Olivia’s Luck (2000)

by Catherine Alliot

  I put the envelope in my skirt pocket and wandered down the garden to the caravan. I could hear voices and a light was on. I glanced at my watch. Four o’clock. Well, they’d knocked off slightly earlier than usual, but I wasn’t going to quibble about that. They worked jolly hard during the day. I knocked on the door and Alf answered.

  “Oh, Alf, look, Spiro gave me this bill, but I have to say it’s rather hefty and I’m minded to give you only half at the moment. I’ll speak to Mac about having the rest later. Is he about?”

  Alf looked worried. “It’s all kosher, luv, all straight-up stuff.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I soothed, “but if I could just have a word…”

  “E’s in the karzy, luv, d’you wanna wait? He won’t be long.”

  “Er, well, no I won’t, if you don’t mind,” I said nervously, eyeing the Portaloo door, not convinced I wanted to encounter Mac before he’d washed his hands. “Just ask him to pop up and see me, would you?”

  Alf took the bill. “Swear to God it’s all stuff we need, on my life. Copper piping an’ that for the bathroom, skirting and architrave for round the doors, and – ”

  “I don’t doubt it, Alf,” I interrupted patiently, “I just want to go through it, that’s all, sitting down at the kitchen table. Tell Mac I’ll speak to him later.”

  “Yeah, orright.” He scratched his head, looked anxious. He glanced at the envelope in my hand. “I’ll take that little lot then, shall I? Just for the minute?”

  “Oh – sure.” I handed it over. “Oh, and could I have a receipt please, Alf?”

  “A receipt?”

  “Yes, you know, just to say I’ve given it to you.”

  “Oh! Right.” He turned, went inside, and came lumbering back a moment later with a pencil and paper. “What does Mac do then?”

  “Oh, just your name and then write received, from me. You know, Mrs McFarllen,” I said, just in case he didn’t.

  “Right.” He licked the end of the pencil. It hovered doubtfully over the paper. For an awful moment I thought perhaps he couldn’t write, but then slowly he began to etch away and I realised his eye probably gave him trouble. Finally he handed it to me.

  “There.”

  “Thanks, Alf.” I took it and glanced down.

  “FROM MRS O. MCFARLLEN. THE SUM OF £1,000, RECEIVED BY MR A.J. TURNER.”

  I was about to stuff it in my pocket, when suddenly I stopped. Pulled it out. I read it again. Stared. I knew this writing. Childish capitals, scrawled on cheap, lined paper, torn out of a spiral-bound notebook. Slowly I looked up and met Alf’s eye. I knew in an instant where I’d seen this handwriting before.

  25

  I gazed into his eyes, one brown and watery, the other, unfocused and veering off to the right somewhere.

  “Orright, luv? That the sort of fing?” Alf nodded down at the receipt, shuffling nervously from foot to foot, clearly keen to shut the door.

  “Yes. Yes…that’s fine, Alf.”

  “Right. See you later, then.”

  I didn’t respond, so with a curt nod of his head, he shut the door anyway.

  I stared down at the piece of paper again. After a moment I turned and walked slowly back up the lawn. Then I stopped. Turned back, and looked at the caravan door. For a moment there I was tempted to run back, bang on it, and demand an explanation, but then in another moment I’d changed my mind. I stuffed the bit of paper in my pocket and walked quickly back to the house. I marched through the French windows, made straight for the telephone in the hall, and started riffling furiously around on the chaotic hall table, searching for that scrap of paper with the number scrawled on it that had still not made it into the address – Ah! There it was. I pounced on it and punched out the number. Nina answered more or less immediately.

  “Oh God, I’m so glad you’ve rung. I’ve been really worried about you.”

  I was momentarily taken aback. “Really? Why?”

  “Well, telling you all that stuff about Johnny and then letting you get in the car and drive home in that dreadful storm. Mum said it was an awful thing to do, said you must have been in a terrible state. I kept imagining you, blinded by tears, tearing down the motorway and ploughing into the middle of some ghastly pile-up or something!”

  I paused. Sat down and crossed my legs. “No, not at all,” I said slowly. “In fact, quite the reverse. I’m delighted you gave me the missing pieces to the puzzle. You see it merely confirmed some suspicions I’d had all along, made me realise I’m definitely doing the right thing. But I wasn’t ringing about my husband, Nina. I wanted to ask you something else.”

  “Oh! Right.” Her turn to be wrong-footed.

  “That night you came to see me, the evening you sat on my terrace. Did you see anyone else in the garden?”

  “Well, one or two of your builders were about, yes.”

  “Which ones – Mac? The small one, quite thin and wiry?”

  “Um, yes, I think so. Skinny with bristly hair.”

  “That’s it. He said he was having a pee in the bushes and turned round and saw you there, is that right?”

  “Oh no, he certainly wasn’t having a pee. I’d have remembered that. No, he was sitting on that little brick wall round the corner, on the other side of your patio, the main bit. He had his back to me, he was talking to the big one.”

  “The big one?”

  “You know, huge, funny eye. I couldn’t see much because it was dark, but I remember him.”

  “Alf,” I breathed, and Mac had told me he was alone. Said that Alf had been monopolising the bathroom, getting spruced up for their night out in the curry house.

  “What were they talking about? Did you hear?”

  “Not really. It was all in whispers. You know, very hushed and urgent. They seemed to be arguing a bit about something, though, and that pushed the volume up occasionally.”

  “But you don’t know? Not a word?”

  She paused. “No, except…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, something about – how to get rid of it. But I don’t know what. That was all, really. Why, is it important?”

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “So what happened next? They saw you?”

  “Yes, well, I coughed actually, on purpose. I didn’t want them thinking I was spying on them or anything, and the small one swung round and saw me. I heard him say ‘Shit’ under his breath, and then the big one scuttled away, back to the caravan, I think.”

  “And Mac came over?”

  “Oh yeah, he came storming over, wanted to know what the hell I thought I was doing there and I sort of stuttered something about waiting for you. I’d seen the foreign one in the front drive, you see, and he’d said it was OK to wait. This one was pretty mad, though.”

  “Was he?” I murmured. Yes, not at all how Mac had related this encounter. A polite conversation, he’d said, about when I might be expected back.

  “Um, how is he?” she faltered nervously.

  “Who, Mac?”

  “No! Johnny.”

  “Oh. Oh, fine, I expect. He’s not here, though. I rather thought he might be with you. Still, the traffic could be bad on the Ml. I’d expect him any time, Nina.”

  I heard her catch her breath. “You mean – he’s left?”

  “No, no,” I smiled. “I threw him out.” I found a nail file and picked it up, pushing back a cuticle or two. “There’s only so much crap a person can take, you know, and frankly, I’m grateful to you for showing me just how much was being dumped my way. Goodbye, Nina. Oh, and incidentally, don’t throw away any of those little notes you’ve got tucked away in that magazine. They may turn out to be what I believe is known as admissible evidence.”

  I replaced the receiver before she could utter a response. Right. That, I thought with some satisfaction, had surely killed two little birds quite neatly with one stone, hadn’t it? In the first place I’d let her know that I wasn’t exactly breaking my heart over her liaison with my husband, and in the se
cond place, I’d got her to reveal just a soupgon more about what was going on here. I frowned. Twisted round in my chair to face the garden. But only a soupgon. Because what exactly was going on in my back yard that I didn’t know about? What sort of scam was Mac operating here, and was it being conducted from my house? Right under my nose? I took Alf’s receipt out of my pocket again. Should I ring the police? Get them involved? I instantly decided against it. God – no, what was I thinking of? What, shop these guys; my friends, who’d helped me through some tricky times, just because my husband’s mistress had been threatened by them? No no, I ought to be grateful to them! Pat them on the backs, buy them all a pint, tell them how delighted I was that they’d put the wind up her adulterous knickers, sparked off her neurosis, which, let’s face it, had been the catalyst for Johnny leaving her. Only a few weeks ago I’d have been thrilled to bits about that. I smiled. Yes, strange to think, I mused, that in an ironic sort of way, they might have saved my marriage. Only they weren’t to know, as I did now, that there was nothing to save.

  No, I decided, getting briskly to my feet, no, I wouldn’t talk to the police, I’d talk to Mac. He was a shrewd, intelligent man and we’d always got on well, always talked frankly to one another. There was bound to be some terribly simple, innocent explanation to all this. I’d go and see him now, right this minute while I was still feeling bullish and elated about throwing Johnny out, go and have it out with him. Right, absolutely, go for it Olivia. Go call those shots.

  I sailed off back through the house, through the French windows and marched back down to the caravan. Smiling and holding my head up high I felt that in my present mood, there was very little I couldn’t accomplish right now, very little I couldn’t achieve. I rapped smartly on the caravan door. There was a sound of scuffling inside, then Mac stuck his head out.

  “Yes?” he barked in my face.

  “Oh!” I stepped back in surprise. “Um, Mac, I’d like a word, if – if I may.” I faltered.

  “Oh, sorry, Liwy,” he recovered with a smile. “I, um, fought it was someone else.”

  “Ah.” I blinked. Who? I wondered. In my garden? “Well – is it convenient?”

  He hesitated. “Yeah. Yeah – hang about.” He pulled the door to for a second and shot back inside. I heard muffled whispers, urgent instructions, but to whom, I didn’t know. I crept forward and peered through the crack he’d left. I could just about make out the side of Lance’s head, sitting at the table. Ah, so he was in on this too, whatever it was. I stepped back smartly as Mac reappeared. He came right out this time, and shut the door firmly behind him.

  “Yes, luv, what can I do for you?” He rubbed his hands together briskly, grinning.

  “Mac, I’m a little concerned.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes, only I went to see Nina Harrison today. D’you know who I mean by that?”

  He scratched the top of his head, looked puzzled. “Can’t say I do, luv.”

  “Well, she’s my husband’s mistress, Mac. She’s the one you treated to a grandstand view of an al fresco pee one evening not so long ago, remember?”

  He looked startled, but recovered quickly. “Oh yeah, yeah, it’s all coming back to me. I didn’t know her name, see.”

  “Didn’t you? Or her address in Finchley, I suppose?”

  He scratched some more. “Her address?”

  “Yes, Mac. You see, today, when I went to see her, she showed me some letters. Two, actually, both anonymous, both threatening, and both written in this hand.”

  I got out Alf’s receipt and handed it to him. He looked at it. Pursed his lips, but otherwise his face betrayed little.

  “She also,” I went on, “has a very different account of that evening in the garden. You see, you told me that Alf was in the bathroom, but she maintains you were having a whispered discussion with him on the other side of the terrace.”

  “What did she say?” he said quickly.

  I folded my arms, smiled. “Ah, Mac, you surely don’t expect me to divulge what she overheard, do you? I mean, yes, you’re right, she did hear quite a lot, but snatches, naturally. Snippets of conversation. She couldn’t piece it all together herself, but I dare say if she related it to the police they’d have no problems.”

  He looked at me for a long moment. His blue eyes were sharp and hard and I felt a small frisson of fear. It occurred to me that Mac was quite capable of being the affable brickie one minute and the hard-as-nails-East-End-boy the next. As quickly as the look had come into his eye, though, it vanished, and a second later he’d taken me by the elbow and was leading me gently away from the caravan door.

  “Orright, luv, I shouldn’t tell you,” he glanced about him cautiously, “but I’m gonna now, ‘cos you know too much already. Alf’s in trouble.”

  “Well, I rather gathered that.”

  “Bit time, like. It’s the gee-gees.”

  “Gee-gees?”

  “Horses, luv. You know, gambling an’ that.” He glanced nervously over his shoulder, then round the side of the house. “Well, you know how he loves the racing, always sneaking in to watch the two-thirty from Kempton when he should be mixin’ cement an’ that, and that’s ‘cos he’s always got a bet on, see? He’s always gambled – well, we all have, to be fair, all like a flutter – but Alf’s got it bad, and he’s got himself in a right pickle now. He had a couple of big losers see, big-cheese debts to pay off, so to cover it, the stupid sod went and put all he had in the world on the appropriately named Fool’s Gold, which managed to limp home last in the three fifteen Novice’s Cup from Newmarket a few weeks back.”

  “Oh! Oh dear. So – how much does he owe now?”

  Mac rolled his eyes. “Don’t ask. Just don’t ask. Thousands, luv. Can’t be more pacific. And they’re after him for it, an’ all.”

  “Who, the police?”

  “Nah, not the police, the bookies. Gaming debts aren’t enforceable by law see, so what the bookies do is they get some heavies on the case. A couple of big leery bastards in jangling jewellery generally turn up in a Ford Capri and ask you ever so nicely if you’d mind coughing up or they’ll shorten yer legs for you, that sort of thing.”

  “Heavens!”

  “That night your friend was ‘ere, we was in conference, see, discussing where Alf should go. To hide, right, a safe place, like. Well, when we swung round and saw that tart, Alf got windy. He was petrified she’d overheard and so the stupid git found her number by your phone and rang her to warn her off. Well, he got the muwer instead, didn’t he, who says she’s taken the baby out.” Mac gave me a sideways glance at this but I didn’t even flinch. “So instead, right, the pillock thinks – ah-hah, a kid! Maybe I’ll write her a note instead, put the wind up her a bit, rattle her cage an’ that, so he finds her address by the phone and goes for it. Well, I went ape-shit when I found out, but by then it was too late. He’d sent them.” He shook his head sadly, tapped his temple. “He’s never had much up there, our Alf.”

  “Evidently. I mean – as if she’d get involved anyway! It wouldn’t mean a thing to her.”

  “Yeah,” Mac sighed, “but like I said before, he’s not a bright lad, our Alf. He don’t fink fings frough, he just panics and gets in a state, don’t he?”

  “But if Alf’s in such danger, why is he still here? I mean, that was a while ago, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but then again, this is as good a hiding place as any, innit? I mean, who’d fink of looking for Alf here, deep in leafy suburbia? But it won’t do for much longer,” he pursed his lips. “We just got word from some mates down Hackney way that Trinidad and Tobago is on their way, so Alf’s out of ‘ere first fing tomorrow. We’ve only got your bathroom to go now, luv, and me an’ Lance an’ Spiro can handle that.”

  “Trinidad and Tobago?”

  “The heavies, luv. Big black bastards whose ancestors hail from sunnier climes.”

  “Oh! Good grief. Yes, well, I’m delighted in that case that Alf’s going. I certainly don’
t want any broken legs decorating my back yard, thank you very much, and what am I supposed to do if they come to the door?” I asked a trifle nervously.

  “Send them straight down to me, luv. I’ll sort them out.”

  Really? I looked dubiously at Mac’s tiny frame. “Well, I sincerely hope you’re right.”

  “Oh, they wouldn’t touch me. I know too many influential people, see,” he tapped the side of his nose. “Too many people wiv more subtler, but probably more interesting, mefods of persuasion.”

  “Oh! Right.” Bloody hell. Yes, I imagined he did. It occurred to me that Mac had probably led quite an exotic life – this tiny little man who’d protected his big, lumbering, younger brother from a vile stepfather, been through Barnardo’s and then out the other side into the turbulent East End. I expect Mac knew quite a few colourful characters.

  “So don’t you worry, luv,” he said, taking my elbow again, only this time, subtly propelling me housewards. “We can handle it. Only I’d be ever so grateful if – you know.” He tapped his nose again. “Mum’s the word.”

  “Oh – yes, of course. I mean, I don’t know anyone to tell, Mac.”

  Don’t actually know anyone in gangland Hackney who’d be interested in his brother’s whereabouts, I thought as I made my way slowly back to the house. It struck me, though, that there were clearly some lawless places out there. Not exactly Al Capone land, but a shady, grey, wheeling-and-dealing area where people still got their legs broken, a place that most ordinary people didn’t even know existed. I pulled my cardigan around me with a little shiver. Well, I for one was far happier being blissfully ignorant.

  As I wandered back through the French windows I closed them behind me, shooting the bolts up firmly. Now that the weather had broken there was a chill in the air and the wind was getting up. In fact, it occurred to me that the reason it was gushing through here like a raging monsoon was because the front door was wide open. God, no wonder there was such a gale. As I crossed the room to the hall and went to shut it, someone coughed behind me. I froze. Stood there, paralysed with fear, one hand on the doorknob. Then I swung around. Over the back of the sofa, the top of a man’s head was clearly visible. A dark head.