bursting out of him; the scallop shell is opening a crack.
‘Is it Ann?’ I ask.
‘No, what made you think that?’ He smiles.
‘Just a hunch. What about Lisa?’
‘No.’
‘Mary?’
‘No.’
‘Give me a clue, Monty.’
‘No I won’t, this isn’t fair.’
‘Is it an English name, a Scottish name or a foreign name?’
‘English, I suppose.’
‘Is it short or long?’
‘I’m not playing this game any more.’
> ‘That’s okay, I’ll play on my own. Elizabeth.’
Silence. ‘So it’s Elizabeth, hah got you. Elizabeth Montgomery.’
‘No it’s not.’
‘Susan?’
Monty shakes his head. We’re turning into the Midgeland Brickworks site now. The Range Rover begins to splash through the muddy puddles.
‘Amy?’
The car stops. Stefan is coming out of the recycling shed to greet me.
‘Carol, Elspeth, Marianne, Paula?’ As I reel off names quickly I watch Monty’s face, but it never flickers.
I open my door and step out. Monty leans over towards me and speaks softly.
‘Jane,’ he says. ‘My daughter’s name is Jane.’
33
‘He’s here,’ Stefan announces as I slop my way towards the cabin. ‘Your visitor has arrived, he’s in there with Yvonne and Barry Whitmarsh.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
Unease gnaws at me as I enter the cramped office. A man rises to shake my hand and introduces himself as Dan Henderson, Arnold Rushmore’s consultant. To my disappointment he looks even older than Arnold himself, though he’s retained a full head of grey hair that is growing a bit too bushy around the top of his ears. I don’t need another old guy waiting for retirement. I feel like walking out and leaving the two old codgers to Yvonne.
‘Arnold told me a little about your situation, how the planning runs out in a couple of years’ time and how your recycling process is suffering from the trommel fines disposal problem,’ he says.